by Arnab Ray
‘You need to take it yourself. You need to find out who did this, and why, and you need to resolve it. Arjun uncle, I don’t think he can do it any more.’
‘And then every madarchod in Lutyens can stuff their whispers down their throats. God, I hate this city.’ Sudheer had suddenly started crying, big drops of tears rolling down his pudgy cheeks in a steady torrent.
‘Are you all right, man?’
‘No, I am not. I am not all right.’ Sudheer rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hand, and all that did was make his drunken eyes even more red. ‘All my life, I have been trying to make my papa take me seriously, to make him know I am worthy of being called his son. He treats me like I am some exotic pet he bought from Madagascar, he puts me in a gold cage, he gives me food when I want it, and lets me walk around, but he never…you know… treats me like a human being. I got married, and I have my own home, and I don’t have to see him every day, but I can still feel him, you know, looking down at me from above, disapproving of everything I say and I do. He trusts strangers, he asks counsel from outsiders, and when it comes to his own son…’ Sudheer made a face, mimicking Arjun’s voice, ‘Why don’t you run over and see what your mother is doing?’
‘Come on, it’s not as bad as that,’ Rishi said, trying to be comforting. ‘You have your own companies, you got your Mercedes and your Audis and I heard you are getting a Jaguar, and people in Delhi know that, that you are someone. See what I was trying to say was…’
‘You don’t have to piss it down. I know. Even my wife knows.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She knows I am not my own man. I can feel it, the way she talks, the way she orders me around, even the way she fucks, it’s like when she is with me she is watching news on Doordarshan, gets it over with and watches Superhit Muqabla. I know I am no Sean Connery, but still the way she makes me feel…’
‘She is a rich NRI bitch, and you know how stuck up that kind is. And face it, you are not the prince young girls dream of while diddling themselves at night.’
They sat wordlessly for a while, till finally Rishi said, fiddling with the large gold chain that hung from his neck, ‘Why don’t I send someone over with the whisky? I know just the girl to lift your spirits – Mona will make you feel like a rock star, guaranteed.’
‘Just get me him,’ he said, pointing to the picture of Arijit on the table, ‘and everything will be all right.’
Five-foot two with a moustache that covered his upper lip like camouflage and a squeaky voice that gave him the nickname ‘Chuha’, though he always claimed it was because he could infiltrate enemy hideouts like a rodent, Charanjeet Singh had once been a senior inspector with the Punjab police. At the height of the Khalistani insurgency, he had notched up 106 ‘encounters’, five bravery medals, two exit wounds, one in his shoulder and another in his thigh, and one guest appearance as himself in a Punjabi film. On unpaid suspension for the last two years, he was facing a departmental enquiry for being a contract killer. He still ran that business but now out of uniform, though recently he had had little cause to use his gun. His new specialization was gathering information from men reluctant to give it, for which he had perfected several painful methods.
‘Rule number one,’ he said, with breath that smelled of stale cigarette smoke, as they sat packed together in the back of a jeep. ‘Tera baap Patiala ka maharaja ho ya teri maa Shah Jahan ki rakhel, mujhe kuch farak naheen padta. As long as you are with me, you are going to listen to everything I say.’ Chuha paused for effect. ‘I mean everything. I will say it again. I don’t care who your father is, or how much you are paying me. Once we go in, I am the boss. Now, are we okay with that?’
He looked first at Rishi. Rishi nodded. Then he looked towards Mohan. Mohan saluted, ‘Yes sir.’
Sudheer did not make eye contact.
‘Aye, motay, ate your own ears?’
Sudheer opened his mouth but before he could talk, Rishi said, with a nervous shake of his head. ‘Yes, he understands.’
‘Are you his mouth, Rishi ji?’ Chuha asked. ‘I don’t think so. Motay may have eaten his ears, but he can move his mouth, or else he wouldn’t have become this motay. Kyon, motay, galat kaha?’
Sudheer’s face turned red, and he sweated in a suppressed anger, for no one spoke to him like this. But he knew better than to make Chuha angry.
‘I understand.’
‘Good, and now I want all of you to hand me your hardware.’
‘No way,’ said Sudheer, clutching his Beretta tight. ‘No way am I giving you my gun.’
