Mousebite

by Ganesh Chaudhari

  Neither Mushtaq’s mother nor anyone in the police station remembers a vehicle going inside the house. It has a closed backyard where the training took place but even Mushtaq’s mother who served in the same house does not remember having been to that yard in the last months. And I need to know more about Kadarbhai. Ratnapurkar has not returned. When Shinde tries to reach him on the wireless, he says that an accident on the highway has held him up. May be he is pissed off about my scolding him in his station. Shinde knows the house & offers to take us there. So I leave Bhavna with Mushtaq’s mother. I promise to be back in half an hour.

  I leave with Ulhas & Shinde for Kadarbhai’s house. Manoj could not make it here due to an important call from Aurangabad. He has promised to see us off from Aurangabad tomorrow.

  As Ulhas is stiff due to the driving, we decide to walk to the house. The cold is brutal and helps me stave off sleep. My back however, feels warm because of the Nautilus. I hope it does what I was told. Shinde leads us through narrow passages between houses. Some of them are concrete houses while some of them are made with walls of clay. There is no noise whatsoever apart from the occasional barking of dogs. We come to an open area that must be a playground. The moonlight seems brighter here as everything is clear without any artificial lighting. The miniscule romantic in me wishes Bhavna had accompanied me on this walk.

  Ulhas moves strangely as he tries to stretch & walk simultaneously. The result is an awkward one that can make people wonder about his exact problem. Obviously, he is oblivious to this concern. He continues talking about the drive to Ratnapur, how Bhavna pulled the prints expertly with the gadgets in her “Jaaducha Dabba” & whatever comes to his mind. The magic box that he is referring to is Bhavna’s forensic kit. As we go further away from the village, I feel bothered. Such surroundings would make sense only if the training of Mushtaq was meant to be kept under the wraps. It takes us few more minutes to locate 2 houses side by side.

  They are almost identical but one of them looks younger even in the moonlight. Both are good looking bungalows with 2 floors & a concrete fence each. The new one however has a wider porch & a yard that has a car, a tractor & a bullock cart occupying it. The moonlight washes over both the buildings in a surreal way. The older house is stark with no signs of light whereas the other house has few low voltage lights glowing in the dark. It seems as if this is a separate kingdom away from the generality of the village that we left behind. Shinde approaches the house with lights.

  “This house belongs to Murad. He is the caretaker of the other house too.” Shinde informs as we near the entrance of the house.

  “Muradchacha?”Shinde shouts instead of approaching the door. I stand a few paces back, Ulhas keeps stretching himself. Shinde does not have to repeat himself. There are footsteps heard as a light behind the door shines. It opens to reveal Murad. His eyes narrow down & blink rapidly as they adjust to the night & to the strangers at the door. He is an old man with a white beard. The thick hair on his head is silver that glistens in the moonlight as he walks out on to the porch. His height is medium but there is an erect posture to him even after being aroused from a slumber. He is thin with his left shoulder raised higher than the right one. He is dressed in a white, half sleeved cotton waistcoat & a matching pyjama. The cold that has been troubling me does not seem to have any effect on him.

  He takes a long look at all of us.

  “Shinde, itkya ratri kasa kai?” What brings you here so late into the night?

  “Chacha, these are officers from Mumbai Police. They are here to investigate a murder.” Shinde explains.

  “What does that have to do with me?” The old man asks.

  “Not with you. But we have reasons to believe that Kadar may be involved.” I take over. I drop the ‘bhai’ intentionally to display that I mean business. He squints again to give me a long look.

  “Kadarbhai? But he was here till yesterday. I believe he has gone to Mumbai for completing the passport formalities of Mushtaq & Ijaz.” He is surprised.

  “I don’t think so. They have been missing since yesterday. We would like to see the house Kadar stayed in while he was here, if that is ok with you.” I go on.

