by Vish Dhamija
When it was announced that Justice Alok Nair would chair the hearing, Jay Singh knew he was running against the odds. Judge Nair was known to be notoriously pro-prosecution; for the defence a victory was well nigh impossible. It would be like pissing in the gale. With no jury trials in India the decision of the Vinay Kumar trial depended on the sole discretion of one man: Justice Alok Nair.
Alok Nair had been a prosecutor for fifteen years before he was appointed as the District Judge. If rumours were to be believed, he was never good at his job as an advocate, but he was highly efficient at brown-nosing. At all times he maintained cordial relations with his superiors and peers. Ergo, after he cleared the test, there weren’t any eyebrows raised when the Governor of the State, after consultation with the Chief Justice of the Delhi High Court, appointed him as District Judge. He ran his court like a high school class. Discipline and subservience were appreciated. No, not appreciated, expected. He worked extremely hard to be seen to be doing the right thing because the next level of ascendancy was clearly in sight. He had been a District Judge for a sufficient number of years now and the post of a High Court Judge was a tangible possibility. Of course, if Judge Nair’s ruling was not in favour of the defence, Jay could appeal in the High Court, but that could drag on for years, which wasn’t what Vinay Kumar wanted; neither could Jay afford another defeat by Talwar.
Royally screwed, Mr Jay Singh.
***
Bhīma’s spy-force had dropped bugs in Vinay Kumar’s home. Going through the initial recordings, Bhīma found one that he knew would be interesting to Jay. It was an altercation between Kumar and his wife, Rita.
Rita: “Didn’t I warn you to stay away from that bitch, you bastard?”
VK: “She wasn’t a bitch, you are a fucking bitch.”
Rita: “You are the one who keeps dipping your dick in such dirty whores, and you have the balls to call me a bitch? Just wait till I speak to your dad.”
VK: “You talk to him one more time and I’ll break your ugly pig face again.”
Rita: “Try it. You think I’m scared? You are a fucking eunuch who goes around hitting and dropping women… “
Smash…
The sound suggested a slap. Then, some crying, and then howling.
Rita: “I’ll tell your dad. I’ll tell the police. I’ll tell them everything.”
The “everything” was sternly stressed to make some point.
VK: “I’ll kill you.”
Stomping indicated the couple took some stairs to another floor.
Bhīma promptly edited the part out and took it to Jay in his office. He closed the door and put the USB drive into Jay’s computer. Instinctively, Jay put on his headphones and heard this conversation between Rita and Vinay Kumar.
‘What do you think hukum?’
’It is time to meet Vinay Kumar again. And maybe his wife, whether he agrees to it or not.’ Jay stopped to think for a minute. ‘Perhaps he might want to change his version of the events.’ He looked up at Bhīma.
Bhīma smiled, unplugged his USB and turned to go.
‘One more thing Bhīma, it might not be a bad idea to check Vinay Kumar’s past. He may not have any cases pending, but ask your team to diligently check. His wife talked of women not a woman. I have a feeling something is out of character here.’
‘Jee hukum.’
***
Rita was a gorgeous woman. Jay wondered why someone married to her would even think of another woman. Men — and why blame men alone, the whole humankind is injudicious — always seem to want what isn’t righteously theirs. That’s how all the extramarital affairs start, don’t they? Rita was a slender woman with long black straight hair one could fall in love with, and a well-chiselled face with not an ounce of extra fat anywhere on the petite body. She had a lot of make-up on to cover what seemed a blue-black mark under her right eye. Jay wondered why she still stayed with Kumar. But that wasn’t his problem. Thousands of abused women stuck with their husbands, despite being educated and knowing they could step out, get a job, take the swine to court and hang him out to dry. But they didn’t.
She sat on the black leather sofa sipping a Diet Coke when Jay walked in. She did not get up to receive him when the male servant showed him in. She did not offer him a drink either.
‘Apologies for bothering you without notice, Mrs —’
‘Rita. I prefer to be me, than being someone else’s property.’ She smiled a fuck-all-you-men smile.
