All he got was two sullen stares. He held up his hands in a conciliatory way. ‘Tell you what, I’ll wait downstairs in my car for half an hour. You think it over and if you think you can trust me, please come down.’
And with that, he was gone.
Uday shut the door behind him and walked over to the couch. ‘You want to order dinner?’ he asked, sitting next to her on the couch and scrolling through his phone for a food app. ‘I’m starving. And that soup couldn’t have been enough for you.’
He waited for a response, but Avantika was still staring straight ahead, lost in thought. ‘Avanti?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Dinner?’
‘No. I think … I’ll go with him.’
Uday hit the couch in frustration. ‘Are you out of your bloody mind? This guy could be the one who tried to kill you and you want to go with him god knows where in the middle of the fucking night? You’re fucking suicidal or what?’
Avantika covered her face with her palms and slowly rubbed her eyes.
‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘I’m just sick of it all. I’ve had an old friend turn up dead, found out things about her and her parents that I was better off not knowing, met and talked to people I really, really didn’t want to and been thrown off my bike so half my body aches like a motherfucker. I’m in pain, I’m mindfucked and I’m just … so … sick … of it all!’
Uday reached out to put an arm around her, but she shrugged it off.
‘And the worst part, Uday, is that I still don’t have any answers! All I have is a theory and that’s … a little out there. This not knowing anything for sure, it’s driving me insane!’
‘That doesn’t mean you just—’
‘What, go with a guy who claims to have the answers? Isn’t that what you would’ve done?’
‘That’s different… ’
‘Why?’
She was looking at him now, challenging him to answer. She knew what he was going to say. That the worst thing that could’ve happened to him if he did something like this, was that he’d be found dead somewhere. The worst thing that could happen to her, was that she’d be found alive and raped, in a state that was worse than death. It was what anyone would’ve said. But Uday didn’t. He just looked at her, shook his head sadly and looked away.
‘At least don’t go alone, let me come—’
‘You know that won’t work.’
‘No, I don’t. At least let’s give it a shot?’
‘Dhruv won’t—’
‘He doesn’t make the rules—’
‘Uday. No.’
He glared at her for a second, then with an exasperated huff, he got up and reached into his pocket. ‘Take this then,’ he pushed a Swiss Army knife in her hands. ‘At least it’ll give you some chance if things go wrong.’
She pulled open a blade experimentally, just as he warned: ‘Careful, it’s sharp.’
She pushed the blade back in and went to her bedroom to change.
Dhruv looked at his watch. It was almost 11.30 p.m. Another couple of minutes and he’d have to leave, knowing exactly what Avantika thought of him and how terribly wrong she was. He sighed. There was nothing else to it. You couldn’t convince someone of your innocence if they were determined to think of you as guilty. He’d really hoped she’d come and he’d get a chance to redeem himself. He liked her, her sharp mouth and blunt ways. He was about to turn the key in the ignition when he saw her walking towards his BMW, Uday by her side.
Avantika had changed from the long, faded nightshirt she’d worn, into a t-shirt and jeans. She carried a small rucksack with what she called her survival kit—some rope, a small bottle of water, a napkin, a wireless phone charger. Instead of her usual ballet flats, she wore running shoes; partly because they were comfortable and partly because it always pissed her off when stupid women in horror movies wore heels to go away for a weekend to an isolated cottage. They might as well paint a large target sign on their skimpy tank tops with ‘Stab Here’ written in neon paint right under it.
As Dhruv held open the door to the passenger seat, Uday held her back for a moment. Then he pointedly opened the door to the seat behind the driver’s. The two men looked at each other for a second, then Dhruv gave a quick nod, closed the door and went and sat in the driver’s seat.
Uday turned to Avantika. He’d appealed to her one last time before they left her apartment. ‘Think of your parents,’ he’d pleaded. ‘If something happens to you—’
And she’d thought of the shell of a woman that Laxmi’s mother had turned into and had nearly changed her mind. But then, she’d thought of her own mother. Aai had taught her to finish what she started. She’d be terrified if she knew what Avantika was up to. But she’d never want her daughter to walk away from a situation just because things had gotten a little … difficult.