‘I am not taking away your gun, wahan jaake jee bharke hilana,’ said Chuha, trying to be agreeable. ‘I just want the bullets, that’s all.’
Sudheer turned towards Rishi. ‘You said we could bring our guns.’ There was a rising panic in his voice. ‘My brother and I are not going there without our guns. Definitely not.’
Chuha smiled politely. ‘I am the only one who is going to go in loaded. Kyunki,’ he pulled out a gun from the holster under his jacket, ‘mujhe ise chalana aata hai. If there is one thing I have learned in all these years, it’s that guns in the hands of people who have never used them is like cars being driven by women.’
‘Well, you are wrong. I have fired my Beretta on a range and so has my brother. That too in America. Both of us are licensed to carry guns.’
‘Tell me how I know ki iss business main abhi bhi tumhara nath nahin utara. Ask me how?’
No one replied.
Chuha repeated, ‘Ask me no? How? Poocho poocho.’
‘How?’ asked Rishi.
‘Because only chutiyas bring licensed firearms to an operation like this. Rule number two. Never bring a gun that can be traced to you if you have any intention of using it.’
‘Wait,’ said Mohan, nervously chewing gum. ‘Who said we have any intention of using it?’ His eyes darted from Chuha to Rishi and back to Chuha. ‘I thought your man checked out that chap. He said this was safe.’
Chuha had sent his man half an hour ago, pretending to be a salesman of water purifiers. Arijit had opened the door and had spent two minutes politely expressing his absolute disinterest in installing the latest German ultraviolet technology-using water purification solution, time enough for Chuha’s man to take a discreet look inside. He had reported that the living room had very little furniture, just two chairs and a table, but it had a lot of books and loads of equipment, wires and batteries and circuit boards and that Arijit looked to be the only one in the house.
Chuha took out a packet of paan masala from the pocket of his safari suit. ‘This happened ten years, yes, sounds about right, ten years ago. It was my first day out on a questioning. My very first day. There was a village, ten kilometres from Amritsar, where one of our informants had been found dead in a field, and so three of us went to the house of the man we suspected of having done the killing, naam bhi yaad hai, Simranjeet Singh. So this is a small house with a courtyard in front, and when we walk in, the only living being there, besides two big dogs, is this old lady. Wrinkled and bent over with glasses like the bottom of a bottle. She says Simranjeet and his father are both out with the tractor. Jaspreet was just made inspector and his blood was all warm with his new uniform, and he says, “Ae budiya, charpoy nikaal. Aaj jamke behenchod ki khatirdaari karenge.” She goes into the house, and when she comes out, the chudail is holding an AK-47. Jaspreet dies first, and then the other man whose name I have forgotten flies back, dead before his body touches the ground. There is blood everywhere, the dogs are howling, aur meri to pant geeli ho gayi. Pehla din, behenchod. Pehla din. Then the chudail turns towards me, and I don’t know if she realizes that I am a virgin and even a policewala should not die before he has tasted a woman, or whether the shock of killing two men had just set in, but she hesitates, just for a second, and that’s when I fire, right between the eyes. That was my first encounter, and within two hours, I had made my second and third, near the tractor, five really, if you count the two dogs, but t
hat’s not the reason I told you the story. Why did I tell you the story then? Poocho poocho.’
‘That there is nothing such as “safe”,’ said Mohan.
‘Precisely.’
‘So you are saying your man has no idea whether Arijit has a gun or not. Those wires and batteries he says he saw could well be a bomb,’ Mohan said. ‘And this kind of chutiyapa is what we are paying you for.’
‘Well, I will tell you what you are paying me for.’ He angled his head back and started tapping the paan masala into his mouth. ‘You are paying me for an experience. Now I don’t know what this haraami did to piss you off, I guess he must have overtaken your car, or maybe tried to talk to your girlfriend, or spat on your shoe. Don’t know, must be something. You want revenge. You could have just hired me to rough that haraami up, but no, you guys want to be heroes. After all, thoda danger chahiye na lund ko khada karne ke liye? I understand that. Even after all these years, I get hard before the rush. But you three don’t really want to die, do you? And that’s why I am here, to make sure you have the same number of holes in your body going in and getting out. For that you should not be firing bullets, should it – and I am not saying it will – come to that. Because if you do, what will happen is that you will hit everything but the target – the walls, the chair, and what is most likely, yourselves.’
