by Mainak Dhar
'So, I finally meet the nation's new hero. Don't be afraid, I'm here to get your help, you don't need to stand so far away.'
Arnab took a step closer and asked the DCP what help he wanted.
'You see, you and I are alike. We both try and fight the bad guys, the criminals, and the leeches out to suck our society dry. I operate in a police uniform, and as I see, you have one of your own.'
Arnab was beginning to warm to the DCP and told him that he had some crucial information on the case that may be of help. But before he could speak any further, the DCP held out his hand.
'You know our country's problem? It's just too damn difficult to get justice done. Court cases drag on for years, and if you treat criminals the way they deserve to be treated, the human rights buggers are up your rear end with a microscope. That's why I admire you. Get the job done-no courts, no cases, no wasted time.'
Arnab wasn't sure any more where the DCP was headed, but such validation from a senior officer made him lower his defences even further and he said modestly, 'I'm just trying to help.'
'Oh, and you are. See, I have a proposal for you. I let you do your job and you let me do mine. Forget this Stoneman business and get on with it-there are many more criminals to catch in this city.'
'But why? Do you know who is behind the Stoneman…?'
Before Arnab could complete, Upadhyay laughed, a harsh, guttural sound that made Arnab's hairs suddenly stand on end. Upadhyay's kindly expression changed to a steely, cold look as he strode towards Arnab.
'I know-some policemen. And you know who is ordering them to do this? Me!'
Arnab shuddered despite himself, and Upadhyay, long experienced in playing on people's weaknesses, noticed. He grabbed Arnab by the shoulder.
'I may be no superhero, but I am the real power in this city. Those bloody dogs you see being dumped here are those I order killed in staged shootouts. Just like you-no court, no case. Instant justice'
Upadhyay laughed again, and Arnab realized he was very afraid.
'Are they all criminals or terrorists?' he stammered, hoping that somehow that would make Upadhyay less evil.
'Who gives a damn? I need a body count to please my masters. The bloody bureaucrats don't have the intelligence to catch real terrorists and even if they did, would they expect me and my half-trained constables armed with World War One vintage rifles to take on men armed with AK-47s? So when they demand results and a body count, I give it to them. The Stoneman gives me a convenient cover to dispose of my work. Nice arrangement, no?'
Arnab shook Upadhyay's hand off with such force that the big man staggered back.
'I won't let you do this any more!'
Upadhyay stood up straight, smiling, like a shark about to devour its victim.
'I was afraid you'd be so foolish. I have no superpowers to fight you with, but I do have some powers of my own.'
As he clapped his hands, Arnab saw a dozen policemen, all carrying rifles, walking out from the shadows. Their guns were pointed at him.
'Men, say hello to the Stoneman's newest victim!'
As a couple of the policemen raised their guns to fire, Arnab reacted. A few months ago, Arnab Bannerjee would have been paralysed with fear in such a situation, but countless nights as the 'Guardian Angel' had honed his reflexes to such an extent that his move came almost without conscious thought.
He rushed at blinding speed towards the nearest policemen, shouldering two of them out of the way, sending them falling several feet away. A jab caught another in the chin, sending him flying a couple of feet in the air before he crumpled to the ground. The rest of the constables had frozen, intimidated by this sudden display of Arnab's powers. Just when it looked like Arnab could actually wade through them and get away, Upadhyay took out his service revolver and fired. Arnab tried to whirl out of the way but at so short a range, the bullet grazed his right shoulder. He cried out in pain.
Upadhyay was screaming to his men. 'The bastard can bleed! See that, you idiots, and kill him!'
As more shots rang out, Arnab dodged one or two before he felt a piercing pain in his left leg. Realizing that flight was the only option, he ran for home. More shots rang out, and as fast as he was, he could not outrun bullets. He kept running, oblivious to the pain, but after a few minutes, the pain and loss of blood took its toll and he slowed down to a bare trot.
