by Mainak Dhar
Sharma looked nervous, sweating profusely, but Balwant looked at him with no hint of surprise or fear. Balwant may have lacked his strength or speed, but Arnab found that his ruthless, almost reptilian eyes sent a shiver of fear through him. Before he could make his offer known, Balwant spoke up.
'So you want to help me in the elections after all? Seems like you've learnt your lesson, but tell me this one thing-what do you want?'
Sharma chipped in, 'Sir, shall I get the cash?'
Balwant shouted at him to shut up.
'Sharma, if he wanted money, he would have taken it the first time. But my friend, you want something else from me, isn't it? Name your price.'
Arnab was getting used to the fact that in Balwant Singh's world, the currency of exchange was mutual favours in cash or kind. There seemed to be little by way of a concept of right or wrong, but if he wanted to achieve his goal, he would have to learn to deal with such people.
'I want you to clear my name. Make it clear to everyone that I had no role in the scandal, and make it clear that the video was fake.'
Balwant chuckled.
'I could do that, but you need to do something for me. Sharma will give you a list of polling booths and the details. You need to make sure that on election eve, my people own those booths, and that the Opposition gets no chance to capture them.'
Arnab knew what Balwant would demand, and every bone in his body rebelled against agreeing to it, but he had no choice. He agreed but said that he couldn't wait till the elections-he needed his name cleared within a day.
'Look, my friend, in my business, there is no such thing as trust. If I do that, you need to demonstrate your goodwill by doing a small favour for me tomorrow itself.'
***
The mission Balwant had given Arnab was one of petty personal vendetta, and Arnab suspected that he had done so not just to ensure he could trust him, but also to demonstrate that Arnab now had to do his bidding if he wanted Balwant Singh to clear his name. The mission was to intercept a consignment of illicit drugs that one of Balwant's political rivals was bringing in from Nepal. Balwant never explained why he was not asking the police to do this, but Arnab suspected that Balwant may well have been involved in the smuggling, and this was a case of a business partnership gone sour. As Arnab intercepted the truck on the highway and beat the driver and three guards to a pulp, he felt deeply ashamed at having been reduced to nothing more than Balwant's hired muscle, but he rationalized that the shame was worth being able to save the lives of thousands of innocent people. As agreed, he called Sharma, who said he would be at the scene in a few minutes. When Arnab saw Sharma's car approach, he raced away from the scene, hoping Balwant would keep his word.
He did not have to wait very long. That very evening, he received a call from Sharma asking him to turn on his TV. When he did so, he saw Balwant Singh addressing a press conference. He had missed the first few statements, but what he heard was clear enough.
'So, you see the video incriminating our own superhero was a vicious ploy by the Opposition, who had begun to realize that his efforts at fighting crime were coming in the way of their plan to destabilize the law and order situation before the elections. When we found this out, we decided to expose this.'
As he signalled to someone off the stage, a man came onto the screen. Arnab recognized him as the man with the suitcase full of money who had met him with Sharma. The man spoke haltingly, and without looking at the camera.
'I was paid by leading members of the Opposition to do this. I regret what I have done, but the Guardian Angel is absolutely innocent. He refused all offers of money but we doctored the video to malign him.'
Arnab had no idea if Balwant had threatened the man or paid him for his collusion, but he seemed to be convincing enough. Within minutes, the media was all over it, and forums and communities all over the Internet were flooded with apologetic messages, seeking forgiveness from the nation's newly rediscovered favourite superhero, and beseeching him to return. Arnab was sickened by the cynicism and artificiality of it all, but he kept reminding himself that it was for a good cause.
He didn't have to call Aggarwal; it was the tycoon who called him the very next morning.
'You know, you have turned around your reputation far faster than I could have expected. I am impressed.'
'So Mr. Aggarwal, do you think you're ready to make a deal?'
Aggarwal seemed to chuckle at how Arnab got straight to the point.
'You seem to have become something of a businessman yourself. Oh well, that suits me just fine. It's good to do business with someone who doesn't waste time. What do you want?'
Arnab thought back to Arif's demand and responded with only a short pause.
'Ten million Rupees in cash. And I need the money within the next two days.'
Aggarwal sighed as if he had expected Arnab to demand more.
'The amount is no issue, but giving you the money before you've done anything for me doesn't sound like good business.'
Arnab was beginning to panic, wondering if his plan was not going to work after all, when Aggarwal made a counter proposal.
'I could get you the money if you started working for me. Full-scale endorsements and advertising will follow, but that takes time. But perhaps you could start on some, err, tactical promotions earlier.'
'What did you have in mind?'
After Aggarwal had finished briefing him, Arnab spent several minutes sitting by himself, thinking about what he was doing. He had in effect been reduced to being little more than a prostitute, selling himself for favours or money to Balwant, and now, Aggarwal. It saddened him to realize just how naïve he had been. He did not live in a society where change could be brought about through good intentions, or even superhuman capabilities alone. Little could be accomplished without becoming a part of the same dirty system that was the root of most of the problems. Arnab had little choice, as he desperately needed the money to get more information from Arif, but even as he set out to do Aggarwal's bidding, he couldn't help but feel as if he had been physically violated in some way.
