Mumbaistan (15 page)

It was one such dog, standing under a streetlamp, that caught Virkar's attention as he stood in the shadows opposite Cursetjee Castle. He noticed a wet, glistening blackness on the dog's snout. He searched his pockets for something to offer the dog, but found nothing. He whistled softly. The dog twitched its tail and glanced at him; a little confused whether he was friend or foe. Deciding that Virkar was harmless, it bounded towards him, wagging its tail in friendship.

Virkar patted its head and rubbed its back, his eyes fixed on the dog's mouth. The dog playfully licked his hand. Virkar took this as an opportunity to rub his hand against the dog's snout. The dog growled a little and backed away. Virkar raised his hand and examined the slimy substance under the dim glow of the streetlight. It was what he had thought, blood. Thick, blackish blood. The dog growl turned low and throaty.

Virkar took a step towards the dog but it yelped and bolted into the night. He bent down and picked up a piece of paper lying on the ground, scraped off the blood from his hand with the paper, and folded it. Preserving it as evidence in his pocket. His hand went to his hip and he realized the biggest disadvantage of being a policeman on suspension. His gun was lying safely in its holster, secure in a Godrej steel cupboard, inside his police station.

He turned his attention back towards Cursetjee Castle. His eyes scanned the black, two-storey structure, as if trying to bore a hole through the stone walls to find the source of the blood. He decided to take a closer look and was about to cross the street to get closer to Cursetjee Castle, when he heard a scraping sound coming from that direction. He hid himself deeper in the shadows. He strained to figure out the source of the scraping sound. His curiosity soon got the better of him, and he crouched and tiptoed towards the compound wall bordering Cursetjee Castle. Upon reaching a dark patch on the compound wall, he raised himself to try and get a view inside, but the wall was too high. He then clasped the top of the wall. Using all his strength, he managed to raise himself parallel to the wall, enough for him to take in the dark compound and the goings on within. Like a precariously balanced gymnast, Virkar hung in his suspended position, his tense body struggling against gravity. The scraping had grown louder and Virkar could now decipher it as the sound of a heavy object being dragged on dry mud.

Suddenly, he caught a movement in the darkness. His eyes focused on what looked like a man struggling with a large gunnysack, heading towards the silhouette of a car standing at the far end of the compound. He calculated that the man would take at least a minute to reach the car at his current pace. Lowering himself back on to the ground, he allowed himself a quick chance to relax before getting back into position. His heart thumped as he began to understand what was happening on the other side of the wall. After he had rested for about forty-five seconds, he hoisted himself back into the same position and his eyes searched again for the man. He saw that the man had reached the car. A sliver of moonlight bounced off metal, and Virkar could make out that the boot was open. The man was now hoisting the gunnysack into the boot. Struggling with its heavy proportions, he somehow managed to overturn it in. As the gunnysack disappeared inside the tight space with a low thump, the man relaxed, catching his breath. He shut the boot door as quietly as possible. Virkar then heard the car door open and moments later, the sound of the engine starting. But the headlights didn't come on.

Virkar quickly jumped back off the compound wall, onto the footpath, and scurried back across the street, merging himself into the shadows once more. Just then, he heard the car at the compound gate. He saw the dark shape of a man get out of the car and open the metal gates. The man got back into the car and drove away, down the street, turning right at the first by-lane.

As soon as the car had disappeared from sight, Virkar sprang out of the shadows and ran towards his Bullet that he had earlier parked under a building midway down the street. He sprang onto the motorcycle and took off in the direction of the car. Turning into the by-lane that the car had taken, he saw the car at quite a distance from him. The car took a turn on to the main Mazagaon road. Virkar followed at a discreet distance. Luckily for him, the driver had turned on the lights after hitting the main road. He spotted the car again at a distance, turning towards Byculla. The car headed through Byculla and reached Gloria Church, where it looped across Sir JJ Marg towards 'S' Bridge.

