by Vivaan Shah
‘Excuse me, sir!’ he called out demurely. ‘Can we leave?’
‘There’s no one in there, Irshaad.’ Nadeem shook his head.
Irshaad flitted over to the door and put his ear against it. He smiled in realization and went back to the kitchen platform, resuming his preparations.
‘Irshaad!’ Inspector Gaekwad quaked. ‘Get out before anyone else comes here.’
‘Sir!’ The ballistics expert called out again. ‘Uh . . . excuse me . . . Gaekwad Sahib.’
‘I’m gonna have a glass of chocolate milk and depart at my own leisure,’ Irshaad proclaimed.
He began to empty a bottle of cold water into the mixer, along with a heap of milk powder. Nadeem searched all over the kitchen for the Bournvita, finally managing to locate it in a container that had been stashed away in one of the bottom drawers.
‘Sugar?’ Irshaad requested.
Nadeem handed him the sugar from a jar behind the stove, growing increasingly restless. ‘There’s some vanilla ice cream in case you want it.’
‘Hand it over,’ Irshaad ordered. ‘One day, if you want to feel real good about things, put all your possessions and belongings into this and shred them to pieces. They aren’t worth a damn, anyway. It’ll do you a world of good. You’ll feel sort of . . . how shall I put it . . . purged. I do it myself sometimes. Break something just for the heck of it, because I can and I like to. I’ll look at a vase, a perfectly handcrafted ornamental porcelain vase, with all sorts of intricate designs on it, and the first thing that comes to my mind isn’t how beautiful it is or how long it took to make, but instead, what it would be like if I smashed it.’
Inspector Gaekwad immediately lunged over, putting his hand over the rim of the mixer in order to stop Irshaad from using it. ‘Get out of here, Irshaad!’ he repeated, this time with more severity than before. ‘Quick! Before anyone gets here!’
Irshaad promptly jammed the cap of the mixer over the inspector’s hand, pushing it down towards the swirling blades, which leapt into motion as the button was pressed. White water sprayed out of the open ends in terrifying profusion. Inspector Gaekwad wrenched in agony as he tried to pull his hand out. The entire wall over the kitchen platform was splattered with chunks of Bournvita powder, ice cream and sugar. The mixer shrieked away, its blades spinning like a metallic tornado. Inspector Gaekwad managed to get his hand out just in time, knocking the entire contraption over, spilling its contents all over the kitchen platform. Had he not possessed the strength to overpower Irshaad, his hand would have been mutilated in the whirlwind of the mixer.
Irshaad pounced on him with unbridled fury, grabbing his neck. Nadeem leapt between them, trying to tear them apart as they went for each other. The ballistics expert simply stood motionless, observing the mayhem in bafflement. Irshaad pushed Nadeem away, holding Inspector Gaekwad in a headlock before Mangesh could leap to his rescue. Inspector Gaekwad snuck hold of a plate that was drying over the sink and smashed it on Irshaad’s head. He nearly collapsed with the blow, wading through bits of broken glass, blood spurting from his forehead. Gaekwad grabbed Irshaad’s neck, this time from the front, with both his hands clasping his throat. Irshaad picked up a frying pan as they fell to the floor, breaking more crockery. Mangesh and Nadeem tried with best intentions to get involved and appease the aggravation, but it was strictly a two-way conversation. Gaekwad pressed his leg down on Irshaad’s fingers. With the other hand, Irshaad smacked the frying pan on Inspector Gaekwad’s forehead, quickly making a reach for a knife that stood in a utensil holder next to the washbasin. Inspector Gaekwad snatched it out of his hands and they tumbled against the kitchen sink, smashing everything that came in their path. Inspector Gaekwad finally caught the knife and twisted Irshaad’s arms behind his back to excruciating effect. He pulled out Irshaad’s gun from his pocket, despite much resistance and difficulty, and threw it aside.
‘Raut!’ he called out for help, pale with desperation. Mangesh came rushing to provide backup to his sahib.
‘Get the handcuffs,’ Inspector Gaekwad ordered, struggling to keep Irshaad down.
Mangesh ran across to the living room where the handcuffs lay on the wooden side table and brought them to Inspector Gaekwad.
