by Piyush Jha
Senior Inspector Pandian joined in his junior's mirth.
'Who was the victim?' asked Pandian.
'Someone called Samir Khanna.'
'Samir...Khanna...did you say?' Pandian grew pensive.
'Why? Does the name sound familiar?' asked Tirke.
'But why was this man calling now?' Pandian asked in turn.
'Because this victim—this Samir Khanna—has suddenly left Bhonsale Hospital.'
Pandian nodded, still thoughtful. His fingers drummed the table.
Tirke continued, 'Arre, I kept asking him, if the victim has left on his own, if the victim is not making a complaint, what is your problem? You are lucky!' He laughed again.
Pandian merely smiled.
'Okay, Pandian saheb, I'm going back to duty. Hope I don't get any more such cases' He let loose a last rumble of laughter as he left.
A serious expression settled on Pandian's face.
He dialled a number.
◉
Raghu Nadar, the young and dynamic municipal councillor from Vashi, Navi Mumbai, was sitting in his office, shell-shocked.
He had just got a call from Senior Inspector Pandian of the Kharghar police station. Pandian was a man from his Tamil Nadar community and a family friend.
As always, Raghu had started his day early. He was in his office to meet the constituents of his ward, who trooped in everyday to discuss their civic problems. 'The door of Raghu Nadar's office is always open was what was said about him. Today, too, there was a long line of people outside his office. In fact, the throng was bigger today and everybody seemed to be in a celebratory mood.
Raghu got up and walked up to his office door.
Much to the surprise of his staff, supporters and constituents, he closed the door on them for the first time. He wanted privacy.
Alone, Raghu sat down at his table and took a deep breath. Today was the defining day of his life—a day that he had been awaiting since the death of his father, when he was a child. A day that would lift him out of the lower-middle-class morass that he had been clawing at throughout his short life, and catapult him into the big league.
After arriving in the newly-formed suburb of Navi Mumbai one fine day as a fatherless eight-year-old with only an illiterate mother as a caregiver, Raghu had motivated himself and risen to the challenges of adjusting to a new life and a new community. Right from his schooldays, he had charmed his way into peoples hearts through his tireless acts of social service. Ever-ready to do a favour for a person in need, Raghu had gained the respect and adulation, first of the people of his neighbourhood and then of those in his municipal ward, who had urged him to contest the municipal elections as an independent candidate. Raghu had won by a thumping majority, reflecting the people's faith in his abilities to get the job done. Indeed, he was not a man who did things in half-measures. And he was not afraid to show his ambitions to the world. Even his worst critic admired his doggedness. And it was this perseverance that had caught the attention of the ruling party. Although he had been an independent councillor for the past three years, during the last six months, he had been wooed by the ruling party to join forces with them. The canny Raghu had hammered out a dream deal.
Today, Raghu would be welcomed personally into the ruling party by the party president, who was flying in from Delhi to address the public and party volunteers at a large gathering in Mumbai's Azad Maidan. With this formal induction, the party president would declare Raghu Nadar the official ruling party candidate for the Vashi assembly seat.
The Vashi seat was a stronghold of the ruling party, but had fallen empty recently, due to the death of the three-time sitting MLA. The party now wanted to field only candidates with clean records, especially in urban areas. It was unfortunate, however, that every other potential candidate had a tainted past, automatically disqualifying them in the eyes of the party high command. None of the party's junior workers matched the dynamism and clean image of the independent people's choice—Corporator Raghu Nadar. So, he became the right choice for the party, which was also seeking to expand its base at the grassroots. In fact, Raghu had also wangled a nod for a junior minister's berth after his sure-shot victory.
Raghu looked at a framed photograph hanging on the wall with a fresh garland hanging across it. The stern-faced, dark-complexioned man in the photograph bore a striking resemblance to him.
He opened a drawer in his desk, took out a large file and started leafing through it urgently, till he spotted a newspaper cutting. It was a report about the Fortune Leather Factory fire incident that had transpired during the bloody 1993 Mumbai riots. Raghu scrutinized the photos of the victims printed on the page. The first photograph was that of Samir Khanna, taken in his younger days.
