Mumbaistan (23 page)

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Rishi was shouting, papers spilling out of his agitated hands. His aristrocratic features were contorted with anger.

The papers were some sort of account statements. He was obviously not happy with them, as he threw them in the air and walked out in a huff. Samir called out to him. Rishi turned and walked back, stopping almost an inch away from Samir's face.. 'This is not personal, its business,' he said.

Samir slapped him in response.

A shocked Rishi stood still, unsure of how to react.

Looking at his downcast face, Samir hugged Rishi, begging forgiveness. It
was
personal. After all Rishi was his own—more
than his business partner—his cousin, his blood.

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Samir walked towards the young man's prone body, shaking. Bending down, he shook him. The man was still. Samir rolled him over and his lifeless eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. A scream from behind him dragged Samir's attention away from the dead young man. A boy stood at the entrance to the lavatory, his wide eyes fixed on Samir, his mouth spewing incoherent, shocked words. Samir rushed towards the boy in an attempt to pacify him and explain what had happened. But the boy, ran back to the milling crowd on the platform, shouting his first coherent word: 'Murder!'

Samir emerged on the platform to be greeted by a host of accusing eyes. Scared, he put up his hands, 'It was an accident,' he shouted to no one in particular. Two men rushed past him into the lavatory. A few others started advancing towards him. Samir made a dash for the far end of the platform.

'Stop!' one man yelled from behind him, but Samir had no intention of doing so. He ran up the stairs to the footbridge that was not very crowded at the time of the afternoon. Unfortunately, he ran headlong into a railway police constable who was coming from the other side. The constable saw the agitated men behind Samir and registered the scared expression on Samir's face. He reached out to grab Samir, but Samir ducked. The constable lost his balance and went rolling down the stairs. Samir continued his flight up the stairs. As he reached the bridge, he turned and ran towards the eastern side of the Bandra station. Luckily for him, a train had just come in and deposited a large number of commuters on the far eastern platform of the station. Samir merged into a bunch of commuters who were climbing up the stairs. Cutting through them, he ran down the stairs to the platform. When he reached the platform below, he hopped into the stationary train. Not stopping to look behind, he jumped onto the railway tracks on the other side. He searched for a gap in the metal fencing that separated the railway tracks from the Behrampada slums. Finding one a few hundred yards ahead; he quickly jumped through it and entered the slums. He ran headlong through narrow, maze-like gullies and came to an abrupt stop as he tripped over a man who was huddled near a door. A high-pitched voice cried out,
'Teri jaat ka baida maru!'

Samir turned his face to see that the man was a bag of bones. He had a thin, bony face that was scrunched up in agony as he rubbed the spot on his chest where Samir's foot had connected. As Samir lay on the ground, gasping for breath, he looked the man up and down, incredulous.. His bones stuck out through his T-shirt and his ribs could easily be counted. Still in pain, the man now shook a thin fist at Samir's face. 'I will break two for every bone of mine that you have broken,' he shouted at Samir. 'I will break your jaw with one punch. I have watched
Dabangg
five times'

Samir couldn't help breaking into laughter at the living skeleton's threats.

'Sorry. I am very sorry, bhai,' said Samir, placating him.

'That's right. I am a bhai. A gangster, Gardullah bhai.' The emaciated man proclaimed.

Samir lowered his head in obeisance. 'Please forgive me, Abdullah bhai,' he said.

'Not Abdullah, Gardullah,' said the man. 'Gardullah, the king of all the garad, all the smack in Bandra East. Not pansy stuff like marijuana or fancy-vancy cocaine, but hardcore, pure, fully-adulterated brown sugar.'

Samir raised an eyebrow. 'You are a drug smuggler?'

Gardullah sneered. 'I am bigger than a drug smuggler. I am a drug user. I have used every drug known to man and nothing has happened to me. See,' he pointed to his body.

Samir looked him up and down once more. 'Yes, I can see,' he said with a straight face. Suddenly, Samir remembered what he had been up to, before he ran headlong into Gardullah. He did some quick thinking. 'Gardullah bhai, please help me.'

'What is the matter?' asked Gardullah.

'There was an accident, it...it...wasn't my fault. People are after me.'

