The Lost Flamingoes of Bombay

by Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi

‘Shall I call you back in the morning?’

  ‘No,’ he blew his nose. ‘I need to sort this out tonight; I’m in campaign meetings all day tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine.’ Vijay Singh was terribly amused by the minister’s little weeping fit. What a girly man, he thought to himself with a chuckle; a low-class little power pussy.

  ‘Do you know Samar Arora has a living arrangement with a man?’

  ‘Living arrangement?’ Vijay Singh pulled his pipe out of his mouth. ‘You mean like a roommate?’

  ‘Well, you know how some men are…’

  Vijay Singh went indoors and scribbled on his writing pad: Homo?

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can almost imagine.’ Vijay Singh frequented a park himself. ‘I presume they’re in some sort of a…situation?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Minister Prasad sounded bashful, like a nun who chances upon a porn magazine. ‘But I gather they are more than roommates.’

  ‘Then we have to find a way to link his private life to the trial.’

  ‘I’m sure that shouldn’t be a problem. The times are so…so sensitive…And his private life is morally improper, isn’t it?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ Vijay Singh confirmed.

  ‘In olden days such men were sent to prison.’

  ‘Or burnt at the stake.’

  ‘I hear they were given electric shocks.’

  ‘Well, obviously it didn’t work. But my task will be to connect the impropriety of his life with the case before the eyes of the court.’

  The minister touched his chin. ‘Even if we don’t find a way to do that, at least we can use it to shore up public support. The case is blowing out of proportion. I need the public on my side. We must prove Samar Arora is not a reliable witness.’

  Vijay Singh considered the minister’s suggestion. The Hindu People’s Party used the morality card to come down on whatever they could lay their hands on. It could just as easily whip up a panic over Samar’s relationship with Leo. Of course, this was irrelevant to the case but it would divert scrutiny from the real subject: Zaira’s murder at the hands of Malik. Vijay Singh was impressed. Minister Prasad might be a hairy old piece of a girly man but he had come up in life with good reason.

  ‘You’re right. I’ll find a way to use it. It could be my groundhog.’

  ‘What else do you have on him on file, Vijay?’

  ‘Nothing much, really. He’s a failed pianist. He has a dog that he loves too much.’

  ‘A dog?’ asked Minister Prasad.

  ‘Yes, I hear he’s gaga over his dog.’

  ‘Why is he crazy about a dog?’

  ‘My spies tell me the dog was a gift from Zaira. Apparently, Samar loves it as if it were his own child.’

  ‘What a stupid man! Imagine, loving a bloody dog! But in any event you’ve given me some information to work with, Vijay.’

  ‘I have? How so?’

  ‘You will know in good time,’ said the minister. ‘All in good time.’

  18

  The trial progressed.

  On the witness stand, Samar not only testified to seeing Malik at Maya Bar but also mentioned Zaira’s repeated complaints about his conduct.

  Old police records were furnished. The judge was surprised to learn of the time Malik spent an entire night outside Zaira’s house banging upon her door until his hand bled. The crazed attack on her trailer in Film City was recreated with the help of witnesses—a gaffer and the make-up artist injured in the attack. Zaira’s failed effort to get a restraining order against Malik was mentioned, in addition to the police apathy toward her repeated complaints. Gautam Vakil then requested Karan to take the stand to help document Zaira’s fear of Malik. Karan told the court how Malik constantly called Zaira and how she had grown to loathe and dread the vulgar declarations of his ‘love’.

  Two days later, the defence cross-examined the prosecution witnesses.

  Samar took the stand again.

  Vijay Singh stood up and glared at him. Striding up to the box he demanded, ‘Mr Arora, how would you define your relationship with Leo McCormick?’

  ‘Objection.’ Gautam Vakil had no idea where his opponent was taking the case with this and he tried to nip the line of questioning in the bud.

  ‘Overruled.’ Judge Kumar was curious as well.

  Samar cleared his throat. ‘He’s my boyfriend.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘My lover.’

  Truth, its shameless clarity, spurred a baffled silence.

