by Ajeet Sharma
An ageing woman, who was once beaten in a cold shower on a freezing morning for not reporting to the nursery on time, questioned, ‘What kind of support do you want?’
Trying to figure out where the question came from, Rishi replied, ‘Your support for our plan.’
‘What plan?’ asked another woman standing in front.
‘When will the next woman go?’ Rishi asked Bagga.
‘Two nights from now.’
‘I will not reveal much at present,’ said Rishi to the inmates. ‘I will share my plan with Mr Bagga and some of your representatives, who will share it with you later. Is that fine?’ There was a weak but positive response. ‘Be brave. You are more than two hundred, and my company is with you. No one will ever touch you now. You take it from me.’
Bagga presided over again and instructed everyone to disperse quietly.
The next morning, when Godavari got up, she felt as if her head were stung by a swarm of bees. She recalled the incidents of the previous night and understood that it was a silent mutiny of sorts at the Home. She called for the cooks and the woman who had served her meal the previous evening, and thwacked them until they bled.
Then she trooped to the Admin Block and apprised Fotedar, who treated her as his most loyal employee, of the developments taking place at his Home. She complained, as she had many times earlier, that the two representatives of Freedom moving about in their campus were a damaging influence on the inmates, and now they were even inciting them to revolt. As always, Fotedar could only assure her that he would deal with the representatives very soon.
After his meeting with Jaggi Balraj at his construction site, Fotedar had spoken to Jaskirat Singh about the builder’s Mayford buyout offer. But the man had not responded. Fotedar knew well that Balraj would do nothing about Karan Jaani until he got Jaskirat’s nod for his buyout. On the other hand, hiring a killer for the job could imperil his position as a parliamentarian. The politician had no option but to wait.
39
It had been a month since the Indian Royal League started. Forty-one matches had been played and two Yodel commercials aired, ten times each.
It was a Sunday and the match between Chennai Rangers and Delhi Hounds was half over. The commentators predicted a close match between the two strong squads. The Rangers, the defending champions, finished at 257 for 6—a high target for Delhi Hounds. But with some outstanding batsmen on their side, the Hounds could give back a blazing fight. The betters were in a tizzy about how the match was going to end. With this match, the television viewership of the tournament had shot up to 173 million and the advertisers couldn’t be happier.
Karan made a slight change in the schedule. The commercials would be aired as usual, but if it was a Sunday, the airing would be during the afternoon match. ‘More eyeballs during that time,’ he reasoned.
Vidu dropped in at Baruni’s studio apartment in Borivali. After Leena died, he began to spend more time with her. Her presence helped him bury the bitter memories. To Baruni, Vidu came as a striver she could relate to—a relieving contrast to her showy world.
The second innings was about to begin. Vidu reached for the TV remote and turned up the volume as their third commercial came on air.
Kabir Raja is mounted on a stationary Harley Davidson and facing the camera. The sky is overcast. He is in khaki cargos, a tucked-in, tight navy blue T-shirt, and brown suede shoes—the colour matching that of his leather hat. He slouches on the bike, rests an elbow on its gas tank, and asks, ‘Ever wondered what gives you a winning feeling?’ The camera zooms in for a close-up. ‘Settling old scores,’ he answers his own question, ‘by serving your rival an unbearable thrust that makes him recall his misdeeds. And then …’ he raises a finger, ‘then you experience that winning feeling, a pain-relieving sensation that sticks to your heart and keeps you at peace for the rest of your life.’ Getting off the bike, he steps towards the camera and says, ‘That’s the feeling I get after exposing my deceivers. Go settle your old scores, else keep cursing for the rest of your life.’ He turns round, picks up a Yodel Lemon from somewhere near his bike, opens it, and guzzles the drink in one go. Then he mounts the bike again, starts it, turns, and fades away into the brightness of the day. A large-font message appears with the logo of Yodel on top. A voiceover reads it, ‘Go settle your old scores. Yodel Lemon, Yodel Cola, Yodel Orange.’
‘Brilliant!’ exclaimed Baruni, clapping.
‘This one will choke them,’ said Vidu.
His phone rang. It was Rishi.
‘Hey, what do you guys have in mind? Warfare?’ bantered Rishi.
‘It’s an honest message,’ said Vidu victoriously.
Rishi’s banter turned into reality when the next day, Festi Beverages filed a complaint with the Advertising Standards Council of India against Freedom on grounds of airing disparaging and defaming messages through its commercials. Freedom was ordered to withdraw all three commercials with immediate effect. As if that was not enough, the next day, Festi Beverages also filed a case against Freedom in the Delhi High Court.
‘Don’t get upset. These things happen,’ said Karan to a distraught Vidu on the phone.
‘You always knew it, didn’t you? What’s our Plan B now?’ Vidu demanded an answer. ‘We don’t have another ad to maintain the hype with. Our airing frequency anyway was as low as it could be. Is it already the first nail?’
‘No, Vidu. Don’t think like that. Get in touch with Shinde at once and take a date for another shoot.’
‘Do you have a script ready?’
‘You’ll get it by tomorrow.’
