Both the parties had an equal chance to win the Naroda constituency, which comprised Chharanagar and Naroda Patia. On the election eve, we assembled Chharas on the playground for polling instructions.
‘We have associated with a political party, and I appeal to support them. Everyone cast your vote tomorrow. Do not confuse with the Electronic Voting Machine or the symbols. Both the parties have their symbols as flowers. One is Rose, and the other is sunflower. You press the corresponding button on the EVM panel, and a light will flash, indicating your vote. For your convenience, I’ll display the flower sticker on my pocket. Do not fall for any trick. If the candidates offer you money, liquor or valuables to buy your vote, take it, but choose the flower I show you. You understand?
The crowd consented. We dispersed.
I tossed around in bed, hoping the next day’s dawn might enlighten our destiny. Our volunteers ensured smooth and successful polling. The eligible citizens voted. Amidst the heart-wrenching tension and few sporadic incidences of violence, the voting ended.
We returned home exhausted, with a dim hope of a respectable future. My gloomy face distressed the Chharanagar and Naroda Patia residents. Deepakbhai Patel’s victory wouldn’t serve our purpose. He must win his constituency, and his party must win Gujarat State and the National election slated for the next year. Then our demands could be fulfilled. Ketanbhai, therefore, didn’t bother for us. Besides, he discriminated the downtrodden. He believed the Scheduled castes and the Scheduled Tribes are born low and must remain so. They existed to serve the top class. But you cannot predict a political game.
At the Railway office, I succeeded. At a cost of five lakhs, I cracked the deal for information on Godhra train victims.
‘Save this number. He’ll contact you after a few days and deliver your gift,’ said the officer.
I thanked him and left for the hotel.
Chapter—32
The Loser Wins
The result day arrived. A silent fever had gripped the citizens, and Chharanagar and Naroda Patia remained tense. We reached Deepakbhai’s house early in the morning with garlands and sweets. My first pro-Chhara election strategy awaited success.
We viewed the counting with bated breath. Both the parties seemed to see-saw. For higher TRP, the media instigated hate and sensationalised the calculations. The national television channels, in the guise of opinions, aired bullshit. I slipped into the living area. I was tense and biting my nails and lips as I paced back and forth and peeped at the TV once every minute to check the goings-on. Sometimes the MPP led the race, and sometimes PL. Rest of the contestants bundled out. Post lunch, the tables turned, and oh man, it turned worse for the PL. Ramubhai secured Naroda constituency, and his party MPP won the Gujarat State.
Supporters at Deepakbhai’s house lamented. Many wept holding their heads, and a few slumped on the chairs, frozen in disbelief. Guddu cried and banged his head to the wall twice. The loss beat their calculations.
I pressed my palm on my heart. I had won! I was electrified and thrilled, but couldn’t erupt in joy among sulking PL supporters. I pulled Guddu out and suggested leaving. We expressed our solidarity with the defeated candidate and exited. Guddu hugged me and howled on our fate. I pinched him and whispered, ‘Stop howling. We have won. Let us exit from here now.’
Guddu‘s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘What? Are you kidding?’
‘Quiet,’ I mumbled. We left the bungalow, and I signalled our associates to follow. I drove the car, and Guddu sat beside me, perplexed.
‘What’s happening, Vicky? We supported PL, and they lost. Why do you say we won?’
‘Relax, bro. You think PL could fulfil our requirements? No, impossible. Win our constituency, the Gujarat State, and the Central elections next year? Hah! A long way buddy, and with the least probability. You see the equation now? MPP has won our constituency and State, and already has their government at the centre. Makes our path smooth, right?’
Guddu scratched his temple. I removed a rose and a sunflower sticker from my pocket and dropped them on his lap. Guddu’s eyes popped out. ‘What the fuck is this? Why are you carrying both the symbols?’
‘Relax, dear, relax. For those who couldn’t identify, I showed the rose flower.’
‘But why? The MPP never accepted our proposal. They don’t know we supported them. Why will they fulfil our demands?’
‘You think I am a fool to come and lead Chharanagar with one plan? I’ll explore another now. This is what I wanted. MPP would have never approved or fulfilled our needs. We have been supporting them for years, but they have dodged us with ample tricks. And allying with them made us helpless. But now, a different ball game begins.’
