Get One Bye Two

by Dhiraj Singh

  “But how do we know he is a Hindu, you idiot?” a senior villager yelled.

  “Bhaiya ji, you know my family. We would rather die of hunger than serve food for a Muslim owner.”

  The young villager’s chest swelled as he declared this pompously. The other villagers clapped in appreciation. Religion was a true confidante of death. It helped each other in every way possible.

  Anil knew he was going to be saved for the time being. But they would still kill and burn Umar. No, they were going to burn and then kill Umar. Just like the dog had been a harbinger of death’s medium, fire, for Niraj. This was worse. These villagers were going to be the harbingers of Umar’s death, but fire would still be final medium. And that meant some other fire was waiting to engulf Anil later in the day.

  “And you? What shall we do with you? What is your name?” the leader asked, pointing his lathi towards Umar.

  “My name is Niraj Roy. Look at this pendant. Will a Muslim ever wear Ganesha around his neck?” Umar replied, pointing his finger towards the Ganesha pendant, gifted to him by Rajni. Anil looked with amusement at Umar. He did have the traits of becoming an actor.

  “Sir, look at my credit card. Niraj Roy it says. Look…” Umar offered the villager’s Niraj’s credit card, which he had picked up inadvertently while leaving the shed. “You can buy many things from this card. Even guns to kill those Muslims!” Umar was now really testing the boundaries of his acting abilities.

  “This man is a true Hindu! Release them both! Sorry for all the trouble, my friends. Jai Shri Ram,” said the leader and asked his people to follow him. They all left Anil and Umar, shouting continuously from behind, “Jai Shri Ram, Jai Hanuman!”

  Umar looked at the credit card and kissed it a few times. Niraj had come to Umar’s rescue even after his death. “May Allah bless and save his soul.”

  Umar looked up with his hands stretched upwards. Religion could be a friend of death, but God was still a saviour, both before and after death. Whether it was Shri Ram, Hanuman or Allah.

  1.30 p.m.

  Umar and Anil had reached Satellite Area, a residential community on the outskirts of Ahmedabad. They had some money with them. So they went to a local grocery store to buy some biscuits and water. They decided to pump in some energy in their bodies first before deciding whom to call and what to do next. As they stood there, dazed and amazed by the turn of events, waiting for the grocery owner to give them the biscuits and water, they heard a lady behind them asking the grocery store owner for a particular brand of coffee.

  Anil knew the voice. He knew the brand of coffee too. There was only one combination of these two variables. Romi Gosain. He turned around and found Romi standing there, looking a little thinner and more tired than what she had been when he saw her last.

  “Romi!” Anil was relieved to finally meet somebody normal that day, somebody who could make him skip a heartbeat, not make his heartbeat stop.

  Romi stood frozen for a few seconds. Anil was looking wild, his hair dishevelled, his skin burnt and with a lot more weight than before, when she had last seen him. Romi had always loved Anil for his mind, not his body. She had left him only when she was convinced that his mind was no longer able. She would never have left him even if he was physically disabled for the rest of his life. She felt closer to him today. She felt he needed her. Women like their men to be a bit disorderly and under some pain. Not too much pain though that they ignore the women. The women were happy to bring order back to their men’s life and be the balm to their physical pain. Romi was happy to see Anil in pain.

  “Anil, what are you doing here? What’s happened to you? Come with me to my house and get yourself in order. And bring your friend along.”

  “Hi, I am Umar,” Umar introduced himself.

  “No, no, it’s okay, Romi. We will just make a few calls and then rest in some nearby lodge,” Anil resisted carrying his ill fate into Romi’s house. The main reason he had behaved with her the way he did last year was to prevent her from being drawn into the cycle of deadly fate. Anil had only loved one woman all his life. It was Romi. He did not know how other women were. He could never compare Romi with another woman. Expectations and comparisons led to greed, gluttony, envy and lust, four of the deadliest seven sins.

