by Piyush Jha
Upstairs, in the living room of Porus's apartment, Athavle sputtered to consciousness hearing the howl. His eyes opened and glazed over, confused at his situation. Porus, taking this opportunity to revive him fully, poured a saucepan full of water on his face.
Satisfied with his work, Porus went back to the settee and sat down. He began to chew on a fresh stick of gum while he waited for Athavle to gain a little more focus. He shot out a stream of questions as he began his interrogation: 'How many kidneys did you trade? How many people did you cheat? How many lives did you and Dr Jetha ruin?'
Athavle grimaced, still in pain.
'It was just a business...' he said after several minutes.
'Bastard! You took people's body parts and sold them. Is that what you call a business?' Porus shouted.
Athavle's face was a mask. 'Yes, it was just a business, a normal, everyday Indian "cheating" business. Like cheating on government contracts for making roads, taking bribes at a police station, overcharging on real estate, overcharging at hospitals, as in your case...just plain, simple cheating. We were just innovative in our approach. Nothing else.'
Porus went into one of the rooms and emerged with a small tape-based Dictaphone. He tested it for clarity, then rolled the tape back to the start mark. All this time, Athavle eyed him with a dark expression.
Porus thrust the Dictaphone near Athavle's face. He pressed the record button and barked, 'Now please repeat what you just told me'. Athavle shook his head and smiled. A smile that dripped pure slime.
Porus flashed him a good-natured smile in return. 'I have been quite naive in my judgment of you. However, I am also equipped with enough intelligence to remedy it'.
Porus kept the Dictaphone on the settee and walked back into his room. He came out with a syringe full of a golden-hued liquid.
Athavle had been watching him with growing fear. When Porus tapped the needle and pressed the plunger to squirt a couple of test drops, Athavle couldn't take it any more. He screamed, 'Don't kill me...don't kill me!'
Porus smiled. 'It's interesting how your manner has changed so quickly...people are always scared of injections' He walked towards Athavle, bearing the syringe in his hand.
Athavle pleaded. 'Please, I don't want to die.'
This time, Porus gave a dry laugh. 'Don't worry, Mr Athavle, this is just Scopolamine, the long-forgotten truth serum. Did you know it was the favourite drug of the KGB? It is, in fact, the original narco-analysis drug.'
Athavle screamed. Porus spoke in his soothing doctor's manner. 'Oh, don't worry, it will just put you into a state known as "twilight sleep", helping you to confess everything, even the naughty pranks you played as a little boy! The best part is that you will remember nothing after you regain consciousness, as this friendly drug has the added quality of blocking out recent events'
In one jerk, Porus tore off Athavle's left shirtsleeve. Athavle tried to shake him away, but Porus held his arm down, looking for a vein. He quickly plunged the syringe into the vein and injected the serum. Then he walked back to the settee and turned the Dictaphone on. He pulled a chair close to Athavle and sat down. Athavle was already going into a trance-like state. Porus slapped his cheeks lightly to gain his attention. 'Now, Mr Athavle, please tell me all you know about the kidney racket,' he said.
All of a sudden, Athavle's eyes rolled back in his head. A spurt of blood escaped his nostrils and spattered onto the Dictaphone. Porus was surprised. He laid the Dictaphone on to the ground and pushed up Athavle's rapidly flickering eyelids. Athavle's body was shaking. Porus quickly checked Athalve's heartbeat; it was racing. He got up and ran back into the inner room, took out a bottle from his drug cabinet, and ran back into the living room. He picked up the syringe and quickly drew up some liquid from the new bottle, but by the time he reached Athavle, the man had lost consciousness. Porus checked for a pulse. Finding none, he let go of Athalve's hand. A mixture of disappointment and regret appeared on his face. He stared at the lifeless Athavle and let out a sigh. 'What I neglected to tell you, Mr Athavle, is that, in one case out of a hundred, Scopolamine induces massive cardiac arrest.'
◉
A bespectacled man with a heavy moustache was sitting at his table, his manner aggressive, as he spoke to a thin, earnest-sounding young boy. The man said, 'How dare you suggest such a thing?'
The boy pleaded, 'Sir, please, my entire future depends on these two marks, if you could, sir, just please help me, sir.'