At Chharanagar, we strode with our heads down. Guddu kept scratching his chin, and I imitated grief. Tribesmen stared at us, murmuring. A few cursed loudly. They couldn’t comprehend my far-sighted vision and gossiped on my ability to lead them. People began backbiting, and at frequent intervals, our volunteers reported outburst against me. It wrecked me.
“What a big deal to appoint him a leader?”
“He absconded for 15 years; why did we trust him?”
“He must have earned heaps of money against our votes, and never bothered about our well-being.”
“Everybody takes us for granted, whether a politician or Vicky.”
“This idiot didn’t associate with the government, and they’ll now take revenge on us.”
The tribesmen targeted and blamed me for PL loss. As a leader, I must take responsibility for failure, but I hadn’t failed yet. My strategy demanded confidentiality. The ignorant mass value temporary benefits. They support those who offer short-term incentives and curse those who do not. Later, when they realise the leader’s foresight, they roll in their favour like a brinjal on a plate. Accusing a person of financial fraud is a popular Indian tradition. No proof or common sense required. Tell any creature that an individual swindled in millions, and he will exclaim “Oh. How shameful of him.” Backbiting and tarnishing people’s image is a favourite pass-time in India.
My heart pained, but I encouraged myself. My next plan was deadly; and forget about the support, people were against me. The negativity around Chharanagar stifled me.
The government swearing-in was scheduled after eight days.
‘I must go to Bangalore; will return after a week when the celebrations settle down,’ I said.
Unaware of my moves, Guddu hesitated. I convinced him to trust me. He had no other choice. He consented. ‘My car is parked in the open field. Keep the keys. Please take care,’ I said and left.
Chapter—33
The Trump Card
At Bangalore, I attended my business and planned for my Ahmedabad strategy. I contacted Ketanbhai to arrange a meeting with the MLA Ramubhai to discuss an important matter. After a rigorous follow-up, I received an appointment after two days. I packed my belongings and informed Guddu about my homecoming.
My arrival didn’t excite Chharanagar. The gatekeepers didn’t even move from their place at the centre of the road, and I dodged them. I settled at Guddu’s home and after lunch wandered around.
We reached Ramubhai’s house at 7 pm. His men guided us to the lobby. Post-election, forget any refreshment, they didn’t even offer us chairs. I strolled around his lawn and played with his Dobermans.
At 07:30 pm, Ramubhai, the elected MLA, and Ketanbhai Rathod arrived and headed inside the hall. An assistant invited us in and closed the doors. My feet sank in the maroon Iranian carpet that matched the one in my living room. They sat on a jet-black leather sofa placed in the centre, and I sauntered towards them. A magnificent Austrian chandelier illuminated the room. Their associates settled on the sofas lined up along the walls. Ramubhai yawned and stretched. Ketanbhai squinted at us.
‘What brings you to our doorstep?’ asked Ketanbhai.
‘The same five demands, Saheb,’ I said, staring into his eyes.
‘Ha-ha-ha-ha,’ Ketanbhai thumped his thighs. The
MLA joined him in laughter. ‘And what makes you think we’ll fulfil them?’
‘We voted for you. I displayed your symbol to my tribesmen during voting.’
‘I like your guts, Vicky. You are my role model for courage. You approached us with an idiotic proposal for election support. We rejected it. You went against us, and your candidate lost the elections. And now you return with the same demands saying you had voted for us? This is insane,’ he said and laughed aloud. Ramubhai scratched the back of his head while laughing. His associates chuckled.
‘Insane? Okay... Let me make it easier to understand.’ I switch to plan B.
Their laughter subsided. With raised brows, they stared at me.
‘How foolish are you to consider me a fool?’ I said. ‘I have handled VD’s activities, and therefore, I am a loaded memory card of your secrets.’
The bigots frowned. Worry lines appeared on their foreheads. Guddu stuffed his handkerchief in his mouth. I slumped on the leather sofa opposite them and sprawled my legs on the teak wood teapoy, my right leg over the left. Guddu’s body stiffened, and he pulled my arm. The MLA jumped up and shouted.
‘How dare you?’
