Kumbhpur Rising

by Mayur Didolkar

  Neeraj had laid the trap and then waited for Jayesh to update him. Adesh spared him that trouble too. A month after Neeraj had taken up his assignment with RH, he received a call from Adesh at midnight. As expected, Adesh was drunk.

  “You know something you motherfucker, Modi is booking 42% profit this year. His account is still with us and it will stay with us, because he came to us because of Satish Sir and not because of you. Are you listening you fuck?”

  “Yeah I hear you asshole,” Neeraj replied “you sound like you are falling over the edge” with this he switched off his cell and kept it off for the remainder of the night.

  Before going to office the next day, he booked a non cognizable complaint against Adesh for threatening and abusive phone call, and then called Satish to inform him about the previous night’s conversation. He warned Satish to keep Adesh away from him. Satish apologized on Adesh’s behalf, and assured Neeraj that it would not happen again. Neeraj knew it would not happen again; Adesh really listened to Satish in trivial matters like these.

  Neeraj worked on strengthening his personal relationship with Jayesh Modi with single mindedness. He called Jayesh on his birthday and on his wife’s birthday; he attended their daughter’s birthday party. Every now and then he also called Jayesh to let him know what RH’s team of ace fund managers was thinking about a relatively unknown but soon to become hot stock. This was the stock market’s equivalent of informing a small time punter which way the smart money was going on the derby day. He expected and took nothing in return, modestly refusing Jayesh’s offer of splitting the profits made on one such hot tip. He cultivated this investor with the patience of a mafia don with a small time cop on his pay roll, knowing that one day the cop would alert him, where his top lieutenants would fail.

  He got that chance in late 2002, almost a year and half after leaving MM securities. In a casual conversation over a cup of coffee, Jayesh told Neeraj that Adesh had finally started exercising in the morning, much to the delight of his friends and family who worried over his health. He would go for a jog every morning on Bandra Road. Neeraj noted and stored this information.

  The second piece fell in place three weeks after that chat. Neeraj was at home down with a bad case of cough and cold. He was reading a short story collection by Stephen King. While going through one story titled “Dolan’s Cadillac” Neeraj sat up and take notice. When he finished reading, he went back and reread the whole story again, taking his time. When he had finished reading the story a second time, he knew he had found the solution to the tricky little problem of exactly how to murder Adesh Bandodkar.

  The story was about a small town English teacher whose wife is murdered by a local mafia don called Dolan. The wife is supposed to testify against Dolan in the court when he blows her car up. The husband, now obsessed with vengeance, tries to think of a hundred ways to kill Dolan but always draws a blank till he stumbles upon the solution. After a ridiculous (in Neeraj’s opinion) amount of preparation involving changing signs on a highway to reroute traffic, the teacher builds a ditch and maneuvers such that Dolan along with his Cadillac are buried in the ditch. Revenge of the nerd, so to say.

  Neeraj did not even consider going to the same lengths as the teacher in the story. He, after all was an upwardly mobile executive with a lot of demands on his time, not a grieving widower hell bent on vengeance. However, the story gave Neeraj a solution which was simple yet elegant.

  The person who had coined the phrase ‘secret buried’ must have done so after a lot of thought. A drowned body more often than not, floats to the surface after a couple of days, bloated and partially eaten by fishes, but recognizable nonetheless. Even if the body in question was thrown in water after tying a couple of weights to its ankles, there was always the odd chance of some fisherman’s net pulling it up. Burnt bodies, when found, left clues through teeth and bones. But burial was different. There was no way a buried body could surface unless an earthquake hit that area. One only had to choose the site carefully so that a construction crew, building a road or a damn, does not accidentally discover it. And finding such site is far easier than finding a part of the ocean where fishermen do not fish and reaching there without the coast guards noticing you.

  Finally and most importantly when a person went missing the search for him would begin by checking his usual hangouts. If foul play was suspected, the surrounding area would be searched for an unaccounted for dead body. If the place, where the person went missing, was near the sea the coast guard might check the coastal area for any drowning. But no cop, no coast guard, no relative looking for their lost beloved would ever think of digging a little deeper, in a manner of speaking.

