Mumbaistan

by Piyush Jha

  'But I was the one who found the operation theatre...'

  'That is only because our station's PI Crime is on leave. That's why you were sent to the incident spot.'

  Kapse's large frame, with the generous bulges that had succumbed to gravity long ago, was shaking uncontrollably. He was not used to standing for too long, and went back to his favourite sitting position, at the largest desk in the small police station's inner office.

  Virkar's voice got harder, 'You don't know my abilities, saheb'.

  Kapse's tone changed to a mixture of sarcasm and irritation. 'Yes, yes, I know! Everybody in the police station knows the "famous" Inspector Virkar, who fought Maoists in the jungles of Gadchiroli. Winner of the President's Gallantry Award, blah, blah, blah. But you know this is not Gadchiroli, this is Mumbai. This is not a small pond, this is the sea, where the big fish eat the small fish.'

  Virkar's voice was a mixture of strain and patience. 'Sir, I know that I am a small fish, but sometimes, the small fish are the biggest catch.'

  Kapse broke into derisive laughter. Bubbles formed at the corner of his corpulent mouth. 'Is that some profound saying by your fishermen ancestors?'

  Virkar flinched. Kapse shook his head, as if trying to control his laughter. Then, serious again, he snapped, 'Go to the duty desk and report for today's VIP security duty. The Crime Branch will take care of the investigation and we will hear about it through the newspapers'

  Virkar didn't budge. Kapse picked up his phone and raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. 'Do you want to take me on, Virkar?' After a long silent stare, Virkar strode out of the office room without another word.

  ◉

  Being given the short end of the stick was not something new to Virkar. He belonged to the Koli community, that's amongst the oldest inhabitants of Mumbai. A community of fishermen that has, over time, been eroded, and now exists only in small pockets along the Mumbai shoreline. A community whose rights have been disregarded by all and sundry when it comes to land and ownership. A community that is dwindling at an alarming pace, its traditional means of fishing fast becoming outmoded.

  The scion of a line of Koli fishermen who adopted the title of Virkar ('worshipper of the ancestors'), Virkar grew up in the shanties of the Macchhimar Nagar area in Colaba. As a child, living and breathing in the shadows of the tall buildings of the upmarket Cuffe Parade, disparity stared him in the face everyday. But, his convent' education at the nearby Holy Mary High School gave him the English language skills and confidence to go up to the rich Cuffe Parade kids and play hide 'n' seek with them in their building compounds. However, as he grew up, dividing his time between keeping up with his schoolwork, helping his father fish and his feisty mother sell the daily catch, he knew that one day, he would have to face the prejudices that make the world an ugly place.

  Although he passed his tenth standard board exams with flying colours and enrolled in the science stream at Elphinstone College, he switched to psychology after his dreams of joining an engineering college were shattered for want of two precious marks. After securing a first-class Bachelor of Arts degree, he had wanted to pursue a MBA, but there, too, the serpent of favouritism swallowed up his dreams. A chance reply to a Maharashtra Public Service Commission recruitment advertisement led to him joining the police service. For the first time, he felt at peace, as he had been selected on merit. But as he worked hard at the Maharashtra Police Academy in Nashik, a new kind of prejudice dogged his footsteps. A reverse prejudice. His being the only English-speaking boy from Mumbai became a millstone around his neck. The cadets and teachers who hailed from rural and interior Maharashtra couldn't stand him.

  One day, the inevitable happened. The somewhat naive Virkar rose to the bait laid out by one of his jealous batchmates and made the cardinal mistake of correcting the pronunciation of an instructor. From that day on, Virkar was a marked man. And sure enough, as soon as the class graduated from the academy, he was handed a posting otherwise reserved as punishment for serious offenders within the police department, to a far-flung, Naxalite and Maoist infested war-zone called Gadchiroli. A place with a name he couldn't even pronounce at first. A place where death stared him in the face everyday.

  ◉

  They made ferocious love. Specially-made-for-release love. Tension-expelling love.

  As she lay savouring the throes of her orgasm, Porus spoke for the first time that evening.. 'I killed your father,' he said.

