Second Lives

by Sarkar, Anish

‘And finally Omar, my dear friend Omar, who was chatting and laughing with several of us yesterday, was tortured and killed last evening.’ Another well-timed pause. ‘His mutilated body is lying in the swimming pool.’

  It was Omar who had scripted and directed the whole thing. We had agreed that it was best for Neel to do the voiceover, for he had the legitimacy of his close involvement with the school alumni association. The bit about Omar’s death hadn’t been in the script, of course.

  The audience listened on with rapt attention. Karan was clearly agitated, and shifted nervously in his chair. I could see that the event coordinator was torn between stopping the presentation, which probably should have been standard operating procedure, and the shock and awe of what he was hearing.

  On cue, Neel said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is no hoax or prank. What you are hearing is absolutely true and you will realise why in a few moments.’

  I guess that decided the event coordinator.

  ‘The most terrible thing of all is that the man who killed our friends is a vicious psychopath and serial killer. In a career spanning fifteen years, he has been responsible for the deaths of over fifty individuals, mostly women. Unlike his notorious predecessors, he has no localised area of operations, selecting victims in metros, small towns and even villages across the country.’

  People began to get restless. This was sounding too fantastic, pretty much unbelievable. The President looked absolutely bewildered. The principal finally got up and signalled to someone next to the stage. Karan was speaking on his mobile phone, and I saw two men running towards the console.

  ‘…And that man, a monster living openly in our midst, is none other than Karan Singh, today’s guest of honour,’ Neel finished.

  83

  Neel

  There was an uproar. All hell broke loose.

  People were getting up. Shaking their heads and muttering to each other. Roy and I intercepted the two men. We had recognised them as Karan’s goons from the previous night. Omar’s killers. I hit the first one in the stomach. He went flying with his own momentum. I kicked him hard in the side hearing a rib crack. The second man was forced to stop. Roy punched him in the face with all his strength and fury. He went down. Thankfully, it was too dark for people to fully realise what was happening.

  I rushed to the console. And dragged away the technician who was about to pull the plug on our little show. ‘Don’t try to stop anything!’ I shouted, and looked around threateningly. Daring anyone to make an attempt.

  People had no idea what was going on. They were beginning to feel more than a little scared. Members of the audience started to walk towards the exit. Perhaps fearing that something was really wrong. Personnel from the President’s security detail climbed up on stage. Encircled him in a protective cordon. A couple of others spoke into their walkie-talkies.

  Just then, the slightly grainy image of a woman came on the screens. She looked pale and nervous. But her voice was strong as she said, ‘I am Delnaz, Karan’s wife. Everything you have just heard is absolutely true.’

  The crowd was shocked back into silence.

  ‘For the past six months, I’ve known that my husband is a mass murderer, and I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t have the courage to do anything about it. He has managed to get away with it all these years, covering his tracks with meticulous planning and using all his considerable influence to good effect. He is a very clever criminal indeed.’

  People seemed to have frozen in their tracks. Delnaz had the undivided attention of every person in the auditorium. I saw utter panic on Karan’s face. But he remained seated. Tried to say something to the President and principal. They ignored him. I guess he was trying to act calm. Pretend that the whole thing was nothing but an elaborate prank.

  Delnaz continued. ‘Many of you who have followed the tragic case of Anna Grishin, the Russian teenager murdered in Goa some time back, will be shocked to learn that Anna’s killer is none other than my husband, Karan. He had a brief relationship with her, slashed her to death and then dumped her body in the sea. Another Russian tourist, who witnessed it, was shot dead while his girlfriend was disposed of in a road accident.

  ‘I have a list of all, or almost all, his victims with me. Knowing that Karan is the perpetrator, it will not be difficult to establish a trail of evidence. I know enough myself to get him sent to the gallows without much trouble.’ She paused, and then held up a large, wicked-looking knife. ‘This is the weapon he uses, though…’

  The screen went blank. I guess someone had finally managed to shut it down.

  Karan now stood up and screamed, ‘This is complete bullshit! It’s a political conspiracy by my enemies…’ He practically jumped off the stage. And began to stomp down the aisle. No one tried to stop him.

  The plan had gone perfectly so far. In fact, even better than we could have hoped for.

  Two questions had always plagued our minds. One—would we be able to play enough of the video before someone stopped it? And, would the people in the audience, many of whom were highly respected members of society, believe what they were seeing and hearing?

  There was no doubt in my mind that the answer to both questions was now a resounding “Yes”.

  I looked around for Roy and spotted him quietly slipping out of the auditorium.

  84

  Roy

  Karan came out, followed by three men in grey safari suits. I hadn’t noticed them before, and figured that they were his official security guys, probably NSG commandos. He stopped and looked around for a couple of seconds, presumably waiting for his own two thugs. There was no way for him to know that they were lying unconscious inside. When no one emerged, he continued walking.

  A black BMW X5 came up on the road outside the auditorium. Karan must have called ahead. A uniformed chauffeur rushed out and held the door open for him but he pushed the man away and got into the driver’s seat himself. I expected the security men to get in as well but before they could, Karan drove off, throwing gravel and dust in his wake.

