When they got closer Mustafa noticed the car bouncing and smiled. His smile widened when he saw the stupid guy had left the back door slightly ajar, to accommodate himself and his girl in the backseat, probably. A bad mistake.
“Nikal Bahar Madarchod,” Mustafa shouted and yanked the door open. His drunken eyes took a moment to register that the backseat was empty. Then he heard a faint scream and a thud behind him.
Neeraj had been waiting for them. Once he saw them coming out, he had crouched behind his car and rocked it with his hands.The physical effort was not much, since the suspensions were in superbly maintained condition. It worked like a charm. Now when Mustafa opened the backdoor, Neeraj circled around his car on a crouch and came up behind both the thugs. He had his favorite knuckle duster on his right hand. He got the necessary space to swing his forearm and the spikes connected solidly across Hamid’s left ear. He went down with a faint choking sound.
Neeraj was counting on Mustafa’s reaction being slow. He simply kicked Mustafa across his buttocks and slammed him against the car. Then, he brought his left fist down on Mustafa’s head. The tap was enough to leave his victim unconscious. The whole thing had taken maybe five seconds.
Like an artist who has to reluctantly move away from his masterpiece to attend to some mundane task like closing a window, Neeraj bent over the front seat of his car and produced the small roll of black electrician’s tape that he had kept there. He rolled the tape across both thugs’ mouths and then secured their hands behind their backs. Then he lifted Mustafa and placed him in the leg space of the rear seat.
“A little cramped there my friend; these Koreans build their cars as if the whole world is populated with little folks like themselves.” Neeraj told the unconscious man before returning to his partner. Dragging and lifting him was a little more difficult but Neeraj managed to drag Hamid’s body and place in on top of Mustafa. He noticed the bicycle chain wrapped around Hamid’s hands and pulled it free drawing thick drops of blood from the man’s palms.
“A little keepsake Hamid, you would not be using it any time soon” With this Neeraj shut the door and walked around to climb into the driver’s seat.
One lonely old man passed him, obviously one of the last to leave the bar. Both men ignored each other. Neeraj switched his CD player and listened to Eagles telling him to learn to be still.
With two unconscious men whom he was about to murder in a rather gruesome manner in the back of his car, Neeraj smoked, and listened to Eagles still telling him to learn to be still.
Chapter 9
Sanket Shah returned to his home early on Monday afternoon. He was tired and highly strung after hours of questioning, make that interrogation, by the SEBI team. Now he was close to realizing that maybe, he was not going to escape conviction after all. All the board member’s testimonies and the absence of Neeraj would not stand up against the painstaking meticulous evidence gathered by SEBI. Sanket knew he was a few days away from being criminally indicted.
Sanika, his ten year old daughter opened the door for him and started chattering animatedly as Sanket entered. She was just back from her inter-school tennis match and was eager to share the results with her father.
“Daddy I creamed her 6-2 like in fifteen minutes,” she said as Sanket sat down heavily on the sofa, forcing a smile.
“That’s great honey, when is your next match?” he asked running a hand over his tired face.
“Thursday, I hope you will come,” said Sanika.
“I will honey” he replied and Sanika started to leave the room. As Sanket was pulling his shoes off, she returned suddenly.
“Daddy guess who came to watch me play?”
“Who?”
“Neeraj uncle, he says he is traveling soon, he gave me a package for you. I will bring it,” she departed on her errand.
“Wait a minute. Did you say Neeraj Uncle?” Sanket asked his daughter. He was now fighting the worst panic attack of his life. In a moment he could feel sweat running down all his upper body.
Sanika returned with a sturdy pale green manila envelope, and noticed her father shaking in his seat.
“Daddy what happened?” she asked and threw the packet next to him “Mom daddy is fainting,” she called to her mother.
Sanket’s wife, Jyoti, came out of the kitchen and sat besides Sanket. She pulled the knot of his tie loose and felt his forehead. Sanket pushed her hand away and managed a smile “I am ok, just get me some water,” he said and picked up the parcel his daughter had brought home.
