Show Business (6 page)

“What if you stop? Refuse to go on?” Ashok asks, as the studio stars twinkle overhead, casting slivers of light on the teardrop that trembles on her cheek. “They will kill me.” She shivers. “Or my parents. They said they would burn down my parents' house if I even thought of—” Her voice chokes.

Ashok puts an arm around her, delicately wipes the tear off her cheek with his long fingers. “Don't worry,” he says, “I'll look after you.” She smiles, nestles closer to him. For some reason they are walking by the beach now. Moonbeams play with her hair and shine on her pearly smile, as he introduces himself with the theme song:

I am the long arm of the law,
I'll always show villains the door
By day or by night
I'll handle any fight
And put all the bad men on the floor!

As the song continues, the scene keeps changing to depict their evolving courtship. In one verse they are by the beach; in the next, running through a park; in a third, swaying on his motorcycle. Through each change of costume and locale, the song goes on:

I am the long arm of the law,
You needn't ask for any more,
No one will hurt you, Nothing can
dirt you, You are what I'm fighting for!

I am the long arm of the law,
No villain will touch you with his paw,
They'll fall helter-skelter
When I give you shelter,
For they know what I've got in store!
I am the long arm of the law,
My skills are the very ones you saw,
Oh, damsel in distress, Justice is my
mistress, And my heart beats for
you at the core!

There are six different shots of Abha running into Ashok's arms in six different parts of town and being clasped in six different tight embraces. When the last note fades away, the camera catches them thus and lingers on Abha's face, the side that is not pressed into the hero's chest. She is smiling: but is it the smile of a woman in love, or of a villainess in victory?

Interior: Godambo's cavern. The cheetah is being scratched, the villainous palm is being struck, the fin is swirling in the pool — we are back in familiar territory.

“Are you making progress, Abha?” The gravel seems to have been troweled on today.

“Yes, mighty Godambo.” Abha's eyes are lowered, so it is difficult to read her expression. She has changed from her range of respectable attire in the song — saris,
salwar-kameez
— back into her black-and-gold uniform. “He suspects nothing.”

“But what have you found out? How much does he know?”

“I am still trying to win his confidence, mighty Godambo. I haven't been able to ask him that yet.”

“It is taking a lot of time,” Godambo says. “Pranay here is becoming impatient, aren't you, Pranay?”

Pranay, chewing, grunts affirmatively, bringing the whipstock gingerly down on his palm. He sports a pair of vivid bruises, designed to win the makeup man a
Filmfare
award.

“Poor Pranay had to put up with a lot that night at the club,” Godambo chuckles evilly, “just to bring you and Ashok together. He's itching to get his own back now, aren't you, Pranay?”

Pranay chews and grunts even more vigorously. This time the whip handle falls into his palm with a satisfying thwack. Abha winces, but says nothing.

“You're not becoming too fond of this Inspector Ashok yourself, are you, Abha?” Godambo asks conversationally. The cheetah sits up. “Because if any such thought should cross your mind, you know what will happen to your parents, don't you? And to their sad little house?” The cheetah stands up on all fours on Godambo's lap. “Or indeed to you?”

A look of pain, like a fleeting shadow, crosses Abha's face. “I know where my duty lies, mighty Godambo,” she says. The gold lame chemise quivers with suppressed emotion.

“Just as well,” responds the domed head on the throne. “But to be safe, I shall ask Pranay here to keep a closer eye on you. Don't want you making any silly mistakes over this Inspector Ashok.” He looks at her meaningfully; she averts her gaze at first, looking down, then brings her chin up to return his stare, a strong, confident expression on her face. “Not that I don't trust you, Abha. You're an intelligent girl. You know what's good for you. And if you don't” — he raises his voice to address the pillar-posted commandos — “we all know what the punishment for betrayal is, don't we?”

The expected answer comes, full-throated, uncompromising. “Death!”

“Death,” echoes Godambo in confirmation. The cheetah closes its eyes.

“Amma, I have brought someone to meet you.”

“Arré,
Ashok, home so early? And who have …” Amma bustles out of the kitchen into the main room with its parrot-green wall and stops short beneath the freshly garlanded photograph of her late and much-lamented husband. She takes in the sight of Abha, demurely clad in a cotton sari, and her eyes widen with surprise and pleasure.

