The Benefit Season (24 page)

‘
Police duty’, Krishnamala
replied with scorn and began to tap her foot
impatiently.

The guard adjusted his cap, not
comprehending.

Krishnamala flashed her badge and poking a
finger in her bosom said, ’police’, and then jabbing a thumb toward
the kid said, ’duty’.

‘
Sorry ma’am’, the guard
said but remained there out of curiosity. He thrust a thumb in the
lift button and winked at Agent 9 who looked away- embarrassed.
When the lift came the guard wanted to get in too but Krishnamala
held up her hand- ‘police duty’- she reminded him. Seeing the
steely glint in her eyes, the guard stepped back, ruing the loss of
the spectacle of a woman police officer dressed like a village
belle with a fat child dangling from her forearm and a midget with
bottles sticking out of an odd belt around his tiny waist; a grand
spectacle to be told to grandkids.

The guard at the agency above was similarly
smitten with curiosity and only let them enter when Krishnamala
flashed the badge- the unspoken question about the baby left
hanging at his gaping mouth. He showed them the manager’s office
and retreated to his roost, where after attending to a persistent
itch around his anus when no one was looking, he proceeded to steal
his forty winks.

The officiating manager, Shikhandi, was
filling in for Monal. His skin was smooth like a salesman’s tongue
and his tongue as sweet as diabetic’s tooth. He was extremely
courteous and soft-spoken to a fault.

‘
What can I do for you’,
he simpered, after the introductions had been done with. He seemed
amazed with the kid, as if he were seeing one for the first time.
‘Did you order one especially, or are they made this small these
days’, he asked.

‘
He’s perfectly normal for
his age; weighs a good 18 pounds after my feed. We are here on
police work, can we focus please?’

‘
Sure’, he said, tucking
his chin on his folded wrist and swinging on his chair and making
faces at the baby.

‘
What can you tell me
about Monal?’

‘
Monal…what can I not tell
you about Monal! What a man! What muscles- rippling. She could tear
a bear apart with her nails’.

‘
Where do you think she
could have gone? What could have happened to her?’

‘
She wasn’t the
running-away type. Believe me- she could take great care of
herself- she was top order athlete and martial artist. If she has
gone away, it’s by choice’.

‘
Why would she do
that?’

‘
Maybe she got bored. She
was hard to please’.

‘
You mean…?’ Krishnamala
asked in a low voice, raising her eyebrows.

The manager looked about warily and
whispered, ‘there were rumors’.

‘
What kind…of
rumors?’

‘
That she was into
BDSM!’

‘
And what might be
BDSM?’

‘
You cops don’t know’,
Shikhandi asked with surprise.

Krishnamala shook her head.

‘
Bondage, Discipline and
Sadomasochism- There!’

‘
Meaning…?’

‘
Erotic role-play. People
in their strata of society who have a surfeit of sex always look
for newer ways to amuse themselves- do something different. BDSM
involves
dominance
and
submission
in turns- they switch roles-
tops
and
bottoms
. They inflict pain on each
other using whips, floggers… bind the other with handcuffs or
lashes… wear collars, use BDSM toys and even immobilize the
partners by using spreader bars or by shackling them to walls. Get
the picture?’

‘
Which one was she- top or
bottom?’

‘
She was very tough with
people. So I would say that she would have privately fantasized
about being dominated. A
bottom
is what I would assume she would volunteer to
be.’

‘
Was she forced into
it?’

‘
That’s the catch- it has
to be sane, safe and consensual- SSC. Sometimes they even have
written contracts about what can be done and what is
off-limits.’

‘
You seem to now a lot
about her’.

‘
Not about her- about it.
I know a bit about these things. All I’m saying is there are rumors
I heard, and rumors is what I told ya’.

‘
Do you think they might
be true?’

‘
I don’t know. People here
have seen her at times in heavily bruised and battered
condition.’

‘
It could be domestic
violence’.

‘
Nobody could be violent
with Monal, unless she willed it’.

‘
That’s kinky’.

Shikhandi shrugged and yawned. ‘Depends on
who’s judging’.

‘
Do you mean she was
harmed in some way during one of these sessions?’

‘
Can’t say’.

‘
Is it fair to assume a
woman is into kinky sex if she looks violated and
battered?’

‘
Just rumors,
lady’.

‘
Is her husband into
drugs? Any kind of wrongdoing?’

‘
Who isn’t these days?
Earlier you had illiterate thugs to lighten your pockets, now you
have savvy IIM and IIT crooks who specialize in transferring money
from your bank account into theirs. They aren’t happy if you have
any money on you- they’ll suggest a hundred schemes that will help
you get rid of your life’s savings before you can say “MF” or
“ULIP” or “Stocks”’.

‘
Who’s this fellow
Arjun?’

‘
Now, that’s a fine young
man you be talkin’ about. Broad like an oak, he is gentle as a
lamb. A ladies’ man always- he’s full of old world charm. He will
pull a chair for you, hold the door open, and offer to carry your
bags. He is the kind of guy who’ll spring to a lady’s rescue in a
dark alley…
the scourge of
scumbags
. He’s the kind of hero who’ll
walk into a minefield knowing fully well that three out of four
guys will lose their limbs or die in the attempt. I believe he is
the son of a soldier- a brave man who died defending his post to
the last bullet. The low-life Pakkis prodded him with bayonets;
even after he was dead- they were so scared of him- till not a
shard of skin was left on his body. But he died unwept I believe-
he’d left Arjun’s mother for another woman. One had already mourned
him- the other didn’t care.’

‘
Where’s this man you
speak of?’

‘
He’s taken. The loss of
womankind in general. Getting engaged. Gone. What a catch!’
Shikhandi rubbed his hands in misery.