‘Can you enlighten me about what it’ll convey this time?’
‘It’ll be a different theme this time. We have successfully communicated to the audience the fallacies of the big brands. Now we’ll show them how different Yodel is. I’ll script a message tonight,’ said Karan. ‘Tell Pinto to get ready. If we’re able to finish the shoot and editing in a week, we’ll be good.’
‘Call me when your holy script is ready, chief. I’m curious about what the message could be, now. But this time, write something that doesn’t reach the courts. I only hope we don’t end up in a legal mess.’
‘Only weaklings wish for a life without troubles, Vidu. The gutsy gather ammunition to shoot them.’
While it was too early to say that the advertisements brought about any difference, one would certainly not be ill-timed in concluding that the Festians had woken up to a new peril in the market.
40
New Delhi.
Sameera and Nazia met at a café in Vasant Kunj.
‘I’ve seen you on TV,’ said Sameera.
‘Glad you recognised me. I am a crime reporter with Delhi News Channel. By the way, that’s a touching blog you’ve created in your friend’s memory,’ remarked Nazia, as they exchanged their business cards.
‘Thanks.’
Nazia closely looked at Sameera—expressive eyes, long eyebrows, and ears adorned with floral studs. ‘It’s my good luck I’m meeting someone who was not only, I believe, Leena’s good friend but also a colleague. That makes my task easier.’ Through her investigations, Nazia had learnt that Leena had earlier worked with the Mayford Ritz Hotel.
‘What task?’
‘I’m investigating Leena’s case and need your help.’
‘Of course. Ask me anything.’
A waiter came to their table and Nazia ordered from the menu: a hot cocoa for Sameera and a café mocha for herself.
‘When was the last time you talked to her?’ asked the reporter.
‘Maybe a week before she was murdered.’
‘And did she tell you anything you can relate to her murder?’
‘She did sound a bit depressed, but as always, she never told me anything.’
‘Sameera, an unknown woman called my channel the night Leena was killed. Around the same time she was killed.’
‘Who? About what?’
‘I have a feeling it was Leena who call
ed.’
‘Why would she call?’
‘Possibly to share something with a crime reporter, who, she believed, would be the best person to confide to,’ explained Nazia.
‘Confide about what?’ Sameera was curious.
‘Well, she told me that two very dangerous and powerful men wanted to kill the promoter of a start-up.’
‘Which company?’
‘Before she could tell me more, the call was disconnected. If the caller was Leena, it’s possible she was murdered because she knew who those powerful men were.’
Sameera couldn’t hold back her tears. Feeling sorry for her, Nazia thought it was best to stop for a while.
The waiter placed their orders on the table. ‘How did she get into all this?’ asked Sameera.
‘That’s the reason I’m here: to know from you about her social network.’ Nazia told her about her investigation so far. ‘Apparently, Leena had followed Balraj to his company’s construction site in Gurgaon. Balraj, it seems, met someone there and they planned to kill that unknown start-up promoter. Possibly, they caught Leena eavesdropping on them that time and murdered her, as she was a threat to them.
‘I visited the site and found a bracelet bearing the name Niranjan Fotedar. It is quite possible that the person Balraj met there that night was this Fotedar. It still has to be established, though, who this Fotedar is.’ Nazia picked up her mocha. ‘Did she ever mention the name?’
‘Never.’
The reporter was disappointed. ‘Did she get along well with others at Mayford?’
‘Well, some people did not like her as she was close to the hotel’s general manager, Paresh Menon.’ Sameera decided to be honest. ‘She was having an affair with him.’
‘Was she seeing him after she quit Mayford?’
‘Yes, she was. Why don’t you find out about this man … Fotedar on Google?’
‘I did.’ Nazia extracted her notepad from her bag. ‘I got only three results for the name.’
‘What are they like?’ Sameera sipped from her cup.
Nazia read, ‘The first one is a retired army officer in Jammu and Kashmir. The second one is a member of Parliament, who also owns a welfare home for women in Delhi. The third one is a microbiology researcher in Shimla.’
‘Can you read the second one again?’
‘A member of Parliament, who also owns a welfare home for women in Delhi.’
‘Oh, I think I have heard about such a home earlier.’ She got up. ‘I … I gotta go, Nazia, as I have a dinner meeting to attend. I’ll find out if these men had anything to do with her.’
‘I can understand you’re still disturbed about your friend. I’m terribly sorry, Sameera. I could have approached the police for Balraj’s call records. That would have been an easy way to find out whom he had called and met that night, but then Balraj would have got a whiff of my intentions.’
‘Good you didn’t take the risk. I’ll call you soon. Bye and thank you so much.’
‘Nice to know you.’
‘Yes. The welfare home we support is owned and managed by Niranjan Fotedar, a member of Parliament,’ confirmed Karan. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Oh, Karan!’
‘What happened?’
‘A reporter from Delhi News Channel met me this evening.’ Sameera narrated her meeting with Nazia. ‘Jaggi Balraj and, possibly, Niranjan Fotedar want to kill a promoter of a … a start-up.’