The man was incensed. 'You people think that you can bring your sob stories to your professors and they will give you the marks, just like that. You are lucky that I'm not taking your case to the Board authorities, otherwise you will be rusticated and marked zero, forget the two extra marks'
The young boy started crying. 'Sir, please, my father is a poor fisherman, all he wants is that I should go to an engineering college. I studied really hard, sir, but I also have to help him in his work, sir, I am helping support our family, sir, I am just two marks short of the percentage needed for getting into an engineering college. Please help me, sir, it will not make any difference to you, but my family position will change, sir.'
The man shouted, 'You cheater! Get out of my room, or I will report you to the police.'
Virkar woke up with a start. Dryness tickled his throat as his glazed eyes instinctively began to focus on the cheap plastic wall clock. It was 3 a.m. He had slept for three hours straight after coming home from his evening with Moses. By now, the effect of the alcohol had worn off. But he felt drained even while lying on his bed. Moses's words went through his mind again. The heart-wrenching story of Udwadia, the syce, and his ambitions for his son Porus had touched a raw nerve. There could be no other explanation for the sudden, vivid resurgence of his long-forgotten memory. He wanted to get up, wash the sweat off his body and, hopefully, the memory off his mind. But he realized that he would have to go through the entire painful process till the memory washed itself away. There was no escape.
Two days after his meeting with the professor, Virkar's father had returned from a fishing expedition with his usual meagre catch. At home, all his father could do was complain, complain, and complain about how the mechanized trawlers were clearing out the oceans, leaving nothing for his poor dhow. Virkar's mother, as usual, had tried to focus on the bright side of things. She had applied the salve of the young Virkar's impending engineering degree as the way out of troubled waters. His father had perked up and the joy on his face had chilled young Virkar's heart. His father had looked at him and proudly proclaimed, 'Ramesh Ramdeo Virkar, the first engineer from Colaba Machhimaar colony. My biggest catch!'
Standing in front of the engineering college gates, anger was the only emotion that had embraced him. The warmth of that embrace set his heart on fire.
His mind had been burning, too, as he walked through the narrow gullies of Colaba Machhimaar colony later. Vengeance was what young Virkar had demanded. Vengeance was the only way to douse the fire.
Three months later, while standing at a bus stop near the Regal Cinema, the mustachioed professor had been beaten up by three street youth, over a senseless argument about taking up too much space at the crowded bus stop. The professor had sustained a hairline crack in the skull and had spent the better part of six months in a hospital. The three youth were never caught. No one ever got to know that they were a certain Ramesh Ramdeo Virkar's cousins from far-off Versova.
Virkar was restless as the memory filled him with shame. He walked to the tiny washbasin in the corner of the tenement and turned on the tap. The gentle trickle of water was soothing. He splashed some water on his face. Feeling slightly better, he glanced at the cheap plastic wall clock again. 3.15 a.m.
Virkar reached out for his pant and shirt that were hanging from a hook in the wall. He exited his tenement and walked into the narrow streets of Bhoiwada that were, at this time of the morning, devoid of their usual hustle and bustle.
Virkar's mind went over the directions given by Moses. The direct
ions that he hoped would lead him to the man he had been hunting.
◉
4 a.m. on a Mumbai morning is the darkest, quietest time anyone can imagine in this bustling city. It is said that at this time even burglars rest in the city that pretends never to sleep. Only a rare car passes through local neighbourhood streets. Otherwise, the streets in most neighbourhoods are uninhabited, except for a stray dog or two.
It was one such dog, standing under a streetlamp, that caught Virkar's attention as he stood in the shadows opposite Cursetjee Castle. He noticed a wet, glistening blackness on the dog's snout. He searched his pockets for something to offer the dog, but found nothing. He whistled softly. The dog twitched its tail and glanced at him; a little confused whether he was friend or foe. Deciding that Virkar was harmless, it bounded towards him, wagging its tail in friendship.
Virkar patted its head and rubbed its back, his eyes fixed on the dog's mouth. The dog playfully licked his hand. Virkar took this as an opportunity to rub his hand against the dog's snout. The dog growled a little and backed away. Virkar raised his hand and examined the slimy substance under the dim glow of the streetlight. It was what he had thought, blood. Thick, blackish blood. The dog growl turned low and throaty.
