Pretty Vile Girl

by Rickie Khosla

  Dr Abadi cringed inwardly at the mention of his daughters, but not a fleck of that emotion broke through his still demeanour.

  ‘What your client chooses to do is, of course, his prerogative,’ spoke Dwivedi, matching his patron’s calmness. ‘It wouldn’t be our place to comment on the foolhardiness of the endeavours of an adult and able-bodied man such as him to come looking for hand-outs from one who he claims as his father by virtue of nothing more than the accident of DNA. Fortunately, my client feels no compulsion to acknowledge, let alone reward, your client’s stroke of luck. In fact, hell will have to freeze over before my client decides to cast even a single rupee, nay, a single paisa, your way.’

  With that, Dwivedi sank back into his seat further, with a finality that signalled that there was no more left to be spoken from his side.

  The last sentence caused alarm bells to go off in Sahay’s head. The only trump card that he and Toby held was their weapon to denude Dr Abadi of his name and dignity, and the terror of its use to force him to come to a giant settlement out-of-court. But that weapon had just been neutered by Dwivedi. It was seeming clear that the opposite side was willing to face whatever shame and ridicule was bound their way when the matter blew up in public. And Sahay also knew that the court was most certainly going to toss the suit out or bow out of getting involved—or worse, penalise Toby for wasting its time!

  This matter could only have been settled out-of-court, but it now felt that that ship had sailed. Or, perhaps the better analogy might have been—the ship had been torpedoed and sunk. Sahay held his emotionless expression, but his pursed lips displayed defeat. Momentarily, he threw a quick nod at the men across the table from him, then tapped Toby’s arm and began to rise from his own seat. There was no point salvaging anything from this lost cause. His client had lost the war even before the first shot had been fired.

  Even the mediator shook his head gently, gesturing the end.

  Just then, absolutely unexpectedly, Dwivedi spoke. ‘Unless…’ he said, and quickly paused.

  Sahay and Toby, who were halfway through rising from their chairs, looked at the opposite counsel for several seconds. Dwivedi himself was looking intently at nothing particular on his closed notepad. His eyebrows were raised and his head was nodding ever so slightly. He was like the man who held the biggest secret of the universe, but wanted to toy with his audience a bit more before making his big revelation. The two bent gentlemen, with their asses awkwardly six inches above their seat cushions, slowly settled back into them—but not once taking their eyes off of Dwivedi. Dr Abadi was as emotionless as he had been before.

  ‘Unless,’ Dwivedi said again, ‘we can find a different way of addressing this issue?’

  Sahay was all eyes. And ears. Toby understood nothing but mirrored his counsel’s countenance.

  ‘What if,’ Dwivedi spoke slowly, ‘your client were to give us an undertaking that says that this legal suit was nothing more than an illicit attempt at defrauding Dr Abadi, and, as retribution for putting him and his family through the resulting agony, he is now willing to forfeit any past, present and future moral and physical claims on my client’s good name and estate?’ Dwivedi paused, and then after a few moments said, ‘How does that sound to you, my learned friend?’

  Sahay merely smiled. He knew that Dwivedi couldn’t have possibly finished expressing his ludicrous idea. There was more. So he said—‘Would it surprise you if I said that your idea sounds preposterous?’

  ‘Well, we presumed that you would say that, so we thought we could sweeten the deal for you.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Since paying even a single paisa to your client might imply that we lend even the remotest credence to his shameless demands, what if Dr Abadi gave an endowment instead, a suitably large one, to someone else in your client’s family? Someone more needy and deserving than this strapping, able-bodied young man? Someone who actually deserves a generous helping hand from someone as benevolent as my client?’ Dwivedi stared straight and unblinkingly at Sahay.

  Sahay silently let out a sigh of relief. The message in Dwivedi’s words was loud and clear. Dr Abadi was still in the game! His reputation still mattered to him, and he was not going to let the shame of his past get out in the public domain. All was not lost, after all!

  Dr Abadi was still willing to pay a big amount of money to make this matter go away. Except, he was not interested in giving it directly to Toby because that would have meant bending to a blackmailer. Moreover, a binding undertaking in exchange for the money would shield the doctor from any future attempts at slander too. ‘Wise move,’ Sahay thought.

