Brutal

by Uday Satpathy

  16

  7:30 Am

  Seema was woken up from her sleep by the ringing of her cell phone. With half-closed eyes red from last night’s sleeplessness, she looked at the number. It was an unknown landline number. She was jolted back to her senses in a second. She picked up the call and said hello with bated breath.

  “You want to meet me?” a guttural voice said. “Come to Cascades bar in Karol Bagh at noon. And come alone.”

  Before Seema could reply, the caller hung up the phone.

  She sat upright in her bed. So, finally things are moving.

  17

  8 Am

  Prakash sat hunched over the floor of the police lock-up. Behind him, there was a long bench for people to sit. But presently, a filthy drunkard was spread over it like an overfed python. The stench of urine from the attached urinal kept reaching his nostrils every now and then, making him squirm. This was a first in his career. He chuckled. Going to jail. Check!

  He felt good that Mrinal was not with him. Poor guy. He would have fainted. Good that he fled with his car.

  A constable came near the jail door and opened it. He pointed a finger at Prakash and said, “Hey, you! Sahib wants to see you.”

  He escorted Prakash to the sub-inspector’s desk where Mohan Kumar and Ashish were already sitting. Ashish opened his mouth to say something, but was gestured to stop by Mohan.

  “So reporter sahib, I had never thought we would meet so soon. What the hell were you doing at Afroz’s house?” the sub-inspector asked.

  “I was investigating,” Prakash replied with a blank face.

  “By trespassing into somebody else’s house?” Mohan said, raising his voice. “How experienced are you Mister in your profession?”

  “About twelve years.”

  “And in twelve fucking years, you couldn’t understand the rules of journalism?”

  Prakash wanted to give him a fitting reply, but kept silent. Challenging this man’s ego would have made matters worse. He decided to bluff his way out of trouble. “Well, I thought I could uncover a few clues which will only help your cause.”

  “Is it so? Then why did you burn the documents of Afroz?”

  “I didn’t. There was one more guy in the house. He attacked me and made me unconscious,” said Prakash, showing him the injury marks on his face and chest. “This man has burnt the documents. You should be after him, not me.”

  Mohan frowned, as if pondering over what to do.

  Ashish came to Prakash’s rescue. He said in a coaxing tone, “Sirji, you know our profession. We need stories. I agree that sometimes we cross a few boundaries, but hope you don’t misunderstand our intentions. They are the same as yours.”

  Prakash nodded. He was impressed with Ashish.

  “Let this guy go this time. I promise you nothing like this will ever be repeated,” requested Ashish.

  “You guys never write anything good about the police. But when you are in trouble, you come to us like sissies,” Mohan complained. “I’ll let this guy go. But you’ll have to return the favour. The Bisla kidnapping case has been solved. How about showing my interview on TV?”

  “Done, Sir. Done. I will take care of this,” Ashish said, winking at Prakash.

  “OK. But tell your colleague to move out of Ambala immediately. I don’t want any more sniffing around.”

  “Bilkul sir. Absolutely,” Ashish said, standing up from his chair. He gestured Prakash to walk out.

  Just when Prakash was about to go, Mohan motioned him to stop.

  He asked, “Did you have a look at the man in the house?”

  “No. It was dark,” Prakash replied.

  “What do you think? Was he a clean-up guy from that Mujahid group?”

  “I think so.”

  The sub-inspector made a brooding face. Prakash could sense what he was thinking. More trouble in Ambala.

  Once outside the police station, Ashish told him to ride pillion on his bike. They would have moved about a kilometre when Ashish stopped his bike on the roadside. Both of them got down.

  “What the fuck did you do yesterday?” Ashish asked with anger.

  “Didn’t I tell you guys?” Prakash replied, “I was following up on the Afroz case.”

  “You could have let me known, at least.”

  “It was all too fast. Besides, there’s no point in taking too many people.”