  Anil would often demonstrate another sin, sloth, by slouching on his sofa after coming home from work, while Romi made him a cup of coffee in the kitchen, spewing anger against the maids. Anil just stared at her from behind, feeling proud of his woman. Anil and Romi were happily living a life of mixed sins and virtues. Till Anil was besotted by the medium and split theories. Love had been their only medium before their split.

  “No! You will do no such thing. I had let you out of my hand last time. This time I will not make that mistake. Just come with me.” Romi could be firm when she wanted, and Anil knew there was no point arguing with her in that mood. He just hoped that she would not hold his hands long enough, long enough for fate to catch up.

  They followed her to her simple row house nearby, at the edge of a large housing society, overlooking a small forested area. Romi lived alone in this house. She had become accustomed to living a single life again. But she wanted a better life, not a single life. Anil was her friend, her lover and her life, and she was not going to waste this opportunity.

  “Are you not working, Romi?” Anil queried as they made themselves comfortable in the small and cosy living room.

  “I do work. At the Sabarmati Ashram. But I have taken half the day off. And if I had not, I would never have met you today.”

  Anil wanted to say that if he had not agreed to the anniversary plan, the aircraft had not crashed and if he had not escaped Nikhil bhai and the violent mob, he too would not have met her. He chose to not state the facts, which seemed more unreal than fiction. But he was happy to let the story take a romantic turn now. He thought violence preceding romance was much better than the other way round.

  “Let me make coffee for you. And some delicious cheese rolls,” said Anil, taking the first step towards a romantic turn. “You do have some cheese, bread and butter, don’t you?”

  “Yes I sure do! And since when did you start cooking, Anil?” Romi was impressed and amused at the same time.

  Umar sat there quietly thinking about Rajni. He wanted to call her but she would get so worried, and her worries were not good for the baby. He was happy to let Anil take the romantic lead today for a change.

  “You never know what can cook in a woman’s heart. So I had to become a cook to get into your heart again.”

  Romi blushed while Umar almost laughed.

  “You have become a poet too?” Romi whispered softly into Anil’s ears as she gave him the cheese and bread.

  “Just pangs of separation!”

  Anil was becoming hopeful that death’s deadly pangs would not separate them in the future.

  28

  4 p.m.

  Romi and Anil were sharing cheesy jokes with each other after sharing the cheese rolls. They were like two long lost lovers who had been reunited. Umar was happy to be the medium in their reunion. “Or was it Niraj?” Umar wondered. Then he wondered about Nikhil bhai.

  “Anil, I think we should complain to the police immediately about Niraj’s murder.”

  “Yes, we should. But not today. Let’s see if this was Nikhil bhai’s hand or some other hand. We will know by end of the day.”

  Anil was hopeful but not arrogant about ignoring the sadhu’s words. The prediction for a year’s time was wrong by the sadhu, but maybe his other predictions were right, he wondered. Law of averages could support the other predictions coming true. Unless both the predictions were totally preposterous.

  “Did you meet any other man during this period?” Anil focussed his attention back to Romi.

  “No, no one! But I did meet a woman who reminded me a lot of you.” Romi looked down as she remembered the brief encounter. She was too embarrassed to face Anil.

  “Well, that’s good. I c
an then take a nap in peace. Can I sleep for an hour in your guest room?” Anil had taken a quick tour of the house already and knew there was a comfortable bed in a room at the very corner of the house.

  “Sure. Let me go in and turn the air-conditioning on. And oh by the way, the door is a bit faulty and so I will close the latch from outside. You can just knock on the door and I will be there to open it for you.”

  As Anil stood up, he looked at Umar first, who was busy watching television. And then his eyes saw the leftover cheese on the kitchen counter.

  “Romi, should I clear them?” Anil offered.

  “No, no. We will do that after dinner. Together.” Romi winked at Anil who was too tired to even wink back. Everything was in fast forward mode that day. All the events of the day so far had been fast, including Romi’s affection for him. He had to go into a pause mode. Thinking so, he took his shoes off and jumped into the bed. Within minutes, he was snoring and dreaming. Nobody knew what he dreamt of.

