The Turning Point

by Nikita Singh

  ‘Tenali Cartel smuggles multi-ton cocaine shipments from Turkey through Sri Lanka to India and has distribution cells throughout India.’

  ‘Where are they based?’

  ‘Hyderabad. The organisation has also been involved in the production, smuggling and distribution of methamphetamine, marijuana, and heroin.’

  ‘Is there anything about Ahmedabad?’

  ‘Ah, now this is interesting. And funny too. Sources disagree on the date of birth of Reddy, with some stating he was born—’

  ‘Bhatnagar, listen, I need names of his contacts in Ahmedabad.’

  ‘Arre sun le yaar. He sold bananas as a child in Tenali. His father was supposedly an agriculturist but it is believed that he also grew opium poppy. His sisters—’

  Bhatnagar narrated the useful and the useless at the speed of light. At the end of that exhausting report, Khanna could hear him guzzling down a barrel of water. Some things never change.

  ‘Thanks for that essay, Bhatnagar. I know I’ll ace the ‘Know Your Criminals’ subject in school this year. Chal, we’ll talk later.’

  ‘Funny! Accha listen, did you ask for his Ahmedabad connection?’

  ‘That’s the only thing I asked for.’

  ‘There’s a reference here. Benny, it says. Benny Machado.

  Runs Reddy’s Gujarat operations. But this report is slightly dated.’

  Benny? Benny-Neil’s-supplier Benny? Benny-who-sells-drugsat-Cant Benny? Why hadn’t it occurred to Khanna to corner Benny? He’d alluded to it but that duffer Neil had underplayed Benny’s reach, calling him a nobody. Benny spearheaded Reddy’s Gujarat operations! If he ran the operations, he might have been at the party where Sonia was shot. At the very least, Benny’s men would have been there. He must have known something, anything. Khanna could see the bull’s eye. He had to get Benny somehow.

  One chilly Friday night, Neil had been briefed by the cops. All he had to do was bait Benny and pretend to buy from him.

  Neil had resisted vehemently, ‘Uncle, we rarely see Benny nowadays. Girlfriend trouble, his sidekick said. She is sick or in the hospital or something.’

  ‘Find a way, Neil. Make it happen.’ Khanna pushed Neil to somehow get Benny to meet him once.

  Neil was as scared as a puppy at a dogfight, but Khanna assured him that his secret was safe. The scene was scripted well, scoped out and the entire set up had been meticulously planned. Khanna had involved Manmohan and Bhatt, so the cops wouldn’t drop the ball. Half a dozen plain-clothed policemen surrounded the area behind the canteen at Cantonment just after eight o’ clock at night.

  As per the plan, Neil headed out towards the back of the mess, his face covered in his hoodie, a distinct hesitation in his gait. There was a slight nip in the air and a hazy white blanket of fog scattered the diffused light from the many lampposts. Minutes later, Benny showed up on a motorcycle, a lit cigarette in his mouth. He looked around cautiously, then walked up to Neil, silently acknowledging Neil’s presence with a nod.

  Khanna gave Benny a closer look from his hideout. Benny had a chiselled face, an intense look and he walked with the aura of an intellectual. He wore a checked shirt, scruffy jeans, sported a stubble and his messy hair had yellow streaks, Khanna could tell even in the dimmed light. The diamond stud in his left ear sparkled under the streetlight. Benny cut the profile of a fashionable youngster, not a drug dealer. It took Khanna by surprise.

  Minutes later, easily enough, out came the packet from Benny’s jacket and so did the cops from their hideouts.

  While the cops worked on eliciting information from Benny, Khanna had business to take care of. Benny was just a tiny piece of the puzzle.

  Over the next few days Khanna pulled every business card worth its salt that he had. Ministers, top cops, CBI superstars, anti-narcotics cell officials, ex-army chiefs, journalists, activists; if they were influential, Khanna had a hot line set up with them. Mobilising powerful people was the only way he could take on a drug lord of Reddy’s stature. He woke up with a single crucial goal each morning; to create tremendous pressure on the authorities about Reddy. No connection was too big or too small. If wasn’t as if there was no push back but Khanna persevered. Interviews of victims’ families, exposés at the grass roots level, extensive media coverage that spoke to the middle class; it was a massive, concentrated effort.

