by Mainak Dhar
'I thought we had a deal. Ignoring my calls is not the best way to show that you plan to honour it.'
Arnab was about to retort in anger when he realized that, no matter how much he had failed in achieving his objectives, he had after all made a deal with Balwant. To back out now would mean that Balwant would no doubt find some new way of ensuring he was put out of action, which would make it impossible for him to do anything about the terrorist attack. He listened quietly to the Minister's tirade, and agreed to meet Sharma the next day for detailed instructions.
Sharma met him at an abandoned warehouse. He had come alone, and as soon as he met Arnab, he got straight to business.
'Tomorrow is the first day of polling in Delhi, and the Minister's own constituency is in South Delhi. Here is a list of the key polling booths around Delhi.'
He handed a sheet of paper to Arnab, who took it wordlessly as Sharma continued.
'During every election, unknown to most people, a little game is played out the night before polling. We want you to win that game for us.'
'Game?' Arnab asked incredulously.
Sharma sniggered as he responded.
'The great game of Indian democracy at work. The game to decide which political party can take control of the polling booth. Both sides send thugs and musclemen to capture key booths, and once they are successful, ballot papers are stamped inside. The next morning, voters queue up in the heat, thinking they are about to decide the fate of Indian politics, but that fate has often been sealed the previous night.'
Sharma laughed at his own words, though Arnab could find nothing funny in them. If anything, he was feeling even more angry and humiliated, at having been reduced to being little more than Balwant's hired muscle, and at not even having made any headway on stopping the terror attack, which would at least have made this seem like a fair price to pay. Sharma seemed to sense his dark mood, so he cut the conversation short, not wanting to stay alone with Arnab any longer than was necessary.
'Our men have been advised to all wear green headbands so you know who they are. Good luck.'
As Sharma left, Arnab looked at the sheet of paper in his hand and set out wordlessly for the nearest booth. He was still stewing with rage, and was in a way looking forward to taking it out on the thugs he encountered there.
***
When he reached the first polling booth on his list, Arnab found a half dozen men already there. They were not wearing green headbands, and presumably were not on Balwant's payroll. Three of them seemed to be keeping a watch while the others were busy trying to pry open the door of the booth with a crowbar. The stench of alcohol and a couple of empty whisky bottles explained why they never noticed Arnab until he was just a couple of feet away. Part of Arnab wanted to wade into them, but he remembered what Khan had told him about playing to his strengths. There was a solitary streetlamp nearby, and Arnab picked up a rock and shattered the bulb, plunging the area into darkness. The men swore as they tried to see what had happened, and Arnab took advantage of his night vision by going behind the largest of the men and tapping him on his shoulder.
The man whirled around, trying to swing the crowbar that he was holding in his hand. Arnab hit him so hard that he flew towards the door, shattering it as he fell inside the booth. His friends, shocked at the sudden attack, and floundering in the darkness, were too dazed to react, and Arnab did not give them a chance. Within thirty seconds, all six men were unconscious on the ground or moaning in pain. Satisfied that his job here was done, Arnab made for the next booth at top speed.
When he reached, he found the booth the scene of a tense stand-off between two groups of men. Five of them were wearing green headbands, and armed with hockey sticks and a country made pistol, they were facing off against seven men armed with iron rods and the occasional knife. The solitary gun meant that the second group wasn't readily pressing home its numerical superiority, but in a street fight like this, one gun would never be decisive, so the two groups were locked in a stalemate, threatening and abusing each other. When they saw Arnab, Balwant's men visibly relaxed, and their leader, a tall man carrying the gun, walked up to Arnab and nodded at him. Arnab ignored him, focusing on the seven men who now faced him. Unlike the group at the previous booth, they were sober, and when some of them recognized him, they began whispering among themselves. They were all strongly built, and had been recruited from gyms and wrestling schools in nearby towns and villages and brought in for the elections. While they had been paid handsomely in cash and liquor for their services, taking on someone known for superhuman strength and speed was not what they had bargained for, and something their compensation certainly was not enough to cover.