‘Keep still, Irshaad,’ Inspector Gaekwad stammered, trying to hold both his hands tight. He clipped them together in the handcuffs and dragged him up to his feet, plugging his Magnum straight into Irshaad’s shoulder socket. ‘You move and you get it!’
Irshaad was shaking vigorously. His eyes seemed to spring out of their sockets and ploughed through the apartment like a tractor as he was pulled out. Inspector Gaekwad told both his cronies to keep away from the doorway. They looked at their boss with remorse and lowered their guns. Mangesh began to push them and smack them on the head as Irshaad and Inspector Gaekwad exited the flat. He started strong-arming them into surrender. By now, everyone had emptied out of the bedroom. They silently glanced at the destruction in the kitchen and parked their inquiries at Nadeem who told them to go to the living room.
From the balcony, Inspector Gaekwad could be seen hauling Irshaad across the lobby to the jeep. He shoved him into the passenger seat and locked the car, standing outside. He whistled to Mangesh who was awaiting instructions in the balcony. He rolled out his semi-automatic and waved it at the two henchmen.
‘Come on!’ he barked. ‘Let’s go! Chal, chal, chal!’
The rest of the spectators at the crime scene were visibly shaken. They all stood silently, avoiding each other, as though in attendance at a funeral.
‘Uh . . . would anybody like some more tea?’ Warren asked. No one answered.
Downstairs, Inspector Gaekwad and Mangesh piled all of Irshaad’s men, including his driver, Kaashif Bhai, into the back of the jeep. They had to be pretty rough with them considering they were capable of retaliating. They were all armed and had to be emptied before they were stuffed into the jeep. Once they were all in, Inspector Gaekwad slammed the door, locked it from the outside and took out his phone, calling for backup.
Upstairs, the ballistics experts had emerged from the tiles, trying to regain their bearings. They had had the rug pulled out from right under them. In all their years of dealing with bullets, they had never been within firing range and so close to death as some of the victims of their arduous work.
Nadeem unfolded a brand new towel from his cupboard, fetched a fresh bar of soap from a toilet kit and limped towards the bathroom for a shower. Once he was inside, he felt momentarily at ease, shut off from the outside world. A faint spasm of relief ran through him. It was quiet inside, but he could still observe the commotion downstairs through the narrow slits in the windows. He hung his towel on a peg behind the door and began to peel off his soiled clothes, one by one, in preparation for a true cleansing. He unravelled in the bathing area, standing underneath the warm sanctity of the shower nozzle. He turned it down towards him and slowly rotated the knob. It came on with a spurt, stalling a few times before the water started flowing in a long continuous stream whose complexion grew darker as it poured out. At first, Nadeem drenched his hands and face in it, wiping away the muck that had been plaguing him. But on gathering a closer look once the water had cleared out of his eyes it became apparent that what ran out of the shower was not water at all. It was a great deal thicker, more voluminous and a shade redder, like blood! He recoiled, switching off the shower in an instant, and wiped the collected blood from his hands and face with the towel. He tried the washbasin and the flush. They were clean, but somehow, the shower seemed to be spewing blood. He leapt out of the bathroom in fierce urgency, half-naked, and scrambled to the living room, wrapping his lower torso with the towel.
Inspector Gaekwad and Mangesh had come back up to the living room and were briefing everyone as to what their official statements ought to be. They were headed for the Goregaon creek in order to fish the vehicle out.
‘Wait!’ Nadeem yelled.
‘Put on some clothes, goddamnit!’ hollered Inspecto
r Gaekwad, as he turned towards him.
‘The shower’s pouring blood!’ Nadeem informed them. ‘Get someone to check the tanks.’
‘What nonsense!’ cried Machhiwaala. ‘Kishorie Lal, go up to the terrace.’
‘Do you have the plumber’s number?’ asked Nadeem.
Machhiwaala checked his phone as Kishorie Lal ran out. Inspector Gaekwad swept straight to the bathroom and stuck his head in. The water that had gathered in the bathing area was encircling the drain. It looked like someone had bathed there after playing Holi. He turned on the shower and, much to his surprise, nothing came out.
‘You sure?’ he cross-checked with Nadeem.
‘I’m telling you!’ Nadeem ran over to the washbasin, making sure it was still clear.
