Bábaa was concentrating on texting a message, as he was passing a dangerously overloaded handcart, without the slightest reduction in speed. “Of course I have a plan! I always have a plan!”
“Where is the girl now, anyway?”
“Still with Hermann and his private army!”
“And how are us two going to deal with a whole army? He probably made sure she’s being watched around the clock!”
For a moment Bábaa put down his mobile phone since a group of singing and dancing pilgrims was blocking the road. He vehemently hit the horn, stepped on the gas, and drove right through the crowd, the pilgrims jumped aside frightened.
“We just have to find a moment, when they are distracted and we’ll snatch up Sherie!”
The Jain laughed in disbelief. “You want to find something that would distract the whole posse, so that they forget about their prisoner? Good luck with that...”
Bábaa only gave a knowing smile. There was something no Indian on earth could resist, even if he was serving as a soldier in a private army...
On that day in the middle of Delhi a spectacular mass-scene of the new super-expensive masala movie by Sunjay Leele Bhansaali Productions was to be shot. A mega film, soon to fill the cinemas all over India. This particular movie about a ‘great love story including drama and wet saris’ had top star billing only. Names like Shahrukh Khan and Madhuri Dixit, both mega stars and half deities in India had been popping up in the press for months. It goes without saying, that the movie location had been widely secured and closed off, since the masses of gawkers would inevitably have led to chaos. A special task force from the movie studio, dressed in false police uniforms, had to make sure that the real policemen were not to be a nuisance loitering about, since no real policeman could have resisted the lure of excitement just to be close to stars of this calibre. Also, since they all were corrupt it could very well be, that for a small sum of baksheesh they would be waving through busloads of fans, who then of course, would severely disrupt the shooting of the movie. But since Delhi was so unmanageably big, employing a countless number of policemen, none of the real policemen was able to recognise a false one, let alone a false ‘superior’, who was ordering him to divert the traffic to a different part of town. This system worked splendidly.
Since great parts of the Indian movie industry would not exist without having close ties to the ‘demi-monde’ or underworld—after all, someone had to provide for the abundant stream of money and drugs—Bábaa too, was in close cahoots with the dream factory. This very fact he was going to put to good use today. With a suave gesture he beckoned to the ‘policeman’ at the barrier, who immediately recognised him and let him pass.
Slowly they were moving in the direction of the movie set. The Jain raised one questionable eyebrow. “A movie set? What’s that supposed mean? I thought we were going to get the girl?”
Bábaa let the car roll to a standstill and said: “Can you think of a better diversion then this?”
He pointed in front of him and the Jain actually stopped breathing for a moment. A group of fifty dancing girls was facing a line of fifty male dancers. Their sequinned costumes all studded with rhinestones and fake pearls glistened in the spotlights. But all that splendour was nothing compared to the gorgeous star Madhuri Dixit, whose precious sari clung to her body like liquid gold. She was positioned right between the two groups of dancers, who at that very moment were having some sort of dancing duel. On the left and on the right side of this scenario there were countless prop men, balancing on top of high scaffolding and throwing rose petals onto the actors. The camera, mounted on the tip of a 30 foot crane was flying over the heads of the dancers and a huge PA system was blaring out the song that, after the film would be finished, would climb up the Indian charts and that was as safe a bet as there is an OM in the temple.
“CUT! Stop, stop!” the director shouted through his megaphone and instantly all the magic of Bollywood had disappeared. “I want a fountain! There has to be a fountain in the scene!”
At once this order was passed on, Madhuri, all blasé star, immediately pulled out her mobile phone and started to make calls, while the make-up artist was powdering her face. The set decorators and the dressers were tugging, moving and adjusting everywhere whilst the set designer and his assistant were pushing a flat, white fountain into the middle of the set.
When finally there was water splashing in it, the director was satisfied.
“Okay! We take it from where we left off!”
The assistant director, fresh out of film school, looked up in horror. “But, no wait... Sir!
