A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He looked up. There were three officers standing at the door. He waved them in.
‘What do we have now, Iqbal?’ he began without even waiting for them to be seated. Iqbal was the officer in charge of the investigation into the Wafi Mall heist.
‘Nothing,’ Iqbal replied matter-of-factly. He knew he was the best that the Dubai Police had. If he could not get to the bottom of the robbery, no one else could. ‘No trace of the perpetrators. No records. They seem to be a team of first-timers.’
‘For first-timers they were pretty good,’ Jilani commented. ‘Almost like professionals.’
‘Yes, sir. They had done their homework. They knew what they were doing. Ordinarily, a novice driving into the mall to conduct a robbery would have armoured the front of the car and driven straight in. Had they done that, they would have run the risk of the airbags getting deployed. In Audis . . . in most cars for that matter, air bags deploy in case of a frontal collision, but not when the car is driven in reverse. These guys were smart. They drove in the first car in reverse. The rear of the car collided with the gate and brought it down, clearing the way for the car that was following. Unless they were professionals, they wouldn’t have planned the heist in such detail.’
‘Seems like you have become a fan, Iqbal,’ Jilani commented. He didn’t want to hear paeans of praise for the rogues who had blurred his impeccable record.
‘Not a fan, janaab. But they executed such a clean job, one cannot help but admire.’
‘In my thirty-two years with the Dubai Police, I have yet to come across a perfect crime. There is always something. There has to be a clue somewhere. Don’t let your admiration for those crooks cloud your judgement, officer.’
Iqbal smiled. ‘It is always good to admire competition, sir. Helps you stay ahead of them.’ He extended his left hand towards the officer next to him, who promptly handed him the packet he was carrying. Iqbal carefully laid the packet on the table, and pulled out a transparent pouch with some markings on it.
‘We recovered this from the robbery site.’
Jilani slowly picked up the pouch and looked at it.
‘When they were running back to the Audis, one of the robbers stumbled and fell. Even though he recovered quickly and managed to gather a significant portion of the loot, he couldn’t pick up everything that had fallen out.’
Jilani had not taken his eyes off the pouch.
‘This is one of the things he failed to gather.’
The silence in the room was deafening. Finally, Jilani raised his eyebrows and looked at Iqbal.
‘Damn! How old is this?’
8
THIRUVANANTHAPURAM
A few weeks later
Rajan had been up since 4 a.m. Sleep had deserted him of late and he was feeling too restless to try falling asleep again. It was probably the excitement of the day ahead, coursing through his body like adrenaline. He tiptoed to the kitchen, and set about making himself some coffee. He had barely kept the container of milk on the stove when Kamu walked in.
‘You could have woken me up.’
‘Didn’t want to. You were sleeping soundly. Snoring, in fact.’
‘What’s happened to you? You seem to have forgotten how to sleep.’ Kamu walked up to him and put her arm around his shoulders. ‘Is it the court case?’ she asked.
Rajan smiled and hugged her back. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘today is the day when the courts will be tested. They will have to make a choice.’ He walked up to the stove and checked on the milk; it was simmering. ‘Religion or monarchy. History or propriety. They will have to take sides. For years Dharmaraja Varma and his predecessors have run this temple like their private fiefdom,’ he said, shutting off the gas. The milk had come to a boil. ‘The court will pronounce its verdict on the case Gopi and I filed against the royal family and their mismanagement of the temple and misuse of the wealth in the temple vaults,’ he finished, pouring out his coffee.
After his morning dose of filter coffee, he took a bath and stepped out of his house. It was 5.15 a.m. He could see the temple gopuram in the distance. On his way he crossed the Padma Teertha Kulam, the holy pond. He stopped, pushed open a small gate and went down a few steps to the water’s edge. Dipping his hands in the water, he brought up a palmful and sprinkled a few drops on his head. With the same wet hands, he touched his eyes as a mark of respect.
As he got out of the enclosure, he saw a group of people walking hurriedly towards the temple. They were probably getting late for the morning abhishekam, the holy ritual of bathing the deity.