‘For a mouse, you sure talk good,’ said Sudheer, to which Chuha nodded before he reached out his hand for the guns. In one minute, the magazines of all the guns were emptied and he handed them back to the respective owners. ‘For the last time, this is how it’s going to happen. I am going to knock on the door, the haraami is going to open it, I am going to barge through and pin him to the ground. Rishi ji enters first, and then you two. Close the door immediately. I will put a hold on the guy and tape his mouth shut, Rishi ji you put the blanket on his head, and then we walk him out to the jeep. My man will keep the engine running. Andarbahar do minute mein. If someone comes in, raaste ke Mahatma, I am going to wave my ID, and say I am special branch, and this is a wanted terrorist. Since I will have my gun out, no one is going to look closely and see that the ID has expired. None of you will talk once outside the house, none of you will make eye contact with anyone outside and, this is the most important, none of you will have your guns out. Now, acche bacche, can I have a “yes”, all together?’
Things started out according to plan. They walked behind Chuha and he knocked on the door. The moment it opened, everything happened very fast, Chuha shoulder-butted the man inside so that he fell back, his glasses flying across the room. Rishi, Sudheer and Mohan glided smoothly in, with Mohan slamming the door shut. So quick was Chuha in rolling the duct tape over his victim’s mouth that Arijit did not even have the time to scream. The only sound after the slamming of the door was the dull thud of Arijit’s body hitting the ground. Arijit swung his arms trying to get a punch on to Chuha’s face, but Chuha dodged it with practised ease. Then with the skill of a butcher tying the legs of a chicken together, he had Arijit’s wrists bound with rope, and flipped him over on his stomach. On cue, Sudheer dramatically brought out his Beretta, and then, standing over Arijit, his legs on either side of the fallen body, he pressed the barrel to the back of Arijit’s head.
He had rehearsed this line for the past three days, and it came out just right, ‘Chal behenchod, ab gaana shuru kar.’
Just then, from the corner of his eye, he caught the shadow of another person standing in the doorway leading away from the living room. All the others seemed to see this at exactly the same time, turning their heads in unison. Chuha reacted first, whisking out his gun and whirling it in a smooth half-arc to fix it on the target when the person spoke.
‘Sudheer? Mohan? What…?’
For there in the doorway, wearing a long white T-shirt that said ‘MIT’ and knee-length shorts, her hair messy and her lipstick smudged, stood Riti.
For a moment, everyone in the room froze.
Then Sudheer charged, like a bull out of the pen, but not before his heavy shoe had thudded into the small of Arijit’s back. Riti ran towards Arijit, who lay doubled up in pain from the blow, screaming into the duct tape covering his mouth. She never reached him. Sudheer got to her just as she neared Arijit and he yanked her back by her hair, throwing her off balance. Her body went parallel to the ground, her legs flying up as she fell as Sudheer loosened his grip on her hair. The back of her head hit the edge of the table on the way down and Sudheer was left standing with a few strands of her hair in his hand. Rishi had by then rushed forward and was holding Sudheer back by the shoulders. ‘Randi,’ he bellowed. ‘This is why we sent you to the US? Our family, our honour…’ He shrugged his shoulder to shake Rishi off and charged again towards Riti, who lay motionless on the floor, when he felt the bore of a gun pressed against the back of his skull.
‘ Motay, ek inch aur hila na to peeche teesri aankh bana doonga,’ Chuha whispered slowly. ‘Ma kasam.’
Riti was unconscious, a thin trail of blood seeping out from where her head had hit the table. Arijit screamed into the tape and then started crawling on his stomach, towards where Riti lay. Mohan bent down over her, his voice full of fear. ‘What did you do? She is…’
Sudheer kept his voice low, ‘I give a shit if she is dead.’
Rishi turned towards Chuha whose gun had stayed level with the back of Sudheer’s head. ‘Why did your man not tell us there was someone else in the house?’
He did not meet Rishi’s glare. ‘Take three steps back, motay, and sit on that chair unless you want to join damaadji on the ground.’
Sudheer did not argue with the only loaded gun in the room, stepping quietly back. Barely able to get the words out, from the exertion of it all, he breathed hard. ‘Whatever Rishi is paying, I will pay you ten times more. Just give me your gun. Now.’
