Fatal Mistakes

by Vedashree Khambete-Sharma

  He could hear footsteps behind him. He ignored them. There were others like him in the slum, after all. People who couldn’t wait for ten other people to finish shitting before getting a crack at the common toilet. And besides, there was a kind of a joy to taking a crap in the open. Obviously, if you had your own little place with an attached toilet, you wouldn’t bother going out, no matter how happy a breeze around your butt made you feel. And who knew? After he’d bought the rickshaw, maybe he’d be able to afford a place like that. Move away from Aslam and his grouchy wife. Maybe marry some nice girl. Young and sweet. A rosebud, not a rose.

  He pulled the bucket of water towards him and was about to wash up when the first blow fell. It made a dull thud as the heavy wooden cricket bat landed on the back of his skull. It knocked Hasan forward and he fell face first on the sharp black stones of the track. He was grasping frantically for a handhold to raise himself up, his vision blurry, when a second blow fell. Hasan felt something warm and wet trickle down his neck. In a haze of agony, he turned around and with fading vision saw three blurry shapes. Panic and confusion clouded his mind. ‘Wh … stop …’ he wheezed, raising his hands in front of his face. ‘Finish it,’ said a voice in the dark. And then, the third and last blow fell. Hasan stopped moving and lay still on the railway tracks, blood-spattered and lifeless.

  Seven

  Avantika entered the Mumbai Daily office the next morning, smiling to herself. She’d been smiling since she woke up, the events of the previous night still fresh in her mind. How long was it OK to wait, she thought, before calling someone whose parting words were ‘call me’? Would it be too desperate to call him now? Should she give it a few hours? A few days? Surely there was a Reddit thread somewhere about this. Or a WikiHow. Maybe she wouldn’t have to call him, maybe he’d just come to the office today. He’d been hanging around practically every day these last few weeks. Her eyes scanned the room as she made her way to her desk. Dhruv wasn’t there. She tried not to frown. It doesn’t mean anything, she told herself, dropping her bag next to her chair. Maybe he overslept. Maybe he had a photography thing somewhere. It doesn’t have to be about you.

  Humming to herself, she started her computer. As she was checking her phone to see if she had missed any calls or messages from Dhruv, a familiar voice said, ‘Taylor Swift already? I thought it would take a couple of dates, at least.’

  She looked up from the phone to see Uday standing at his cubicle, smirking at her. Damn, she hadn’t realized she had been humming loud enough to be heard. Or that she had, indeed, been humming ‘Blank Space’.

  ‘Don’t you have anything better to do?’ she asked. ‘Date people with weird names, for instance? Speaking of, how is Drinkle?’

  ‘Hot. Fun. Cool,’ he said, ambling over. ‘Actually, I have news for you.’ He lowered his voice as he sank into the chair next to her. ‘Two of Tushar Prasad’s friends talked to the police. You … may be right about it not being a suicide.’

  Avantika’s eyes widened.

  ‘Why? What did they say?’ she whispered.

  ‘Apparently, they were all supposed to go camping the following weekend,’ Uday whispered back. ‘Initially, Vinay’s idea was to go hiking to Rajmachi Fort, but Tushar shot it down and said they should go camping instead. No amount of arguing could convince him. Ask me why.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Tushar was afraid of heights.’

  Avantika gasped softly.

  ‘But didn’t he … that means … Uday …’

  ‘Yup,’ he said. ‘If he wanted to kill himself, he wouldn’t have changed the plan. And even assuming he did that just to make others think everything was OK, a boy who’s afraid of heights would never jump from the sixteenth floor to kill himself.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Avantika muttered, running her hands through her hair. ‘And now? What are you going to do now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I want to talk about this to Nathan.’

  ‘You can’t tell him you got that lead from me first! He’ll freak out!’

  ‘I got it from my source in the police. But Avanti …’

  ‘No, Uday, he can’t know.’

  Uday exhaled in a huff.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘but you realize what this means, right?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If your Anu is right about Tushar’s suicide being a murder, then there’s a good chance she’s right about the other dates as well.’

  ‘About that …,’ she began.