  “Sure. Anything for the Mumbai police.” He says without losing an instant. He walks back into the house. I don’t detect a sarcastic tone in his voice but it does not seem heartfelt either. This can be expected when you go to somebody’s house in the night & flash a murder investigation in his face. I think the ominous bandage on my nose is making people talkative. He returns with the keys to the other house.

  The other house is of a simple design on the inside. Murad throws on the lights after entering the house to nothing remarkable. The hall is a large one but has bare walls. There are two chairs made of cane that are placed close to the only window. The passage from the hall leads to a bedroom which has an old cot & a computer table as furniture. The entry to the backyard is through the bedroom though. Further down the passage is the kitchen. Ulhas goes to the first floor while I ask Shinde to check out the kitchen. I go for the backyard.

  It has a concrete floor that has been polished. It has been completely covered with a metallic shed on two sides, while the wall of the bedroom & another wall that ends into the property fence enclose it from the remaining two. Somewhat resembling the basketball court of my school, the floor has no markings whatsoever on it. There are no marks of grease, oil or chipping that can be associated with a repair shop. There is no equipment or gear either. There is a 24 inch TV that has been set up on the wall of the bedroom. A HDMI cable runs through the wall back to the computer table in the bedroom. There however is a drawing that resembles a large speaker column on the wall on either side of the TV. I can’t make out the logic behind it but there is something wrong with it. The circles for the woofer & subwoofer of the speaker have different colors. I go back to the computer table. There is no computer there. The house has a clean feeling to it. I can’t help thinking that it has been scrubbed of any traces of persons living here. I give it another 10 minutes to check for anything that can be useful. When I return back to the hall, Ulhas & Shinde are there too. They too have not found anything.

  “Do you have any idea what Kadar was training Mushtaq & Ijaz for?” I ask Murad.

  “No. But it must have been about expensive automobiles.” He answers.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Kadarbhai brought all sorts of steering wheels & joysticks that he would attach to his laptop. I am told the computer games are played with those now.” Murad tells me.

  “How long have you known Kadar?” Ulhas joins the talk.

  “Well, I met him for the first time 5 years back in Mumbai when he inherited this house & later when he came to stay. Apart from that we had been communicating only via phone calls.” He answers.

  “How did he inherit this house? We thought he was here to purchase it.” Ulhas probes further.

  “This was the property of TM trust in Mumbai. The trust had employed me as a housekeeper for over 15 years. The trust was dissolved five years back & all the properties were transferred to Kadarbhai. The trust had been formed only to maintain them for him. I was instructed to keep up the story of him buying the house by him to avoid undue attention in the village.” Murad explains. Kadar sure seems cunning.

  “What about his other properties? Where are they?”

  “He has sold all of them.” Murad explains.

  “And this one?” I join in again.

  “He won’t sell this. He has not even transferred the registry of this house to his name. It is still listed as a TM trust property.” Murad seems troubled to reveal this.

  “Is there anything else that you could tell me about Kadar?” My parting question.

  “Yes. His real name. Ishtiyaq Malik.” Murad lets out. I feel gutted that during the entire conversation, none of us cops asked him the full name of the suspect. I ask Murad to give me a photograph of Ishtiyaq. He finds a passport size photograph from his house. I
think we have everything that we need for now.

  Before leaving, I ask Murad to leave the house untouched as a forensic evaluation might be required.

  On my way back I ask Shinde to tell me more about Murad.

  “He is a good man. Was a poor farmer. Hardworking, gentle but poor. He lived in a slum back then. Then this trust chose him for maintaining the house. The additional money & some expert guidance from these guys set him up nicely. Owns a sizable chunk of bagayati now.” Bagayati means land with ample water for irrigation. Unlike other farms that are dependent on the Monsoon for water, a bagayati can be used for cultivating cash crops around the year.

  “He has a son. Stays in Pune I guess. We never had any issue with him. He likes that old house. That is why his house looks almost the same.” Shinde finishes.

