by Amit Lodha
Ranjan’s question was quite valid. I had thought about it earlier too. I asked my PA to get an enlarged map of Bengal and Jharkhand.
‘Sir, Shekhpura mein kahaan se map milega (Sir, where would we get a map in Shekhpura)? We don’t get even the basic things here.’
I called Ranjan again and asked him to go to Pakur. It was a much smaller town in Jharkhand. If at all Vijay was there, it would be easier to locate him.
The record of his conversations with Shanti confirmed that Vijay was static. He must have rented a house or he was staying at some very close associate’s place, I surmised.
That day, I came back home early for lunch. There was not much work for me to do.
It was an interesting paradox. I had practically no crimes to solve, but I was chasing the most wanted criminal in Bihar. I decided to take a short nap and lay down on the carpet in the drawing room. My back had started hurting again, and the pain was particularly bad in the hip joints. I just hoped it would subside in a day or two, as always.
I had hardly shut my eyes when my phone buzzed. It was a very excited Ranjan at the other end.
‘Sir, sir, I have to tell you something very interesting.’
I waited with bated breath.
‘Sir, the two tower locations of Airtel and BSNL . . .’
‘Yes, yes, go on,’ I said.
‘Sir, the tower locations are overlapping in a particular area. My wife called me a few minutes ago on my BSNL number. My mobile phone showed Tower C of MP Raj, Pakur. Then the call got disconnected. I tried to call her back, but the call kept dropping. I borrowed Raju’s phone and was about to dial my wife when I saw that the screen said “Airtel Tower A, Birbhum”. I rechecked both the mobile phones; they showed the two different towers that you had made me note down, but at the same location.’
My back pain almost vanished because of the happiness coursing through me.
It was simple logic. I could not believe that this had not occurred to me earlier.
Apparently, Vijay was living somewhere at the border of Birbhum and Pakur. His BSNL SIM was in the immediate range of Tower C of MP Raj of Pakur and the nearest Airtel tower was in Nalhati Birbhum, just a few kilometres away across the border from Pakur. A mobile phone tower’s range is almost 30 kilometres. The two towers must not be very far from each other. Naturally, the effective radiuses of the Airtel and BSNL towers overlapped in a certain area. Vijay was right in that zone. Now we just needed to zero in on him. But even that area was big enough to make it difficult to find Vijay.
I had already found out that Vijay’s new Airtel SIM card had been issued in the name of one Pankaj Saini, a resident of Dumaria village, Pakur.
I asked Ranjan if Raju or Krishna knew any of Vijay’s associates by that name. They answered in the negative.
I then instructed Ranjan and Krishna to check Dumaria village. When they called me later that day, they said there was no one called Pankaj Saini in that village. We had to find this man. He could be a vital cog in our investigation. He could be one of Vijay’s associates and might have helped Vijay hide in Pakur. Or else Vijay had procured a SIM card using Pankaj’s identity. I had to make every move with great deliberation now.
I managed to get the address and phone number of the SIM card vendor from the Airtel office. I asked my telephone operator to dial the number of the shop so that I could sound more officious.
Many times during my initial days in the IPS, when I dialled someone’s number myself, people thought I was playing a prank. They would think that an SP, being such a senior officer, would never dial anyone’s number personally. They expected me to call people only through my PA or telephone operator. Some of the other things they expected me to do were wait for my driver to open the door of the car or to keep finding excuses to scold someone. Thankfully, I had this person called Tanu to keep me firmly on terra firma. Once, during my probationary days, she heard me shouting at a hapless constable, ‘Pankhe se latka doonga (I’ll hang you from the fan). I’ll teach you a lesson. Blah, blah.’
‘Is this the way you talk to a subordinate?’ she asked.
‘Tanu, this is the way a police officer is supposed to talk. Don’t you see, some of my “kadak” (tough) colleagues speak like this? Otherwise how are we supposed to keep our juniors disciplined? They should fear us. Only then will people think that I am a strict officer,’ I replied.
‘They should not fear you, they should respect you––for your work, your ethics,’ Tanu quickly retorted. ‘And what is the need to shout at your juniors? Your power lies in your rank. You just need to sign a piece of paper and take disciplinary action against any errant personnel.’