  I stood there, watching the BMW disappear around a line of trees. Karan was clearly heading out of the campus.

  Fuck. This was not what I had expected. Our theory was that after being exposed, Karan would rush back to the principal’s house, where he was staying. Perhaps make some phone calls, think about his next course of action or simply pack up to leave.

  Giving me enough time to do what I needed to do.

  In hindsight, it had been a foolish assumption. After the humiliation in the auditorium, Karan was obviously not going to hang around. He would want to put as much distance between himself and the people who had seen our little presentation. There was also the possibility that he could be detained for an investigation, but he had managed to bluster his way out before anyone could even think of that.

  My mind was racing. I had to do something really fast.

  There was a solitary motorcycle in the parking lot behind the academic block. I ran towards it. I saw that it was a Royal Enfield Bullet. Good. I would need all the horses in its 500 cc engine. It took me only a few seconds to get it started and then I was off.

  My old friend, the durwan, was about to close the gates after the exit of the BMW, when he saw me bearing down towards him. He jumped out of the way with a nimbleness that belied his age, and I sped out. There was only one direction in which Karan could have gone, so I followed the road going downhill and towards the town.

  It was a typical mountain road, narrow and rough. I pushed the Bullet to ninety, slowing only on the hairpin bends. I skidded a few times on the loose gravel but somehow managed to stay upright. Within a few minutes, I spotted the BMW in the distance, also going dangerously fast.

  That’s when I recognised the opportunity in front of me.

  Until that moment, my only thought was to find out where Karan was going. Since he had shed his security cove
r and was alone, I guessed that he was planning to hide out for a while somewhere. It was imperative we didn’t lose track of him. If I at least knew where he was, I could figure out how to execute the second part of our plan.

  I would have to make it look like an impulsive act, an extreme step to escape the disgrace and possible retribution that lay ahead. But time was critical. I had no doubt that Karan would already be planning his moves.

  Discredit the whole manner of his exposure, which wouldn’t be difficult. Silence Delnaz, something he would take great pleasure in doing. Find one or more scapegoats—like me, for instance—to take the rap for those murders he was uncomfortably close to. Divert attention from the scandal by creating other sensational stories. Pay off the media to prevent news of what happened that morning from leaking out too widely. Luckily for him, the inauguration had been closed to the press, though they would have come in later.

  It wouldn’t be easy for Karan, of course. The high-profile audience and the presence of the President himself meant that there would undoubtedly be intense scrutiny of all the allegations. Which is precisely why we had chosen this event to reveal everything about Karan, apart from a certain poetic justice in the fact that much of the story was linked to all of us and hence the school in the first place. Delnaz had been our trump card, and obviously lent a lot of credence to the story.

  Nevertheless, only a brave or foolish man would bet on justice triumphing over power and money in our country. I was convinced that Karan would eventually extricate himself from the mess.

  Unless I managed to stop him.

  I revved the Bullet harder, watching the speedometer creep up to a hundred and ten, and gained steadily on the BMW, until it was no more than fifty metres ahead.

  Karan must have spotted the Bullet in his rear-view mirror. I’m sure he had also noticed who was riding it but he made no attempt to lose me. He was going about as fast as he possibly could anyway. And as I figured soon, he had picked up the gauntlet and was ready for battle.

  A tempo-truck came up the road from the opposite direction, honking loudly. It was probably carrying provisions to the school. Karan was forced to slow down to let it pass, and I used the opportunity to come right upon his tail. Pulling out the Webley I had borrowed from Neel, I loosed off a couple of shots at the rear tires of the BMW. I heard one connect and deflect off the rubber.

  They were obviously bullet-proof, not just the regular run-flat variety. I clearly wasn’t going to be able to blow them out, and didn’t waste any more bullets. If the tires were bulletproof, then so was the rest of the bloody car.

  We continued in a tight convoy for a while. I wasn’t quite sure what I would do next but I didn’t want to give away the ground I had gained either. My best hope for the moment was that Karan would panic and do something silly. Like lose control of the BMW.

  Instead, he suddenly braked hard.

  I had been half-anticipating it but even so, I couldn’t stop the Bullet in time. My front tire crashed into the back of the BMW, and I felt myself flying through the air. Luckily, I landed in a large bush growing at the edge of the road, which cushioned the impact.

  I hurriedly pulled myself out of the tangle of leaves and branches. The BMW had stopped about twenty metres ahead. I guess Karan was debating whether to come out and shoot me, or remain within the safety of his armoured vehicle. He knew I had a gun too.

  I saw him look back at me, and in that instant, I knew what he was going to do.

  I heard gears engage. The V8 engine growled in crescendo as Karan floored the accelerator. The Bullet was lying on its side in the middle of the road, its wheels still spinning. As I ran towards it, the BMW reversed towards me at great speed. Taking the handlebars of the bike in my hand, I waited for a fraction for a second and then dragged it away with all my strength.

  I had timed it just right. Karan had thought that I was going to mount the bike and couldn’t change direction when I just moved away with it instead. The BMW went back a good distance before screeching to a halt, by which time I had already restarted the Bullet.