  It must have been good karma, for soon enough the phone rang.

  ‘Khannaji, I have news.’ Manmohan spoke in a highpitched voice. ‘That bastard Benny has opened his mouth finally.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘The commissioner has a meeting with Mr Bhatt this evening. I will try to get some details on this case as well. Why don’t you come home later tonight? I’ll try to get my hands on a copy of the report by then.’

  Khanna recalled that invitation from Manmohan distinctly. And then that stream of bullets at his house…

  BACK TO THE PRESENT DAY…

  The young doctor with gelled hair checked Khanna’s reports, then his pulse, then the back of Khanna’s ear, his eyes narrowed. ‘Your stitches look good. The fever hasn’t shot up in the past six hours. And your pulse is back to normal. How is the pain?’

  ‘As all pains are. Stupefying, but I’ll survive.’

  The doctor smirked. ‘This calls for a scotch drip.’

  Khanna shot him a perfunctory smile.

  ‘I’m glad this civilian hospital has been able to score.’ The doctor promised a rendezvous later in the evening and left.

  The soothing effects of sedatives had worn off and Khanna’s memory had made a whooshing comeback. It brought along a fit of rage and anxiety about Manmohan. A gentle knock on the door made Khanna look up. It was the Home Minister.

  ‘Mr Bhatt?’ Khanna attempted to sit up.

  ‘Please, please. Settle down, Khannaji.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting...is everything okay?’

  ‘Manmohan has been admitted to this hospital as well. Came to visit him and learnt you were right here.’

  ‘I’ve been very worried about him,’ Khanna groaned.

  ‘He’s fine, luckily,’ Bhatt assured, making himself comfortable on a flimsy plastic chair, his glasses hanging from a cord around his neck.

  Khanna breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’m still in denial about the attack.’

  ‘So are we,’ Bhatt concurred, stroking his goatee. ‘Reddy has a solid network. He’s got men everywhere. Only that can explain the attack at Manmohan’s house.’ Then, for effect, he added, ‘Investigation is underway.’

  Those three words again; the ones Khanna had come to despise severely.

  ‘Anyway,’ Bhatt said, ‘you must get some rest. Good to know you’re recovering. I will check on you again in a few days. Mere layak kuch kaam ho toh bataiyega zaroor.’ He folded his hands in the archetypal politician manner and got up to take Khanna’s leave.

  ‘Thank you,’ Khanna almost let Bhatt off, then a light bulb went off in his head. ‘Mr Bhatt?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Manmohan mentioned last night that Benny has given his statement. You wouldn’t have any information on it, would you?’

  Bhatt looked away, his eyes blinking rapidly. ‘Let’s talk when you get home. Okay?’

  ‘Do you have—did you read the report?’

  ‘I had a briefing on it this morning.’

  ‘And?’

  Bhatt looked outside the window for a few seconds, as if contemplating, then spoke in a restrained manner, ‘You probably haven’t seen the papers this morning. The news of a crackdown on Reddy’s empire is splashed across countless newspapers. Narcotics worth crores have been seized, two dozen perpetrators have been arrested and a special committee has been set up to aid the anti-narcotics cell in the matter. Reddy, of course has gone absconding. But this is a good start, Khannaji.’

  Despite exceptional efforts to push it through, the outcome about Reddy brought Khanna no solace whatsoever.

  ‘I meant about Benny.’ His hung
er to learn the truth was turning insatiable by the minute.

  Bhatt paused tepidly, his hands in his vest pockets, then said, ‘So this Benny guy was involved in a tussle that night with the party organiser at Anand Villas.’

  The lingering pain only aggravated Khanna’s impatience.

  ‘The police suspect that both Benny and the organiser had discovered that they were working for Reddy while coaxing the party-goers into signing up for their model of propagating drugs,’ Bhatt spoke, unperturbed.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Reddy had this signature model. It is the next big thing for youngsters to do after the call centre way of making a quick buck,’ Bhatt said, drawing an unsettling analogy. ‘Anyway, both boys had locked horns. Given that they were under the influence, a fight had broken out and the organiser happened to be armed.’

  ‘That’s a great story, but how the heck did Sonia land up there?’ Bhatt lost patience every time someone attempted to provide insight because ultimately they all went off on a tangent.

