More Bodies Will Fall

by Ankush Saikia

  Haokip sat down and looked at Arjun, as if deciding whether to cooperate with him or not. Arjun was going with his instincts; he knew he was in no position here to force matters.

  ‘I don’t know if you know, Mr Arora, but she was my first girlfriend.’

  ‘I know about that.’

  ‘There were . . . some problems. Her father didn’t like her seeing a Kuki boy. This was when we were in school. We lost touch after that. Mokokchung and Churachandpur are like two ends of the earth, if you know what I mean. And we didn’t have too many common friends, especially after I left Shillong for Nainital once I completed my tenth standard.’

  He paused and looked down at the floor. Arjun’s gut feeling was that he was telling the truth. In that case, the shock from the news would be a delayed reaction.

  ‘But last year before I went to Delhi I got her number from her cousin in Shillong—’

  ‘Nancy Jamir?’

  ‘Yes. Nancy. I called Amenla once I was in Delhi and we met.’

  ‘Where were you staying in Delhi, and where did you meet Amenla?’

  ‘At the Select Hotel. I had gone with one of our ministers. I met her at the Hungry Rabbit, a restaurant in a nearby mall.’

  Arjun nodded. ‘Go on, I’m listening.’

  ‘There was something important I had to tell her.’ Here he paused again, then asked, ‘You said you’re a detective, so what have you found out?’

  ‘There are a couple of suspects, including an ex-boyfriend from Delhi.’

  ‘What about me? Am I a suspect?’

  ‘Like I said, I wanted to talk to you. I think it was a special occasion for Amenla, when she met you again. But what was it you wanted to tell her?’

  Haokip took out a packet of Myanmar cigarettes and lit one. Puffing out smoke he resumed his story.

  ‘A few months before I went to Delhi I was in Churachandpur town at a friend’s place for one night. There were a couple of us and we were drinking. One fellow, whom I didn’t know too well, had just come back from Delhi some weeks back, and he was telling us about some Naga girls he had met there and gotten friendly with. My friend was teasing this fellow, “Ah, you’re bluffing, just making up stories, man”—and then this fellow took out his phone to show my friend photos of some party, just to prove him wrong. I took a look too, out of curiosity I guess, and there were three girls in the photos along with four boys. One of the girls was Amenla.

  ‘It was a surprise seeing her like that, in a photograph on someone’s phone. I wasn’t jealous or anything, just surprised. Later I think I felt a bit sad too, about how we had lost touch. But that was that, I didn’t try to get in touch with her. I’m married now, with two children. Then after a few weeks my friend told me that the guy he had been teasing that night, the guy who had showed us the Delhi pictures—that guy was helping someone transport drugs to Delhi: meth tablets, heroin, opium, those things. This fellow was using his contacts to get them from Myanmar to the Manipur–Mizoram border area, and from there he had to deliver the stuff to Dimapur, which he was doing with the help of the police. Pretty large amounts, and a lot of money was involved.’

  ‘What was his name?’ Arjun asked.

  He was concentrating hard on everything Haokip was saying now.

  ‘LK, they called him, or Liana. He’s a Paite from New Lamka. His parents came from across the border in Chin state before he was born.’

  ‘So when you got to know this from your friend you were worried?’

  ‘You bet I was. I was scared Amenla might get mixed up in it somehow. When we met that afternoon I didn’t tell her straightaway. There was so much to talk about, the different paths in life we had taken . . .’ He stopped here and looked down at his hands. ‘And she was still so beautiful. I found myself wishing that the afternoon would go on forever. Finally I had to tell her. About Liana, and what he was into.’

  ‘And what was Amenla’s reaction to it?’

  ‘She wasn’t alarmed or anything. She said she had met him just that once at her ex-roommates’ place, and that they knew him. By then she was staying on her own.’

  ‘And that was all?’ Arjun asked, wondering if this long trip had been for nothing.

  ‘I told her to be careful, and she agreed. I didn’t want our time together to end, so I suggested we go and have a few drinks, to celebrate. So she took me to a place in Khan Market. It was so good meeting her after all those years, talking about our schooldays. And the bar with all those city people was very nice, a good change for me after Churachandpur. I had quite a bit of whisky by the end, I guess . . . I’ll be honest with you, all right . . . you can understand how I was feeling then?’