Sanika ran to kitchen and fetched him a glass of water. Sanket drained the glass in one gulp and asked her to bring more. Then he punched the number of the SEBI investigator to inform him about Neeraj meeting his daughter today. He held the phone in the crook of his neck, using both hands to work free the pins holding the envelope sealed. He opened it and shook the contents of the envelope free.
Before the first object came out of the envelope, he heard his daughter telling his wife “I wonder what Uncle sent Daddy, the envelope smells funny,”
***
Jayant Rahane and his wife Sadhana lived next door to Sanket. They were enjoying a leisurely cup of tea in the afternoon. In another hour their daughter and son-in-law were due to reach their place from Pune. Sadhana was looking forward to meeting her eight months pregnant daughter.
Jayant had raised his cup to his lips, when he heard an ear piercing shriek of terror coming from behind their living room wall. He almost dropped his cup at the inhuman sound. Sadhana too turned in her chair, a hand across her throat in surprise and fear, when the screams began again. This time there were three distant voices that of a man, a woman and a child.
“What’s wrong?” Sadhana asked, but Jayant was already out of their flat ringing the doorbell of the Shah’s flat. Kenny Minhas, another neighbor at home on vacation, had joined him.
Sanika finally opened the door; her face was a mask of pure terror. She fainted as Jayant entered the flat. Kenny picked her up and they walked inside the Shah’s living room.
Sanket Shah was sprawled across the sofa, still screaming hysterically. His wife had sunk on the carpet, she too was screaming in pure animal terror.
It took a moment for their confused minds to notice the cause that had sent the Shah family in to a scream fest.
Thrown across the living room carpet in horrified disgust were two pairs of index and middle fingers of (though they did not know it then) Hamid and Mustafa. The pale blue color of the finger with their blackened and blood crusted root made a gruesome contrast against the pale brown carpet.
“Jesus, I better call the police,” Kenny said and pulled a mobile out of his jeans pocket.
An hour later, a still hysterical Sanket was singing like a canary before a composite team of the Mumbai Police, CBI and SEBI. He was talking his guts out, telling them everything they wanted to know.
Three hours later arrest warrants were issued against six other board members of the Royal heritage shares and stock brokers Company along with a certain Raman Dixit. The board members were all arrested at their residences, except for the CFO Shibu Mitra. Shibu earlier in the noon had received a similar package at his desk in office and that had sent him into a cardiac arrest. Even as the police waited outside the hospital ICU ward, Shibu was fighting for his life.
Neeraj Joshi hit the top slot of India’s most wanted criminals in a hurry. Less than five hours from when Jayant had heard the first shrill scream from his neighbor, more than 200 lawmen were looking high and low for Neeraj.
They were about nine hours late.
***
Dear Sanket,
After three years of loyal service and close friendship it looks unseemly to leave without a note or a gift.
I am enclosing two fingers each of your trusted lieutenants Hamid and Mustafa. I have taken the liberty of sending similar present to Shibu at office, and keeping some as trophies for myself. I am sure you would approve.
I wanted to discuss this s
mall matter of insider trading scam that we are involved in. I think you lack perspective. I agree that by admitting your crimes your reputation would be ruined, your career would be finished, but it is still better than being disemboweled by a five inch switch blade knife, or having a little facial reconstruction with Sulphuric Acid. Ask Hamid and Mustafa (Or Shot the cat).
Anyway by the time Sanika (she played fantastic today though I feel her second serve needs some work still) delivers this note to you, I would be far away from Mumbai. But don’t make the mistake of thinking that I am running away for my life my friend. With the information age we are living in, I am bound to find out how you came through with SEBI and I will be watching it with more than a casual interest. So, if you do not want to spend the rest of your life walking with your asshole puckered up all the way to your navel, and your balls permanently shrunk to the size of walnuts, tell them the truth.
