by Vish Dhamija
‘Bhīma, the doctor I’m seeing, Anita, wants to meet you.’
‘Why me, hukum?’ Bhīma sounded genuinely surprised.
‘To know more about me.’
‘So she wants me to divulge secrets about you, which you, yourself, haven’t told her about, hukum?’
‘No, it’s not like that.’ Jay let out a loud laugh. ‘Stop the car when you can and I’ll hop by to explain.’
Bhīma took less than five minutes to stop the car at the roadside. Jay jumped out and climbed into the front seat.
‘Let’s go.’
‘Seatbelt,’ Bhīma gestured.
‘Oh yes, I forgot.’
As the car started to move, Jay let Bhīma safely switch lanes before he started. ‘It’s not that I have kept any secrets from Anita, no, it’s quite the opposite. In fact, I want her to know everything about me so she can help me. She reckons there might be things about me that I may have inadvertently missed and that you might have noticed, as you live and spend time with me.’
‘So do you want me to not hold back anything?’
‘Use your judgement. There isn’t much point in telling her how we conduct business. Some of it isn’t exactly law abiding, and you know that. This is more on the personal front. So, if you think something might help me, please let her know.’
‘Jee, hukum.’
‘And you don’t need to tell me everything you tell her about me.’
‘What could that be, hukum?’ Bhīma jabbed.
‘Like if you want to tell her how big an idiot I am…’
Both men laughed. Jay regarded Bhīma’s loyalty as something sacred.
Jay didn’t attempt to convince Bhīma to leave when they got to Akbar Ali’s place. As last time, Bhīma dropped him and left to dine at some place close by where he could get some street food packed for the drinking buddies. He also made a call to Bahadur to have his dinner and feed Sheeba and not to stay up for them.
***
The day dawned bright, the February sunlight trickling through little fissures between the curtains; the thin rays brought a promise along with the warmth. Jay pressed the buzzer and stayed in bed for some time. Bahadur brought in the coffee and newspaper. He asked Bahadur to open the curtains and let the sun soak the room, as he lay in his boxers reading the same ugly newspaper headlines on politics and corruption that besieged the country. Elections were next year, but with candidates like Vinay Kumar in the fray, what could one expect? This wasn’t the country that Mahatma Gandhi had dreamt of; this wasn’t the nation a million freedom fighters had given their lives for. However, who was Jay Singh to talk about righteousness and honesty? Even if Kumar wasn’t guilty, what moral grounds did he have to contest for parliamentary elections? Well, he had a genetic qualification: a corrupt politician for a father. Then again, wasn’t all politics about promoting mishpocha? Why point fingers at politics, when even sons and daughters of film stars were unashamedly promoted? How could a new-kid-on-the-block even think of starting? Jay turned the pages to the sports section to check the cricket scores and read the comic strip and closed the newspaper.
When he showered and came down for breakfast, Bhīma had another blow to deliver. Rita’s ex-boyfriend had been traced in Chennai. He was happily married with kids and hadn’t left the city for anything in the past few years. Another possible suspect eliminated. In reality, he wasn’t a suspect; he was merely a remote possibility, a very long shot, but a defence strategy had been jettisoned. The burden of proof, of course, lay with the person who brought in the charges: the prosecution. The defence merely has to decline all the charges as it, fortunately, carried the presumption of innocence: everyone’s innocent until proven guilty. Jay didn’t really have to prove anything. That was Talwar’s job. Jay would simply shred all theories and witnesses and evidence put forth by prosecution. In the end, if none of the evidence stuck, the judge would be obligated to squash the case. However, it would be an added bonus if Jay could plant some reasonable doubt or provide an alternate suspect — and that is where Rita’s ex might could have fitted in neatly; an old grudge settled, a jilted lover’s payback — and that was what he was struggling to contrive. He couldn’t think of anyone else who could even have a half-decent motivation to eliminate Gina. He was surely missing something. What was he missing? And that bothered him. The cliché that “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts” is more befitting an investigation than anything else. While a lot had been unearthed by Bhīma’s troops, Jay needed time to put it all together. It wasn’t at all helpful that Kumar’s case had come to trial just when he was struggling to untangle the greatest mystery of his life. His brain was struggling to process the two in parallel.