‘Yeah, yeah, you are right.’ I had no option but to agree.
‘Wait, I’m not finished. Remember, they don’t work under you; they work with you.’
‘Phew, that was one heavy-duty speech!’ I muttered to myself, but I knew she was right, again. I thanked God for her.
‘Jai Mata Telecom?’ asked my telephone operator.
‘Ji, haan,’ replied the proprietor lazily.
‘SP Sahib, Shekhpura, baat karenge.’
I heard a chair scrape back; the shopkeeper was probably sitting up straight now.
‘Hello, I am the SP of Shekhpura. During our investigation, we learnt that an Airtel SIM card was issued by you on 3 July in the name of one Pankaj Saini. You issued the SIM card without verifying the actual details.’
‘Sir, so many people come each day. I must have made a mistake,’ he said, sounding very worried.
‘Then get ready to pay for your mistake. Do you know that issuing a SIM card without verification is an offence punishable under Sections 419, 465 and 471 of the IPC?’
The proprietor must have been sweating at the other end.
‘Listen, if you don’t want to go to jail, help us trace this Pankaj fellow.’
‘Sir, I have just checked the records. Luckily, in the customer form, he has written his other mobile number.’
‘Then call him to your shop. Tell him that his documents have to be verified again,’ I said with authority.
‘But, sir, why would he come when he got the SIM card on forged documents in the first place?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I said, trying to cover for my silly idea. ‘Then tell him that his mobile number 9318**6740 has won a bumper prize—a free mobile phone and free talk time for three months from Airtel. He will definitely come to claim his prize.’
‘Are you sure he will come, sir?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Is that Pankaj Saini?’ asked the SIM card vendor.
‘Bol raha hoon (This is him speaking).’
‘Badhai ho (Congratulations)! You’ve won a free Nokia mobile set.’
‘Me? What for?’ asked a surprised Pankaj.
‘You have won a lucky draw organized by Airtel. Please come to Jai Mata Telecom and collect your phone and gift voucher tomorrow before 12 noon. This scheme will lapse after noon.’
Pankaj pondered silently.
Finally, after a few seconds, he asked, ‘Does the mobile set have a camera?’
The vendor called me to tell me about the meeting he had fixed up with Pankaj. I smiled triumphantly. I knew the lure of a free mobile phone with a camera would be too much for anyone. Mobile phones with a camera was quite a big thing during those days.
Ranjan, Raju and Krishna waited at Jai Mata Telecom. Around noon, a tall, lean, young man appeared. Excitement was written all over his face.
‘Namaste. I’m Pankaj Saini, the winner of the lucky draw.’
‘Yeah, sure. Did you buy a SIM card from us on 3 July?’ the shopkeeper asked Pankaj.
Ranjan was all ears.
‘No, why should I buy another SIM card? I haven’t come to your shop in the last one month,’ said an indignant Pankaj.
‘Oh, then I’m sorry. We can’t give you this prize.’
‘You idiot, then why did you waste my time? I missed my favourite TV serial just to come her
e.’
Pankaj abused him for a good four or five minutes and turned around.
Ranjan called me immediately and explained the situation.
‘Ranjan, either this Pankaj guy really doesn’t know about the new SIM card that Vijay is using or he is feigning ignorance. If he is Vijay’s associate, he might be smart enough not to fall into our trap,’ I said.
‘Then what am I supposed to do, sir? He’s about to board a bus.’
‘Follow him. If we’re lucky, you might be led straight to the lion’s den!’
The Bolero followed the bus through the dusty lanes of Pakur for around half an hour. A weary and angry Pankaj got down and started walking towards a cluster of houses. Ranjan and company followed at a distance.
Pankaj entered a house and closed the door. Ranjan surveyed the area. Everything seemed calm.
Raju went to the paan-wallah near the bus stand and casually inquired about Pankaj.
‘Arre, bhaiyya, does any Pankaj Saini live here? I am from the Airtel mobile company. I have to give him a surprise gift,’ said Raju.