Noting the urgency in Samir's voice, Gardullah motioned Samir to follow him. 'Come on, I will show you a place to hide.'

A grateful Samir followed Gardullah through a maze into an open garbage dump. Samir held his breath as a rancid stench rose from the dump to his nostrils. Gardullah stopped in front of a section of a giant pipeline with pieces of metal welded onto it. He understood their purpose only when he saw Gardullah expertly use these metal pieces as handholds and footholds to clamber over the giant pipe. Gardullah hopped onto the pipeline with his lithe frame. As Samir too crawled on top of it, he saw an empty space that lay between the two adjoining sections of the pipeline. Gardullah had used the space to create a living area that could comfortably accommodate two men. As Samir eased himself into the space, Gardullah threw a ratty cushion at him, motioning him to use it to rest his back against the hot metal pipe. He smiled and said, 'Welcome to my Pipe Star Hotel.'

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Raghu's SUV cut through the crowd of autorickshaws buzzing around Bandra station. He had spent the last forty-five minutes pretending to be a BMC water inspector who was trying to improve the water supply in Sherly Village and seeking the advice of prominent residents of the area, one of them being Aunty Gladys. She had been very kind and, thankfully, garrulous. In between her water woes, she had also passed on details of how she had met a man whom she had believed to be dead for almost twenty years. In a somewhat sketchy manner, she told Raghu all she had told Samir. Raghu had come to the quick conclusion that he had to now follow Samir to Colaba. He left, after thanking Aunty Gladys profusely for her hospitality and her expert ideas about improving the residents' water supply. As he headed towards the Bandra-Worli Sea Link, somewhere near Mount Mary, he received a call from Inspector Pandian. The call was regarding a message received over the police wireless about a madman, attired in hospital clothes, being involved in some sort of murder incident at Bandra station. Raghu could not believe that this could be Samir, but decided anyway to investigate this. He turned his vehicle towards Bandra station.

Raghu parked the SUV right in front of the station in the 'No Parking' zone. He reached below the backseat and pulled out a police inspector's regulation cap and a wooden police baton. He placed the accessories on the dashboard, in full view of any casual observer. He had used this trick many a time, to park wherever he wanted to. The menacing presence of the police officer's cap and baton were enough to ward off any curious traffic constables. He stepped out of the SUV and entered the teeming station.

As he entered the platform area, he saw crowds gathered at the far end. The presence of so many police personnel made his pulse quicken. He hoped that nothing serious had happened to Samir. Increasing his speed, he made his way through the crowd to the centre of the commotion. A police constable tried to push him aside, but sensed from Raghu's imperious manner that this was a person of some importance, not to be messed around with. He gave way in deference. Raghu peeped over the heads of the gathered policemen and saw the crumpled body of a young man. Instinctively, he heaved a sigh of relief. It was not Samir. He caught the eye of a young sub-inspector and signalled to him to step forward.

'What happened here?' asked Raghu.

'Who are you?' asked the sub-inspector in return.

'I am a municipal corporator.'

The sub-inspector shrugged, 'He was just a local tapori... slightly slow mentally. He used to collect hafta from the station stall owners and liked to harass people on the platform for fun. Apparently, someone didn't like his sense of humour. A madman.'

'Where is the madman? Is he in your custody?' Raghu maintained his deadpan gaze.

The sub-inspector could not hide his irritation any more. 'Saheb, if he was in my custody, do you think I would be here? He has escaped.' A constable called out to the sub-inspector. The constable had been talking to a couple of youths in the crowd. 'Saheb, these two chaps say that the dead man is the brother-in-law of Kundalik Kadam.'

Raghu stepped back into the crowd, stunned. 'Kundalik Kadam!' He knew who that was. A slumlord who commanded a lot of respect in Bandra East. He had his finger on the pulse of every illegal activity going on in the Behrampada, Indira Nagar, Bharat Nagar, Navpada and Garib Nagar slums.

A knot started forming in the pit of Raghu's stomach. He began to fear that he would not see Samir alive again.