Jay took in whatever he could about the woman who sat there. ‘Sorry. Rita, I’m Jay Singh, hired to represent your husband, Vinay, in the murder case. I believe you are aware of—’
‘Jay, is it?’ Rita interrupted.
‘Yes. Jay.’
‘So Jay, tell me when is the bit where I should act like a devoted wife who covers her ears with her hands, closes her eyes and screams, “Oh no”!’
For a minute Jay thought she was rehearsing the lines from a seventies Bollywood flick. Then she let out a laugh and took a big sip of whatever she was drinking. He comprehended she wasn’t someone who fancied meaningless pleasantries to drag on for more than a minute, but before he could say anything, she started talking again.
‘Gina.’
‘What about her?’ ‘My husband has been accused of murdering her and I know that. What I don’t know is what you’re looking to get from me? I know he was fucking her. She was a bitch who, despite knowing he was married and had kids, sought to take him away from the family.’ Rita wasn’t someone who minced words. Mellifluence didn’t appear to be her key strength.
As Jay settled in the room, he realised the room was redolent with alcohol fumes. Rita wasn’t having Coke; Coke was a mixer or a camouflage.
‘It’s never one-sided. No one can clap with one hand Rita—’
‘Oh Yeah,’ she interjected again. ‘She was younger, sweeter flesh as all you men want. She was a whore if you ask me. A big-mouthed bitch that sucked my husband’s cock and swindled cash out of him at the same time… you see whoring might not be permitted, but it’s tolerated in our country as long as it isn’t too obvious to be made a fuss about. After all, the supposedly blessed ones also need to slake their despicable thirsts, don’t you think?’
Jay looked around. Rita looked like someone who believed in what she spoke. And, in actuality, she wasn’t very far from the truth. What was Gina expecting? Money? More?
‘And I bet she wanted more than he could give. That, or maybe he got bored with the bitch.’ This was spoken with a tear forming in her eyes.
‘What do you mean?’
‘What do you expect from me, Mr Jay Singh?’
‘Nothing to be honest, and you don’t even have to speak to me if you don’t want to. Anyway, anything that you tell me won’t be repeated in any court of law across the country. So you don’t have to entertain any of my questions. I am just an advocate representing your husband, and as such, it’s in your interest or at least, that’s what I thought when I came here. The police are carrying out the investigations, but all I wanted to know is if there is anything you would like to tell me that could help his case.’
‘Nothing.’ She sipped her alcohol infused Coke. But her nothing carried a lot of weight. It seemed like she wanted to say things she didn’t want anyone else to hear, much less to an advocate who was representing her husband. But her demeanour, her countenance said everything Jay wanted to know. Jay, discerning that she couldn’t care less what happened or that the husband could go-fuck-himself, stood up to leave.
‘Is it okay if I get in touch with you again, Rita?’
‘I can’t possibly tell you anything important.’
‘Everything’s unimportant until it is important. Rita. I’d rather you tell me everything you know than not tell me because you think it wasn’t important.’
‘Do you want to fuck me?’
Aghast at the words, stunned at the implication they carried he felt his cheeks burn, as if he was the one who had uttered those un
scrupulous words. Her icky and surprising remark piqued him. For a minute he didn’t know what to say to her. He wanted to ask what she meant but turned to leave rather than engage in any further dialogue.
‘I mean it, Jay.’
Jay couldn’t just walk away with her speaking after him. Ergo, he turned around to face her.
‘If he can fuck other women why can’t I fuck other men? Or are you a chauvinist too who thinks men are on higher ground and only they can afford to jazz around, but women should be kept at home?
‘And your point is?’
‘Would it be very offensive if I screwed around?’
‘Who am I to judge that? It’s your life and you can do whatever you want, and that’s your choice or discretion, but why me? I am not here to be seduced.’
‘‘I’m not wearing a bra and if I take off my top what would you do?’
‘This conversation is over. I am leaving, ma’am. Have a good day.’