The car and the motorcycle wound on and on through the black roads. Virkar wondered where they were headed, as the car had almost reached Nana Chowk. He watched as it turned right into a lane just after Gamdevi Police Station. On an impulse, Virkar stopped the bike on the main road and parked it behind a couple of other cars on the side of the road. He walked into the lane on foot. Using the parked cars in the street for cover, he walked down the lane. He saw the car, parked in a gully opposite a garbage bin. Virkar realized that the bin was directly behind the Gamdevi police station, except that it was hidden from sight because of the high compound wall. The boot of the car was open and the man was lifting the gunnysack out of the car. Virkar watched in silence. The man dragged the gunnysack across the street to the garbage bin and propped it against the side of the bin. The man hurried back across the street and started the car. As quietly as possible, he reversed out of the dark gully and drove off in the opposite direction.

Virkar waited for the car to disappear, then emerged from the shadows and walked towards the gunnysack. He approached it with some amount of trepidation, fearing what he may find inside. He poked at the rough fabric and felt something soft and pulpy. A sinking feeling started growing in the pit of his stomach. He quickly undid the knot at the top and let the gunnysack fall over to the side. Out spilled the body of a recently dead man. What surprised Virkar was that he recognized the man. A small-time real-estate broker called Athavle, who had connections with the underworld. Athavle had, on many occasions, been an informer for the police and was quite the favourite with the erstwhile encounter specialists'.

A neatly folded crisp white paper popped out of Athavle's pocket. Virkar reached for the paper, but stopped himself at the last minute. He took out a handkerchief and wrapped it around his hand like a glove. He then extricated the note. He opened the note and strained to read the scrawled lettering under the dull moonlight.

'This man's name is Athavle. He was an associate of Dr Animesh Jetha and had helped him in the kidney racket. I have killed him. People like him, who prey on the poor, need to be removed from this earth. I will not rest until all the members of this organ racket have been brought to justice by me. My justice is their death.'

The note was unsigned, but Virkar already knew who had written it. He stood silent. He wanted to go after Porus, but strangely, held himself back. He had no real answer for this hesitance. The only answer that sprung to his mind was that somehow, Porus's actions had opened up a locked door within him. A hidden door that led to the darkest part of his soul. To a visceral understanding of Porus's motive. To the revelation that perhaps, he himself was not very different from Dr Porus Udwadia.

Around him, the chirping of birds began to fill the air. The night was dying, giving way to a new day. After what seemed a lifetime, Virkar recovered his wits.

He folded the note, placed it back in Athavle's pocket and shoved the lifeless man back into the sack. Quickly, he tied the sack up again and left it next to the garbage bin. He then melted into the grey Mumbai dawn.

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The Bullet cruised past the still unawakened Metro Cinema Junction and slid between the Kayani and Bastani Bakeries. Passing the next traffic signal without any hindrance, it turned right onto an arterial road leading right into the heart of Kalbadevi.

Virkar's eyes scanned the shop signboards and finally rested on the one proclaiming: 'Elite Estate Agency, Proprietor— B. K. Athavle'.

Maakad Nakwa shifted on the pillion seat, reminding Virkar of his presence.

Virkar gestured towards the signboard. Maakad nodded back. Virkar rode the Bullet into a narrow by-lane and stopped near a parked car. Maakad said, 'So what do you want me to look for, some land deal papers?'

Virkar replied, 'No, I want you to get me anything that looks as if it is connected to doctors or the medical profession.'

Maakad raised an eyebrow in surprise but held his tongue.