‘
Who’s the
girl?’

‘
Aarti- another beauty.
They’re a perfect match- childhood sweethearts I’m told. Simple and
solid girl- the kind you who makes you gild your womb after she’s
born.’

‘
Would he have anything to
do with Monal’s disappearance? Was there an affair?’

‘
He wasn’t loose- with his
tongue or hands. Though he could have any woman,’ Shikhandi weaved
his slim fingers through his wavy purple locks,’ …or man for the
asking. What equipment he had!’

‘
Were the two
tangled?’

‘
She wasn’t his type.
Though I think he was her type; people feel she had a terribly soft
corner for him. And then…’

‘
Then what?’

‘
There was an incident
some people say took place at Diu. There was a fight between Vishal
and Arjun over Monal who they say was in a state of extreme
undress, caught red-handed in Arjun’s room.’

‘
So there is something to
it’.

Shikhandi didn’t reply.

‘
Where is the
engagement?’

‘
At Delhi. I could give
you the address’. He searched in his drawer and tossed Arjun’s
invitation card on the table.

‘
Do you think they would
elope?’

He laughed, ‘with Monal? Are you mad? She is
high maintenance, and Arjun loves his girl. You should see the glow
around the two of them’.

Meanwhile the baby woke up and started
crying.

‘
Is he hungry’, Shikhandi
asked. ‘Can I order a pizza or something for him?’

‘
He doesn’t have teeth’,
Krishnamala said, calmly.

‘
How ‘bout ice cream.
That’s what I have anyway when I get a tooth removed’, he
said.

‘
No, thank you’, she told
him, and looked at her companion, gesturing towards the milk bottle
on his belt.

‘
It has gone cold’; Agent
9 apologized.

She shook her head and spread her stole
around her shoulders. Then she slipped her blouse off her shoulder
and began to suckle the child right there. Shikhandi couldn’t
believe his eyes- he first bit his knuckles and then he climbed on
his chair- watching the spectacle in dread. It was the largest
milk-swelled breast he’d ever seen bared in public.

‘
What? You’ve never seen a
baby feeding’, Krishnamala asked, seeing the other’s
consternation.

‘
Never so closely’, he
squirmed out of his seat and bolted out of the room mumbling
excuses.

‘
What do you think’,
Krishnamala asked her companion, feeling drained and light as the
baby suckled noisily and contentedly.

‘
He’s not really getting
the pizza, is he?’

‘
I was referring more to
the job at hand’; she chided him, compressing her breast with a
hand to improve the milk flow at the teats.

‘
I think you should change
the breast’, he said with concern.

‘
I was referring to the
case of the missing person! What do you think about the Moroccan
girl?’

‘
She’s missing too? I
thought we just saw her’. He squirmed when she gave him an icy
look. ‘Sorry. Now let’s see; there might be raging debate about the
daintiness of that waist, but I would put it below 26. Size-10 feet
for sure, and the skin that is stretched tightly across her deep
ribbed body, has never seen the sun. That chest will yield good
milk for many a season but I wouldn’t pick oranges from apple
trees.’

‘
I asked you to think, not
fantasize’, she said, not without a touch of jealousy. ‘Fat chance
that Monal has eloped with Arjun if he’s getting engaged to a
childhood sweetheart right now. And our dear Vishal hardly seemed
the mourning husband type. Hasn’t taken him long to keep his bed
warm with a deep ribbed Bedouin, has it? And for all the moping
this creep here might do about kinky stuff, Monal seems to me the
victim- or an accomplice- of some deeper conspiracy. That man,
Vishal, I tell you is up to no good. Once I put my finger on what
he’s hiding in that closet, it will explain everything’.

‘
I think our next stop
should be at the scene of engagement’.

‘
Uh huh. As per this card,
the engagement is already over, but Arjun is apparently still on
leave. But I would like to know- where? Maybe we could go to Delhi
and meet everybody in the family, but before that, we could meet
Aarti, who for all you know might be right here in Mumbai. If Cupid
is still shooting arrows, and they are finding their mark, then we
can rule out the elopement or sour marriage angles’.

‘
Let’s call her and tell
her we’re coming’.

‘
Go ahead’, she said,
wrapping the sated baby around her shoulder and burping him thrice.
Then she spread it across her knees and rocked it to sleep,
mumbling a Haryanvi lullaby. ‘But be sensitive- don’t make any
unnecessary insinuations about her future husband’.

The manikin unsheathed his mobile from his
ubiquitous belt and dialed Aarti’s number from her visiting card
stapled to the invite.

‘
Hello’, Aarti said, on
seeing the unregistered number, ‘I am busy please; I don’t need any
insurance or credit card right now’.

‘
I am DSP Kadian ma’am’,
he said, ‘…Crime Branch’.

‘
Oh. Yes?’

‘
There was a missing
person investigation we were doing.’

‘
Oh, sure’.

‘
We were looking for Sh.
Arjun. Can you tell us where we can find him? ‘

‘
Are you joking with me,
Inspector?’

‘
I am sorry?’

‘
Yeah, me too’.

‘
Sorry for
what?’

‘
What are
you
sorry
about?’

‘
Why would
I
be sorry?’

‘
Then why did you say
so?’

‘
I meant why did you say
I’m joking?’

‘
Weren’t you?’

‘
Was I?’

‘
How would I know? I asked
you!’

‘
But why would you
ask?’

‘
How would I
know?’

‘
Then who would
know?’

‘
You tell me- you’re the
Sherlock Holmes’.

‘
I’m Kadian not
Homes’.

‘
Well Kadian, I’m Aarti’,
she replied absent-mindedly, losing interest in the mindless
banter, but remaining polite out of force of habit.

‘
Hello. How do you
do?’