‘Cheeky isn’t it? Wouldn’t you like to see what Vinay is missing? I was a model, now I’m a dump, dipso…’
‘No. Thanks. And bye, Mrs Kumar.’
He walked out.
***
Driving back in the car Jay thought about the whole unsavoury episode. Estranged wives were known to be dangerous, but this outlandish behaviour was utterly unheard of. What had prompted Rita to do such an outrageous thing? Why did she want to do what she said she was willing to? The spectacle wasn’t for sex. A woman of her stature and her gorgeousness could get the physical craving satisfied by scores of domestics she had in the house. Who would know if she jazzed around with the cook or the cleaner or the driver or the security guy? Why suggest it to a first time visitor, especially if he was over only to save your husband? Trying to fuck the advocate didn’t make any sense. That her husband was a philanderer, Jay knew. But, she trying to seduce him was something else. It was undoubtedly orchestrated to relay something she didn’t speak.
What was it?
‘I need Rita’s CV too,’ Jay told Bhīma as he got into the car
‘She is from an extremely rich Marwari family in Calcutta.’ Bhīma’s army of rats were as secretive and as realistic as they show in detective shows on television. Probably better. They had already divulged to Bhīma about Rita. ‘She had a roaring affair with a Muslim guy in her college, but her parents did not want her to be married outside the community. Vinay was chosen for his political pedigree so that the guy would have to forgo her and not follow or blackmail her in any way. If she had been married to anyone less than Vinay Kumar, the previous boyfriend might have chased her. But given Kumar’s background and resources, the poor guy gracefully accepted defeat. That said, she has never strayed, she’s always been a good wife; bore kids and has never been known to do anything immoral or untowardly, hukum. She never even once — going by records and information received — tried to establish contact with her ex-boy-friend or her past.’
Bhīma could make Sherlock Holmes bite his tongue and cheek and…
But did his rats know what to read between the lines?
‘I need detailed intelligence on that guy and his whereabouts. Let’s not rule him out from the investigation. He could have a vested interest in getting Kumar out of the way.’
‘Jee,hukum.’
‘Where would I be without your help, Bhīma?’ Jay abruptly said.
‘Hukum, you underestimate yourself. I am just a servant.’
‘Stop the car. Now.’
Without questioning, Bhīma fought the traffic to get the limo to the left-most lane to bring it to the unpaved area and stopped the car. He turned around then. ‘Is everything okay, hukum?’
Jay, not waiting for Bhīma to step out and give a shufti, got out, slammed the door and walked out, then opened the front passenger door and slipped in.
‘What part of “you are not my servant” do you not understand, Bhīma?’
‘I’m sorry, hukum, I did not mean it that way.’
‘You’re my friend, my brother that I never had. Heck, you’ve done for me what my dad should have done. I do not want to hear anything like this ever again.’
‘Hukum.’ Bhīma nodded in agreement.
‘And there’s one more thing, Bhīma…’ Jay shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘How do I explain you to Manavi? I mean, she doesn’t know I need you, but you and I both know we are inseparable.’
‘Hukum, I won’t let you drive alone ever again.’ Bhīma was focussed.
‘I know that. And it is appreciated. But I don’t want to look like a pansy, either.’
‘Unless, bhabhijee knows the danger you carry, it will be difficult to explain, hukum.’
Bhabhijee? Jesus Christ. Bhabhijee? Sister-in law?
Jay’s heart couldn’t help being amused, but he made an effort not to smile and altogether avoided to acknowledge. To avoid any embarrassment by opening his mouth to accept or decline the bhabhijee status he disregarded the word totally and carried on.
‘Let’s talk about it when we get home. Press on the paddle, Bhīma-jee’
Bhīma smiled at the “jee”.
Jay wanted to discuss the encounter he had at Vinay Kumar’s residence with Bhīma but decided against it. Bhīma would have heard the whole nasty conversation on his mobile anyway. There wasn’t any point in discussing the disgusting detail. Bhīma was instructed to find Rita’s ex. That was his job.
