‘Why was he so sure?’ I said, a little subdued by Sparky’s energy. ‘Who does he think did it?’
‘Nepali job. Hundred and one per cent a Nep job. You’ve seen some of the crime they’re responsible for. I tell you, these guys are fucking crazy. It takes nothing for them to flip. Ninety-nine per cent of this kind of crime, at least in Delhi, is done by Neps. And they just slip back across the border when things get too hot.Would you like some tea or coffee or anything, by the way?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Water?’
‘No, no, nothing. Thanks.’
‘Anyway,’ Sparky began again, running his fingers over his moustache and blinking rapidly, ‘just after I hang up with this guy, Aakash calls me to say that they’re thinking of detaining him for a narco test.’
‘A narco test?’
‘It’s a kind of free run through the subconscious. They do it when they don’t have a better idea. It doesn’t stand up in court, but it can at best shed some light on an obscured aspect of the case. If you ask me, it’s bullshit. It can be fudged and in some countries it’s actually labelled as torture.’
‘Have they arrested Aakash?’
‘No,’ Sparky replied, ‘they’ve only detained him. But they could arrest him.’
‘Is there any way to speak to him?’
‘No, buddy, not at present. Only his lawyer can and that too with permission.’
‘So what now?’
‘Well, this is where you, or rather your girlfriend, comes in.’
Sparky smiled and blinked fast. He enjoyed the surprise his remark brought to my face.
‘How?’
‘Well, what my advice to Aakash is going to be is the following: that before the Jhaatkebaal police file a charge sheet, we make an appeal saying we question the judgement of the Jhaatkebaal police and want a full CBI inquiry. I’ve already warned him that the CBI will do a far more thorough investigation. And if they find him guilty, they’ll file a watertight charge sheet, on the back of which alone he could spend the rest of his life in jail. So if there’s even 1 per cent guilt on his part, he’d best be warned.’
‘Did he agree?’
‘Yes.’ Sparky smiled. ‘He’s a good boy. Said there wasn’t a shred of guilt on his part and he was ready for any kind of inquiry.’
I nodded, then it occurred to me that I hadn’t understood where I came in.
‘Well,’ Sparky said, as if delivering a closing statement, ‘if we go straight to the centre, this will reflect very badly indeed on the Jhaatkebaal police, and by association on the state’s chief minister.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ I said, wishing to cut short his excitement.
‘So much the better that, since you have a link to Madam CM, you communicate our position to her directly and that way she will avoid a potentially embarrassing situation. We, in turn, can avoid the headache of taking the matter to the CBI. That’ll also rescue her from Shabby Singh, who, if you ask me, is baying for blood. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ I answered, and said I would talk it over with my girlfriend.
While we were sitting there, Sparky’s mobile phone rang. He flashed me an urgent look and took the call on his Vertu.
‘Hermann, hi, Hermann. Buddy.’
He listened briefly, then said, ‘Hermann, listen, there’s no point in my speaking to you at this stage because everything I say will be misconstrued. I’ve turned down CNN-IBN too. If I support the CBI, it will be seen as my wanting them to give my client a clean chit. If –’
He was cut off.
‘The police have announced a reward for the murder weapon,’ he said absent-mindedly and blinked his eyes.
‘What does that mean?’
‘That they’re groping around in the dark,’ he said smugly, detaching his spectacles at the bridge.
‘Tell me something,’ I asked, a little irritated by his tone, ‘what’s in it for you?’
He smiled patronizingly, then answered, ‘It’s a big case. Don’t get me wrong: I want to see justice done. The girl’s brother’s a pal of mine and so is Aakash. But if I took cases for those reasons, I’d be nowhere today. No, honestly, I believe this’ll be a very important case. A watershed moment.’
‘Have you spoken to Kris?’ I interrupted.
Sparky looked blankly at me, then his face clearing, he said, ‘Well, obviously now’s not a good time. But later, I’m sure.’
