The Nidhi Kapoor Story Read online

  Irrespective of what the world thought, Nishant knew that his condition was result of a meticulously planned attack against him. He knew that he was rational, clear¬headed and as alert as anyone could be. He wanted to get out of Moksha, find that bastard who did this to him and shred him to pieces. Each piece fed to Tiger, his beloved dog, just like the good old times.

  At Moksha, he had surprisingly few visitors for someone of his stature and reputation. There was Payal and there was Nidhi. No one else. No former acquaintances, no friends, no business contacts, no media, no fans, nothing. Each visit required prior appointment from Moksha and approval from family but there were hardly any requests. One reporter had wanted to meet him for a story that she was doing on the stars of the yesteryears, but the request was turned down by the family. To give credit to Payal and Nidhi, they ensured that they visited him once a month. On each visit, Nishant would meet them affectionately, gossip about the industry, reiterate his belief about someone trying to harm him and talk about getting out from Moksha soon. Payal would merely cry at his condition. Nidhi, however, would try and put some sense in him. Once the two daughters left after their brief visit, Nishant had little company. Apart from the demons in his head.

  To him, these were not really demons. These were actually friends. The only friends. Because they had stayed back, even after he had lost it all. These were the friends who helped him plan his revenge. Nishant was always planning his comeback in his head. His comeback, his retribution, his revenge. He talked about it often when he was drugged by medication. He often slurred about it in his sleep. He would make threats and he was so vocal that staff at Moksha regularly heard him talk. One ward-boy recorded these threats and it became a private joke within the staff at Moksha. The older staff members said that Nishant’s delirious rants reminded them of his remarkable double role from Lahu Ka Rang, his only action flick in the long distinguished career. Someone may have heeded his continuous allegations but he was a lunatic. Out of his mind. He was expected to rant, threaten and accuse the world like that.

  Nonetheless, despite his limited mobility and restraints, he was glad to be alive. Glad to have conquered death yet again. Glad to have access to the facilities and luxuries that most people could not afford even if they slogged their ass off for twenty lifetimes. Nishant Kapoor, despite being a mere vegetable, lived well.

  However, if you call it living, all the best with it.

  18. Day 9, Night. Rujuta’s House.

  While the Kapoors were finalizing the modalities around Ronak’s sale, Rujuta was at home. She stepped out of shower. She was naked and little drops of water traced long thin lines along the diminutive curves of her body. She looked up to marvel at her body in the mirror on the roof, smiled at what she saw as she patted herself dry. She put on the new album by Stelar, lit a Stikk and walked lazily to her writing table. She opened her Moleskin to the last doodle that she was sketching. When she sat, Felix took the cue and jumped in her lap. Rujuta loved the feel of Felix’s fur on her bare thighs. She started to stroke Felix involuntarily, and the cat purred and stretched in her lap. Felix was soon yawning and drowsy. Rujuta on the other hand, was lost deep in thought about the incidents of the last few days.

  Things seemed to have moved so fast. For starters, she had fallen in love, with someone as unlikely a candidate as Prakash. Prakash was everything that Rujuta wasn’t. Older by ten years, with a very limited social life and a predictable routine. “Maybe we are so different, that’s why I like him so much,” Rujuta thought to herself. She did not know if she ought to be happy about Nidhi Kapoor’s miseries because the case had brought Prakash and her closer. While working on the case, she was enjoying both, proximity to a man and the challenge thrown by Nidhi’s nemesis.

  Rujuta was trying to work out a connection between the murder of pets, the fire on the film set and the tape left in Naveen’s car. All three looked like separate incidents and yet all were connected to the Kapoors. It was more than a week and police neither had a real suspect nor a motive. Except that letter that made the Kapoors sell Ronak. The bungalow was located on a lucrative parcel of land and threats and murders were not really uncommon in the often-murky deals that were changing the skyline of Mumbai so fast. However, Rujuta was somehow convinced that it was an insider. But who? Naveen Verma? Taluja? Payal? Nidhi herself? Or the servants? There was no one else. At the Kapoors, although everything looked rosy on the surface, the past was clouded in mystery.