As the car trundled through the tsunami of traffic, Jay wondered what if he had actually stopped by to have nookie with Rita. If nothing else, it would have provided him with some carnal experience that might have come in handy in dealing with Manavi. When was the last time he had sex? Never was the only answer. Forget the film, he was the true over-forty-year-old virgin, if you ignored the sex with his handsome hand over the years. An uncomfortable smile washed all over his face as he thought of times ahead.
Do I let her know I don’t have any experience? was on his mind when he drifted into sleep on the front seat of the car as it sluggishly snailed in the traffic.
EIGHTEEN
Bhīma worked relentlessly. He kept longer hours than his boss. And his tasks were fraught with dangers, but that didn’t worry him, not one bit. That was in Bhīma’s DNA. He recognised this particular investigation was personal for Jay. After driving Jay back from Kumar’s house, he had dinner with Bahadur and then left on his nocturnal prowl. He rode the near empty Sri Aurubindo Marg, passing Yusuf Sarai, Haus Khas, then took the Ring Road and was on Nizamuddin Bridge in less than thirty minutes. He crossed the Yamuna and rode into East-Delhi.
Patparganj was once a flourishing town and an important grain market for the Moghuls. However, after the Battle of Patparganj in 1803, when the British took over Delhi, Patparganj’s fortunes declined and it never regained its lustre. Even today it was considered an area where the children of some lesser God resided. Bhīma’s contact Raja was expecting him in the parking lot at Max Hospital at Indraprastha Extension. As a rule, Bhīma never met his informants at seedy locations. He believed in robust surroundings where no one ever suspected anything unlawful would happen. By the nature of its work, a hospital was a place that expected visitors even in the middle of the night. Raja was one of Bhīma’s most trusted informers; he had served under Bhīma in the army and — both being Kargil War veterans — the camaraderie and trust had continued beyond the battlefield. The two could feel at ease with each other, they could discuss matters beyond those at hand and let the guards drop for a while. As Raja was an ex-colleague, Bhīma rarely engaged him in anything that was even remotely bent, but this was different. In any event this search could in no way be classified as unlawful.
Raja was smoking a cigarette in the parking lot. He threw it down and stubbed it out when he heard Bhīma’s motorbike approaching and walked towards him. Bhīma parked his bike, took off his helmet and the two walked into the main hospital building like they were visiting someone in the place or that they worked there and were arriving for their night shift. Raja, resourceful
as he was, had arranged, with the help of some distant relative in the hospital, to gain the keys to a generic consulting room like he always did for such clandestine meetings. They picked coffee from the vending machine in the foyer and confidently sauntered to the elevators like two friends. No eyebrows were raised.
‘Long time, Lieutenant sahib,’ Raja uttered as he unlocked the door. ‘Is vakil sahib keeping you busy?’
Bhīma let out an assenting chuckle.
Raja boldly switched on the light and the two men sat down like a consultant and a patient with the big table in between. The disinfectant smell prevailed but that was hardly a bother considering that the alternative would be to stand in the shady car park or next to some open sewer. Not under any kind of time constraint, Bhīma started with a bit of chitchat about Raja’s family and his only son’s education, which was paid by Bhīma and intrinsically funded by Jay. This was totally exclusive of whether Raja agreed to help out or not in this particular case; this arrangement was something that Jay and Bhīma believed they did for their own redemption. The boy was doing fine, he was planning to take the National Defence Academy entrance examination, which was a pure symphony to Bhīma’s ears.
‘So, what brings you to me, sir?’ Raja still addressed Bhīma deferentially, camaraderie or not.
‘I am looking for someone.’ There was no ambiguity. Raja would carry out the task like an informant, but he wasn’t the usual rogue snoop where Bhīma had to conceal any information. ‘However, firstly what might make it a little difficult is the time lag. I’m looking for someone who resided in this part of Delhi in the eighties.’
‘Eighties, that’s like more than thirty years ago, really ancient.’
‘I know.’
‘Who is it?’
‘That’s the second hitch, I don’t know the name.’
Raja rolled his eyes. ‘Photograph?’
‘No.’