Upon entering the temple, Rajan walked straight into the sanctum sanctorum. He bowed his head before the huge monolith of Padmanabha Swamy reclining on the five-hooded serpent Anantha, also known as Adi Sesha. He said a silent prayer and went to the temple office. Gopi had not come in yet; it was too early for any office bearer to report for work. Rajan stepped out into the corridor—called sannidhi—that ran all round the sanctorum, providing a covered area for devotees to sit and sing verses in praise of the lord. On the northeastern side of the temple, the sannidhi branched out into a small passage to the left. Rajan walked down the passage to an open area. He was the only one there. To his right was a small flight of stairs that went down one level. He climbed down the twenty-four steps. As he reached the bottom he could see it: a large door on his right. He stood for a long time looking at it.
Behind those doors lay the secret of the treasures of the Anantha Padmanabha Swamy Temple. There were six vaults named A to F for bookkeeping purposes. Vaults C to F had been opened multiple times and the temple utilities and gold and jewellery found inside were used for the running of the temple. Vaults A and B had not been opened in the recent past. Legend had it that Vaults A and B contained riches beyond belief, unseen and unheard of in any temple in the world. Riches that had not been claimed by anyone—except the family of the king. Strangely enough, despite having these unimaginable riches, the security cover provided to the temple was surprisingly lax. Probably because people believed that no one would attempt a robbery at a temple guarded by Padmanabha Swamy himself.
As he stood there, wondering what lay in the two unopened vaults, his phone rang. It was Gopi. Rajan glanced at his watch. It was already 7.30 a.m. He had to be at the high court by 9 a.m.
It was judgement day.
9
The high court was teeming with people. A posse of journalists waited patiently in one corner. It was a landmark case and everyone was eagerly awaiting the verdict.
When the judge walked in, everyone stood up as a mark of respect. The judge took his seat and began cautiously. The first one and a half pages that he read out were nothing dramatic. That was just the preamble.
Finally, he came to the verdict.
‘Based on the arguments presented by both sides, it has been decided by the court that the administrative control of the temple will pass from the current office bearers to those appointed by the state. The Government of Kerala will take over the day-to-day running and management of the Anantha Padmanabha Swamy Temple. The state will also set up a committee to evaluate the need to open the vaults in the temple and submit their recommendations to the court within forty-five days. Dharmaraja Varma, on account of his position and stature, will continue to be the chief trustee of the temple.’
Rajan and Gopi were thrilled. The former had tears in his eyes. It was a great victory for them. They had protected the riches of Padmanabha. They had performed a service for the lord, which everyone would be proud of. Or so he thought.
Outside, a huge crowd was assembled, shouting slogans in favour of the king. It was an emotional issue and the king’s public relations machinery had worked overtime to influence public sentiment and drive people into a frenzy. The moment the court delivered the verdict, the restless crowd became violent. Despite the presence of a large contingent of the police, people started pelting stones, breaking barricades and damaging the cars parked in the co
mpound.
Policemen took up positions outside the main door of the courtroom. The petitioners were not allowed to leave, for fear of their safety. Gopi and Rajan walked up to the window and looked outside in disbelief. A riot had broken out. This was a public sentiment that they had failed to read. A power they had failed to assess. Rajan couldn’t understand what the brouhaha was all about. Hadn’t they saved crores worth of public wealth from being usurped by the king? Why then this backlash?
Rajan turned towards the assistant commissioner of police who was in charge.
‘Is there another route from where we can exit?’ he asked the ACP. After all, they could not be holed up in the small room for the entire day.
‘There is one, on the eastern side. Seldom used but—’
‘Aaaaah!’
The sudden moan from behind Rajan interrupted the ACP mid-sentence. When they turned to see what the matter was, they realized Gopi was on the floor. He was clutching the right side of his face with one hand, and vigorously rubbing his chest with the other. He seemed to be in severe pain. Rajan rushed to his side.
‘Gopi! What happened?’ he asked, a worried look on his face.