And in the end, that’s what had made her decide to go. Now, as she eyed the seat behind Dhruv, her stomach tightened with worry. She grit her teeth and gulped. It’s okay, she told herself. My phone’s location services are on. And I have that emergency app for women. One click of a button and Uday will get an SOS with my exact coordinates. How long it would take him to reach her after that, who knew.
Now, as she was about to enter the car, Uday gave her a quick one-armed hug. ‘Call, okay?’, he said. ‘Or at least text.’
She nodded and fastened the seatbelt. Uday walked to the front of the car and with a meaningful glare at Dhruv, took a picture of the car, with its number-plate. Then he stepped back. The key turned in the ignition and a couple of moments later, the BMW pulled out of the building’s parking lot and zoomed down the empty road outside.
Sixteen
The street lamps shone orange through the windows of the car, falling behind rapidly in quick succession, as the car gained speed. Dhruv was a good driver and he’d got them on to the Western Express Highway remarkably quickly, given the traffic on the roads. That was the thing about Mumbai. The city never slept. There were always people going to work, people coming home from work, people with no work trying to find work and the Civil Works Department giving people work by digging up city roads with a gleeful disregard to public convenience. There was always something going on. Even at 11.15 at night.
They took a right and entered the traffic snarl otherwise known as the Jogeshwari–Vikhroli Link Road. Cars were predictably lined up bumper to bumper, their tail lights like so many angry red eyes glaring at those foolish enough to look at them. Avantika looked away uneasily and glanced at Dhruv through the rear-view mirror.
He was looking straight ahead, presumably focusing on the traffic. Neither of them had spoken a word since leaving Avantika’s home. Her own mind, on the other hand, was a chaos of voices. Are you out of your mind, one asked. Relax, you’re doing the right thing, another one piped up. And when has that ended up well for you, asked the first one. She ignored them. But the silence in the car was making it difficult to drown them out altogether. In any case, she was in it now. There was no going back. Oh please, said a weary little voice within her, it’s a stalled car, just open the damn door and run for it. She cleared her throat.
‘So … where are we going?’
Dhruv started a bit, as if he hadn’t expected her to speak at all. But he quickly recovered and replied, ‘You’ll find out.’
Avantika rolled her eyes. ‘Are you going to blindfold me now, so I don’t know the way to your lair?’
He almost smiled. ‘You’ve already seen my lair. You’ve spent a night there, remember?’
‘Look, can you just … please … not put it like that. It makes it seem like I …,’ she fished around for the right word and settled for, ‘makes it seem shady.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I just wish you said what you actually mean.’
He didn’t reply. She looked out of the window, read five number plates for want of anything better to do, then gave up. ‘How did you know about the bike crash?’ she asked.
‘Shibani,’ he replied. ‘Your … friend … must’ve told her. She told me, when I went to the office. Right after she asked me if I could get her a complimentary purse from Aisha’s new collection.’ He shook his head in amusement. ‘She’s a real character,’ he added.
Avantika considered this a blatant understatement. ‘Yes, she is. And Uday is not a significant pause kind of friend.’
Why she was explaining this to Dhruv was beyond her, but it seemed important to make that clear, for some reason. He simply shrugged in reply. The signal turned green and the cars and rickshaws around them started moving. They didn’t speak for some time, as Dhruv manoeuvred the car through the dense traffic, made up largely of people who had heard of lane discipline and dismissed it as a silly rumour.
At the T-junction at the end of the road, Dhruv took a left turn and alarm bells began ringing in Avantika’s head.
‘Hold on,’ she said, ‘doesn’t this road go to New Bombay1?’
‘And to Thane, Panvel, Pune. It depends on where you want to go really.’
‘Where do we want to go?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘You’re trying my patience,’ she said slowly and in the rear view mirror she saw the jaunty smile slide off his face.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered, ‘it’s just … we’ll be there soon.’ And seeing the expression on her face he added, ‘There’s nothing to be scared of.’