‘Pankaj? Oh, he runs a cable business. He’s not doing well; he’s under heavy debt. Your gift will not be enough to solve his problems,’ replied the paan-wallah.
‘Does he live alone? Do any outsiders come to meet him?’
‘He lives alone. No one comes to see him. Why are you asking questions? Are you a policeman?’
Raju laughed, ‘Do I look like a policeman?’
‘Lagte toh gunde ho (You look like a scoundrel).’
Raju’s smile turned into a frown. He swore at the paan-wallah and came back to Ranjan and Krishna. All three of them concluded that Vijay was not staying in Pankaj’s house. Either Pankaj did not have any connection with Vijay or he was smart enough not to have Vijay stay with him.
Right from the beginning of our mission, I was very clear that I would not arrest or interrogate any person unless I was absolutely sure that the person would lead us to Vijay. I did not want to alert Vijay in any way. There was no point questioning Pankaj Saini then.
‘Kahe phone kiya, Sanjaywa (Why did you call, Sanjay)?’
‘Bhai, I need to speak to you. It’s important,’ said Sanjay.
‘Wait, let me go to the terrace. This bloody phone doesn’t work properly inside the house during the day. Surprisingly, it’s quite all right in the night.’
‘Okay, bhaiyya, hold karte hain (Okay, bhaiyya, I’ll hold).’
Vijay reached the terrace and said, ‘Haan, ab bolo. Network abhi theek hai (You can talk now. The network is strong).’
‘Shanti bhabhi is desperate to meet you. She wants to know your address.’
My heart skipped a beat. Was it going to be that easy, after all this time?
I waited for Vijay to speak. I prayed to all the gods to make him say the address.
37
‘Ringa Ringa Rojej’
‘Marwayegi woh paagal aurat (That crazy woman will get me killed)! Has she gone mad? I am having such a tough time surviving and now she wants to create more trouble for me. Lie to her and tell her that I’ll come see her soon. I can’t come till this SP is transferred. Till then, I have to remain in hiding,’ shouted Vijay into the phone.
‘Vijay Bhai, what if the SP does not get transferred?’
‘Abe saale, Sanjaywa, shubh shubh bol (Hey Sanjay, don’t jinx it).’
I could clearly sense the frustration in Vijay’s voice. The undisputed don, the kingmaker, was sounding like a pale shadow of himself.
I knew that Vijay was cornered. He could do nothing, at least not till he was away hiding in some hole in Pakur. Wars cannot be won by generals in exile. They have to lead the army from the front.
I was disappointed that Vijay had not revealed his address. The good news was that Vijay’s mobile location was static. He had not moved. I was confident it was only a matter of days now.
I had managed to get the maps of the Bengal and Jharkhand borders. They were not very detailed, but good enough for me to mark out Vijay’s possible location. Using the grid reference, I calculated that the circled area was not more than 10 square kilometres. It could still be a difficult task finding someone in that area. But I looked at the positive side––I was within striking distance.
From the other room, I heard ‘Ringa ringa rojej, pakit fool of pojej, husha, bussa’. Tanu listened in horror as Avi recited the nursery rhyme ‘Ring a Ring o’ Roses’. Tanu had started sending Avi to the only nursery school in Shekhpura.
‘Oh my God, what kind of an accent have you picked up?’ cried Tanu.
‘Why are you being so serious? He’s sounding so cute,’ I said.
‘Come on! Would you like him to learn the wrong pronunciations of words?’
‘Then what will you do?’
‘I’ll home-school him, and I am not expecting any help from you.’
‘Tanu, this is unfair. Why do you assume that I won’t help you with anything? It’s just that I am so busy.’
‘Please, please. Busy? Who used to watch the stock market on CNBC the entire day? And who’s watched Rambo and the James Bond films countless times?’
‘Oh, those action movies give me an adrenaline rush. It is crucial for my kind of work.’
‘My dear Bihari James Bond, you won’t get any beautiful woman to support you in your mission. Except a woman with stretch marks on her belly and stitches from a C-section.’