“Ma, this is Abha.” Ashok cannot keep the pride out of these simple words, even in the rerecording studio. The heroine-gangster's moll steps forward, hand outstretched, and bends to touch the old lady's feet.

A happy scene follows. Kind words are spoken, embarrassed smiles concealed, shy glances exchanged. Pigtailed Maya enters and, in defiance of all the established patterns of sibling behavior, takes an instant liking to her brother's flame. As Amma produces tea and snacks, the younger women commune in a shared filmi sisterhood. Maya admires the way Abha wears her hair; Abha tells her it is easy to do. Maya giggles a request, and Abha smilingly accompanies her to her room to oblige. In a moment they are back, with Maya's hair done just like Abha's. There is much laughter, but soon it is time for the visitor to leave.

“I've always wanted to have a sister,” Maya says artlessly. “Please come back soon.”

A troubled look shadows Abha's face. “I'd like to come back soon,” she says. She turns away, biting her lip, so that no one can see the tears that have suddenly welled up in her eyes.

It is evening, and Abha is standing alone at some unidentified spot. She sings a slow, high-pitched, haunting lament:

I am torn in two,
I am torn in two,
Just like an unwelcome love-letter.
I am torn in two,
I am torn in two,
And I fear I will never be better.

How cruel is life,
To bring such strife,
And make me weep and mope;
To have the word “wife”
Strike like a knife
Instead of lighting hope.

I am torn in two,
I am torn in two,
I love this precious man.
I am torn in two,
I am torn in two,
For I must fulfill the plan.

His every smile
His sense of style
Lights up my wretched heart.
But all the while
With shameful guile
I've been playing my part.

I am torn in two,
I am torn in two,
My mind quivers with this thought.
I am torn in two,
I am torn in two,
Between the must and the ought.

As the last high note fades into the sound track, it is replaced by the roar of the hero's motorcycle coming down the road. “Abha, why are you looking so sad?” Ashok asks. “Come on, I'll take you for a spin and cheer you up.”

“No, thanks, Ashok, I don't really feel like it today. I'm worried about you.”

“About me?” asks Ashok. “Why?”

“Your police work. It must be so dangerous. Just today there was an article in the paper about the ‘most wanted man in India,' Godambo, and how many people he has killed. What would happen if they assigned you to a case like that, to tackle someone like this horrible killer?”

“Nothing,” he responds cheerfully. “As a matter of fact, I'll let you into a secret, I
am
handling the Godambo case. And nothing has happened to me. I shall have that villain behind bars soon enough, and they will give me such a promotion I will be able to afford to marry you.”

“Hush,” she says. “Don't talk like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you might tempt Providence.” She averts her face, swallows, resumes. “Have you — come into contact with this Godambo yet?”

“No. If I had, that would be the end of the story,” Ashok boasts. “I have successfully stopped some of his operations, but no one knows where to find the great Godambo himself. Once I can track him down to his hideout, Godambo will be mine.”

“Don't do it!” Abha exclaims, then puts her hand to her mouth. “I mean, it might be terribly dangerous. Do you have any leads?”

“Not one,” Ashok admits. “I was hoping Godambo would show his hand after we intercepted one of his planes a few weeks ago. But he has been lying low. I must have frightened the fellow.” He laughs at Abha's troubled expression. “For Gods sake, stop looking so worried,” he says. “Remember:

I am the long arm of the law,
No one is quicker on the draw,
Injustice and corruption,
Forces of disruption,
Will be the losers in this war!”

She runs into his arms. “ Hold me, Ashok. Hold me so tight I can imagine you'll never leave me.”

“But I'll never leave you,” he says, holding her. She does not reply, and he strokes her hair. There is a worried expression on his own face.

Interior: lights, throne, pool, cheetah, gravel — the scene is set.

“Yes, Abha? What have you to report?”

Abha is no longer in civvies, but wears a glorious red-and-black pantsuit emblazoned with a gold cheetah springing across her chest. She is clearly in an emotional state because the decorative animal stirs visibly, as if scenting a threat in the jungle. “Sir, you don't need to worry about Inspector Ashok,” she says, a ripple moving through her sartorial animal.

“Oh? And why is that?” The voice is smooth now, as if the gravel has been macadamized. Godambo looks remarkably content for a man who has had no costume change in four scenes.

“He doesn't know how to find you. He told me himself he has no leads.” Abha's tone is eager, relief mingling with anxiety in her voice. “You are safe, mighty Godambo.”