Maakad Nakwa was perhaps the single most capable cat burglar left in Mumbai. Born and brought up in the Colaba Machhimar Colony, he had shown no interest in following the footsteps of his fisherman father. Instead, he had had an early inclination towards his current trade. As a child, he would slide up the mast of his father's old fishing boat, curl himself into a ball, and hide in the smallest of places. His first name was Ravi, but he had been named Maakad (monkey) because of his ability to jump from roof to roof of the neighbouring huts, without making a sound, or denting the corrugated aluminum roof sheets. As an adolescent, Maakad's talents were utilized by the Sundre Gang to enter the old houses of Colaba, by making him scale pipes and use his body compacting skills to gain entry through gaps in window grills barely large enough to let a small animal through. The spate of new construction brought in new apartments with smaller grill gaps and, therefore, less possibility of entering through the windows. Maakad was the only member of the Sundre Gang who survived the wave of arrests in the 1990s that put most of the gang behind bars. To keep in step with the changing times, Maakad surreptitiously trained at a locksmith's shop in the Fort area. He then went solo and travelled from Colaba all the way to Bandra, breaking locks and entering apartments in swanky bungalows. He stole enough to create a steady income for himself. Occasionally he would venture towards burglarizing a house in Colaba. After Virkar had been posted to the Colaba police station, he warned his old friend Maakad to stop operating in Colaba. Maakad did not heed his warning and had robbed a jewelry cache from a rich businessman's house. Virkar arrested him, although he was kind enough not to pressurize him to return the stolen goods. Six months later, Maakad was out. After having spent his first stint in jail, he had decided to go straight. Finally taking up the profession that almost all his family members had wanted him to be a part of, in the first place, he bought himself a mechanized fishing trawler by selling off the stolen jewellery.

Now it was time for Maakad to return the favour. He stood at the side entrance of Elite Estate Agency. The door was set inside an old, almost condemned, Kalbadevi building. On it was an old Godrej padlock. With the flick of a long fingernail on his right little finger, he slid out a large metal bobby pin hidden within the seam of his shirt. He inserted the bobby pin into the padlock and turned and twisted it, feeling his way to the catch lever. Finding the touch point, he pressed the bobby pin with full force and the padlock snapped open. In one smooth movement, Maakad took off the padlock, opened the door and entered the room.

In the side street, Virkar sat on his Bullet going through the events of the previous night in his head. The soft, rising sun was brightening up the street, but Virkar's mood remained dark. In his mind, Porus's face was flashing over and over again. Virkar was searching for any signs of cruelty, but all he could remember was a placid, matter-of-fact expression.

Maakad's sudden return jolted Virkar out of his reverie. Maakad shrugged. 'There were only real estate papers there, sale deeds, etc. The only remotely medical-looking thing that I found was this.' He handed over a colour photograph.

'It was the only thing kept inside a safe, so I presumed it must be important, somehow'.

Virkar took one look at the photograph and put it inside his pocket without a word. He gunned the Bullet engine and started to ride off.

The surprised Maakad shouted out behind him, 'Hey! How am I am going to get home'?

Without turning, Virkar said 'Take a taxi, you can afford it.' He rode out of the lane into the early morning traffic of Kalbadevi.

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Injectionwala Strikes Again

The Injectionwala found another victim on Tuesday night. This time it is a fixer, B. K. Athavle. He is alleged to have given several bribes on behalf of Dr Jetha so that Jetha could continue his heinous activities unchallenged. Police sources say that Athavle was the man who bribed Senior Inspector Rajendra Kapse, too. It is yet to be ascertained whether Athavle was Man Friday to Dr Jetha or was he the leader of the ring.

In a note left with the body, Injectionwala has said that killing is his brand of justice for the wrongdoers in our society.

In an online opinion poll we ran yesterday, we asked people whether they wanted Injectionwala to continue killing, or to be brought to justice. This is what some respondents had to say: Aditya, 24: 'I hope Injectionwala keeps killing. We have plenty of worthless, corrupt people to bring to justice... He has become a local hero of sorts' Zainub, 50: 'Why don't you imagine a person in your family in the same situation as the victims of the kidney racket?'

Karamdeep, 21: Injectionwala going to jail won't bring the world to peace, it won't make the victims come back to life. It would be better if he never gets caught. Bharti, 28: 'Injectionwala is the first good thing that has happened to this city in a long time. He should go after all the corrupt people in our society.'

Ravi, 46: "There's an Injectionwala inside all of us.'

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Maskati Cloth Mills in Byculla was one among the numerous mills whose machines had fallen silent in 1982 due to the mill-workers' strike. Its operations were too small to survive the prolonged standoff. The owner, who had hoped to earn some big bucks by giving it for redevelopment, had locked it up, preferring instead to concentrate on his other businesses. Presently, the crumbling building was lying unused, inhabited by a few disinterested security guards.