Sufi - The Invisible Man of The Underworld

by Aabid Surti

  So far, his imagination had run wild in all directions. He had asked himself several questions, which did not have any answers. There were gold biscuits worth five crore rupees in the Tempo. (He did not know that there were customs officials inside the closed doors.) The driver was standing outside. That meant that the customs officials were lying in wait somewhere in the same area!

  If this guess was right, then the driver should have had eye contact with them at least once! But it had not happened. Maybe the driver was released with the tempo after the interrogation outside the serpentine queue.

  Half an hour more went by. The Tempo driver had reported for work in the early morning. He had taken neither tea nor breakfast. Besides, he was bored standing alone.

  He left his place and headed for the Irani restaurant to have a cup of tea. Iqbal immediately turned his face away from him. Anyway, he did not recognize Iqbal. When the consignment was offloaded from the Tempo from Uran and loaded on this Tempo by Dagdu and Michael, Iqbal was having breakfast with the other colleagues in the nearby Udipi restaurant.

  Still, he did not want the driver of the Tempo to spot him and be familiar with his face. The driver sat in an empty chair near the entrance. A cup of tea was placed before him.

  Iqbal got up slowly, settled the bill and came out. Mentally, he had decided that this was the opportunity for him to walk like a pedestrian and peep inside the Tempo after quietly opening the doors, before the driver could finish his tea. He was certain that the customs officials were not hiding anywhere outside in the vicinity of the lane. Then, were they hiding inside? The thought made him stop in his tracks.

  There was this Tempo in front of him and behind him the driver was having tea in the Irani restaurant. Iqbal only needed to take two steps forward and open the doors. The deadly question that had occurred to him at the last minute had frozen him.

  He thought quickly, if the customs officials were hiding inside, they would have suffocated by now and jumped out because there was no ventilation in the closed Tempo.

  While he was thinking fast, the rear doors of the Tempo opened with a bang. Iqbal stood stunned for a few seconds. Fortunately, the doors opened outward. He had the advantage of cover from the door. He started walking away in the opposite direction like a gentleman.

  Their faces flushed with frustration, both the officials, Khan and Rustomji, after emerging from the Tempo, first stretched their legs then looked at the driver's seat. After finishing his tea, the driver rushed back cursing his luck.

  “Saab!” He explained before anyone could question him, “I didn’t have even a single cup of tea since morning. I just went to the restaurant and you came out.”

  Both officials now looked at the closed door of the godown. No one had come to take the delivery and the godown too had not opened. That meant the gang had got wind of their game plan.

  “Who’s the owner of this godown?” Khan inquired of the Tempo driver.

  “I told you, Saab. I don't know anything.” He added, “In fact, I’ve never come to this area before to deliver goods.”

  They did not have any doubts about the driver's sincerity, so they let him go after noting down his name and address. Now, they began exploring the neighbouring shops.

  From a grocer's shop, they got the name of the owner of the godown – Abdul Sattar. Business – dealing in antiques like haveli doors, carved grills and wooden statues. On further inquiries, they also got the address. The godown owner's house was not very far. Engaging a taxi, they left in the direction of Bhindi Bazaar to get some clue that would lead them to the big fish.

  It being a holiday, there was a lethargy in the air. When Iqbal arrived at the hotel room to meet Singh, he was once again sitting alone, glass in hand, legs outstretched on the double bed. A thought struck Iqbal. Had he sacked Kiran? Then he laughed at his own foolishness. Kiran was a hired girl. Singh was an amorous man. He might have lost interest in her!

  Immersed in his own wild thoughts, he was sitting on the sofa opposite the double-bed when a new girl emerged from the bathroom. On seeing Iqbal, a stranger, she paused for a second and then shuffled off to the window and stood there turning her back.

  “Like her?” Singh asked amused, taking a sip.

  Iqbal gave a cursory glance at the girl and looked back.

  “Didn't like?”

  “Singh!” He was compelled to blast now, “five crore rupees went down the tube and you are trying to pull my leg!”

  “If crying over spilt milk would make any difference, then I am prepared to sit with you and beat my chest.”

  “Don't you think it’s necessary to discuss the matter?”

  “What discussion?”

  “Hamid is behind bars. And...”

  “You don't have to worry about that.” Singh interrupted. “DK has engaged the best lawyer for him. He will be out on bail in a day or two.”

  “DK?”

  “Our boss.”

  This was the first time Iqbal learnt the initials of Singh's superior.

  “That doesn’t change the situation. This month, all together we’ve lost consignments worth six and a half crore rupees,” he reminded.

  “Will review help in getting them back?”

  “No. But, we can avoid such disasters if we apply our mind.”

  Singh got interested. He forgot his drink for a few minutes and asked, “How?”

  “By giving up ‘crossing.”

  “Are you in your senses?”

  “You are drunk, not me.”

  “If we drop crossing, how will the transaction take place?”

