The Bodyguard

by Ruchi Singh

  "I don't think so, I'm sure." Her hands fisted behind her back.

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "I have been trained to assess situations like this one."

  "Baggah was not the target?"

  "The elaborate way this has been executed—both the sniper and the rifle had to be top class to shoot from such a distance—shows that this was a highly paid or a resourceful and skilled assassin. If I were assigned to kill Baggah, I would have used a motorcycle, shot him at point blank and drove away. He doesn't have the protection you have. Then there is the question of the second bullet. If the target was Baggah, there was no need to fire a second shot."

  Vikram Seth sat there staring at her lips, and she knew he had just then noticed her lisp, a speech impediment she had since childhood, a minor movement of her tongue touching her front teeth on certain sounds. She had tried hard to overcome it, but it was noticeable when she spoke at length.

  "Mr. Seth?"

  To her acute irritation, he chuckled. "You would have killed Baggah just like that?"

  "Mr. Seth, I'd like to take your leave."

  "I have offended you."

  "I have absolutely nothing to lose if you choose to ignore my observations."

  "Are you trained to be polite as well? Why don't you tell me to fuck-off? I know you are dying to say that. Come on... say it. You'll feel good."

  "Fine, Mr. Seth. You may... ... fuck-off."

  He grinned, displaying a carefree boyish charm this time. She raised her eyebrows but it had no effect on him.

  "Now that we are over with the official debriefing, why don't you sit and relax? Let's clean your wound and eat." Vikram Seth suggested, placing the first-aid box on the table. He pulled the snacks trolley towards him and lifted the dish cover.

  "I don't—"

  "Vikram, you just can't—"

  She was astonished to see Mahajan, who had concluded his call, looking daggers at Seth.

  "We'll discuss this when we get back to Mumbai, Nick."

  "When will you pay attention to—"

  Vikram dropped the cover back on the bowl and it cling-clanged loudly in the silent room. All of a sudden, the temperature in the room dropped.

  In a fraction of a second, Esha saw him change from a mere friend to a rigid force to be reckoned with. Both men glared at each other. To give Mahajan the credit, he too didn't back down and matched Seth's penetrating angry glance with his own.

  It was time for her to leave. "If you don't have any more questions..."

  "Thank you, Major," Mahajan said.

  "I'm indebted to you for life. Do let me know if I can do anything for you, ever," Seth shook her hand again but his mind was elsewhere.

  Nikhil Mahajan, mercifully, escorted her out of the room. Her nose had begun to run. She gave in to the sneezes when she was alone in the lift. After a successive bout of ten, she took a few deep cleansing breaths to literally disassociate herself from the smoke and the man for good.

  * * * *

  Nizamuddin Railway Station, New Delhi

  1st October, 8:00 PM

  The railway station buzzed with travelers and their relatives who had come to see the passengers off. The lady in front of him struggled with her numerous bags and suitcases. He grimaced at the delay, skirted around her, and stowed his back pack on the x-ray machine.

  He traveled light and considered getting attached to materialistic things a sign of weakness. And he was weak as far as a few things were concerned. The thought of the sniper rifle that he had to leave behind in the woods brought an instant pang of anguish and loss. He loved his guns and was proud of his collection in the basement of his house in Mumbai. At times, he longed to show them off to his few so-called cronies and acquaintances, but it would not be prudent to boast of an unlicensed collection. Somewhere, sometime, people would always rattle. Oh yes, complete detachment was tough.

  Touching the holy beads on his neck, he moved towards the general compartment. The woman with the countless bangles threw an appreciative lingering glance at him. Disgusted, he averted his head and moved forward.

  He shook his head. If she knew... if only she knew, she would run the other way. Maybe one day, once this Seth business was over, he might take up one of these lustful women and tell them the truth about him. He would love to see the fear in their eyes when he would smash or tear their limbs one at a time. Would they still find him sexy? Would they still want him to be their toy boy?

  These small fantasies brought him extreme pleasure, but his priority was something else right now. He could not lose his focus. Seth was his one and only mission. He still had no news about Seth and Mahajan's reactions. What did they think about the shooting? Did they think Baggah was the target? Or were they suspecting that the attack was on Seth himself? He had no way to know the reaction of Seth's family members at the moment.

  It could be taken either as a good sign or a bad one. He knew Seth had refused Z-level security offered to him by the government on account of threats from the Myanmar rebels. Maybe they would think that the rebels had orchestrated this attack. But if Mahajan beefed up his security, it would be an added problem. He sighed.

  Today's failure had made the game all the more complex. Involuntarily his right hand went over his left arm. He had complete confidence in his years of sacrifice and devotion.

  'Om Krim Kaaliaaye Namah!'

  * * * *

  October 2nd

  Seths' Residence, Mumbai

  2nd October, 9:00 PM

  To Vikram's relief, his cavalcade of cars arrived home in time for a light dinner and sleep. He had almost dozed off while talking to his CFO over the phone on the plane.