‘What was Leena doing there so late that night?’
‘According to Nazia’s investigations, she was shadowing Balraj.’
‘But the presence of Fotedar in all this confuses me.’
‘Where’s the confusion, Karan? It’s possible that one of you is that promoter whom they want killed.’
‘You mean—’
‘Maybe Leena wanted to tell me that one of you was in trouble and that was the reason she tried contacting me that night. Karan, are you having problems with Fotedar?’
‘The fact that Nazia found Fotedar’s bracelet there doesn’t mean he was there with Balraj that night. Maybe he visited the site some other day, for a different purpose, and lost his bracelet there; or maybe it belongs to some other Niranjan Fotedar. Even if we assume it belongs to the NGO owner and that he was there that night with Balraj, there is no evidence that Leena was eavesdropping on them, was caught, and killed by one or both of them.’
‘Balraj was there that night. A security guard at Balraj Tower has informed Nazia that that evening, Balraj went to his construction site in Gurgaon.’
‘That is possible. But—’
‘He has also informed that he saw Leena follow Balraj’s car that evening. Doesn’t confirm everything but there is a high possibility that if Balraj was there, Leena was there too,’ said Sameera.
‘Hmm …'
‘So, for your safety, you can also assume that Fotedar too was there that night and the promoter they plan to kill is Rishi or you.’
He seemed disconnected.
‘Karan …'
He shifted his eyes to her. ‘Sameera, we have found out that Fotedar is sexually exploiting the inmates at the Home.’
‘God! That’s the reason. That’s the reason.’
Karan shared with her how Rishi and Ira secretly motivated the women to confront the politician. ‘Possibly, Fotedar has learnt what they are up to and has decided to have one of us killed.’
‘You and your partners have to be very careful.’
‘Can Nazia meet me tomorrow?’
‘I’ll ask her.’
Karan rang up Rishi. ‘Hey, Rishi. A crime reporter with Delhi News Channel has something for us.’ In short, he repeated what Sameera told him. ‘Meet me tomorrow before you start things there. We’ll modify our plan.’ He hung up and tapped his phone, thinking.
‘What’re you thinking?’
Karan looked into her almond eyes. ‘You know, Sameera, you always arrive at the right time with the right thing for me.’
41
Twenty-two days after Godavari Khundar was drugged, Rishi and Ira’s six coordinators were on their job again—they ran floor to floor, dormitory to dormitory, giving instructions. The inmates were aware of the risk involved but ‘anything for the cause’ was the motto, as everyone agreed that a rebellion was the need of the hour.
Godavari was cautious now and had her meals in the kitchen itself. She would eat only after her cook had eaten a small portion of it.
That night, after the evening meal, an abusive fight broke out between two inmates—Natali and Smita—on the second floor. A wooden crate full of apples, which lay at the centre of the corridor, was the cause. The warden, after her cautious meal, had barely finished her round on the first floor when she heard the clamour. Furiously, she bounded the steps to the upper floor.
A large group of women had gathered around the two inmates. Natali had thrown herself on Smita like a trained wrestler. Others had taken sides, cheering and hooting. Just as Natali straddled her contender, the terror of the Home emerged in front of them.
‘All right, you shameless creatures!’ screamed Godavari.
The dormitory doors shut one by one. Within seconds, the corridor was a desolate place, but Smita and Natali did not stop.
‘What’s the matter with the two of you?’ Godavari flared her eyes.
Natali got off Smita’s abdomen. ‘Nothing, madam,’ she said.
‘What’s in this?’ The warden knocked on the crate with her stick.
‘Nothing, madam,’ answered Smita.
‘I’ll kick it open if you don’t tell me.’
‘I’ll tell you, madam,’ said Natali. ‘Dr Sapru got this crate of apples for Smita from Shimla. I asked her to share some with the others but she refused.’
Smita spoke, ‘But—’
‘Ooh! Apples from Shimla.’ Godavari smacked her lips and placed her heavy foot on the crate. ‘Come on, squirrel. Open it and share some with your grandma. Quick,’ ordered the warden and hit the woman’s ba
re waist with her stick.
Wailing in pain, Smita knelt on the floor. She removed the cover of the crate and a thick layer of straw, and picked two dark red, ripe, and juicy apples. She presented them to the warden. ‘For you, madam.’
‘I’ll have at least a dozen, you stingy woman. Ooh! Look at them,’ said Godavari receiving them. She sniffed one. ‘Goood,’ she said and gorged on it.
‘Please, madam. Dr Sapru brought these for my health problem … Please,’ sobbed Smita.
With another swing of her stick, Godavari flogged Smita’s arm. ‘Stop the drama,’ she said, holding the pulp in her mouth, ‘and take out a lion’s share for me.’
Sobbing, she placed more apples on the floor for the warden, who only chomped on the fruit hungrily. Not having recovered fully from the after-effects of the laced food she had consumed, she felt weak and woozy at times. She decided to squat on the floor and savour the treat. ‘Oh, can’t stand for long. If ever I find out who drugged me that day …’ she cursed and lowered herself to sit on the floor.