Zaheer called me in the evening.
‘Vikrambhai, I found the house. But your wife and children are missing. Your in-laws were gagged and chained to the bed. I freed them and served them some food.’
I spoke to my father-in-law. He said that six men had barged in and restrained them. They captured Ameeti and the kids and sped away in a car.
‘Take them to Bangalore. I’ll come by night,’ I said.
I called up Ashok Gowda. His secretary said the Minister was in a meeting. I informed him to convey the situation to Ashok Gowda. I also updated the Commissioners.
In my room, I paced back and forth. Ameeti’s suffering sliced through my heart.
Guddu dropped me at the airport. Once at Bangalore, I hugged Zaheer and Shankar and cried. They consoled me. On my bed, I rolled in flames like the carnage victims.
In the morning, I contacted the client, Mr Patel, for a meeting.
‘I am out of the city, Mr Vikram. Let’s talk over the phone.’
‘Patel Saheb, I wanted to discuss the township contract.’
‘Mr Vikram, you must choose between politics and business. I also have to obey my bosses. Hope you understand.’
‘Sir, everybody loves their community.’
‘You take the call. Goodbye.’
I contacted the other two directors. They avoided meeting me and offered the same replies. A superior force had pressured them to cancel my contracts, which would cost me a loss of 200 crores plus goodwill.
Zaheer and I flew down to Ahmedabad.
Ramubhai called and invited me to visit him immediately. I rushed to his bungalow along with Zaheer.
‘Speak to Home Minister Saheb.’ He dialled and handed me the phone.
‘Hello, Vicky. I had warned you to stay away from PL. Deepak Patel has kidnapped your family.’
‘What? Why? Are you sure, Saheb?’
‘Political parties track everything. PL is aware of our meeting and your demands. To dig out the matter, Deepak met Guddu and overdosed him with imported liquor. He interrogated him, and your friend puked out your pen drive secret. Deepak kidnapped your family to obtain the information to destroy us.’
I held the phone and stared blankly at Ramubhai. Fuck. That is why Ashok Gowda, the Karnataka PL government minister, avoided me.
‘Be careful. Stay connected,’ said the HM and disconnected the call.
Ramubhai squeezed my shoulder and offered juice. He pacified me and cautioned on my next moves. The unexpected twist disrupted my plan, and I needed to work out a solution. We headed to the hotel and invited Guddu. He broke down over his blunder. I slapped him hard, twice. Guddu grabbed my feet and begged for pardon. Together, we worked out a strategy.
In the afternoon, the Central Government hinted at a law change, definitely because of their fear of the pen drive. The Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment, Ministry of Tribal Affairs and NCDNT highlighted the inhuman HOA abolition and uplift of the de-notified tribes. The government clarified to review the ‘Habitual Offenders Act’.
Many organisations working for DNTs progress, energised. The crazy media ran the DNTs coverage and they emerged the latest vogue. The youth sported DNT style clothing and haircut. Establishments and vehicles exhibited DNT stickers, and companies promoted products on their themes. Tribal quiz and games flooded social media. Hotels designed their menus and offered food in the tribal style, and decorated tables and spongy armchairs with leaves. People flocked in western outfits, wearing European makeup, and ordered a Mughlai, Arabic, or Italian cuisine. The chef and serving staff sported a cheetah imprint shawl. The waiters held a spear in one hand and served meal, in old, worn-out, broken, and dented aluminium vessels. That was the tribal style for which the customers paid threefold. And it frenzied the country.
Zaheer, Guddu and I strived till the evening and succeeded in our plan. I received the call.
‘Hello, Vicky. Deepak Saheb wants to meet you.’
‘Fine. I’ll come right away.’ I disconnected the phone. Time to screw up another asshole. I prepared a gift for him.
Zaheer and I rushed to Deepakbhai’s bungalow. My blood was boiling. His men allowed us into the living room.
‘Welcome, Vicky. Have a seat.’
I handed him the present. He thanked me and tossed it on the teapoy. I thumped on the sofa, clenched my fist, and cupped it with another hand. My jawline muscles tensed, and I glared at him, breathing deeply. His associates chuckled and surrounded me.
He entwined his fingers and stretched his hands above his head. ‘Why are you raging, Vicky?’ he said.
