No Safe Zone

by Adite Banerjie

  ‘Being Human’ was staring intently at them and she edged past him, swallowing her sharp retort.

  She stormed out of the internet café. Kabir was right at her heels and the moment they were out on the pavement he grabbed her arm and turned her around.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  She stewed, though she kept her lips zipped.

  Kabir groaned audibly. ‘Don’t be such a juvenile! You know, you can’t go wandering the streets of Jaipur alone.’

  ‘Last time I checked,’ she blurted out, ‘India was a free country! And in case you haven’t realised I am an adult.’

  ‘Last time you broke out on your own,’ he retorted, ‘you needed me to save your butt.’

  She gritted her teeth. ‘It won’t happen again!’

  She could scream in frustration but Kabir’s phone was pinging away. He looked at the screen.

  ‘Stay here,’ he ordered.

  He walked a little further away and spoke quietly into the phone.

  ‘Hello, Aman Sir!’

  ‘What are you doing in Jaipur?’

  Aman Saxena’s commanding tone put Kabir instantly on the alert.

  ‘Sir, Zayed must have told you…’

  ‘I have got Zayed’s update. I want yours.’

  Kabir baulked a bit at his mentor’s terse words. Never before had he given Aman Sir the chance to doubt his professionalism and this was his opportunity to come clean. As things stood, he should have been the one to call and inform him about the situation. He launched into a quick update of what had transpired so far and the reason for his detour to Jaipur. When he mentioned Qiara’s name, his mentor caught on to the slight hesitation in his voice.

  ‘Hmmm…’ Kabir could virtually see Aman Sir purse his lips and drum his fingers on the table. ‘What’s the story with the girl?’

  Kabir paused for a micro-second.

  ‘She is Mehender Singh’s daughter.’

  Kabir knew it would probably come as a shock for Aman Sir, who along with Anjana Aunty, had been witness to the mayhem that had followed after Mehender Singh had threatened him and his mother of dire consequences if Kabir so much as dared to look at Qiara again. Aman Sir had taken charge of the situation and sent him packing. His mother, on the other hand, had collapsed at the sight of Singh and had to be hospitalised for weeks after the incident. Kabir himself had gone into a shell, barricading himself from everyone around him.

  It was Aman Sir’s paternal concern that had eventually broken through to him. While Kabir had initially rebelled at Singh’s interference, he had realised dreams don’t always come true. Letting go of a dream named Qiara, however, had proved to be a slow, painful process. He often wondered if Aman Sir had ever sought an explanation from Ma about the episode. But if they had discussed it, neither of them kept him in the loop.

  The silence that greeted his statement crackled with tension. The seconds seemed to stretch for minutes before Aman responded.

  ‘So, father and daughter have made a comeback? How do you feel about it?’

  Kabir knew Aman Sir was giving him a chance to opt out of the assignment. It was a moment of truth for him. He couldn’t let his mentor down and at the same time he couldn’t forsake Qiara. Suddenly the job at hand had become too weighted by personal stakes: his loyalty to Aman Sir versus his need to do the right thing by Qiara.

  ‘I…’

  Saxena cut in, ‘Kabir, I chose you for this assignment for a purpose – because I cannot trust anyone else. I know this is not a pretty situation for you to be in. Mehender Singh’s involvement means the royal family cannot be far away.’

  A familiar sense of frustration assailed him. His past was like an ominous omnipresent shadow he could never escape.

  Aman Sir’s words rang in his ears.

  ‘If you mess up, there will be implications for you, me and the entire team.’

  Kabir’s retort was sharp and instant.

  ‘Understood, Sir. I do know what is at stake here but you have known me long enough to realize one thing – if I take up an assignment I don’t back out until it is completed. This one won’t be any different. You will have no cause for complaint.’

  ‘That’s my boy.’ Aman said quietly. ‘I have full faith in you. You know that, don’t you?’