We shook hands and I rose to leave. Sparky followed me to the house’s tinted sliding doors. As I was walking out, he said, suddenly grabbing a few inches of fat round his waist, ‘Listen, buddy. You don’t happen to know a good trainer, do you?’
I thought he was joking and laughed.
‘No, seriously, buddy. Aakash and I were just about getting rid of this belly, and though I’m a decent lawyer, I doubt I’ll be able to get him off in the next week.’
I said I would ask around and turned to leave. Sparky stood on his veranda, watching me until I had closed the gate behind me. Then he turned around and went in.
Outside, it was still early evening, but not mild like the night before. This would be a real north Indian winter night, thick, cold and smoky.
I arrived back at Sanyogita’s to find her more distressed than before. Her eyes were swollen. They glistened from the light of a computer and she kept rushing back to the television every hour. The news channels had run out of material and the racier ones now showed images of a girl, healthy like Megha, running through a keekar forest at night. Her pursuer was clearly modelled on Aakash, and every now and then the glint of a knife was visible in his hands. Then the screen would darken and in the next scene Megha’s killer was stuffing bin bags and setting them afloat in the still, black water.
‘I don’t get you,’ Sanyogita would say, at the end of each cycle. ‘How can you see this and not feel anything?’
‘I do feel something, something much worse. I just don’t feel what they’re showing me.’
‘What is between you and Aakash?’ Sanyogita snapped. ‘Are you fags or something?’
‘No, Sanyogita, we’re not fags or something.’
‘So what did the lawyer say?’ she asked.
I began to report in full detail what Sparky had told me. Sanyogita listened to every word and I could see that the very act of my making the confidence eased the tension between us. Her face brightened when she heard of Aakash’s willingness to pass through the CBI’s trial by fire. He became for a moment the beneficiary of her vast reserves of compassion. But when, re-enacting Sparky’s line of reason as I had heard it, I came to Chamunda’s intervention, Sanyogita’s expression changed. The colour drained from her face and a contorted smile began to play on her lips. She seemed on the one hand elated by some marvellous realization, but on the other hardly able to stand the bitterness it brought up in her.
‘What is it?’ I said, unable to continue under the scrutiny of her gaze.
‘You must think I’m a fool,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Well, either you’re blinded by your love for this guy,’ she said, rising and beginning to pace around the room,’ or… or you really think I’m an idiot.’
‘Sanyogita, what is it? Tell me.’
‘No, you tell me,’ she said. ‘If they have, as they say, this watertight plan to bring in the CBI, why tell my aunt?’
‘It’s obvious. They’d prefer not to have to deal with the CBI, but will if they have to. This saves everyone the hassle.’
‘Why would they prefer not to?’
‘It complicates things, it’s a gamble, it takes more time… I don’t know.’
‘So they’d rather go the easy route by exploiting my aunt’s political fears to clear Aakash’s name. And then no one ever finds who really killed the girl…’
‘Sanyogita!’
‘What! Am I saying anything that isn’t true? You know as well as I do that if Chamunda hears of this plan, she
’ll make sure your friend’s found innocent whether he is or not.’
‘But this just saves her the embarrassment…’
‘I don’t care. Let her be embarrassed. If her police are so incompetent, she ought to be embarrassed. And,’ she added, trying to mitigate the effect of her words, ‘don’t worry about Chamunda. She’s a political animal; she can look after herself.’
I reached forward to hold Sanyogita, and surprisingly she let herself be held.
‘I know we’ve had a difficult time in the past few months, but… this is not a trial on us, you know? It’s very serious…’
‘That’s exactly why we can’t get involved,’ she said, pulling away and becoming forceful once again. ‘Not you for your friend; not me for my aunt. I haven’t asked for much recently, but I’m asking you now to promise you won’t interfere.’
‘What if Chamunda calls us?’
‘Then we’ll see. But you won’t call her.’
‘Sanyogita…’
‘Promise.’
I wanted desperately to act on Sparky’s advice, but Sanyogita was so full of high-sentence, so eager now finally to test our relationship, that in the face of her anguish I gave my word not to interfere.