It is a question of choice really Sanket. Three years from now who would you want to be waiting for you, your wife in your bed, or this subordinate of yours in some dark alley?
I trust you to choose well,
Regards,
Neeraj
Chapter 10
Alok “Happy” Shukla removed his shoes and crouched to enter Chotala Baba’s mediation room. Rajat and Rani walked with him till the door. A disciple in his late forties stopped them there, allowing only Happy to go through.
Happy walked slowly inside the dark room, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Soon a dim bulb came on.
Chotala Baba was sitting cross legged on a wooden asan with his eyes closed. He was an amazingly fat man with flab running all over his body like water running down a slanted roof. He had multiple chins and he had enormous man breasts. His closed eyes were almost hidden by his chubby cheeks.
“Please sit down Mr. Alok,” Happy was surprised to hear English from the holy man. He sat down cross legged in front of him. The holy man opened his eyes and smiled warmly.
“Surprised that I could speak your language Mr. Alok? But don’t you realize you speak my language too?” he asked, his teeth were unnaturally white and shining.
“What language would that be Baba?” Happy asked.
“The language from beyond Mr. Alok. The language forgotten in the world of windows and online trading,”
Happy felt his breath quickening. The small dark room was making him claustrophobic.
“You feel an attack coming, don’t you Mr. Alok?”
“How the fu.., how did you know? Did Rani tell you?” Happy asked. He was feeling a strange dizziness washing all over him.
The holy man smiled and shook his head in the negative. “They do not call me ‘Sakshatkari’ for nothing Mr. Alok. I am blessed by God to see and know things that ordinary humans can’t.”
Happy was not sure if the holy man was pulling his leg. That would be real fun.
“But the knowledge comes with great responsibility; it comes with the responsibility of maintaining order at all costs. The earth should not fall in the hands of the evil. For the battle between the good and the evil is older than our civilization, it is older than our earth. They say forewarned is forearmed, and therefore God chose people like you and me to prepare all the good men for a battle that is about to happen.”
‘This was exactly the madness you were supposed to talk me out of’ Alok thought and smiled. Baba ignored his smile and stood up, rolls of fat quivered like jelly in a saucer as he began pacing the small room.
“Why me?” Happy asked.
“You are intelligent, sensitive and you are a keen student of history,”
“I am an engineering graduate,” Happy replied.
The holy man smiled like an indulgent parent “We are not discussing your resume’ here Mr. Alok. We are discussing your interests. Tell me, you have studied the world wars, haven’t you?”
Happy shrugged and remained silent.
“I have read tons of books about both the wars. If that makes me a student of history, then I am.”
“It is not what you read, it is what you understand. I am sure any fellow student of early twentieth century has done more reading about the two big wars than you have, but they did not get the message, because they studied it from the big man’s perspective, but they would not deign to spare a thought to what a nineteen year old GI must have felt, landing on Omaha one June morning in one of the biggest gun battle known to mankind. They would not understand why so many people followed Hitler in Germany in the first place. Oh they would tell you the general picture about Hitler offering them self respect and their pride back, but they would not realize the helpless horror with which the same people must have watched Hitler turning into a monster right before their eyes.” The holy man sat down on his asan again and lit a chillim. The acrid smoke made Happy’s head spin.
“You my friend, on the other hand, know how little people’s hatred for their rulers can be used by a few greedy people and what consequences arise out of it. They do not become dictators with the help of armies alone. They become dictators with the power of little people’s hatred for the rich and the mighty”
“But the little people always remain little in the end” the holy man looked at Happy as if he had completed the holy man’s sentence.
For some time they sat, each lost in their private thoughts. Then the holy man spoke again “Kumbhpur is the name of the place Mr. Alok. About two hundred kms from Pune, in Konkan. Something terrible is about to happen there, and you are the chosen one to stop it”
“To stop what?”
