The Delhi Deception (10 page)

He spoke with a perfect English accent, except for the slight lilt, which betrayed his South Asian roots. This was common among well-to-do Indians who liked to send their children to exclusive British boarding schools. With a wry smile, he took Carla’s purse from Rohit. He then unceremoniously turned it upside down, and shook out its contents on top of the vast desk, already littered with papers and paraphernalia. He picked up her passport and, with a look of contempt, which changed rapidly into annoyance, flicked through it. He roared, “South African! This is a South African passport.”

He hurled it at the terror-stricken Rohit. “You fools, I need American identities.” And, as though having to emphasize every syllable to the very young or dumb-witted, he shrieked, “Ammmeerriccan!” throwing Carla’s purse angrily on the floor.

Rohit swallowed hard, sighed, and bravely tried to defend himself, explaining how the tour from which he had abducted Carla was only for Americans—his contact in the United States embassy had confirmed this.

“Not interested! You moron. I needed an American identity fitting this description—“he pointed at Carla— “by tomorrow. How do you propose we do it now? I have assured our buyers, and I don’t want to be accused of double-crossing them. You have seen what they are capable of.”

With a menacing glare, he sat down, spreading out his hands on the desk in front of him, as if awaiting a manicure.

Grasping her predicament, in a tremulous voice Carla addressed the bald man. “I promise, if you let me go I will not breathe a word of this to anyone. I promise; please trust me. Just let me go.” Her eyes started stinging, and warm, salty tears flowed down the gentle curve of her cheeks. He looked at her with contempt and called the pockmarked man at the door. He spoke rapidly in Hindi and then dismissed the man.

Turning to Rohit and Manan, he ordered them to take Carla to Ghulam Baazaar. Manan looked alarmed and started to protest, but the bald man silenced him and said, “Bir has gone ahead to prepare them for her arrival.”

The incredulous Manan and Rohit tightened their grip on Carla’s arms and started dragging her up the marble stairs. She decided not to offer resistance, waiting instead for a good opportunity to escape when her captors were at ease and least expected it.

As they led her through the maze of alleys again, Carla asked about her whereabouts. But her query was met with silence. “If you let me go, I will reward you very well,” she pleaded. “Lots of money. I promise you, no one will know anything.”

Rohit looked at her and in a calm voice he told her that no amount of money could possibly keep them safe from Bharra Bhai—they had seen what happened to men who had been stupid enough to disobey.

As they walked through the narrow, stinking passages, each new turn or descent into yet another darker, foulsmelling course suffocated Carla. She was beginning to apprehend the futility of attempting any escape. Her body, now drained of adrenalin, was weak and heavy, each step a grueling effort. Aware of her deterioration, Rohit barked an order to Manan. Changing their grip, they now supported her under the elbows. Carla was dragged along with her head slumped on her chest, her toes barely scraping the ground. Eyes tightly shut, she tried to still her fear, breathing as deeply as the stench allowed. “I must remain calm, must remain calm. I will be OK as long as I remain calm,” she muttered.

She opened her eyes when they stopped in front of a dilapidated building. The door was in shards of decay through years of neglect. The carving of a bird in a cage on the jutting frame proffered the only hint of former beauty. Rohit knocked in rhythmic sequence and Carla thought:
How original
.

A small, window-size panel in the door was opened. Rohit leaned forward in rapid exchange with the person on the inside. Creaking and groaning like an old woman under its own weight, the door swung open, allowing Rohit and Manan just enough space to propel her through. The rusted ironwork on the door scraped her shoulder, but she controlled the urge to cry out as rough hands pulled and pushed her along the dark shadows of the entrance. She looked back, but Rohit and Manan were no longer there. Carla experienced a weird sense of loss.

They passed a door leading to the outside, which looked like a courtyard. In the fading light, she stared at her captors. She was surprised to see that they were two women dressed in traditional salwar kameezes. With dupattas draped over their heads, their features were hidden from view. They climbed up two flights of narrow stairs, pungent with the unmistakable ammonia odor of urine, filtered by sandalwood incense and curried vegetables soured in the heat of the day. At the top of the staircase, they turned left into a passage and stopped in front of a heavy iron gate with an enormous brass padlock. The woman in the lead took out a bunch of keys attached to an undergarment of some sort and unlocked the gate.

The three entered the dark room. A single bulb hung from the center of the ceiling, bravely casting its light, swinging yellow beams between the shadows. The shadows were human. Her eyes now growing more accustomed to the gloom, Carla was horrified to see about a dozen girls sitting or lying crumpled against the wall and along the stained and tattered marble floor. Unnerved by the thought that the girls might all be dead, Carla gasped with fright as the iron gates clanged shut behind her. The two women removed their dupattas. The dark shadow of an unshaven beard only confirmed what Carla had suspected: her two captors were eunuchs, their movements and carriage convincingly feminine. With dissonant, deep voices the eunuchs started shouting something in Hindi to the girls, who then began to show signs of life.

A young, frail-looking girl with disheveled, long black hair approached the eunuchs and knelt in front of them as they handed her a candle and a tin spoon. The taller eunuch took out a small plastic bag, again from somewhere under the folds of his salwar. He sprinkled some of its contents onto the tin spoon that the young girl held over the flame of the candle.

Sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, Carla watched the drug melting on the spoon. With dread she observed the eunuchs administering the heroin intravenously to the girls. Some seemed shy, offering no resistance as the eunuchs injected them in the soft folds of their inner forearms. The silence was almost as tangible as the rancid odor of fear.