There is a well there now! We have to reshoot the whole scene, otherwise later in the movie there will be a fountain out of nowhere all of a sudden!”
Silence. Somewhere the make up artist dropped a hairpin onto the floor. Even Madhuri Dixit looked up from her mobile. Very slowly the director turned to his assistant. “Am I to understand that you are saying that I don’t know, what I’m doing?” he asked in a dangerously calm tone.
The assistant turned chalk white. “N... no, of course not, but the continuity...”
At once the director started to scream: “Nobody will give a flying fuck, if there’s a fucking fountain in the picture, you son of a worm!!! Relieve me from this ignoble piece of shit, get him off the set and then we start over where we left off!!”
What followed was the degrading spectacle of a squirming and whining assistant director, down on his knees, who was being dragged away by two helpers, then again the sound of the clapperboard and with an unmistakable “Action!” the shoot continued.
The Jain could not distract his eyes from this fairy-tale scene. The music, the dancing, the beautiful women, gold jewellery, and so much splendour. He might have been a heartless killer, but even he could not escape the magic lure of Bollywood.
“What is this movie about, anyway?” he asked Bábaa, without taking his eyes from the set.
Bábaa shrugged his shoulders. “Poor girl tries to make a living in the big city, starts to move amongst the wrong circles, supposed to marry mean old fatso, but ends up marrying nice guy from her neighbourhood, who turns out to be a millionaire. Today they’re shooting the opening sequence. This over there... he pointed at the magnificently dressed dance troupe, “is a bunch of slum-dwellers, who nevertheless are enjoying life and therefore performing a dance number!”
“And what has all that got to do with Hermann?”
“Just you wait and see!” Bábaa grinned, “Just you wait!”
At the same time Hermann’s convoy was approaching on one of the wider streets of Delhi. Hermann was in fine fettle. He had expected the traffic to be much worse. Instead they were gliding through the infamous traffic jam like a warm knife through butter. And the people were all so friendly. Everybody was giving way, helpful policemen were stopping other cars so that the convoy could pass through and if a street was blocked, immediately there appeared a friendly individual to show them a short cut where there was no traffic at all. Presumably they all must be very impressed with his formidable little army, yes, he thought, that’s exactly why.
Something Hermann was not aware of though, was, that dozens of Báaba’s helpers were making sure that the column was moving in a very specific direction. Traffic cops, who were padding up their meagre wages with Báaba’s regular contributions, were waving Hermann’s troups through the traffic of Delhi letting them pass through even the most congested intersections. Strategically positioned trucks enabled the convoy to be sent along deliberately shown ‘short cuts’ guiding it to exactly where Bábaa wanted him to end up. Already Hermann was approaching the traffic barriers of the film set Just before he was turning around the corner, the diversion signs were turned around, so that they were not going around the film set but right into its very midst. The convoy writhed through a narrow alley, opening out directly into the square, where at
this moment the merry group of ‘slum dwellers’ was dancing around the impromptu set up fountain. Unbeknownst to them the barriers closed immediately after the last car had passed—Hermann and his men had entered the trap. His open jeep leading the column stopped abruptly and with it the whole convoy. Slowly Hermann got up from his seat and surveyed the remarkable scene surrounding him. What on earth had befallen these Indian ‘darkies’ now? Hundreds of them were gathered on a public square, blocking his way, dancing to ear-splitting music, dancing their ridiculous dances, which had been going on his nerves for a long time already. And what about those ridiculous bawdy costumes...? Was there a carnival going on? He bent down honking his horn vehemently, but the music blaring out of the speakers drowned every other sound. Hermann barked a few orders and his soldiers jumped down from the transport vehicles. “Clear the square!” he ordered from his jeep, “At once, chop-chop!”
The soldiers having fallen into a light trot advanced and marched right into the middle of the square yelling orders at the dancers, who looked at them in surprise but nonetheless continued dancing, not being quite sure if the soldiers were part of the movie, or not.