  ‘I can imagine. Remembering the good old days.’

  Haokip nodded. ‘We came down the steps from that place to the inner lane in Khan Market. That part was a bit deserted, and I don’t know what happened to me, as we were walking, I held her by the waist and tried to kiss her.’

  He paused again, looking out of the door at the yard. They would have made a fine couple, Arjun thought. But the relationship had been poisoned by that ethnic conflict, just one of many in the North-east. He finally asked, ‘So did she get angry with you?’

  Haokip shook his head. ‘No, and that was the worst part. If she had gotten angry and slapped me or something it would have been better. But she just gently said I had too much to drink and asked me to stop. She let me drop her off at her place . . . I couldn’t tell her then that I wanted to come up. And the next day . . . the next day I felt so ashamed of myself. I decided not to bother her ever again. We left Delhi the day after that. The minister had some work with a few army officers. I was away in Myanmar for a long time in between and I forgot about her. But if I hadn’t behaved that way, maybe we would have still been in touch, and I might have been able to help her.’

  He looked out of the doorway again and blinked a few times. Arjun saw that his eyes were wet, and he looked away and lit a cigarette. So Liana had been supplying drugs to Delhi. Could there be some connection to Rohit Chaudhry? Haokip cleared his throat and stood up and walked out to the porch. He came back inside after a while, his eyes dry.

  ‘Do you think Liana and the drugs are connected to her death?’ he asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ Arjun said, ‘but I need to get back to Delhi and do some more digging around. Where is this fellow Liana now?’

  ‘He died in an accident a few months ago. On the Imphal–Kohima road. His car was found at the bottom of a cliff near Mao Songsang. It was a bit strange, because no one could figure out how the car went off the road in the daytime . . . Liana was a good driver.’

  ‘Could you try and find out for me who he was working for?’

  ‘It’ll be difficult . . . people don’t talk about these things . . . but I’ll try.’

  ‘These photos you saw on his phone—who were the three other boys?’

  ‘I don’t know who they were. Looked like they were from this side.’

  ‘Could you ask your friend?’

  ‘I can try . . . but it was so long ago . . . I doubt he would remember.’

  ‘Just give it a try.’

  Haokip nodded.

  ‘How were the drugs being smuggled from Dimapur to Delhi, do you know?’

  ‘By train maybe. Or truck. I’m not too sure.’

  Arjun flexed his neck. He felt tired, more so with all these loose ends he had to tie up. Still, Haokip had given him important information. The woman now entered the sitting room and spoke to Haokip, possibly in the Thadou language, which didn’t sound too different from what was spoken in Mizoram.

  ‘I haven’t eaten since morning,’ Haokip said to Arjun, ‘please join me.’

  The woman brought out rice, plain dal, greens boiled with soda, and fried chicken, and arranged it all on one of the tables along with plates, spoons, glasses and a jug of water. Haokip laughed when Arjun asked if he could have some green chillies.

  ‘Sure, why not? I see you picked up a few of our habits in
the years you spent here. I hardly eat chillies any more though—ulcer problems.’

  He called out to the woman for chillies, and Arjun asked him how he knew.

  ‘The person who passed on your number to me said you were a friend of the MI officer. So I guessed you must have spent some time here too.’

  ‘And here I was worried about where I was being taken.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Over the simple, delicious fare Arjun briefly filled in Haokip about Khrienuo’s killing and the detention centre, and the IED that had hit the van, killing two people. He was convinced Haokip had told him the truth—it had been clear from his body language and his tone—and talking about Amenla had somehow given them a brief camaraderie.

  Tony swore loudly. ‘Fuck, man, that’s twice you nearly kicked the bucket!’

  ‘Yes, and I hope there’s no third time.’

  ‘Do you think it was Romeo? Would he have a reason to try and kill you?’

  ‘I can’t figure out. Do you know him?’

  ‘No, but I’ve heard of him. His father is a very corrupt minister, has links with the valley groups and pays them.’

  ‘Or Colonel Khanna asked the father or the son to finish me off?’