A young girl in her early teens, bright pink, heartshaped pins fixing two braids to the top of her head, started crying softly when the fat eunuch approached her. He tested the syringe, and some of the golden liquid squirted out of the needle. She started screaming, biting his arm, and trying to scratch him in his face. Urine seeped from under her fuchsia salwar, wetting the marble floor. The eunuch slipped, but managed to retain his balance. Two older girls with fierce expressions jumped up and onto his back. Screaming in anguish, they clawed at his eyes.

From the opposite side of the room, two girls ran for the gate. The tall eunuch stopped them. He twisted their arms behind their backs and tied them up with his dupatta. Shaking with fear and defeat, they acquiesced. The girls on the back of the fat eunuch were thrown clear with such force that they were winded, lying in a heap, gasping for air. The brave young girl, now in a vicelike grip, was injected with cruel intent. The flustered fat eunuch wiped the perspiration from his face with the corner of his kameez. The taller one whispered something to him. He nodded and moved to the opposite side of the room, where he scrutinized the girls, slapping them lightly on their cheeks.

Hypnotized, Carla watched the surreal scene unfold in front of her. The reality of the eunuch’s intention hit her like a physical blow to her stomach. She was to be drugged. She was next. Her heart raced, pounding uncomfortably in her chest. She breathed deeply; the air felt hot and tasted foul, but she was determined to find a way to elude her captors.

The tall eunuch was now speaking softly to the girl next to Carla. His voice was calm and almost intimate. The girl looked up at him. Her eyes were large, shining with unshed tears. The slight blinking of her small rhinestone earrings reminded Carla of the stars. An idea took shape.
Of course, it could work…

Carla removed her pearl stud from her left ear. With the sharp pin of the stud, she pierced the vein on the inside of her left arm, biting the lining of her cheek as some blood trickled down her arm. She flopped her head forward, turning her arm out, the blood noticeable. She remained as still as possible. As the taller eunuch approached she closed her eyes, slackened her mouth, and dribbled saliva onto her chin.

Every muscle was as tense as a predator about to strike its prey in the wild, but she forced herself to relax her body. The sandaled foot of the eunuch kicked her on her shin, but Carla remained motionless with a will she didn’t know she had. Her head swung when jolted by the eunuch. Slapping her cheek, he stared at her for a few seconds, and then moved to the girl who was crying loudly into her dupatta on the other side of Carla.

Too afraid to open her eyes, Carla listened intently to every sound, trying to gauge the situation. Her mind was racing; her heart was beating so loudly that she was almost sure it could be heard in the room. Then she heard the loud clang of the gate as it was closed, and the brass lock clicked into place.

Lifting her head as slowly as possible and peering through half-closed lids, she scanned the room thoroughly. The eunuchs had left, and no one had taken their place to guard them. The heroin had become their silent jailer instead.

Feeling a little calmer, Carla tried to clear her mind, to think logically and to take stock of the predicament she had landed herself in. The room was unfurnished, with only a few dirty blankets scattered on the floor, unused in the oppressive heat. The stench of sweat, vomit, and fear clung to Carla.

Moving as stealthily as possible, she tried to get to the window that had been boarded up. She was hoping to get a glimpse of what was on the other side through the cracks between the boards.

The girls were still heavily drugged and made no reaction to Carla’s stealthy movements as she crept toward the window. When she reached it, she had to push a girl out of the way. The girl was almost weightless, and with a shock Carla realized that she was only about ten years old, her body still childlike and shapeless, eyes empty and glazed over. Carla was horrified. Despondency whittled at her resolve to find a way out. Biting hard on her lips, she heaved herself up and managed to peer through a crack in the board, no wider than a matchstick.

The window had a view of what resembled a courtyard, badly lit, with lanterns hanging from iron chains along the walls. Indistinct figures stood in groups; they looked like men and filled most of the courtyard. The sound of Eastern music drifted through the sultry night air; it was strangely comforting to Carla.

A young boy darted in between the men, carrying a tray with glasses and a bottle of liquor; the men were pouring their own drinks. The conversation seemed to be getting more animated, and the atmosphere became charged with anticipation. Impatient to improve her view, Carla managed to enlarge the crack with her nails.

Eager to try and locate herself, she scrutinized the courtyard for any clues of her whereabouts: a sign or landmark. But her effort was in vain. There was nothing recognizable or distinguishable. Where was she?

As she was contemplating whether she should try to attract someone’s attention, a bright spotlight suddenly lit up what looked like a podium. The audience faced it expectantly as the music blared disturbingly loud and distorted. And then, like a David Copperfield illusion, a young woman was standing on the platform. She had an unworldly aura about her: diaphanous robes, hinting at her nakedness underneath and her ethereal beauty, all framed in the harsh light.

A man in tight blue jeans and a dark-fitted shirt stepped onto the podium next to her and in a deep baritone started the bidding in English.

.

CHAPTER 6

D
rained of all strength, Carla sank back against the stained wall. She felt numb. Her mind was strangely empty, yet she was somehow cognizant of the hopelessness of her situation. She tried desperately to recall every detail, path, or landmark. What were they going to do with her? Who were they? Unable to find a single answer to her questions, she closed her eyes and succumbed to immense fatigue, sinking into a deep, but fitful sleep.