BLOOD RED SARI

by Banker, Ashok K

  The men coming after her seemed to have forgotten that they were in an animal habitat. Or they didn’t care. She had seen from personal experience that guns tended to do that to men. They tended to assume that a gun in any situation was like a magic kavach – invulnerable armour gifted by a Hindu deity. That all they had to do was hold the fucking phallic symbol and nothing bad could happen to them. From the way the torchlights moved and the glimpses and flashes of illumination, she saw that the hunters were breaking into a run, coming directly at her – and at the charging animals.

  Because by then that’s what the animals were doing: charging straight at the invaders who had entered their habitat uninvited. They had built up a little momentum after bypassing Anita and their bulk was such that they really didn’t need to build up a lot of speed. The ratio of weight and size to each of the oncoming men was probably five to one or something like that, not to mention the fact that they were built like brick walls on legs. The impact was a no-contest.

  She heard the sounds of hippo hide and bone thumping into human bodies. The unmistakable cracking of bones. The loud lowing of a hippo cow as she attacked the invaders that she probably felt were a threat to her calves. She glimpsed a great pink maw open and snare a man’s upper body, closing like a vice. The light turned away in a continuing arc but not before she caught a glimpse of blood and gristle exploding out of the man’s body as those gigantic teeth and jaws closed upon him. There were other sounds as the other men were either trampled or struck down or bitten or butted.

  Two men managed to let off shots. But she had the impression that they went wild, probably up into the night sky. The helicopter hovering overhead seemed to grow aware that something was seriously wrong and shone its light downwards. But just then a third shot went off and Anita heard a distinct metallic ping! The chopper’s light wavered and veered away in a sharp arc, flying away from the habitat and out of sight.

  In the instant the chopper’s light had been trained on the habitat, she had seen the hippos killing the men. It was a sight she would probably remember all her life.

  She had a scattered recollection of the next few moments, either because of the drugs, or because she was so shocked by what she had just seen, shocked at her near escape as well as the almost-miraculous elimination of her pursuers. The next thing she knew, she was at the far wall of the habitat, struggling to get over.

  A hand caught hold of her shoulder and pulled her over. She reacted instantly, trying to raise her crutch and strike out. But another hand caught the crutch and pushed it down. ‘You’re going to need that,’ said a male voice. It didn’t sound menacing or threatening and she realized the hand was helping rather than trying to hurt her. She accepted the help conditionally and let the unseen man in the darkness lower her to the pathway on the other side of the hippo habitat. There was a lot of shouting and screaming and yelling from behind. She glanced back.

  ‘They will send more men,’ said the man who had helped her over the wall. ‘They won’t stop until they catch or kill you. You have to keep moving.’

  He started moving, still holding her arm on her good side. She stopped him.

  ‘Who are you?’ she said, trying to see his face in the light from the nearest lamp about ten yards farther down the path. The trees and foliage drank most of the light, but from the little illumination that got through, she could see that he looked youngish, fair-skinned, and blonde. He wore a dark coat and trousers with a dark-coloured tee shirt.

  And a white collar band.

  ‘I’m Father Francis,’ he said. ‘I was a friend of Lalima’s. I’m here to help you.’

  14.2

  RAJENDRA POWAR’S HAND SHOT out instinctively, pushing the Finnish woman’s shoulder away from Nachiketa. Perhaps he was rougher than he needed to be, but to be fair to the guy, he had seen people try to kill her twice already, and the gori memsaab, as he had named her, was being more than a little menacing. Klicky Koalmine or whatever her name was, wasn’t expecting the push. She reared back, lost her balance on her high heels, tottered for a moment, then fell back, landing on her ass with an audible thump.

  Nachiketa winced. That must hurt. ‘Oops,’ she said, grinning. She wasn’t one to take pleasure at a pratfall but it had been a bitch of a day.

  The Finnish woman glared up at her with such venom, Nachiketa lost her grin. ‘You stupid cow,’ the woman said, her accent overwhelming her Etonian English – or Helsinki English or wherever the hell she had learnt the language – making her sound as if she were gargling with marbles in her mouth. ‘Who do you think you are?’