  “Falling of the edge, so that is how it has to be” Neeraj said to himself and smiled. He put on his CD player and listened to Kurt Cobain and plotted Adesh’s murder.

  He needed just two hours to complete the plan. Once he had finished, he left his apartment. He had work to do, wet work.

  ***

  The second contact Neeraj had cultivated was Smita Nayar, an operations executive with MM securities. Smita’s boyfriend, Suraj, was a drifter, holding various jobs from a net café supervisor to a software programmer with a local outfit. Smita, the youngest of the five daughters, was eager to move out of her parent’s one BHK flat and get married. But even blind love was not enough for her to ignore the fact that, in the current situation Suraj might become an additional liability for her.

  Neeraj overheard this story while Smita was discussing it with some of her girlfriends at MM securities. Even though they were not particularly friendly, Neeraj kept Smita’s problem in mind. A couple of months after joining RH, he found an opening for Suraj in a software firm owned by one of his HNI investor, and pushed his candidature for a decent paying programmer’s job.

  Smita came to meet him to his office after a couple of days. She was in tears. Just last night Suraj had taken her for a candle light dinner (followed no doubt by a moonlit fuck on the beach), and had formally asked her to marry him.

  “I feel so ashamed Neeraj, I always thought you were such a snob and look at you, if it were not for you...” here Smita paused for a moment to dab at her eyes with a tissue. Neeraj smiled and made an embarrassed wave of the hand. He did it well.

  “How can I ever repay you?” Smita was still in the crying mode.

  Neeraj knew just how exactly she was going to repay him. But he did not want his latest fan to faint by telling her that she was going to repay him by helping him with Adesh’s murder. So, he smiled and said instead “Why by inviting me to your wedding and by staying in touch of course. You know I do not make friends easily and it would be nice to have a friend just to chat with.”

  Smita of course invited Neeraj to her wedding two months later and of course she stayed in touch. They exchanged mails regularly, and were on each other’s buddy list on Yahoo Messenger. Neeraj knew some day Smita would give him the information through innocent gossip that would be enough for his killer’s mind to finish his plan.

  Neeraj was an infinitely patient man. When you are alone and well off financially, time is your best asset. He did not want to kill Adesh with a switch blade knife in some dark alley. He did not want to run him over with a stolen car. He wanted to plot, to scheme and then to kill. Killing, according to Neeraj was like drinking. You could do it in hot blood and mindlessly and make a mistake that you would regret for the rest of your life, or you could do it with plan, do it slowly, and enjoy it for a long long time.

  A few months after her wedding, Smita finally gave him the information that put the last piece of this particular jigsaw puzzle in place.

  She was chatting with Neeraj on Yahoo Messenger, telling him about the latest company picnic to Alibag.

  “By the way your friend fainted” Smita messaged. Neeraj knew who she was referring to.

  “What happened?” he typed.

  “A strange allergy, we were all getting ready in the morning and Aditya and Adesh were rooming togeth
er. Adi was spraying deo, when Adesh was combing his hair standing next to him. Suddenly he sneezed a couple of times and fainted.”

  “Is he ok? I hope not” Neeraj added with a smiley.

  “LOL. He is ok, the doctor says he is allergic to the contents of the Adidas Deo.”

  “Adidas Deo?” Neeraj typed. He could feel elation inside of him, but he forced himself to stay calm. He needed more details.

  “Yes can you believe that? Poor Adi, everybody was looking at him like he had sprayed Adesh with poison, while all that the poor guy did was to use the regular ‘24th fragrance”

  “I am not surprised he fainted at the whiff of a perfume. That guy stinks” Neeraj typed and they both shared some laughter at the little stinker who was about to disappear in a few days time.

  Later when Neeraj left his office to have lunch, he stopped by a pharmacy store and bought a bottle of Adidas 24th fragrance. At a hundred and twenty-five rupees, it was a cheap murder weapon.

  Chapter 15

  On one unusually cold October morning, Adesh Bandodkar went for his customary jog and never returned. It is three years now, and the police, as well as his relatives, have given up the hope of ever finding him again. Neeraj Joshi shares their pessimism.

