Murder with Bengali Characteristics (12 page)

‘Why?’

‘Everyone in the village said he was steady. A few even asked us to leave him alone, which takes plenty of guts these days. He never bothered us. He lived alone, did his job, helped some kids. I first met him when we took over the village from the CPM, just before Reunion. Those were the bad old days. Now we’re all brothers, of course. Bangla-Chini Bhai Bhai!’

‘Bangla-Chini Bhai Bhai!’ responded Inspector Li, not really meaning it. As a rule, he preferred brothers who were less heavily armed. ‘What kind of person was he?’

‘His theoretical knowledge was very sound,’ said Debu-da. ‘He spent a lot of time analyzing our missteps, and demonstrating the inherent fallacies behind our ideological assumptions. He was a solid chessplayer. We played once a week. He was a risk-taker, but also a long-term planner, which I always found fascinating. Nothing reveals character better than chess. He was very well-read. He did a lot of his reading in the old days, before you people came and banned whatever the Indian government had missed out, leaving us with romance, cricket and astrology. But he remembered a lot. He could quote entire passages from memory. I had an uncle like that, a judge of the Calcutta High Court. Complete asshole. Collector of property. He would hand out his card to anyone who owned some. “I’ll get you a very good rate,” he would say, “you won’t have to work anymore.” He was more of a pimp than a judge. Well, now that we’re done, do you fancy a drink? I have Old Monk, the best alcoholic beverage on the Indian subcontinent. Our Nepalese comrades liberated the factory.’

‘The last time you played chess together,’ said Li, ‘did he discuss anything in particular?’

Debu-da eyed him with interest. ‘Trying to discover the truth, are we? You must not get promoted much.’

‘Not much,’ admitted Li. He waited.

‘Well, he was depressed, but no more than usual. Said we were all turning into money-grubbing chimpanzees, without knowledge or culture. I said that started happening years ago, but he said that the pace was accelerating. “I’ve tried to be patient,” he said, “but sometimes I think all of you should be destroyed.” You Chinese worry a lot about angry youth, but I’m not so sure about that. It’s the angry old men. Those are the ones you have to keep an eye on.’

‘Has there been any thug activity around here lately?’

‘I’ve never seen a thug. No one has. Apparently they mix in with the rest of society, pretending to be our friends. Anyone could be a thug.’

‘Like the Maoists hiding in the city?’

‘There are no Maoists hiding in the city. It’s true that there was a time when we had infiltrated urban society at every level. We were all around you. Babloo’s uncle, Chinmoy’s brother-in-law, Boobli’s cousin, your driver’s nephew, the little boy who brings you bread every morning, the Deputy Director of the Archaeological Survey of India, the construction worker who looks too smart to be a construction worker, the Assistant General Manager (Purchase) at Mother Dairy, that nice professor who introduced you to Hemingway, the girl sitting next to you in the food court, the bearded man on the bus, even some of the younger members of Calcutta Club. But that was when the feudal reactionaries were in charge. Now that progressive forces control Calcutta, this is no longer the case. We no longer lurk amongst you. You can sleep without fear. Once in a while you can let your security guards take a holiday. No one is going to come in the middle of the night to line you up in front of a wall and shoot you.’

‘That’s a great relief,’ said Inspector Li.

‘You don’t have to worry about us, truly,’ said Debu-da. ‘The war is over in Junglemahal, and we want to keep it that way. I love my boys. They’ve done enough. They want to live life now. And things have improved. There was a time when people used to drop dead from cholera here like leaves from the mahua tree. Things have improved. About the thugs, I’m not so sure. They’re the upper-class Hindu type. Their work is never finished. Driving backwards always takes more time. We want to go forward, inch by inch, and maybe kill fewer people while we do it. ’

‘That’s why you have more time for reading,’ said Li, pointing to the book under the
Stardust
. ‘May I borrow that? It looks interesting.’

Debu-da hesitated. Then he shrugged. ‘Why not?’ he said, grinning.

The book had a picture of a pig smoking a cigar.
Animal Farm
, said the cover.

Geju-da’s home was opulent, with drones buzzing in every room. Apart from several chandeliers and an auto-remould sofa set, the living room was dominated by two gigantic portraits, in intricately carved golden frames. One was of Governor Wen, in a dark blue suit, looking depressed, while the other was of renowned cine star Mithun Chakravorty, in a flowing robe of crimson. He had one hand raised in blessing. His smile was heavenly.