Virkar took a step towards the dog but it yelped and bolted into the night. He bent down and picked up a piece of paper lying on the ground, scraped off the blood from his hand with the paper, and folded it. Preserving it as evidence in his pocket. His hand went to his hip and he realized the biggest disadvantage of being a policeman on suspension. His gun was lying safely in its holster, secure in a Godrej steel cupboard, inside his police station.
He turned his attention back towards Cursetjee Castle. His eyes scanned the black, two-storey structure, as if trying to bore a hole through the stone walls to find the source of the blood. He decided to take a closer look and was about to cross the street to get closer to Cursetjee Castle, when he heard a scraping sound coming from that direction. He hid himself deeper in the shadows. He strained to figure out the source of the scraping sound. His curiosity soon got the better of him, and he crouched and tiptoed towards the compound wall bordering Cursetjee Castle. Upon reaching a dark patch on the compound wall, he raised himself to try and get a view inside, but the wall was too high. He then clasped the top of the wall. Using all his strength, he managed to raise himself parallel to the wall, enough for him to take in the dark compound and the goings on within. Like a precariously balanced gymnast, Virkar hung in his suspended position, his tense body struggling against gravity. The scraping had grown louder and Virkar could now decipher it as the sound of a heavy object being dragged on dry mud.
Suddenly, he caught a movement in the darkness. His eyes focused on what looked like a man struggling with a large gunnysack, heading towards the silhouette of a car standing at the far end of the compound. He calculated that the man would take at least a minute to reach the car at his current pace. Lowering himself back on to the ground, he allowed himself a quick chance to relax before getting back into position. His heart thumped as he began to understand what was happening on the other side of the wall. After he had rested for about forty-five seconds, he hoisted himself back into the same position and his eyes searched again for the man. He saw that the man had reached the car. A sliver of moonlight bounced off metal, and Virkar could make out that the boot was open. The man was now hoisting the gunnysack into the boot. Struggling with its heavy proportions, he somehow managed to overturn it in. As the gunnysack disappeared inside the tight space with a low thump, the man relaxed, catching his breath. He shut the boot door as quietly as possible. Virkar then heard the car door open and moments later, the sound of the engine starting. But the headlights didn't come on.
Virkar quickly jumped back off the compound wall, onto the footpath, and scurried back across the street, merging himself into the shadows once more. Just then, he heard the car at the compound gate. He saw the dark shape of a man get out of the car and open the metal gates. The man got back into the car and drove away, down the street, turning right at the first by-lane.
As soon as the car had disappeared from sight, Virkar sprang out of the shadows and ran towards his Bullet that he had earlier parked under a building midway down the street. He sprang onto the motorcycle and took off in the direction of the car. Turning into the by-lane that the car had taken, he saw the car at quite a distance from him. The car took a turn on to the main Mazagaon road. Virkar followed at a discreet distance. Luckily for him, the driver had turned on the lights after hitting the main road. He spotted the car again at a distance, turning towards Byculla. The car headed through Byculla and reached Gloria Church, where it looped across Sir JJ Marg towards 'S' Bridge.
The car and the motorcycle wound on and on through the black roads. Virkar wondered where they were headed, as the car had almost reached Nana Chowk. He watched as it turned right into a lane just after Gamdevi Police Station. On an impulse, Virkar stopped the bike on the main road and parked it behind a couple of other cars on the side of the road. He walked into the lane on foot. Using the parked cars in the street for cover, he walked down the lane. He saw the car, parked in a gully opposite a garbage bin. Virkar realized that the bin was directly behind the Gamdevi police station, except that it was hidden from sight because of the high compound wall. The boot of the car was open and the man was lifting the gunnysack out of the car. Virkar watched in silence. The man dragged the gunnysack across the street to the garbage bin and propped it against the side of the bin. The man hurried back across the street and started the car. As quietly as possible, he reversed out of the dark gully and drove off in the opposite direction.