  ‘So, do you gentlemen have anyone in mind who could benefit from this quid pro quo?’ Dwivedi said.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ Sahay answered without hesitation. He was confident about the person he had thought of. So confident, that he didn’t even deem it necessary to consult first with the uncomprehending Toby seated next to him.

  ‘Very good! In that case, we may send over someone from our side to “check out” your choice. Just to make sure that the beneficiary you choose is actually worthy in terms of need.’

  ‘You won’t have anything to worry about on that account,’ confirmed Sahay.

  The meeting under the noisy ceiling fan ended five minutes later. Everyone shook hands with everyone else. Except Dr Abadi, that is. He was the first one to abruptly get up and leave the room. It was the last time that Toby ever came face to face with his father.

  The paperwork to dismiss the legal suit was completed in a week. Twelve days after the settlement meeting in that dilapidated room in the court premises, Dr Abadi cut a cheque for fifty lakhs in favour of Peter James, Toby’s mentally challenged younger brother. It was dispatched by hand to Mumbai through Andaleeb Kidwai’s trusted assistant. The assistant had instructions to personally verify the claims about Peter’s mental deformity before handing over the precious piece of paper to anyone.

  That is how Rubina Aftab from Bhopal first came in contact with Toby James.

  Much of Jazmeen’s first meeting with the mighty Arjun ‘Arty’ Rathore could easily be described in one word. Weird. Despite, as Toby had put it to her earlier, his ‘singing paeans’ of her qualities in front of his main benefactor, Arty Sir’s reception of Jazmeen had been aloof at worst, and cool at best. The man had stayed quiet for most of the half-hour meeting, choosing instead, to continuously stare at her. Jazmeen had stopped being perturbed by men staring at her a long time ago; yet, with Arty’s dark gaze boring into her skin, she had felt conscious. Strangely though, except for his unwavering eyes upon her physical presence, there had been nothing else on his face or in his voice that betrayed how he felt about her—there was no awe, no lust, no pleasure, and also, no ridicule, no disappointment, no anger. Nothing.

  Not that Jazmeen had transformed herself into an open book for the man to read either. She had spoken not ten words in that half-hour, choosing, instead, to clam up and match Arty’s reticence. As they had approached the end of their half-hour together, the only impression of Arty Sir that Jazmeen had formed was that she had made no impression on the man at all.

  ‘I will be in Gorakhpur next week. I would like you to join me there,’ Arty said as he abruptly got up from his chair, signalling the end of the meeting. Toby sprung from his seat too, happy that it was over. He had been the only one chatting incessantly all this while.

  ‘Yes… yes, Sir, we will… errm… we will book our tickets for next week,’ he said.

  ‘Not you,’ Arty said in his deep and quiet voice. ‘Just her. I want just her.’

  With that, he turned his back to them.

  Jazmeen’s face flushed only once Toby and she were back in the car and driving home. Had Toby just pimped her out to his boss? Like some common prostitute? She couldn’t believe it! And why hadn’t she spoken up and put that Farty Bastard in his place when he made the proposition? Jazmeen’s jaw was starting to tremble slightly with anger. She was lost in thought, not real
ising that Toby had been saying something to her.

  ‘…you will like him as much as he seems to like you!’ he was saying. ‘Imagine, he wants to see you … alone!’

  ‘Yeah, to fuck me!’ Jazmeen thought, but remained silent. She felt that she might explode if she opened her mouth.

  ‘I have never been to Gorakhpur, but they say it’s a nice town,’ Toby said, stupidly.

  Jazmeen stared dead ahead through the car’s windshield. They were driving quite fast on the Western Express Highway. She still didn’t say a word, but the red tinge on her face was starting to subside. Her jaw had stopped shaking.

  ‘Look, meri Mukherji, he is a big man. He can change our lives. He can change your life! All we have to do is to be… good to him in return, OK?’ Toby said after several minutes of calm in the car.

