The Nidhi Kapoor Story Read online

  Media was surprisingly silent. There were mentions of a police officer losing his life in an accident. Whatever little chance Prakash had to feature in the newspapers posthumously were reduced to zero, as the eldest son of the self-proclaimed patriarch of Maharashtra had announced his decision to split from his father and float a new political party.

  Life seemed to have derailed a bit for everyone around Prakash. However, the world does not stop moving around the sun when someone dies. Death tries to put a break and make things come to a standstill, but slowly and gradually, everything comes back to normal. Back to the nonstop grind.

  23. Day 30, Evening. Tarana’s House.

  The moment Tarana opened the door, she knew something was wrong. Not because Rujuta was meeting her after a while, but because she could tell by merely a look into her eyes, the way only a mother can. Unlike most mothers, rather than throwing questions, Tarana let her eyes speak with Rujuta’s and then embraced her in a tight hug. She folded her arms around Rujuta’s petite frame and rocked slowly.

  As if it were a cue, Rujuta started to cry. She tried to hide her tears but she could not. She did not have to. It was Tarana.

  After those first few years when Tarana had run away from a brothel in Delhi, she had hardly seen Rujuta cry. Today, she was worried, but she knew that if she showered Rujuta with questions, she’d only make her more anxious. She left Rujuta alone in the hall and went to the kitchen. She did not want to, but there was no other way that she could think of.

  She put on the stove and poured some water for tea. She heard Rujuta follow her in the kitchen.

  “Tell me what happened. Wait, can you pass on some adrak?” Tarana was boiling water for tea.

  “Where is it?” Rujuta ignored the first question. Tarana was relieved that she was at least talking.

  “It’s in the fridge. You’d see it if you open the fridge.”

  Rujuta opened the fridge and broke some ginger and handed it to Tarana. Tarana took a steel glass and banged it repeatedly on the ginger until it was reduced to a messy paste. She added this paste to the boiling water on the stove. Most Indians swear by the magic that this ugly paste of ginger is capable of inducing into a regular cup of tea.

  “You did not answer my question Rujuta. What is it?” Tarana spoke while adding elaichi, cardamom, to the boiling water.

  “Nothing aunty. Nothing at all. I am just tired. It’s been a busy two-three weeks.” Rujuta averted Tarana’s sharp gaze.

  “You know Rujuta, I have known you since you were born. Now that you’ve travelled the world and all that, do you think I can’t understand what you’re going through? What is it? It can’t be your office. You are not the kind to crib about work. Did Prakash say something? Bring him to me and I would set him straight.”

  She added some milk to the boiling water. The familiar aroma of tea, which Rujuta had grown up drinking innumerable cups of, brought her back to her natural self. Even if it was for a moment. She almost broke into smile but all of sudden, her face lost color. She ran away from the kitchen.

  Tarana suspected it had something to do with Prakash. She said out loud, “Kids these days! They get into one fight and they cry their hearts out. When I was growing up, if a man gave his woman tough time, the woman would cut his dick off!” She then poured tea expertly into two glass cups and carried the hot glasses to the sitting room.

  Rujuta was lying on her back on the bed. Her head was hanging from the edge of the bed and she was staring at the poster of the iconic picture of NY Taxi No. 1 at the Times Square. She had got it for Tarana from there. New York was the only other city where she could find peace in, apart from Mumbai. Like Mumbai, NY was big enough to let Rujuta remain a tourist and get lost. And yet small enough to allow Rujuta to get familiar with shops, streets, grocery stores, coffee shops, newspaper vendors and other such people that she loved making small-talk to.

  When Rujuta saw Tarana walk into the room, she knew there was no escaping and she will have to tell Tarana everything. Rather than cede control to her, Rujuta decided to break it to her slowly. Rujuta was aware of the effect Prakash’s death would have on Tarana.

  Both Rujuta and Tarana were thrown into a strange conundrum by fate. Both of them were worried about each other and yet both of them did not know what to do about it. Both of them wanted to comfort each other yet both of them did not know where to begin. Both of them wanted to talk about things yet both of them did not know how to break the ice.

  “Tell me aunty, did you love someone? Like love someone so much that you could die for him?” Rujuta began.