‘Motay, utna paisa diya toh main tujhe apni biwi ko bhi ungli karne doonga,’ Chuha said with a deadpan expression. ‘Partrigger pe ungli daalne nahin doonga. We are in a lot of trouble now, so don’t make it worse.’
Mohan was still doubled over Riti, gently moving her head, ‘Riti, Riti, wake up.’
‘What now?’ asked Rishi, gliding his fingers through his hair, the big gold chain dangling out over his unbuttoned shirt. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Exactly what we said we would,’ Sudheer said, now finding some of his breath and courage once more, ‘except now we have to take Riti to that safe house along with this behenchod.’
‘Behenchod sahi, par behen to teri chodi hai.’ Chuha smiled. ‘But no. I am not taking your sister to my safe house. My Jat friends may not be able to control themselves once they see this fine little bird. No, your sister goes to the hospital.’
‘Screw the hospital,’ Sudheer said.
‘Dekh motay, I love my life. Arjun Bhatia ki beti ki izzat ka band baj gaya toh my life won’t be worth chaar annas.’
‘ Izzat to hai hi nahin iski abhi.’ Sudheer spat out. ‘And the randi is not going to die, she’s just been knocked out by her head hitting the table.’
‘She is not coming with me . That’s final. Now, Rishi ji, just open the shutter slightly, and see if there are people outside. I am afraid we have made quite some noise here already.’
The wooden slats were opened and closed fast. ‘No one that I can see.’
‘Good that we are in Noida. If this was Lajpat Nagar, we would have had a small crowd outside already.’
‘So what do we do?’ Rishi asked, doing another quick up–down of the window slats. ‘And why the fuck did your man not tell us there was someone inside?’
‘People can’t be expected to know everything.’ Sudheer stood up from the chair, and Chuha cocked his gun against him and he sat down again. ‘Jab in logon ko pata nahin ki inki behen kisko chod rahi hai, to behenchod mujhe kaise pata hoga? Aur English main ek kahaawat hai. To err is human, and to forgive the man holding the loaded gun is divine.’
Chuha snapped his fingers, ‘Aye, chhote bhai, your sister is
coming to. Put the tape on her mouth and tie her hands together.’ Mohan hesitated and Chuha snapped his fingers again, then threw him a roll of wire he had carried with him. ‘I don’t want her running around this house, or shouting, we have made too much noise as it is.’
‘This is Delhi. No one cares, and even if they do, we can handle them,’ Sudheer said, his eyes still on the gun.
‘When he learns what you did to his daughter, I am sure your father is going to care and I don’t plan to handle him, thank you very much.’
‘She fell, it was an accident.’ The significance of what had happened was sinking in. Sudheer’s voice trembled.
Mohan was still crouched at his sister’s side, trying to put on the tape as gently as he could. ‘I think he is right. Papa is not going to like this.’
‘I am not afraid of him. The old man’s gone soft, can’t manage his damn business, can’t manage his damn house.’ Sudheer started to stand up again but looked at the gun still pointed at him and thought better of it. ‘Remember, that’s why we are here, we are doing what he can’t do any more.’
By this time, Arijit had almost crawled his way over to Riti. Chuha strode over, pushed the heel of his boot into Arijit’s back, and held it there, as if squashing a cockroach.
‘Enough talk,’ Chuha said. ‘The original plan is out. We aren’t taking this behenchod to my place. That’s decided.’
‘She won’t,’ Sudheer said. ‘She won’t tell anyone anything.’
Arijit struggled and squirmed under the weight of Chuha’s shoe, but with his hands tied behind, and face down, he could do little else.
‘Here is how it goes down. Rajkumari here goes to the hospital to get her head checked, and Rajkumar walks free. Our original plan is out. Because once she tells her papa how you two beat her up and some rakshas took her rajkumar away, woh bilkul sentimental ho jayenge aur police ke bade bade lund ko bulayenge. Aur police Rohtak se Patna tak sab ki patloon utaarke sabki gaand sookhengi, aur sach batayoon toh, mujhe police se apni gaand ko bachana hai. But if he is safe and sound, Rajkumari will be happy and your papa will be smart enough to let the police stay away. After all, beti ki rangraliyaan even he wouldn’t want the world to find out.’