  5 p.m., Gurgaon

  “I will smoke here! No one can stop me! This is not bloody Singapore!”

  A senior executive of Indian origin, as part of a delegation from Singapore, was arguing with the hotel manager at Westin. He had lit his cigarette in the bar area of the hotel on the ground floor and was insistent on having a smoke there.

  “No sir, this is not allowed. You can’t smoke here,” the manager persisted.

  “Why not? Those who are having alcohol are also damaging their health. A little more damage from passive smoking won’t matter to them.” The Indian executive had a valid point, but not all valid points get translated into policies. And the hotel policy was no smoking anywhere in the public areas of the hotel.

  “Sir, if you don’t stop, I will have to take that from your hand.” The manager was getting restless now.

  “Try that!” The executive challenged the manager and stood on top of the chair, holding his hand as high as he could, with the lit cigarette on the tip of his longest finger on his outstretched hand. He looked like the Statue of Liberty, but he was not at liberty to smoke. The manager tried to pull him down. In that scuffle, the executive lost his balance and the cigarette dropped from his hand. It fell on a nearby sofa with a few cushions. The executive and manager continued to struggle with each other for some time before they smelt smoke and saw the cushion and sofa burning rapidly. The culprit cigarette stick was shrinking in size, as if from the guilt and embarrassment of creating all the hullabaloo.

  “Fire! Fire! Everybody out,” the manager shouted, as the fire spread to the upholstered furniture and curtains in the vicinity. Soon, the alarm sirens were blaring all across the hotel. The guests rushed out to the open garden area behind the lobby. The fire brigade was called. The media was happy to join them uninvited.

  Ramaan’s staff, who had reached the hotel in advance, immediately called up his employer. “Sir, it’s not safe here! The press is here!”

  The media was a greater threat than fire.

  “Maru, you heard about the Westin fire? Let’s meet somewhere else. Somewhere nearby but not in these big hotels,” Ramaan called Maru.

  “Yes, I just came to know about it. I suggest we meet at my sister’s restaurant, which is quite close to Westin. It’s quite a nice place, and we can pick some ideas from there for our proposed venture too,” said Maru, pouncing on the opportunity to show off in front of his sister. As siblings, they loved each other and were always there for each other. But they still enjoyed the occasional one-upmanship. With loved ones, such behaviour is called ‘competitive spirits.’ But when there is no love, it’s called ‘envy.’ Maru and Lina never envied each other.

  As soon as Maru put the phone down after his call with Ramaan, he got another call. From an unknown number. It was from the mobile phone of an inspector who had rushed to the fire site at Westin.

  “Sir, this man who caused the fire at Westin says he has only your number in India. And I just wanted to verify it. Do you know this person? Whose name is…. Abe, ka naam hai tera?” The inspector looked at the executive and asked.

  “Hello sir ji… You are still there? Yes, he says his name is Gautam Khosla.”

  Maru paused for a moment. And then replied, “Sorry sir, I do not know him.” Maru knew that his sister would enjoy and concede this one-upmanship!

  29

  6 p.m., Satellite Area, Ahmedabad

  “He must be really tired. He is not going to wake up anytime soon,” said Romi, chatting with Umar in the living room.

  “As long as he wakes up…,” Umar replied, with his eyes still glued to the television.

  “What? Don’t say things like that! I have lost him once and I don’t want to lose him again,” said Romi. She was flustered.

  “Well, according to Anil, you get one life, one chance to survive. And then the pair of splits have to die. It’s like get one, bye two.” Umar was clearly still dazed.

  “Whatever! Anyways, I am going out to buy some vegetables and will be back soon. I have kept a spare mobile on the table. Call me if there is any problem.” Romi wanted to buy time away from Umar, more than buying vegetables.

  Umar continued to watch television. He was watching the Hindi movie The Burning Train and the climax scene was nearing. Umar was lost in the movie and did not realise that he had increased the sound of the television to the maximum. The background noise during the climax was ear-splitting. Climax scenes in Bollywood movies usually contain a lot of dramatic noises in the background. The film-makers probably thought this got the adrenaline pumping, with the audience craving for the hero to torture and kill the villain. Umar did not realise that at that moment someone was being tortured in the room at the corner of the house. His friend Anil.