  Kabir’s throat tightened and he managed to squeeze out the words.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  Qiara wandered towards the row of shops where colourful baubles glittered in the sun that had finally put in an appearance through the grey haze. Kabir was still on the phone and she unmindfully peered at bangles and earrings. Hoping to make a sale, the vendor tried to entice her with more pieces of jewellery but she barely noticed. Her mind was buzzing like a bee on steroids.

  From the moment she had seen her father’s picture in Khanna’s tablet, she had felt a sense of unease. What was it with the people in her life? Her father had never bothered to make her feel loved or wanted and her parents’ relationship had been at best cold and impersonal. Mamma’s wariness to speak about him had forever tainted her own feelings for him. And now, she wondered if Mamma’s reluctance to talk about him had something to do with his murky dealings. Were the NCA’s suspicions about Khanna right? Was her father too involved in the unholy mess?

  A loud cacophony of screeching tyres and agitated shouts broke all around her before she felt hands grab at her and pull her away.

  She had strayed away from the pavement and had narrowly missed being hit by a speeding car.

  The man who had pulled her back, along with several other pedestrians, were gathered around her.

  ‘Madam! Are you alright?’

  She took in a deep breath and gave them a weak smile.

  ‘Yes, sorry! For a second, I blacked out.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit down for a while,’ he suggested, as he waved his arm towards a small shop.

  He helped her across to the shop, whose walls were covered with intricate tattoo patterns.

  Her knees were knocking in the aftermath of her narrow escape and she sat down gratefully in the plastic chair he pulled out for her.

  A couple of moments later, he thrust a glass of water at her which she gulped down before handing it back to him.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Koi nahin, aap theek toh ho na?’ he enquired. ‘No problem. Are you alright?’

  She nodded and in an effort to staunch his curiosity she glanced at the designs.

  ‘You do tattoos?’

  ‘Ji,’ he nodded.

  He showed her some of his designs where he had used Hindu symbols like ‘swastikas’ and the ‘aum’ with fiery dragons, serpents and floral motifs in unique combinations.

  ‘Wow, they are really fantastic,’ she said. ‘You are a real artiste.’

  The man beamed at her.

  ‘My mother used to do mehndis for brides and I would often tag along with her as a kid. Body art fascinated me and I learnt how to do tattoos. Have you been inked?’

  She nodded and showed him her butterfly tattoo on her collarbone.

  He bent down to look at it intently before drawing back. His easygoing manner disappeared and was replaced by a hooded wariness.

  ‘Nice,’ he said, politely, trying to hide his discomfort.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Bahut achcha hai. Nicely done.’

  Qiara was surprised by his odd reaction.

  ‘Have you seen this kind of tattoo before?’

  ‘Madam, if you are feeling alright now, I have to go somewhere. I hope you don’t mind.’

  Much as she would have liked to probe him further something was making him nervous. Besides, she couldn’t possibly impose on his time.

  ‘Thank you for coming to my help.’

  The man gave her a genuine smile and shook his head, ‘Koi nahin.’

  As she took a step away from the shop he muttered softly.

  ‘You know those people who put that tattoo on you are really the scum of the
earth.’

  His chilling words rooted her to the spot.

  ‘What did you say?’

  His smile disappeared instantly.

  ‘I…I shouldn’t have said it. Sorry.’

  ‘I have had this tattoo from the time I was a child. What did you mean?’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Madam. My mistake. Your tattoo is very similar to another design…please forget what I said.’

  ‘I will but first you have to tell me what you meant.’

  He hesitated for a moment and Qiara saw the uncertainty in his eyes. It was almost as if he was trying to come to some sort of a decision.

  A strange fear gnawed at her insides making her feel queasy.

  Grabbing his hands she pleaded, ‘Please tell me.’

  He peered into her face before saying softly, ‘My youngest sister was taken away by some men. Today, she would have been your age.’

  Qiara’s heart beat in her breast like a trapped bird as she heard him talk about his sister. His unrelenting search for her had unfortunately been fruitless but it had left him convinced that she was stolen by a gang of women traffickers.

  His grim words knocked the breath out of her.

  ‘They put this tattoo – a butterfly with one wing – on the girls they steal for sale to filthy, rich men all over the world.’

