Mumbaistan (8 page)

The ACP and his team were already running to their vehicles as Tanvir's taxi drove away down the road.

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Chikal Wadi in Mumbai's Tardeo area is a small, predominantly middle-class Maharashtrian neighbourhood. Many a Chikal Wadi boy has dreamed of emulating its most famous son, cricketer Sunil Gavaskar. Throughout the day, one finds kids playing gully cricket in its many nooks and corners. In one such nook lay Tanvir Khanzada's small two-room tenement. He had acquired this home as a payment in kind from a cash-strapped builder whom he had helped by clearing an old suburban building off its reluctant-to-leave residents.

Tanvir used this place as a sanctuary. And that is exactly what he wanted for Rabia—a place where she could rest, safe and secure. Rabia was still in a semi-stupor and had been quite uncommunicative during the short taxi ride. Thankfully for Tanvir, she followed him up the wooden stairs of the century-old building without saying as much as a word. Tanvir opened the door of his tenement and led her in. The musty smell of a place lying unused and unopened for a long period of time almost made Rabia faint again. She clung to Tanvir as he led her to the single bed lying in one corner of the inner room. He propped up the pillows and helped her lie down. Then he busied himself in opening the windows to let some fresh air in. Satisfied with his ministrations, he sat down beside Rabia, only to discover that she had fallen into a deep slumber. Tanvir tucked her in as best he could. As he rose from the side of the bed, he heard Rabia mumbling incoherently in her sleep. 'Zohra...Aalamzeb...friend' was all he could make out clearly, before Rabia went back into a steady and silent sleep. Tanvir got up and exited the tenement, making sure that he locked it behind him.

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At that early pre-dawn hour, the taxi ride from Tardeo to Khetwadi Lane No. 10 didn't take more than ten minutes. It took another minute for Tanvir to run up the three floors of Friendship Lodge. He could have shaved off a few seconds, had it not been for the sleeping gentry on each floor landing. He had to literally hop, skip and jump over the huddled figures still stretched out on the floor, trying to catch the only bit of undisturbed sleep that they could afford, since their jobs involved working through the nights as support staff to the various prostitutes housed on every floor.

Now, as he stood panting outside the two-room suite' that Rabia shared with Zohra, his heart beat fast, not so much because of the run up the stairs, but because the semi-open front door signalled something ominous inside. Tanvir took a deep breath and pushed the door open a little further. There was an eerie silence. A faint blue light from the inner room that Zohra inhabited fell on the cheap vinyl-tiled floor, giving it the familiar otherworldly feel. The dark sky outside didn't help matters much. Tanvir tiptoed inside, trying his best to leave everything undisturbed.

Yet he need not have taken so much care, because Zohra's room was in shambles. A large steel trunk that usually functioned as a makeshift 'diwan lay open and empty at the corner of the room. Zohra herself was lying on the floor in another corner of the small room. A dark pool of blood around her indicated why she had chosen the floor as a resting place. Tanvir rushed up to her and in the meagre light of the bedside lamp, he could make out that she had been stabbed in the stomach, not very long ago. Although Zohra had been left for dead, there still seemed to be some life left in her. She stirred at Tanvir's touch; her lips parted and tried to form words. Tanvir noticed that her right hand was clutching a wooden sindoor box tightly. She shoved the sindoor box into Tanvir's hands. Tanvir was a little nonplussed at receiving a wedding gift from a dying person. But then, Zohra pulled at his collar and using all her strength, brought his ear next to her mouth. She whispered for a couple of seconds. Tanvir strained to hear what Zohra was saying, but 'Zaveri Bazaar' were the only two words he could decipher as she died with a sigh.

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The Phiroze Jeejeebhoy Towers, popularly known as the Bombay Stock Exchange Building, is a twenty-nine-storey iconic structure in South Mumbai. It stands proud at the intersection of the famous Dalai Street, the Bombay Samachar Marg and Hammam Street in Mumbai's Fort area. Historically an open-outcry floor trading exchange, the Bombay Stock Exchange switched to an electronic trading system in 1995. Since then, the number of people going in and out of the building has significantly reduced. However, the symbolic significance of the building has not reduced one bit. It is the single landmark that immediately communicates Mumbai's status as India's financial capital to all.