  Ten minutes later, she had finished telling him about how she had matched the dates and places to specific deaths and how the last date happened to be just weeks away.

  ‘If I can figure out who this man is by then, I can actually stop him from getting killed,’ she said.

  ‘What’s his name?’ Uday asked. ‘Have you tried looking him up online?’

  ‘His name is—’ She stopped to check her ringing phone. It was Dhruv.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, breaking into a smile. Then she frowned. ‘What?’

  She listened intently for a few minutes, her face growing increasingly serious.

  ‘OK,’ she said finally. ‘You take care. Bye.’

  She hung up and sat staring at her phone for a moment.

  ‘Avanti?’ Uday’s voice broke her daze. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Uh … yeah.’ She got up, grabbing her bag. ‘Listen, I have to step out for some time. I should be back in a couple of hours.’

  ‘OK,’ Uday said, puzzled. ‘Where are you going? What happened?’

  ‘It’s Dhruv,’ she said, slinging her bag on her shoulder, her face a mask of disbelief and confusion. ‘He’s … he got beaten up last night.’

  Half an hour later, Avantika found herself knocking on the solid wooden door of Ellora, Dhruv’s Peddar Road house, no that was an uncharitable word, his bungalow. As she waited for the door to open, she caught a whiff of petrichor from the lawn. The grass was wet from the brief rain shower earlier that morning, its lush green making up for the bare frangipani trees that lined the lawn and the absence of white in the bougainvillea that cascaded over the compound wall. No flowers bloomed on the laburnum trees, which stood still except for the occasional drip of the raindrops that hung heavily among their leaves. Avantika exhaled and her stomach relaxed. She hadn’t even realized it had been in knots this whole time.

  The door was opened by a maid, who led her to the drawing room. She sat on the sofa, looking at the large, framed print of one of Dhruv’s photographs—a black-and-white picture of a profusion of feathers, as hundreds of pigeons took flight near the Gateway of India. It was the first picture of his she had seen when she met him that morning over a year ago. She swallowed and waited.

  ‘Avantika?’ she turned at Dhruv’s voice calling from behind her.

  ‘Hi, I …’ She stopped when she saw his face.

  Purple-green bruises bloomed on his jaw and cheeks. There was a wound near his left eyebrow, which had been expertly dressed. Her eyes travelled down and she saw more bruises on his arms, some disappearing into the short sleeves of his t-shirt. His right wrist was in an elastic bandage.

  ‘I told you it wasn’t serious,’ he said in a lightly admonishing tone. ‘I’ll be fine in a couple of days.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, her throat dry, ‘I just …’

  ‘Missed me?’ he asked smirking, then grimaced. The movement must have hurt.

  ‘Like an idiot misses the point,’ she replied, trying to smile. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was driving home after dropping you,’ he said, sitting down next to her on the couch. ‘The road was closed somewhere near Worli; there were traffic cones and stuff, so I took a by-lane. Then a tempo came out of nowhere and blocked my path. Next thing I know, these guys with masks were jumping out of it. They had sticks, one of them had a cricket bat, and they started bashing up the car. So obviously I got out to ask what the fuck they were doing. Then they left the car alone and started on me.’

  He sighed. Avan
tika reached out to take his hand. They had hit him with a cricket bat. Her eyes felt moist.

  ‘I kept asking them why, who they were, whether they had got the right guy,’ Dhruv shrugged, then winced. ‘They just kept hitting and kicking. I don’t know how long it went on for. At some point, they must’ve thought I was going to pass out. That’s when they stopped.’ He swallowed, then frowned. ‘I tried fighting back, you know, landed a few punches, but they were like eight or ten of them. It was … there was no other way this could’ve gone down.’

  Avantika felt a boiling rage fill her insides. She could imagine him on the road, hands raised to protect himself as five, ten, fifteen—how many had there been?—thugs beat the crap out of him. She sniffed.

  ‘Did you call the police?’ she whispered. ‘How did you get home?’