  “No, I did not. In the profession I was in, love was a forbidden fruit. All of us wanted to fall in love and escape from our lives. However, the very work we did made us skeptic of the entire concept of love.” Tarana handed a glass to Rujuta and sat down on the floor along a wall close to her. Tarana had no reservations about her past. In fact, she was very open about it. She believed that you can’t turn back the hands of time and there was no point fretting over it.

  “But there had to be someone, aunty who made you go weak in your knees? You were quite a singer. You must have had your share of admirers?” Rujuta was sipping on the tea that Tarana had made.

  Tarana figured what Rujuta was up to. She played along. “There was a man. A big film star. He came to us often. I was madly in love with him. But I knew that my love was inconsequential and even a miracle could not bring him to me. He had a wife and all.”

  “Wow aunty. You never told me about him.” She moved her hands animatedly, almost spilling the tea in the process. “Who was he? Tell tell.”

  Tarana was relieved that Rujuta seemed to be coming back to her natural cheery self. But she was worried about bringing out the cat out of the bag. “No point. He is no longer an actor. Despite his money, he was like the biggest bastard that I’ve known. And trust me, I have known quite a few,” she said.

  Rujuta kept staring at Tarana, waiting for an answer. Her eyes however, betrayed that she was faking the interest and was sad.

  Tarana had to put a full stop to this indecision and anguish. She broke the subject. And in a stern tone. “Rujuta, I can’t see you like this. Tell me what is wrong. And we will fix it. Together we’ve seen a lot of bad times and you know that they can’t last forever. Rujuta, beta, whatever it is, will pass. Please talk to me!”

  Tarana was almost pleading. To Rujuta, nothing was more derogatory than seeing Tarana plead to someone. To her, Tarana was a symbol of strength.

  She walked up to Tarana, sat next to her and took her hands in hers. She slowly said, “Prakash, he was in an accident and I could not save him.”

  Tarana’s body jerked imperceptibly. But since Rujuta was holding onto Tarana’s hands, she knew that Tarana was deeply moved. Without blinking an eyelid, Tarana murmured a prayer for Prakash and said, “I am so sorry.”

  Even though they were with each other, the two women suddenly felt alone.

  Tarana cupped Rujuta’s hand with both her hands. Rujuta rested her head on Tarana’s shoulders. Directly above them, on the wall, was a painting by Tarana of Yudhistira’s last walk with a dog∗.

  Tarana said stoically, “The thing with life, Rujuta, is that you need to understand the reason for your life, your existence. Some call it purpose. Some call it reason. Some call it meaning. There are many names to it. Despite all these names, it’s the same thing. The thing that keeps you ticking. I was lucky to realize that my purpose was to pluck you out of that dump and get you a new life. Nothing more and nothing less. So when I was trying to run away from there, I was not worried. I knew I had to perform my dharma and if I do it well, karma shall take care of itself. I know you loved Prakash. But Rujuta, beta, just because Prakash’s journey has ended, you can’t stop living. The chakra of life and death is someone thing that we can’t control.”

  However Rujuta was lost in her own world. She ignored a large part of Tarana’s sermon but she heard the last part. Tarana’s voice was wafting above her
. “… by sulking Rujuta, you are doing injustice to Providence, to me, to Prakash. You need to work towards your purpose. You can’t shy away from it. That’s all there is to life. Everything else is of no consequence. The only time worthy of your attention is now. If you are not spending the now towards achieving your purpose, you are doing injustice to everyone, everything. You are stopping the wheel of life. The Chakra. Life, Rujuta, is this simple.”

  Tarana continued, “OK, so I will make it simple. Imagine someone is playing this huge game of chess that has not 32 pieces, but 7 billion pieces. And like your regular chessboard that is large enough to move 32 pieces, this big chessboard has enough room to let these 7 billion pieces maneuver with ease. Like in chess where each of the 32 pieces has a place and a reason and a time for action, we humans have a place and a time and a reason for existence. It’s just that the board is larger and we can never see the large scheme of things. Like each piece on the chessboard, each one of us has certain powers. Most of us can move only one step at a time. Some can move multiple steps but are constrained within ranks and files. But like the powerful queen, just a handful of us are capable of defining our destiny. And unlike the game of chess where each piece’s power is forced upon it, we can define our powers, our purpose. And we ought to keep working at it. It’s a game at the end of the day.”