‘Where is my family?’
‘Ah,’ he said, and released his hands. ‘Very intelligent of you.’ He straightened his shirt and continued, ‘A courageous man’s family, yet they are terrified. But don’t worry, they are safe.’ He flashed his teeth, leaned towards me and whispered. ‘Give me the pen drive and take them home.’ He giggled, pushed back, and moaned a deep sigh of relief.
‘All politicians are the same.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘They all underestimate me.’
Deepakbhai narrowed his brows. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and relaxed on the sofa.
‘Hello? I have your family, and I asked you something in return of their safety.’
I stared into his eyes and said, ‘You’ll receive a call; attend it. We’ll discuss afterwards.’ Deepakbhai gaped at me and glanced at his associates. He scratched his cheek and gazed at me. His mobile rang. The name Hamid Saheb flashed on the screen.
‘Hello. How are you, Saheb?’ Deepakbhai said. He turned pale and gaped at me, and stammered to reply. “OK, Saheb. No, Saheb. No; never. Sorry, Saheb.” After a minute, he said, “Sure, Saheb,” and disconnected the call. He seemed to sag and shrink in his chair. He stared at the floor and wiped his sweat. Trembling, he signalled his men to bring my family.
‘You take them,’ he said in a cracked voice.
‘Motherfucker; you are in deep shit. I am boiling, and you deserve a banging.’ I pounced on him. Punched him, kicked him, dragged him by his collar, pulled his hair and banged his head on the floor. I battered him until his men separated me. Blood oozed out from his nose and mouth, and he wailed in pain. Breathing heavily, I slumped on the sofa. He panted and moaned, and his associates provided him first aid. Zaheer and I rested on the sofas. After a few minutes, Deepakbhai murmured.
‘Bring his family... Take them, Vicky.’
‘Bastard. You dare to kidnap my family, huh? Yes; I possess the dangerous secrets of MPP. So what? As if you all are saints, huh? Asshole. My gift pack contains two books and a pen drive. The device has sex tapes of your party men, which proves how you screw my country so well. Except for your senior leader. His performance qualifies for Comedy-Porn section. MPP oldies defeat him in the competition. The two books are “How to Serve Your Nation” and “How to do Smart Sex”. Give them to your boss for learning. And shall I circulate the videos? Your bosses will cease your breathing.’
Deepakbhai joined his palms and bowed his head.
‘Guddu worked for you, and you made him spill one secret. But as my friend, he spilt a dozen of yours. You want to challenge me?’
He fell at my feet and pleaded. My family arrived and they all looked safe, but a lot terrified. We hugged and cried. Zaheer consoled me and carried them out.
‘Listen, Deepakbhai. You and your bosses survived because of Hamid Saheb. And as discussed with him, don’t dare to fiddle with MPP regarding our demands. Support them and keep mum on the matter. Keep mum. Any one of you utters a word, and you are finished.’ I warned him. He nodded.
Outside, I apologised to my daughters and my pregnant wife for their troubles. We headed to the hotel.
Chapter—37
The Explosion
The fear of the pen drive worked. The government was sworn in and approved the property registration of Chharanagar and Naroda Patia residents. A shock wave jolted the nation.
T
he Indian election victory celebration lasts for over a month, 15 times more than any International win excluding cricket. The rejoicing period is the honeymoon time for the new government. Biggies from different arenas visit them to present garlands, gifts and sweets. India is not habituated to winning in the Olympics, or sports, except for cricket. We thus release our urge by celebrating the election victories. For every election, we are confident of an Indian’s victory.
Whatsoever, the new government worked on day one. It sacrificed the first-night pleasures. Errr…I mean the first day of enjoying power. Was the file clearance so important? The nation and the media wondered, but the answer remained a secret.
Chharanagar and Naroda Patia rejoiced. The government’s positive vibes spread across the country. People applauded it as a Democratic Cabinet, proactive to people’s welfare. National and International communities praised it. The media showered endless compliments. A TV channel branded them as the—‘Best State Government of India’ on their first day. All because of my 64 GB pen drive, it earned a reputation, which no Indian had ever enjoyed. Mahatma Gandhi never received such admiration. Excited and elevated over the recognition, the MPP officials pressed the Central administration to fulfil our remaining demands. Hah. Not to forget the 64 GB gadget.