  Rujuta made a neat list of questions. First, who had access to cameras back then and could record Nishant Kapoor beating his wife and daughter? Second, what other tapes existed? Third, what exactly happened in that party that Vicky Taluja talked about? Fourth, why did Payal choose to give up her dream of being an actress? Fifth, could all those allegations that Nishant had been making be true? Sixth, if none of them, then who? Seventh. Why?

  Kapoors may want to create whatever illusion for the world, but they were a dysfunctional family at best. Could the family troubles of Kapoors have something to do with these attacks? She also thought about the letters that Nidhi Kapoor had received. She thought about allegations made by Vicky Taluja about the sabotage. She thought about various murky characters that her other interviews had revealed.

  It was like a large jigsaw puzzle. Rujuta felt that she had gathered all the separate pieces. But she hadn’t had a peek at the big picture that she could use as a reference to fit the pieces of the jigsaw in their respective places.

  While Rujuta was engrossed in plotting these details, she was unaware of the activity outside her door.

  ∗∗∗

  Rujuta was still scribbling in her Moleskin when the doorbell chimed. Since she was playing the music loudly, at first she did not hear the doorbell ringing. Felix was now napping. Cats had an awesome life. They got massages, scratches and love from their owners. And all they did in return was to accept to eat and sleep whenever it pleased them. Like royalties. Or film stars. Like Nidhi Kapoor.

  The doorbell rang again. This time, for longer, as if someone had an urgent errand to run. Typically, when Rujuta wasn’t expecting anyone or when she wanted to concentrate on work, she would switch off the bell. However, today she had forgotten to. And that probably would save her life.

  When the bell rang for the third time, she got annoyed, hurled an abuse and moved Felix away from her to be able to go answer the bell. Since she was still naked after the shower, she tried to search for something appropriate to wear.

  The bell rang once more and stopped abruptly.

  When the bell stopped midway, Rujuta peeped into the hall and looked at the door quizzically. She was relieved that she was left alone again. When she turned around to get back to her work, she thought that she heard a faint sound of metal grinding against metal from behind the door. She paused and looked at the door again. Carefully this time. She could see a faint shadow moving around, under the door.

  Rujuta instantly knew what was happening. Her fight-or-flight gene got active and she was ready to take on the challenge. She wasn’t the kind to get scared. She had lived her life on the edge and her work had taken to all sorts of places. She was going to fight. And fight hard.

  She looked around for something to latch on to. She spotted her baseball club resting in a corner. With that she started talking to herself. She tiptoed towards the door. She knew she had to swing the bat hard and aim for the kidneys or for the neck. At other places, the thick layers of skin, flesh and muscle often padded any blunt blows. The slugger felt natural in her hands, like an extension of her arms. It was solid and she visualized hitting the assailant on his neck with a loud smack. She loved the sound that it would make at the impact. She started to crave for that sound. She tightened her grip around the handle of the oblong bat. She sneaked next to the door and climbed on a chair that she kept next to the door.

  Although she was still naked, she was not worried about her nudity. She knew that she was being hunted and she had to survive. Everything else was
secondary. She continued to breathe quietly and started to wait. Like a tigress on prowl. Waiting for her unsuspecting prey. She really wanted to turn the tables and hunt the damn hunter. The damn hunter had made the mistake of underestimating her. And Rujuta was going to make the damn hunter pay.

  Adrenaline normally takes about ten minutes to kick in and then it pumps hard and fast. But Rujuta could already feel it in her blood. Rujuta took in measured breaths, held the bat close to her chest and stared at the crack from where the door would open, if the intruder decided to come back.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the lock gave way and door started to open with a creak. It made its characteristic whine at the hinges as it was pushed from the outside. The door opened a bit and then strained against the metal chain that Rujuta always latched before she went for a shower. It was the only thing that kept the assailant out and Rujuta in. From top of the chair, Rujuta could not see the face of the intruder but could see a dark shadow falling on the wall behind him.