The news report stated that eight Muslim workers had been killed at the Fortune Leather Factory in Dharavi by a mob of Hindus. Their bodies had been found charred beyond recognition. Samir Khanna, the owner of Fortune Leather Factory, had tried to save them, but had got trapped under a fallen beam and had himself been charred to death. The mastermind behind the attack was said to be one N. Selvaraj, the factory in-charge. According to the report, Selvaraj had incited a mob of Hindus against his Muslim co-workers and fled the place, fearing police action against him. He was never traced, despite the police's best efforts. At the bottom of the report was a photograph of Selvaraj. The same one that hung on Raghu Nadar's wall.
Raghu was thoughtful. He dialled a number on his mobile. At the other end, his mother picked up.
'How are you, Amma?' asked Raghu softly.
'Raghu.. .what is wrong?'
Raghu realized that his mother had caught his mood. He tried to cover up. 'Nothing really, Amma, I was just remembering Appa,'
His mother's eyes grew moist. 'I think of him everyday and pray that he will come back to me. If only I knew what had happened to him that night...' Then she steadied her voice. 'But what am I saying? Let it go, Raghu. Every time you think of your father, you have an emotional breakdown. I can't see you go through that pain again.'
'Amma, that was when I was a boy,' Raghu replied in a placating manner. 'I have grown up now. I can control my emotions'
His mother smiled to herself. 'You will always remain a little boy when it comes to this.'
Raghu inhaled and pulled himself up on his seat. Amma, please give me your blessings'
'You always have my blessings. But is something the matter? I can hear a restlessness in your voice...'
'Nothing, Amma. Okay, I have to go now. I will call later.'
'Please be careful,' were his mother's parting words as Raghu put down the phone. He shook his head and thought, Mothers! How do they always know?
Raghu's mother, although illiterate, possessed a native intelligence so sharp, she had figured out Raghu's restlessness during his early college days. Unfortunately, her actions, that rose out of an instinct to protect him, had backfired. She had sent him to his native village in Sirumalai, Tamil Nadu, to visit his ailing grandfather, hoping that the old man would have a calming effect on him. Instead, to her horror, Raghu had disappeared from his grandfather's home. She had looked for him high and low, but there was no sign of him, only rumours that he had teamed up with a group of youngsters who wanted to join the war for Tamil Eelam in Sri Lanka. A year later, Raghu had returned to Navi Mumbai out of the blue and resumed his college studies as if nothing had happened. The restlessness was gone and he seemed totally calm and in control. He had never spoken about his whereabouts during the previous year. His mother, who had just been thankful that he had returned, chose never to question him, and referred to that period in his life only obliquely. But Raghu always felt that she knew each and every dark deed of his.
Raghu took another deep breath. He took out a key from his pocket and went into an inner room. He opened a small Godrej safe and took out an iron box. He ran his fingers over a cloth-wrapped package. Then he unwrapped it and took out an Austrian-made 9mm Mini Glock pistol.
Raghu loaded
the pistol.
◉
Samir Khanna's legs supported him well as he made his way round the back of the Bhonsale Medical Trust Hospital. He could feel a dull throb of pain in his limbs sometimes, but a swirling energy flow resonating from his brain to the rest of his body, kept him surging forward.
His luck had been good, as he weaved through a small dirty gully that opened into the large ground of an adjoining yoga centre. Among the yoga enthusiasts, his white pajama and shirt went unnoticed. He avoided all eye contact and instinctively walked westwards. He entered a large maidan, where the first groups of morning exercisers were flexing their muscles. A couple of them looked curiously at the barefoot Samir. Then they got on with their routine, assuming him to be one of those who followed his own quirky exercise regimen.
At the western end of the maidan, Samir came across a small, almost deserted road. He crossed it and entered a school ground. Because of the school holidays, the playground was empty at that morning hour. He then made his way through the grounds to the Sion-Panvel Highway that bordered the school on the west.
He stumbled for the first time as he stood by the highway. Not because his legs gave way under him, but because he was struck dumb by the number of cars whizzing past him at an alarming speed.