  ‘What is the bearing of this on the case?’ Gautam Vakil asked the judge.

  Vijay Singh interjected, ‘The defence is in the process of checking the credentials of the prosecution’s witnesses. We would like to show the court that this man here is actually a violator of the law. And, surely, no court would entertain the testimony of such a man.’

  Samar felt his back go cold.

  ‘I’m not entirely certain of your area of contention,’ Judge Kumar said, ‘but I’m going to let you make your point.’

  Vijay Singh looked at the judge gratefully. ‘Now, Mr Arora, could you please tell me what is meant by the term “top”?’

  ‘Isn’t it a toy children play with?’

  ‘I believe it is also a word used to define the dominant sexual partner in male homosexual relationships?’

  ‘Yes, I believe that’s true.’

  ‘Would the word apply to you?’

  Gautam Vakil plunged in desperately. ‘Objection. Irrelevant. My client’s personal life is not up for discussion here.’

  ‘I’m not trying to discuss the prosecution’s client’s private life, Your Honour.’

  Judge Kumar shook his head. ‘Overruled.’

  Vijay Singh sighed and turned back to Samar. ‘All right, then, Mr Arora, you’ve heard of the word “bottom”?’

  Samar decided there was no point in volleying around. ‘The sexually receptive partner.’

  ‘That being you?’

  ‘Objection! Irrelevant!’ Gautam Vakil shot the judge an exasperated look.

  ‘Sustained.’

  ‘Then how would you identify yourself, Mr Arora?’

  Samar said the word versatile applied to him—as receptive to sex as to offering it.

  Gautam Vakil scowled; he didn’t want Samar to fall in line with whatever Vijay Singh was setting him up for.

  ‘In either case,’ Vijay Singh said, ‘that means you indulge in “buggery” with Mr McCormick, in India?’

  ‘Objection. What connection does Mr McCormick have with this matter?’

  ‘Overruled.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ Then, more defiantly, Samar repeated, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you believe this is normal conduct?’

  ‘I know it only as natural behaviour.’

  ‘Are you saying you are a homosexual?’

  ‘No—but you are, and it seems I’ll have to take your word for it,’ Samar said.

  In seconds Vijay Singh had descended on Samar like a shark going after a seal. ‘Now, Mr Arora, are you aware of IPC Section 377?’

  Section 377, a colonial hangover in the books of the law, penalized ‘sex against the order of nature’. Although there had been few convictions under Section 377, the police used it to shame men and threaten them with arrest before letting them go for a pay-off under the table.

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘So you’re aware that your sexual practices are illegal in India?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You could face imprisonment if caught in the act of…sodomy…’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Samar spoke coolly, in keeping with his lawyer’s advice not to succumb to any provocation.

  ‘You know?’ Vijay Singh gave a horrified shudder. ‘And you still went ahead with it?’

  ‘Objection.’

  ‘Overruled.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘So, Mr Arora, do you practise other such behaviours that the court deems perverse and
punishable under law? Lying before a judge, for instance? Giving a false testimony?’

  ‘Objection!’

  ‘And trying to monopolize media attention for a personal agenda…’ Vijay Singh said before the judge could speak.

  ‘Sustained. The court will make a note of the accusation punishable under Section 377. But the defence should bear in mind that it is a different matter altogether.’

  ‘I have no further questions, Your Honour.’

  When the court met again in a couple of days, Vijay Singh presented Tony Fernandez.

  ‘What do you do, Tony?’

  ‘I work on the streets.’ Compactly built, with smooth, pale skin and a crisp goatee, the defence’s most unexpected pawn wore a tacky red shirt over jeans. He stroked his carefully pomaded hair.

  ‘Can we call you a male prostitute?’

  Tony looked offended. ‘I put people in touch with other people. Besides,’ he said primly, ‘only a woman can be a prostitute.’

  Karan squirmed uncomfortably; he had no idea what this strange man was doing in the courthouse or how he was connected to the case, but he noticed a sordid tremor ripple through the room as the man spoke.