At pre-dawn, the tower had never seen this kind of activity in and around it. Mumbai police had surrounded the building, while the bomb squad was conducting a painstaking search, floor by floor. By now, every senior police officer had seen the footage on the camera chip and had rushed their men to the Stock Exchange, each hoping to grab a piece of credit for saving the day. ACP Hani did not welcome the unnecessary help from the other departments. Despite the pressure from the local police bosses, the NSG and even the army, he was not ready to step aside and give up the chase so easily. For the past two hours, he had helped conduct the search, combing through each and every room in the building, along with his chosen men.

While poking about in a toilet on the eleventh floor, the ACP received Tanvir's phone call. Casting an irritated glance at the caller ID, he nevertheless took the call. However, Tanvir's opening line got his undivided attention.

'We have been tricked again by Aalamzeb.'

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The small Chikal Wadi street was still clutching the last slivers of sleep as the sky looked ready to welcome the morning. An exhausted Tanvir trudged up the stairs of his building. As he stood outside the door of his tenement, he noticed that the door (which he had locked) was bereft of the lock. In fact, it was ajar. Tanvir shook off a sense of déjà vu as he kicked the door in and saw three smiling men, dressed in grey mechanic-like overalls, sitting inside. The man he had come to recognize as Aalamzeb was holding an automatic pistol to a petrified Rabia's right temple. Tanvir sighed and walked inside without a word. One of the men, with a constipated expression on his face, got up and shut the door behind him. The smiling Aalamzeb finally broke the silence.

'Welcome, Tanvir. We meet for the first time, but I feel as though I know you well.'

Tanvir's lip curled in a sneer. 'I don't think you know me well enough, Aalamzeb.'

Aalamzeb continued to smile 'Of course, of course, I don't know your deep inner thoughts, but I know you well enough to have been playing you like a mouth organ for the past three months'

The other men laughed. For the first time, Tanvir noticed the third one, a rat-faced teenager who stuck close to Aalamzeb. Rabia half-rose from the bed, saying 'Tanvir, please forgive me...' but Aalamzeb reached out and pushed her down again. Tanvir moved to stop him, but Aalamzeb turned the pistol towards him, stopping him in his tracks. Aalamzeb smiled and spoke again, 'Thank you, Tanvir, for your hospitality. I knew I'd done the right thing by not killing you in the beginning. I've used you well. Even now, I'm using you. No one is looking for us in your house.'

Tanvir cursed under his breath. Aalamzeb continued to pour forth, like a man who was dying to be complimented for his intelligence. He only stopped when his mobile phone rang. He picked it up and listened to the voice on the other side. 'Okay' was all he said as he disconnected. He flashed his sarcastic smile once again at Tanvir. 'Thanks to you, in the next few minutes, the police will have emptied the Stock Exchange Building and gone off to Zaveri Bazaar.' Tanvir clenched his fists in impotent anger. Aalamzeb now got up and smoothed his clothes, as if headed for an important meeting. The other two Pakistanis took this as a signal and picked up the large duffel bags lying in the corner. Tanvir had not noticed them earlier. Aalamzeb unzipped the last duffel bag and took out another grey overall. He threw it towards Tanvir, indicating that he should wear it. Then he zipped up the duffel bag, picked it up and said, 'And now, Tanvir, you are going to help us get into the Stock Exchange building. Rabia will remain here as a guarantee against you trying anything funny, which you will not even dream of because, if you will notice, your house is wired to explode with a remote timer.' As Tanvir put on the overalls, he spotted the wires running along the floors for the first time. Rabia's muted sobs called for his reassurance. He touched her face with an indescribable longing. Then, without a word, he left the house with the three Pakistani terrorists.

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It is said that mornings in Mumbai are akin to mornings in New York, in that they infuse the same charged-up feeling in every Mumbaikar, getting him ready to spring into the new day to decimate it.

Today, Mumbai was set to come even closer to New York, to become a victim of a massive terrorist attack that would take down a symbolic monument in its financial district.

