Naik enjoyed a satisfying round of fishing that night. It turned out to be a lucky night for him too. The biggest catch for him was a sixteen kilogramme crab. Though this was not the biggest that he had ever caught—that privilege went to a twenty-five kilogramme crab that he had once caught on a moonlit night on the Panvel creek—however, the one he caught today would surely fetch him a good price. By the time he decided to turn back and head home it was six in the morning. After all the hard work, he was hungry and so were the others. They decided to stop by at the jetty closer to the Vashi bridge for some breakfast. The good catch had worked up their appetite. By then the tide had receded, after hitting a high somewhere around midnight.
Turning the boat to the left, they headed to the nearest jetty, which was now in sight. The early morning mist had still not settled, leading to limited visibility. They could hear the rumblings of a local train crossing the Vashi rail bridge heading into Mankhurd ferrying hundreds of early morning office-goers. As they neared the shore, the rumble in the bottom of Naik’s stomach grew louder. He had worked up his hunger in anticipation of a well-deserved breakfast.
He could now see the pipeline on top of the old bridge. A film crew was shooting an early morning fight sequence adjacent to the pipeline. A huge vanity bus—the kind film stars normally use—was parked on one side. One day, I will also act in a film, he said to himself and he smiled, suddenly remembering his age—at fifty, he was hardly fit to be a movie star.
A few props erected for the shooting came into his sight. It looked as if a market scene was being shot. Going by the decorative torans put up, it could also have been a festival shot. As he got closer, he could see a number of people running up and down, with what looked like megaphones, trying to scream some instructions, all of them sounding important. He was a bit too far to make out what those instructions were. The entire thing seemed so fascinating, so upmarket for him. ‘Let’s go closer,’ he said to his team. Watching a film shooting always provided an opportunity to meet or atleast see the stars and his team readily agreed. They altered their trajectory just a bit and headed towards the bridge. They didn’t have to go too far from where they would have hit land and so it was not too much of an effort. Breakfast would be delayed by twenty minutes. But when one gets the opportunity to see the stars in person, breakfast doesn’t matter.
They stopped when they were about a fifty metres from the bridge. Just the right position to look up at the bridge from the water below and yet manage to catch a glimpse of what was going on. He was extremely tempted to dock and go up and see what was happening there, but that would have made a mess of the entire effort that the three of them had put in last night. They would reach home late, effectively leaving them with no time to clean their catch before getting to the highway in time to sell them off.
He strained his neck to see what was going on up there. Unfortunately what he saw was not enough to satiate his curiosity. All he could see was what he could see ten minutes ago; with the difference that everything seemed closer now. The detailing didn’t improve. The stars didn’t appear. He was disappointed.
‘Fuck it,’ he told his team in chaste Marathi, the local lingo. ‘Turn left. Let’s atleast get a good breakfast.’ His team readily obliged.
The boat turned left and headed towards the jetty, where breakfast would be waiting. They passed a pillar of the bridge, dirty green and corroded. The level reached by the high tide was marked by an overgrowth of green fungus, partly because of the continued dampness and partly because the water in the creek was extremely dirty. Scaffolding had been erected next to the pillars and covered the underside of the deck of the bridge; probably some kind of restoration work was going on. The bridge offered a good view of the creek and the Vashi municipality was keen to promote it as a leisure destination.
Naik counted. Five more pillars and they would hit the shore. He was leaning on one side and looking at the dirty water below, and the vast expanse of the creek beyond the three bridges and their pillars, wondering how far the pillars were below the water. They passed the second last pillar. One more to go and then the shore was just twenty metres away. He was staring blankly into the wilderness. Leaning on the side of the boat, he was mentally calculating how much today’s catch would fetch him when he spotted something hanging from the bridge. It was as if he had forgotten to blink. His eyes were wide open and his mind went numb. He couldn’t do the math, probably because he was tired after working all night.
And then suddenly he shook himself awake. Was he dreaming? Something shocking had passed right in front of his eyes, and he hadn’t noticed it. He rubbed his eyes, pinched himself and looked back. Was it a prop used for the film being shot on top of the bridge? Was it something else? Was it real?
‘Stop the boaaaaaattttttttt!’ he screamed; a scream so loud that two of his workers came running to him. The colour had drained from Naik’s face. He had never seen anything like this. He couldn’t speak. Despite the chill, drops of sweat appeared all over his face. This could not be true.
But it was. And when he realized it, he quietly took out his antique Nokia cell phone and dialled the police control room.
It took the cops about two hours to remove Raymond Saldanah’s body, which was hanging by a rope from the scaffolding below the old Vashi bridge. It appeared he had climbed down on to the scaffolding, walked to a place between two pillars, tied one end of the rope to the scaffolding, tied the other end around his neck and jumped. He was wearing a jacket and his GB2 Identity card was still dangling from his neck. A suicide note was found in his right coat pocket—an undated note that said that no one should be blamed for his death.
It was a case that left the cops flummoxed. Why would he choose such a location for committing suicide? If he really wanted to, there were easier ways to do so. Why didn’t he choose those?