  Nine

  Mithapur Haveli, Outskirts of Jaipur

  The sprawling lawns of the 17th century haveli had never looked better. The renovations to the two-storeyed Rajasthani haveli, replete with its decorative arches, jharokhas and corniches, by the best architect in town had cost a pile of cash but Harisingh Rathod could not complain about the splendid work. The architect’s team had complied with every requirement and had done a superlative job of maintaining all the traditional highlights while adding modern embellishments and luxuries to the interiors.

  Rathod surveyed the group of Westerners who were being feted and fawned over by his staff and family members. For many of the Europeans, this was their first time in India, and they were totally bowled over by the old world charm of the haveli and the hospitality being lavished on them. He had left no stone unturned to ensure that every day provided at least one unique traditional experience. If everything went well, he was certain his renovation expenses would be paid back many times over. Tomorrow, the group would proceed to Sonagarh where the curtain would rise on the final act of their plan.

  Only one worry remained – the Ranveer Khanna issue. Anxiously, he pulled out his cell phone from the pocket of his waistcoat. He walked briskly down the pathway to his personal suite of rooms, locked the heavy doors before speed dialling Suraj Pratap Singh’s number.

  ‘Suraj, I hope you have fixed the problem!’

  Rathod’s mood turned dark with every word his friend spoke. The lines on his forehead furrowed deeper and the curve of his mouth straightened to a rigid line across his jowly face. A few more seconds passed before the words exploded out of him like bullets fired from a pistol.

  ‘Bloody hell, Suraj! Didn’t I tell you I’d handle Ranveer, but no, you had to go and poke your head into it and make a royal mess!’

  After letting off steam for a bit, he said, ‘OK, do me a favour and don’t screw up the arrangements for the polo tournament, will you? The group will be in Sonagarh tomorrow by mid-day. I will try and see how best I can salvage the situation. What about Suhas? Is he arriving or has Ranveer’s death scared the little prick?’

  Seemingly satisfied with the response, he added, ‘Getting away from Delhi and the media circus till the story dies down is definitely a good idea. Suhas has finally got himself a good political advisor. Talk later.’

  The conversation with Suraj had unsettled him. He still couldn’t believe that Ranveer was dead. He’d known Ranveer ever since they, along with Suraj and Suhas, had attended Doon School. The glue that had kept them bonded together was their love for horses. More recently, their friendship had forged into a business relationship. Ranveer, with his pseudo-socialist leanings, however, often clashed with the hot-headed Suraj. Things had got out of hand when Ranveer suddenly developed cold feet over their current project of roping in European investors. He had truly believed they would patch up. But Ranveer wanted out and that’s when the trouble began. Rathod’s motto was simple: when it came to business, never let anything come in your way – not friendship, not your conscience, nothing.

  Things had gone from bad to worse with Suraj and Ranveer slanging it out. He should have known Suraj, with his hair-trigger temper, would do something reckless. The fellow lived in the past; what with all the ji huzoor sycophancy of his acolytes he often forgot he was a Prince only in name. Now with Ranveer dead and his wretched tablet missing, they would all be dragged into a murder investigation before anyone could even say Sonagarh Rajkumar Huzoor Suraj Pratap Singh ki jai ho!

  If the device was found by the cops, it could snowball into an avalanche of revelations that would bury them all. The thought gave him the shivers and he paced the room agitatedly. If it came down to the wire, he would have to cut himself loose from his friends. But for now, he had too much riding on this deal and without Suraj, it wasn’t likely to happen. Whichever way he looked at it, the stakes were too high and one false move could be the end of his dreams to expand his business into the foreign market.

  Storming out, he signalled to an attendant who was passing by with a tray of drinks for the guests.

  ‘Bring Rishi Mathur to my office at once.’

  In a matter of minutes, a bedraggled Rishi Mathur was shown in.

  ‘Sit down, Rishi. I hope we can quickly settle this matter and then you will be free to leave.’

  ‘What do you want from me, Sir, and why have I been locked in a room for the last ten hours?’