  ‘Khannaji, this Reddy has sort of emerged as a true entrepreneur, expanding his business to the middle class.’

  ‘I still don’t see the connection.’

  ‘See, drugs in this country have remained a passion of the rich and a pastime of hostellers. This man seems to have pitched a modified Amway model to the middle class boys and girls. The boys are lured by get-rich-quick schemes and the girls, glamorous lifestyles. His victims are his biggest supporters and propagators.’

  ‘What does Sonia have to do with all this?’ Khanna couldn’t help yelling. Why did people go on incessantly with monologues about entirely extraneous matters?

  ‘Please, settle down Khannaji. Don’t stress yourself.’

  ‘Then tell me in a way I can understand.’ Infuriated, he stretched out each word.

  ‘Reddy had a distinct model for the girls. It wasn’t just making money off of coaxing people into buying drugs. That wouldn’t have been motivation enough for girls who came from simple God-fearing backgrounds. They had a different reward system. Fulfilment of goals came with free passes for everything from these fashion weeks that happen in metros to Bollywood premiers to front row seats at concerts.’

  ‘What rubbish,’ Khanna rebuked. ‘And you call this detailed reports? Sounds like a B-grade movie script.’

  ‘Khannaji, I can understand your pain.’

  ‘No, you don’t. Because you’re not telling me anything that I need to hear.’

  It was all too sophisticated to be run by an illiterate drug seller. Khanna was still unconvinced about the moneymaking model. But it had nothing to do with Sonia.

  ‘It’s complicated, Khannaji. And your health is fragile.

  Let’s meet this Sunday and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  ‘I don’t understand this hocus-pocus. What are you alluding to?’ The conversation and the premonition of something terrible were making Khanna groggy.

  ‘Nothing. I’m alluding to nothing.’

  ‘Bhattji, do me this favour and just give it to me straight. I deserve to know.’ Khanna rose from the bed, the saline drip swinging on the side. The needle twitched under his skin, eliciting a gasp from him.

  ‘Nothing will come out of this. She is already dead,’ Bhatt said gravely, then placed a comforting hand on Khanna’s shoulder, not making eye contact.

  ‘I consider you a friend, Mr Bhatt. You know what has happened. You owe me that information. I deserve to—’Another bout of cough disoriented him.

  ‘Let it be, Khannaji.’ Bhatt’s face was stoic.

  ‘Let it be? I’ve been spending every wretched moment in the hope that I’ll learn the truth one day. The truth about who murdered my Sonia. You’re telling me the truth is out and I don’t deserve to know? What the hell is the matter? What are you trying to cover up? And who are you trying to protect? A bloody murderer? A drug lord? Do these people own a handful of politicians now…or the entire ministry?’

  Bhatt whizzed past the bed towards Khanna, his index finger pointed towards him. ‘You think I’m covering up?’ he demanded, seething, his face red. ‘What do you want me to tell you? That that guy Benny wasn’t alone in this? That your niece wasn’t innocently dragged into it? That she herself was actively involved in it?’

  ‘How dare you slander her? Have the politicians stooped so low that they are out to malign innocent dead people instead of thriving criminals?’

  Bhatt screamed at someone waiting outside Khanna’s room. ‘Get me the Anand Villas shooting case report. Jaldi.’Then he turned to Khanna. He looked like someone on the verge of getting a stroke. ‘Okay, here is the truth. She worked alongside Benny on this.’

  ‘Who? Sonia?’

  ‘Yes, Sonia.’

  ‘Sonia and Benny? Did you say Sonia and Benny? Bakwaas band kijiye aap. And please leave.’

  ‘According to Benny’s statement, his girlfriend,’ Bhatt emphasised that last word, ‘Sonia, was trying to pull him away from the fight that erupted between the organiser and him, when the bullet pierced through the left part of her neck.’

  ‘Mr Bhatt, I’m warning you, please leave before I—’Khanna was livid, his body trembling. Two nurses came running in and tried to hold him from either side. That didn’t discourage Bhatt from spilling the beans.

  ‘He was a fourth-year architecture student. They had been in a relationship since two years, as per the confirmation from her classmates.’