  “Oh yes… And why would you let me know if you were trespassing into a crime scene?” Ashish shouted. “You can get fired for this, you know? You could have been rotting in jail. Globe News could have been in news for God’s sake!”

  “Hey, hey, hey kiddo. Thanks for saving my ass today. You ever get caught in New Delhi; I’ll help you out. But, let’s not make a fucking moral issue of it,” Prakash spat. “Without getting into dirt, there is no journalism. This is how I do my reporting.”

  “Not in my region please. Afroz’s case is my responsibility in Ambala. I am going to report your actions to the headquarters.”

  “Be my guest,” Prakash scoffed and walked away.

  18

  12:30 Pm, Karol Bagh, New Delhi

  Seema was sitting inside the dim-lighted Cascades bar since the last 45 minutes and there was no sign of her visitor. The extremely loud hard metal rock being played was giving her a headache. She tried calling the man’s number again. It was switched off. Is it a prank?

  Many people had come and gone. Whenever somebody came in through the door, she would look for a second longer at the person’s face. Hope it doesn’t send any wrong signal.

  Her phone started ringing. It was an unknown number. Different from the one she had seen in the morning. She picked it up.

  “I am sitting three tables behind you,” the voice said.

  Seema turned around. There was an old man sitting at one of the tables, with a mobile phone in his hand. He raised his hand to say hello.

  Seema stood up and went near his table. “How long have you been watching me?” she asked.

  “Sorry to make you wait. Just wanted to make sure no one was with you. Please take a seat,” the man said, pointing to a chair in front of him.

  Seema carefully looked at the man while she took her seat. His thinning white hair and loose skin on the neck placed him easily in his sixties. His eyes were looking much larger behind the thick glasses he was wearing. He had ordered a whisky.

  “May I know who you are and how do you know Nitin Tomar?” Seema asked.

  The man first looked around like a wary house sparrow and then whispered, “It’s too dangerous for me to spill the beans just like that. First tell me what will you do with the information I’m going to give you?”

  “That depends on what you’re going to tell. As of now, I just want to know if Nitin Tomar’s story is as simple as it looks. Or is there some catch?”

  “What I am going to tell you is not about Nitin Tomar. He’s just a part of the game.”

  Seema frowned. “What game?”

  “Everything you see around yourself is a part of some game.”

  “Can we come to the point, please?”

  “OK. OK. Let me begin with my introduction,” the man said. “My name is Dr Kalyan Ghosh. I used to run a psychiatry practice in Chennai five years ago. But now I am running for my life. I have changed ten cities in the last three years. I change my mobile number every now and then.”

  “Why so?”

  “Because I know too much about them. They are extremely powerful,” he whispered and looked around himself. “Who knows, they may be tracking me now as we speak?”

  “Dr Kalyan, I’m not getting a single word of what you speak. You can tell me anything. I am a journalist. I can help you get heard.”

  “Now where have I heard that before?” he sneered. “Do you know a man named Anupam Krishnamachari?”

  “The journalist with Times? … Who disappeared a couple of years ago?”

  “Yes. One night, he was talking to me exactly as you do. I gave him more info
than he could chew. I guess he called up a few people and came under the spotlight of the bad guys. He vanished in a few days.”

  Seema remained silent for a few moments. The man was clearly giving her a warning before spilling the beans. It was up to her to take the bait or not. What secret is so deep that it could make me disappear? Who are these powerful people?

  She made up her mind. To hell with these people. She said, “I am not scared of these people. I’ve tackled many such assholes in my career. You can tell me your little secret.”

  The man closed his eyes for a moment and smiled. “You’re a brave girl. But if you really think that I’m going to tell you all in this public place, then you are asking for too much. I came here because I wanted to see the person who sent me the mails.”