  Rishi’s voice quivered with a mix of fear and antagonism.

  ‘You weren’t locked up, my friend,’ Rathod smiled genially. ‘You were kept there for your own protection.’

  Disbelief and anger battled on Rishi’s face.

  ‘See for yourself.’

  The large wall-mounted plasma TV flickered on at the press of a remote control. The story of Khanna’s murder was still ‘Breaking News’ on several channels. The CCTV footage of Qiara fleeing the club played out followed up by information about Rishi Mathur’s possible involvement in the businessman’s murder.

  Rathod flicked off the TV as soon as he saw the horror spread over Rishi’s face.

  ‘Sir, why am I being implicated? I simply did as you instructed.’

  ‘If you had followed my instructions, you would have made life easier for yourself.’

  His tone was one of regret, rather than threatening.

  This scared Rishi even more. ‘I…I did, Sir. I put her on the train but she got off. I don’t know why.’

  ‘You were supposed to retrieve the tablet from her before putting her on the train. That was crucial.’

  Rishi started blathering. ‘N…no...I...I was not told about any tablet, Sir. I swear on my mother, Sir.’

  ‘Calm down. And listen to me carefully.’

  Rathod’s quiet voice shut up Rishi immediately.

  ‘You have the girl’s number, don’t you? Ask her to meet up with you here. My men will take care of the rest. Do you understand?’

  ‘Sir,’ Rishi pleaded plaintively. ‘I have been trying to reach her every fifteen minutes. Her phone is switched off.’

  Rathod’s fleshy jowls trembled as he tried to control the rage building inside him.

  ‘Right at this moment, you’re a suspect in the murder of Ranveer Khanna. All I need to do is make one call to the cops. I’d advise you to think about your situation long and hard and you might find a way of saving yourself.’

  Flicking his fingers, he signalled for Rishi to be taken away.

  Hawamahal Bazaar

  Kabir ended his call with Aman Sir and looked around for Qiara. She was nowhere to be seen. The place was swarming with camera-toting tourists and vendors plying their wa
res. He pushed his way through the never-ending stream of people and stopped mid-stride. The heavy beat of his heart echoed in his ears. He scanned the crowds closely but she had disappeared into thin air. Trying not to let his emotions run out of control, he hurried down the pavement, till it merged with the busy road ahead. A movement at the peripheral vision of his eye made him swivel around.

  There she was…pushing her hair away from her forehead, her fingers skimming through her hair in that oh-so-familiar way. A surge of relief mixed with hot anger at his own insane reactions coursed through him. He walked up to her. With every step he took, he felt the tension radiating off her. She looked shell-shocked. He broke into a run and was next to her in seconds.

  ‘Where did you disappear to?’

  He tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

  She looked at him as if his words hadn’t registered. The utter desolation in her eyes was like a spike through his heart.

  ‘Qiara?’

  He grabbed her hand. It was ice-cold.

  His warm touch seemed to revive her and she looked at him beseechingly. ‘We need to talk,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Sure. There must be a café…’

  ‘No,’ she cut in anxiously. ‘Somewhere private.’

  A few minutes later, after riding through a maze of traffic-clogged streets, they reached a small bungalow tucked away in a quiet alley.

  The watchman at the gate saluted smartly and said, ‘Kabir Saheb, bahut din baad. You have not been to Jaipur in some time.’

  Anxious to get Qiara inside, he cut short the pleasantries and steered her into the sparsely furnished one-storey house. He watched as she plonked down into the couch that had seen better days. A book case stood in one corner, with most of the shelves empty barring a few magazines and newspapers. The place was utilitarian at best. It would have been stuffy hadn’t the windows, with heavy grilles on them, been left open. Dull brown curtains hung at the sides. The walls had not seen a coat of paint in a long time. At the far end, there was a kitchen and the door adjacent to it had a huge lock dangling at the bolt.

  He wished he could have taken her some place more luxurious than this run-down government quarters where detectives like him would occasionally hole up for a few hours’ rest or hold a meeting when secrecy was paramount.