It seemed to take all his strength to just stay upright, and as he staggered ahead, all he could think of was getting home. He was barely a few hundred meters from his apartment, but he didn't think he had the strength to make it, each step seeming an impossible effort. His right arm and both legs were drenched with blood, and he felt his vision blurring. Barely able to think straight, he made for the closest refuge he could think of.
He staggered up the stairs to Khan's home and knocked on the door. When Khan opened it, Arnab collapsed into the bewildered old man's arms.
SEVEN
When Arnab woke up, he was lying in total darkness, his throat so parched he was having trouble even swallowing his own saliva. When he tried to get up and find some water, an unbearable pain shot through his legs and he collapsed back on the bed. As he looked at the green-tinged view around him, he saw that he was lying on a bed, with his glasses on a table next to him. The room looked familiar, and with a start he realized that he was in Khan's house. That brought back memories of what had happened that night with Upadhyay and his men, and Arnab began to panic. Just how badly had he been hurt? How long had he been unconscious? And most importantly, how much did Khan know about his secret identity? He could see nobody else in the room, and he called out for water, but soon realized that with his weakened state, even he could barely hear his own voice. He mustered all the strength he could and pulled himself upright, holding onto the side of the bed for support. Step by agonizing step, he walked towards a table in the corner of the room where he could see a jug of water. As he came close to the table and reached out to grab the jug, he lost his balance and fell down, sending the jug crashing down to the floor with a cacophony of noise that shattered the quiet in the room. The lights flickered on and Khan rushed into the room.
'Are you okay?'
The old man helped Arnab back to his feet and guided him back to the bed. He handed Arnab a glass of water that he drank in one go.
'Easy, Arnab, easy.'
With the lights on, Arnab could barely see anything, and fumbled on the bedside table, gathering his glasses and putting them on. Finally, Arnab took stock of the state he was in. His right arm was bandaged as were both his legs, and he was wearing a t-shirt and shorts that weren't his. He looked up at Khan, his eyes asking the question that he didn't dare ask. Khan smiled in response and got up, opening the cupboard to take out a bundle that he put beside Arnab.
Arnab opened the bundle to find his sweatshirt and clothes, all covered with dried blood. As he held the sweatshirt up in his hands and looked up at Khan, the old man sat down beside him.
'You know, Arnab, there are many things about me that you do not know as well. My wife, Salma, died four years ago, after giving me thirty of the best years of my life. I have a son, Asif, who lives in Canada.'
Arnab could see the tough old boxer's eyes begin to moisten. Khan continued.
'He would be almost the same age as you. The fool has changed his name to Alex and refuses to stay in touch with the poor, old man who brought him up. Perhaps he is ashamed of me. Perhaps he blames me for not doing enough for him. Anyways, I have nothing to live for and not much I can say I did with my life.'
Arnab reached out to touch Khan's hand, but he pulled away. Khan got up and stood before Arnab.
'You have kept your secret well, and I will now help you keep it. I don't understand how you do what you do, but in these dark times, perhaps it is but a gift from the Almighty. Inshallah, if I can help you continue what you have started, then perhaps I can one day say that I did something worthwhile after all before I die.'
Arnab tried to thank Khan, bu
t the old man shook his head.
'My son, no need to thank me. It is you a lot of people have to thank. Now you need rest to recover your strength, and then I will teach you a few moves you won't learn in the boxing manuals, so that when you meet the swine who did this to you, you can give them a gift from me.'
The old man laughed and said he'd go and get some dinner. Arnab asked him if anyone else knew.
'Not a soul. You were lucky, or perhaps charmed. Three bullets grazed you, but none went in. You lost a lot of blood but no lasting damage. I did the first aid and the bandages. It may not look pretty, but I treated a lot of cuts and bruises in my time in the ring, so I think you'll be fine.'