The next day, Arnab exploded back into the media spotlight with a series of high-profile operations. First was a foiled robbery at a jewellery store that left four armed robbers in hospital and more than a hundred witnesses gaping at the return of the nation's new favourite son. Next in his sights was a gang of hired goons sent by a builder to evict some slum dwellers. There were six of them, and a bit out of practice after his long break, Arnab suffered a bruising blow to his left shoulder when one of them connected with an iron rod, but after that, he knocked them out them in minutes. He capped it off with a sensational fight against seemingly impossible odds. A traffic accident outside Khan Market after nine at night had left a lone woman driver facing an angry mob of construction workers. They had begun throwing rocks at her car and some of them had begun to surge ahead, driven by anger at the injury to one of their fellow workers and perhaps lust at seeing an attractive young woman all alone. Just then, Arnab zoomed into the scene, standing between the mob and the car. The woman was by now frantically dialling the police for help, but there was no chance they would get there in time. For now, all that stood between her and serious injury, or even death, was the mysterious hooded superhero that stood before her car. Arnab took in the mob as he tried to calm his breathing and prepare for the melee that was about to erupt. There must have been at least a dozen of them. Two or three of them lost their appetite for a fight on seeing Arnab and melted away, but the others stood their ground, goaded on by a tall, muscular man who seemed to be their leader.
'He's one man. We can get him if we attack together.'
The men seemed to take courage at his words and began approaching Arnab at a slow, menacing trot. Small knives appeared in a few hands, but the rest of the mob seemed unarmed. As Arnab scanned the group, he realized his window for action was narrow. If they came close enough, despite his strength and speed, there was a chance one of them could get in a kn
ife thrust and then with sheer weight of numbers, they could overpower him. He locked gazes with the big man who seemed to be their leader, and as they made eye contact, Arnab could see him start to hesitate. The man had been counting on superiority of numbers, but facing a personal challenge from Arnab was not something he had counted on. Before the men could come any closer, Arnab acted, striking with the speed and ferocity of a cobra.
Everyone around saw only a blur of movement and the big man fell in a heap to the ground. The other men stood still, too stunned to react or hit back. Arnab glowered at them, challenging them to attack. One of the men, perhaps incensed by his fallen friend, lunged at Arnab with a knife in his right hand. It was a pathetic and futile attack, as Arnab saw him coming, moved out of the way and then stood behind the man. Arnab had had a lot of time to execute the move, but everyone else saw him seemingly move behind the man as if by magic, as his attacker fell to the ground, unbalanced by his attack that had met only thin air. Arnab bodily lifted the man over his head and threw him a few feet away, as if he were tossing away the garbage. The rest of the mob fled in fear, as onlookers clapped, cheered and snapped photo after photo.
Then it was time to honour his bargain with Aggarwal. Instead of melting away at top speed as he had always done, Arnab walked to a nearby liquor store, and asked the bewildered shopkeeper for a cold can of Woodpecker beer. As over a thousand people gathered to watch their favourite superhero put away a cold one, Arnab grimaced at the bitter taste of beer, the first he had ever experienced. After a couple of sips, he zoomed away, pausing to throw away the can when he was out of sight, before he continued home. The next morning, the papers were full of reports and photographs of the Guardian Angel's explosive return. Prominent among them was the photo of him holding a can of the beer brand owned by Pravin Aggarwal's corporation. Several reporters wryly commented about how even superheroes needed a cold beer once in a while, but it was a publicity coup of unprecedented proportions for Aggarwal.
Arnab was deeply ashamed of what he had been reduced to, and wondered what he would tell Khan when he asked what he was doing. But it all seemed to be worth it when Aggarwal called; informing him that someone was on the way to Delhi with the money. Arnab called Arif and set up a meeting for later that night.
At midnight, carrying a suitcase filled with ten million Rupees, Arnab set out to meet Arif, and hopefully to unravel the mystery of the terror attack that he wanted to prevent.
ELEVEN
Arnab reached the designated meeting point, near an old mosque in Old Delhi. At this time of night, there were few people around, except a couple of urchins asleep on the pavement and the occasional drunk tottering back home. Arnab realized that he was more nervous than he had thought he'd be. Part of that came from being alone, since he had not told Khan anything. Not knowing what he was about to get into, he had not wanted to expose the old man to any unnecessary risk. It had seemed like the right decision at the time, but now, walking into a situation where he had no idea what to expect, he was not so sure any more. For all his powers, he realized he did not have the presence of mind of someone like Khan, and hoped that his trip would not bring with it too many unpleasant surprises.
As he saw Arif appear from an alley to his right, he realized that something was amiss immediately. Arif was not alone, but was accompanied by a short, squat man, who was draped in a shawl. It was by no stretch so cold as to require a shawl, and Arnab was immediately on his guard. When the two men were within a few feet, Arnab called out to them to stop. As he looked them over, he saw that Arif appeared even more haggard than when he had last met him, but his friend was looking at him with sharp, predatory eyes. If there was trouble, Arnab had already decided that he would take Arif's friend down first. Arif defused some of the tension by waving to Arnab and speaking.