  After working out the details Neeraj had to wait for two more weeks, till he could come up with a suitable alibi. If he was absent from work the day Adesh disappeared, he knew Satish Palresha, if nobody else, would smell a rat. Neeraj worked that one out in the last two weeks, and now as he was jogging on the Bandra Road in the early morning he was confident of pulling it off.

  In the zippered pocket of his track suit, he carried a bottle of the Adidas deo with a strip of 20mg Restyl tablets and a couple of anti allergy tablets. In the other pocket he carried a roll of heavy black electrician’s tape with the keys of a Maruti Van. The van belonged to the owner of Neeraj’s favorite service station. He had dropped off his car there for the usual servicing and had asked for a standby, since he had to take his guests around Mumbai. He had specifically asked for an old van, citing a large number of guests coming. The owner was happy to provide this simple stand by.

  Adesh Bandodkar came from other end of road at his customary slow jog. He was enjoying the refreshing chill of the early morning air that helped to soothe an aching head and an uneasy stomach. Last night was a big night of drinking and he patted himself on back for getting up in the morning to keep his schedule. At this early hour, the road was deserted save a few joggers like him and it suited Adesh fine. He, however, was not aware how much finer it suited his killer.

  Adesh saw the hooded figure coming around the park. Even in the dim early morning light he noted the high quality Air Jordan’s, and the fluorescent strips on the dark jogging suit. A real snob. Probably goes for a jog because that’s the ‘in’ thing these days, Adesh thought. His contempt for the metro sexual man grew even more as he noticed the man holding a small bottle in his right hand. ‘Need your water after all this exercise don’t you?’ Adesh thought, as they passed each other going in opposite directions. The stranger raised his right hand in a salutation; Adesh returned his salute and went on.

  Within a minute Adesh’s rhythm was broken by a strange feeling of uneasiness. Something was not right about the snobby stranger. The bottle in the right hand was not right. Yes that was what was not right, too solid, more like a flask than a plastic water bottle. Probably something like a can of (deoderant). God these metrosexuals have to drown themselves with their fucking deos even before going for their morning jog.

  Adesh broke his run and turned around to look at the stranger. The stranger was jogging without a backward look. Adesh thought the form looked familiar.

  Suddenly, as the first sneeze exploded, Adesh could place the smell. It was the fucking Adidas deo. The one he was allergic to. In another moment, he could place the shape of the bottle too, it was not a flask but a container of the deo (and the stranger had sprayed him with it… what for?)

  Another violent sneeze and Adesh felt dizzy. He reeled, and tried to grab the wired fence of the park. He got hold of it, but with a 3rd sneeze his legs gave away and he collapsed on the ground, fighting for breath.

  Neeraj stopped jogging the moment heard the first sneeze. Now he turned around and began walking back. He tossed the deo bottle in the shrubbery nearby after wiping his fingerprints off it first.

  He lifted Adesh under the armpits, and put his limp hand across his shoulders. He began dragging Adesh to the curb where his van was parked. He watched for passing cabs, ready for anyone stopping and enquiring about the unconscious man slung across his shoulders. But he was in luck, as he dropped Adesh’s limp form in the rear of the van, nobody noticed. He put him there, and then pulled the anti allergy tablets along with the Restyl tablets from his pocket. He pinched open Adesh’s mouth to force both the tablets down his throat. The anti allergy tablets had been prescribed for Neeraj, after he had complained to his doctor of a fainting spell after spraying that particular deo.

  Once Neeraj was sure his victim had taken the anti allergy and the resting drug he turned him over, and secured his hands behind his back. Then he flipped him over again to tie his feet together with the electrician’s tape. He then fastened a small piece over Adesh’s offensive mouth too.

  Neeraj noted the time; it was 4.55 in the morning. His victim would come to in about eight hours after the combination of the drugs. Then Neeraj took the last item out of his pocket and pasted it on the roof of the van. It was a simple message written on a drawing paper in bold letter.