  The adrenaline rush from the shock of the incident at the club was receding. Baggah was out of surgery, but still critical. His wife and daughter's worried face swam in front of Vikram's eyes. He wanted to confront the man who had pulled the trigger and shake him till he received a satisfactory justification for the senseless bloodshed. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, the incident had stressed him out, and he just wanted to sleep. But it was not meant to be. Not for at least another hour or so. Though he had spoken with them right after the incident, his mother and elder sister stood at the door waiting for him.

  Plastering on a casual smile, he alighted from the BMW and took the steps leading to the Seth family's oldest residences, his home. He was amused at the contrasting image they portrayed. Vandana di, petite and gentle in a trouser suit, must have come straight from the office. Next to her, his mother, Meera Seth, stood tall and elegant in the ivory silk sari, a color that had become her trademark since his father died.

  He mechanically nodded at the security staff biding him good night as he took the three steps up the portico. Di anxiously inspected him from head to toe, whereas his mother tightened her lips as she glanced at him with disapproval etched on her graceful demeanor. But she kept a hand on his head and gently ruffled his hair when he touched her feet. The tough exterior, he knew, was a facade for the world.

  "Vikram! Are you all right?" Di stepped forward and gave him a warm hug.

  "Not a scratch..." He spread his hand and grinned. He then glanced at their mother. "Why is my favorite person looking so grim? Erase this look, both of you... please. I'm fine." Vikram turned to hug his mother, but did not receive the expected warm response from her rigid form.

  "What did the police say? Did you engage Uday?" she asked instead.

  "So glad to see you both, will you stay here today?" he said, nodding at her mother.

  "Vandana has to go back to Aaryan. He has his annual school function tomorrow, in case you have forgotten. But, I'll stay the night. Vandana, you should be on your way and take rest."

  With a last concerned glance at him, Di sighed and moved towards the Range Rover parked in the driveway. The driver opened the rear door and whisked her out of the gate.

  "Dinner?" his mother asked.

  He nodded and followed her inside the house.

&n
bsp; She took her place beside him on the dining table and served him the chilly-paneer curry. She did these small things whenever she stayed with him, bringing back childhood memories. In those days the conversation centered on his studies and hobbies. He would get no marks for guessing the topic of discussion today and braced himself for a long chat. Sleep had to wait.

  "Sanghi bhaisabh had called about the threats from Myanmar. You have refused Z-security." She opened the conversation after Kishore dada served the rotis and retreated into the kitchen.

  "Yes. He shouldn't have told you. This has nothing to do with the project. I'm pretty sure."

  "You know I never interfere in the business, but this Myanmar project was the one deal I had told you not to pursue."

  "Dad had given his word to the head of the state." Vikram took a bite.

  Mom exhaled. "And what about my wishes? Do I have a say in your life or not?"

  "Of course you do, but this was one commitment I couldn't ignore. Our family's prestige is on the line."

  "Ahh the family's prestige... I don't know what else I'll have to sacrifice in the name of this family's honor." She tightened her lips when he frowned at her bitter tone. "Have they received the intelligence recently? What does the report say? How upset are the rebels, now that you have agreed to invest in their country?"

  "The report is pretty thorough. The insurgents are not particularly fierce. And moreover, this attack was not from them. They haven't owned up to it." Vikram kept down his fork and patted her hand.

  "Then who could have done this? Who could have such enmity with us? With you? I can't think of any—"

  "Don't worry. It's under control. We have our own investigators on the incident. Nick and I'll beef up the security."

  She frowned at her plate, not looking at him and not eating either.

  "Mom?"

  "Shall I tell you something?"

  "Of course."

  "I suspect someone killed your father."

  His fork slipped and cluttered to the floor as his eyes jerked towards her. Kishore dada rushed in from the kitchen as quickly as his gout allowed. Concerned, he scanned the dining room and gave a fresh fork to Vikram at the subtle tilt of his mother's head.

  "Kishore, please have your food and lock the doors. You can clear the table in the morning," she instructed. Their housekeeper cum chef of forty years nodded and withdrew.

  "Mom, where did you get this idea from? It was a heart attack. The doctors confirmed."

  "Nonsense! He was in perfect health. I know his blood pressure was a problem... but otherwise he was perfectly fine. There was no stress, nothing. This deal has done more damage to us than anything else."

  "You are imagining things. He would have told me if there was any threat."

  "Sometimes things are not the way they look, and despite all the precautions that we take, things do happen... bad things..."

  Now, he was concerned at her bleak and depressed tone. "Mom... when did you last meet Dr. Khurana?"

  "Are you still going around with that girl, the lawyer?"

  Taken aback with the sudden change in the subject, he didn't reply for a few seconds and took another bite.

  "Vikram?"

  "Hmm..."

  "Vikram, what Urvi did was a mistake, she's regretting it."

  "Mom, we're divorced. It has been six months, the episode is over."

  "Don't call marriage an episode! We had matched the horoscope, she was—is—perfect for you. Marriage is for keeps."

  He exhaled and looked at her. "You are not aware of the whole mess, mom. Please drop it."

  "Then tell me Vikram! Share with me. You are becoming more and more like your father. Obsessed about your work, businesses... and cynical about life. Have you ever thought about your personal life? Who are you working for? When your father was your age, we had had both of you. Vandana was eight and you were two."