  ‘Called up a buddy of mine. He lives around here. He came, picked me up, took me to the emergency room at Jaslok. He has some pull, so they didn’t wait for the police or anything. Just examined me, patched me up, gave me painkillers and told me to come back if I felt worse. The damage isn’t too bad. The wrist has a hairline fracture—that’s where the cricket bat landed—but thankfully no ribs broken or anything …’

  ‘Did you go to the police?’ she interrupted. She couldn’t bear to hear more. ‘Tell me you went to the police.’

  ‘I’m going now, my friend is coming to pick me up. Maybe they’ll find something on a CCTV camera or something. But um … actually I’m glad you came because I didn’t know how to say this on the phone …’

  Oh God, she thought, he’s going to break up with me. No, wait, it was one date, we aren’t dating, he can’t break up with me. He’s going to say let’s not date anymore. He’s taken it as a sign, the first time we go out he gets bashed up, it’s a sign and he doesn’t want to risk it anymore, who could blame him; also way to make this about you, you self-centred—

  ‘After they finished with me, one of them said something,’ Dhruv said, not meeting her eyes, ‘in Hindi, and … and this isn’t verbatim, you understand, I was so gone, I barely made out the words. Everything kept blurring and …’

  He stopped and cleared his throat. She could tell it was difficult for him to go over the specifics of what had happened. And to think he’d have to relive it again later, at the police station.

  ‘No, sure,’ she said, nodding.

  ‘It was … it was something like, “Tell Avantika Pandit to stop asking questions. Or next time, it won’t be just a beating.” ’

  Avantika stared. For a moment, all the sounds of the world seemed to have stilled. She couldn’t make sense of what she had just heard. It sounded fantastical. Something out of a 1980s Bollywood movie. Nobody did this kind of shit in real life, right? Not anymore? But then she remembered how a hitman had nearly killed her last year. These things did happen. Someone had beaten Dhruv up to send her a message. She must be closer to the truth than she realized. And someone, someone who had thugs at their command, didn’t want her finding out about this. Whatever this was. What was she supposed to do? Not dig into the dates? Let Yash Reddy die? She wasn’t sure yet if Anu was referring to the guy running WSpot, but even if she wasn’t, even if he was some completely ordinary man, he was still a man marked for murder. But if she didn’t stop, wouldn’t these hoodlums kill Dhruv? They had certainly implied it. She looked at him. He was trying to sound casual, look casual, but she saw the way his neck muscles had stiffened up, the way he was blinking more than usual, the way he didn’t meet her eyes. Dhruv was worried.

  ‘I …,’ she began, then stopped.

  What could she say to him? Sorry you were attacked because of me? So sorry you were hurt, but actually I haven’t made up my mind about whether to stop doing my job so you stay safe or keep going even if it means you’re in danger? She rubbed her face in exasperation.

  ‘Look …,’ she tried again.

  ‘It’s OK, you know, maybe this sort of thing happens a lot in your line of work,’ he interrupted, ‘but … um … this was a first for me. I’m just a little shaken, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Actually … this has never happened to me personally before. It shouldn’t have happened to you either. I’m so sorry, Dhruv …’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ he replied.

  ‘But they came for you because of me. Because you … we’re …’ She stopped for a second. ‘I feel responsible.’

  ‘Responsible?’ he gave a little scoff of disbelief. ‘Shouldn’t you feel terrified?’

  ‘I’m not thinking of that right now,’ she muttered.

  ‘You should be,’ he said quietly. ‘These people, they’re clearly dangerous. I was just a warning. What if they get you next time?’

  Avantika glanced at him. His familiar swagger was gone and she could see the shadow of fear in his eyes. She remembered that Dhruv had spent his life trying not to be like his father, who’d had nefarious dealings with all sorts when he had been alive. And now a bunch of thugs had beaten him up in the middle of the night. This was precisely the kind of situation he must’ve hoped he’d never have to face. And she had traipsed into his life and smacked him over the head with it. Well done, me.

  ‘Look, I’m …,’ she said. ‘I’ll find a way to …’

  ‘What do they want you to stop digging into, anyway?’ he asked.

  She sighed. Then, she gave him a brief summary of everything that had happened these past few days. When she reached the part about Yash Reddy being the CEO of WSpot, Dhruv interrupted.