  The fall of the queen of Finland attracted the attention of everyone in the office. All the groupies in their dark jackets and indigo jeans turned and stared and looked shocked. Several came to help up their goddess, glaring at Rajendra Powar and Nachiketa as if wondering what monsters would do such a thing. Even the meeting in Shama and Tyron’s office seemed disrupted and the suits all looked around, trying to see what was happening, their view hampered by the partitions and groupies.

  ‘Chalo,’ Nachiketa said to Powar – god bless him – who understood at once and wheeled her to the office, right past Miss Finland International, who was getting to her feet aided by two able-bodied male groupies and a female one.

  The office door was glass but it was shut.

  Nachiketa’s hands were bandaged, which made them useless for knocking on doors; so she used her elbow, banging the door a little harder than intended. The glass rattled in the frame, making a row of perfect haircuts and well-groomed faces turn and gaze at her speculatively.

  Shama’s head popped up from amidst the circle of management degrees, and after a moment, so did Tyron’s bearded face. Tyron vanished as quickly as he’d appeared, resuming his seat before Nachiketa could finish her wave and ‘hi, guys!’, but Shama remained standing, leaned over and said something to the top of Tyron’s head, then made her way through the suits and to the door.

  ‘Hi, Shams,’ Nachiketa said, ‘I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this but …’

  ‘Nachos,’ Shama said, glancing around at the outraged Finnish goddess and her equally outraged devotees. ‘What are you up to? Listen, it’s not a good time.’

  Nachiketa gestured at the suits in the cabin, then at the office in general. ‘What’s going on? Did the Finnish Embassy take over the place?’

  Shama frowned, as if puzzled by the reference. ‘I really can’t talk much, Nachiketa.’ She glanced at her friend’s bandages and then at Powar, her frown deepening. ‘It’s … unfortunate you’re going through such a hard time, Nachos. But I really can’t talk to you now.’

  Nachiketa felt as if someone had physically assaulted her. ‘What? But we spoke just a while ago. I told you I was on my way here. You said you were closing an issue.’ She looked around. ‘It looks more like you’re moving out.’

  Shama glanced around then gestured to Powar to bring the wheelchair to the far corner of the office. There was a small alcove there with a pantry and a door leading off to the toilet. It was empty now. She walked to the pantry platform near the microwave and tea machine and turned back, waiting for Powar to wheel Nachiketa up to her. ‘Nachos, we’re merging,’ she said briskly.

  ‘Merging?’ Nachiketa stared up at her. ‘What do you mean, merging?’

  ‘Don’t you know what merging means?’ Shama said with more than a trace of irritation. ‘Look, I really don’t have time to explain every concept to you.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Nachiketa said, trying to pacify her. She had never seen Shama like this before, except maybe the time when Shama’s father had had a heart attack and died in the middle of Daryaganj while driving his grandchildren – Shama’s and Tyron’s son and daughter – to school one morning. Shama had gone to pieces when she got the call and Nachiketa had happened to be around. That was back when Nachiketa’s legs still worked and she hadn’t even met Jignesh Shah yet, let alone married him. She had held Shama and comforted her when she cried, then had driven
her to Daryaganj Police Station to pick up her car and her children. Shama had told her a few days later, after the cremation and the initial mourning period was over, ‘You were there for me, Nachos. I’ll never forget that. Sisters for life.’

  Now she looked away grimly, hands folded over her ample bosom, as if she blamed Nachiketa for her father’s heart attack.

  ‘What’s really going on?’ Nachiketa asked, a seed of suspicion sprouting in her heart. ‘Did all this happen after I called? In the past one hour?’

  Shama rolled her eyes. ‘Of course not. It’s been in the works for a long time. We just happened to say yes now.’

  ‘So it did happen in the past hour? The saying-yes part?’

  Shama looked at her sharply. ‘Are you a director of Pink Publications? It’s none of your business, Nachiketa. Unless you’re asking in your capacity as a lawyer. Are you?’

  Nachiketa knew something was very wrong now. Shama had never spoken to her this way, would never speak to her this way unless …

  ‘Shams,’ she said. ‘Tell me the truth. What have you heard about me since I spoke to you an hour ago? Who’s been filling your head with nonsense about me? Don’t deny it because I know you well enough to know someone has said something. Who was it? What did they say to make you behave like this towards me?’

