Bollywood Nights

by Shobhaa De

  Gopalakrishnan chucked her under the chin and said in Tamil, “If you already know so much, why waste time on another interrogation?”

  “How did you know I’d be in London? And did you have people following me all the time?”

  “Shonali is a very enterprising woman. She doesn’t require my help. But yes, in your case, it’s true. I was the one who alerted her. I thought you needed a break. I knew you were going through a bad patch. I made discreet inquiries through my associates in Wellington. They kept tabs on you. I was told you were headed for London. We had some more people involved from that point on. The rest was easy. Shonali is an old friend.”

  Aasha Rani was stunned by the information. She wanted to know more. But Gopalakrishnan was in no mood to talk. In any case, he was hardly left alone that evening. There were all sorts of people going for his attention, some of whom Aasha Rani hadn’t met at Shonali’s earlier parties. She asked her about a couple of guests. Shonali replied vaguely. “Darling, who knows, diplomats, I think.”

  Gopalakrishnan seemed to know everybody. From time to time he’d disappear into the study with someone or another.

  Shonali kept the party going. She’d invited a couple of Danish girls who were top models in London that season, and there was a Moroccan princess, an arty film actress from Argentina along with her stable of polo players, a TV anchorwoman from New York and all her other regular party girls.

  Despite the constant stream of acquaintances whom she kept running into, a single thought dominated Aasha Rani’s mind: Gopalakrishnan. Who was he? What did he do? It bothered her that she couldn’t figure him out. Or the other Indian who’d come along with Gopalakrishnan. The stranger stood in a dark corner throughout the evening, with a sullen face that had a pair of very watchful eyes shining out of it. He didn’t drink, smoke or talk. Everybody, including Shonali, left him alone.

  When Gopalakrishnan came back into the room, Aasha Rani asked him the stranger’s identity. “That man? He’s my bodyguard,” Gopalakrishnan answered shortly. Before Aasha Rani could ask any more questions, Gopalakrishnan disappeared with a new group into the study. Aasha Rani decided to leave. She was confused, upset and tired.

  THE NEXT MORNING, there was a knock at Aasha Rani’s door. Sleepily she went to see who it was. Generally the milk was left outside and nobody ever disturbed her till well past eleven, which was when she woke up. Cautiously, she opened the heavy door, making sure the safety chain was in place. She found Gopalakrishnan outside, a broad smile on his face. “Vanakam!” he greeted her heartily.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” she asked groggily.

  “Won’t you let me and my friend in?” he said.

  “Which friend?”

  “You met him last night. It’s Bhaskaran.” Bhaskaran was the mysterious sullen stranger she’d noticed at the party. She let them both in and noticed that he looked less menacing by day.

  Aasha Rani clutched her velour dressing gown around herself and went unsteadily into the kitchen to make some tea for all of them. They followed her there, and all of a sudden Gopalakrishnan pulled out a gun.

  “Relax, I’m not shooting you. This is just to let you know that Bhaskaran will be spending the night here with you. You don’t have to fuck him—but you do have to keep your mouth shut. He’ll be here about a week. Thanks so much. I knew you wouldn’t say no.” Gopalakrishnan smiled as Aasha Rani sank down wordlessly on the kitchen stool.

  “There are people after me—my enemies. I have to go back to India, but Bhaskaran cannot leave England. Not right now. I need fresh papers for him. All that is going to take time. I have to organize funds as well.”

  “I don’t know what all this is about. Who are you, and who is this man? Why have you come here?”

  “Don’t let that worry your pretty little head. All I can tell you is that it would be extremely unwise to squeal to the police. My men are posted everywhere; they’re all armed. And they are all dangerous! By the way, we’re keeping an eye on your daughter. Beautiful child. It would be a pity if anything happened to her.”

  “Does Shonali know about this?” Aasha Rani asked quietly.

  “Let’s just say she knows as much as is good for her. She has very good contacts. She knows influential people in the British intelligence and some international arms dealers. Two of our consignments for the IRA have been intercepted. We know who is betraying us. Bhaskaran is here to track that person down and eliminate him. But I have to go back. Nobody will dream of looking for Bhaskaran here.”