Naroda Patia residents invited me for a felicitation program on 28th February. I accepted.
‘Vicky will address the community on the playground at 7:30 pm. Make grand arrangements,’ said Guddu to his volunteers and planned with them.
Joyous tribesmen assembled by 7 pm. Guddu guided me to the king-sized chair in the centre and sat beside me. After lighting the lamp, Guddu invited me to deliver my speech. The crowd welcomed me with a great uproar.
A volunteer placed a microphone before me, and I signalled the members to calm down.
‘Dear Tribesmen,’ I said, and they cheered. It was so loud that it echoed around the playground.
My mobile rang, and the name Railway Office Assistant flashed.
‘Give me a moment, please. It’s urgent,’ I said, pushed the mike away and attended the call.
‘Collect your gift, sir.’
‘Sure. Where are you?’
‘Near your area entrance. I am on a red motorbike.’
‘OK. I am coming.’
‘I’ll return in a few minutes,’ I said to the gathering.
I pulled Guddu along, and we stepped down from the stage. A volunteer sprinted from the crowd and stopped me.
‘We are eager to hear you, Vickybhai. Finish your speech and then go.’ He turned to the people and asked, ‘Aren’t we desperate?’
‘Thank you so much, chap. Wait for a few minutes, please.’ I said with a smile.
We rushed and found the man. He checked my photograph on his mobile and handed me a sealed cover.
‘Goodbye, sir,’ he said and left.
I put the envelope on my heart and closed my eyes.
At that moment, a blast rocked the playground. We jerked around and covered our ears. A blackened orange fireball shot up, followed by a thick cloud of smoke. Animals and birds scrambled for safety, and deafening shrieks of members resounded. Shreds of the stage and dust flew high up and showered back.
We dashed in. A few people lay on the field covering their heads, and a few sprinted towards the exit, howling. The shattered platform flamed along with the lifeless bodies of the five volunteers. Their limbs, organs and blood splattered around. Acrid and smoky air spread across, and panic seized Chharanagar.
Trembling, I covered my nose. My eyes rained. The parents of the dead beat their chest and wailed. I stared at the burning king-size chair, tattered by a bomb planted beneath to assassinate me. The Godhra train victims’ information saved me. God supported me. But the explosive took innocent Chhara lives. Man is God’s best creation, and man is a supreme destroyer.
The sirens echoed. The fire service and police arrived to perform their duties. Zaheer rushed in.
‘Heard about the explosion, Vikrambhai. Are you OK?’
I hugged him and cried. He informed my family of my safety. We trudged to Guddu’s home, and I shivered inside and outside.
Chharanagar wailed. A few opposed my services and demanded my dismissal as leader. My heart broke. The blast scene ripped my brain and sliced my heart. And a bomb ticked within me.
Deepakbhai Patel called me up and inquired about my health. Hamid Saheb and many other people flooded me with calls.
Zaheer took me to the hotel. My family grabbed me. My daughters sobbed, and my wife cried silent tears. Zaheer settled us. They pleaded with me to surrender and stop this game of death. I sank my head and nodded.
My kids slept beside me, clasping my hand. I remembered the Godhra train victims whose information gifted me a new life. Tears of gratitude fell on my pillow. Shattered by human behaviour, I dozed off.
The next day bloomed. The bomb ticking in me awaited explosion. People devalue life and care a damn for Chharas, but I’ll teach them the price of five Chhara lives.
My family’s safety concerned me. After breakfast, I said, ‘Arrange for their hiding, Zaheer. I need to finish my battle.’
Ameeti screamed and blocked the door. I closed my eyes, grabbed her arms and seated her on the bed. My elder daughter joined her hands and wept. I covered my eyes and trembled. I wiped my brows, kissed her forehead and seated her beside Ameeti. They both snivelled.
I heaved a huge sigh and prepared to exit. ‘Please don’t go, Papa.’ My younger one clung to my leg. I broke down. I lifted and hugged her and sobbed. Crying shrieks of helpless children bombarded my mind, and the spirit of freedom screamed inside me. I rested her on the bed and wiped my face. Zaheer pulled me aside and whispered a suggestion. I agreed. He arranged for burkhas and sneaked my family into hiding.