  “YOU FUCKED WITH THE WRONG PERSON THIS TIME. THIS IS NOT YOUR PUNISHMENT, JUST A WARNING. STAY STILL FOR I AM JUST OUTSIDE THE VAN. YOU MAKE NOISE AND I WILL COME IN AND CHOP YOU IN TWO. THIS IS A WARNING FROM MY BOSS AND HE WILL CALL YOU TOMORROW AT NOON IN CASE YOU ARE TOO STUPID TO UNDERSTAND WHO ORDERED THIS”

  After twenty minutes of driving, he reached one of the giant ‘pay and park’ parking lots in Bandra near his own office. He had staked the place the night before, and knew where to leave his victim for the next eight to ten hours. He entered the lot, and drove right through the busy day long place. He turned left, and entered the long term parking area, finally pulling up near the end of the lot.

  It is indeed surprising how many bodies are discovered due to the stench. Neeraj had read enough in the papers to know about how nosy neighbors complained about the awful smell coming out of the apartment next door and the police ended up finding a dead body. This was the urban reality for you Mick; your neighbors will not notice you missing if you don’t show up for months together. But the smell was something different, you see.

  Even though Neeraj did not intend to kill Adesh in this parking lot, his plan involved leaving his victim there for the entire day. Neeraj was sure Adesh’s bladder and bowels will not hold out for that long. The place where he parked in now was far enough from the busier sections of the lot. And even then, should a sensitive nose find the stench coming from the van, it was easy to confuse it with the stench coming from the ten foot high pile of garbage just across the fence.

  Neeraj parked his van between a completely wrecked Fiat, and a relatively new Maruti Zen, about 3 layers deep in dirt. He once checked Adesh in the rear, and covered him with a woolen blanket.

  “We will meet again in the evening Adesh, you fucked with the wrong marine as Jack Nicholson would say” Neeraj told the unconscious man. He left the van without a backwards glance.

  ***

  Adesh Bandodkar struggled to consciousness near noon. At that moment, elsewhere in the city, his captor was sitting through a presentation on debt markets, patiently making notes.

  As with any form of unconsciousness, his awakening was dulled by fogginess. Adesh was still in his bed, and last night he had too much to drink and somehow he had missed his morning jog. He must have overslept, because the sun was beating down harshly through his window…. But then he never slept with the window open. He liked darkness ……

  Then his mind s
lowly recollected that he had not missed his morning jog, he remembered putting on his shoes in the morning and taking the elevator from his 6th floor apartment. He even remembered going through his warm-ups. But then, why the sun was was beating down on his face, and why did his body feel stiff like (it was tied down).

  All of a sudden Adesh remembered losing consciousness due to that damn allergy he had (was he still on the sidewalk? But then why had nobody bothered with him?)

  Finally it was the dampness of his crotch, and the smell of his own urine that woke him completely. In a flash he realized he had wet his track pants, and the reason for his stiffness was the fact that his hands and legs were tied. Then he turned himself on his back, and read the message pasted on the van roof.

  He fought a panic attack and a loose sensation in his bladder at the same time. He realized with full force that he was kidnapped, and this was not just another alcohol induced nightmare he was going to wake up from. His eyes seemed glued to the message on the van roof, and he kept on reading it till it started to play in his head with a suitably menacing voice reading it aloud. Adesh knew he would go crazy if he did not stop and tore his eyes away from the message. So he willed himself to roll on one side and breathed heavily through the heavy electrical tape on his mouth. The moment the awful message was out of sight he could feel some of his panic receding, and coherent thoughts coming back again. He ran a mental list of all enemies he had (a list that covered approximately 1/3rd of Mumbai’s tax payers), but he could not come up with a name powerful enough to hire professionals to kidnap him. Though he would have been the last to admit it, the reason for it was simple. Adesh existed near the bottom of the societal totem pole. He was too small to bother any of the big players of the city.

  Adesh felt pain in his chest (imaginary) and wetness in his track pants (real). He gave up figuring out just who exactly his abductors were working for, as a wave of shame and anger struck him. Ignoring the instruction in the message he began thrashing wildly, trying to break free. That only made his chest pains worse. He thought he was having another heart attack, and that thought made him pause.