“Bloodshed, if that is not possible, then at least making sure that a different set of villains does not take over,”
“What difference does it make which set of villains take over?”
“The current set is human at least Mr. Alok” the holy man answered as if he had explained everything.
“And you expect me to save mankind single handedly? You chose the wrong man, James Bond does it better, wears better clothes too,”
“I did not call you; you came, drawn by the awful noises coming from within your head. You are not strong enough to save mankind, but you might be strong enough to save that little town, and you are certainly strong enough to save yourself.”
“The attack Mr. Alok. If you do not go out to meet it head on, it will come knocking on your door one night.”
***
Happy walked out and saw Rani sitting cross legged on the marble banisters of the temple. Rajat, Ragini and Rakesh were sitting on the stairs.
Happy walked to them. “Rajat you come from Kumbhpur, don’t you?”
Rajat looked at Happy in bafflement for a minute before nodding yes.
“I remember you telling once that you have a small vacation home there, do you still have it?”
“Haven’t been there in a while, but we have it, yes”
“Baba has asked me to recite Hanuman Chalisa ten times every morning and eat this holy ash every day. Honestly I don’t want to go back to Mumbai right now, so can I and Rani go and stay there for a few days please? I could book a hotel somewhere but …. Last few months have been tough financially, what with me not working…”
Rajat cut him off, his face growing red with embarrassment “No problem Boss but I have an idea, why don’t we all go there? The house is big enough to room eight, and I can use a vacation, unless you want to spend some time alone”
Happy smiled and said “Not at all, it’s a good idea. Ask the others” He pulled Rani in his arms and held her close to his chest.
Rakesh stood up and said “I am in,” and they all turned to Ragini.
She remained seated but crooked her neck to stare at them, shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight “ Let’s go”
Chapter 11
Kumbhpur
Nestled between Aravali Jungle on one side, and the Arabian Sea on the other, Kumbhpur is a beautiful little town to arrive to in the morning.
While coming from Pune, you travel for one hundred an
d twenty kms on the NH-04 highway before turning right into Konkan. Thereafter the whole journey happens on single lane roads in various states of disrepair, with the charming sight of monkeys leaping on to them from the trees bordering both sides of the road.
Just before you reach the district of Sindhudurg, you turn in to another smaller road that takes you to the coastal village. You arrive in the village proper by treading over the proudest monument of civil engineering in that area, the three hundered and fifty feet long Sambhaji Bridge. Named after the eldest son of the King Shivaji, this bridge is a gift from the Ex-chief minister of the state in early eighties.His daughter was married to the son of the sitting MLA of Kumbhpur. The Kaal River flows beneath it. The town therefore has jungle on two sides, the river on one and the sea on the other. The bridge is the only connect the town has with the outside world.
The town itself is just big enough to qualify for Taluka Status, but no bigger. If you begin walking from Sambhaji Bridge and take the route of the Bhosale high school (the town is very big on the Great Maratha King) to MSEB office towards the Rural Development Corporation and walk the half kilometers around the rice fields, you would reach the jungle forming the other boundary of the town, in flat thirty minutes. Forty minutes if you are overweight and smoke, and one hour, if your path is blocked by the pile of manure left by the livestock of a farmer nearby.
The town has no railway connectivity and has one small bus stand. Half the town’s commercial establishments are built around the bus stand. This mostly consists of tea stalls, fruit vendors and small hotels. The kind of hotels where if you walk in at four in the evening, you will very nearly throw up with the thick smell of Bhajiya and Shev fried in ten-day-old oil.
The other half of the market is built around the town’s only claim to history and sacredness. The temple of Goddess Amba.
Built in the late 17th century by King Shivaji, the beauty of the five acre marble and stone temple takes your breath away. It stands tall amidst the dusty poverty of the whole town, majestically silent in its mockery of the town’s pettiness. The trust of the temple is the power center of the local politics.
Kumbhpur Rising Page 4