  ‘That could be it. If I were you, I’d get out of Imphal as soon as possible.’

  ‘I know,’ Arjun said, putting down his empty plate. ‘Great food, by the way.’

  ‘My wife’s sister-in-law,’ he pointed towards the inside of the house, ‘she cooked.’

  ‘Whose house is this?’

  ‘My in-laws’ old place. Now they stay in that house, built by my wife’s brother.’

  ‘I went through Amenla’s old photos and her diary from school. I felt she always remembered her days in Shillong and Mokokchung.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I remember what she said to me when we met in Delhi. “I wish I had never left the North-east. Now I can’t go back.” I was in Delhi for a while too, I know what she meant.’ Haokip shook his head sadly. ‘It was the happiest time of my life, those days in Shillong with her.’

  Arjun recalled what Amenla had said to her manager: Sometimes the past comes back and calls you. Haokip looked as though he might become teary-eyed again, and Arjun changed the topic.

  ‘So what were you doing in Myanmar?’

  ‘Well, some of my own work.’

  ‘My friend in Dimapur said you were trying to get together a group.’

  ‘I am. We need to fight as one united Zo people now for our own homeland, a unified Zoram or Zoland. Some of our groups are working with the Nagas and Meiteis. This has to stop, those people don’t care about us.’

  ‘Do you think it’s a realistic goal—Zoram?’

  ‘Why not? National and state boundaries have been redrawn before. I’m just curious about one thing though, Mr Arora. How did you know I was in Delhi last year?’

  Arjun told him briefly about the receipt, the Instagram photo and the visit to the hotel.

  ‘My God,’ Tony said, ‘that is real detective work. And you were right, I don’t use that phone number any more.’

  Arjun laughed and thanked him. He found himself liking this confident and urbane rebel. Had he swindled money, as Abbas had said, or was he a zealous nationalist? As was usually the case in the North-east, he was probably a mix of both. He checked his watch and was surprised to see that it was past 1 p.m.

  ‘If you want you can spend the night here,’ Haokip offered, but Arjun said he had to get going as he had to arrange for a flight ticket to Guwahati.

  They had tea once again, and exchanged phone numbers. By then the brown Bolero from the morning had returned, now washed and sparkling clean. The driver was the same one who had picked him up in Imphal. Arjun bade farewell to Haokip and got into the vehicle. Haokip told him he could contact the photo studio in Churachandpur in case Arjun wanted to get in touch and his number was unreachable.

  ‘Some parts in the hills still don’t have any network.’

  ‘It’s good to be off the grid sometimes, Tony. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘All the best, Mr Arora. Let me know what you find out. Godspeed.’

  39

  ON THE WAY BACK TO Imphal in the newly washed Bolero he was occupied with going over Tony Haokip’s statement and picking at the various strands of the case. There was a mass of details building up; he just had to pick out the relevant links. But exactly which ones? The trip Amenla’s ex-roommates had taken to Bangkok particularly gnawed at him.

  The day had turned grey and overcast with a few stray drops of rain falling; it was mid-afternoon but already felt like late evening. He didn’t notice the group of men in khaki and camouflage by the roadside till a short figure stepped out and flagged down the vehicle. They were standing before a bamboo grove, at a point where a dirt track branched off from the potholed main road. It looked like a mix of the police and the army, with an olive-green Gypsy parked a little way ahead. The driver slowed down and moved the vehicle to the roadside without a change in expression. What did they want? Arjun tensed up.

  As the Bolero stopped, a second, taller figure stepped up to the road. Dressed in camouflage fatigues, he looked like a north Indian and was possibly the commander of the party. The first man gestured with his AK rifle for the two of them to get out. The driver got down calmly, but Arjun waited a few seconds before opening his door. If death came, let it be quick—that was the only thought that crossed his mind. The tall figure stepped up to him, and then asked in Hindi where he was headed, and where he had come from.

  ‘Imphal. I had gone to Churachandpur to meet a friend.’

  The man had the shoulder insignia of a captain and his name tag said ‘A. Kumar’. He asked Arjun’s name and asked to see some ID even as the Manipur police man barked at the driver for the car’s papers.