  The four words spun around the room at lightning speed and exploded inside her head like an atom bomb.

  Dr Saakshi Jetha lay dumbstruck. Tears crept into her doe-shaped eyes. The dusky beauty had been away, attending a seminar at the Army Medical College, Pune, when her father, Dr Animesh Jetha, was killed. The investigation had started even before she could reach Mumbai And she had come home only to be faced with interrogation about her father and his associates. She had been questioned about her own movements, too, and was only allowed to claim and cremate her father's body after a full forty-eight hours.

  Sensing her emotional paralysis, Porus Udwadia spoke again. 'For seven years, your father's murder was my single-minded goal. Everyday, I would envision your father's death by my hands. In my head, I would play and replay how I would kill him, again and again.' His words continued to strip her already shattered mind, tearing through her tattered thoughts like shrapnel.

  Saakshi still didn't move or speak; her limbs seemed welded into the mattress. Her lips were frozen stiff with the thought that her lover was her father's cold-blooded murderer. Her eyes, open but unseeing, visualized how her paramour must have taken the life out of her guardian and mentor, whom she had loved above all else.

  Porus continued in an ominous tone. 'Your father killed my father. He didn't stick a knife in his chest or shoot him, but killed him by much more sinister means. My father was a small-time horse-trainer at the Mahalaxmi Race Course. Unfortunately, his horses lost too many races and he was reduced to a poor stable hand. But even during his days of penury, he held on to the dream that his studious son would one day become a doctor. Unfortunately, I didn't study hard enough. I fell short by a few marks and no respectable medical college would give me admission. And my father didn't have the money to pay capitation fees. So, through a horse-race bookie, he found his way to your father and pleaded with him to grant me admission in Johnson Medical College.' At this point Porus almost stopped breathing . His voice grew sharp. 'Your father was very accommodating. He gave me admission almost immediately. Of course, the only thing my father had to do was to give his left kidney to your father.'

  Porus stopped to breathe, summoning up energy to carry on with his monologue. 'It had to be the left kidney, because you see, the right kidney was damaged and would not last too long.'

  Pain crept into his voice. 'My poor father gave up his one good kidney for my sake. He spent the next two years dying. Hiding his pain, he motivated me to continue my studies. Only after he collapsed in the stables and finally died one day, did I come to know his secret. My budding doctor's mind was shocked at the discovery of his scar, and I operated upon his body and discovered the true cause of his death'. Porus's words tumbled out, as if trying to escape from the painful memory. 'I broke down that day...I almost lost my mind, till the bookie who had sent my father to yours told me the entire story'. Sensing the end of the monologue, his body began to relax, 'As I watched the vultures circle over the Tower of Silence after my father's funeral, I swore that I would pay back his killer in the same coin.'

  Porus fell silent and popped some chewing gum to relax.

  For several minutes, the only sound heard in the room was the lazy clack-clack of the ceiling fan.

  'Was getting me to fall in love with you a mere ploy to get to my father?' Saakshi finally broke the silence.

  'Initially, yes, but as I got to know you, I fell totally in love with you. I know it sounds like a "filmy" dialogue, given the circumstances, but it is true,' Porus answered in an emotionless tone.

  'I
s it?' Saakshi's voice dripped with scorn.

  'Yes, unfortunately, yes. Yes, I do love you. That's why I have told you everything. I wish I didn't have to kill the loved one of someone whom I love. But then that is the hell I have been ordained to suffer,' Porus said without hesitation.

  Saakshi sighed. 'What do you want me to do now?'

  'Hand me over to the police.' Porus's voice was calm. He popped a small gum-bubble.

  Without warning, Saakshi turned and gave him a slap across his face. Tears sprung from her eyes. 'Do you want me to lose another man I love?'

  She fell into his arms and they made love again. This time, the heat of their conflicted passion almost scorched the paint off the walls. Afterwards, they lay silent, staring at the high ceiling, watching the fan rotate at snail's pace. Saakshi broke into tears again.

  Porus moved to comfort her. But she pushed him away.