As the morning traffic screamed its way into his ears, he felt disoriented. It was as if the ambient noise levels had risen by many quantum decibels in the past nineteen years. Voices seemed to be louder, cars seemed to be noisier and tempers seemed to be shorter as he stood surveying the sputter and flow of the vehicles in front of him.
Finally he composed himself and took a tentative step to cross the highway. The throaty protest from a passing truck sent him scurrying back to the safety of the edge of the road.
Fearing that he would be run over, he gave up his attempt to cross, and started walking along the highway without knowing where he was going. Still in his patient's uniform pyjama and half-shirt, walking bare foot, he was quite a sight. But to his surprise, no one paid him any attention as they drove past like speed bullets.
A loud, hollow honk just behind him made him jump. An air-conditioned BEST bus, emblazoned with advertisements for a fairness cream, brushed past him. Instinctively, he jumped aside, straight towards a bush lining the highway. Not being able to control his balance, he fell. The bush broke his fall. Luckily for him, it was not thorny and was able to cushion him from getting hurt. He straightened up to see that the bus had stopped by the side of the road, a little ahead of him. The bus conductor was leaning out, looking at him. Samir quickened his pace, trying to reach the bus. The conductor threw a disgusted glance at him and walked back into the bus. The automatic doors closed and the bus starting moving.
A surprised Samir broke into a run and, with some effort, was able to grab the back door handle and haul himself on the footboard. But instead of stopping, the bus gathered more speed. Samir frantically banged on the plexi-glass door of the bus. The passengers sitting inside took their noses out of their newspapers and looked at him and threw quizzical glances at each other. The bus stopped with a jerk Samir almost fell off, but somehow managed to keep clinging on. The angry bus conductor gestured to him to get off. But Samir persisted. 'Let me in. Let me in,' he begged. Finally, with an exasperated gesture, the conductor signalled to the driver to close the door. With a loud 'whoosh' the door that Samir was clinging on to started swinging to the side. Samir was swept off his feet by the hydraulic strength of the door's opening mechanism, and he lost his balance and fell on the roadside, landing on his back. The bus doors shut unceremoniously and the bus started its onward journey. Samir stared silently at it. The conductor shrugged, raised his right forefinger to his temple and twisted it. 'Pagal,' he said.
The passengers nodded, exchanging knowing smiles and resumed reading their newspapers.
◉
The Glock was doing its job. Madhukar Bhonsale and the CMO were scared out of their wits. Raghu Nadar had stormed into the Bhonsale Medical Trust Hospital half an hour ago and demanded to meet the doctor in charge. Unfortunately, the doctor in charge had had no clue of what had happened and flatly denied any knowledge of a coma patient. Samir Khanna's presence in the hospital was a fact known only to a handful of employees. But when Raghu had raised his voice a few decibels, the doctor had scurried to the CMO's office and summoned him to face Raghu's wrath. The CMO, in turn, had quickly placed a call to Madhukar and requested his presence to face the irate municipal councillor who was threatening to introduce a motion to close down the hospital in the next session of the municipal council.
Madhukar, at first, tried to lie through his teeth about Samir, but when he discovered that Raghu had the details of his drunken phone call to the police station, he had no option but to own up. And when Raghu drew out the Glock and kept it on the table in front of him, Madhukar's tongue gave up its reluctance and rattled off the full story of Samir's long stay at the hospital, every minute development included.
As Madhukar concluded his story, Raghu's face grew grim. Madhukar and the CMO watched as he picked up the Glock, 'Now, tell me, what is this Samir Khanna's current situation? Is he is absolutely fine, out of danger?' Raghu asked, brandishing the gun with just enough menace to cause a large lump of fear to mushroom in their chest.
A creature of habit, the CMO assumed his practised doctor's tone, 'Well, Coma Man...uh...Samir's case, is unique. As yet, medical science has encountered only a few cases of people who have recovered fully after such a prolonged coma. Then, too, not many have regained motor functions to the extent that Samir has. A kind of freak energy is keeping him going, but then again his limbs have not been used for many years. They are bound to give away soon...' The CMO stopped mid-sentence. Raghu's Glock was a few inches away from his face.