‘Here it is!’ Machhiwaala exclaimed, as he caught hold of the plumber’s telephone number in his contact list. ‘It’s 0983134750.’
Inspector Gaekwad stepped out of the bathroom, balancing on his toes and heels, preventing his shoes from getting wet.
‘What was that?’ he asked.
‘0983134750,’ Machhiwaala repeated.
Inspector Gaekwad noted it down on his phone.
‘Call him here!’ Nadeem insisted, bathing himself at the washbasin with whatever water he could accumulate in a broken old bucket.
‘What the hell happened to you, Nadeem?’ Machhiwaala asked, visibly alarmed at his state.
Nadeem didn’t have the time to get into it. He dried himself and went back into the bedroom to put on a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Machhiwaala woke up the plumber and told him to come over to the building immediately, saying it was an emergency. Outside, in the living room, Mangesh was still busy taking down everyone’s phone numbers. He said he would be in touch with all of them in case they were needed.
‘Do you think he knew I was here?’ asked Dr Vengsarkar, timidly.
‘I doubt it,’ Inspector Gaekwad assured him, as he stepped into the living room, wiping his shoes on the rug. ‘He can’t see through walls.’
‘The plumber should be here any minute,’ Machhiwaala informed him.
‘Where does he live?’
‘In the waadi (slum) at the back!’
Warren stood solemnly in the balcony, watching the locked police jeep downstairs. Its inhabitants were banging away at the windows, trying to smash them open and brawling amongst themselves, showering profanities at each other, startling the ground floor residents who awoke on account of the ruckus they were creating.
Nadeem emerged from the bedroom, having considerably freshened up, with the towel hanging around his shoulders.
‘You already have my number,’ he told Inspector Gaekwad.
‘Not any more. I’ve deleted you off my contacts list.’
Nadeem looked around at the gathered company, nodding gently in agreement, wondering whether or not he should let spill what was on his mind. But he let it pass.
Departure from Duty
It was exactly 5.45 a.m. as per Nadeem’s alarm clock when the plumber arrived. Two police jeeps and a van had reached downstairs. Assisted by two burly hawaldars, Mangesh escorted the gentlemen out of Inspector Gaekwad’s jeep and transferred them into the back of the van, which filled up sooner than was customary with the likes of them, owing to the absence of a scrap. The men were by now tired and ready to hit the sack. They didn’t have the energy for a scuffle with the cops. Usually, they’d take from morning till midnight just to make it up the metallic step above the exhaust, arguing with the apprehending authorities or even amongst themselves. Going into the back of a police ‘dabba’ was as good as going to jail. Irshaad Batla still sat awake though, his eyes swallowed in thought. He didn’t look at anyone or say a word, just silently lamented his predicament like a disgruntled child being denied a toy, his demeanour regressing to the infantile state and his stupor worsening in anticipation of the procedural horrors to come.
The van drove off, leaving Mangesh by his sahib’s empty jeep. It was headed straight for Arthur Road and then to Yerwada Mental Hospital. Those were Gaekwad Sahib’s strict instructions.
Kishorie Lal had conducted a check of all the tanks on the terrace. One of them had a dead pigeon that had probably stooped in for a drink and ended up getting trapped. Apart from that, the other tanks were reasonably clean.
The plumber entered the apartment after taking off his chappals and lining them neatly at the doorstep. His hair hadn’t been combed as yet, his sunken eyes drooped to the corners of their lids and it was too early in the day for him to have shaved.
‘What’s the matter, sahib?’ he inquired.
‘This is Inspector Gaekwad of the Crime Branch,’ Machhiwaala introduced him.
‘What have I done to get into trouble with the law?’ he smiled nervously.
‘Nothing,’ Inspector Gaekwad said. ‘We just want to know a few things. According to Machhiwaala, you were seen hanging off the pipes on the fifth floor.’
‘That is not true, sahib.’
Nadeem stood silently in the corner, with Rohini and Warren, watching the two men harass the plumber into explaining himself. They started politely, talking nicely, but then as he failed to comply, they lapsed into rudeness, threatening to give him a smack on the back of the head. Finally, Nadeem had to intervene to make the two men see some sense. They had stayed up way past their bedtime to be able to exercise reliable discretion.
