Six Suspects (41 page)

'Champi,' she replied.

'Champi. That's a nice name. What does it mean?'

'I don't really know. It is just a name.'

'Then you should change it to Chilome.'

'Why?'

'In our language,
chilome
means "moon". You are as beautiful as
the moon.'

'
Ja, hut
,' Champi said and blushed. After a while she spoke
again. 'You know, you're the first outsider who has spoken to me
in a year.'

'And you are the first girl I have spoken to since leaving my
island.'

'Island? What island?'

'
Kujelli!
' Eketi thumped his head. At the same time a shrill
voice came from inside the first outhouse. 'Champi!
Beti
, breakfast
is ready!'

'Mother is calling me,' said Champi and stood up. She walked
with her right arm outstretched, treading a path which had been
seared into her brain through endless repetition. It was only then
that Eketi realized that the girl was blind.

Ashok took him to see Vicky Rai's farmhouse after lunch. They
went through the Sanjay Gandhi slum, a warren of narrow, dark
alleyways containing a conglomeration of small, squalid huts
held together by bamboo poles and tattered burlap bags, their roofs
an ugly patchwork of tarpaulin, plastic sheets, pieces of metal, old
clothes – anything the owners could lay their hands on – and
weighed down with rocks as protection against the wind. A group
of men wearing
pathan
suits lazed in the open while their women
filled pots of water from a municipal tap or chopped vegetables.
Naked children caked in dust played with mangy dogs. Piles of rubbish
and animal waste littered the ground like dead leaves. The
smell of wood smoke and dung cooking fires drifted in the air.

Eketi tugged at Ashok's sleeve. 'Do people really live in
these huts?'

Ashok stared at him irritably. 'Of course they do. Have you
never been to a slum?'

Eketi shook his head slowly. 'Even birds make better nests on
our island.'

Almost directly opposite the slum stood Number Six. Set
behind high metal gates, it was a triple-storey marble mansion,
towering over the neighbourhood like a permanent taunt. Behind
the mansion the fluted sandstone minaret of the Qutub Minar
peeked out, barely a kilometre away.

Crossing the road to take a closer look at the farmhouse, Ashok
and Eketi came to the rust-coloured boundary wall, fifteen feet high
and topped by barbed wire. 'How will we ever manage to enter this
place?' the tribal wondered. 'Even Eketi cannot climb this wall.'

'We will. Don't worry,' Ashok assured him as they passed the
main gate, which had at least six guards in police uniforms. They
rounded a corner and turned left towards the northern end of the
property. They came across a service entrance which appeared to
be unguarded. Ashok tried the door, only to find it firmly locked
from inside. The barbed-wire-topped boundary wall stretched for
another five hundred metres and had no cavities, gaps or fractures
which could be exploited. It was only when they were circling the
rear boundary that Ashok saw something which made him pause.
Tucked inside the cement wall was a small brown metal door,
probably some kind of pedestrian entrance. It didn't appear to be
in use as the paint had flaked off and the edges were rusted. Ashok
tried the rusty metal handle, but the door did not open. In fact,
there was so little give that it appeared not only to be locked but
also boarded up from the inside. He stepped back and surveyed
his surroundings. Behind him was a clump of eucalyptus trees and
then a thorny jungle, full of acacia bushes. The brambles made the
entire area behind Number Six not only uninhabitable but also
virtually inaccessible. 'If only we could get this door to open,' he
said wistfully.

'Eketi can open this door by getting inside the boundary wall,'
the tribal remarked.

'But how will you get inside the boundary wall?'

'Through this,' Eketi said, tapping the tall eucalyptus tree.

'But the branches of this tree don't extend over the wall. How
will you do it?'

'I will show you,' Eketi said and began sliding up the trunk of
the eucalyptus tree. Within seconds he had reached the top.
Catching hold of a sturdy branch, he began pulling it down with
his weight till it became taut as a slingshot. Then kicking the trunk
with his feet, he launched himself like a human arrow at the
branches and foliage of a
jamun
tree jutting over the boundary
wall. As a horrified Ashok watched, he flew through the air and
landed on top of the
jamun
tree. From there it was child's play for
him to make his way to the ground. A minute later the rusted
metal gate creaked open.