Raymond’s body was sent for post-mortem. The Vashi police started their inquest assuming that this was a regular suicide by someone who was depressed, had a struggling personal and professional life and did not see any value in living his life to the fullest. The suicide note sealed the possibility of a debate.
This time around it was not Tanuja, but Juliana who received the first call. Someone from Raymond’s immediate family had called her, and she called Tanuja.
‘Are you in your cabin?’
‘No Juliana, I am yet to leave. Abhishek just got back last evening, so I’m running a bit late. Just leaving in ten minutes. Tell me.’
‘Tanuja, Raymond Saldanah committed suicide last night.’
‘What the fuck? When? Where? How?’
‘They found his body hanging below the Vashi bridge.’
‘How do they know it’s suicide?’
‘A suicide note was found on the body.’ And Juliana told Tanuja everything that she knew about the case. This was another shocker. Two days in a row. First Harshita and now Raymond.
‘He was probably depressed about Harshita’s death. They were too close to be just friends or good colleagues.’
‘Who can say? Call me if you hear something,’ and that was the end of the conversation.
‘It’s all fate. I don’t know why all this is happening. Satya narayan ki pooja karvate hain. Kisi ki nazar lag gayi hai,’ was all Vikram could say when Tanuja called him to tell him about Raymond’s death.
24
Chennai
Night of 30th January 2012
Sitting on seat 4A, in the first row of business class on an Air India flight from Chennai to Frankfurt, Dr Kohl wondered when and where things had started to go wrong. Was it a mistake to have been at the site of the protest? In hindsight, it probably was. He was sent there on a mission. A mission to stop TNPP from being commissioned. His core objective was to work covertly, behind the scenes, with key influencers and drum up mass support and whip up hysteria against the project. Providing on-site information and feedback to everyone in the European and American nuclear fraternity. Now that he was caught and identified, he ha
d put the entire coterie of people backing him, in danger of being exposed. The rush of blood, the momentary lapse in concentration was making him feel miserable about the whole thing. But was he to be blamed for the way things turned out to be? No one had expected the protest to take the turn it did.
He was worried. It was just a matter of time his ‘lapse’ would hit the front pages of newspapers and would escalate into a diplomatic row. His home nation would not take kindly to his deportation and that was because other than pure speculation and circumstantial evidence there was not much to link him to the current conflict. If some evidence did show up, which was unlikely, all his country would do would be to turn around and deny any involvement. Their stated position would be that Dr Heldrich Kohl was on a vacation in India, on a genuine visa and had visited the TNPP site out of genuine interest. Being at the wrong place at the wrong time was not a crime in the country he came from.
The airhostesses started making some announcements and Dr Kohl shut his eyes. It was going to be a long flight back home.
25
Mumbai, GB2
Morning of 31st January 2012
The phone on Jacqueline’s desk rang for the third time that morning. Each of the earlier two times, it stopped ringing just as Jacqueline reached her desk to pick it up. She was standing away from her work area and discussing Raymond’s death with a few of her colleagues who had walked in. This time around Jacqueline managed to pick it up in time.
‘Hey Jacks, is Indrani in?’ ‘Hey sweetheart, how are you? Long time.’ ‘Yes Jacks, it’s been a long time. Will come and see you. But tell me na, is Indrani in yet?’
‘No, she’s not. In fact, she’s coming in late today!’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘She had gone for the FM event last night and got really late. She’s catching up on beauty sleep I guess.’ And she chuckled.
‘Oh okay. So she will be home now?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Same place na? Breach Candy?’
‘Yup. Why? Are you planning to go there?’
‘I think I will go and see her.’
‘Why?’ Jacqueline was curious.
‘Will tell you when I meet you love. Got to go. Please don’t mention it to her, even if she calls you.’ And even before Jacqueline could say anything, the caller hung up.
At her Breach Candy apartment, Indrani was reading her newspaper and sipping her steaming shot of caffeine. A stunner in her early days in banking, she looked quite charming even now. She was scanning the newspaper to see if they covered the finance minister’s speech, and more importantly to see if they had carried any photograph of her at the event, when her doorbell rang. Her chihuahua jumped and ran to the door, barking in excitement. It took it some time to reach the door of the sprawling apartment spread over an area in excess of 8,000 square feet on two floors. A divine luxury in Mumbai, but as the CEO of a global bank, she deserved every inch of it. Her maid beat the dog to the door, and promptly opened it. Indrani, being the restless soul that she was, had quietly walked up behind the maid, curious to see who was at the door.
‘Good morning Indrani.’
‘Oh. Good morning. Since when did the press come calling unannounced!’ Indrani was surprised to see him there.
‘I am so sorry Indrani, I had to come in this fashion. But it was important.’
‘If it is about a quote on last evening’s event with the finance minister, my team will mail you my quotes and thoughts on it as well by noon.’
‘No Indrani it is not about that.’
‘Then what is so urgent you can’t wait till I get to work?’
‘Two of your employees have been murdered Indrani. And no one seems to be bothered. If no one does anything about it, there will be more.’