‘Bhīma,’ he called as he scooped out half-boiled eggs from the cup. ‘I am not attending office today. I need time to prepare for the trial next week. Please call Julie and let her know, and ask her to load all files onto the shared drive please. I’ll access them from home.’
‘Jee, hukum.’
‘And as I am at home, you should go over to Anita’s office today. I’ll speak to her and set up a time.’
‘Jee, hukum.’
***
Bhīma continued to trawl the underbelly of National Capital Region contacting as many moles as he could to establish the origin on the Glock, and yet came up with nothing. In the past, he had never been unsuccessful in providing timely leads to Jay and hence he was displeased with his failure. What worried him more was if the provider of the Glock had successfully managed to throttle the info getting out. Though it had never happened before, this could well be the first time, and if that transpired, it could be bad for business. NCR was a powerhouse with the entire political royalty living in the place. You never knew who’s connected to who. And loyalties mattered more than money because money could only get you so far, and it could certainly get you killed if you crossed the wrong lines. Allegiance was sublime. Small felons were happy making trivial amounts with people they had long established contact with rather than being promiscuous and inviting fatality. Who could dare to jump on Bhīma? Oh yes, it bothered him. He was ex-Army. Failure wasn’t an option. Were his fangs into the unlawful arteries of the city on the wane? Nonetheless, there was nothing Bhīma could do about it.
TWENTY-FOUR
Bhīma was in for a shock when he got to Anita’s office at two in the afternoon. The situation hadn’t escaped Jay; he had deliberately played the prank on the humble man. When the big man saw his Manavi Bhabhijee at Anita’s office it was like someone had poured superglue in his mouth, since he had no idea that she worked there. He had never asked Jay where he found Manavi. Words refused to leave his parched mouth; his eyes blinked uncontrollably, his hands shook like he was in the late stages of Parkinson’s. He wanted to turn around and run out screaming like he’d seen a spirit, but his feet were fastened to the ground. He stood there thinking how to acknowledge her.
‘Hello Mr Bhīma,’ Manavi eased his anxiety by keeping a professional tone.
‘Good afternoon, madam. I’m here to see—’
And now the name of the therapist escaped him.
‘Anita, I know. Just wait, I’ll let her know.’
Without looking at her for another moment he walked over to the reception area and filled himself a cup of cold water from the dispenser.
‘You can go in now,’ he heard Manavi say.
He upended his little plastic cup and keeping his head down he walked into Anita’s office softly murmuring: ‘Thank you, ma’am.’
‘Hello, Mr Bhīma,’ said Anita as he entered.
‘Hello Doctor.’
‘Can I get you some coffee or tea?’
‘Nothing, thanks.’
Once they were seated across Anita’s big desk, she talked about him, asked him questions on his background and how he came to be in Jay’s life. Bhīma felt relaxed after a while. His heartbeat had settled down. This was easy.
‘You know why you’re here? It’s not about you, it’
s about Jay.’
He nodded, but he was nervous again like she was about to give him a prostate examination.
‘Do you know why he’s been referred to me?’
‘He’s not well,’ he answered naïvely.
‘Okay, let’s start from the beginning. First of all, I need you to read a form and sign it for me please.’ She picked up a two-page form kept at hand and handed it over to him. ‘This is a kind of a NDA — Non Disclosure Agreement — which states that any discussion we have today, anything I tell you or deduce about Jay from our conversation stays in this room. We are both bound by law to protect the confidentiality of any illness or disorder Mr Jay Singh has, and consequently the treatment, therapy or medication being specified for him. Simple?’