  ‘Just shut your mouth, Toby,’ Jazmeen said finally. ‘I am trying to think hard to make some sense of what just happened. But the only conclusion I arrive at each time is how convenient this whole arrangement is for you!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Toby asked sharply.

  ‘So, here is what I see. While I am pimped out to Arty, you get to expand your business relationship with him at my expense,’ Jazmeen said scornfully. ‘And you conveniently get Rubina to keep your bed warm too,’ she added, her voice now pure acid. ‘Any way one looks at it, it is you who wins, right?’

  ‘Oh, come on, you really think I would be so petty?’ Toby exclaimed. He sounded hurt, his face clouded. The emotion seemed almost genuine.

  ‘Don’t you know me by now?’ he asked.

  It was right at that instant, looking at Toby’s shifty face, that Jazmeen had a bolt of awakening. A sudden realisation of what was going on. And, just like that, everything made perfect sense.

  This unexpected ‘introduction’ meeting with Arty had not been Toby’s idea. There was someone else who had been pressing Toby’s buttons all along. Pushing, planning, prodding Toby into doing things that he may or may not have wanted to do himself. It was the person who had first introduced her to Toby. It was the person who now couldn’t wait to pull them apart.

  The person determined to prove that Toby had never been Jazmeen’s. That he could never be hers.

  Toby was Rubina’s boyfriend. He had been Rubina’s boyfriend all along.

  Rubina.

  A sudden swell of hate stunned Jazmeen into silence.

  When she didn’t respond to his questions, Toby offered, ‘OK, look, I know what is bothering you so much, so why don’t we do this—let me send Rubina away for some days too. That way, no one keeps my bed warm while meri Mukherji is away. And then, once you come back, you and I can think about what to do about her, OK?’

  ‘Why, where will you send her? She’s a leech, why would she leave your side?’

  ‘Arre baba, I will think of a way. Goa! I will send her to Goa! No one says no to a holiday in Goa. My mother is there too.’

  Jazmeen was silent again.

  ‘So, do you want me to book your train ticket to Gorakhpur?’ Toby approached the topic again, as they got close to home.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Jazmeen hissed. ‘I will do it myself.’

  She could almost hear Toby’s sigh of relief.

  ‘If I decide to go, that is,’ Jazmeen continued, making Toby’s face cloud again.

  Rubina Aftab had lived in the Abadi family home since the day she was born. Four generations of her family had been mulaazim with the highly respectable Bhopali family for over sixty years. When Rubina’s parents perished in a devastating fire in one of the family’s outhouses, Dr Abadi and his wife took it upon themselves to look after the orphan girl as their own. She was just fourteen at the time. The Abadis paid for her schooling and, later, university; but her main responsibilities remained in and around the house, and in being the main helper to Andaleeb Kidwai. After all, a servant’s child may get all the love and affection from the master but, at the end of the day, is still a servant’s child.

  Rubina had grown up resentful of her dichotomous reality of being the household maid in fancy clothes. Outwardly though, she never faltered in her picture-perfect performance of being the family’s most trusted employee.

  As per the settlement negotiated with Tobias James, the Abadis needed to find someone unwaveringly trustworthy who they could send to Mumbai to vet Peter James, and provided everything looked above board, offer him or his guardian the payoff cheque. Andaleeb Kidwai could only think of one person suitable for the task.

  ‘Rubina will decide wisely. And she will be discreet. We want to be sure about this mentally disabled fellow, don’t we? She will report back to us promptly if she thinks something is amiss.’ The husband couldn’t have agreed more with his wife’s assessment.

  Meanwhile, Rubina was chalking out her own plans ever since she had been apprised of the Mumbai assignment.

  ‘Mumbai!’ she exclaimed to herself excitedly. ‘Once I go there, I am never coming back to this godforsaken town again,’ she resolved.

  ‘Can I spend a few weeks in Mumbai, Aapa?’ she asked Andaleeb a few days before her departure.

  ‘Weeks? What are you going to do there for so long?’

  ‘I have to check out all the film stars’ homes! God knows when I will get a chance to leave Bhopal again.’

  There was no reason for her guardian to refuse.