  Shama looked down at Nachiketa with a look so cold, Nachiketa felt she would rather die right there than have to see a friend as dear as Shama look at her that way, whatever the reason. ‘So you want me to believe that Shonali’s dead? Raped and killed in your office?’

  Nachiketa spread her bandaged hands. ‘Yes, exactly, that’s what happened to her. I was there, I should know, but that was only the beginning …’

  ‘Then Addy was attacked too? By the same people?’

  ‘Well, yes, I guess. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.’

  ‘And you were awarded a huge payoff from your in-laws in your compensation case today, and they went berserk, threatening Shonali and attacking her in your office? And then they burnt your office down, trying to trap you and kill you inside?’

  Nachiketa felt her mouth fall open. ‘My in-laws? Is that what you heard?’

  ‘And then, when you were in hospital being treated today, Advaita was with you and they came again and attacked you both, and a German tourist who tried to help was killed in the attack?’

  ‘Tourist?’ Nachiketa almost tried to get up from her chair, something she did very very rarely, and only when she was upset enough to forget, momentarily, that she was physically challenged. ‘He was no tourist. He was an assassin. He tried to kill me. Addy tried to protect me and he shot her. If it wasn’t for this guy,’ she pointed to Powar behind her, ‘saving me both times, I would have been dead too by now, too.’

  Shama shook her head, looking disappointed. ‘Really, Nachos, I thought at least you had your head on your shoulders. Really, you need some help. These are really terrible things to go around saying about your friends. Think of Shonali’s family. What will they think when they hear you spouting these stories? And Addy.’

  Nachiketa shook her head. ‘Look, I agree it sounds bizarre but it’s all true. Shonali really is dead and so is Addy. I wish they weren’t, but they are. That’s why I came here, to ask you for help.’

  Shama sighed wearily, pushing a half-grey half-black bang off her forehead, tucking it into her hairline. ‘And what is the motivation behind all these shootouts and car chases and killings and murders and rapes?’

  Nachiketa was ready to explode but controlled herself. ‘You’re blowing it all out of proportion.’

  ‘It’s already way out of proportion, Nachos. I know the judgment came against you; that you lost in court. Deal with it. Appeal. If you want support, we’re here for you. But don’t do this. Don’t throw away your career like this.’

  Nachiketa was speechless. She didn’t know what to say. Then she remembered and held up the envelope that was lying in her lap. ‘Look, forget all this. Don’t believe me. But look at these documents. See for yourself.’

  Shama nodded. ‘I know about that too. All of Delhi does. Our industry at least. Media persons.’

  Nachiketa stared up at her. ‘Know what?’

  ‘That you’re on some kind of crazy vendetta, blaming the NGOs for not helping you during the time you were suffering abuse at your in-laws’. You have to be realistic, Nachos. You can’t blame the world for your problems. Okay, so you lost the case. Fine. Move on. Get on with your life. But don’t take it out on those collectives. Those organizations helped you after you escaped from that hellhole; they helped you put your life together, get your law degree, gave you cases, recommendations, helped you build your practice. How could you repay them this way?’

  ‘What way? What are you talking about?’

  Shama shook her head again. ‘Advaita called and texted several people. Those of us associated with those NGOs, people who are trying to do some good here. Positive-thinkers. She told us you had concocted some wild story about NGOs being involved in illegal activities, being used to launder money from some kind of criminal activities …’

  ‘Not some kind,’ Nachiketa interrupted, waving the thick envelope. ‘Human Trafficking. Disguising it as legitimate businesses. Adoption. Orphanages. Child welfare. Charities. Schools for special children. It’s all here, in this package. This is the reason why these people are after me. Why Shonali was killed. Why my office was burnt down. They were after these documents, this package. But they didn’t get it. I still have the evidence. And that’s why I came to you, so you could read it and judge for yourself. If you don’t agree with the conclusions, fine, don’t print it. Don’t write a story. But at least look at the facts for yourself. I got a call from Kerala earlier, from this woman … she says her friend sent it and was probably killed because she found this stuff out. Lalima. You probably remember her from that seminar last year we went to together. Look at these documents. Show it to Tyron, to anyone else. See for yourself.’