Bhīma speed-read the form — his military training had taught him to. The form was pretty much what Anita had summarised with a bit of legal jargon thrown in. He picked up a pen from her desk and signed it without hesitation. With or without a signed form, betraying Jay was beyond his DNA.
‘Jay was initially referred to me because of excessive drinking,’ Anita started without a warning as soon as she filed the papers. ‘Would you agree he drinks more than normal?’
‘Normal is different for different people, isn’t it?’
Anita smiled and shook her head. ‘That’s a loyalist friend’s non-committal response.’
Had she expected anything else? How was he to know how to respond? Jay should have come along with him.
‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘No, Bhīma. I expected this response. But please understand that non-committal or ambiguous answers will not get us anywhere. You are free to leave whenever you want, you’re also feel free to say “no” to anything you don’t want to answer. My only interest is for Jay to feel secure, to know that alcohol is not the answer to his troubles. On the contrary, it is one of the key problems.’
Bhīma nodded. Even he recognised that.
‘Good. So, could you now answer my question please?’
‘Yes, he drinks more than one should, ma’am. I’ve been in the Army and we’re known for alcohol consumption, but hukum drinks more than anyone I’ve ever known.’
‘And you agree that cannot be good for his health.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Okay. So we, together, need to work towards getting him off this alcohol wagon.’
Nod.
‘Does he drink more when he is alone or when he is with his friends?’
‘Usually when he is alone, ma’am. He doesn’t have many close friends, which I’m sure he would have told you.’
‘What about Akbar Ali and Sam Cooper?’
Bhīma was still for a full minute. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. He could feel his Adam’s apple racing up and down involuntarily. His body started itching. He wanted to disappear or, at least, duck under the table.
How much did this lady know?
‘Are you okay, Bhīma?’
Bhīma’s appointment was for an hour, but Anita buzzed Manavi to cancel the following appointment. He eventually left Anita’s office after five.
‘Manavi,’ Anita came out immediately after Bhīma. ‘You were right. Could I talk to you for a mo—‘ She saw a client waiting and turned to him and offered a smile. ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting. Just give me a few minutes to prepare.’ She pirouetted and returned to her office.
***
Jay had asked Bahadur to cook some spicy lamb-curry and rice for him. He sat and scribbled notes on his pad till one-thirty and then poured himself a beer with his meal since he knew he wouldn’t work after lunch. Sending Bhīma away gave him complete freedom, not that Bhīma was his mother-in-law who disallowed his drinking routine. Manavi called him, at four, to let him know Bhīma might be late, which got him worried. What was it that Anita was asking Bhīma? What was it that Bhīma had observed?
He reckoned Anita was sharp enough to know all defence advocates were a bit bent anyway and no defence advocate was in business to win a fair play award. Moreover, he was confident that Bhīma would not give out any trade secrets. If anything they’d be discussing his personal life, his personality and how many units of alcohol he consumed. That reminded him he needed another drink.
He sat in the living space, as it was a bit windy outside after the sun had dropped off. He had had too many and could vaguely catch the elusive sound of a motorcycle like some garage band playing drums far away.
***
When Bhīma came in Jay was slouched in the living room after drinking himself into a coma once again. He picked up his hukum, took him to the first floor and tucked him in bed like an infant. As he lay in bed after finishing dinner with Bahadur, he reflected – Anita was right. And he, too, had been right in enlightening her with what he knew. It seemed right even in retrospect. If Jay could abstain from alcohol — or at least stopped relying on it as a crutch — he was willing to pay whatever price he had to, including being sacked. Given how Jay consumed the poison, it was only a matter of time. And before he shut his eyes to the day, he prayed that Jay be saved before any sort of irreversible damage transpired.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Saket” in Sanskrit means “a place close to heavens”; why then did the area warrant a 17-acre District Court for criminal proceedings is an irony lost on everyone. The District Court of South and South East District housed at Saket is located on Press Enclave Road. The new building houses Courts and District and Sessions Judges, Additional District Judges and Additional Session Judges. Most State Prosecutors have chambers in the building too.