  “That's what I’m going to nail into your head.”

  A concrete plan had taken shape in Iqbal's mind while coming to Bombay from Uran by taxi. He explained the same very plan to Singh in detail.

  “On a fixed date, the ship from Dubai will come to the forty bam, stuff all the jackets in a gunny bag and dump it in deep waters.”

  “What?” Singh's cold blue eyes popped out. “What did you say?”

  He repeated the sentence.

  “Forty bams means two hundred and forty feet deep waters, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Dump the bag containing the consignment in it.”

  “True.”

  “And then send deep-sea divers to fetch it.” Singh said sarcastically and smiled, “Is that what you mean?”

  “No.”

  “Then?”

  “The bag will be tied to a two hundred and fifty feet long nylon rope.” He went on to explain, “at the upper end of the rope, a piece of thermocol will be tied. The bag will go to the bottom, while the piece of thermocol being light in weight will float on the surface. Next day, it won’t take much time for our launch to locate that shiny white piece near the light house.”

  Singh, who had forgotten the glass all this while, lifted and emptied it in one gulp. He looked at Iqbal afresh and continued to stare at him. For the first time in years, he had come across an incredibly talented youth.

  “Are you with me?” Iqbal asked him after a while.

  He nodded like a puppet.

  Iqbal continued to explain the second phase of the operation, after making sure that he had succeeded in driving the point home. “We need not lift the consignment from the same spot, because that might draw someone's attention.”

  “Then?”

  “We only have to look for the thermocol. Now tie that end of the rope to our boat and tow it to a safe place.”

  “Are you sure the gunny bag will tag along with the boat?”

  “Of course.”

  “How?”

  “The weight of any solid matter reduces in water.”

  Singh realized that if Iqbal’s ruse worked, the risk involved would reduce from ninety nine per cent to just one. The launch could be brought from the lighthouse either to Versova or Madh Island, both of which were to the west of Bombay.

  However, here too there was a risk factor. While carrying out the transaction of contraband go
ods, two pieces of a currency note were used. That satisfied both the parties. Secondly, there was no possibility of cheating. Iqbal was playing a blind game, like taking a plunge into a bottomless well.

  But after thinking further, he was reminded of Iqbal's words: “Our business runs on trust. The day this trust exits, the business of smuggling will die too.”

  Singh had been into trafficking for the last many years. It was true that to date he had not been cheated of even a single paisa, otherwise any thug bent on duping him could have found several loopholes in the traditional system. One could easily place copper biscuits in place of gold in the jackets. Who would know the difference under the tension of crossing?

  Moreover, until today no one had torn the jackets during the crossing to check; because until today there had been no double-cross.

  “My dear Iqbal!” Filling a peg in his empty glass, he fondly said, “You must take a sip; just today, then don't drink ever.”

  Iqbal stood up.

  “Er! Don’t be jumpy. Just relax man. I won't force you.”

  “I haven't been home for the last twenty four hours.” And saying that, Iqbal simply walked out.

  He hadn’t slept for the last twenty four hours either. On reaching home, he did not even change his clothes. Removing only his sky blue sweater and shoes, he had hardly stretched his legs on the wooden bed when sleep overtook him.

  On Monday morning, when his eyes opened, a man from the customs department was standing at the door with summons. He signed, accepted and read it there itself. He was asked to present himself at the DRI office at eleven o’clock sharp. His hands started shaking. Summons from the crime investigation division of the customs department sent shivers down the spine of even seasoned criminals.

  It was nine in the morning. Both his younger brothers were still sleeping. Gul Banu was preparing breakfast in the kitchenette. He was thinking fast – Should he present himself at the DRI office or not? Would they arrest him if he went there? Lock him up? Thrash the daylight out of him?

  Before he could think any further, his neighbour appeared “Iqbal, you have a call.”

  Iqbal was not the only one to receive the summons from the DRI. Singh had received one too. He had called Iqbal. “Singh!” He said, picking up the receiver, “I was thinking of calling you up when...”

  “I suspected that you too might have received the same.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “They arrested the owner of the godown. He must have disclosed our names,” he said coolly and added, “But, you need not worry. The customs officials can’t touch us legally.”

  Iqbal wanted to ask several questions, but here at his neighbour's house, he could not speak out openly. Of course, he could listen to Singh's suggestions unhindered.

  “Now listen!” Singh was whispering into the receiver from his residence, “There they will threaten you, frighten you and use all kinds of lies; but don't you admit anything.”

  “OK.”

  “Point No. 2 – You’ll have to smarten up a bit too. Do you have a suit?”

  “No, why?”

  “Before leaving, at least buy an expensive tie. Remember, we are respectable gentlemen, not crooks, and we need to leave that impression on the other person.”