  Both Tarana and Rujuta loved the game of chess and they had often spent hours huddled over the black and white chequered board.

  Rujuta, however, could not comprehend most of what Tarana was saying.

  Despite Rujuta’s apparent indifference and incomprehension, Tarana hadn’t stopped talking. She said, “Rujuta, the thing with death is that it’s as essential to life and to the world as birth is. With death, the old, the frail, the non-useful makes place for the new. It ensures that the pawns, the objects, even humans that are not fulfilling the purpose for which they’ve been created, are removed and replaced. Replaced by others that promise to fulfill their respective promises. Rujuta, Mother Nature is so selfless and it just gives and gives. But trust me, she is the most selfish as well. She can be nasty if she wants to be. If she believes that something is not helping her cause, she will take corrective action.”

  Rujuta knew that Tarana was not religious. But Tarana always talked about that supreme power that apparently looked after all life. This probably was the first time Tarana had opened up to Rujuta about her thoughts.

  To ensure that Rujuta got the best that was available, Tarana had done all kinds of work imaginable. She had ensured that Rujuta went to a good school. She did not marry anyone after they came to Mumbai because she wasn’t sure if her partner would accept Rujuta. Tarana taught Rujuta to live life on her terms. Tarana had made Rujuta so powerful without Rujuta realizing it.

  While Rujuta was lost in these thoughts, Tarana had lit a Stikk and was lazily sucking on it. Smoking was the only reminder of her murky past that Tarana had refused to let go. Rujuta craved for a smoke herself; she hadn’t had one for a long time. But she was an Indian girl after all. She could not bring herself to smoke in the presence of Tarana. She merely looked at the smoke wafting above Tarana.

  Tarana was far more experienced. She extended the cigarette and said, “I am not sure if this is the brand you smoke, but I love the flavor of Stikk. Here, try it.”

  Rujuta took the cigarette tentatively and inhaled deeply on it. She savored the taste of warm tobacco on her tongue and felt the warmth at the back of her throat. She could feel it passing through her windpipe and reach her lungs. She could feel a new leash of energy running through her system. She let the smoke roll in her lungs. She flicked ash from the cigarette in the empty teacup and looked at Tarana in her eyes. In that instant, when they looked into each other’s eyes, they said more to each other than they had spoken in all the preceding years.

  ∗∗∗

  Despite Tarana’s vehement insistence that Rujuta stay, Rujuta was on her way back. She had to put her life back in order and close the Nidhi Kapoor story. She had already called Tambe over after dinner.

  Talking to Tarana had helped her immensely. She did not understand a lot of what she said but at least she was thinking again. She decided that she couldn’t merely keep drifting. She would instead take control; crack Nidhi’s case and then work to identify Prakash’s killer. She could at least do this much for Prakash. Of course, it helped that she enjoyed the work. Maybe investigative reporting was her calling, her purpose, her reason.

  She was crossing the SV Road when she spotted Lucky Biryani. She loved a well-done Chicken Biryani more than anything else and since she had had very little to eat in the past few days, her body was craving for some carbs and grease. Everything else could wait while she ate to her heart’s content.

  ∗ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mahaprasthanika_Parva

  24. Day 30, Night. Rujuta’s House.

  “How are you Tambe Ji?” Rujuta greeted Tambe when he came. If she wasn’t her usual chirpy self, she surprisingly wasn’t mourning either.

  The immense smile of Tambe was reduced to a smallish grin. He seemed to have aged more than ten years since Prakash’s death.

  When she saw that Tambe remained resigned, she asked, “Did you have your dinner?”

  Tambe merely nodded.

  She motioned at the comfortable sofa and invited him to sit. In absence of Prakash, Tambe was clearly uncomfortable around Rujuta. Rujuta left him standing with his indecision, went to the kitchen and came back with two bottles of whiskey. A JD and an 8 PM. She smiled at Tambe and said, “You said you liked 8 PM, right?”