The director too was slightly taken aback by the appearance of the armed men. He hectically flicked through his script and when he had definitely found no soldiers in the screenplay he finally cried, “Cut!!!”
“Arre banchod! Just when I was so good!” Madhuri Dixit complained angrily. “I cannot work like that!”
The soldiers all froze. Only now had they spotted India’s mega star. The goddess of the silver screen, they all had worshipped in movie theatres a hundred times over, and now she was standing directly in front of them, in flesh and blood and sari taking out her mobile phone making calls.
“Get those soldiers off at once, dammit!” the director screamed.
“Clear the square, at once!” Hermann yelled from his jeep instead.
The director gasped, jumped up and strode over to the vehicle. “Who the hell are you? Get off of my set, now!”
Hermann looked at him coldly. “I am in charge here. You vacate the street immediately!”
“I am in charge here! And you vacate the set!” the director barked back at him.
More and more soldiers gathered around the Bollywood diva, who, intermittently talked into her phone all the while giving autographs and smiling benevolently at the men.
Hermann jumped from his car. “Who is this woman? Why don’t you obey my orders?”
One of the men looked at him in consternation and said: “Why, Sir, this is Dixit!”
Hermann looked at him stupefied. Suddenly he recognised the man. “Corporal Kumar!” he shouted at him, “Weren’t you supposed to watch the girl in the back?”
The soldier froze. “But... but Sir, the girl is drugged up to her ears, she wouldn’t be able to...”
Hermann brutally grabbed him by the collar and pulled him along. As fast as his old bones would allow him he ran to the last car in the column and tore away the tarpaulin. He almost gave out a sigh of relief, since in the obscurity of the truck he could make out the shape of an unconscious person. But after a few seconds when his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, he realised that there was no Sherie lying there but a motionless man instead, wearing nothing but a facemask. The girl was nowhere to be seen.
How surprisingly fast one could get used to being stared at, graciously granting to be touched at one’s feet by shyly advancing, awestruck individuals apart from being attended upon from every side. Sunil, who found himself propped up on a pile of soft cushions, was holding an audience in the inner courtyard of the union leader. A small number of religious zealots were dancing around ecstatically exulting his name. “Hare Sunil, Hare Rama!” all the while he was being fanned a cool breeze and was fed titbits. A small man approached him in a crouched position, addressing him. “Oh, wise man, I am poor and hoping for a better life. What is your secret to enlightenment?”
Sunil of course had not the slightest idea how to answer the man. If he had known the pass to paradise, he would have taken it himself immediately. But the crowd stared at him in expectation, waiting for his words.
“Well, ehm” he began hesitantly, “as you all know, I am... well, I am actually very holy, because I want to return the foreigner’s money and... ehm... for that I am travelling all across the country!”
This was greeted by a murmur of approval. He was stuck. Finally his gaze fell upon his tuc-tuc, the only thing he knew anything about. “Look at my tuc-tuc there!” They all turned around staring at the tuc-tuc as if they had never before seen anything like it.
“The tuc-tuc goes hither and tither. Never it stays in one place for long. This... ehm... is just like life itself, isn’t it?”
Again there was a murmur of approval from the crowd, although nobody had any idea where he was going with this. Sunil continued. “Look and behold, it is painted in yellow and black colours! Yellow means the sun, the day. And black is like the dark of the night. The circle of life!”
A surprised whisper came from the crowd.
“What I mean to say is this, ehm... the tuc-tuc is like life itself. Your life, actually! And me, I am the tuc-tuc driver. I am steering you through life!”
Finally it had ‘clicked’ in the minds of the faithful. Simply following a Guru and being guided through life blindfolded that was exactly what they all had been looking for all along.
Immediately there were frantic shouts of joy, some women broke down in tears men fell down to the ground, their eyes rolling.
