by Mainak Dhar
A couple of days later, when they were chatting, Mishti had a request for Arnab.
'Arnab, Jayantada's birthday is coming up in three days and I'm surprising him by sending him a gift. I'll courier it in your name and can you please pass it on to him? I don't want him to get it from an anonymous courier guy. Also, I need to travel to Singapore on work for a few days, so it may not be as easy to chat, but I'll SMS, please do the same.'
As he hung up, Arnab's excitement at chatting with Mishti was replaced by something else-an idea on how he could reach out to people who needed his help.
That evening, his mission was to patrol the back alleys of Kailash Colony, where for the past week, a gang of carjackers had been in operation. When he came across the gang, a group of four men trying to force their way into a car at gunpoint, he realized that all the publicity he had got had its fringe benefits. His powers had been exaggerated to a point where they bore little resemblance to reality; for example, it was widely believed that he was bulletproof. That, and the reputation for speed and strength that he had built up meant that the four criminals turned tail and ran the moment he stepped in front of them. What followed was a very short chase and an even shorter fight. As had become almost routine, Arnab found himself dispatching his opponents with ease. However, there was an important difference this time. Instead of zooming off immediately, Arnab searched through the pockets of one of the criminals, and extracted a mobile phone. He quickly took out the SIM card and ran home. Yes, technically it was stealing, but Arnab figured that using the mobile number of such a criminal to help him bring to justice other criminals was poetic justice.
That night, Arnab began a new chapter in his role as the so-called Guardian Angel. No longer would he scour areas hoping to bump into the criminals and no longer would his radius of action be limited by what he read in the papers or picked up by way of neighbourhood gossip. Now, anyone who needed his help could reach out to him. All they had to do was to send an SMS. Arnab knew that more than a half dozen fan communities had sprung up on Orkut and Facebook devoted to the Guardian Angel, so he logged in under a new id, and left a simple and terse message in the message boards of each of the communities. It read:
'If you live in Delhi and need my help, SMS me at the following number'. He left the number of the SIM card he had picked up, and simply signed off as 'GA'.
He then posted that same message on Youtube, where the video of his first mission in Gurgaon had by now attracted more than two million views. By the time Arnab woke up the next morning, he had already received 54 messages. Four of them were marriage proposals from women, and 8 were abusive messages, but the rest seemed to be genuine appeals for help, ranging from someone being harassed by a moneylender's thugs to someone whose daughter was being abused for not being able to meet her in-laws' demands for dowry and one young boy who was being forced to appear for Engineering entrance exams by his parents while he really wanted to study Fashion Designing. Arnab was stunned. He had not really thought through what he was unleashing, and he realized that people were looking to him to do more than fight robbers and thugs. They saw him as someone they could trust and turn to in times of need. It was a scary thought for him. Arnab had been barely able to manage his own life, and had been, by most conventional standards, an underachiever for most of his life. He found fighting criminals much easier than dealing with this new responsibility. He decided to focus on what he had set out to do, and spent the bus trip to college going through all the appeals for help and writing down in a diary what he would do and when.
The next couple of weeks went by in a blur. What made it easier for Arnab was a combination of three factors. First, the small party he threw for Jayantada on his birthday along with the gift from Mishti meant that the old man was in good spirits and turned a blind eye to Arnab's coming in a bit late to work every day. Second, with the onset of winter and the Delhi fog, Arnab could start his missions earlier, setting out as early as 7, and staying out till 2 or 3. Finally, with college about to close for a few days for the winter break, Arnab looked forward to catching up on some sleep during the day. He would notch up three or four missions each night, and not all of them were of the crime-fighting variety. He did pay a visit to the abusive in-laws, who shrieked in fright as they opened their front door at midnight to see a tall, hooded figure standing there, and promised never to touch their daughter in-law again, and he did exercise some gentle persuasion on a drunken husband who beat his wife every day. The man was drunk and abusive when Arnab confronted him and threatened Arnab with a knife, but when Arnab lifted him a meter off the ground with one hand, the man wept like a baby and begged forgiveness.
Other than leaving Arnab totally exhausted, this sudden spurt in his activities sparked a fresh media circus, including a claim by a woman that the 'Guardian Angel' visited her at night to make love to her. Arnab was mortified at the report and glad when it disappeared from the papers soon. The other peculiar aspect of his newfound celebrity status was how much of a female fan following he had picked up. The 'Guardian Angel' was voted the 'Sexiest Man alive' in a poll run by a national magazine, something that amused Arnab no end.
One Saturday, Arnab was looking forward to a day of sleep and rest, when he was reminded of the unfinished business he had. He inserted his own SIM card into his phone after days and saw to his surprise that there were 5 messages from Mishti. As he checked them one by one, he felt like kicking himself.
'Hi Arnab, just checking on how you are. Write soon.'
'Hey there, just got a promotion at work! Drinks on me when we meet. What's up with you?'
'Are you ok? Haven't heard anything for days. Take care.'
'Arnab Bannerjee, where are you?'
The final one read, 'You must be busy, I guess. Well, write when you get time. Bye.'