‘What nonsense?’ Indrani was shocked at the mere suggestion, but quickly recovered. ‘Harshita died in a road accident in Vienna. Did I hear you say two employees? The last time I checked, her husband was not working for GB2, just in case you didn’t know.’
‘I am not talking about her husband Indrani.’
Indrani raised her eyebrows in a manner that conveyed a question. Who else was he referring to?
‘Raymond, Indrani! Raymond Saldanah.’
‘What happened to Raymond?’ When Indrani asked him, it became clear to Karan that no one had mentioned this to Indrani yet. They were probably waiting for her to come into office.
‘His body was found this morning, hanging from the old Vashi bridge.’
‘What the hell? What are you saying Karan?’
‘Yes Indrani. Every bit of what I said is true. This morning, a few fishermen found his body hanging from the scaffolding below the old road bridge. . .the one over the Thane creek. A suicide note was found in his pocket.’
‘Why would he commit suicide?’
‘He didn’t.’
‘Can you please stop being dramatic and tell me what it is that you have come here for,’ said Indrani, suddenly feeling a chill. All this was becoming a bit eerie.
‘He didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered. In cold blood Indrani. He was murdered in cold blood.’
‘Oh my God!’ Indrani exclaimed. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘Can I now come inside Indrani? Or do you want me to speak to your team for quotes and impressions.’ Karan could afford the sarcasm. It was over four years since he left GB2 and joined The Times of India group.
Indrani, who was in a state of shock, just moved away from the door allowing Karan Panjabi to walk into her living room.
26
Devikulam
31st January 2012
The death of the four people in the anti-TNPP protests blew up into a big issue in the Kerala assembly that day. The newspapers, both national and vernacular, covered the protest in detail. Photographs of Krishna and Jaya addressing the rally along with Madan Mohan made it to all the newspapers. Quite strangely the press hadn’t caught on to the deportation of Dr Heldrich Kohl. Since it happened quite late and that too at the Chennai airport, the press seemed to have missed it completely. The government too was silent on it. Though there was a fleeting reference to a few foreign tourists present at the spot, no one caught on to the fact that it could be a part of a much larger plan.
When Krishna woke up that day, he was not at ease. His mind was like a centrifuge, churning at a furious pace, at times making him sick. Unable to make up his mind on the future course of action, he decided to just go with the flow.
Jaya sent his trusted aides to various banks from where they withdrew forty lakhs to be paid to those who died in the stampede.The money was accumulated by afternoon and the two of them, with a band of supporters, went together to meet the families of the dead and offer their condolences and more importantly, compensation for their extreme sacrifice towards the cause. The money that Jaya offered them was in addition to what the state government had offered as ex-gratia to the next of the kin. The latter was a measly two lakh rupees only.
Standing at the doorstep of the house of one of the deceased, Jaya addressed the assembled gathering and vowed not to let TNPP be commissioned. ‘Over my dead body. . . We shall not let the life of four martyrs go waste,’ he thundered.
Krishna quietly accompanied him on all the visits, but hardly spoke. Jaya was the one who managed the press.
As expected, the daggers were quickly drawn out over the issue of the presence of the German-born nuclear scientist. As a precursor to a full-fledged CBI probe, two investigating officers were dispatched to meet and interrogate Jayakumar and Krishna. They reached Devikulam by noon on the 31st of January and almost immediately summoned Krishna and Jaya.
The two of them were at the residence of the fourth deceased when an inspector from the local police station walked up and informed Krishna about the summons. Krishna got extremely nervous. After the elephant tusk issue ages ago, he had never had any run-in with the police. All his protests against TNPP were peaceful and had always been held with
prior approvals of the authorities concerned. It was only after the entry of Jaya that the canvas had got smudged. Violence, protests, money power, had all made it a tamasha rather than an issue which endangered the lives of people. Political style rallies, money in lieu of support, buying allegiance etc., all this was something Krishna had never resorted to. He knew that it would land him in trouble one day. That’s why he was a tad nervous. Jaya on the contrary, was supremely confident. He seemed to be a pro at managing the regulators and law enforcers.
The CBI had a lot of questions. The two of them were quizzed for over three hours on the role of the foreign scientist. Jaya denied any knowledge of why he was in India. He claimed he had absolutely no idea or information about the scientist’s agenda. Yes he agreed to have spoken to him, but more to seek information on the ills that would befall the region in case TNPP went live. Jaya argued that in any case, he didn’t have classified information about the plant and hence could not have passed on any confidential information to the foreigner. Jaya’s confidence stemmed from the fact that no documentary evidence linking him to the deported scientist could be found.
Krishna sat through the entire discussion quietly listening to what was being asked and spoke only when specifically asked to. Most of the time he was left wondering what he had gotten himself into.
27
Vienna Police HQ
31st January 2012
Johann Schroeder walked into Gerhard Purtsi’s room with the post-mortem report of Harshita and Siddhartha Lele, a worried look on his face.
The Bankster (Ravi Subramanian) Page 17