MLA Deepakbhai Patel, my family’s kidnapper and the first to call me after the blast, provoked my suspicion. Bastard. He must have called to check my survival. At 9 am, I released his sex tape on social media. A 12-minute romp of Deepakbhai with a woman who had sought his help to protect her property from his goons.
Gujarat rocked. India jolted. Media shamed him and his party. Hamid Saheb summoned me.
‘You had agreed to not leak any tape, Vicky.’
‘And what about the attempt to murder me, Saheb?’
‘Why would he do it? Nobody from PL is involved. And what proof do you have, Vikram?’
‘So, you expect me to leave all my work and collect pieces of evidence for years?’
‘Vikram, calm down. I promised you my support, didn’t I?’ Hamid Saheb held my hand and convinced me, to my satisfaction. ‘Contact me for any clarification, but no more exposures. Please assure me.’
I obliged and left. Fuck. It was not Deepakbhai. But the media found the fuel. Deepakbhai issued an apology, resigned from the post, and went into hiding. PL terminated his membership.
The bomb blast mystery remained. At Chharanagar, Guddu summoned a few volunteers to escort us for protection.
‘Where is Vicky’s fan? Tell him to join us in the mornings.’
‘He has gone to VD’s office. Put him in the evening slot,’ said a volunteer.
‘My fan?’ I asked.
‘Arre, Sanjay. The guy who stopped you and said he was desperate to hear you,’ said Guddu.
‘He works for VD?’ I asked.
‘Some petty jobs.’
My brows narrowed. ‘Bring him to me when he returns,’ I said to the volunteers.
Worried about their exposure, the MPP representatives visited me to convince their innocence.
‘Deepakbhai or PL had no involvement. The mystery remains,’ I said.
‘We have accepted your conditions and already executed the first two. Our condolences for the victims, but our party has no role in it,’ said the messenger.
After a discussion, they left. We watched the exposure telecast, and an hour later, a volunteer brought Sanjay.
‘Vickybhai, you called me,’ said Sanjay.
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Looking at him, I said to Guddu, ‘Send your family upstairs, Guddu. Hang him upside down and get me a red-hot iron rod.
‘What? Why? What happened?’ asked Guddu.
‘What did I do, Vickybhai?’ asked Sanjay.
‘Do as I say.’
The volunteers grabbed him.
‘But why? Please tell me, Vickybhai.’
‘Because, you won’t reveal about the bomb blast till I tear your ass.’
‘Bomb blast? Why would I do it?’
Guddu and volunteers glanced at each other and voiced their opinions.
‘Silence, please. Remove his clothes.’
‘I beg you, Vickybhai, I know nothing about it. Guddubhai, you explain to him. I am innocent. Please believe me. Please...’
‘Are you sure, Vicky?’ asked Guddu.
‘I trust my inner voice. And forgive me, Sanjay, if I am wrong. I’ll sponsor your treatment and compensate you.’
He continued pleading and attempted to free himself, but the volunteers overpowered him. A guy brought me a scorching rod.
‘Hmm. Let me test this,’ I said and touched the tip on his arm.
He shrieked in pain and shuddered.
‘Cover his mouth,’ I said and moved behind him.
He jumped and screamed, ‘I’ll tell the truth. I’ll tell the truth. Please leave me. Please forgive me. Please.’
‘Speak up,’ I said.
‘Gaurang contacts me for petty jobs. He called me to his office and asked for your details. I said you’ll address us at 7:30 pm today. He took me to Ketanbhai who offered me Rs. 50,000. They gave me a time bomb and Rs. 25,000 in advance. I am sorry. Please forgive me.’
He howled as Guddu and the volunteers thrashed him.
‘Leave him,’ I said. I grabbed his chin and said, ‘Go and tell your Ketanbhai that he failed his chance. It’s Vicky’s turn now.’
At 2 pm, I leaked Ramubhai’s tape. A 15-minute audio/video sex clip of Ramubhai with an unknown woman.
Lucky media; they enjoyed the double treat.
Four MPP representatives dashed into Guddu’s home.
‘Vikrambhai, we clarified to you. Everyone is upset at your rigidity. Please understand, or the matter will worsen,’ the messenger said, shaking his index finger.
The Branded Criminal: In Search of Liberation Page 26