Arnab sat back, feeling quite miserable. Here was an attractive, smart woman who wanted to be friends with him, and here he was, ignoring her, as he had been so caught up in his frenzied new routine. As he thought about it, he realized that, truth be told; he was not as keen on talking to Mishti as he had once thought he was. He still found her amazingly attractive, and was flattered that someone like her would show any interest in him, but the fact was that he just couldn't share what was actually happening in his life, could not let her in on what was the most important thing to have ever happened to him. He considered replying to her, but realized that trading platitudes seemed so shallow when he could not reveal who he really was and what he was really doing every day.
His dilemma was resolved by the headline on a newspaper in front of him. The 'Stoneman' had struck again two times in the last week. As Arnab read the article, he decided that this was at least one piece of unfinished business he would attend to.
It was about time that he put an end to the mystery of the 'Stoneman.'
***
That night he waited in vain for the 'Stoneman' to strike, but the next night he was lucky. Like the previous occasion, a single shawl-draped man was followed by two uniformed policemen carrying a corpse. As the policemen lay the body down on the sidewalk and the shawl draped man picked up a rock to bring down on the body's head, Arnab spoke up.
'So is this what the Stoneman mystery is all about?'
The policemen whirled around, searching in the darkness for who had just spoken. Arnab realized that both of them seemed to be not carrying any guns, so he stepped out of the darkness and in front of the men. One of the policemen advanced towards Arnab, his hand hovering near a riot baton hanging from his waist.
'This is police business. Get lost or you'll be in deep shit.'
Arnab stood his ground, and when the policeman took out the baton and came closer, his colleague rushed over to stop him.
'Dubey, that's the guy from the newspapers!'
Dubey now saw who he was up against and decided wisely that in this case discretion was the better part of valour. He put the baton away but still asked Arnab to leave.
'Look mister,
this is official business. Don't interfere and leave now.'
Arnab was not going to give up so easily. He glanced at the dead body on the sidewalk. It was that of a young man, and while Arnab was hardly an expert on the matter, the two holes on his bloodied shirt seemed to indicate that he had been shot.
'What kind of official business is this? You bring a dead body here and bash its head in and pass it off as the work of some serial killer. What exactly are you up to?'
'You may be a superhero or whatever you think you are, but you're in way over your head. Don't get involved here.'
The speaker was the shawl-draped man, who had now discarded his shawl and stood before Arnab, holding a revolver in his hand.
'I am Inspector Pandey of Special Branch, and this is a national security matter. Leave or I'll have to shoot.'
Arnab had never thought things would get this far, and he certainly had no intention of hurting policemen, but now there seemed to be no other way out. In one fluid motion he ran at top speed towards Pandey, and before the inspector could raise his gun and fire, Arnab had snatched it from his hands.
'Inspector, I don't know what you're up to, but this ends tonight.'
Deflated, the Inspector motioned to his colleagues to gather the body and they began to leave. Arnab threw the gun at the Inspector's feet and left the scene at full speed. Later at home, Arnab replayed the events of the night and wondered what he could have done and whether he had really put an end to the Stoneman charade or just prevented one incident? He knew he could not just attack policemen, but there was something really suspicious going on. However, if he thought he had seen enough strange cases, he was in for a surprise. His phone buzzed and when he checked his inbox, there was a cryptic message waiting for him.
'Must meet. Most urgent government matter. We need your help. Time and place your choosing.'
Arnab replied saying he would meet the next night at 10. After some thought, he proposed they meet in the car park opposite Pragati Maidan adjoining the Old Fort. At that time it would be deserted, and if there was any whiff of trouble, then Arnab could speed away down the main road on the way to his house. He spent the next day thinking of who this mystery person could be. The words indicated that it was someone in the government, and indeed some newspapers had begun speculating that the government's silence on the Guardian Angel phenomenon meant tacit approval. Given that he was doing what the police had failed to do for years, there was even talk that the government was actively helping him with intelligence and support. Arnab knew that none of that was true, but this latest SMS got him thinking that perhaps the government did indeed want to work with him. He welcomed the thought. He had been waging a lonely battle for over a month, and was beginning to get tired. Getting some official help would be very welcome indeed.
He spent another tiring evening at Khan's makeshift gym practicing, and now more often than not, chatting with the old man. By now both Arnab and Khan had realized that Arnab was no natural boxer. He lacked the balance and hand-eye co-ordination to be capable of becoming any more than an interested amateur. However, Khan was happy that he had someone to talk to and pass on some of his skills to, and Arnab had learnt enough to land a half-decent punch and not just gawk at his opponent in a fight. What he lacked in skill, he made up in strength and sheer practice. He had never kept count, but having knocked out dozens of opponents had made him much more confident of himself and also much more in control of his strength. That evening, they finished early as Arnab wanted to be on time for his rendezvous, but as he was leaving, Khan mentioned the Guardian Angel for the first time since he had begun his training.
'Arnab, this superhero they talk about, it seems he is a bit of a boxer.'
Arnab stopped at the door, wondering if the old man was fishing for information. He decided that there was no way Khan could know and replied as if he knew nothing about it.
'Yeah, and they also say he can fly and is bulletproof.'