  “Had you singled me out as a potential victim when you took that flight with me from Bombay?” Aasha Rani asked flatly.

  Gopalakrishnan pulled her to himself roughly and looked into her eyes. “I noticed you on board. I knew who you were. And I liked what I saw. When I gave you my card, I was teasing you. But in my line of business you never know when someone can come in useful.”

  Bhaskaran still hadn’t opened his mouth. His gaze was steady and alert.

  Gopalakrishnan moved to the curtained window of her apartment and parted the fabric just a chink. He looked back at Bhaskaran. “All clear. Safe,” he said. “Safe for whom? What if someone finds out this man’s whereabouts? I don’t want my apartment bombed or trashed or anything,” Aasha Rani screamed hysterically.

  Gopalakrishnan came up close and said, “Honey, be thankful you’re alive. Oh, by the way, no men friends over for slumber parties, please. How many of the people you see regularly know your address?”

  “About half a dozen—those who drop me back after a party. Generally, I drive myself, or a chauffeur drops me.”

  “That’s good. How busy is your schedule next week?”

  “Let me look at my diary—the appointment book, I mean.”

  As she went toward the telephone table where she had her appointment book, Gopalakrishnan spoke urgently to Bhaskaran in Tamil. Aasha Rani strained to listen, but he spoke in such a low voice that she couldn’t catch a word. She came back and informed the men that she was booked through the week except for two days—Tuesday and Friday.

  “Excellent!” Gopalakrishnan said. “Now listen carefully. No extra milk in the house. Nothing different about your routine. Keep the answering machine on all the time—even when you are at home. Bhaskaran hasn’t brought clothes with him so that there should be no washing to dry that isn’t yours. You will not get any food into the house that is in any way different from what you normally eat. Your curtains will be adjusted in the regular way. You will naturally not open the door to anybody you don’t know. Bhaskaran will remain in the guest room throughout. He is a trained guerrilla fighter, so he doesn’t require food or drink for hours. When he does, he shall knock or tap softly on his door and you will give him what he asks for. In case you are leaving the house, tap on his door and he will know you are gone. Tap once again on your return. You neither have to see him nor talk to him. Leave the food and water on the table outside his door. He requires it only once a day. On the right day, he will let himself out of this house and slip away. You won’t see him again. Or me. But then, if you open your mouth, you’ll be too dead to see anyone.” With that, Gopalakrishnan abruptly left the house.

  AASHA RANI WAS LEFT ALONE with a complete stranger. A silent one who watched her every move and caught even the extra breath that escaped her when Gopalakrishnan shut the door behind him.

  Bhaskaran’s catlike movements and incredible agility fascinated Aasha Rani. She tried to dig out some clues about Gopalakrishnan’s past, but he told her abruptly, in Tamil, that he wasn’t in her house as a social guest and would prefer it if she left him alone and followed Gopalakrishnan’s instructions about food and water. Rebuffed, Aasha Rani went off to her room to worry and go over the dramatic happenings of the morning. It was useless trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. She guessed that Gopalakrishnan was an arms dealer of some sort who supplied weapons to anybody who wanted them: terrorists, banana republic dictators and all sorts of subversive forces. All she
had to do to get him behind bars was to make an anonymous call to the police. But the thought of what might happen to Sasha held her back. Goddamn the man. She had never had any scruples about sex. But this was an exception. The idea of having made love to a man who murdered for a living repulsed her.

  Aasha Rani’s phone generally started buzzing by late afternoon. Today she had the answering machine on. Shonali had gotten her to redo her message at least fifty times till she’d gotten it just right. Now her voice came across sexily, confident, teasing and with the right accent.

  Aasha Rani was getting edgy and restless. What a fine mess she had gotten herself into. Maybe she should cook herself a meal. She had never been a great one for cooking. Jay used to tease her about that, when she fixed all of them her “one-dish dinners,” as she called the main meal of the day. Poor Sasha, she’d gotten used to munching nuts, raw carrots and cookies throughout the day.