As Khan went out of the room, Arnab sat back, thanking his lucky stars, and also burning with anger within. With all that he had seen and heard in the last few months, he realized that he had never really felt this kind of fury. He had been going about his work with the kind of detachment that Arnab Bannerjee brought to everything he did. It had become something he had taken as another piece of work to be done, almost a night-job of sorts, to be done with diligence but without much emotion vested in it. Now it was something different. It was personal. He would not let Upadhyay and his men continue what was little more than cold-blooded murder any longer, and he realized that to do that, he would need to rely on more than just his strength and speed. He had learned the hard way that those were not enough when stacked up against men with guns.
When Khan re-entered the room, Arnab stood up, masking out the pain, resolve in his eyes.
'Khan chacha, I need to fight an enemy more dangerous than a few goons with knives. I need more than boxing skills to fight them. You were in the Army, right? Can you help me?'
Khan put the plate of steaming hot parathas on the table and smiled at Arnab.
'I was a lowly infantryman, so I can't teach you fancy tactics and theory. But I have been fired on and have fired back, and have grappled hand to hand with men far more dangerous than the ones you face. So yes, I can teach you a thing or two.'
Arnab called Jayantada the next morning, saying he was down with a bad case of the Flu and needed several days of being on antibiotics to recover. With winter vacations around the corner, he'd miss only a day or two of work, so he wasn't too worried about Jayantada noticing anything amiss. Arnab spent the next week at Khan's place, waiting for his wounds to heal, exercising to keep in shape, sparring with Khan and spending hours talking with Khan about combat tactics. Moving from cover to cover, flanking an enemy position, doing battlefield reconnaissance-it was all new to Arnab, but Khan was a patient teacher, and every time Arnab's concentration flagged, he'd picture Upadhyay's face. When Khan learnt of the full extent of Arnab's capabilities, he exclaimed in delight.
'My boy, you need to use your secret weapon more!'
Arnab had no idea what Khan meant so he continued.
'The fact that you can see in the dark. Everybody by now knows about your speed and strength, and this DCP now also knows that with the right numbers and firepower those can be defeated. What nobody knows about is your night vision-and there is no way anyone can know that unless you tell them. That is what you must learn to use to your advantage.'
During this time, the papers were having a field day with the sudden absence of the 'Guardian Angel'. A few wags quipped that perhaps even superheroes needed a break during the holidays, and wondered where Delhi's resident superhero would have gone for his annual vacation.
When Arnab got back to his apartment, there were just two days to go to the New Year, and he decided that before the break was over, he would devote every night to putting an end to the 'Stoneman' scam. However, his planning was interrupted when he received an SMS from Mishti.
'Hi stranger. You never reply, but now you can't escape. Am in Delhi! What say to coffee today?'
As Arnab put the phone down, he felt a strange sadness come over him. Just a few weeks ago, he would have been jumping through hoops on receiving such a message from Mishti. He remembered his trip to Gurgaon to meet her, feeling as nervous as a schoolboy on his first date. He remembered the exhilaration of the days he had spent being in daily contact with her, sharing every little detail of his day, feeling closer to her than he had with any friend previously. Now, as much as he tried, he could not bring himself to feel anything approaching that. Everything he had seen over the last few months had perhaps taken its toll, without him realizing it. Had he been so immersed in fighting the dark side of man that he wondered if in some way, it had rubbed off on him? In looking evil in the face every night, had he lost something of himself to it? When he rode in a bus nowadays, no longer was he immersed in his make-believe world of novels. He found himself scanning his surroundings for any sign of trouble. When he entered a room, he focused on possible exit routes. When a car braked suddenly on the road, he turned, ready to fight.
What has happening to him?
***
That evening, Arnab met Mishti at a coffee shop, and when she walked in, there was a brief moment of awkwardness when it seemed that she was about to hug him. Arnab stuck out his hand, and laughing, Mishti shook it instead.
'God, it's been so long, Arnab. How have you been? My boss is coming to Delhi for some meetings, and I figured I'd come a few days early and spend New Year's Eve here.'