The hours rolled by one after another; the heater stared up at us, open-mouthed; the television became more gruesome as night fell. Vatsala brought us Rajasthani blankets and hot-water bottles. Sanyogita fell asleep in front of the television.
From that moment to when I removed my arm from under her, seeking the cold night air, I felt myself at the centre of an emotional exchange: Sanyogita, asleep and childlike, grew distant, her reactions less immediate, her concerns less important; and Aakash, returning cycle after cycle on every channel, grew nearer, his predicament more urgent, his personality more forceful. Sparky’s rationale sang in my head. I began imagining that Chamunda was waiting for my call. I felt my insides ache from inaction. The chaste logic of betrayal took shape in my mind: of course Sparky was right, the Jhaatkebaal police force had nothing on Aakash; if they had, they would have arrested him; he would now suffer needlessly, losing time and money, Chamunda would be politically harmed, and all so that Sanyogita could settle personal scores… The dilemma ceased to be moral, my mental energies becoming focused instead on the undetected removal of my arm. And it was with something of the elation of a jailbreak that, around eleven thirty, I stepped on to the terrace and rang Chamunda.
Minutes later I picked my way past Sanyogita, asleep still on the sofa. Downstairs, the chowkidar, wrapped up in a woollen cap and scarf, had lit a fire in a shallow cement dish outside his bunk. It burned steadily in the circular hollows of his bifocal spectacles. We were both standing over it, warming our hands, when Chamunda’s white Ambassador and escort turned into the U-shaped lane that ran in front of the house. The car door opened and she gestured to me to get in. She had been at dinner when I called and the Ambassador’s roomy interior smelt of tuberose perfume and cigarettes.
‘Where’s Sanyogita?’ she asked.
‘Upstairs. Asleep.’
She looked deeply at me through the gloom in the car, reading into my short reply.
‘Does she know you called me?’
‘No.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘She can get a little emotional in these situations.’ Then her soft hand covering mine, she leaned forward slightly and said, ‘Driver, take a little round. We want to chat for a bit.’
The car drove out of the lane and into the dark streets of Jorbagh.
The information that I had given Chamunda on the phone – that Aakash was my friend and trainer and Sparky his lawyer – the information that had been enough for her to want to see me immediately, now, in its extended form, complete with details of Sparky’s plan, irritated Chamunda. She wanted, with the pride of someone used to having special information, to assert herself over me.
‘Nothing new there,’ she said. ‘It’s all very standard what he’s saying. Baba, I didn’t come here tonight out of any fear of what Sparky Punj or Shabby can do to me. I came because this chappy’s your friend. That’s what concerns me. And I’m willing to do everything in my power to help him. What I need to know from you, though, is how well you know the guy. I mean, is he just the trainer or is he a pal of yours too?’
‘A pal too, I suppose. Why do you ask?’
I felt she was indirectly asking me to vouch for his innocence. But I was wrong.
‘Can we trust him?’ she presently said.
‘Sure… But what for?’
‘Well, see. The idea that came to me the moment I heard he was your friend was that if we could trust this fellow, then we should remove him from the sort of detention he’s in – he was never arrested so that’s not an issue – and move him into a more informal detention.’
‘Like a safe house?’
‘Something like that. Let’s say guest house. I know the place. It’s just across the Delhi border, in Sectorpur itself. You know, just till this media frenzy dies down and we have a better idea of who really did this thing. We can give the press some vague line: he’s being interrogated but isn’t under arrest etc.… What I want to know from you, though, is how dependable he is. Will he stay quiet, away from Shabby and people like that? Will he give up this crazy plan of Sparky’s?’
‘I’m not sure, I suppose,’ I said, unable to gauge her logic completely and also unable to articulate what I was missing.Chamunda pre-empted me.
‘In return,’ she said, ‘he has my personal assurance that no one will touch him. I’ve already spoken to my SSP in Sectorpur. He’s willing to let the scent go cold as long as this trainer fellow of yours doesn’t give us any trouble while the investigation is under way.’
