Continuing the Novel co-written by the Bards of The Blogosphere.
Read Chapter 2 here.
Chapter 3: Truth and Pretence.
The smell was nauseating. I covered my nose, making futile attempts to block the malodorous smell. Sweat trickled down my back, which was clinging to my shirt, partly because of the merciless summer heat, partly because I lacked the guts to do this.
I close my eyes.
She was sprinting down the lane showing everyone her trophy.
"Papa! Papa! See..Is it real gold?" her puerile innocence melting my heart.
"No Beta..But it is much more precious than gold." I patted her head softly.
"Then I will keep this in the Bank.Manager uncle will take care of it. I will give it to him right away", she ran away, while I called out to her." Priya! Stop! Listen to me", half laughing, half hassled.
"Stop! Beta! Hold my hand while crossing the road" I saw a woman shielding her daughter from the haathgaadis and scores of people, in the crowded Crawford Market area of Mumbai.
I look at the duo and gulp. Where was I when Priya needed my protection?
I remove the crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. It is damp with my sweat, a little torn, but I have memorized the address. Moving quickly through the sea of people , I enter a dingy lane. Dilapidated buildings, almost falling. Shadows lurk around each corner as I hear my heart beating faster and louder than it should.
I keep walking, pausing randomly to check if I was being followed. My eyes spot a few women glaring at me. I quickly avert their gaze and finally spot the old PCO.
Finally!
The directions were accurate. The blue door with a rusty lock could not be missed. Breathing deeply, I knock the door.
A man chewing tobacco opens. He doesn't waste a second. Drags me in and locks the door. I drop a cursory glance at the room. Dim lights, curtains drawn, one 'namesake' fan, loud Bollywood music playing and empty liquor bottles strewn all across the room.
He sits on a heap of magazines carelessly flipping through CDs.
"Kya budget hai?" he asks nonchalantly.
I squirm.
"Pehle maal dekhna hai", a part of me dies, as I utter these words.
"Itni jaldi kayko re?" (why this hurry?), he spits his tobacco in the grimy, stained washbasin and gets up, opening the back door and vanishing in the street.
I follow him, careful not to lose sight of his faded orange shirt. I know where the lanes are leading to. The famous red light area of Mumbai.
This is not me.
Who is it then?
Think of Priya.
ONLY of Priya.
This is my last hope.
The only chord that can connect me with her.
He leads me to a room full of girls. My heart sinks. Their innocent eyes rip me apart. The one nearest to me, barely ten looked at me with blank eyes filled with void. As if telling a story, of a childhood lost. A story of thousands of innocent girls. A story of Priya? I shudder.
While he is busy talking to the lady in the red sari, at the end of the corridor, I sneak out to wash my face repeatedly. Trying to wash away vivid memories of her. Not now. Of all the times. Not now.
"Kahan se laye ho inko?" (From where have you got them?) I ask casually, looking around, putting a show of being sinister.
"Itni pooch taach kyu? " (Why so many questions?) He raises an eyebrow. I give him a smile. "I am also a middle man, Client needs to know."
He lets out an unconvinced sigh and signals me to climb the staircase to finalize the 'deal'. The stairs creak with every step. I reach the door and pull the knob. Jammed. I try pushing it harder. The lady in the red sari smirks. "Raju bhai has sent you na? Did he not tell you the "procedure"?
"Which procedure?" I ask bewildered. I try to recall any passcode or hint dropped by the informer.
I hear footsteps approach from behind. Before I can turn around, a hand grips my throat from behind me and tightens around my neck. I struggle to escape, kicking the attacker in his shins. As he howls in pain, I try to turn away but a second hand forces a cloth dabbed with some sweet smelling liquid upon my nose. Everything is a blur. Slowly I start spinning. Darkness.
I wake up on the hard, concrete floor. Handcuffed. A random news channel is playing a minister's interview. I try opening my swollen, bruised eye. A figure appears against the light and splashes water on my face.
"Shaanpati? Han? "(Oversmartness?)
"Shaanpati? Han? "(Oversmartness?)
"Kiska aadmi hai?" ( Whose informer are you?)
A new voice. Not the man from before.
I stammer, "Apni beti dhundh raha hu.." (I am looking for my daughter)
He bursts into a fit of cackles, clapping his large grimy hands. He grabs my neck and pulls me close.
"Listen to me carefully" I am shocked to hear his polished, impeccable English.
"Do not meddle with this. This is an ocean and your daughter is but a drop. Do not waste time finding her. She is lost to a world from where she can never come back."
I look at him pleadingly, "Please, I beg. Help me. Please, sir. You too must be having children."
He looks at me and for a moment I see something in his eyes… something I have not seen since I started upon this path down the road to hell. I see humanity.
" Walk away from here. The doors too have ears. You think it is people like me you should worry about? I am just a rook in this game. A distributor. You could not get past us and you imagine that you can find your way to her through all the layers above me? Even if I wanted to, I can’t find out where your girl is now.”
I feel a tear run down my eyes. He extends a hand and uncuffs me.
“Stop this madness. I want you to return back to your own world. You never had a daughter.”
I shake my head in despair. “I could get help. Influence someone big.”
He raises his hand and I cringe. But there is no strike to follow the act and I look up. He catches my arm below the elbow and lifts me up forcefully.
“Influence. Because everything in India runs on influence, is it not?”
We stare at each other, the vanquished and the vanquisher. “You hear the voice on the TV? That minister who speaks so much against human trafficking? Kurien. That man who is the idol of parents like you… he is your wolf in sheep’s clothing. I know this for a fact. I have shook hands with him.”
I watch as he opens an album and starts showing me photos within them. Him with the minister. A dark shed behind them. Eyes peering out of the broken window pane. Small eyes. Dozens of small eyes belonging to many more Priyas lost forever.
As he pushes me out of the back door, the man leaves me with a final warning. "If they see you here again, you are a dead man.Now get lost."
I remember her playing hide and seek with me.
"Papa close your eyes. And do not open till you count ten."
I obey her and after ten minutes I catch her hiding behind the curtains. She is visibly disappointed. "Next time I will hide in such a place that you will never find me."
Her words ring in my ears.
*************************************
I could not find you Priya. But I found the man behind all this. I hunted him down. It was supposed to end there. But there is one last step, my child. I have to find the girl and the photographer. They know. I can’t let them destroy me now after all this. Today I finally put an end to this. After today, no one would know.
My story, our story. It will be lost in the pages of time.
I walk down the stairs and reach their flat. The Duttas have no idea of what is in store for them. The lobby is deserted and dark. I take the key I pulled out from the watchman’s set and and insert it into the lock.
It fits like a glove.
Read Chapter 4 here
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