  He gulped a mouthful of his whisky and continued, “Girl, look at me. I’m old and on the run. It’s time for me to sit at home and enjoy with the retirement money. I can’t do that, because I have pissed off some evil people. As far as the Nitin Tomar episode goes, I had written mails to warn him, because I knew what kind of things were going to happen with him. But, he didn’t pay any heed to them. So, it’s a closed chapter for me now. As for you, I don’t want you to put you in any danger. You can’t fathom how brutal these men can be.”

  The man stood up from his chair and placed a few hundred notes on his table for his bill.

  “Are you leaving?” Seema objected. “Just like that?”

  The man took out an envelope from his trouser pocket and gave it to Seema. “This is some food for your thought. That’s all I can give you now. If you make any progress, we’ll meet again. Just understand one thing – this is not a one off case,” he said and walked off.

  When he was out of the bar, Seema opened the envelope. It contained a few printouts of news snippets taken from the internet. She read the headings:

  Filmmakers find beheaded skeletons in Bandhavgarh

  No action yet on Bandhavgarh skeletons

  Mass graves in Bandhavgarh?

  19

  3:20 Pm, Ambala Executive Inn

  Prakash was woken up by the bell. Someone was ringing it incessantly. He checked his watch. I have been sleeping for the last five hours. He remembered dozing off after trying to call Mrinal from his hotel room. He was unreachable.

  He grimaced on hearing two more bells before he could reach the door. Who is it? His whole body ached as he budged his hand to open the door. Outside stood Mrinal, with his trademark smirk.

  “Wake up, dude, wake up,” Mrinal said and got inside. He appeared unruffled, as if nothing wrong had happened yesterday night.

  “Where have you been? I was worried about you,” Prakash asked with a half-yawn. He looked at his friend’s face. It had a large red blotch below his right ear. Uh. Must have hurt.

  “I’ve booked a room in another hotel,” Mrinal said, sitting on his bed. “How was jail, though?”

  “Don’t ask. I almost got my ass cooked and served on a platter. It’s only because of Ashish that I’m out so soon,” Prakash replied. He immediately felt sorry for behaving rudely with Ashish. Will say sorry to him sometime.

  “Good,” Mrinal said. “But what did you find in Afroz’s house last night? You ran as if you found a goldmine.”

  “I found this, ta da…” Prakash said with a smile, taking out a mobile phone from under his pillow. It was an old Nokia 1100. “And guess what? It has a SIM card.”

  “Holy shit! That’s awesome,” Mrinal replied, taking the phone from Prakash. “But we can only know how useful it is after going through the call history and contacts.”

  “That’s where you come into the picture. Do you have a multi-pin charger?”

  “Yeah, I have. Our wild goose chase better get a new direction from this,” he gushed.

  Prakash eyed the enthusiasm in Mrinal with interest. On seeing the mobile phone, his friend looked as animated as a child who after trying hard to repair his toy airplane, sees it fly again. Even after last night’s scary episode, he didn’t seem in a mood to pack up and leave.

  “So, you’re still in. Right?” Prakash asked with hesitation. But, he didn’t want Mrinal to say ‘No’.

  “Yeah… I am. But…”

  “But?”

  “Overtime rates,” Mrinal said and laughed.

  Prakash too, giggled and said, “You know, when I first saw you today at my door with that swollen jaw, I thought you would say ‘I’m done with your fucking investigation’ and then leave Ambala.”

  Mrinal smiled. “You want to know how I felt after getting punched last night?” he said with excitement. “I felt relieved. Liberated. This is so much fun compared to the boring stuff I do for a living.”

  Prakash looked at Mrinal the way a mathematician looks at a fascinating problem. Even after knowing him for a few years, he still struggled to understand him. His friend was a man of contradictions. He had the looks of Prince Charming – extremely fair, blue eyes and a chiselled, almost feminine face reminiscent of Victoria’s Secret showstoppers. But he tried hard to bury these features behind his loud, rapper-style dressing, stubbly face and thick glasses. He was thirty-two, a guy of unusual intelligence, yet his behaviour and lifestyle belonged to that of a chaotic twenty year old. He called himself a desk jockey and tried to steer clear of danger. But inside, probably unknown to him, he was a man who liked a life of thrill and adventure. He was a mystery. The more I know him, the lesser I know him.