Jorbagh was a gated colony. The driver had not left its confines, but had driven us around its residential parks, circled the market, entered a nether region with fewer street lights and was heading back in Sanyogita’s direction. I could see now what Chamunda was asking me to stand as a guarantor for. And it was harder to gauge than the question of Aakash’s innocence. What she wanted to know was – innocent or not – would Aakash remain loyal despite the power he would hold over her? It was of course the one thing about Aakash that I had never been able to determine myself. But I took my chances, knowing Chamunda wouldn’t be taking hers without some greater precaution in hand than my word.
‘I think so, yes,’ I answered.
‘Good,’ she said, then added a second later, ‘I’ll need you to go, you know?’
‘To the safe house?’
‘To keep him on side.’ Smiling, she added, ‘Informed regularly of the advantages of doing so.’ Then adjusting her tone from business to business with a personal touch, she said, ‘I’m glad you came to me, baba. You know I know how sound your judgement is. If your man runs into trouble in my state, you must tell me. It’s your duty as my nephew.’
Just as we were about to turn into the U-shaped lane my phone rang.
‘Baby, hi. I was just –’
‘You’re with Chamunda,’ Sanyogita said, her voice thick with agitation.
‘I was –’
‘Please don’t fucking lie to me. The chowkidar told me she picked you up.’
‘I’m not lying. I just –’
‘You are fucking lying!’ Sanyogita screamed loudly enough for Chamunda to hear. ‘Saving your friend,’ she sobbed.
Chamunda looked gravely at me. I could hear her mind change gear, and that feminine genius that could power many intelligences at the same time understood what was happening. ‘Take another round,’ she said to the driver, then sternly to me, ‘Give me the phone.’
Already on the other end the voice had broken down. Cries of anger and despair containing the build-up of months – ‘Saving my aunt, saving your friend, saving everyone?’ yelled again and again – filled the car. Chamunda held the phone in her lap, its blue light seeming to blaze in the gloom of the car. Only when the voice had tired did she begin.
They spoke for onl
y a few minutes. Chamunda repeated Sparky’s rationale, then added to it her own plan, plus an offer that surprised me: ‘I think you both should go… Yes, yes… Yes, go and stay. It’s a very nice place, very comfortable; Ra decorated it. There’s even a gym. I want you to go. You’ll be helping me by going.’
I looked at Chamunda in confusion; she patted the air with her hand as if to say, ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘I agree with you, darling. You want to see justice done; so do I. But if we keep him in prison, he’ll slip out of our hands. So I’m saying go there…
‘No,’ Chamunda said firmly, as if having encountered fresh dissent. ‘Aatish will go no matter what. Now it’s up to you whether you want to join him or not.’
I looked nervously up at Chamunda, but she seemed to have forced her way through. ‘Absolutely,’ she said now. ‘You know I’ve always wanted you to fill my shoes. I’ll stop by myself tomorrow and we’ll work out a plan. Now stop crying, darling. We’re two seconds away. Go and pack a bag.’
Chamunda’s preparations had been so complete that even the car I had thought was her escort turned out to be our escort to the safe house. Now, as we waited outside Sanyogita’s, Chamunda asked as if in an afterthought, ‘Your friend, how long had he been with this girl?’
‘Chamunda massi,’ I said, weighing up my options, ‘he married her almost six months ago.’
A deep silence followed.
‘That’s very good,’ she murmured cautiously, ‘very good. Baba, it’s all going to be fine. I want you to leave right away. Your friend will be there before you arrive. And,’ she added, looking up, ‘take care of Sanyogita. She’s very emotional right now.’
Sanyogita was walking down the drive in tracksuit bottoms and rabbit-faced slippers. Her head was cocked to one side; she held a small bag in one hand. Her distress was such that for a second she didn’t even realize that we had pulled up in front of the house. She was cold but polite to Chamunda. To me she said bitterly, ‘I’ll never forget this. Never. No one has ever made me feel so worthless before.’
The Temple-goers Page 26