‘These are remote-controlled paintings,’ said Geju-da, ‘in order to preserve flexibility.’ He pointed at the portrait of Governor Wen. The painting floated off the wall, performed a quick horizontal flip, and reattached itself once more. It was now a portrait of a wild-haired elderly woman with accusing eyes. ‘That’s Pishi,’ explained Geju-da. ‘Time to time she also comes to power. She’s not easy to suppress. You kept her in a mental hospital, but recently she escaped. Or perhaps they were too scared to keep her, and simply allowed her to leave. That’s very possible. Chinese may be strict, but Pishi is Pishi. My house can adjust, depending on current administration. All latest technology.’

Geju-da was a wiry little man in a simple white bush-shirt and tight black trousers. He was in his thirties. The top three buttons of his shirt were open, displaying a thin, smooth chest covered in gold chains. He was sitting on a medium-sized throne. His guests were on the sofa, which was massaging them discreetly.

‘What about Mithun-da?’ asked Phoni-babu. ‘Who does he turn into?’

‘There’s something called loyalty in this world,’ said Geju-da. ‘Where is the question of replacing him? He is in our hearts forever! Don’t mind, but what kind of third-class person are you to suggest such a thing?’

‘Oye, oye, oye!’ said a small, dark drone, hovering near his left shoulder. It threateningly extruded what appeared to be a syringe, along with a small laser. Blue flashes of electricity crackled all over it. ‘Sillyfucker! It won’t be good, I’m warning you!’ said the drone. Geju-da held up his hand. The drone grew still, hovering in mid-air.

‘Does he do kung-fu?’ asked Big Chen, keen to defuse the situation.

‘He does everything-fu,’ said Geju-da. ‘He is multi-talented. He can do Madrasi. He can do Marwari. He can portray divinity. He can portray criminality. He can encourage children on television to reveal inner talent. He is an accomplished dancer of the disco. He achieved notable success as a hotelier. If you like, I can introduce you. But tell me, how can I help you gentlemen? I wasn’t expecting you, Phoni-da. No financial question has cropped up, I hope? Our rate has been fixed. Supply is regular. Suddenly, what happened?’

‘Arrey, no, no, what are you saying, Geju-babu?’ said Phoni-babu. ‘Your dealing is very clean. Problem is, our boss is very difficult. He wants us to meet everybody involved in this case. It’s like some sort of obsession with him. But now that you’ve met us, our job is done. Give us some tea-shea, one-two biscuits, and we’ll be on our way. You must be busy.’

‘What keeps you busy?’ asked Big Chen. Li had asked him to find out more, and given him some questions, which he intended to ask. Phoni could kiss the man’s feet as much as he liked. ‘What do you do exactly, sir?’

‘This and that,’ said Geju-da, modestly, ‘here and there.’

‘Let’s respect his privacy,’ urged Phoni-babu. ‘What kind of society will we be without privacy? Our freedoms must be protected. Police should not get into everything.’

‘I don’t mind telling you at all,’ said Geju-da, ‘it’s a matter of pride, what I do. I’m serving society. See, sometimes people have requirements. If there are too many people to fulfill these requirements, they get confused. For example, say you are building a house. For the house you need cement. If too many people are supplying cement, lot of time goes in selection, trying to assess price, quality and other such factors. House building gets delayed. Better to go through one person. Wastage of time is less. Efficiency is more. In other cases, the requirement is people. Our village is full of unemployed youth. World is full of requirement. That’s why, in every locality, the Party has nominated one person to take care of all the requirements of the public. Out here, I am that person, thanks to previous good work. Sometimes people resist, and we have to break their legs, but we always take them to the hospital afterwards. Hospitals are very cooperative.’

‘Are there any specific areas you work more in?’ asked Big Chen.

‘Economy is not very developed here,’ said Geju-da. ‘During the time of Bijli-da, union was very strong. First they targeted big companies, big companies left. Then they targeted small companies, small companies shut down. After that they started chit funds.’

‘What’s a chit fund?’

‘It’s a method for collection and redistribution of small savings,’ said Geju-da. ‘Personally, I avoid it. Public gets angry, and they know where I live. Police charge more to beat them up. Plus, it’s a question of humanity. I have seen people suffer heart attack due to pressure. Still, it’s a sacrifice from my side. Maximum money is in this line. Instead, I am contributing mainly in the service sector, and in small-tiny local requirements, like house building, betel-nuts, and threatening.’