  But now she needed to divert her mind from the stranger who lurked in her house. Aasha Rani decided to run down to the nearest supermarket and pick up bottles of mango pickles, high-fat yogurt, basmati rice and mixed curry powder. She tapped lightly on his door before leaving.

  She was surprised when she stepped out and discovered it was one of those unusual London days, all blue and bright and shiny. It reminded her of Fisherman’s Cove and Goa. She breathed the air in deeply, stared at the clear sky and wondered how to tackle the danger that seemed to loom all around her. As she walked along, she caught sight of herself in a storefront. God! What a mess her hair looked! And her face—like she hadn’t slept a wink. Maybe a shampoo and blow-dry would relax her. She was in no particular hurry to get home to her surly guest, so she thought she’d spend time in the salon. She had all the time in the world today. The party at night was one of those spiffy galas where Princess Anne was to be chief guest. Tonight she was going to share a table with Shonali and her parliamentarians. If Shonali’s high-powered friends ever found out who was sharing her flat these days, she would be out of Britain in a shot.

  WHEN HER CAB DREW UP in front of her apartment, she glanced up at the windows as she generally did, more out of habit than anything else. That’s funny, she thought. The curtains were open. She’d made sure to draw them before going out. She ran up the stairs swiftly and inserted the key into the lock.

  She was stunned to see the state of her flat. It was trashed—completely devastated and torn apart. In the center of the living room, impeccably dressed, sat Shonali. Aasha Rani looked at the pool of blood on the floor. “Bhaskaran’s dead,” Shonali said finally. “And you had better get out of here fast. Here’s your plane ticket—the flight leaves in two hours. Don’t stop and start trying to pack. You know, darling, you’re lucky to be alive.”

  Aasha Rani didn’t quite know what to say. She silently surveyed the destruction about her and realized for the first time that she could have been killed. The tall, handsome stranger she’d innocently befriended on the flight to New Zealand had meant business. Shonali came up to her and embraced her. “I’m sorry it had to end this way—I rather liked you. But you’re in deep shit and had better start running.” “But…but…what happened? Gopalakrishnan…” she managed to stammer out before Shonali motioned her to be quiet.

  “No names,” she said grimly. “No names, no memories, nothing. You don’t know what happened, you never saw anything, you’ve never lived in this place. Be thankful I have friends all over the place. So far as the world outside is concerned nothing has happened. And I’ve managed to fix it so you won’t be followed or harassed. Make no mistake, I’m doing this as much for myself as for you, as there’s no profit in rocking the boat too much. But you have to get out. Now. Come on; I have a car waiting. Get your passport.”

  IT WAS ONLY after Aasha Rani found herself on the British Airways flight that she got the chance to review the rushed events that had, once again, overtaken her life. Strangely enough she didn’t regret leaving London. Or the fact that she’d left behind a vault full of furs and boxes of jewelry. Though she wondered why the powers-that-be had helped her get away instead of whisking her off to some torture cell somewhere or bludgeoning her to death. There were so many unanswered questions in Aasha Rani’s head, and Shonali’s mysterious explanation had served only to confuse her further. Now, as she sat sedately sipping a glass of port after a typically uninspiring “oriental dinner,” she wondered about Gopalakrishnan and Bhaskaran. About the man with the sexy teeth who had made an ordinary, boring, tedious, airline flight so memorably exciting for her. Him, a wanted man, a killer?

  Aasha Rani shut her eyes. Her thoughts drifted to Sasha. The threat to her life had really thrown Aasha Rani. She shivered as she recalled Gopalakrishnan’s warning. Sasha. How she missed her little daughter.

  SHE ARRIVED TO AN EMPTY HOUSE in Bombay. A servant, obviously new, opened the door and stammered nervously at the sight of Aasha Rani—he didn’t recognize her, but kept repeating, “Go away, go away. Nobody home. Everybody is in Madras. Appa serious. Amma not well.” Aasha Rani sighed. She didn’t care to stay in that huge, empty house alone. She was exhausted. Jet lag was the least of her discomforts. She nodded to the servant, went back to the taxi and told the driver to take her to the Sea Rock.