One or two of them began to waver and took a few steps back, but one of them was foolhardy enough to swing at Arnab with the rod he was carrying. As the other men watched on with morbid fascination, the man seemed to be lifted off the ground and thrown several feet away in less than a split second. That was enough for his friends to drop their bravado and make a hasty getaway. Arnab was about to leave when the leader of Balwant's men said something that stopped him in his tracks.
'Thanks. It's great to have you in our team.'
Arnab turned towards the man, blood pounding in his ears as he struggled to control his temper.
'I am NOT on your team.' He said, spitting out the words.
The man laughed and sniggered, not really knowing what he was about to unleash.
'Whatever. We're all being paid by the same master to do the same thing. In my book, that makes us part of the same team.'
Arnab looked at the man. He was unshaven, his once muscled frame long having degenerated due to an excess of alcohol and food into flab and his lips were stained by years of chewing tobacco. His dull eyes gave away that what he perhaps had in street-smarts at best struggled to compensate for lack of much by way of education or intelligence. Arnab stopped and stared, asking himself whether, with all the compromises he had made, he was truly becoming no better than this lout before him. No better than being yet another muscle for hire. He shook his head at the thought and said to nobody in particular.
'I am not one of them.'
The man in front of him looked at him curiously, this strange superhuman who was mumbling to himself, and thought he would be more friendly towards someone who had just saved him and his friends from a dangerous situation. He walked up to Arnab, asking him to lighten up, and placed his hands on his shoulders.
'Look, if you need a break, join me and the boys. We'll go have a few drinks and then go find ourselves a few nice whores for the night.'
His friends laughed but Arnab was still silent, saying only the following words.
'Get your hands off me.'
The man was taken aback, and noticing the threatening tone in Arnab's voice, took a step back, bringing his gun up towards Arnab.
'Get lost, you fucking freak!'
Something snapped inside Arnab. All the pent up frustration of having sold himself to Balwant and Aggarwal, the anger at knowing there was a terrible attack about to occur but not knowing enough to do anything about it, and the fury at having being reduced in his own eyes to a mere pawn exploded in a split second of action.
The man's friends saw only a blur of movement, but heard the snapping sound of his wrist being broken as the gun fell from his hands, and he collapsed in a heap, screaming in agony. The other men could not see Arnab's eyes under the hood, but if they had, they would have seen a fury that had never before appeared on his face. Arnab casually walked to the nearest man and slapped him down. He did not get back up. The others scattered, terrified out of their wits. At that point, Arnab was too angry to think about what he was doing, but he made for the next polling booth.
At booth after booth, the same story repeated itself through the night as Arnab expended his anger and frustration in a whirlwind of violence against thugs of both sides. By the time he reached the fourth booth, the word had spread, and instead of being at each other's throat
s, the hired goons of both sides joined forces in trying to stave off the hooded marauder who was seemed bent on hunting them down. It was an exercise in futility. Arnab would just zoom in from the darkness and knock out one or two men, and that was usually enough to send the others fleeing. Some of the thugs tried to make a stand, and ended up with broken bones to show for their misplaced bravado.
Arnab got back home as the Sun was slowly rising above the horizon. His entire body seemed to ache, and he had a throbbing headache. He was sure Balwant would wreak a terrible vengeance, but at that moment, he felt cleansed, as if he had in some small measure washed away his shame and anger in the blood of the thugs he had struck down that night. As he collapsed on his bed and fell into a dreamless slumber, Arnab had no idea of what he had really done.
That morning, as voters streamed to the polling booths to cast their votes, they were met by election officials who had earlier in the morning been shocked to find thugs being carted away by ambulances and also to find that the ballot boxes had not been touched. Most of them had taken such tampering for granted, and for most of them, it was to be the first election they had supervised where there was no evidence of rigging.