‘You’ve come here about Barin-da, isn’t it?’ he said, coming to the point. ‘Ma Kali, I swear, I had nothing to do with it. He was our respected Mister Master. Very genuine person. Always reading all the time. Never caring about money. Talking only when required. Such people I respect a lot. I always tell my assistants, unfortunately you are all like me, but you should try to be more like him. None of them ever listen, of course. Their affection for me is too much.’

‘What about all these local boys?’ said Phoni-babu, ‘I hear you’re supporting so many of them. That’s also a social service, Geju-babu. Tell him about that.’

Geju-da smiled modestly. ‘In this case, my social service is combined with business requirement. I need a distribution channel. I hire boys to do my distribution across Calcutta.’

‘What do they distribute?’ asked Big Chen, guessing drugs.

‘This and that,’ said Geju-da. ‘Small items. Margins are very low, but somehow we all survive.’

Judging by the size of his house, some were surviving better than others. ‘Did any of his students work for you?’ asked Big Chen. ‘One of them told my boss that he does.’

‘It’s possible,’ said Geju-da, ‘but how would I know? I’m very professional. Personal lives I don’t interfere with. It becomes a question of individual liberty. Besides, where is the time? Morning-evening I’m serving the public, stopping only for meals.’

‘Geju-babu, don’t mind,’ said Phoni-babu, ‘but one question I have to ask you. If your boys are getting educated like this, won’t they get jobs? Barin-babu was doing education. Isn’t this bad for your business? In your place I would be upset.’

Geju-da laughed. ‘Jobs! What jobs? We haven’t had any jobs here since 1986. Why he was teaching them, he only knows. Or knew, I should say, since he has left us. From my side, I have no complaints. All the boys are very good boys, doing very well. Customers are fully satisfied. Nowadays, they are even selling to our Chinese maliks. My business is getting international flavour.’

The man knew more, but he wasn’t going to tell them. He could keep blathering like this for hours. Big Chen lacked the patience of his boss. Not that his boss was always patient. He had a fine judgement regarding when to listen, and when to draw his gun.

‘I’m going to need a list of your boys,’ he said, as he got up to leave.

‘Certainly,’ said Geju-da, ‘we are always there for you. If you have any other sort of local requirement, do let me know.’

‘We always do,’ replied Phoni-babu.

Agarwal ducked, and the bomb flew over his head, exploding against a lamp post on the far side of the street. He scrambled to safety behind the smouldering hulk of a recently burnt car. A bullet smacked into the fender. He hit the ground, face down, right next to Verma, who was feeling homesick for Chhattisgarh. The bomber backed away to his group. ‘Sot! Sot!’ said his comrades. They were standing in the middle of the street, shouting slogans and curses, firing away. Their rivals were at the far end, trading bullet for bullet, bomb for bomb, and insult for insult. The air was thick with explosions and curses. It was like Diwali with an X-rated soundtrack.

‘Motherfucker!’ said Verma. ‘I thought leaders lived here! Where the hell are the water cannons? What about tear gas? Is there no law and order or what?’

‘Violence is very democratic in Calcutta,’ said Agarwal, ‘you can be blown up, burnt, shot, stabbed, strangled, attacked with a chopper, or bashed with a brick anywhere in the city. Real estate value is never a factor.’ There was an explosion just behind them. They clutched each other like lovers. They felt each other up cautiously, to make sure they were both in one piece.

‘Same Same CPM!’ roared the boys at one end, who were indistinguishable from the boys at the other. ‘SAME SAME CPM!’ They were all thin, dark and wiry, in tight jeans and bright shirts unbuttoned to the navel, their concave chests bared to the world fearlessly.

‘Is it Tuesday?’ asked Agarwal. ‘I’m so sorry, I forgot that it’s Tuesday.’

‘Why are they doing gadar in front of Bijli Bose’s house?’ asked Verma. ‘And who’s fighting whom? Didn’t the CPM wipe out everyone years ago, thanks to support from the chinkies?’

‘They did,’ said Agarwal. ‘It’s Tuesday. Every Tuesday, they play Exhibition Match under his balcony. It’s similar to the arrangement with the Pope in the Vatican. They do double role. Ruling party, opposition party, both are played by them. Sometimes he comes out and watches. It reminds him of the old days.’