‘Hey rascal, behave yourself,’ said Ketanbhai. Their associates dashed and caught me by my collar.
‘Relax, please,’ I screamed. ‘Let us focus on the discussion instead of my sitting posture.’ Ketanbhai glared at me and waved them to push back.
‘Better send your dogs out. Trust me,’ I said. Ketanbhai gritted his teeth and signalled his men to leave. I continued, ‘Veer Dal executives are political aspirants, and the organisation is a stepping stone into MPP. It runs various criminal and illegal ventures and mints money from those. Projected as a social service unit, the VD is a crime den, and no average person can understand its reality. VD’s officials enjoy a lavish life and indulge in anti-social activities and manipulations. Their wealth lay stacked in bank accounts abroad. Your erstwhile boss Sunil Thakur died from consuming poisoned liquor after screwing a prostitute.’
They both kept staring at me. The skin of the hunted tiger on the wall, the glittering artefacts and the paintings were also gazing at me.
‘In this dry State of Gujarat, you procure alcohol from around the world and sell it. Your doorways are Union Territories of Daman and Diu, and I know its procurement system. I had delivered liquor boxes labelled as “medicine for the public” a dozen times.
‘You have nexus with human traffickers to acquire girls and women from around the world. Your agents trap them with job promises. They buy poor women and push them into flesh trade. They also kidnap and supply them to you. You operate brothels across the country.
‘You run a dedicated unit to influence the school- and college-goers. They make students habitual to drugs and narcotics. You receive cocaine through the charitable garments’ consignment meant for poor people. I once drove the tempo from Kandla Port and visited schools and colleges to deliver it.
‘You own hundreds of posh discotheques cum massage parlours cum sexual dens. Your disco bars serve as a platform to transport hawala money. I have arranged and delivered hawala funds a hundred times amounting in billions.
‘Hmm, what next... Oh, yes, the begging mafia. They kidnap children and make them blind or handicapped. They put them at traffic junctions, religious places, and streets for begging. Every night, the gang members recover the collection from them. You approve this activity and shelter the mafia, which pays you in abundance.’
I stretched out my arms and legs and yawned aloud, then put my left leg over my right. I crossed my hands and tapped the left upper arm with my right fingers. Ramubhai and Ketanbhai sat like ducks—their bodies stiffened and eyes popped out. Never had they imagined a Chhara to introduce them to their death, face to face. I glanced at Guddu and jolted. He squatted beside my sofa with his fingers pressed between his teeth. I tapped his cheek and gestured with my eyes to sit on the sofa. He sank in next to me.
‘I mentioned five points,’ I said. ‘Though I know many more like land grabbing, properties encroachment, poaching, forest exploitation, brokering for commercial approvals and Court cases, organising riots, sponsoring terrorism, parking fee mafia, school lobby, medical lobby, etc. But five points are enough because I have as many demands, for now.’ I stretched hard, resulting in a fart. The bulls twisted their noses, and Guddu rolled his eyeballs. I rubbed my right hand on my tummy, winked, and said to Guddu, ‘The daal was delicious.’
Guddu fumbled and inserted his fingers in his nostrils. I continued to jerk my left leg and stared into their eyes. They pushed back and turned their gazes to the floor. They also covered their noses to battle the stink of a Chhara fart.
Ketanbhai blinked, cleared his throat and said, ‘This is why I admire you, Vicky. Courage. Bloody courage. But pity, it lacks intelligence. You ignored important things. First, allegations don’t work; you need proof. Second, we know how to silence people, forever...’
‘Oh. Yes, yes. Sorry. My fart distracted me from the most critical part. The climax. How can I miss it? Let me speak for a few more minutes, please. You both relax and listen,’ I said and spread my arms. I flipped my head right and left, and pushed back on the sofa. They frowned again.
‘You see, your remark about my intelligence is crucial. Your predecessor challenged me over it, and the poor fellow lost his life. May his soul rest in peace.’ I closed my eyes, joined my palms and spread my middle fingers sideways, in honour of that beast.
‘Okay, back to intelligence. Why does everybody doubt Chharas’ intellect? Here I put forward my brain power demo for your kind perusal. Please guide me if I am short-sighted.’ I flipped my legs again, right leg on left.