That morning, as an exhausted Arnab slept and a furious Balwant Singh plotted his revenge, Delhi awoke to the most free and fair elections it had experienced in many, many years.
***
Arnab woke up only late in the afternoon, to find out what a sensation the previous night's activities had unleashed. A passer-by had taken a few photos of him in action at one of the election booths, and the media was going berserk about how the country's favourite superhero was not only busy fighting crime, but also helping to clean up the political system. Arnab still dreaded what Balwant would do by way of retribution, but after many days, he finally felt good about himself and what he had done. Also, with the widespread press and public adulation that was pouring in, together with the very public endorsement that Balwant himself had given just a few days ago, Balwant would find it very difficult to now win the PR battle against Arnab. That was little cause for comfort, since Arnab was sure that Balwant was already summoning his henchmen, in and out of uniform, to hunt him down. After what he had done to Upadhyay's arm, Arnab was sure he was itching to take another shot at him.
As Arnab got up, planning to go meet Khan and seek his advice, his phone rang. It was Pravin Aggarwal.
'My, you really do seem to have come back with a bang. I must say I am impressed at how quickly you've managed to go from villain to hero again.'
As Aggarwal spoke, Arnab looked at the suitcase filled with cash lying in a corner of his bedroom. While it was an obscene amount of money, Arnab realized that he could not bring himself to just take it and spend it with a clean conscience. Not when he knew that its original purpose, to help unlock the mystery of the impending terror attack, had not been fulfilled. Aggarwal continued speaking.
'Listen, my company is sponsoring a big Cricket match between India and Pakistan in the coming weeks. You must have read about the Woodpecker Cup. Its going to be a huge event, and the Prime Minister himself is going to be there as the Guest of Honour. The media are going to be all over it, and I was thinking that could be the perfect venue to unveil you as our brand ambassador.'
Arnab's response shocked Aggarwal into silence.
'Mr. Aggarwal, to be honest, I'm having second thoughts about this. I'm not sure I want to go ahead with our deal. I still have the money you gave, and will return all of it.'
When Aggarwal responded, he spoke haltingly, as if he were forcing himself to stay calm.
'Don't decide anything in haste. Think it over and let me know.'
Arnab hung up, wondering how he would possibly extricate himself from the mess he had gotten himself into. When he got to Khan's place and told him everything, Khan had little to offer by way of advice.
'You are in a really screwed up situation.'
Arnab looked at him and smiled, 'Khan chacha, I know I'm screwed. What I don't know is what the fuck to do next.'
Khan laughed out aloud, prompting Arnab to ask him what he found so funny.
'It's the first time I've ever heard you swear. You really are screwed.'
Both of them laughed, and Khan once again brought out a bottle of rum. This time, Arnab didn't refuse and knocked back a couple of pegs, chatting with Khan late into the night, trying to forget, if even for a few hours, the situation he found himself in.
The next morning, Arnab decided to go to work hoping that, if nothing else, it would take his mind off his predicament. He found Jayantada in an unusually good mood, humming some old tune as he greeted Arnab.
'Jayantada, you seem really cheerful today.'
Jayantada turned to Arnab, grinning from ear to ear.
'Why shouldn't I be? The young man who is to marry Mishti came and visited us as he was in town visiting some relatives for a couple of days. He is such a thorough gentleman! Mishti and he make for such a good-looking couple.'
Arnab forced a smile, but wondered that if the day held more such pieces of 'good' news in stock for him, then it was going to be an even worse day than the one before. Oblivious to what was on Arnab's mind, Jayantada continued.
'She and her fiancé are actually coming to Delhi again soon to work out some of the arrangements for the engagement, hopefully fix a date for the wedding and also to do some shopping. Plus, her company is sponsoring a major Cricket match and she's got passes to the VIP box for me as well. Ah, imagine watching Sachin bat from the best seats in the stadium.'