  We hurry back to the station. It is 4.30 in the morning but the station is oozing with activity. Ratnapurkar has returned from his highway trouble & is paying personal attention to Bhavna. As the station head is in full flow, everybody else is trying to match the boss. Mushtaq’s mother is still seated in the same chair but looks a bit relaxed now. I reach for my cellphone for nothing. The message from the internal mailgroup is still unread. I open it. Staring back at me from the phone is Ishtiyaq Malik.

  ***

  I find Khan on his mobile phone immediately. I describe what I have found slowly, in detail. Khan asks a few pertinent questions like when Ishtiyaq arrived in the village, did he give specifics of what he did for a living or what he had planned for Mushtaq & when was the last time he was seen in the village. Convinced that the facts add up, he puts me on hold. I am certain that this is going to be a long conversation. So I gesture Ulhas & Bhavna to follow me. We lock ourselves in the Gypsy & put the phone on speaker. Ulhas has been tallying the facts too. Bhavna is a bit excited.

  Khan returns on the line.

  “Jagtap, I have Mr.Hormaz from the Union Home Ministry on line. He has a few questions.” Khan informs me.

  “Sure Sir. I have Inspector Ulhas from our team & Miss Bhavna from the Mumbai Police Forensics with me. We are listening.” There is a pause from both Khan & Hormaz.

  “Hello everyone. Hormaz here. Jagtap, are you certain that it was Ishtiyaq in that village?” Hormaz asks.

  “Yes Sir. We have tallied the photographs. Confirmed it with multiple residents of the village & even with the mother of one of the suspected accomplices. It is him.” I reply confidently.

  “Does the forensic evidence place the boys in that vehicle?” He asks.

  “Yes Sir.” I pause & Bhavna answers.

  “Do you think the mother will cooperate with us? How is she holding up?” Hormaz pries.

  I pause for an instant. Mushtaq’s mother has been cooperative since I explained the situation to her. Should I stick my neck out?

  “Whatever interaction I have had with her has been fruitful, Sir. I think she will cooperate.” I do.

  “Alright then. I want the four of you to rush back to Aurangabad. I will arrange travel to Mumbai from there.” Hormaz orders.

  “Four of us, Sir?” I ask for confirmation.

  “Yes. You are to bring Mushtaq’s mother to Mumbai. We are certain that whatever they have planned is in Mumbai. I want her around if we get a chance to talk with her son. She can be helpful. ” I like this guy.

  “We will be at Aurangabad within one hour sir.” I reply.

  “One more thing. Can you ask Mushtaq’s mother if she knows about a large milk van that carries cows. We have a vague tip off that this group may try to blow a milk van with the cows inside it.” Hormaz explains.

  The words set off alarm bells in my mind. Suddenly, the images of the speaker columns around the TV in Ishtiyaq’s house morph into railway signal posts. And Murad’s information about computer connected steering utilities makes sense.

  This is sometimes an issue with senior officers. They are smart but most of them have left leg work for some time. There is usually a hearing loss to the proverbial ear to the ground. Not every senior civil servant who serves with local administration is aware of the importance of colloquial terms & regional slangs. But Hormaz is at least smart enough to toss it across given the urgency. This could also mean that they have no other lead so far. The picture that I have formed by connecting these dots may be wrong. But it is better to share my concern with everyone in the team now than later. I take an uneasy look at Bhavna. I hope that she understands that police communication does not always adhere to social propriety. We have to think like a criminal.

  I turn uneasily in my seat before asking. “Sir, was the tip passed in English or in Marathi?”

  “What do you mean?” Khan & Hormaz ask in unison. Right, nobody has thought of this so far. As I prepare to explain myself, Bhavna’s eyes widen in realization.