  He placed his hand on hers. "Mom, Aaryan is here. The current heir. He will manage everything."

  "Aaryan! Aaryan? He is Jindal's son, not our blood."

  "He is Vandana di's son as well. How can you say things like that, in these times?"

  His mother opened her mouth to say something but didn't.

  Vikram frowned. "I enjoy my work. It's not a burden. Moreover, I have not met anyone with whom I have any inclination of having kids. And chill, I'm not going to die. How can you get so perturbed because of a simple threat? We have always been under threat, from kidnappers, the underworld, politicians. This is also one of those things, and as I said, I'll follow all security protocols, mom."

  "Life passes by and we don't even realize the folly of our decisions until it is too late."

  "I think you are just feeling a little low. Shall I call Dr. Khurana?"

  To his chagrin she banged the spoon on the plate. "There is nothing wrong with me." She sighed and picked up the utensil again. "It's my fault. I've never questioned your father or you. Ever. So when I do, you both infer I am not myself. I never interfered because I know you are busy and I didn't want to add to your tensions and worries. But I do want you to settle down. I want you to reconcile with Urvi."

  "Mom, that's impossible." He picked up his fork again but the food was now cold and the paneer looked unappetizing.

  * * * *

  Suburbs, Mumbai

  2nd October, 9:00 PM

  Entering his home, he dropped the backpack on the chair and switched on the only bulb in the room. A yellow glow fell on his possessions of nine years in the city—two easy chairs and a table, a folding bed against the far wall, a small kitchenette with a mini-fridge on the side, and the door to an attached bath cum toilet in the corner.

  He scanned the room carefully. Everything was at its place. The only window of the room was barred from inside with a heavy curtain draped over it. He had purchased this single-storey house in a nondescript area of Mumbai when his sister had given him an advance after securing a job for herself. It had been expensive but a necessity.

  He took off the rudraksh string and placed it in front of the statue at the altar he had made himself. He stood there for a minute, remembering his Creator, praying for justice and conquering the enemy.

  Taking out a water bottle from the fridge, he drank straight from it, unmindful of stray drops sliding down his chin to the neck onto his chest. The trip had been long and stressful.

  The loss of opportunity had to be introspected, but he needed to still his mind first. Letting disappointments get the better of him was a sign of weakness. But first things first. He'd have to take care of Sara.

  She must be angry, very angry with him. He had never left her for two full nights at a stretch. Though he had arranged for the regular caretaker, she must have still missed him.

  While preparing his dinner, he switched on the antique TV set for any news on the havoc he had created in Delhi. But there was absolutely nothing on the shooting in the golf club. What the heck!

  Soon after, an advertisement blared along with the whistle of the pressure cooker. He flinched at the cacophony, lowered the volume and ran to switch-off the stove.

  The news bulletin resumed and the anchor covered his work. The same old news about shots being fired at the golf club and Sunil Baggah being critical was aired. But there was no news on Vikramaditya Seth Jr. The Seth family must have pulled some strings to silence the media.

  The fact, however, was that he had been unsuccessful.

  Sighing, he served the dinner on a plate and placed it on the tray along with her favorite dessert, gulab jamun. Balancing the tray carefully, he opened the double-door cupboard, drew the row of clothes hanging to one side, and pressed a lever on the panel, hidden by his long green overcoat. The plain wooden panel in front slid sideways to reveal a plush room. He reveled in the luxury that he could offer to his darling.

  He had done up the room as Seth should have done for her, providing her with all the luxury the rich could buy. He had even built a small bathroom with waterproof plastic padding al
l over. The padding on the walls had been the difficult part to handle, but he had done it himself. The anxiety attacks made her restless and sometimes she wasn't able to control herself.

  She lay on the recliner, hugging the plastic doll to her chest, wearing the same old suit, mended for the umpteenth time, watching TV. She threw a listless glance at him before continuing to watch the songs that he had programmed for her.

  "Sara, dinner."

  She didn't look at him again.

  "Are you angry with me? I'm sorry I had to go, but it was only for a day."

  She touched a finger to her lips then patted the doll. "Don't disturb. It was difficult to put her to sleep today."

  His heart wept at the picture she made and placed the tray on the small plastic table. Taking a spoonful of rice and lentils he took it near her face. She dutifully opened her mouth.

  "Will he come today?"

  "No, I told you, he'll come tomorrow," he lied again.

  She nodded and swallowed another spoonful.

  Making sure that she had had her medicines after dinner, he left her sleeping with the doll tucked in its crib. The nightly ritual gave her the peace that she craved. Peace from her past, the betrayal—betrayal that was screaming for revenge. Her condition and meek acceptance of her destiny gave strength to his resolve. He'll make them pay. No. There was only one left now. What a pity!

  He'll get the divine justice, nonetheless. He deserved it. His Sara deserved it.

  * * * *

  October 3rd

  Seth Towers, Mumbai

  3rd October, 11:00 AM

  "Here you go. The reports from the police." Nikhil tossed the reports in the yellow manila envelope, marked confidential in red, and moved towards the bar in his office. "What will you have?" The packet slid on the mahogany coffee table and fell at Vikram's feet.