  ‘You’re from Delhi?’ Kumar said in a more normal tone as he looked at the licence.

  ‘Haanji. Ex-army. I had served here with the Rajput Regiment.’

  Kumar checked the car’s papers too, and looked at the car and both of them.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ Arjun asked, a sense of relief coming upon him now.

  ‘Yes, we have reports of some KYKL cadres travelling on this stretch of highway.’

  Now he understood why the first man had just waved down another Bolero. The hard-faced jawans standing with their guns in hand looked at them coldly; given an order they would take them to a nearby field and shoot them without a second thought. Of course, there were people on the other side who would do the same to them if they got a chance. Arjun had learnt a long time ago that on the ground it was akin to gang warfare, with groups with guns trying to control territory. The captain handed back the documents and ID and said they could go. Arjun gave him a salute before he got into the vehicle, and the captain did the same, smiling for the first time.

  They hadn’t travelled far when there came the faint yet unmistakeable chatter of gunfire from behind them. Arjun turned back but of course he couldn’t see anything. The driver was as expressionless as ever. They drove on. Children played outside huts and men cycled by on the road. He thought of what might have happened to the captain and his men till they entered Imphal in the fading light of day. One more night, and then hopefully he would be on a flight headed for Guwahati. Tonight of all nights he would need a drink.

  He persuaded the silent driver to take him to the 2nd Manipur Rifles canteen—down a narrow lane past Hotel Imphal, and near the police ground. It was as Arjun remembered it: a two-room structure with barred windows and a few Manipur Rifles personnel waiting on the porch with their rifles. He bought a half-bottle of Blender’s Pride from the north Indian owner and gave one of the policemen a ten-rupee note. Arjun tried to slip the driver some money when they reached the hotel, but the man refused with a broad smile and drove away.

  At the reception he asked if they could get him a flight ticket to Guwahati for the next day, and they said it would be possible, only the fare would be pretty st
eep. Back in his room he had a hot bath and then poured himself a drink. Stretching out on the sofa, he considered that things hadn’t gone so badly after all. Tony Haokip had given him some useful information, the main points of which he jotted down on a napkin in the absence of his notebook. Once he got on the trail again in Delhi it would be helpful. He just hoped Khanna or Romeo didn’t send anyone to look for him at night.

  The landline in the room rang loudly, startling him. When he answered he found it was his secretary, who said she had tried before but had been told by the reception that he was out. She had managed to find out through the source where the two girls’ passports had been entered: the Pathumwan Princess Hotel in central Bangkok, not too far from Lumpini Park. Arjun noted that down on the napkin as well. Considering the tangled threads of the case, stretching from Delhi to Nagaland and Manipur and Myanmar, and now to Bangkok, he remembered he hadn’t checked the mail that had been sent to him. Abbas had said it was something Arjun might find ‘interesting’.

  He decided to risk turning on his phone for a while. There were a couple of missed calls, including from Mr Longkumer and Rhea; he would call them once he got to Guwahati. The data signal was strong, and he was able to quickly download the three photos which Abbas’s mail said he had got from someone in customs. The photos showed, Abbas explained in his mail, transparent plastic packets with about 14–16 grams of heroin (known as one hawng; the granular heroin powder was a light orange mixed with white), heroin in smaller injection vials, Golden brand shredded-tobacco tins and packets of red and blue meth tablets. There were plastic soap cases too, inside which the hawngs were usually concealed. This was what was coming into the North-east from the loosely administered Sagaing and Chin border states of Myanmar. As he looked at the photos, Arjun suddenly remembered where he had seen similar cheap soap cases and Golden Tobacco tins: on a shelf in Amenla’s kitchen.

  X

  He woke late the next morning, on the sofa, the empty whisky bottle and empty cigarette packets on the table before him, and groaned as his head started throbbing. Why had he done this to himself? How he now missed the feeling of waking up fresh! The previous night he had gone down to the reception and paid by card for a late morning flight to Guwahati, almost three times the normal rate on account of the last-minute booking. Then he had come up and slowly finished the bottle even as he obsessively went over all that had happened since he had reached Shillong exactly a week ago.