  ‘When we were at Dharini Farm, hadn’t Nalini said that one of the farm’s donors or investors or whatever is Wspot?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Avantika said. ‘It’s just weird that the CEO of the farm’s donor company has the same name as someone on this list I’ve started investigating.’

  ‘You think he’s the guy they want to kill?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, shaking her head slowly. ‘No, it must be some other guy.’ She clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘And I have no idea how to find out who he is for sure so I could—I don’t know—warn him or something,’ she said.

  ‘You’re telling me you’re willing to stick your neck out for a guy you don’t even know?’ he asked, incredulous.

  ‘That makes it sound a lot more noble than it is,’ she said. ‘I’m just trying to …’

  ‘Not noble,’ he laughed, ‘insane. It sounds insane.’

  ‘So … what? You’d be able to sleep easy knowing there’s a person out there who could die if you don’t do something about it, and you’d still choose not to do anything about it?’

  ‘I’m not saying I’d sleep easy,’ Dhruv said, ‘but I’d make my peace with it, yes. If the choice was between dying to help one person and staying alive so I could help many people, I’d choose the latter. Definitely.’

  She thought about it. It made sense. It was the old ‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’ argument. But this wasn’t a need. This was someone’s life. She didn’t want the choice of whether someone lived or died to sit on her shoulders. It wasn’t fair. But she didn’t want to have an argument with Dhruv right now. He’d been through enough without her pulling him into a debate about ethics. She shrugged.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to find this person anyway,’ she said, trying to sound noncommittal. ‘I mean, there could be literally thousands of Yash Reddys in Mumbai. Not all of them are going to be on social media for me to find, so—’

  Her phone was ringing again. The screen said ‘Anu’. Avantika felt a jolt in her stomach.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, answering the call.

  ‘Can we meet today evening?’ the voice at the other end asked in Hindi. ‘I will tell you everything.’

  ‘Um … yes, sure, absolutely,’ Avantika said, her eyes widening. ‘When? Where?’

  She listened for a moment, looking puzzled.

  ‘Wait,’ she said frowning. She hadn’t heard that right. She couldn’t have. ‘Did y
ou say 6 p.m. in the … Virar fast?’

  Eight

  Newcomers to Mumbai are often stunned by the city. One reason for this is the traffic, of course, which comes in two varieties: rush hour and peak rush hour. Peak rush hour can be any time between nine in the morning and noon, and five in the evening to eleven at night. Rush hour is any time of the day or night that isn’t peak rush hour. You could be driving in traffic for three hours and still be about two hours away from where you wanted to go, any given time of the day, with no explanation given.

  The second thing that stuns people about the city is the sheer number of people in the city. There are people everywhere. Those empty lanes and quiet streets that exist in other cities, say, at the peak of summer? Those don’t exist in Mumbai. What exists is a sea of humanity. And if you can bring yourself to imagine a sea of humanity, then Churchgate station at 5.30 p.m. is like three oceans coming together.

  Avantika stood near the ticket windows, looking intently at passing women. Her directions had been specific. Show up at 5.30 near the ticket windows of Churchgate station and wait. She would get an SMS telling her which Virar local to take.

  Uday had thought it was a ridiculous idea. His face had said as much when she’d stopped by the office before heading to Churchgate. She’d told him about the attack on Dhruv, and Anu’s call asking her to meet her in a train and he couldn’t have looked more confused, outraged and incredulous had she told him that she had joined a cult since they last met. He’d sat silently for a few minutes, letting her speak and his expression hadn’t improved for the better, especially when she had told him she didn’t intend to tell Nathan about this whole affair.

  ‘Are you out of your mind, Avanti?’ he asked. ‘Look at the facts. Someone you’ve never met has been sending you texts implying at least six people who have died recently were actually the victims of murder. Someone else has found out that you know about this and wants you to stop digging before you find out any more. And now, the same person whom, again, you’ve never met, has promised to “tell you everything”, whatever that means, if you go and meet them in a local train during peak rush hour. This situation is the definition of the phrase “above your pay grade”. And frankly, it’s just plain weird.’