by Ruby Gupta
For decades, he had slogged, trying valiantly to pursue his dream of becoming a writer. When he had left his hometown Arrah, he had been confident of making it big.
After all, he would be studying in Delhi University and he was sure that it would be the gateway to fulfilling his dreams of becoming a great writer.
What followed was a rude awakening to the reality that was life. Not only did he have to face the ignominy of being treated as a second-rate citizen by his classmates for being a Bihari, but he was also the butt of jokes for his pitiful English and vernacular accent where he mispronounced ‘sh’, ‘p’ and ‘v’.
He spent all his years at the university crying himself to sleep. With no friends and no comfort, he often thought of suicide.
Going back home and admitting to failure was not an option.
So, he spent his days presenting a brave facade to the world; and wrote cheery letters home, which were perhaps his first forays in the world of fiction.
After a decade of having his fictional works rejected by publishers, he arrived at the brilliant idea of writing the biography of someone great. Latching on to greatness would ensure that some of it rubbed off on him too. After considering many names, he zeroed in upon Rajvir Kapoor. Given how star crazy the Indian public was, his book would surely become an instant hit, and he a great author!
In the midst of working on the biography, an inspired thought had come to him. What if Rajvir Kapoor died? And the release of his book coincided with it? That would ensure that his book became a bestseller within weeks.
Just like the biography of Steve Jobs, the iconic founder of Apple had become a bestseller. But then Jobs had cancer. As far as he knew, Rajvir was abnormally healthy. Was there some way he could die? Surely it was time God granted him one thing, just one thing, after forcing him to live his whole life in misery. But then God helps those who help themselves, the thought had come to him, making him smile.
It really was great that Nalini had got him an invite to the grand party of Rajvir, where he had had the opportunity to observe everything first hand, and also put his plan in action…
‘Could the recent cricket-betting and match-fixing fiasco have something to do with Rajvir’s murder?’ Professor Shantanu said.
‘Umm … well it could be possible,’ Professor Dinkar nodded.
‘I mean, after all, top cricketers, a former Pakistani captain, small-time film stars, models, and even the BCCI have been found to be involved. And the amount at stake is huge, something like 2000 crores. So, who knows?’ Shantanu seemed to be ruminating.
‘Yeah, I mean really, what is this country coming to? Everywhere you look, there is sleaze, lies, cheating, corruption,’ Dinkar’s forehead wrinkled in disgust.
‘Yes, at least sports could have been left alone. You would think that after profiting from every resource in the country – be it coal, or whatever, and after making money out of every conceivable welfare scheme, business deal et al., these profiteers could have left at least some things sacrosanct,’ Professor Shantanu spoke passionately. He truly wished he could do something – anything to set things right.
‘And these cricketers who betrayed their sport. They were, as it is, so well off. They were making enough money through cricket and then they had so many endorsements, advertisements etc. – they were rolling in money. Then, why do it?’ Dinkar said.
‘You know how it is, greed has no end to it,’ Shantanu said philosophically.
‘Why do you think we have never been greedy?’ Dinkar raised the question.
‘That’s because we are stupid professors – who would work even without money, if it served a higher purpose,’ Shantanu spoke sarcastically.
‘Yeah we are certainly stupid – to be walking the straight and narrow path. Never really bothering to aspire for more than our measly salaries,’ Dinkar too became self-deprecating.
Shantanu nodded.
‘But coming back to our case. How do you think Rajvir could be involved in this? And if he was involved, why would it lead to his murder? After all, there has been no homicide in this betting business till now. It doesn’t make sense,’ Dinkar said.
‘I suppose what you say is correct. But you know how I am. I can’t help examining every angle that could be possible – no matter how remote, or how farfetched. Sometimes it is the unlikeliest – the most innocuous of things that causes major stuff to happen,’ he paused.
‘Remember the butterfly effect?’ Shantanu continued.
‘You are right of course,’ Dinkar concurred.
‘Umm, I think I should just check this out. If not for anything, just to rule it out for the sake of my peace of mind,’ Shantanu said, whilst simultaneously making a call to Inspector Bhogle.
Mridula sat on the marble bench at the side of the tiny pond on the garden floor of Xanadu, looking pensively at the serene pink lilies floating in the water. When would she be able to shake off this despondency that clung to her being like a second skin? She could not remember the last time that she had been happy, really happy. The past decade had seen her conforming more and more, to what was expected of her, and killing her real self.
It had begun with Rajvir crushing her dream of being an actress. Then she was married off – with the expectation that she should live happily ever after. She should have, but strangely enough, despite having everything, she could not feel joyous. Her husband loved her; he really did, in his own way. She had everything any woman could possibly ask for – ridiculously expensive clothes, jewellery, luxurious holidays abroad, and an avant-garde lifestyle. Her children, who came soon after, and in quick succession, were little angels – sweet, adorable and exceedingly well behaved. She should be happy. Other women would kill to have all that she had.
What was wrong with her? Perhaps she needed psychiatric treatment. Why was there this emptiness within her? Why did she feel that there was no purpose to her existence? Did other women – people, think as much as she did? Wondering why they were living?