Tanvir's grim thoughts sketched out this comparison as he sat in the taxi with the three Pakistanis. Since the traffic lights had not started functioning as yet, the taxi had chugged its way through the by-lanes that led to the Stock Exchange. For some reason, Aalamzeb had directed the taxi driver to loop around Flora Fountain and approach Dalai Street from behind. As the taxi neared Horniman Circle, Aalamzeb gave instructions and the taxi stopped. He paid the taxi driver, who drove off. It was only then that Tanvir realized why this circuitous route had been taken. A police sub-inspector stepped out of one of the small by-lanes and approached them. As he neared, Tanvir saw that it was the same man, with the hyena-grin, who had earlier been posing as a burqa-clad woman, and before that, as the stone thrower. Hyena sensed Tanvir's thoughts. 'It's so easy to disguise oneself in Mumbai— everything is available off-the-shelf.' This time, his high-pitched laugh didn't bother Tanvir so much as he fell into step with the others and walked towards the Stock Exchange building. Aalamzeb raised a quizzical eyebrow at Hyena, who contained himself and said, 'The last of the policemen left about fifteen minutes back. I have told the Stock Exchange security people that I will be coming back shortly with engineers and remote-sensing equipment to be installed on the terrace for additional security. They are waiting impatiently for us.' He could not contain himself anymore and broke into his signature laugh. Aalamzeb graced him with an indulgent smile.

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As the elevator started its upward journey to the terrace, Tanvir could not help but marvel at the Pakistani terrorists' detailed planning. They all had impeccable IDs from one of Mumbai's largest engineering firms. What had impressed him the most was that they had even had an ID for him. Now, as they roared up in the lift towards the terrace, he swallowed hard and prepared for what lay ahead.

As Aalamzeb and the three Pakistanis stepped onto the terrace of the building, they were completely surrounded by armed policemen. The element of surprise was absolute! Before they knew it, their duffel bags had been grabbed out of their hands and they were lying on the floor with police guns pointing at every inch of their bodies. In a reflex action, the Pakistanis raised the cylindrical pendants around their necks to their mouths and bit into them. But the police had soda bottles ready. The constables sprayed the soda on their faces to wash away the cyanide powder in the pendants. Unfortunately, the rat-faced one and the constipated one had already bitten into the pendants and were foaming at the mouth. Aalamzeb and Hyena were slower, and all the cyanide was washed out of the pendants before they could swallow it.

Aalamzeb tried to rise. But ACP Hani stepped forward and pushed him down with a booted foot. Aalamzeb blinked at the ACP. Then he began to smile, 'Mr ACP, you are not that smart. This is only part of the plan.' He began to laugh like a maniac. Hyena joined him in his laughter, and was even more hysterical. ACP Hani pulled out his pistol from its holster. Stepping forward, he pistol-whipped Hyena. As luck would have it, one of the blows cracked his skull, and without a word, he fell dead. Aalamzeb swore, 'You behenchods have no clue. In fact, you're so foolish, you thought me to be the leader. I wish I were! My leader is the one with the brains, the one who called all the shots in this operation. I'm envious of my leader, who will go to jannat, whilst we will have to suffer fools like you.'

The ACP didn't react. Aalamzeb seized the advantage. 'Here, call this number.' He gave a local Mumbai mobile number. 'Our leader wants to give you all a goodbye message.' An incredulous Tanvir took out his phone and dialled the number given by Aalamzeb.

Rabia answered the call. Hearing Tanvir's tentative 'Hello,' she spoke in a voice that seemed entirely alien, 'I am at Churchgate Station, I have forty kgs of RDX strapped on me—'

Tanvir interrupted her, 'Rabia! Please, I know you're not one of them. I love you! Tell me you're not their leader!'

'Of course I am,' Rabia's pat reply left him dazed.

Tanvir didn't stop, 'Rabia, please. You will die!'

Rabia broke into chilling laughter. 'Death is a small price to pay for immortality.'

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Behind Tanvir, Aalamzeb added, 'You fool, when I was visiting Rabia, I wasn't sleeping with her but delivering RDX from its hiding place in Mumbra, one kg at a time. As soon as you appeared, we figured out that you must be in league with the cops. So we decided to play out this whole charade to understand your every step, and used you to throw the police off track.'

Tanvir's expression was one of rage mixed with disappointment. Leering at him, Aalamzeb continued with his sarcastic laugh, 'She was even ready to marry this fool to convince everyone of her innocence.'

Tanvir looked at the pistol in ACP Hani's hand. Without warning, he grabbed the ACP's hand, turned it towards Aalamzeb and squeezed the ACP's finger, which was resting on the trigger. Aalamzeb was shot through the head. Everybody stood still in shock Then, almost simultaneously, everybody turned in the direction of Churchgate station, waiting to hear a distant blast.