by Aabid Surti
After twenty-five minutes, the caravan proceeded again. Iqbal had brought two packets of grilled sandwiches for Michael and Dagdu. Both were having their breakfast in the taxi. The new Tempo was leading ahead.
It was Sunday and just eight in the morning. The rush of passengers in the suburban trains going to the city was gradually gaining momentum. The vehicular traffic too had increased but it was not yet reduced to moving at a snail’s pace..
After crossing the Ghodbunder Road and reaching Bombay's posh Bandra suburb, even this delusion was shattered. Everyone held their breath. There was an unending line of vehicles headed downtown.
Iqbal immediately understood, the customs and police officials had jointly put up a barricade near Mahim. They had placed empty drums in a serpentine arrangement in the middle of the road so that all vehicles had to slow down.
To enter the city, the vehicles had to pass through the curved passage. Particularly, long-distance taxis and goods carriers were subjected to special inspection by shifting them to a separate lane.
(This action was taken immediately after the caravan of three vehicles had vanished midway into thin air after Ghatkopar. The fifth customs official had informed the police over the telephone that a tempo had just crossed him but it bore a different number plate. He did not know that the two taxis had temporarily separated at the traffic signal.)
Dagdu, who was sitting at the back, was looking at the long queue of the vehicles and then at Iqbal sitting beside the driver. He was now extolling the boss he had abused a few minutes ago, so impressed was he with Iqbal's farsightedness.
Had they not changed vehicles at Andheri, the police, on checking the numbers of the vehicles, would have separated the Tempo and the taxis from the queue and inspected them. The result? Caught red handed with gold worth five crore rupees, they all would have been behind bars.
Signaling to the driver, Iqbal brought his taxi from behind the Tempo to the first lane. Watching it from the second taxi, Michael too changed lanes. The caravan was dispersed to mingle in the crowd of vehicles, honking furiously.
At first, the Tempo entered the serpentine queue and one of the customs officials, Khan, directed its driver to park it aside. There were a few cars behind the Tempo. After that was Iqbal's taxi.
Iqbal saw the Tempo segregating from the crowd and felt giddy. Everybody’s heart skipped a beat. Their whole night's labour had gone down the drain and with it, their share of twenty five thousand rupees apiece.
Now it was Iqbal's taxi that entered the serpentine queue. There were two cars ahead. Gradually, the taxi entered after them. Another customs official, accompanied by the police, was standing guard, keeping a strict vigil.
Iqbal peeked out of the taxi window and asked innocently, “Sir, anything wrong?” The official glared at him. Iqbal pulled back his neck, like a turtle, apologising and turned to the driver and commented, “You see, the public don't have even the right to ask!”
His taxi passed through the serpentine queue and came out. Now, Iqbal wiped the perspiration that had accumulated on his brow. His other colleagues started breathing smoothly. Michael’s taxi, which had gone ahead of them, had stopped near Mahim church. He was watching intently. Customs official Khan was inspecting the Tempo driver's license. As Iqbal's taxi slowed down near him, Michael asked from within his taxi, “What next?”
“There is no point in waiting here,” Iqbal replied, “Whatever is written will happen. Let’s be optimistic. We will wait for the Tempo at Mazgaon.” Then he turned towards Dagdu at the back and asked, “I hope you have given the correct address to the driver.”
Dagdu nodded, then warned, “But boss, if the Tempo gets caught then there will be a raid at the godown.”
There was no doubt about that.
Both taxis started again. In half an hour, they crossed Byculla, turned for Mazgaon and stopped near the godown. Iqbal paid the fare to both the taxi drivers and entered the nearby Irani restaurant with the others. While placing the order for eight cups of tea, he thought that it was necessary to give a report of today's failure to Singh.
Singh had woken up just a while ago. Scanning the headlines of The Times of India, he was thinking hard with tension growing on his face.
Iqbal had taken two Ambassador cars for the crossing. Both the cars were to return before dawn. He was surprised to find that the cars had returned at three in the night. On questioning the drivers, he had been told about the catastrophe – The launch being spotted in the search light of the naval ship Vikrant. Despite this, both drivers waited at Bhaucha Dhakka for almost an hour. According to their guess, the gang's launch 'Al Kabir' had headed for Uran Island instead of the Bombay docks.
At least there was some consolation for Singh – the launch was not raided in mid-sea. He slept for four hours more.
Now as he sat and read the newspaper, the wrinkles on his forehead had become even more prominent. His thick eyebrows were changing shape now and again. There was no news from Iqbal as yet. What had happened to the consignment worth five crore rupees? Had they been arrested on the way?
He was mentally disturbed and his wife, preparing to take the children to the park, was looking at him searchingly.
Singh had three children, one son and two daughters. The son was still in Kindergarten. Both the daughters were studying in the third and fifth standards respectively.