  Shama looked at Nachiketa for a long moment, then at the package in her hand. ‘I won’t even touch that garbage,’ she said. ‘Let alone read that pack of lies. You can take it with you when you leave. And you can do that right now. Please get out.’

  She began to walk around Nachiketa, but Nachiketa reached out and caught hold of her hand – or tried to. It was impossible to actually get a grip with the bandage on. But she managed to sort of press her hand against Shama’s. She looked up at her. ‘I don’t understand. This doesn’t make any sense. Why are you angry? With me? What is it you think I did wrong here? Can’t you see that I’m the victim? That people are trying to kill me? I came to you for help, for god’s sake, Shams. Why are you behaving this way?’

  Shama looked down at her and something changed in her face at that moment. Nachiketa saw it and latched onto it.

  ‘Please, Shams,’ she said. ‘For old times’ sake. Sisters forever, remember? Tell me what’s really going on here?’

  Shama looked down at her sadly. ‘Addy contacted us and told us you would be coming around with a crazy story. She told us to watch out; that you would say exactly this kind of crap.’

  Nachiketa stared up at Shama, speechless for an instant.

  Shama turned and walked away, towards her office.

  With an effort Nachiketa found her voice and gestured to Powar to wheel her. She called out to Shama, loud enough to attract the attention of Miss Finland and her disciples. ‘But you don’t understand. Addy’s dead. She was killed in the attack by that German gunman. She died trying to protect me.’

  Shama turned and looked at Nachiketa with something bordering on outright pity. ‘Addy emailed me after you called. We’re on the same BB group, remember? So are you? She’s been contacting everyone in the media, warning us about you and your conspiracy theory. She said you would say something like that. That you would pretend she was dead and make up some bizarre story about Shonali being dead. Shonali backed her up too. They both felt you had taken t
he loss in court really hard and gone off the deep end. They said you need help and I agree. Look at your condition, Nachos. You need help. Medical help. Maybe even psychiatric help. Do yourself a favour. Check yourself into a good place. I’ll come visit you and hope you get better soon. Right now, I have a life to get back to and a business to run.’

  She opened the glass door and went in, shutting the door behind her.

  14.3

  HE SLIPPED ON A red silk robe with beautiful Chinese embroidery – a purple dragon running all the way around. He belted the sash loosely, his male package still making a bulge at the front because of how thin his body was overall and the way he stood, head leaning back and perpetually tilted a little. He stood looking out at the breathtaking view. Finally he turned and said, ‘What do you know about the way the capital markets function?’

  She shrugged. ‘What everyone knows. People follow the progress of companies and buy or sell their shares to make a profit.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re thinking of equity markets. And individual investors. That’s for suckers. It’s the equivalent of pickpockets at bus stops and purse snatchers on bikes. I mean the real markets, the big bucks.’

  ‘Yeah. So?’

  ‘So it’s a game of kings. The big barons, feudal lords who already own the world, what do you call them here?’

  Sheila frowned. ‘Thakurs?’

  He gestured. ‘No, that’s Bengali. I mean the general word. They used the word in an RPG game I played.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Zamindars.’

  ‘Zamindars are land owners.’

  ‘Yup. These are the people who own the world. Institutional investors. Multinational corporations and conglomerates so massively tentacled and sprawled out, they encompass the global village, which means they provide succour to it and strangle it both at once.’

  Sheila tried to follow his imaginative metaphors. Stanley Wu’s private obsession was CGI, computer graphic imagery. He owned a VFX studio based in Hong Kong, and apart from the work they did for movies, both Asian and Hollywood, they designed and developed games, their speciality being MMORPGs which, she had learnt during a night-long postcoital session, stood for ‘massively multiplayer online role playing games’, World of Warcraft being the most famous and successful one of that genre, and one that he was always trying to emulate. He played around with the designs himself and she had seen some of his stuff: it was pretty damn good. So when he gestured and waved his arms about like this, his penis flip-flopping unenthusiastically inside his gown like a disinterested participant, she understood that he was visualizing these things more extravagantly than she could ever imagine.