  Then, later, ‘Can I leave for Mumbai in five days instead of tomorrow?’

  ‘But we have already done your tickets!’

  ‘Please, Aapa! My special clothes won’t be back from the tailor until then! What will I wear in the land of film stars?’

  All lies, of course. Rubina had calculated that she wasn’t going to start ovulating for another few days. Being ready and fertile was essential to her plan. In fact, her entire one-way agenda to Mumbai was dependent on how quickly she could get pregnant there.

  ‘So, how soon can you go to Goa?’ Toby asked the person seated across from him. For once, the woman was paying attention to him and not filing her nails.

  ‘Just explain to me again how my not being here in Mumbai helps our Maharani make up her mind about Gorakhpur?’ Rubina asked, still sceptical of Toby’s request.

  ‘Arrey, I told you na, we don’t want her thinking we are plotting something together while she is away in Gorakhpur,’ Toby said earnestly. ‘It was the only way I was able to sell the idea to her—by saying you were going away for a holiday to Goa. That she should also treat her Gorakhpur trip as a, you know, as a vacation!’

  ‘Are you convinced your Arty Sir will take a fancy to her?’

  ‘Oh you should have seen how he couldn’t take his eyes off of her even for a second!’ he said, almost whistling his answer. ‘That man has an eye for…’

  Rubina thrust an angry look at him.

  ‘But has she even agreed to go to Gorakhpur yet, you fool?’ she asked, clearly annoyed.

  Toby winced. He hated it when she mocked his intelligence.

  ‘She will agree. And she will agree quickly if she sees you leaving town just like her. Can’t you see that we must do this to get her off our backs?’

  Yes, Rubina did see that.

  ‘What the hell will I do in Goa? I can’t stand that bloody cow you call your mother!’

  ‘Then don’t stay with her, for goodness sake! Go stay at a guest house. Just see her occasionally.’

  ‘And how long must I suffer Goa?’ Rubina complained. Not that Goa was going to be such a huge imposition. Certainly not at this time of the year.

  ‘Stay away for a month. I will let you know when it is OK to return.’

  ‘She had better not be here in our house when I return, OK?’

  ‘Don’t worry, meri Mukherji!’ Toby said. ‘Look, if this works out, and as soon as Jazmeen realises what an opportunity she has with Arty, as I know she will, she will be gone, gone, gone for good!’

  There was a tinge of sadness when he said that.

  The cheque of fifty lakhs that Rubina Aftab
carried, opened a lot of doors for her on her maiden visit to Mumbai. The most important one, of course, was the one to Peter James’ bedroom.

  ‘Why do you have to be alone with the boy? Haven’t you already seen that he is a mental?’ Toby asked after Rubina had spent a couple of hours with the brothers in their small flat in Kurla.

  ‘How do I know your brother is not pretending?’ Rubina declared combatively.

  ‘How many days is this… testing… going to go on?’

  ‘As long as it takes me to be convinced. Look, I am only following orders. I am as keen to give you the cheque and go home as you are to take it. But I can’t lie to Doctor Aapa, can I?’

  ‘I don’t know what this is going to yield, Madam,’ Toby said disparagingly, as he looked at his giggling brother watching an old episode of Giant Robot on TV. ‘Petey is like a car with fused headlights—you spend more time with him and you will soon want to crash into a wall yourself.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Toby Bhai!’ Rubina exclaimed. ‘I have seen many such cases in Bhopal, some even worse that Petey, that Andaleeb Aapa has fixed in her hospital. Believe me, it’s like God Himself has blessed her magical hands!’

  So convincing was Rubina that Toby had no reason not to accede. In any case, there was also the small matter of the cheque. ‘Whatever, you stupid woman. Suit yourself, but hand me the cheque soon,’ he thought.

  Rubina was staying at the home of an Abadi family acquaintance in Andheri East. Her hosts, a childless middle-aged couple, had no information on why the young woman had been asked to stay with them, except that she was on an important mission on behalf of Dr Abadi himself. They chose to not interfere or question Rubina’s movements, much of which kept her out of their house from early morning to late into the evening.