Both of them laughed, but as Arnab began to walk down the stairs, he heard the old man say to his back.
'He doesn't fly, but he is reputed to be move fast as a rocket and he does have a good right jab. I saw a photo in the papers, and I swear if I hadn't known better, it looked just like how you punch.'
Arnab's heart skipped a beat, but he forced himself not to panic and turned around to face Khan.
'Khan chacha, I haven't hit anyone since I got into a fight over a bar of chocolate with a cousin when I was in Kindergarten. I certainly can't fly and the last time I thought I was a superhero, I was walking around the neighbourhood with my undies on outside and a bedsheet as a cape as a five year old, pretending to be Superman.'
Khan laughed so loudly that he had to dab tears from his eyes.
'Go on, get out and do whatever you young people do nowadays.'
Arnab took a bus to Pragati Maidan and waited in the darkness for his man to arrive. When he finally saw someone enter the deserted parking lot, he put on his attire and followed him in. From a distance he could see that the man was alone, and smoking a cigarette. He kept pacing back and forth, kicking the gravel with his feet. Arnab guessed correctly that he was nervous. Well, that made two of them. In the darkness, the man seemed to have no idea that he was not alone, so Arnab waited for the man to turn his back and then stepped behind him.
'Hello. You wanted to meet me.'
The man jumped as if he had met a ghost and dropped his cigarette.
'Shit! You scared me!'
Now it was Arnab's turn to be startled. The man facing him was someone he had met previously in a hospital room only a couple of months ago, but seemingly in another life as so much had changed since then. He was still wearing a safari suit, and soon composed himself, introducing himself just as he had done in the hospital room.
'I am P.C Sharma, Personal Assistant to the Minister Balwant Singh.'
Arnab began to wonder what kind of official business would require the Minister to send his PA to a night time rendezvous all alone, so he got straight to the point. He thought the chances of Sharma remembering his voice were remote, but took no chances, speaking as little as possible.
'What do you need?'
'Yes, yes. Straight to business. I think we will get along fine.'
When Arnab just looked at him, his hooded face not moving or speaking, Sharma wiped his forehead and asked a question that stumped Arnab.
'How much is the Opposition paying you?'
Arnab had no idea what he was talking about and just kept standing quietly, further unnerving Sharma, who took out another cigarette with hands that shook slightly and lit it up.
'You see, everybody has a price, and with what you have been doing to us, the Minister thought surely the Opposition must have struck a deal with you.'
Now Arnab was well and truly stumped and he asked Sharma what the hell he was talking about.
'You know, making the Government and Police look useless while you fight crime, and then with the elections coming up…'
Another long drag and Sharma continued, 'We need muscle, and you've been putting much of our muscle out of business.'
'Your muscle? All I've been doing is fighting criminals.' Arnab protested.
Sharma looked Arnab up and down as if to say nobody could be so naïve and then said with a wolfish grin.
'Criminal when you don't give a cut to the right people, muscle when you help out during elections, and our bosses when you enter Parliament. All the same people.'
Sharma's expression told Arnab that perhaps this Personal Assistant was not just the unthinking toadie he had taken him for. Like all Indians, he had heard stories of corruption in high places and of the nexus between politicians and criminals but to see it admitted so brazenly caught him by surprise. Sharma flicked away the cigarette that had been in his hand and began to walk away.
'Look, I don't think you'll answer me now, since you seem to be troubling yourself with burdens like a conscience. Think about it and let me know. With the ele
ctions coming up, we could use someone of your skills, and we pay much better than the Opposition.'
With a wink, Sharma walked off, leaving a bemused Arnab to ponder the strange proposal.
***
Arnab wondered if Sharma was acting on his own, or if Balwant Singh indeed was involved as well. That would be the irony or ironies-a Minister who ran the Home and Law Ministries himself asking someone not to put goons out of business since they were needed to do his bidding. Arnab, like most Indians, had grown up reading about the depths to which politicians could stoop, so it should have come as no great surprise. The difference was that this time, he was not reading about it in some newspaper but experiencing it firsthand. He decided to spend the next day resting at home, and was in deep slumber when his phone buzzed to life. He reached for his phone and saw a new message.
'Need your help on Stoneman case. Meet me at last crime scene at 2200 hrs-DCP Upadhyay.'
Arnab sat up with a start. He had been troubled by the lack of any real closure to the mystery of the so called 'Stoneman' and now with such a senior officer seeking his help, he was sure he could help the police get to the bottom of it. That night, as he made his way to the location of his showdown with the three policemen, he kept thinking of all the names and faces and details of the crime scene he had seen, so that he could be the most help possible to Upadhyay. He wondered how the DCP would react when he learnt that the 'Stoneman' was no crazed psychopath but some corrupt members of his own force.
When he reached the scene, Upadhyay was already waiting for him, dressed in uniform. Upadhyay was an imposing figure, standing a good head taller than Arnab and somehow seeing someone as senior as the DCP in person put Arnab at ease. He was careful though to keep his distance, since he didn't want to risk revealing his face and being recognized by the DCP from their earlier interaction in the hospital and with the Minister at his press conference.