I smirked. ‘Tanu, you know it was just friendly banter that day. I am sorry about that. Now don’t make me feel guilty each time.’
‘Dear hubby, I forgot! You have that Beauty Kumari too.’
She laughed uncontrollably, rolling on the bed in her mirth.
Avi’s Bihari accent did not surprise me at all. It was natural for him to pick up certain words and pronunciations from the local dialect. It was the same for the children of my batchmates who were posted to other parts of India.
It is the beauty of India’s rich culture and diversity that languages and dialects change from one state to another. In fact, many words sound entirely different as one travels just a few hundred kilometres in the same state!
My own batchmates who were from south India, and did not know a word of Hindi, had quickly learnt the language and spoke it with great fluency. Their vocabulary had become better than that of people who had been speaking the language all their lives. They had even learnt the choicest of Hindi slangs, which sounded quite funny with their distinct twang.
Vijay was in a particularly romantic and rather horny mood that night. He asked Sanjay to have him talk to Shanti Devi.
‘Kya haal hai, meri jaan (How are you, my love)? I am missing you very badly. I wish I could take you in my arms and love you all night.’
‘What? I can’t hear you. There is so much disturbance. What kind of noise is coming from behind you?’ asked Shanti Devi.
‘Oh, this is the honking of those bloody trucks. Their sound doesn’t let me sleep the whole night,’ said Vijay in an irritated tone.
I could clearly hear the blaring of horns and the typical sound trucks make. Vijay was definitely living very close to a highway.
Thoughts churned in my head as Shanti and Vijay continued their amorous talk.
Once the call ended, I dialled Ranjan’s number. ‘You told me about the location where the towers of Airtel and BSNL overlapped, right?’
‘Yes, sir. Vijay must be somewhere close to that area. But how do we find him? There must be hundreds of houses in that radius.’
‘Ranjan, after having listened to his calls for the past few days, I am sure he is living somewhere close to the highway or a busy road. There can be only a few roads or highways in the area that we’ve identified. Let me know by tomorrow afternoon about all the possible highways or roads where heavy vehicles ply. Also tell me if there are any residential areas along those highways or roads.’
I surmised that there would not be many such residential areas. People prefer to live away from highways because nobody
wants to hear the cacophony of trucks and buses, and also because it is unsafe to reside there.
I was quite sure that our target zone would be reduced further.
‘Sir, there is only one highway in our zone. It goes from Pakur to Asansol,’ said Ranjan the next day.
‘Go on,’ I listened intently.
‘And even better, there are just a few hundred houses along the NH on one side. There are only shops and commercial establishments on the opposite side.’
‘Excellent, Ranjan. Just stay put. We should have some good news very soon.’
I knew the stars were aligning in my favour. The chance failure of the Airtel network that morning, Shanti Devi’s illicit affair with Vijay, the honking on the NH––those were all beautiful clues leading me closer to my quarry.
I knew I was very close to finding Vijay’s exact hideout. I just needed to find his locality. I had a radical idea. But somehow, I was certain it would succeed.
I picked up my private phone and made the most outrageous call of my life. I dialled Vijay’s Airtel number.
‘Halloo, Vijay Bhai bol rahe ho (Hello, is this Vijay Bhai)?’ I spoke in a thick Bihari accent. Surprisingly, I was absolutely calm.
But I think Vijay’s heart must have skipped a beat. I could sense the tension even hundreds of miles away.
‘Hello, hello, kaun bol raha hai (Hello, who’s calling)?’
I remained quiet.
‘Hello, hello,’ Vijay was desperate now.
‘Haan, Vijay Bhai, I want to tell you something about Horlicks’s arrest,’ I spoke with utmost confidence.
‘What do you know? Tum ho kaun, saala (Who are you)?’
‘I can’t hear you properly. It seems there is some network problem. I’ll call you again.’
I disconnected the phone, quite pleased with the Bihari accent I had pulled off. My plan was audacious, but I was confident that the call would have a profound effect on Vijay. Exactly the effect I wanted.
Vijay was sweating profusely now. ‘Who would call me? Nobody knows this number except Sanjay. And who would know the details of Horlicks’s arrest?’