‘Is there anything you haven’t told the authorities yet?’ Nadeem asked him calmly. ‘If you haven’t, then do so now, otherwise you’re going to have to find out where that blood came from. And who it belongs to.’
‘Look,’ he quivered, ‘I didn’t know how to say this earlier, but you know I thought it would get me into trouble.’
‘What?’
‘You know how it is for a man in my station. They hit first and listen afterwards. I figured I’d better keep my nose clean.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Machhiwaala butted in.
‘Well, you see, sir,’ he spoke, looking at Nadeem but addressing the landlord.
‘When I came in to work on Mr Goyale’s bathroom the other day, one of the kids locked me in and put out the lights, as a joke I suppose, but I was stuck there for fifteen to twenty minutes before anyone bothered to open it. While I was inside, I tried calling out for help to the watchman downstairs but couldn’t reach him through the slits in the bathroom window. As I waited for someone to come to my rescue, at length I became aware of a thumping or banging sound from the ceiling. It came from the flat above, the one that Mr Makhija occupied. I could hear a muffled voice yelling gibberish, loudly and with a fierce temper. I thought I was eavesdropping on some kind of domestic squabble, but it soon became apparent that the voice belonged to a single individual who was obviously crying out for help.’
‘I told you!’ Nadeem exclaimed. ‘He was locked inside.’
‘Before I could get any further with my assumptions, the door was opened by Mrs Goyale, who chastised her kids for having locked me in. She let me out, apologizing profusely on their behalf. I went out to the balcony to glance at the fifth floor windows. The glass blinds on the bathroom window were cracked and a hand was sticking out through one of the slits, trying to claw its way out. I got on to the fourth floor parapet and climbed up the ascending pipeline to the fifth floor. As I held on to the valve, where the pipelines converge, and hauled myself up to the narrow parapet beneath the bathroom window, I tried to peep inside but couldn’t see anything clearly. All I could hear was loud, indistinct sounds, like someone smacking the walls, hitting things, items being flung around. It was all rather unsettling, so I made my way back down, deciding to mind my own business. When Mrs Goyale asked me what I was doing up there, I said that I thought someone there needed help. She agreed that the person who lived on the fifth floor certainly did need some help.’
Rohini walked up to him from the corner of the living room, keeping an eye on Dr Vengsarkar who was submerged in the couch. He was the on
ly one in the room who had taken the liberty to sit. The door had been left open and the watchman stood outside, keeping a watch out for any resident who might inquire into the night’s proceedings.
‘I was never called by him during his entire stint,’ the plumber carried on. ‘Funny, considering he had often complained to Mr Machhiwaala about the pressure from his shower not being sufficient for his needs.’
All of a sudden, Dr Vengsarkar got up and sashayed past everyone to the front door to close it. He latched it shut with his hands behind his back.
‘Then what?’ he asked, coming face-to-face with the plumber.
‘I collected my payment and was on my way with my mouth shut tight,’ he said.
Kishorie Lal sneaked in, listening to every word, tired but attentive. He stared at the plumber, mute with astonishment and disbelief, his gatekeeper’s sidelong glance for the first time reflecting a soldier’s sincerity. He too had stood around and watched for far longer than intended. The only thing that kept him awake all those nights was the prospect that his being around would make a difference, and that without him, the building would be no safe place for anyone to tread.
‘Uh . . . excuse me,’ he broke in. They all turned to him. ‘I think we’d all better get some sleep. It’s getting late.’
‘You can go now, Kishorie,’ Machhiwaala told him.
‘No . . . uh . . . but I think . . .’ he continued, undeterred.
‘What do you think?’ Inspector Gaekwad asked him, his forehead straightening up like an exclamation mark.
‘Uh . . . nothing, sir . . .’ he muttered under his breath.
‘What’s the matter, Kishorie?’ Machhiwaala asked, looking at Inspector Gaekwad.
‘Well . . . you see, sir,’ the plumber said, ‘I think I know what the matter is.’ He looked at the watchman, reassuring him with a friendly nudge.
‘Wait a minute . . .’ Kishorie Lal broke in.
‘Well, you see,’ the plumber continued, ‘before I left the building, I happened to inform Kishorie Lal that I thought there was someone stuck on the fifth floor. He, of course, paid no heed to it at the time, asking me not to worry about it.’