Arnab smiled as Jayantada talked with the enthusiasm of a schoolboy. He had never known that Jayantada was such a big Cricket fan, but as the old man reeled off statistics of the head to head record between India and Pakistan, he understood why Jayantada was so excited.
'Arnab, why don't you come with me? I have two passes, and my wife hates Cricket. We would have a blast.'
Arnab turned him down, claiming that he wasn't that much into Cricket. That was only a half-truth, since he couldn't bear to think of sitting and enjoying a game of Cricket while he knew that he had been a total failure in his mission. Also, he did not really relish the prospect of bumping into Mishti again.
Arnab got back home late in the evening, preferring to wile away his time in a bookstore before finally heading home. When he got near his apartment, he was in for a shock. There was a large posse of policemen in the area, including several carrying automatic weapons, and to his horror he saw that Upadhyay was among them, directing the men as they fanned out across the area. Many of them were asking questions of the nearby shopkeepers and bystanders while others entered the housing complexes ringing the adjoining market. Arnab stood silently watching the scene unfolding before him, trying to quell the rising sense of panic he felt.
How had Upadhyay known he was here?
Before he gave into his panic and did something stupid, he forced himself to calm down. Upadhyay clearly did not know his exact location; otherwise they would be at his door instead of searching every apartment in the area. But how had they even gotten this close? Suddenly his phone rang, and he took it out of his pocket to see a missed call from Aggarwal. Realization suddenly dawned on him as he understood how reckless he had been. Initially he had used the SIM card he had picked up only to receive text messages, but in the panic and excitement surrounding Arif and the terror plot, he had thrown caution to the wind and freely made calls to Balwant and Aggarwal. They must have traced the calls to the broad area where they had originated. It took a conscious effort of will for him to keep walking towards his apartment, but when he reached there, he realized he had been overreacting. There was no reason to suspect him, and unless he was stupid or suicidal enough to use the SIM card again, it would be virtually impossible to track him down.
The accumulated tension of the last couple of days got to him and he lay down on his bed, too exhausted to even go out to get something to eat. Just as he was about to go to give into his exhaustion and doze off, t
here was a knock at the door. Dreading that it may be the police, he opened the door gingerly, prepared to go down fighting if needed. He laughed out loud in relief when he realized that his visitor was Chintu, carrying a Cricket bat.
'Uncle, do you want to play with me?'
Arnab was in half a mind to refuse, but seeing the eager anticipation on Chintu's face he agreed, also figuring that it would help take his mind off the worries that had been consuming him. As they walked up to the roof, Arnab asked Chintu if it wasn't too late for him to be out, since it was already almost eight in the evening.
Chintu replied that it wasn't yet too late. When Arnab asked him how he knew that, Chintu looked up at him and answered in all seriousness.
'I know it's late when Mom shouts for me to come home.'
Arnab's tension dissipated in loud laughter as he and Chintu began a game of Cricket on the roof, a game that had certain peculiar rules laid down by Chintu, primary among them being the fact that he would always get to bat, and that he could not get out. Arnab indulged him and kept tossing the ball to him as Chintu proclaimed his score after every few minutes, and then theatrically raising his bat to celebrate crossing one hundred runs. Arnab was having so much fun that he wished everything else in life was so simple, so innocent. When Chintu tired of piling on the runs, he declared his innings at a self-proclaimed score of 634.
As the two of them sat watching the cars go by, Chintu told Arnab that his father was coming home on leave in a few days. Arnab had met the Major only once, and could sense the boy's enthusiasm at seeing his father again.
'He's taking us to see a Cricket match, you know?'
When Arnab didn't show the level of enthusiasm that he had expected, Chintu persisted, tugging at his arm.
'A big match. India versus Pakistan.'
Arnab looked at him and smiled, wondering if this was the same match Jayantada had mentioned.
'Do you like watching Cricket?' he asked Chintu.
'Only twenty-twenty! That's so cool!'