No – they did not.
It was only she, who constantly thought of the futility of her existence. There was no reason for her to live. Even her children did not give her the fulfilment she had hoped for. She had been delighted when they had been born, but soon she had tired of them.
The fact was that she felt empty, unfulfilled. It was all because she had been unable to pursue her dream. Her dream of being an actress. Instead, she was forced to be a nobody – just a wife and mother.
Was it possible for her to still pursue her dream? Or would she have to be content with what she had in the first place?
Certainly, no one would be able to understand why or what she felt. For the longest time, she felt that she was completely alone in this world. There was no one in whom she could confide in or with whom she could share her feelings. Indeed, there was no one who could understand her.
Had her mother been alive, perhaps she would have done so. But God in his judgement, or cruelty, had taken that away from her; taken away the only thing that could have possibly provided her with succour.
Now with Rajvir gone, she felt utterly lost. Admittedly, he was not one with whom she shared any of her feelings, and yet he was her father, her own blood. Now she was an orphan. Since his death, a deep pain had arisen in the vicinity of her heart and taken her entire being into a vice-like grip. She had never expected to feel this kind of pain. She had often thought of how she would feel when he died. The only emotion that had surfaced had been one of detachment. Her father had never been there in her life.
Yet now, there was an unexpected pain within her – a pain she had not expected to feel. She could not deny the fact that she had loved, loved him more than she had loved any other human being. So, it was perhaps fitting that she should perhaps be here and take care of all his affairs.
Till things were sorted out, she could not possibly leave Xanadu. This was the very least she could do for her father.
As images of Rajvir flashed through her mind, a sud
den tear slipped out of her eye.
Chapter 10
Inspector Bhogle marched into the tiny interrogation room of his police station. He was eager to question the fellow who had allegedly received the contract for carrying out the hit on Rajvir Kapoor. His constables had been most efficient. They had not only located the history-sheeter from his village, but also brought him to Mumbai, all within 48 hours.
The scar-faced brutish fellow was seated in the centre of the room on a rickety chair across a small table.
Bhogle lowered himself heavily in the only other chair across the table from him. ‘You know why you are here?’ he barked.
‘No,’ the chap was expressionless.
‘Because you killed Rajvir Kapoor!’ Bhogle stated forcefully.
‘No – of course not,’ the man remained immobile.
Bhogle had to admire the chap’s gumption. ‘Look, you better stop acting funny with me. You know I can throw you in the lock-up right away. You better tell me the truth,’ he threatened.
‘Sir I know you can do anything. But – I really didn’t do it,’ he spoke softly, as his scar gleamed suddenly.
‘Do you deny you were given a supari to kill Rajvir Kapoor by someone at Hotel Grand?’
‘No.’
‘Then? And were also paid money for it?’
‘Yes.’
‘So – you are guilty. Case closed,’ Bhogle wished that it could be this simple. The fact was that he had no evidence. No clues, no fingerprints, no – nothing. All that pointed to this guy was circumstantial evidence.
‘Sir. I agree I got money and I was given the supari. But Sir the more I think of it, the more I am convinced I did not do it. Since the day I left Mumbai I have been thinking this only,’ his brutish features softened somewhat in earnestness.
‘What?’
‘Sir I have no memory of going to Xanadu. I have no memory of killing Rajvir Kapoor. How is it possible I did it, but don’t remember it?’
‘You are a druggie, aren’t you? Obviously, your brain is now reduced to less than half. How will you remember anything?’ Bhogle said irritated.
‘Sir, I agree I take drugs – and I did that day also. But you tell me, how could I enter Xanadu – it has high security; commit murder, and escape, and not remember? If I did it when I was high, I would have left behind some fingerprint or something, isn’t it? Or someone would have caught me? I mean this is just impossible,’ he spoke pleadingly.
He did have a point, Bhogle thought. They had examined the crime scene thoroughly and found no fingerprints or anything. And neither had the security cameras revealed any footage of this guy.
‘And Sir, if you had any real evidence about my having committed the crime, you would have arrested me straightaway. You would not be talking to me,’ he continued perceptively.
The bloody chap was smart, Bhogle fumed inwardly. ‘Tell me about the person who gave you the contract,’ he asked instead.
‘Well Sir, he was sitting in a dark corner and so I could not see him.’
‘Could you make out something? Anything?’ the inspector insisted.
‘Umm… I think he was not very young, and he did not sit straight. He was somewhat bending on one side, as if, as if, his neck was hurt or something,’ the brutish man’s forehead puckered in concentration of recollection.
This did not tell much, Bhogle thought. ‘What about his voice?’ he asked.
‘It was a normal kind of voice.’
‘How much money were you paid?’
‘Er …’ the man paused.
‘C’mon, tell me.’
‘One crore,’ the fellow said.
Bhogle whistled softly. This was a good amount. ‘But isn’t one crore too less for killing someone as big as Rajvir Kapoor?’
‘Sir, you know I am a small-time criminal. This amount was big enough for me. So, I agreed,’ the chap said.
‘How was the money given to you?’ Bhogle asked.