‘You agree that I know your secrets, right? But you want the proof. Hmm. Do you know that during the last three months, I travelled to Gujarat ten times? And for what? To enjoy your sexual dens, huh? Hah. Bangalore has better to offer. I visited your important establishments. I contacted your staff—the old, retired, or fired employees—and the concerned sources. I bribed or pressured them and collected the details and pieces of evidence.’ I smacked my lips and winked at them. They gaped at me and wiped their forehead.
‘And for convenience, I have compiled the proofs. Images, videos, interviews, call recordings, videotapes, invoices, vouchers, particulars of illegal activities, footage and information of human trafficking, narcotics supply and warehouses, and brothels, confessions of girls and women revealing your trap and abuse, secrets of your farmhouse parties, report on hawala money transferred, records of your bank accounts and transactions, an analysis of how you manage MPP, and how your members use your platform to execute their political misadventures under the banner of social service, and phew... more, more and more. These facts will rock India and shatter VD and MPP‘s future.’
Ketanbhai clutched his throat. Ramubhai bent down, holding his head.
‘I destroyed your first argument. I have proof. All these evidences are compiled in a 64 GB pen drive. An electronics store at Bangalore offered 31 pen drives on discount. I purchased all at a throwaway price. These memory chips contain your reality. Now, listen and beware. I have distributed each drive to 30 people across India, unknown to you. The data is safe until I am breathing. The 31st one is here, for your kind reference. Here you go,’ I said and threw the pen drive at them. Ketanbhai grasped it.
‘Pay attention please,’ I said. ‘The information is attached in emails and scheduled for delivery at my selected time. The mails are addressed to the world’s 20,000 plus media houses and journalists. It’s an additional burden to prevent the emails from flying off. My subordinates at Bangalore also have access. Here goes my first alert,’ I said, and punched buttons on my mobile. A word “Start” was sent as a WhatsApp message to my associates.
‘The game starts now. I must post an “OK” message once every two minutes. Else, they’ll hit the “Send” button. Be careful.’ They stared at me, numb like lifeless bodies.
‘So, what do
you think of my intelligence, Ketanbhai?’ I asked him with a smile on my lips. ‘You still want to murder me?’ Ramubhai grabbed the sofa armrest and sat stiffened. Ketanbhai covered his face and sagged in the corner.
I stretched again. Damn the daal; I farted again. I glanced at Guddu, and he said, ‘Daal was indeed delicious.’ I winked and rose. They stood up, too.
‘This pen drive owns magical powers. Watch it, and our five demands will appear sane to you.’
I extended my hand. They shook it. Their palms were warm and wet.
‘Mark my words. I have had a fucking life, and the last four months have frazzled me. My health is affected. Pray for my long and healthy life because your survival depends on it,’ I said, flipping my right-hand fingers on my chest. ‘See you later. Have a wonderful evening.’ I started moving out.
A silence like that in a graveyard lingered in the hall. Ketanbhai gulped his saliva and spoke up. ‘Vicky,’ he said in a broken voice, cleared his throat and continued. ‘Give us time, please.’ His voice was still low, and he coughed a few times. ‘We will check the content, consult our high command, and revert.’
‘Oh, sure. Two days. And I loved your humbleness. Goodbye,’ I said, and we left. They wiped their sweat and kept gazing at me.
Out we came, and Guddu pounced on me. ‘Sisterfucker, you are an asshole. How did you do this? How did you collect all this information? You bastard, you are still the same. My darling, Vicky. We love you. Wow! What a conversation we had. Like a Bollywood film. Sitting like a don and threatening the political heavyweights, right in their house. Awesome, man.’ Guddu chatted non-stop.
We drove to the VD Disco bar, enjoyed a few drinks, devoured a filling meal, and headed to Chharanagar. I convinced Guddu for my hotel stay and checked into one in the Naroda locality.
Chapter—34
Humanity wins
The next day, I visited Naroda Patia and paid my heartfelt homage at the well of death. Tears streamed down my face as I cried. The residents had, by then, understood my motives, and a few surrounded me. I straightened up and rested on the well’s periphery.
The Branded Criminal: In Search of Liberation Page 23