  Iqbal put down the phone. When he returned to his room, Firoze was already awake. The youngest brother, Razzak was still fast asleep on the mattress. From the edge of the bed where he sat, he simply stared at Razzak's face that looked perfectly at peace with the world in slumber.

  Iqbal had many worries.

  Razzak never did his homework or lessons at home. For that, he received a caning in school almost every day. There is always a limit to punishment. His teachers had gotten tired of beating him.

  Now, they had thrown him out from the class. This is exactly what Razzak had wanted. Now instead of just going out of the class, he would get out of the school. Several complaints were sent home about his conduct. All of Iqbal’s efforts to reform the young one had failed, leaving him looking on helplessly. Now, he had only one option left.

  Razzak was in the sixth class. He had failed the last two years. There was no indication in his behaviour to suggest that he would succeed this year. Iqbal decided to stop his studies and get him a job where he could learn a skill so that some day he could start his own business.

  Iqbal's other worry was about his own college examinations. He wanted to join medical college. A decision in this regard would be made this year. He had to secure at least 80 per cent. Only then could he fulfill the dream of his father and become a doctor.

  However, the question was, did he really want to become a doctor now? The answer was not pessimistic. He had a passion. An outline had been etched into his mind since childhood. Hussain Ali's words – ‘My son will become a doctor when he grows up’, reverberated in his ears every once in a while.

  He decided to sincerely pursue his studies. There were still two more months to go and that was enough preparation time to ensure the best results.

  He fixed his eyes on the calendar hanging on the wall opposite him. It was Monday. Next Friday, there was the birthday party of Sharad, the so-called boyfriend of Kusum. Iqbal had agreed to attend it after the bitterness between the two ended. He decided upon Saturday as the day he would begin his preparations for the finals.

  Dressed in a white shirt, pants and shoes, he got down at exactly half past ten and arrived at Palkhi Mohalla after crossing Munda Galli. He engaged a taxi and left for the office of the DRI. His palpitation increased as the taxi headed for the destination. He did not know how the day would end.

  On the way, he stopped the taxi near Handloom House. He suddenly remembered that Singh had insisted that he wear, at least, a tie.

  He went inside, went to the tie section and began looking at ties of various colours. While selecting a tie a thought crossed his mind – No one in his family had worn a tie. It was but natural that he did not know how to knot it.

  He selected a lemon-coloured tie that looked good on the white shirt and put it around his neck. Pretending to knot it, he looked at the salesman and asked, “Is there a mirror?”

  The salesman pointed at the dressing room in the nearby corner. Iqbal looked in that direction. Fortunately, the dressing room was closed. A customer was inside for a trial.

  He again faced the salesman and requested, “Can you please help me, I’m in a hurry.” The salesman came up to him from behind the counter and knotted his tie for him. He settled the bill and came out. Sitting in the taxi he felt that he was not wearing a tie but a noose around his neck which the DRI had prepared for him.

  Chapter 18

  Iqbal's taxi crossed 'Electric House' and entered Colaba. DRI (Customs) office was located above the Waldorf Hotel here. The crime investigation division of the customs department occupied the entire floor.

  Iqbal stood before a clerk at eleven o’clock sharp holding the summons paper. The clerk pointed to a cabin. Iqbal went in. The cabin belonged to deputy collector Khan. He was 45, and athletically built. Clad in a safari suit, he had an impressive looking face. There was a semblance of sobriety because of the salt and pepper hair on his head; he had grayed before his time.

  Khan took the summons from him, glanced over it and then smiled. “Please be seated,” he told Iqbal, pointing a chair. Then he spent some time completing the file lying before him on the table.

  Iqbal sat quietly. He was feeling a bit awkward because of the tie he had worn for the first time in his life. He lifted his hand up to the neck to adjust the knot sheepishly.

  Khan jotted down something on the last page of the file and got up. Iqbal too had to get up with him. Khan crossed the table that lay between them and put his hand around Iqbal's neck. Walking with him Khan started the conversation with small talk.

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a second year student.”

  “Since when have college students started wearing ties?”

  Iqbal realized K
han had noticed his uneasiness. He confessed, “I’ve worn it for the first time.”

  Stopping in the passage, Khan slightly loosened his knot. “Nice colour. It looks very smart on your white shirt. Where did you get it from?”

  “Handloom House.”

  They started moving again. There was an empty room ahead. Khan entered the room with him and locked the door behind his back. Iqbal observed that the stark white walls in the dimly lit room were staring at him.

  For furniture, the room had a long bench-like table and a chair without armrests in the center. There was a hundred-candle-power naked bulb dangling with a wire above the chair. There were two windows in front that looked out on the road, but they were covered by curtains.

  He made Iqbal sit on the chair and pulled the table from the center, placed it aside and parted the curtains. The room became brighter. Taking a few steps, Khan once again came before him and stood at a convenient distance.

  “You must be aware why we have summoned you here!” Khan began in a friendly tone, having worked on building up a rapport. “And… ”