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Kundalik Kadam had spent the past forty years doing real estate dhandha in the slums of Bandra East. Even though the opportunities to expand his business by becoming a genuine legal 'builder' had been tempting, Kundalik had not yielded to those urges. He was smart enough to realize that he was best dealing with the poor or illiterate, over whom he held complete sway. He didn't want to risk going out into the big bad world and dealing with white-collared customers who seemed wary of his uncouth ways. He had quietly built an empire in the slums, from the bottom of Khar East to the upper tip of Dharavi. No one knew that most of the slum shanties belonged to him, through proxy holdings. The amount of rent that he earned every month far surpassed what many bigshot builders could earn in a year. His small army of thugs ensured that the rent was collected on time and business operations were 'smooth'. He had made it a point not to recruit any family members into his dhandha, as he thought them weak links in his chain of command. He feared that sooner or later, one of these weak links would give way and the intricate infrastructure that he had built would come crashing down.

Now, as he stood listening to his weeping wife, he feared that that day had come. The one family member that he had allowed to be a part of the dhandha, only because of his disability, had now caused a tremor in his ranks. Kundalik would have to take decisive action, or he would be seen as weak himself. He wanted to tell his wife to shut up, because her snivelling, imbecile of a brother deserved to die anyway. Instead, he phoned his deputy and barked, 'Find this madman. Bring him to me alive.'

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The sharp ring of a mobile phone woke Gardullah up from the drug-induced slumber that he had fallen into. At the same time, Samir had been trying to clamber back onto the giant pipe while leaving Gardullah's 'Pipe Star Hotel' to continue onwards. Samir, too, was startled at the ringing and lost his footing on the curvature of the pipe. He slipped back down to where he had been sitting earlier.

Through his haze, Gardullah reached into a small cloth bag and pulled out a mobile phone. He put the phone on speaker mode and loudly croaked out 'Gardullah Home Delivery Service. What is your order?'

The person on the other side didn't find any humour in Gardullah's attempt at a joke. 'Abey chutiye, have you seen a madman wearing a hospital patient's clothes?'

Gardullah looked towards Samir, who was holding his breath. 'Behenchod, are you high as usual? Answer my question,' the man growled.

'I have seen many madmen. Everyday I see one. In fact, I may become one myself, soon.' Gardullah winked at Samir and laughed like a maniac.

The man on the other end sighed. 'Laudu, one day your nasha is going to kill you. When you get out of your haze, report to Kundalik bhai's office. And call me if you see this madman, okay? Everybody is looking out for him. He has killed Kundalik bhai's brother-in-law.'

Gardullah seemed upset. 'What! That haraami yeda is dead? He owes me money for the last three consignments I scored for him!'

'That bastard had borrowed money from me, too, but what can we do? Instead of thanking his killer, we have to find and kill him instead.'

The line got cut. Gardullah and Samir stared at each other.

Finally, Gardullah reached under his mattress and took out a wooden box that was wedged in a corner under the pipe. He took out an old police service revolver from the box.

'We have to get out of this area immediately,' he told Samir. He grasped a welded piece of iron and clambered on to the pipe. Standing atop the pipe, he looked down at Samir and said, 'Are you waiting for a shubh muhurat to come up?' Samir smiled, held on to the iron and, using all his strength, joined Gardullah on top of the pipe.

Gardullah stuck the gun in the waistband of his pants and covered it with his shirt. Then he started walking along the pipe, in the opposite direction from which they had come in earlier. The pipe's curvature was suitable for walking without letting one tip over and fall. Samir hesitated when he saw that the pipe extended for about a kilometre across a black river of swirling sewage. He gulped as he imagined what a small sip of the black swirling water could do to a human being, were he to lose his footing and slip into it. A few yards ahead of him on the pipe, the nimble-footed Gardullah called out, 'Oye, madman, show me how mad you are. Follow me as fast as you can.'

Samir rose to the challenge. He took a few tentative steps, gained confidence and increased his speed as he began to follow the swiftly moving Gardullah.

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Raghu entered Kundalik Bhavan, a three-storey brick-and-cement building, standing right in the middle of Garib Nagar. It was from this place that Kundalik Kadam conducted his business activities. At that point of time in the late afternoon, Kundalik Bhavan was bustling with activity. Aggressive, brooding men were walking around, looking ready to spring into action if given a call. Impotent anger was writ on almost every face. A hefty dark man stopped him in his tracks.