The Nidhi Kapoor Story (16 page)

“Calm down, Rujuta. Did you see the video carefully?” “Yes, I did. I did not know that he’s such a sick man. I

am so so angry. How could he?”

∗∗∗

The video was shot at night and it showed an almost naked Neelima, standing in a swimming pool, pleading to someone. The man had his back to the camera but it looked like Nishant Kapoor. Neelima’s hands were folded against her bare chest. She was shivering and crying. A younger Nidhi Kapoor was on the ground next to the pool. She had visible injury marks on her and was bleeding from multiple places. Remarkably, unlike her mother, she was not crying. She looked rather defiant and was making an attempt to reach for her mother when she was stopped in her tracks by a stern voice, unmistakably Nishant’s, “You shall remain in the pool till the time I please. Or I will kill the two of you.” The man then lifted his hand to reveal a gun. He aimed the gun menacingly at Nidhi and then at Neelima. It was followed by an unmistakable noise of a gunshot.

Nidhi recoiled at the sound of the gunshot. Neelima yelped. However, the bullet did not hit either of them. The racket made by the gunshot was replaced with Nishant’s raucous laughter. His face was hidden from the camera but it was obvious that he was threatening to kill his wife and daughter. It was conclusive enough evidence to prove him
guilty and punish him in a court of law.

∗∗∗

“What’s in the letter?” Rujuta asked.

“Here. Read it.”

Dear Nidhi,

Why do you love Ronak so much? The walls are high, fences sharp and guards alert. I can’t look in. You can’t look out. It just adds to our separation and my frustration. I try to come in but I can’t.

You see I had to send a letter and I had to use your uncle for it. Nice guy by the way.

Nidhi, don’t you feel bad about staying trapped in an ivory tower? Everyone can see that. You are all alone and no one that loves you. Except me.

You know, even your family doesn’t love you. I mean look at your father. He loves the damn house more than he loves you.

Oh! I have an idea. Why don’t you sell the house and go live somewhere else? Where I could reach you easily. No? Yea, that’s a good idea. You would be out of your damn bungalow. Do you know what all has happened behind those closed walls? You can’t live in the shadow of evil like that!

Wait, I know what to do. Nidhi, dear, if you don’t sell the house in next 30 days, I promise that I will send this video to your friends at the TV channels. And then you’d discover who is a friend and who is not.

But.. but you must appreciate that like a friend, I have sat on this video for so long. I could have sold this to anyone for any amount of money. No? Let’s see if those TV hounds are as good friends.

30 days, baby. 30 days.

You know Nidhi, the world outside is so beautiful. Come with me. I would take care of you. Like my own. I promise you. We would be so so happy together Nidhi.

Coming out of the house will be the first step. Please do it. Don’t force me to do something that neither of us would like. Please.

The typed letter ended without any sign or salutation. Just like the other letter that Prakash and Rujuta found next to the dead bodies of the animals. They were still unaware about the letter that Nishant found in his room. That letter had confessed that the murder of the pets and the fire were indeed, related.

Rujuta looked at Prakash. “Bastard! Prakash, this guy is getting serious now. You can’t just force someone out of the house. Damn!”

Prakash speculated. “The funny thing is that this guy, whoever is doing this, has access to these videos that were shot so long ago. Where did he find the videos? Maybe in the study?”

“Maybe. Did you ask Nidhi about these?”

“No, I couldn’t ask her anything. She wasn’t home. Although Verma was furious when I met him. He was angry with Nishant, with Nidhi. He was angry with me. He was angry at everything else in his sight. Plus, he did not know
that Nishant beat up Neelima and Nidhi like that. ” Prakash spoke in a slow, measured tone and walked back to his office. Rujuta ran after him. “Prakash! What next? What to do?”

“We stick to the plan. You meet the
filmwallahs
. I would talk to my informers and meet some people. Let’s sit on this in the evening. I suspect that this is going to be a long drawn investigation. I will waste so much energy working on the case that I won’t be able to do anything else after it is over!”

Little did Prakash know that he was going to be so right with his little jibe.