  “Tambe Ji, you know I loved Prakash more than anything, anyone. No one knows this better than you. I also know that you loved him like your brother. Now that he is gone, we cannot bring him back. But we can finish what he started. I know it’s so easy to say and very difficult to do. But we have to do it. It’s just you and me.” Rujuta fixed a drink for both of them.

  “Ice?” Rujuta asked.

  “No no. Thank you.”

  She handed Tambe his glass. “How is Sonu?” she asked.

  Sonu was Tambe’s fourteen-year-old son and Prakash had been very fond of him. Sonu was the other common thread, apart from their work, that bound Prakash Mohile and Pravin Tambe together.

  “He’s fine. He’s busy with his mid-year exams. He still doesn’t know about Prakash Sir.”

  “I have heard so much about him from Prakash. Did he get selected for the cricket team?” Rujuta asked. Prakash had given Tambe five thousand rupees to buy Sonu a cricket kit when he had to attend a training camp for Mumbai under-15 cricket team. Tambe couldn’t afford the imported kit with his meager salary and irregular bribes.

  “Yes. He is doing very well. Thanks to Prakash Saab.” Tambe finished his drink in one gulp. Lore had it that he could consume more alcohol than the entire police force put together and still shoot a neat hole through a 50 paisa coin tossed high up in the air.

  “Good good. Why don’t you make your drink yourself? I am a very bad bartender.” Rujuta was trying to make conversation. She pushed the bottle of 8 PM towards Tambe.

  Tambe made a stiff drink and as fast as he had poured it, he emptied the glass. In no time, he was soon onto his third large. He said, “It’s so strange madam, we checked everything but I can’t seem to find any trace of the car that attacked your car. There are cameras at the tolls and petrol pumps along the way. We did a very thorough investigation in all of Wai, Panchgani and Mahabaleshwar. Every policeman I know, from here to Satara, is looking for that car and yet we can’t find it!”

  He was more disappointed than he was angry.

  Rujuta was still on her first drink. “Don’t worry. We would come to Prakash in a bit. First, I want to talk about Nidhi’s case.”

  Tambe looked surprised at the mention of Nidhi Kapoor. “But… but Prakash Sir?” he said tentatively.

  “Tell me something. If instead of Prakash, you were in that accident and Nidhi’s attacker remained on the run, what would Prak
ash do?” Rujuta asked.

  Tambe thought for a minute; he saw merit in Rujuta’s logic. He merely nodded.

  Rujuta continued, “We are so close. We have done a lot of work on Nidhi’s case. Let’s just close it fast. It’s Prakash’s last case. And once we close it, I promise that I would not rest until I have found that bastard that attacked Prakash and me.”

  Tambe nodded and filled in Rujuta with recent developments in Nidhi’s case. There wasn’t much to report anyway but Tambe took time and Rujuta remained patient throughout the monologue.

  The police tried to keep the news of Payal’s murder away from media, but they couldn’t keep the leak from happening. All the newspapers ran a front-page story on Nidhi and Payal Kapoor. Since these stories were being written, quick references and researches were made into the history of the Kapoors. It made for a juicy story and people couldn’t have enough of it. A few reporters had made a permanent camp outside Ronak. The security at Ronak had anyway been beefed up after Payal’s murder. The security guards outside Ronak were replaced by policemen, trained specifically for VIP protection. Police had barricaded the road, under the guise of some construction. Nidhi was holed in her ivory tower. She had stopped making her weekly appearance for the public. The Kapoors had stopped entertaining visitors or guests and an eerie calm prevailed over the entire situation. Nidhi’s incoming mail and phone calls were being monitored round the clock.

  Even though it was almost two weeks after Prakash’s death, all was surprisingly peaceful. No new letters, threats or videos had arrived. Nidhi, Nishant and Naveen hadn’t reported any more unwarranted incidents. Taluja, Naveen and other suspects were under regular watch. The videos incriminating Nishant and Nidhi that were left in Verma’s car were still not released to the media. It looked as if the unknown assailant had decided to leave Nidhi alone after all. All that was left behind were a few letters and a long trail of crimes, including Payal’s dead body.