She pulled herself up at this. ‘I’m not scared,’ she lied. ‘I just want to get to the bottom of this bloody affair as soon as possible, that’s all.’
She looked away and stared out of the window. The flyovers of New Bombay were glowing orange under the streetlights and there weren’t many cars on the road. Dhruv stepped on the accelerator and they shot ahead, leaving behind wide, half empty roads, stately office buildings and tree-lined avenues. The BMW had beautiful suspension and the smooth gliding motion of the car made Avantika’s eyelids droop. And then, shut.
‘We’re here.’
Dhruv’s voice made her eyes fly open and she woke up with a start, breathing heavily, her heart racing. I have got to stop waking up like this, she thought. How did I sleep in the first place? Must’ve been the damned painkillers. How strong were those things? She felt groggy as hell.
‘Are you okay? Relax, relax,’ Dhruv was saying.
She nodded and rubbed her face with both hands. He got out of the car and held the door open for her. She stepped out with her backpack and shivered without meaning to. They were parked in a neat, well-maintained driveway. A large bungalow loomed in the darkness before them. All the lights were out. Behind it, far away, Avantika could see the glittering lights of the Mumbai–Pune Expressway. So. Lonavala, then. Or Khandala. That’s where they were. In one of the twin hill stations between Mumbai and Pune. There was no way of knowing exactly where. There was no way of knowing where to run.
The night was cool enough to raise goosebumps on her bare skin. She rubbed her arms vigorously, wishing she’d carried a sweater along. When you’re cold, you feel more scared, because the physical reactions to fear and mild hypothermia are the same and that confuses the body. Now, where had she read that? And could there be a more irrelevant time to remember this? Blowing warm air on her rapidly freezing palms, she turned to Dhruv, who was fishing out a bunch of keys from his pocket.
‘This way,’ he said, indicating the bungalow.
Avantika took a long look at it. It seemed a little uncharitable to call it just a bungalow. It was actually a well-proportioned, well-maintained two-storeyed villa done in red brick, with black iron grills and a neat lawn. It would’ve looked suitably olde worlde and grand in the daylight. In the darkness of night, it looked like a place where prostitutes went to die.
She shuddered and followed Dhruv as he walked up the steps to the main door. It was quiet, aside from the chittering of crickets. He unlocked the door, but it refused to budge. A hard push. A door chain jangled on the other side of the door. He gave a frustrated sigh and rang the doorbell. The sound shattered the silence like a gunshot. A couple of minutes passed. He rang the bell again. This time, a small light came on in a window upstairs. A minute later, the light above the doorway was switched on, just as the ground floor lights came on. Avantika held her breath. She hoped, prayed that her theory was correct. Otherwise, she was walking into … she had no idea what came after that.
The door opened.
Aisha stood in the doorway. She was wearing a chunky navy blue sweater over boxers printed with poodles. She looked confused and sleepy in equal parts. Then she noticed Avantika standing behind Dhruv and a look of complete exasperation passed her face.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ she hissed at Dhruv.
Avantika found herself breathing again.
‘Nice seeing you too,’ she muttered.
‘Come on in,’ Dhruv said to her, ignoring his sister. He took a step forward.
‘No!’ Aisha said, standing her ground. She held a warning finger in front of Dhruv. ‘Not her.’
Dhruv looked at her calmly, but Avantika could sense his anger. ‘Let us in. You’re in enough trouble as it is. I know about Manek.’
‘What about him?’
Aisha had folded her arms across her chest. Her face was poker-player blank. Dhruv didn’t reply, but his glare was intimidating enough to make Aisha look away. He pushed her out of the way lightly and entered the house, with Avantika following close behind.
Most of the ground floor was taken up by the large living room with a spiral staircase on one side leading to the floor above. A handsome green Chesterfield sofa stood in the centre of the room and it was on this that Dhruv parked himself. Avantika chose to sit on one of the plush leather chairs next to the sofa. Aisha stood by the door for a few seconds, looking helpless and angry at the same time. Then she shut the door with an exasperated huff and came and sat down on an incongruous fainting couch that stood on the other side of the sofa.