  'If you think it is you who is going through hell, can you imagine what I am going through?' she sobbed.

  Porus whispered, 'Kill me, Saakshi. Once and for all, do away with the sickness that has afflicted your life.'

  'The sickness runs too deep, Porus, and you are not the cure for it—I am,' a determined Saakshi said .

  'What do you mean?' Porus asked, confused.

  But Saakshi refused to elaborate. Instead, she spoke in measured tones. 'Porus, I would like you to leave now, I need some time to think'.

  Porus got off the bed and dressed without protest. As he put on his shoes, he glanced at Saakshi. Her eyes were streaming with tears, but her face had frozen into an unreadable mask. For what seemed like eternity, Porus waited for her to say something. But she remained still. Tiring of the silence, he exited the apartment.

  ◉

  Operation Organ—Police Get Some Results

  The Crime Branch arrested 5 people in connection with the Operation Organ case on Tuesday . Two of them are doctors who served under Dr Jetha in his earlier posting in Pune and the other three are believed to be agents who would identify potential victims and establish contact with them. In a press conference today, the Crime Branch officials said that the accused broke down after interrogation and revealed certain startling facts. The agents were employed by Dr Jetha to go out into the community and find potential donors. These agents, too, had sold their kidneys to the doctor. Migrant labourers, drawn to Mumbai from villages looking for work, were lured by these agents and taken to Dr Jetha with promises of employment, after which they were allegedly brainwashed into selling their kidneys. They were paid 50,000 for their organs, which were sold for 10 times the price to Jetha's rich clients. Meanwhile, the police have made no headway into the investigation of Jetha's death. They suspect that it is the handiwork of a disgruntled member of the deceased doctor's network. 'Investigations are still on, and we will be making an announcement soon,' said an inspector on condition of anonymity.

  ◉

  Saakshi sat by a large open window. Only now was she beginning to feel the grief of the sudden departure of her only parent. Like any other good Indian 'daddy's girl', Saakshi had idolized her powerful father and followed in his footsteps. After doing a course in medicine and an internship in the UK, she had come back to Mumbai. On her father's recommendation, she had joined the Johnson Medical College Hospital and quickly had become a popular figure within the small medical community there. Everybody would call her 'Saakshi didi' as she flitted along the corridors, going about her duties. Her highest ambition had been receiving a rare, appreciative smile from her father. For a while, it had seemed to everyone that Saakshi had dedicated herself to being a loyal foot soldier working under her colossus of a father, both of them single-mindedly dedicated to the cause of medicine.

  But one fine day, at a medical convention, Saakshi ran into a young, handsome, fair-skinned doctor. And life changed completely. The young man had approached her at the lunch buffet counter and recommended the Andhra Crispy Karela. She had responded with the natural hesitation that everyone harbours towards the bitter vegetable, but out of politeness, she had taken a small helping, intending to leave it uneaten. However, while having lunch, she had caught the eye of the young doctor, who had been sitting diagonally across her. She noticed him looking at the untouched karela on her plate. A little embarrassed, she quickly ate a few pieces. To her surprise, she had found the dish to be quite tasty. When she had looked up again at the young doctor, he was grinning and had an 'I-told-you-so' expression. Saakshi returned his smile, blushing like a schoolgirl.

  When she had bumped into him again at the dessert counter, she asked him, 'Have I met you before?'

  The young doctor had smiled mischievously and said, 'No, but I have a feeling that you are going to meet me a lot in the future.' Saakshi's heart thumped against her chest as she heard his words.

  Two weeks later, they slept together for the first time. Five months later, her father discovered the passionate secret affair. Two weeks after that, following a lot of cajoling, she received permission to introduce her Parsi lover, Porus, to her Gujarati father. Both of them had started bonding over a common language and life was just beginning to look perfect when, one week later, unbeknownst to Saakshi, her lover killed her father.

  ◉

  A small knot of young Ukrainian students stood chanting slogans behind the police barricade in the open area opposite Taj Mahal Hotel. Virkar strode up to take the lead position, But the three constables already on duty just nodded at him, throwing him a lazy salute.