  “Don’t fall in love with me, bro.” Mrinal said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “I won’t,” Prakash quipped. “I was just thanking the man we came across yesterday night. One thrashing and you have come back a changed man. I wonder…”

  “The next time I meet that motherfucker, I am going to give him a spear tackle. Mark my words!”

  “I don’t want to face that man next time. He could have killed us right there, but probably didn’t do so because he risked bringing the case into police spotlight.”

  Mrinal stood silent for a moment, thinking. “I have grown some real respect.”

  “For what?”

  “For the kind of things weirdo journos like you do to get a story.”

  Prakash couldn’t fathom whether that was a compliment or a jibe.

  “So, when am I getting all the info squeezed out from the mobile phone?” he asked.

  “Maybe a few hours.”

  “How do you do it?” Prakash asked with a cunning smile.

  “How do I do what?”

  “How do you dig up so much information about everything? I mean, whatever you dish out is strictly private information. What’s your secret sauce?”

  “It’s a trade secret,” Mrinal said, winking. “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”

  20

  Century News Headquarters, New Delhi

  Seema stood outside the glass cabin of her boss Diya Shah, the editor-in-chief of Century News. She could see her talking on her mobile phone in an animated manner. A man dressed in a suit was sitting across from the lady, with his back towards her. Diya caught a glance of Seema and gestured her to come in.

  As Seema pushed the cabin door to enter, she came face to face with the man in the suit. Tall, thin, with an oblong face. Exquisite dressing. Neatly combed hair. The man was straight out of Forbes magazine. Oh my God! She stared at him with amazement. Anwar Shah!

  The man cleared his throat, suggesting she was blocking his way. She said “sorry” and allowed him to pass.

  Wow!

  Anwar Shah was a billionaire business magnate and the illustrious brother of Diya Shah. While she headed Century News, her brother led its holding company known as the Centennium Group having interests in media, fashion, shipping, chemicals and garment manufacturing businesses. The man was credited with creating this great empire from scratch.

  Seema idolized Anwar Shah since her college days. She still remembered the inspiring speech he made during her convocation.

  ‘Impossibility is an inherent p
art of nature, an ancient beast. It instils fear in your heart. Yet, you have to accept it, embrace it. It’ll be a terrible experience, mind you. But you need to bear it and then forget it. Just put a number on that piece of memory and lock it in a closet inside your mind.

  What’s that number, you might ask. Well, it’s the probability. Of you succeeding, against all odds. And it will be low, very low. That’s why you need to hide it from your eyes. Just remember that your probability of succeeding is never zero.

  Once you have done that, use every quantum of energy available in your body to achieve what people so fondly call as the impossible. You can do it. I know that. And the day you do, you’ll realize that the number didn't matter at all.’

  Years later, she had been so excited when she got an opportunity to join Century News. It felt like a privilege to work in a company owned by Anwar Shah. The charm had still not faded completely. In fact, after this encounter, it had been reignited.

  “Where have you been dear? I was looking for you since morning,” Diya said, bringing Seema back to the present world.

  She looked at her boss, studying her face, trying to spot any resemblance to her brother. Surprisingly, the brother-sister duo didn’t seem to have any similarity in their facial features. Would they be that different from the inside? No, she thought. Though she didn’t know Anwar Shah personally, she imagined him to have a nature quite similar to his sister’s.

  She had always seen Diya as a ruthless boss who kept demanding the impossible from her staff. It appeared that her whole family had a fascination with impossibility. These guys were born with an innate desire to whack impossibility out of the park. Forty-plus and unmarried, the lady had created a name for herself in the media industry in a short span. Running a large media house was not easy. It was only through her passion that she had managed to turn around a nose-diving media company.