‘Look, I can explain—’ she began, but Dhruv held up a hand and she stopped.
‘Do you remember what I’d told you the day we found out about him?’
Aisha didn’t reply, but her gaze fell to her lap, where her fingers were fidgeting. Avantika had never seen her looking so unsure before.
‘Aisha…?’ Dhruv asked. There was a sharp big-brother edge to his voice.
‘I remember, I remember, okay? You told me never to call him for anything.’
‘For anything,’ Dhruv said. ‘You had promised. Do you remember promising me that?’
There was a mumbled ‘yes’.
‘But you called him anyway.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Aisha said slowly. ‘I didn’t think—’
‘No, you didn’t.’ In one brisk movement, Dhruv got up and strode to her angrily. ‘You never do. You’ve always been pretty thoughtless, but this is too much! Even for you!’
He pointed to Avantika. ‘She could’ve lost a limb, died,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘You would’ve been thrown in jail for it. Did you stop to think about that before you picked up the phone and called a man who kills people for money?’
Seventeen
Avantika blinked. A cold, dark abyss was opening in the pit of her stomach. The bike. The accident. It was Aisha. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest.
‘You … what?’
‘It was a misunderstanding,’ Aisha said, not meeting her eyes.
Avantika tried to think of a response for this. The road flashed before her eyes, the concrete rising to meet her. She remembered the heat from the friction of flesh and asphalt, scraping her arms raw. Her fingers twitched.
‘A misunderstanding,’ she said, anger making her voice shake. ‘What had you sent him to do? Origami?’
Aisha rolled her eyes and in that instant, Avantika felt like gouging her eyes out. Her fingers clenched into fists.
‘Am I boring you? Sorry. I’ll just sit here and shut up and let you tell me how this tiny little misunderstanding happened
, this small fucking mistake that could’ve oh, I don’t know, maybe FUCKING KILLED ME A BIT!’
She had gotten to her feet without realizing it. Aisha, on the other hand, was sitting sullenly on the couch, not looking in her direction. No apology, no justification. Not that it would have helped, but this total indifference infuriated Avantika. It must’ve shown on her face, because Dhruv sounded sincerely apologetic when he said, ‘You deserve an explanation, Avantika. Will you sit down please, so I can give you one?’
She spun around and looked him right in the eyes. He flinched at the look on her face. Then he held up his hands.
‘Please?’
She sat down, anger bubbling inside her like hot poison. Her whole body felt tense, like a taut bowstring. She didn’t want to listen to whatever this man had to say. But there was a miserable look on his face, which was urging her to hear him out. She could sense real regret there. So she took a deep breath, bottled up the boiling venom for now and gave him a curt nod. He nodded back gratefully.
‘Our father,’ he began and faltered for a moment before resuming. ‘He was very … successful in his professional life. We had everything we ever wanted, books, toys, bikes, you name it. Ma was a part of all kinds of charitable societies, and between her fellow members and Dad’s friends and clients, we had a lot of people coming home in those days.’
He sat down on the couch next to Aisha, who was still looking at her hands, not saying anything. ‘One of them was a man we were told to call Manek Uncle. A very quiet man. Always in a safari suit. Neat side-parted hair. He’d bring us chocolates, Cadbury’s Eclairs.’
‘Dhruv, don’t. Please,’ Aisha muttered without looking up.
He ignored her and stared straight ahead, a faraway look in his eyes.
‘Then, one day, I came home from college and Ma and Dad were having a huge fight. They didn’t fight all that much usually—maybe they did it when we weren’t around. Anyway, I’d never heard them fight like that, so loudly, so after a while I went to check. Dad stopped yelling when I entered the room, but Ma lost it completely. “Tell him,” she said. “Tell your son what his father has been up to, how he has made his money.” Then she started flinging things on the floor, flower-pots, books, photo frames, anything she could get her hands on. She had this look on her face, as if just looking at all those things was disgusting for her. I thought she had gone mad. I tried to stop her, but she just kept screaming “Tell him, tell him” at my dad and then she broke down crying.’
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