  The chase was on again, except that I was in front now.

  Karan came hard after me, his intention very clearly to drive me off the road into the valley hundreds of feet below.

  I twisted and turned desperately, pushing the Bullet to the limit. On two occasions, the BMW came within a few inches of ramming me but I managed to pull away in the nick of time. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. At those speeds, even the slightest touch would spell doom for me.

  Then I noticed some road-work going on a short distance ahead.

  A man was waving a red flag, indicating that we should reduce speed. Karan had seen him as well, and he pulled back immediately. The workmen would remember his distinctive car, and he couldn’t afford to have a bunch of witnesses to another murder.

  I eased off the throttle of the Bullet. They were resurfacing a stretch of over a kilometre and not surprisingly, the entire road had been dug up, leaving a narrow track of loose earth for us to negotiate. I didn’t mind though, for it gave me time to think.

  I knew I had to think fast. We were nearing the bottom of the hill, where the road merged with a relatively busy state highway. Once we hit that, I would have little chance of turning the tables on Karan.

  For a moment, I thought about stopping in front of the BMW and trying to force Karan out of the car. He wouldn’t be able to get around the bike in that restricted space. I could call for reinforcements while I held him there. Or maybe I could convince the labourers to help me by surrounding the BMW or something. Karan would have to come out to end the impasse, giving me the opportunity I was looking for.

  I dismissed the idea. There were just too many risks.

  Karan might do anything if cornered, like open indiscriminate fire. And I didn’t want to jeopardise any more innocent lives. Besides, even if I managed to overpower or kill him, it would defeat the purpose with so many people around. And it was quite likely that the labourers might recognise Karan and turn on me instead.

  I looked around. We were at a spot on the road which enjoyed a unique 270-degree view. To the north and north-east, the forest-covered mountains rose higher and higher, ending in a hazy vista of the eternal snows on the horizon. To the south, the land gradually fell away towards the great plain. I could see the silver ribbon of a river meandering far below.

  I had passed that place innumerable times, and never failed to take a moment to admire the spectacular panorama. It was particularly ironic because there was a very treacherous turn on the road only a short distance ahead. The locals had named it the Devil’s Bend, because several accidents had occurred there over the years, even though prominent warning signs were put up.

  There was a legend that the ghost of an old woman would suddenly appear in front of motorists at that spot, causing them to lose control of their vehicles and crash. That was a tall tale, of course. The fact was that it was a very sharp curve after a longish stretch of straight road, which often caught drivers off-guard.

  Then it struck me. The Devil’s Bend!

  Here was an opportunity, albeit a difficult one. But it was probably the last I would get. It all depended on how I played it, and how distracted Karan was with everything that had happened.

  I looked around for some sort of a projectile that would fit comfortably in my hand. There were small rocks strewn around but I didn’t want to stop to pick one up. Then I passed right by a wagon loaded with debris from the dig. Slowing down imperceptibly, I managed to pick out a nice chunk of flaky earth from it. Perfect. I hoped Karan hadn’t noticed.

  We reached the end of the rough stretch of road, and I opened the throttle of the Bullet. It leaped forward like a racehorse, and I was hitting a hundred in a few seconds. As I had expected, Karan came thundering after me, his mind focused on finishing the job which had been interrupted by the road-
work.

  We hit the straight road leading up to the Devil’s Bend, and I let the BMW edge a little closer. I heard a couple of loud pops over the roar of the engines, and realised that Karan was shooting at me. I weaved left and right, hoping not to get hit by a bullet. Only a few seconds more.

  I counted to three and accelerated. As Karan came up behind, I hefted the lump of earth and threw it backwards. It landed squarely on the windscreen of the BMW and disintegrated. I knew Karan was momentarily blinded. Simultaneously, I turned the Bullet in a sharp skid to the right, getting dragged along for several metres until I came to a stop on the muddy shoulder along a steep rock-face. My right side was a mess of torn fabric and skin.

  I pulled myself out from under the bike and stood up. There was no sign of Karan. I ran to the edge of the road and looked down. The BMW rested like a monstrous, mortally wounded beetle on the canopy of trees a couple of hundred feet below. As I watched, it exploded in a huge fireball, the searing heat singeing my face.

  I didn’t wait any longer. The Devil’s Bend had claimed another victim, the Devil incarnate himself.

  Mission accomplished.

  85

  Neel

  Karan Singh exposed as serial killer, commits suicide.

  Psychopath MP kills himself.

  It’s now mass murder—A new low for our country’s politicians.

  Karan Singh—India’s Jack the Ripper.

  Shocked and outraged, says President.

  The story was splashed all over the front pages. It was sensational stuff. The media was lapping it up.

  I put down the pile of newspapers. And let out a deep sigh. There was no sense of satisfaction. Just hollowness inside me. We had succeeded in destroying Karan. But that wouldn’t bring back Jo or Rachel or Omar. Or any of his other victims.

  Roy glanced at me but didn’t say anything.

  ‘We’ve all paid a heavy price but it’s time to forget the past and look ahead.’