“Safe?” the hairless head on the throne shakes derisively. “I, Godambo, do not seek to be
safe,
like some street corner pickpocket! I seek to eliminate all threats to myself. Must I cower like a fat merchant before a tax man, and try to keep out of Mr. Inspector Ashok's way? No, Abha. Now that I know he cannot surprise us here, I must surprise him instead. I will bring Muhammad to the mountain.” He laughs, a deep laugh this time, like gravel being shoveled into a pit. “In a way of my choosing. You have done a good job, Abha. I think you deserve a rest. For the next part of my plan, I have a more — passive part in mind for you.”

Godambo claps his hands; Pranay emerges, complete with
paan
and whip, and stands before his master. “Take her with you. You have followed her closely. You know exactly where to go?” Pranay chews, nods. “Go then.” Godambo laughs.

“Mighty Godambo —” Abha is distraught.

“Yes?”

“I am not feeling well. May I be excused from any further part in this — this plan?”

“You may not. Why my dear, you are a very necessary part of my plan.” Godambo's expression is almost avuncular. Then it changes. “You are not” — he leans forward, propping one elbow on a knee — “you are not refusing an order, are you?”

Abha's voice is very small. “No, Godambo.”

“Good. Because refusal is disobedience, you know. And the penalty for disobedience is —”

A hundred black-clad voices oblige him. “Death!”

“Death,” Godambo confirms and laughs again. His cheetah, unlike Abha's, continues to sleep.

The black Ambassador car draws up outside Ashok's house. A window is rolled down to reveal Abha in the backseat, her eyes imprisoned behind dark glasses. Inside the car, Pranay is holding a knife against her side. “Go on,” he says. “Call her.”

“No,” she breathes.

“Godambo was right to warn me you'd gone soft on him,” Pranay snarls. “Right now two of our Black Cheetah commandos are in your parents' home. They arejust waiting for the signal to act.”

“No!”

“Yes. So if you want to see your parents again, do as you're told. Call her.”

Abha stifles a sob. “Maya,” she cries out in a choked voice.

“Louder. Clearer. Or else …” Pranay places the metal of the knife on the bared flesh of her midriff, between sari and blouse.

Abha obliges. “Maya!”

There is an answering squeal of recognition, and Sweet Sixteen, back in pigtails, comes running out of the house. She reaches the car; Abha starts to warn her; Pranay savagely pushes Abha aside. The sound of a motorcycle is heard. The car door is flung open. Pranay leaps out, grabs Maya. She screams. Abha's face, frozen in horror and indecision, is visible in the window. The motorcycle enters the street. Ashok sees all three, shouts “Stop!” Pranay leers at him, bundles a screaming Maya into the car. He raises a fist: “Godambo
zindabad!”
he proclaims, disappearing into the car. The Ambassador drives away in a squeal of tires.

Ashok sets off in hot pursuit on his motorcycle.

Chase sequence: the Ambassador roars through the crowded streets, up Marine Drive, heads to the sea. The motorcycle follows, weaving in and out of traffic. The car runs a red light; Ashok mounts a sidewalk to chase it, scattering pedestrians, hawkers, and peanuts from a
moomphali
-wallah's basket. Twice, when Ashok seems to be gaining on the abductors, Pranay leans out and fires a shot from a revolver. Ashok ducks, veers, stays upright but loses ground. As the chase continues, Maya is seen struggling with Pranay inside the car. Pranay slaps her aside and barks to Abha, “Keep her quiet if you know what's good for you.” Abha restrains Maya and is rewarded with a look from the young girl that feelingly combines bewilderment and a dawning sense of betrayal.

The car turns off the road, onto a dirt track. It seems to be heading straight for a hillside by the sea, going too fast to avoid crashing into it. Ashok shouts out “Stop!” and slows down himself. The car continues to drive straight on. Just when a crash seems inevitable, the hillside opens up, a huge steel door sliding aside to reveal an entrance for the car. Ashok curses, accelerates. The Ambassador has disappeared inside. The steel door begins to slide back, closing the entrance. The motorcycle roars toward it. The gap narrows. Close-up: Ashok's face, grimly determined, teeth visibly clenched, as he strains every sinew to force his motorbike through the gap in time. The steel door is closing: with a fuel-burning roar, the motorcycle bursts through just as the door clangs shut.