All the three children came to him in all readiness, carrying their sports equipment. For those few minutes, a sugary smile appeared on his face. The cold blue eyes sparkled. All three kissed him on the cheek one after another and left with the maid. His face turned grim again.
His wife came, picked up the empty cup from the centre table and replaced it with a hot cup. Singh folded the newspaper and looked at her. She was still an adorable woman, a woman of matchless fidelity. “How many more cups will you make me drink?” So far, he had emptied four cups.
“I’ll serve you till the frayed nerves on your head don’t calm down.”
He knew that his wife deviously wanted to know the cause of his worry. However, he did not want his wife and children to know about his underworld connection.
He was still thinking intensely for an answer when the telephone bell rang. He grabbed the receiver. “Bad news, Singh.” Iqbal's voice echoed in his ears. “We crossed the ocean but sank down on the coast.”
Singh did not get the hint. Scratching his head, he looked at his wife heading for the kitchen. He liked her walk. He felt that there was still some charm and romance left in her walk. The plait of her hair dangled up to her waist.
Giving a detailed account over the phone, Iqbal concluded, “The Tempo got caught before Mahim but we have all reached Mazgaon safely.”
Singh asked softly, “Are you sure the Tempo has been caught?”
“Had the police released the driver after questioning, he would have reached here with the consignment by now.”
Iqbal had made the telephone call from the public booth kept at the entrance of the Irani restaurant. He was talking to Singh and also keeping a watch on the godown across the road. Suddenly he heard the whirring sound of the Tempo's engine. He craned his neck and saw that the Tempo was really heading towards the godown.
“Good news, Singh!” Excitedly, he blurted out in the receiver, “The Tempo has arrived.”
As he was about to put down the receiver and rush towards the Tempo, Singh yelled, “Iqbal!”
“Yes?”
“Can you see a police van behind the Tempo?”
Iqbal surveyed the road till the end. “No.”
Singh warned, “Be careful, the customs might have laid a trap.”
Veteran Singh was right.
The customs officials had segregated the Tempo from the serpentine queue and interrogated the driver. He had told them everything that he knew. The consignment had come from Uran island. The Tempo had been changed at Andheri. The consignment had been transferred from one Tempo to the other.
“How many people were
there?”
“Don’t know exactly, but they followed me in two taxis.”
“Where are those taxis?”
He paused to think.
“You want me to get rough with you?”
“Must have disappeared in the traffic.”
While two officials were interrogating the driver, another had opened the Tempo and started inspecting it. His eyes popped out on finding jackets containing gold worth five crore rupees. He called his two assistants and started counting.
“Where was the consignment to be delivered?”
“At Mazgaon,” said the Tempo driver and gave the complete address.
“Are you familiar with the place?”
“No Sir, I’ve never been there before.”
After the counting was over in the Tempo, the consignment was officially confiscated in the presence of five witnesses and sent away to the HQ in a Black Maria.
Two customs officials, Khan and Rustomji, got inside the empty Tempo. The third gave instructions to the driver, “As soon as you park the Tempo near the godown, the men from the gang will come running towards you. If they ask, just tell them that you were released after questioning. They will be caught as soon as they open the door.”
Before leaving he also warned, “Just remember, if you dare try to act smart, you will be sentenced for at least ten years. And,” offering him bait, “if you co-operate, I promise, we won’t involve you in this case.”
The Tempo driver was innocent. He simply nodded.
After replacing the receiver on the cradle, Iqbal returned to the restaurant and joined his colleagues. The second round of tea had started. Since Altaf was drunk, he was hungrier. He ordered a bun muska.
Meanwhile, the Tempo driver had inquired from the nearby shops about the exact address and parked the Tempo near the godown. He had gotten down from the driver's seat and was standing with his back resting on the mudguard. He could not see Iqbal and his colleagues but Iqbal could see him clearly from the restaurant.
Iqbal watched him closely and came to the conclusion that something fishy seemed to be going on.
“Dagdu!” He looked at everyone and said, “after drinking tea, all of you leave…”
“What about you, boss!”
“I want to know the finale of this cat-and-mouse game,” he said adding, “I’ll sit here till the play is over.”
All his colleagues left the Irani restaurant one after another with five minute intervals and headed in the opposite direction.
Iqbal sat alone. His face was calm but his heart was burning. He felt screwed. Could he still retrieve the situation? No, he knew he couldn’t salvage anything more than what he got, or what he didn’t get—the sentence. After a few frustrating moments of guilt, a strange idea came to console him.
The customs officials had foiled his very first assignment. He was to haunt them mercilessly in the future.
Chapter 17
Time had wings. Days were flying past like a flock of birds in the sky. Everything appeared to be a dream. Those were the days of youth, joy, ecstasy and love. I was as jubilant as a poor fisherman who had cast his net and caught a mermaid. For me, Suraiyya was more precious than a mermaid. She had put a grenade of euphoria in my hands.