'This is Ali, the friend I mentioned. He came from Srinagar when he heard about you.'
Arnab was not about to let his guard down, and addressed Ali directly.
'I have the money you wanted in this suitcase. When can you get me full information about what this operation is and when it is going to take place?'
Arif opened his mouth to say something, but Ali silenced him with a wave of his hand.
'We will give you some information that we have after we see the money. We can get more in a day or two', he said, pointing to the suitcase in Arnab's hand. Arnab was hardly a master negotiator, but dealing with the likes of Aggarwal and Balwant had taught him to be cautious.
'Not so fast, Ali. Tell me what you know, and take half the money. I'll give you the rest when you get me everything there is to know about this operation.'
Ali threw aside the shawl, revealing an AK-47. He did not raise it or point it at Arnab, but the point was made. Arnab held his ground, knowing that one man, even one with an automatic rifle, would not stand much of a chance if he chose to fight. Knowing that he was speaking from a position of strength gave him a bit more confidence.
'Ali, I could strike you down before you bring the gun up to firing position, so don't waste my time. Either you accept my offer, or go back under the rock you crawled out of.'
Arnab was surprised at the venom in his own voice, almost as if someone else were speaking for him. Perhaps he was just getting tired of being pushed around by scum like Balwant and Aggarwal. But there was no way he was going to do the bidding of a thug like Ali. His words seemed to have their desired effect, as Ali sullenly put the shawl back on and walked forward saying, 'Okay, it's a deal. We'll tell you what we know as of now.'
Ali was just a few feet away from Arnab when his head exploded in a mist of blood. Arnab recoiled away and dove towards the ground as shots rang out all around them. He could see Arif had also been shot, and lay a few feet away, bleeding profusely from his stomach. He looked around frantically at who the attackers were, and saw a jeep at the far end of the alley, backing into a side street, presumably turning around to come back and finish the job. He didn't know who they were, but guessed that Arif's erstwhile comrades had finally caught up with him and were repaying him for his betrayal. He realized he had only a few seconds to act. Ali was clearly dead, but Arif still seemed to be breathing. Arnab rushed to him, asking him frantically.
'Arif, tell me what you know. Now!'
The jeep had now turned towards them, its headlights shattering the darkness of the street. Arif was mumbling something incoherently, when Arnab shook him hard.
'We don't have time. Tell me what you know.'
Arif looked up at him with glassy eyes, and he said just one word, straining to say even that much.
'Twenty.'
Arnab asked him again, but Arif held up a hand, as if asking him to listen. He said the word again.
'Twenty.'
With that, Arif's head lolled to one side, and he fell silent. Arnab had no idea what he meant, but as the jeep bore down upon them, and three masked men leaned out, with AK-47s at the ready, he knew he had no more time to waste. He grabbed the suitcase and ran for home, leaving the scene of utter carnage behind, wondering just how horribly wrong things had turned out.
The next morning, Arnab called Jayantada to say that he wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be coming into work for a couple of days. Right after that, he rushed to Khan's place. When the old man saw Arnab's expression, he pulled him inside.
'What have you been up to? I've been seeing you back in action on TV and the papers, but you never told me anything.'
He stopped chastising Arnab when he saw just how frightened he looked and gently asked him to sit down and tell him what had happened. When Arnab finished telling Khan about the events of the previous night, the old man sat down next to him on the bed, letting out his breath in a long, audible sigh.
'We are a bit screwed, aren't we?'
'Khan chacha, I had my doubts about what Arif was saying, but after last night, I'm sure there is something major about to happen. And I cannot do anything about it since I have no idea where the attack will happen or what
it involves.'
'One thing is clear though. If they do actually hope to cause five hundred thousand casualties, I presume they are not going to do so with AK-47s.'
Khan's words send a chill down Arnab's spine, as he recalled the scale of the atrocity that was supposedly being planned. He had never felt so impotent before. Here he was, able to knock down a dozen grown men or outrun a speeding car without breaking a sweat and all he could do was to sit and wait as terrorists unleashed their worst attack yet on India. Khan tried telling him that it was not his fault, but Arnab couldn't help wondering if he could have done something different. Should he have reached Arif sooner? Had he wasted too much time in haggling with Ali instead of asking them what they knew? Had he been a coward to have run from the jeep? The rational part of his mind told him that he probably had done the smart thing-standing his ground before three or four trained terrorists carrying AK-47s would have been suicide. He may well have dodged the fire from one or two, but he knew from painful experience that he was certainly not faster than a bullet. However, doubts continued to nag him, and he was in a foul mood all day. So much so that he didn't bother answering the many calls from Sharma on his phone.
When he did finally answer the phone, it was not Sharma, but Balwant himself at the other end. The Minister sounded really irritated as he waded into Arnab.