Rujuta nodded at it. She was desperate to crack this case. Not because she cared for Nidhi, but because it was like a challenge and she couldn’t find a way out from the maze. She was stuck and she had no clue about the direction she ought to take. She couldn’t spot a motive. She couldn’t imagine who’d want to hurt Nidhi. There weren’t any suspects. Nidhi Kapoor was in danger, the killer was getting bolder by the day and she did not know how to go about it.

She fumbled for a Stikk and realized that she had forgotten about the pictures that she was working on. She decided to take a break. She looked at the screen one more time before she walked off. The last picture she had seen was that of Krishna Das, holding his placard above his head. “Follow your religion, love everybody.”

^∗
Krishna Das, Open Magazine.
http://www.openthemagazine.com/open-space/the-peacemaker-of-juhu

14. Day 6, Evening. Rujuta’s House.

Rujuta did not see Prakash for the rest of the day. He was busy with another case that required immediate attention. Since Nidhi Kapoor’s case, Prakash had had little time to work on other things. Rujuta used that time to make notes from Vicky Taluja’s interview and her research. She also managed to get with Payal for a meeting.

It had been a hard day and Rujuta, Prakash and Tambe decided to end it with a dinner at Rujuta’s place. They called for some Biryani. It was a little too early to get drunk but Rujuta really needed one. She fixed herself a JD with coke. Prakash refused and squeezed himself some limewater. Protocol dictated that Tambe not consume alcohol in presence of a higher-ranking official, but Prakash was easy going and between him and Tambe, they disregarded these protocols often.

When Rujuta offered Tambe a drink, he said with his toothy grin, “I can’t digest this imported whisky ma’am. You don’t have anything stronger, like 8 PM or something?”

Prakash was lost in a painting on the wall. Tambe was sitting on the edge of a lounger, scratching Felix’s back. Felix, in return, seemed to like Tambe’s company. Rujuta said, “Come on Tambe
Ji
. I know what all you’ve been digesting. You want me open your history sheet in front of Prakash?”

The three of them were getting into a sort of comradeship that existed only amongst old friends or soldiers of the same unit. They liked each other and had
different reasons for their want of inclusion into the clique. Rujuta wanted Prakash to be the steady man in her life. Tambe looked up to Prakash and revered him. Prakash thought of Tambe as a worthy ally and a friend that he could bank on in the hour of need. He was still confused about Rujuta though. He liked her but wasn’t sure if Rujuta would want a man like him. Prakash had no experience in these things and he did not know how to find out. Had this been a police matter, Prakash would have closed it by now.

Tambe grinned. While he was accepting the wide-mouthed whisky glass from Rujuta, he looked at Prakash, seeking his approval. Prakash however, was still busy in the painting hanging on one of the walls.

Rujuta winked at Tambe and handed him the glass. Tambe came from a world where a drink was not something that you savored. You downed it as fast as you could and moved onto the next one, till you were drunk or sleepy. He gulped his drink fast and said apologetically, “Saab, I’d take your leave. I need to take my wife out for a movie.”

Prakash nodded. It was useless to expect any other reaction from him. Rujuta on the other hand laughed out loud. “This is the very reason Tambe
Ji
, you should not get married.”

Tambe did not know how to react. He grinned from ear-to-ear, saluted at Prakash and left.

After Tambe left, Rujuta changed into her long sleeping t-shirt. She wasn’t going to shy away from Prakash. And she wasn’t going to force him either. If he needed time to start getting comfortable with Rujuta, she would wait. If he needed encouragement, Rujuta would help. Prakash was a
very remarkable and a peculiar man. Rujuta was poles apart and she would stake it out till he was ready.

Rujuta poured herself another drink and sat in silence, looking intently at Prakash. He had been staring at the painting for some time now. The oil on canvas showed Chanakya’s four commandments about settling conflicts–
Saam
,
Daam
,
Dand
,
Bhed
^∗
– in an intricate pattern. It was divided into four quadrants, merging into the center. Each quadrant had illustrations of an old sage and a young prince in different settings. The
Saam
quadrant, the one about resolving matters with discussion, showed the young prince holding court, with the sage sitting slightly behind him. The
Daam
quadrant, the one about using incentives to solve a conflict, showed him sitting on one side of the scale and the sage holding onto a pile of gold.
Dand
quadrant, the one about punishing your opponent to settle conflicts, showed dark clouds shrouded over a palace and the young prince scampering away from it.
Bhed
, the divide and rule quadrant showed the prince dressed as a woman standing next to two kings fighting with each other.