Such was his agony that Gopi could barely speak; he kept groaning. Rajan went down on his knees and tried to raise Gopi’s head into his lap. The moment he touched Gopi’s face, he screamed and pulled his hand away. He shook his hand a few times as if to get rid of whatever was on it. It felt like it was on fire. Grinding his teeth against the burning sensation, he wiped his palm on his shirt. To his horror, the shirt fabric started crumbling instantly. Shocked, Rajan looked at Gopi helplessly. That’s when he noticed the broken vial on the floor near Gopi’s feet. The carpet around it seemed like it had burnt away. Suddenly everything became clear. Someone had hurled a vial of acid into the courtroom through the open window and it had struck Gopi. Had he not stepped away to talk to the ACP, it could have hit Rajan.
Gopi was in terrible pain. His shirt had dissolved in the acid, exposing rapidly blistering skin, but it was his face that had borne the brunt of the attack. The acid had eaten through skin and flesh. The strong pungent smell of acid and burning flesh filled the courtroom.
The policemen were busy on the walkie-talkie, presumably calling for an ambulance.
Five minutes passed. There was still no sign of the ambulance. Rajan was getting paranoid. The crowd was swelling by the minute.
‘The ambulance is stuck at the court gates,’ a constable announced. ‘Unable to get in.’
Rajan put his arms around Gopi, hauled him up and stumbled towards the entrance, determined to take him to the hospital himself.
One of the policemen barred the way. ‘You need to wait. It is not safe to go outside.’
‘I can’t leave him to die!’ Rajan yelled at him and staggered out with Gopi. The moment they emerged, a few protesters noticed them and started running in their direction, shouting slogans against the court verdict.
Rajan turned and hurried towards the eastern gate of the court, the one the ACP had mentioned. Though it was further away, he had no choice; the front gate was blocked. Gopi was in excruciating pain and couldn’t walk as fast. Rajan had to literally drag him. A few police constables too stepped out and walked alongside them. The distance between the protesters and them was decreasing steadily. Rajan kept glancing back to see how much of a lead they had. Even at that moment, he feared more for Gopi’s life that his. If he could not take Gopi to the hospital nearby he was almost certain his friend would die. A friend who had stood by him as he fought the biggest case of his life. He couldn’t let that happen. ‘Please, Padmanabha,’ he implored silently, ‘he was standing by my side—for you. Help me save him.’
A few in the crowd started pelting stones at them. The policemen took up positions behind them. When the crowd didn’t stop, they fired in the air, but the crowd remained undeterred. In another forty-five seconds they would be overrun by the mob.
‘Cheta! Rajan Cheta!’
Rajan heard someone call his name over all the noise. It was Kannan! He had managed to enter through the rear gate and was almost next to them.
‘Get in,’ Kannan implored. ‘Quickly! Quickly! Before those guys reach us,’ he said, revving the autorickshaw engine.
In no time at all, the three of them were roaring towards the hospital. By the time the doctors took him inside, Gopi had passed out from the pain.
Three days later, Gopi died.
‘Had he been brought in ten minutes earlier we might have been able to save him,’ the doctors told Rajan. ‘But what can we do if Lord Padmanabha wills it.’
10
MUMBAI
They were the only two people in the northeastern corner of the coffee shop at the Four Seasons hotel in Worli. Divya was wearing fitted blue jeans and a maroon top. Aditya was in formals. He had come straight from college where the placement session was on. He didn’t look too pleased.
‘I don’t want to join just any company. I won the world design competition. I beat the best in the world! I would rather start my own jewellery design business than work for someone else. Besides, as someone once said, “No one gets rich saving on their salary.”’
‘And you want to be rich.’
‘Rich and famous,’ Aditya corrected. ‘Who doesn’t? I want to be the best jewellery designer in the world. The most exclusive diamantaire for the rich and famous.’
‘Join my father then,’ Divya suggested, squeezing Aditya’s hand in a reassuring manner. ‘He will be only too happy to have you. He sees me as a disappointment. God’s cruel joke on him. Nirav Choksi’s daughter . . . not interested in jewellery—it’s all a bit unpalatable for him, to say the least.’ She smiled.
‘He hasn’t even met me. What makes you think he will be happy to have me join him?’
‘Come on. You know him, don’t you?’