  By now, the person on the other side of the door was not hiding any attempts of a forced entry. He racked the door noisily couple of times and when it did not give away, a smallish hand, wearing a white surgical glove appeared through the thin opening and fumbled with the metal chain.

  Rujuta kept steady. Rather than attacking at the first sign of the intruder, she waited. She waited till the gloved hand was twisted at an unnatural angle, trying to open the security chain.

  She took a deep breath and screamed at the top of her lungs. It came out like a shriek. Loud and sudden. Without skipping a beat, she brought the club, hard on the hand with all her might. The hand flinched and tried to recede in haste. Rujuta however missed and the bat hit the wooden door with a loud thud. It made the characteristic wood on wood sound. Not very different from the smack it would have made if it had hit the skull. The noise that Rujuta was craving to hear.

  Rujuta raised the bat to deliver another blow but before she could swing it again, the white glove had struggled out of the slim opening in door. Rujuta jumped from the chair, dropped the bat and banged the door shut with all her might.

  Rujuta heard the hasty footsteps all the way down to the ground floor and then all went quiet. Rujuta’s instincts told her to open the door and peep into the hallway to look at the fleeing attacker, even if the glance was brief at best. Most people would have done that. They would have been trained to do so, so that they could identify the attacker when the time came. Not Rujuta though. She had better control over her instincts than that. She kept the door shut, double checked the chain and climbed back on the chair. Still taking in shallow breaths, bat held tightly with both hands, against her chest. She let the adrenaline die down, waiting for the next attack.

  She was on the chair for barely few minutes when she heard someone walking up the steps again. She knew that she was the only occupant on her floor. She prepared herself for action again. Her body became tense, muscles got taut and she focused all her attention on the door.

  The doorbell rang again and after an instant, she heard the most comforting sound that she had recently got addicted to. The sound of Prakash calling out her name. Prakash was asking quizzically, “Rujuta?”

  Despite the concern in Prakash’s voice, Rujuta stayed on the chair. She did not know why. She just stood there. Her body remained tense, her muscles remained taut and all her attention was still on the door. Her back was straight, her breathing was shallow. She held the bat tightly with both hands, against her chest.

  Prakash in the meanwhile was knocking on the door, trying to force his way into her house. When Prakash continued to pound on the door and call out to her loudly for a minute or so, Rujuta woke from her reverie and said, “Wait! Wait, on my way.”

  She got down from the chair, unfastened the security chain, and opened the door.

  “What took you so long? I have been banging this door for so long!” Prakash started yelling at Rujuta the moment she opened the door. His voice had a mix of anger, relief and frustration.

  But the moment he looked at Rujuta, he stopped in his tracks. Rujuta was still naked and held her hands folded behind her back. She was still holding onto the bat. Still protecting herself from any surprise.

  “Is everything fine Rujuta? Why is the lock broken? What happened?” Prakash asked hurriedly. He had found Rujuta in the most unusual situation.

  “Yes yes. All’s OK.”

  Rujuta dropped the bat and hugged Prakash. The bat hit the floor with a thud. Prakash was startled. One, at the realization that Rujuta was holding a bat behind her back and two, at the unnaturally strong hug that Rujuta had embraced Prakash with. Prakash wanted to react, push her away but he did not know how. He let Rujuta remain like that. Naked, in a tight embrace, against an open door.

  “There was someone on the door, trying to force his way in. He opened the lock but the security chain prevented him from entering the house.” She was still hugging onto Prakash and was talking to his back.

  “What? Really? Are you OK? You should’ve called me!” Prakash broke the hug and looked at Rujuta. And then he hugged Rujuta tightly once again before he let her go. With that one solid grip, Prakash made clear the importance of Rujuta in his life.

  Once they were calm and pacified, he called Tambe, “Find Rajan and get him along to Rujuta’s house. Now.”

  “Rajan is my best locksmith. He will put a new lock here. You must be more careful.” Prakash tried to give Rujuta a lecture on safety but he could not ignore Rujuta’s nakedness. He ended up staring at her and finally he broke into a shy smile.