  A million things inside Khanna shattered. The pain was palpable, paralysing, ultimate, like nothing he had experienced before.

  A young man returned promptly with a file. Bhatt grabbed it and tossed it at Khanna. He began to storm out, then arbitrarily stopped, turned to look Khanna in the eye, and said, ‘That is the bitter truth. Can you handle it? We don’t know our own children. Such are the pitiable times we live in.’ Bhatt inhaled loudly, then continued his assault. ‘It is true, Khannaji, Sonia wasn’t just a victim. She was a propagator.’

  THE U-TURN

  ATULYA MAHAJAN

  ‘Honey, I think we need to rush to the hospital.

  RIGHT NOW!’

  Anmol looked up from his desk at his pregnant wife Komal, gasping in pain, barely able to stand, a hand on her bulging stomach. Her face was pale and sweaty, her long hair dishevelled. She seemed a far cry from the glamorous goddess she once used to be.

  ‘B…b…but,’ he stammered, ‘we are still a month away from your due date.’

  ‘Damn you, Anmol! Hurry up. This pain is killing me.’ Her voice was hoarse, a mix of pain and frustration. It was two o’ clock in the night. She had been trying to go to sleep for a few hours now, but the pain just kept getting worse. The family gynaecologist, Dr Preeti, had said that the due date is always tentative, and ultimately it is nature’s decision when to pop the baby. She had asked them to be prepared starting three weeks from the date, but even that would be a week from now. This may very well be a false alarm, but there was only one way to find out.

  ‘Let’s go, Anmol,’ she shouted, as Anmol took an extra few seconds to shut down his laptop, still in the midst of the presentation he was preparing for his CEO, to be delivered the next morning.

  Anmol sighed as he rushed to grab the emergency bag prepared for this day, but realised that they hadn’t got down to doing it, never anticipating this early arrival. He quickly filled the bag with one of her gowns, a towel, the medical file, and a picture of them lounging in a beach chair from last year’s Thailand trip. The doctor had recommended keeping a happy picture to help her relax during the ordeal.

  He grabbed her hand, led her down the flight of stairs, seated her in the car, and rushed to lock their apartment in the suburbs of Bengaluru, where they had moved two years ago, after spending a few years in the US. Anmol worked as a senior manager at a leading technology company and was eyeing a lucrative promotion to Director.

  He had not been too happy earlier in the year when Komal announced that her pregnancy test was positive. He had made her t
ake a second one, just to be sure. He had taken precautions. It was not possible. This was too early. These were the golden years of his career. There was the promotion to Director, which would take him ahead of anyone in his peer group. There was the trip to Europe they had planned as a reward for the inevitable promotion. This was not a time for him to be running around a baby, trying to change diapers, cleaning poop, being soaked in fresh pee.

  He returned to the car after locking the doors of the apartment, still dressed in his night clothes, but carrying a shirt and trousers.

  ‘Sit tight, Komal. We’ll be at the hospital in twenty minutes and you’ll be fine.’ He caressed her sweaty forehead, as she sat next to him grunting, gasping for breath.

  ‘Just drive. Go.’ Her voice was a whisper now.

  He turned on the ignition of his Toyota Fortuner and the heavy SUV came to life. The Beast, she called her. He called her The Hulk. This car was one of his prized possessions, a symbol of his journey up the corporate ladder. He had bought her last year after his promotion to senior manager. The big bonus that came that year for delivering one of the biggest projects the firm had undertaken in recent times had helped. He was leaving his peers far behind, just like The Beast did on the road. The roads would be clear at this time of the night, so he wasn’t too worried about traffic. However, her condition seemed bad. He just hoped she’d be under the care of a doctor soon.

  He called up his sister from his phone. She lived in Delhi with her husband and two children, Pari and Parag. Pari was six and Parag three. Anmol had not seen them when they were born, since he had been busy toiling in the US, and in the last two years since the return, he had only met them once last year, at Parag’s second birthday. Even then, he had been wary of Pari’s ice-cream dripping onto his Canali suit or Parag pooping in his arms, while their doting parents ran around, tending to guests, bringing what seemed like an endless line of bottle after bottle of milk, changing diapers, comforting them, eating their leftover food, not having a single relaxed moment while they ensured that the children were fully taken care of.