As the two of them sat at a corner table and talked, Arnab realized that he was not the only one to have noticed the changes in him. After a few minutes of conversation, Mishti put her hand on his and asked, 'Arnab is everything all right? You seem different.'
'I'm fine, Mishti. Why do you say I'm different?'
'The Arnab I knew smiled a lot more, and his eyes were not so…so…hard.'
Arnab brushed it off, saying he was just tired, but then Mishti dropped a bombshell.
'Arnab, there's something I want to talk to you about. This is awkward for me to bring up, but there's an old friend of mine from college, Pankaj, and he recently proposed to me. We were seeing each other in college for some time, and then drifted apart when he went abroad. He's come back and we've been in touch, and he's asking if we could be together again.'
Arnab's heart stilled. Why was she telling him this? When he said nothing, she went on,
'I haven't replied to him. I wanted to talk to you first.'
'Why?'
'Because…because I wondered if there was anything between us, if you were interested in me? The way we were getting to know each other, I thought there was something special between us, and under other circumstances, I would never have brought this up. But with Pankaj coming back into my life, I wanted to be sure.'
Arnab's world stopped for a moment. Here was a woman he found really attractive, someone he would have loved to be with, virtually telling him she was interested in him. He realized just how tough it would have been for Mishti to put her feelings out there like this.
And then he stopped himself.
What kind of life would he offer her? How would he ever share his secret? How would he explain to her that every night he would leave her to risk his life? Or could he leave it all for Mishti?
He closed his eyes for a second. There was nobody to help him. This was his choice to make. He could be with Mishti, be happier than he had ever imagined, than he deserved to be, and give up the life he had been leading for the last few months. Then he sighed as he realized that he couldn't. Could he turn a blind eye when he saw some goons molesting a girl or robbing someone? Could he just forget what Upadhyay and his men were doing? Could he live with himself knowing that people were getting hurt and killed in crimes he could stop, just so he could be happy? He realized that he couldn't. Perhaps it was his destiny, or perhaps his curse, but he would have to fulfil it.
He looked at Mishti, and said with a forced smile.
'Mishti, there's nothing like that. I'm actually already engaged to a girl back in Kolkata.'
Mishti turned red, 'Oh God, I feel like an idiot. I'm so sorry, Arnab. Forget everything I said.'
'Arnab, nobody else can tell you what to do in a matter like this. You need to make the choice that feels right. But there is perhaps only one thing I would ask you to consider. Perhaps you were not meant to be together; perhaps she would never have been able to accept the life you lead. But perhaps you should have given her that choice.'
Later that night, back in his apartment, Arnab buried his face in his pillow and cried himself to sleep-for even superheroes can suffer the pain of a broken heart.
The next day was New Year's Eve, and Arnab had a celebration of sorts in mind. He installed his stolen SIM card into his phone and sent a single message to Upadhyay.
'I lived. Now we meet again. Same place, same time, tonight-GA.'
He knew it was a risky thing to do. So far he had not made a single call or sent a message using the SIM card he used to receive messages meant for the Guardian Angel. Sending a message was advertising where he was, and he knew that Upadhyay could use that to trace where the message had originated. But he rationalized that it would only give Upadhyay a broad area to search, which would not really help him hunt down one person, and a librarian at a college was hardly going to be the prime suspect. As Arnab prepared himself mentally for the night, he tried to keep all other thoughts from his mind. For the most part, he succeeded. For the most part, since his mind did wander back to Mishti. That made him even angrier, and he tried to channel all his fury at Upadhyay and his men. Before leaving, he visited Khan and told him all about how he had first discovered his powers. It was a terrible burden to place on the old man, but Arnab wanted someone to know his story in case he did not come back. Khan listened silently, and as Arnab left, all he said was,
'Don't fight angry. Angry men make mistakes. And remember to use the darkness.'