  ‘Well, Tony, do you know Samar Arora?’ Vijay Singh pointed at Samar, and all eyes in the courtroom followed the outstretched hand.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Blood drained from Samar’s face. He looked around desperately and noticed Karan looking fixedly at him; warmth and assurance came through like daylight.

  ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘I’ve seen Samar on the boardwalk opposite the Gateway of India.’

  Samar now looked at Leo. His face was trembling with anxiety. What was going on? Who was Tony? How was he involved in the case? The panic in his head was a deep ringing sound, fear hiding at its centre.

  ‘What is the boardwalk opposite the Gateway of India known for?’ Vijay Singh asked, then paused. ‘Or, should I ask, what is it notorious for?’

  ‘Depends on what time of day you go there.’

  ‘After dark?’

  ‘Well, there’s a lot you can get there after dark.’

  ‘Including a flourishing trade in human flesh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In the course of your work, have you met Samar Arora on the boardwalk outside the Taj Mahal Hotel?’

  ‘Objection, Your Honour.’

  ‘Overruled.’

  Tony Fernandez chewed his lip as he pretended to study Samar’s face before returning his gaze to the defence lawyer. ‘I have.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He asked if I could arrange a boy for him.’

  ‘Objection!’ From the corner of his eye Gautam Vakil looked at Samar. Had Samar been keeping things from him?

  ‘Overruled.’

  ‘Samar Arora did not ask for a “man”?’ Vijay Singh gasped with shock. ‘He insisted on a boy! An underage, innocent boy? Someone who probably goes to school and plays with toys?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He asked for a child!’ Vijay Singh’s face creased with disgust. ‘Did you get him one?’

  ‘We did talk prices. Then he started to haggle.’

  ‘What happened eventually?’

  ‘I brought him a boy a few nights later.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said the boy was not to his liking. Not his type, he complained. He wanted a skinny lad. So I picked another kid. But then someone he knew died, and he got caught up in all that. The deal never went through. It was a lot of work for nothing.’

  ‘So Mr Arora was soliciting boys only days before his so-called friend was killed in a bar!’ Vijay Singh looked at the ceiling, as if addressing a power mightier than the court. ‘I wonder, if I ask the esteemed pianist now, would he also call paedophilia “natural behaviour”?’

  ‘Objection.’

  ‘Sustained. The court requests the defence counsel to stick to questions for his witnesses.’ Judge Kumar frowned. ‘This court is not interested in your personal musings.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Your Honour.’ Shock and regret congealed in Vijay Singh’s eyes. ‘I spoke out of turn. But I could not believe my ears. How could the prosecution present a man of such contemptible moral standing as a witness before this court? But I see your point, and I apologize, Your Honour.’

  Before Gautam Vakil could request for a cross-questioning, court hours for the day came to a close.

  The judge adjourned the hearing for a week.

  Following Tony Fernandez’s deposition, outdoor broadcasting vans and journalists camped in droves outside Samar’s cottage, hungry for quotes and pictures. Two days later, Leo had to duck for cover to avoid being lynched by the goons of the Hindu People’s Party. The same week a child rights group held agitations in Samar’s neighbourhood. One placard read: ‘Dead Women Go to Heaven but Child Molesters go to Hell’. Another said: ‘God Hates Homos!’ Media coverage shifted from Zaira’s murder and the goof-ups in the investigation to Samar’s standing as a witness, his relationship with a man, and indignation at his alleged solicitations of a boy. Looking out of his bedroom window at the furore outside his house, Samar felt his grief at Zaira’s death replaced by a great fear for his personal well-being.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Karan said to him one evening over the phone. ‘I’m sure your lawyer will thrash Tony Fernandez during the cross-examination.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have more bad news.’

  Karan remained silent.

  ‘Apparently, Tony Fernandez has vanished.’

  ‘What!’ He stood up, covering his mouth with his hand. ‘Where has he gone?’

  ‘Rumour goes that the pimp left the city when it seemed likely he would be arrested on charges of hustling minors.’