Sunil gave a sigh of relief. He had done it. With banalities made up out of the blue, he had convinced the crowd that he was conveying a rather meaningful message. They were celebrating him. At this moment a feeling was creeping up inside of him, that whatever he would say next, could very well be of historical importance. “Jell-O!” he yelled to the crowd tentatively to which the crowd instantly responded with a joyous cry of “Jell-O!”
Never before in his life had Sunil had the feeling of being able to manipulate people in such a manner. “From now on, you shall wear the colours of the tuc-tuc, black and yellow and nothing else. Black and yellow like life itself!” Trying out his new empowerment, he added: “And... one more thing, it would be nice if from now on you could wear a little picture of me around the neck!”
At this the crowd went wild. “Guru-ji, Guru-ji!” they howled and lifted him on their shoulders. Already some of them had started to tear away their clothes and putting on black and yellow scarfs instead.
Suddenly another tuc-tuc honking wildly came rushing into the courtyard filled with joyous singing and jubilations. The driver jumped out and cleared his way towards the “Guru-ji”.
“Sir!” he tried to shout against the crowd, “Sir! I have seen the foreigner, sir!”
Instantly the jubilations died down. The foreigner—the goal of the holy mission of their Guru-ji! Sunil looked at the driver. Truth be told he was no longer interested in the paying back business. As a devout Hindu, yes, he had this on his agenda once, to cleanse his soul in order to be re-born into a better life. But somehow his actual life was not so bad at all. On the contrary—it was rather fabulous! He looked around himself. His followers all stared up at him expectantly. He had no choice. With a sigh he returned his gaze to the driver. “Do speak, where have you seen the foreigner?”
“I was following him in my tuc-tuc—in the direction of the concert hall. I believe, he and his friends wanted to go there!”
Sunil put his hand on the man’s head in a blessed sort of way “You have been acting righteous to inform me of this. So let’s get this over with... ehm, I mean let us find him so that I can pay back my divine debt!”
“Wasn’t that one hell of a massel, we just had!” Moshe still could not believe it. Just when they were about to figure out their strategy, how to get hold of the girl with
out engaging in open battle with Hermann’s soldiers, the whole convoy had stopped because of some movie production. All that remained for the three agents to do was, to help themselves. As to what this fellow in his birthday suit, who had suddenly appeared out of thin air, was going on about, they had no idea. Jahwe be praised, Ephraim had had the quick wits to push a handkerchief soaked in chloroform onto his face which had sent him into the land of dreams.
Actually the narcotic substance was to be used on the girl, but she already seemed drugged out of her skull by some other narcotic.
They where now driving through the city in their truck, content and happy with themselves and the way this mission had turned out. While Solomon was driving the car Ephraim and Moshe were sitting in the back of the cargo hold, staring at Sherie.
“We should tie her up, in case she comes to!” Ephraim said.
“Ok, but not so tight!” answered Moshe, who already had fallen for Sherie’s charming good looks.
“And blindfold her!” Solomon yelled from up front, “so I don’t to have to liquidate her, just because she knows our identities!”
Moshe and Ephraim looked at each other. “Liquidate her?” they unbelievingly echoed in unison.
“Not if we can avoid it!” Solomon answered firmly and stepped on the gas so that Sherie’s body was hurled against Moshe and Ephraim.
“Ouch!” Moshe complained, “Can’t you drive a bit more careful, dammit!”
Solomon shook his head. “We got to hurry. We have to get to this Gerd Lauterbach guy and this before sunset, then we have to find a place where we can leave those two for the next 24 hours.”
Ephraim shook his head. “I have no idea what you are talking about, and I really don’t care the least bit. So where is this Goj?”
“He has made a call to Germany. From a small STD telephone shop near here, that’s where we’re headed for!”
They had however, already approached the area of the festival, where in two hours a big concert would take place. Just this minute the elephant polo match had finished (four goals and six busted balls), and the streets were growing intensely crowded. Audiences and gawkers from all across the country had been on the move and soon enough there was no more movement at all. With every passing minute Solomon grew more anxious.
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