  Anil was banging on the door, but there was no Romi. And Umar assumed the knocks were part of the loud background noise from the climax scene. Anil was gasping for air amidst the smoke-filled room. The air-conditioner was on fire and it was spreading to the curtains. The smoke inside the room was quickly depleting the oxygen in the room and from Anil’s lungs.

  Anil’s face was blackened with the smoke soot, as he kept banging on the door, with lesser and lesser force. As he breathed his last, his last words were, “Help me Umar… Help me. Otherwise you will be the next. Help…” Anil became silent after that. The background noise also stopped. The movie was over and so was Anil’s life.

  Umar smelt smoke in the house. He followed the direction of the smell, straight in front of the room where Anil had been sleeping. Umar opened the latch from outside and opened the door to be greeted by billows of smoke pouring out of the room. Anil was lying on the floor with his eyes open. Umar felt his pulse. He was dead. He shut Anil’s eyes, which seemed to be mocking him, reminding him that it would be his turn now. And fire was the medium. Umar dragged Anil’s lifeless body outside the room and did what his rational mind and irrational fear told him in unison. “Get out of the house and from any place where there is a chance of fire. Now! Now!”

  Umar ran out of the house, but not before grabbing the mobile on the table. He kept running till he was far away from the house and any other building nearby. He was in the middle of the forested area, next to the row houses. “This is not safe too. What if the trees there catch fire? Let me go and stand near the small pond. I don’t think it can catch fire.” Umar went near the brown muddy area near the pond and dialled Rajni’s number even as he kept looking all around nervously to make sure he was safe.

  6.30 p.m., Gurgaon

  Maru and Ramaan were sitting in the outside open area of Lina’s restaurant, next to the side street. Ramaan sat with his back to the street, while Maru faced him, to make sure no uninvited intruders disturbed them. Ramaan was wearing a large hat and his famous dark glasses to avoid being recognised. Lina had drawn all the curtains inside the restaurant too. The setting was safe just like in any shooting spot for Ramaan’s movies.

  “Hi, is that you Umar? Whose number are you calling from?” Rajni answered Umar’
s call.

  “Rajni… Rajni… You won’t believe what happened…”

  “First I have to tell you what happened, and I know you will believe me,” Rajni interrupted Umar.

  “But Rajni… Listen…”

  “My love! I have all the time to listen to you now. I am shifting to Gurgaon. No long distance after marriage. I made a sudden visit to Gurgaon to check out the business prospects and also surprise you when you got back. And I am liking what I am seeing. Good prospect for my business. Lots of well-to-do and middle class people here. And poor public transport system. Good combination for me. In fact, I have rented a car and I am driving around as we speak, to get a better feel of the place.”

  “Rajni, Anil and Niraj…”

  “Oh no!” Rajni exclaimed.

  “What? You already know? How?” Umar was surprised, but he knew anything could happen in God’s pattern of physics, chemistry and mathematics.

  “Oh no, I turned on the wrong street, Umar. I got distracted on the phone… And this is a small street. Not sure if I am allowed to drive in my usual fast speed here. Oh hell, what the hell…!” Rajni panicked as she saw a woman cross the street in front of her with a young boy holding her hands.

  6.31 p.m., Gurgaon

  “Go and give this water to the two people sitting there outside,” Lina told one of her waiters, without telling him who one of those two people were. The waiter took the bottle of water and two clean glasses on a tray and started walking outside. As he was just a few feet away from the door, a college student sitting near the table nearest to the door dropped his book on the floor by accident. The waiter tripped on the book and lost balance, dropping the tray and the glasses. Lina was watching. She just took another tray with a bottle of water and glasses and carried them outside herself. As she crossed the broken glass on the floor near the door, she looked at the cover of the book. It said Quantum Theory – A Perspective.