  Rujuta herself was blushing by the attention that she was getting from Prakash. She merely nodded and turned around to walk away. She knew that Prakash was looking at her. Rujuta walked a couple of steps away from Prakash, turned around and caught him admiring her legs. She smiled meekly and then ran into the room.

  Prakash was embarrassed about getting caught by Rujuta like that. He shuffled on his feat and said to no one in particular. “It’s a funny world that we live in. It’s not safe for a woman to live by herself. Listen, I’d post a constable here. You must be more careful, Rujuta. How did you live by yourself for all this while? What if I hadn’t come on time?”

  Prakash did not realize that Rujuta had since long disappeared in her room and he was talking to himself all this while.

  19. Day 12, Night. Film City.

  “What? Are you sure? Is Nidhi Kapoor OK? OK, I am on my way,” Prakash hung up and got up hurriedly.

  It had become a routine. Prakash would round up his work at the police station and end his day at Rujuta’s for dinner, if they weren’t eating out.

  After the attack and their first serious argument since they’d met, Rujuta and Prakash ended the day by making love till they were tired. Then they slept in each other’s arms and woke up rather lazily. Rujuta was no stranger to these things but it was Prakash’s first time. Rujuta suspected as much when Prakash fumbled with her slender waist. And when he could not unclasp her bra, she became sure. After that Rujuta led the way and Prakash was stunned at her deftness.

  The next day, Prakash had the locks changed at Rujuta’s place. Even though it was a rented accommodation, Prakash insisted on installing iron grills and doors. It was now a mini-fortress and even a very formidable adversary would have to make a considerable effort to break in. As the last layer of security, a CCTV and an electronic alarm were installed.

  Today, they were having dinner at Indigo. Prakash preferred simplicity and Rujuta wanted flamboyance. Indigo was a good mix of two. Rujuta looked up when Prakash hung up. He said, “There’s been another attack on Nidhi. We need to go.”

  “What? Really? Is she fine?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. Payal… has been murdered.” Prakash tried to break the news to Rujuta gently. But could not, the news itself was not gentle by any stretch of imagination.

  “What the fuck? Really? Are you sure? I spoke to her just… just a few days ago!” Rujuta was shocked. Sh
e could not grasp that someone she spent an hour talking to, less than a week ago, was gone all of a sudden. Without a warning, without a word. All this while, the case was an intellectual pursuit. It was something that she would talk about in humor. It was academic. However, this was the first time when someone she personally knew was killed. And forced to leave the world without their consent. Abruptly.

  She had a whirlpool of thoughts swirling in her head. Did Payal die because Rujuta had interviewed her? Was she mistaken for Nidhi? Was it planned?

  “I am sorry, Rujuta. I need to go to Film City. Nidhi and Kabeer were shooting for that Taluja film there when they discovered Payal.” Prakash was angry and irritated at the same time.

  Film City is an expansive piece of land located inside the Aarey Milk Colony, in Goregoan. Amongst other things, the Film City has a helipad, a church, a jail, a bridge, a lake and a temple as permanent structures. Hundreds of movies have used these buildings. Apart from these, there were structures that could be used as hospitals, courts or schools as per the script’s requirements.

  It would have taken them more than an hour if they used Prakash’s Jeep or Rujuta’s car. Thankfully, Prakash was riding his bike that evening. He kick-started it and raced towards Film City. Rujuta rode pillion, her legs astride and her hair open. The dark thick hair played with the wind and trailed the bike, as if Yama∗, the messenger of death was in pursuit.

  ∗∗∗

  “I am so sorry about this,” Prakash said.

  He hated this part of his job. When he had to talk to the relatives of victims. Also, in this case, Prakash and the entire police department was keeping guard over the whereabouts of Nidhi and her coterie. A murder under his protection was weighing heavy on his head. His apology was sincere.

  “I don’t know how to react. On one side, I know that I am safe. On the other, I know I’ve lost Payal… She was my sister. My best friend. My soul mate. We did everything together. School, college, vacations, everything. She was my partner in crime, in everything we did.” Nidhi tried to smile. It was feeble and looked like a forced emotion.