  33

  The Milk Van

  We didn’t make it to Aurangabad. After I explained what I meant by my comment, the plan changed. In ten minutes, Hormaz called back asking us to reach an industrialist’s farmhouse that was 35 kilometers from Ratnapur. I had Shinde act as a pilot vehicle for leading the Gypsy with his Sumo. When I asked him to take me there as soon as possible, he did just that. The way he drove was nothing short of expert. We were at the farmhouse in less than 30 minutes. On the way, I explained to Mushtaq’s mother that we may find Mushtaq before he committed another crime. She readily agreed to stop him with all her might. And she didn’t know about a van full of cows.

  It was no farmhouse. A palatial house sprawling across a huge space that was complete with a helipad can’t be called that. Better yet, a helicopter was warming up on the helipad when we got there. It was a Rajhans helicopter with space for all of us. We left Shinde to take care of the Gypsy. Mushtaq’s mother had never been in an aircraft. She turned pale when she understood that we would have to travel by the helicopter. She didn’t let go of Bhavna’s arm till we were airborne. The dark sky of the night was tearing up with shades of orange as the day commenced.

  ***

  “Dudhachi Gaadi” meaning the milk van was ready. Mushtaq had been repelled with this as the target but Ishtiyaq had a very convincing explanation.

  “Every year the Indian armed forces & the Indian police kill hundreds of Muslims who are fighting for their right causes or have been subjected to atrocities. Think of this as a retribution for all the parents who have lost their sons, wives who have lost their husbands & children who have lost their fathers. They don’t lose just a family member; they die in part with them. This should serve the killers right. No rules anymore. Feeling our pain will make them squirm. Besides, these kafirs have a thing for cows don’t they? ”

  So here they were. At the Mumbai Central Railway station. They had started early from Bhiwandi. All of them were wearing make up to hide their original self. The most convincing part had been the makeup that they had put up on the ears. The change in ears supported by adding fake facial hair in case of Mushtaq & having it removed for Ijaz had transformed them into unrecognizable men. Ishtiyaq had put on a wig that gave him a few more years than his actual age. A thick moustache completed his getup. Mushtaq’s track suit along with the two tennis racquets in a matching case made him look like an early morning player. They had been through the metal detectors at the station entry without issues. The cop on duty had checked the racquets & the shuttle box. He had not bothered to empty the entire box. After reaching the overhead footbridge, they stopped. Unlike the day rush, the crowd was thinner in the morning. No one paid them any attention. Mushtaq gazed again at the target.

  It was the ladies only train that ran from Mumbai Central to Virar. Called as the “Dudhachi gaadi” in Marathi slang of Mumbai owing to its passengers with breasts, it was a unique affair. Even the cops stationed in each compartment were women. No men of any age were allowed on this train. It had minimal stops. And like all local trains of Mumbai, it was powered by electricity. But the icing had been the latest coaches introduced by the Central Railways. The gates of the c
ompartments were controlled by the driver. So once locked, the train was an effective cage for the hundreds of women aboard.

  As they waited with bated breath to say final goodbyes, Ishtiyaq started speaking softly.

  “If we do this right, these chutiyas will be bolted out of their ignorance. They will realize who they are against. We do this right, we avenge ourselves. Don’t worry about your family Mushtaq. Your mother will be looked after well. She might even be proud of you. But if you hesitate or fail, she will be devastated. It is totally up to you. ”

  Ishtiyaq had not raised his voice but Mushtaq realized what he was saying. If he had second thoughts now, his mother would pay the price. He was too far sunk to remain free even if he surrendered but his mother would be really devastated if he were to fail or get caught alive. More than anything, Mushtaq was sure that Ishtiyaq was capable of doing whatever it took. To protect the cause or to hurt anyone who stood in the way or gave it up. His mother was going to be labeled a traitor’s mother but Ishtiyaq had promised to support her till the end. That was his only hope now. Tears welled up in his eyes again, but the decision was easy this time. Ijaz had been distancing himself from Mushtaq since he had started crying the other day. Mushtaq touched his shoulder; this could well be their last meeting.