Prakash finally spoke, “These illustrations are brilliant. Who could have thought that you could project such deep meaning with such simple illustrations?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That palace in the painting? Where it’s about to rain? That!”

“Ah rains! You know what I love the most about Mumbai? The rains. The rains here pelt so hard, so thick and so fast that it almost touches your soul. Rains give you a new lease of life. I can’t think of living anywhere else but in
Mumbai during the monsoons.”

Prakash was talking about the painting and Rujuta had taken an entirely different tangent. Rujuta was happy-high in just two pegs. Prakash was still holding his glass of limewater and was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall.

When Rujuta did not see much coming out of Prakash, she put on Parov Stelar and started to dance along with the music. She was trying and failing miserably to match her moves to the fast electronic beats. “You know Prakash there are times when I don’t believe the life that I am living. If not for my aunt, I would have been a whore in some whorehouse in Delhi.”

“Rujuta…?” Prakash was surprised.

“I am serious. The first memories that I have of life are of a small dingy room that I shared with a few other women. I don’t know how many of us were there, but the room was always crowded. That one room was my entire life for the first few years.”

It was a sight to hold. A thin and slender Rujuta was dancing and talking at the same time. She continued, “I was very young. Very small. I was forbidden to go out of that room. I used to think that the world was just as big as that small room. It had a door that opened into a long dark passage that these women were walking in and out of, all the time. I tried peeping out of that door so many times but all I could see was a dark tunnel and bright light at the end of it. That room, Prakash, did not have any outlet but that door. There was this tiny window area near the roof but that was about it. It got so… so claustrophobic at times that
I could not breathe. It was so loud and so crowded and so full of activity that no one heard you. I wanted to get out of that room. I really wanted to. I talked to my aunt about it all the time. She did not let me. Even when I cried and wanted to break out of the room, my aunt did not let me out. I hated her. I would cry and cry and cry until I fell asleep.”

Rujuta slumped on the floor next to Prakash. She did not stop talking though.

“That one room was my life. All of us ate, slept, crapped, laughed, cried and fought in that one room. One entire wall of that room, we had this giant mirror lined with light bulbs. And someone or the other was always in front of that mirror and putting on kohl, flowers, powder, lipstick and all those stupid things. The music never stopped and someone or the other was always dancing. I loved the color, the dance and the music. My favorite thing was kohl,
kajal
. I would put it on my eyes, on my cheeks, everywhere. I loved its color and transformation that it brought about in looks. Imagine a thing as dark and ugly as
kajal
could change a woman with average looks into a thing of beauty that could kill with her eyes. You know, when I put that
kajal
, I thought I looked like a doll. I loved it. I would put
kajal
and dance with others. I still remember a few songs from back then. That song from
Tezaab
? The one with Madhuri Dixit in it?
Ek, Do, Teen….
I still remember the dance steps of that song. She is the most beautiful dancer that I have ever seen.”

Rujuta got up and tried dancing to the Madhuri Dixit hit from
Tezaab
. But she ended up doing a bad job mixing electronic beats and Bollywood moves. Prakash smiled and patted on the floor next to him, inviting Rujuta to sit next to
him.

“I knew what I wanted to be back then. A dancer. You know what I loved apart from
Kajal
back then? My
ghunghroos
. I had a tiny pair. I loved the noise that they made. It was like a lullaby to my ears. The sweetest sound ever. Prakash, I was a very good dancer and all my aunties, everyone was an aunt, we did not have a concept of mothers back there, encouraged me. When they practiced various dance moves, I was the only girl that they included in their practice.”

Rujuta stretched herself on Prakash’s lap. Her back rested on the cold floor and she held Prakash’s hand over her chest.