  A student suddenly shouted, loud enough to be heard above the din, 'You policemen are dogs!'

  Virkar's jaw set in a thin line and he looked ready to explode. He placed his hand on his holstered service revolver. Around him, the constables tensed, expecting action. But instead Virkar swivelled around, turning his back on the shouting Ukrainian students. Inside his head, he was cursing his situation, trying to block out the noise.

  'How long are you going to take this, Virkar?' was the question he kept asking himself as the Russian foreign minister's entourage approached the hotel. He tried to distract himself and halt the train of dark thoughts.

  As soon as the minister's car passed into the portals of the hotel, he turned his attention back to the ragtag bunch of students, who were now shouting throaty expletives, threatening, waving placards, as if challenging him again.

  'But, what can I do? I am a dog,' muttered Virkar to himself. His body was still trembling with tension. A grey-haired senior constable saw his agitated state; he strolled up to Virkar and offered him a cigarette. Virkar declined, waving him away.

  All of a sudden, from within the crowd, a Coke bottle was flung at the standing policemen. From the corner of his eye, Virkar saw the glass projectile hurtling towards them. Acting on pure instinct, he struck out at the bottle with the wooden riot baton in his hand. The baton connected with the bottle just as it was about to find its mark, the grey-haired constable's bare head. The bottle broke into pieces and fell into the empty space between the protesters and the police, without causing any harm. The policemen raised their batons, awaiting the order to lathi charge.

  The senior constable, though shaken, laid a placatory hand on Virkar's arm and whispered, 'jau diya, saheb .' Virkar cooled down. He signalled the policemen to step back. The line of students, too, shrank back. By now, most of them had decided they'd had their fill of protesting and they quickly began dispersing.

  The constable bent to touch Virkar's feet in grateful servility, 'Thank you for saving my life, saheb.'

  Virkar was a little embarrassed. 'It was just sheer luck.'

  The constable smiled, 'It was not just luck, it was the hand of God working through you. I am a God-fearing man, saheb. Your Goddess, Ekveera Devi, will not spare me if I don't pay you back in some way.'

  Virkar shrugged. The old constable continued to protest. 'You are a good man, Virkar saheb. You are just caught in the wrong situation. I will help you change it.' Virkar looked at him, a little confused. The old constable lowered his v
oice to a whisper. 'Let me tell you a secret...'

  ◉

  Behind its old iron gate, Cursetjee Castle seemed to stare at Saakshi in its entire stony, lost splendor. Its grandiose name was in sharp contrast to the rather ordinary architecture. Although at first, it had been one large house, the two-storeys now housed four separate apartments, carved out of the single structure. Three belonged to various descendants of the late Mr Darashah Cursetjee, a Parsi gentleman and ex-Indian Civil Service officer, who had served his British masters well enough to be awarded the plot on which Cursetjee Castle currently stood. The descendants, though, like many wealthy Parsi progeny, all lived abroad, and had locked up these apartments, using them more as godowns. The fourth apartment, situated at the back, however, was inhabited.

  Saakshi asked her cab to wait as she entered the cavernous entrance of Cursetjee Castle. She walked up the stone stairs, through the dark unlit corridor, to this apartment.

  Standing outside the old teakwood doors of the apartment, she took a deep breath and rattled the brass doorknocker under the nameplate 'Dr Porus Udwadia'.

  The door opened instantly, giving Saakshi a start. As if Porus had been standing right by the door, awaiting her knock. Porus looked like he had not slept the previous night. He pulled her in without a word and led her in gently by the hand, past the large rooms, generally bare, except for some old, wooden furniture. Inside his bedroom, he sat her down on an old settee. His eyes searched her face, as if trying to read what was in her mind. Saakshi laid her soft hand on his unshaven cheek. Porus relaxed a little. Finally, she broke the silence. 'My father's not the only one involved in the racket, there are others. I have come to know that some people who are not doctors are the real brains behind the scam. They ensnared my father, used him for their evil purposes and made it seem as if he was the mastermind.'