Someone from another planet, or maybe even an alien nation, might have mistaken the place for a film set. In fairness, the number of cameras and the bustling crowds gave every impression of it. However, it was an altogether different setting. The media carried cameras of all shapes and sizes; the larger and better ones, naturally, belonged to the plush television channels while the newspaper scribes hung on to their smaller and cheaper ones. Then there were several denizens who were recording the event on their mobile phones. Just why ordinary people go to the trouble of turning up to see other folk’s prosecution would forever remain a mystery. Perhaps, Homo sapiens covertly love misery, provided it’s not inflicted on them. Some were honest individuals who fancied witnessing the trial of a would-be dynastical politician so as to make an informed decision in the coming elections. However, the rogue congregants that constituted a large portion of the crowd and the ones who carried placards and shouted slogans of “Justice” were indeed organised, and most definitely paid for, by the political party to which their leader, Vinay Kumar, belonged. Politicians love swarms of followers; it affords them a sense of comfort, albeit a false sense, but there you go. The paid crowd was exceedingly raucous, as if their life depended on it; by the look on their faces, their dinner certainly did. For now, the case was making front-page news. If Kumar was guilty it would make headline news for a few days before fading into oblivion, perhaps the media might even dig out the dirt from his past for all the wrong reasons. If he was acquitted, there was a danger the news could lose its headline spot — doesn’t it usually if it’s not bad news? — and these supporters were paid to do something to create headlines; the political party would have to ensure that.
“Humara neta kaisa ho? Vinay Kumar jaisa ho…” (How good should be our leader? He should be like Vinay Kumar.)
Really?
Vinay Kumar, dressed in white — probably khadi-silk — kurta-pajama and a saffron Hare-Rama-Hare-Krishna scarf, arrived in a white Tata Safari. The driver rushed down to let the leader out; Kumar got down with folded hands raised over his head to salute the supporters. The cameras flashed while the close coterie circled Kumar as he walked up the steps to the District Court.
Arrogance and unashamed ostentatiousness are unparalleled assets in a District Court and Jay Singh had both on display whilst he arrived thirty minutes to ten. Dressed in a seersucker black Armani suit and a black Hermes tie and
not a scraggy, umpteenth time starched white band like his opposite number, Talwar — who in his appearance was the exact antithesis of his rival. Jay’s polished Audi gleamed as it wheeled to the final spot — to the security barriers — before the chauffeur stopped. Oh yes, it rolled heads. On occasions like these, Bhīma didn’t drive; he was the security that the mighty defence advocate required. Haughtiness personified. Bhīma, still in uniform, almost jumped out of the front passenger seat to quickly canvass the area and grant the media maggots enough time to focus their cameras before Jay got down. Once sure that nothing was out of order and there was no apparent threat, he knocked on the rear window to give an all-clear. Jay got out to face incessant flashes — one of the most sought-after defence advocates in the country, a near-celebrity, arriving for a high-profile case was like walking the red carpet. He buttoned his coat and waited for Julie to join him. Julie wasn’t an advocate. She accompanied him to sway the Judge. She wore a black skirt — not too short, not too long, a femme fatale. En règle, women advocates and assistants had a dress code for court attendance, but try telling a woman advocate how — or on this occasion how long — the dress should be and the feminist would love to turn you into mincemeat. In any event, was Justice Nair going to object to a bit of peekaboo? As they would be sat in the courtroom side by side Julie’s moves — every flick of her hair, every smile, every crossing and uncrossing her legs — would be dictated by Jay Singh lifting and dropping his red pen on the table in front, which in turn would be dictated by Talwar’s incriminating questions; questions where Jay couldn’t raise an objection, Julie could distract the judge to reduce the inflammatory sting from his words: a classic defence technique used in Indian Courts, perhaps even elsewhere to absorb the Judge or the Jury, as the case may be.