  In the morning, after a lousy cup of ready-made tea (she’d rather begun enjoying weak English tea), she phoned Kishenbhai. He reacted as if she had arisen from the dead. His voice was high-pitched and hysterical. “Good you have come. This is destiny. Appa is very serious. Sudha is in trouble. Amma’s condition is worse. Too many problems. Your husband phoning. Daughter phoning. Saying, ‘Mama, Mama.’ We don’t know anything, where you are—nothing. Good you are here. Now everything will be theek-thak.” Aasha Rani urged him to calm down and come over to the hotel. She booked calls to Madras and Wellington.

  Waiting for the telephone to ring, Aasha Rani realized with a sense of finality that she was back. The telephone seemed to represent everything she felt about India, about Bombay, about Madras, and home. It sat there so smug and impassive. There was nothing she could do to make it ring. It controlled her. Was it being perverse and obstinate or just plain inefficient? The phone made her irritable, frustrated her, drove her into a rage. She had tried slamming down the receiver, banging the instrument violently, even chucking it angrily across the room. She had ignored it, turned her back on it and pretended it didn’t exist. Eventually, she slumped down beside it and wailed.

  The perfect way to handle it, she’d learned through trial and error, was to be humble, patient and grateful, if it condescended to ring. The only way to cope was to accept the phone, no-ring, engaged tone, plain-dead and all.

  But today, the phone proved it could perform miracles if it chose to. She got Jay’s call through within the hour.

  Jay sounded anxious. “We received a couple of strange calls asking about your whereabouts. Sasha was worried. She has been crying constantly. No, I couldn’t say who they were from. The voice was muffled, and the accent was strange. The sort of accent we heard in Madras. The man wouldn’t say anything, but his tone was menacing and he suggested that your life was in danger. He also threatened us—Sasha in particular. Are you all right? What on earth have you been up to?”

  Aasha Rani assured him she was safe and that the whole thing had been a misunderstanding.

  “It isn’t drug-related, I hope,” Jay said sharply.

  “Come on. I have never done drugs. You know that.”

  “It’s just that we’d heard stories about your lifestyle in London,” Jay explained. “I knew I hadn’t forked out that kind of money. Naturally, I was puzzled. There were reports of you having been seen cruising around in Bentleys and Jaguars; that’s all. Anyway, the important thing is that you are safe and well and back at home.”

  Aasha Rani asked him how he was. “Things are working out splendidly. Sasha misses you, of course. She’s looking more and more like you, as a matter of fact. Everybody says so. She misses you, darling—it’s true. Here, speak to her.”
And he handed the phone to Sasha.

  For a second or so there was no sound. Aasha Rani repeated, “Hello, my kitten, hello, love, hello, my darling baby,” over and over again. She knew Sasha could hear her, that she was listening. Finally, Sasha responded in a tiny voice, “Mommy, Mommy, I want you. I need you.”

  Aasha Rani crooned back, “I want you too. I love you, my darling. We’ll be together soon. I promise you that.”

  Sasha

  “SUDHA IS RESPONSIBLEFOR EVERYTHING. SHE’S THE REASON everything is in such a mess,” blurted out Kishenbhai the moment he walked in. Aasha Rani made him sit down, gave him a glass of water and told him to calm himself before telling her the story. When it was finished, she marveled at the astonishing sequence of events that had taken place during her seven and a half months in London. And to think, she had been blissfully ignorant of it all!

  It had all started with Sudha borrowing money heavily for a film that she wanted to launch for herself and Amar. Instead of going through the usual producers like Gopal to raise the capital, she’d decided to approach the reigning underworld don, who was just waiting to grab control of film financing in any case. Sudha had guaranteed him a hefty percentage of the profits. The film had gone haywire on its production costs and overshot the original budget four times over. She’d gone out and borrowed some more cash after mortgaging everything she owned. The film was finally released five months behind schedule. Fortunately for her, it had turned out to be a hit. A megahit.

  Her problems would have been over with the box office receipts, but Sudha had foolishly decided to fudge receipts and manipulate accounts. She was insane to do so and everybody, including Kishenbhai and Amma, had advised her against it. But Sudha was too giddy with success to listen. Even Amar had been overruled. Sudha, in her greed, had refused to yield.