'Doctor, I am not interested in a lecture,' Raghu hissed. 'I am simply asking, will he be able to remember events from the past or not?'
The CMO dabbed the sweat on his brow with a handkerchief. 'He is just recovering and as yet, he has not fully regained his memory.'
'What can be done to help Samir Khanna regain his memory fully?' Raghu asked.
'Sometimes, if the patient undergoes a harrowing or scary experience, it triggers a memory recovery. But he might get confused between his real memories and what he may be told. So, it's best to let him recover at his own pace.'
'Now one last thing... Where did he go?'
The CMO seemed clueless, but Madhukar quickly intervened. 'The nurse who was tending to him said that he went out towards the back gate, which means that he could have gone towards the highway. That's all we know.'
Raghu hissed, 'It will be best if you keep your mouths shut about the whole thing.' The implication of the municipal councillor's thinly-veiled threat was not lost on either Madhukar or the CMO, as he stormed out of the room.
◉
The sleek Japanese motorbike weaved its way through the traffic snarl on the highway. The besotted young couple astride the motorbike were lost to the world, and were attracting the attention of others on the highway. The lovelorn girl on the backseat, clad in a diaphanous T-shirt and denim shorts, had her breasts squashed against the rider's back and her arms firmly linked across his muscular bare chest. She was whispering something in his ear that made him grin. As he swerved between the vehicles, he arched his back, as if to derive maximum pleasure from the girl's body.
Samir Khanna stood on one side of the highway snarl, near the junction of Uran Road and the Sion-Panvel Highway, watching the couple on the motorbike. The rising heat of the morning and the barefoot walk along the highway had finally got to him, and he had stopped to catch his breath. A faint memory entered his mind. Although his eyes seemed to be looking at the young lovers, his mind was travelling into an inner space that had been locked away for a long time.
◉
'Faster!' Bahaar shouted, flushed with excitement. Her eyes had that familiar twinkle Samir found so endearing. They were on their way to Goa in their brand-new
Mercedes 500E. The car was winding its way slowly along the coastal road, but Bahaar wasn't happy. She was pestering Samir to speed up. She had the windows down and was craning her neck out to catch the wind on her face. She giggled, like a teenager sharing a naughty joke with a friend. 'Keep your head in. It's dangerous,' Samir cautioned.
Bahaar looked at Samir. The colour on her cheeks was the rosy flush he normally noticed during the first moments of sexual excitement. 'I love danger,' she whispered, reaching for the seam of her T-shirt. In one smooth movement, she peeled it off her body. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. He felt the first stirs of excitement.
She gestured to him to keep his eyes on the road as she slid towards him. Samir complied. Bahaar splayed a leg across his lap and Samir's grip on the steering wheel loosened. She slid into the space between the steering wheel and Samir's body, and faced him as she straddled his lap; her naked breasts pressed against his face.
For a few seconds, Samir couldn't see the road. He panicked. But Bahaar arched her body at an angle that allowed him to keep his eyes on the road. She stroked his hair with her soft fingers. He was finding it tough to focus on the road. Then she repeated the one word Samir was dreading: 'Faster!' He pressed his foot on the pedal and the Mercedes roared. The jerk made Bahaar's body arch forward. Her breasts were in Samir's face as he tried valiantly to keep driving. Finally, he succumbed to her offer, somehow managing to keep the vehicle going simlutaneously. God was smiling on them that day, as the Mercedes ate away the kilometres without meeting any accidents, allowing the lovers to reach the heights of ecstasy.
◉
The abrasive honk from a vehicle snapped Samir out of his reverie. He found himself still standing at the junction where the traffic had eased up a little bit.
The horn now almost blared into his eardrums. Samir swivelled and saw a white SUV parked beside him. He stepped backwards to get out of its path. But the front window on the driver's side slid down, and a gust of air-conditioned breeze wafted towards him. A dark-complexioned young man leaned out of the window and gestured towards the passenger seat.