Virkar waited for the car to disappear, then emerged from the shadows and walked towards the gunnysack. He approached it with some amount of trepidation, fearing what he may find inside. He poked at the rough fabric and felt something soft and pulpy. A sinking feeling started growing in the pit of his stomach. He quickly undid the knot at the top and let the gunnysack fall over to the side. Out spilled the body of a recently dead man. What surprised Virkar was that he recognized the man. A small-time real-estate broker called Athavle, who had connections with the underworld. Athavle had, on many occasions, been an informer for the police and was quite the favourite with the erstwhile encounter specialists'.
A neatly folded crisp white paper popped out of Athavle's pocket. Virkar reached for the paper, but stopped himself at the last minute. He took out a handkerchief and wrapped it around his hand like a glove. He then extricated the note. He opened the note and strained to read the scrawled lettering under the dull moonlight.
'This man's name is Athavle. He was an associate of Dr Animesh Jetha and had helped him in the kidney racket. I have killed him. People like him, who prey on the poor, need to be removed from this earth. I will not rest until all the members of this organ racket have been brought to justice by me. My justice is their death.'
The note was unsigned, but Virkar already knew who had written it. He stood silent. He wanted to go after Porus, but strangely, held himself back. He had no real answer for this hesitance. The only answer that sprung to his mind was that somehow, Porus's actions had opened up a locked door within him. A hidden door that led to the darkest part of his soul. To a visceral understanding of Porus's motive. To the revelation that perhaps, he himself was not very different from Dr Porus Udwadia.
Around him, the chirping of birds began to fill the air. The night was dying, giving way to a new day. After what seemed a lifetime, Virkar recovered his wits.
He folded the note, placed it back in Athavle's pocket and shoved the lifeless man back into the sack. Quickly, he tied the sack up again and left it next to the garbage bin. He then melted into the grey Mumbai dawn.
◉
The Bullet cruised past the still unawakened Metro Cinema Junction and slid between the Kayani and Bastani Bakeries. Passing the next traffic signal without any hindrance, it turned right onto an arterial road leading right into
the heart of Kalbadevi.
Virkar's eyes scanned the shop signboards and finally rested on the one proclaiming: 'Elite Estate Agency, Proprietor— B. K. Athavle'.
Maakad Nakwa shifted on the pillion seat, reminding Virkar of his presence.
Virkar gestured towards the signboard. Maakad nodded back. Virkar rode the Bullet into a narrow by-lane and stopped near a parked car. Maakad said, 'So what do you want me to look for, some land deal papers?'
Virkar replied, 'No, I want you to get me anything that looks as if it is connected to doctors or the medical profession.'
Maakad raised an eyebrow in surprise but held his tongue.
Maakad Nakwa was perhaps the single most capable cat burglar left in Mumbai. Born and brought up in the Colaba Machhimar Colony, he had shown no interest in following the footsteps of his fisherman father. Instead, he had had an early inclination towards his current trade. As a child, he would slide up the mast of his father's old fishing boat, curl himself into a ball, and hide in the smallest of places. His first name was Ravi, but he had been named Maakad (monkey) because of his ability to jump from roof to roof of the neighbouring huts, without making a sound, or denting the corrugated aluminum roof sheets. As an adolescent, Maakad's talents were utilized by the Sundre Gang to enter the old houses of Colaba, by making him scale pipes and use his body compacting skills to gain entry through gaps in window grills barely large enough to let a small animal through. The spate of new construction brought in new apartments with smaller grill gaps and, therefore, less possibility of entering through the windows. Maakad was the only member of the Sundre Gang who survived the wave of arrests in the 1990s that put most of the gang behind bars. To keep in step with the changing times, Maakad surreptitiously trained at a locksmith's shop in the Fort area. He then went solo and travelled from Colaba all the way to Bandra, breaking locks and entering apartments in swanky bungalows. He stole enough to create a steady income for himself. Occasionally he would venture towards burglarizing a house in Colaba. After Virkar had been posted to the Colaba police station, he warned his old friend Maakad to stop operating in Colaba. Maakad did not heed his warning and had robbed a jewelry cache from a rich businessman's house. Virkar arrested him, although he was kind enough not to pressurize him to return the stolen goods. Six months later, Maakad was out. After having spent his first stint in jail, he had decided to go straight. Finally taking up the profession that almost all his family members had wanted him to be a part of, in the first place, he bought himself a mechanized fishing trawler by selling off the stolen jewellery.