“You look radiant!” she said once, peeping into my eyes. The radiance was both physical and emotional, as if sunlight rather than blood coursed through my veins. In fact, it was a look of love.
The shooting of the film Begana was over and so was my contract. Now, there was no need for me to work as an assistant director. The income from the cartoon strips published in various children's magazines was enough to support my studies and love.
Besides, I had lost interest in the film industry. I could not attend college for days together during the shooting and it was difficult for me to stay away from Suraiyya even for a day.
Whether it was a working day or a holiday, we used to spend the entire day together. Sometimes strolling barefoot along Juhu beach, arms around each other’s waists, in the cool of the evening, or standing on the cliffs at Band Stand, watching the wild rolling water rush, break, and mill around the rocks below us.
Before dark, I used to go to her hostel to drop her. Like me, many Romeos used to hang around the main gate of the girls' hostel exchanging sweet nothings with their sweethearts until the last minute. The sea along Marine Drive murmured while wave after wave of salty breeze caressed us.
In the twilight after sunset, as the time of separation approached, the tempo of our talks increased. The scene resembled that of a railway platform, the restlessness seen among the passengers and their relatives at the time of the departure of trains. As if we were going to be separated, not for just one night but for years together, reminding each other of some trivial thing or the other.
The sadistic bell used to sound indicating the closure time of the main gate of the girls' hostel. Suraiyya used to enter the gate after giving me one last, long, deep goodnight kiss of the day. I would then return home.
Today neither Suraiyya nor I was in a hurry to go. Agreeing to my request, she had taken out a late pass, enabling us to spend an hour more together. We were sitting head to head and hand in hand in the garden of the aquarium next to the girls' hostel all evening, solemn and listening to the whistling of the westerly wind. Suraiyya had been looking a bit pensive since the morning. After spending half a day in college together, I invited her in the afternoon to the Eros theatre to watch a hilarious comedy called Southern Yankee. I laughed throughout the film, while she sat grim-faced as if she was watching a tragedy.
“How did you like the film?” I asked her while emerging from the theatre, as if I was unaware of her mood.
“It was good.”
“Then janoo, why didn’t you laugh even once?”
“I did laugh,” she argued, “but not hollering like you, exhibiting all my teeth.”
Her answer was correct but not convincing. I knew that something was amiss. I had an inkling that some incident must have taken place the previous night. However, she was not willing to reveal it.
Perhaps she did not want to burden me with the load of her suffering. It would not be surprising if she was hesitating because we were having a gala time and she did not want to spoil the day.
I lost my patience here in the garden. “Suraiyya!” I told her, “Don’t you forget, we haven’t chosen each other to share only our happiness, I’ve as much right over your sorrow. Tell me, what’s the matter?”
She looked at me straight and tears welled up in her eyes. She put her head in her hands and cried as if she would never stop. Frustrated, I felt curdling pain in my stomach. I had never seen Suraiyya weeping before. I hugged her lovingly in my arms. She put her head on my shoulder. I caressed her back, consoling her silently. After a while, when her sobs ceased and her eyes were dry, she disclosed, “My roommate committed suicide.”
I lifted her face. Suraiyya narrated briefly. Her hostel roommate, Anusuya, had jumped from the terrace the previous night. The hostel was a five-storeyed building. Falling on the stone slab paved ground her skull had broken.
“But she was a fountain of laughter.” Wiping her face with handkerchief, I added, “She always had a smile on her face. What provoked her to...”
“Her boyfriend ditched her.” Her eyes welled up again. “Aabid, you won’t desert me, no?”
Forgetting the gravity of the situation, I started laughing. “You dodo! Why should I desert you?” I asked lovingly.
“Even now, girls flock around you in the college.”
“They’re friends, you’re my life.” Confessing it, I remarked, “If at all anyone has the reason to fear jilting, it’s me, not you.”
She was taken aback. “You think I’ll betray you?”
“No, but a situation may arise in the future that would make you helpless.”
“Like what?”
“There is a barbed fencing of wealth separating us,” I told her frankly. “I’m poor and you are ri
ch. One cannot ignore reality.”
“You know, I don't believe in that nonsense.”
“Let’s hope the elders in your family don't believe either.”
“It won't make any difference even if they do.” She said firmly sitting up like a queen full of confidence and splendour and her mouth held the sprouting of a smile, “If they try to put pressure on me, I’ll walk out of the house and come to you wearing just the clothes I have on.”
I again held her in my arms. Her words and her self-confidence were enough for me.
It was almost nine in the night. The October moon was smiling above us and the sea breeze was playing with the fallen leaves below. Walking slowly from the garden, we arrived at the hostel. The Gorkha watchman slightly opened the gate. I watched Suraiyya walking away inside.
Iqbal too watched with full concentration. He was sitting alone ram-rod straight in the Irani restaurant. His eyes were focused on the Tempo and its driver near the godown across the road. Two hours passed.