‘Whatever I know about him has come from you and business magazines.’
Divya rolled her eyes at that. ‘I keep talking about you to him. He wants to meet you only after you have told your parents about us.’
Now it was Aditya’s turn to make a face. ‘This is the one thing I just don’t get. What does him meeting me have to do with my parents?’
‘Simple. He thinks that once he has met you, keeping our relationship a secret from your parents will be tantamount to treachery. He is like that. You can’t argue with him; no one can. At some point in time, sooner rather than later, you’re going to have to talk to your parents.’
‘You know the story, Divya. Why do you want me to repeat it?’ Aditya snapped, frustrated.
‘I know but . . .’ She stopped. Divya knew that he had been away from home for years. Any discussion about his parents would irritate him. ‘Anyway, forget all that,’ she said brightly. ‘Should I talk to my dad about you joining him?’
‘No. Not right now.’
‘Why?’
‘After winning an international competition, you want me to work in Zaveri Bazaar? The slum of the diamond industry?’ Aditya smiled. He knew how much Divya loathed the bazaar.
‘In that case, you’ll never be able to work with him. I have tried talking to him multiple times about moving out of Zaveri Bazaar, but he is wedded to that place.’
‘Wedded?’ Aditya said with a glint in his eyes. ‘Generous choice of words, sweetheart. He is a don there.’
‘Of course not! Everyone loves him.’
‘Love and fear often bring out the same reaction—compliance,’ he said and laughed. ‘Okay! Okay!’ Aditya protested as Divya punched his arm. ‘I was just kidding! Maybe if I join him, I’ll convince him, maybe arm-twist him into moving.’
‘Arm-twist?’ Divya grinned. ‘I didn’t know you had this violent streak in you.’
Aditya quickly changed track. ‘Let him enjoy his life in that dungeon while we celebrate our togetherness.’ He raised his cup of coffee. Divya responded with a smile and raised her own cup.
Later that evening, as he was walking D
ivya to her car, Aditya asked, ‘If, God forbid, he refuses to let you be with me, what will you do?’
Divya rolled her eyes and looked at him. ‘Are you asking whose side I will take if it comes to that?’
‘Hmm.’ Aditya loved to put her on the spot.
‘It’s simple. My dad is the most important person in my life. I will never marry you without his blessings. I love you, Aditya, but not enough to go against his will.’
11
THIRUVANANTHAPURAM
Gopi’s body lay in the thatched veranda of his house. To anyone standing next to his body, the gopuram of the Anantha Padmanabha Swamy Temple was clearly visible. A crowd of friends and relatives had gathered for his last rites. The heart-wrenching cries of the womenfolk that rang through the house would have melted even the strongest of hearts.
Rajan stood by the door, a few feet from the body. His eyes burned with rage. Why had Gopi become the victim of the acid attack? What was his fault? It could have been anybody standing inside the courtroom. Even Rajan himself. That last was a particularly disconcerting thought.
Gopi was one of Rajan’s closest friends. They had first met in school over fifty years ago, and been together ever since. Rajan greeted everyone who walked in and accepted their condolences on behalf of Gopi’s family. A sudden chatter disturbed the silence in the veranda. Out of the corner of his eye Rajan saw a puff of dust on the right, where the street in front of Gopi’s house joined the main city road. Four white Benz cars could be seen in the distance.
Rajan stepped out of the house and waited on the street. He knew who it was.
A few minutes later the cars stopped in front of Gopi’s house. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the chatter died down, and a hush descended on the gathering. Everyone got up and stood with folded hands, heads bowed in respect. Everyone except Rajan. He calmly stood his ground and stared at the cars. The rear door of the second car opened and an old man stepped out. He was wearing a dhoti, a white shirt that extended a few inches below his waist, and black Quovadis sandals. He shuffled up to Rajan, put a hand on his shoulder, shook his head and said, ‘It is sad that he went this way. He was a good man.’ Rajan didn’t respond. Before the king could say anything further, the sound of two more doors being shut was heard and his wife and daughter stepped out of the car. They started to approach the house, but the look in Rajan’s eyes stopped them.
In the Name of God Page 3