‘When I agreed, I was told I would be given forty lakh cash in advance. It was kept in a bag on the table next to the entrance door. I was instructed to take it with me on the way out.’
‘Wow! And the remaining amount?’
‘Some kind of a messenger person delivered the remaining money in cash at my house, the day after the murder.’
‘So, you mean to say you got money for doing nothing? This is unbelievable. The, er, your employer believes that you killed Rajvir – when in actual fact it was someone else?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
The man’s features softened, as he looked apologetic.
‘Did the man finalize the day you were to carry out the hit?’ the inspector asked.
‘No – I was told to do it within the next ten days. Coincidentally, Rajvir Kapoor died within those ten days only. So obviously he must have assumed that I had carried out the hit as per the plan.’
‘So, you took the money for free?’ Bhogle half-accused.
‘Can you blame me, Sir? And how could I return the money? To whom would I return the money? I had no idea who gave me the money in the first place.’
‘Yes – that’s true,’ Bhogle wondered whether he should book the fellow under some kind of crime.
‘Would you be able to recognize the person who gave you the contract somehow – by his physical structure, his voice, or anything!’ Bhogle asked desperately.
‘No – Sir, I’m sorry,’ the brute sounded like he meant it.
Nonetheless, Bhogle had the sudden urge to get up and bash up the fellow so hard that he became senseless. Taking a deep breath, he controlled himself. He could not give vent to his own frustration like this. ‘Okay, just make sure you remain in town – and available for future questioning,’ he said instead.
He knew that this bloody fool hadn’t committed the murder.
But perhaps the chap who had hired this druggie had!
Somehow, Professor Shantanu found himself alone with Natalie. A little while ago, it seemed that everyone was here in the sitting room and now inconceivably, they were alone. How in the world did this happen? The professor shifted uncomfortably, all too aware of the actress’s reputation. What should he say to her, or should he simply make an excuse and leave?
‘I can see that you were wondering whether you should leave the room,’ Natalie spoke shrewdly, breaking into his internal debate.
Professor Shantanu looked at her in surprise. He had not realized that he was so transparent. Or was it that this girl was a mind reader? He looked intently at her. She really was most attractive, with a look of innocence about her – contrary to her wild activities, as the tabloids claimed.
‘Don’t worry, I cannot read your mind,’ her smile brightened the corner where she was sitting, as she once again articulated what was there in his mind.
‘It’s simple really, professor. I’m used to such a reaction, from so-called respectable people, or people not from my part of the world,’ she continued.
‘No – I’m sorry, I did not mean to be rude or disparage you,’ Professor Shantanu was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. Never before in his staid academic life, had he faced such a situation.
‘You are not being rude, professor. You are just being true to type,’ she paused.
‘What do you mean?’ Professor Shantanu felt somewhat affronted that he could be slotted into a ‘type’. He considered himself to be a unique individual. One who marched to his own drummer.
‘I mean, your type of people have a certain opinion about people like us, in the show business, particularly women – more so, foreign women,’ Natalie explained.
‘I suppose you are right,’ he conceded reluctantly.
‘But you – and others like you, are wrong, you know. We make a living, as best as we can, just like you.’
‘You cannot possibly compare!’ The professor was indignant.
‘Here is how I can compare. You have brains and you use it to earn your living. Th
e brain is a part of the body. And it is the only part of your body that is worth anything and so you use that,’ she spoke slowly as though explaining to a child.
Professor Shantanu had no idea what this was leading up to, but he decided to hear her out.
‘Now, I have a proportionate figure and a symmetrical face, which too is a part of my body. Since it is highly coveted, I use it to make a living. So, in effect, both of us use that part of the body, which is worth something, to earn a living. So why should the use of the brain be considered worthier, than the use of a beautiful face, hands, legs and torso? Why the double standards?’ she spoke convincingly.
My gosh! She did have a very pertinent point. The professor was astounded at her logic. He had never looked at this quite in this way.
‘Well, Professor? What do you say to this?’ she spoke almost challengingly.
‘Umm … yes, I do grant this; you have a point. But, you see, there are ethical and moral issues involved…’ Professor Shantanu felt that he was getting into a fearful muddle here.
‘Morality? Ethics? What a load of bosh! Who decides that in the first place?’ Natalie was scornful.
Rose entered and announced that Inspector Bhogle had arrived and was looking for the professor. Thankful to make good his escape, Professor Shantanu left the room.
But definitely this Natalie was a sharp girl with a mind of her own too! Her thought process was certainly unique; it had jolted him out of his set ideas. This was precisely the kind of out-of-the-box thinking he wanted his students to have – though related to research, of course. Forget out-of-the-box, this Natalie had done away with the entire box! Shantanu could not help being impressed.
Pallavi sat quietly in her room, watching yet again Amar’s debut feature film. The film had flopped miserably at the box-office.
What had gone wrong, she thought for the umpteenth time.
Rajvir had certainly done his duty as a father. She could certainly not fault him. He had produced the film himself, spared no expense, hired the best director, chosen foreign locales, and got the best songs composed. The story too was custom-made to launch the new scion of the Hindi film industry.