  ‘But he has to be countered in court.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen. Tony Fernandez was a con job hired by the defence to take the steam out of our case.’

  Pressing the phone to his ear, Karan walked to the balcony. ‘I’m so terribly sorry, Samar.’ A volt of pain seized his heart.

  ‘Luckily, the judge has chosen to strike off Tony’s remarks.’

  ‘But the damage has been done, Samar.’

  ‘You know what my lawyer asked me?’

  Karan remained silent. A fleet of white geese were swimming in the Ban Ganga pond, past bright orange marigold flowers and coconut husks.

  ‘He asked me why I hadn’t told him about Tony before.’

  ‘Samar…’

  Samar sighed. ‘In any case, now Leo is so out of it he wants to go back to San Francisco.’

  ‘I don’t blame him.’

  ‘Neither do I. I knew I was up against a vicious lot but I didn’t anticipate such ugliness.’

  ‘I wish I could do something.’ Karan bit into his fist. ‘Would you like me to come over?’

  ‘I would, but I won’t ask; I don’t know how you’d dodge the reporters outside my door.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t do anything,’ Karan said after a minute. ‘I feel completely useless.’

  ‘You’ve been a fine, fine friend, Karan; you’ve given me a man I can believe in when everyone and everything around me is falling like a pack of cards,’ said Samar, his voice like a moth thrashing its wings against the white heat of a flame. ‘You stuck up for Zaira; you showed me how it was done. Even if I’m out here alone, having you on my side is the best luck I could ask for.’

  Before the closing arguments, Gautam Vakil requested his final witness to take the stand again.

  ‘Samar Arora, you were with the victim on the night of the murder.’

  ‘I was with Zaira.’

  ‘I request you to piece together that last interaction.’

  ‘Objection!’ Vijay Singh leapt up. ‘The prosecution counsel is asking the witness to reconstruct sentimental statements which have no bearing on this case.’

  ‘Overruled.’

  Vijay Singh threw his hands up in the air.

  Samar faced the courtroom, his
gaze even, unafraid. When he spoke, his voice was clear, muscled. ‘I heard a commotion from the direction of the bar. On my way there, I saw Malik Prasad put a gun into his pocket and make a dash for the door. Then I heard Nalini Chopra yell to one of the waiters: “Get him! He’s killed Zaira.” The instant I heard this I ran to where I’d seen Zaira last and fought my way through the crowd around her.

  ‘She was on the ground, breathing with great difficulty. Every breath was a huge and terrible effort. I didn’t know what had happened until I stepped into a pool of blood. I pulled her on to my lap and asked everyone to back off because she needed all the oxygen she could get. I noticed a small dent on her temple; this was later identified as the entry point of the bullet. Every now and then she gasped, and blood spilled out of the side of her head.

  ‘She remained in my lap as we waited for the ambulance.’

  Zaira’s pain had initially registered as shrill crescendos and jolting plunges; then it grew giant and furious; finally, it was blue, undulating, oceanic, and on its waves she drifted in and out of time. Her body revealed the codes of its functions: nerves corresponded to meridians, flesh was conscious of bone, veins alert to the passage of blood hurtling down innumerable narrow green chutes. Dazzled by the design of the human form, she found herself shrouded in a continuous, hollow humming, as if the word ‘Om’ had been interminably stretched out. From the surging blue and the protective sheath of this warm, holy sound, Zaira briefly emerged to see the man who was peering at her. The same pair of liquid eyes she had been attracted to under the cover of a palm leaf in a wild garden.

  She breathed in strained gasps, as though she were wheezing. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

  ‘It’s going to be…’ Samar could not bear the feel of her fingertips tracing his jaw. ‘The ambulance…it will be here in minutes.’

  ‘You’re here.’

  ‘Zaira.’

  ‘Mr Ward-Davies misses you so much. He sulks in the corner.’

  ‘I know. That’s why I came back.’ Tears streamed down Samar’s terrorized face.

  She whispered. ‘I’m afraid he’s decided to up and quit. Without you.’