'You know you are mad, don't you?' Ashok shook his head
as he entered the door. The tribal grinned, unmindful of the
numerous cuts and scratches on his body.

The welfare officer was in a state of mild euphoria as he took
his first few steps inside the grounds of Number 6. He couldn't
believe that within hours of arriving in Delhi he was actually inside
the farmhouse. The sound of flowing water entered his ears,
together with the mechanical hum of a lawnmower. He glimpsed a
gardener busy shaving the grass on the lawn, barely a hundred feet
away, and was about to duck behind a tree when he realized that
the natural darkness of the wooded area would make it impossible
for anyone on the lawn to detect him. From where he stood, the layout
of the entire complex was clearly visible and once the gardener
had moved further away he pointed out the main features to Eketi
– the three-storey mansion in the distance, the Olympic-sized pool,
the gazebo, and the small temple in the right-hand corner of the
lawn. 'That is where the
ingetayi
is. I am absolutely certain,' he told
Eketi.

'Then let's go and get it,' Eketi said.

'Haven't you learnt anything in the last five months?' Ashok
rebuked him. 'Didn't you see the gardener? And there will be
twenty other servants and guards in the house. We will be caught
in a second.'

'Then let's do it at night, under cover of darkness.'

Ashok indicated the tall electric poles placed at regular
intervals on the lawn. 'These are powerful spotlights. I bet you at
night they light up this whole area like day.'

'Then how will we do it?'

'Have patience. Something will come to me,' said Ashok.

They spent another fifteen minutes exploring the wooded area,
coming across two magnificent peacocks. At the very edge of the
wood, near the north-eastern corner, they saw a man-made waterfall.
Water cascaded down a few large boulders into a narrow canal which
ran alongside a cobbled pathway leading towards the garages and the
front gate. Ashok tiptoed towards the garages, which were shuttered,
took a good look around and then hurried back to Eketi. 'I've got a
plan,' he said excitedly. 'But you must remember the location of
these two garages.'

They went out through the same rear gate and walked back to
the temple.

Champi was sitting on the wooden bench in the back garden again
when Eketi returned. He felt drawn to her like a magnet. As he sat
down beside her, Champi smiled. 'Oh, you are back.'

'Do you sit here all the time?' he asked.

'I like it here,' she replied. 'It is quiet. Everyone else prefers the
front garden.'

'I didn't know you were blind. Your eyes look just like everyone
else's. How did it happen?'

'I was born like this.'

'It must be very hard, not being able to see who you are
talking to.'

'I have got used to the blackness now.'

'Maybe Nokai will have a cure for your blindness.'

'Who is Nokai?'

'Our
torale
, medicine man.'

'Really? Can he really make me see?'

'Short of bringing a dead person back to life, he can do anything.'

'Then will you take me to him? To Jharkhand?'

'Actually he doesn't live in Jharkhand. He lives on an island.'

'What is this island you keep talking about?'

Eketi dropped his voice to a whisper. 'I will tell you if you
promise to keep it a secret.'

'
Allah kasam
. Promise.' Champi pinched her neck.

'I am not really Jiba Korwa from Jharkhand. I am Eketi
Onge from Gaubolambe,' he said conspiratorially.

'Where is that?'

'Little Andaman.'

'And where is that?'

'That is in the middle of the ocean. You get there on a big ship.'

'Then why have you come here?'

'I have come to take back a sacred stone which was stolen
from us.'

'And what will you do once you get your sacred stone?'

'I will go back to my island.'

'Oh!' said Champi and fell silent.

'At first I wanted to stay,' Eketi continued. 'I thought I would
start a new life here, get a wife. But now I want to go back. The
people here behave as if they own the world. And they treat me
like I am some kind of animal.'

'I don't think like that,' said Champi.

'That is because you cannot see me. I am not like you people.
I am different. And every time someone calls me blackie, something
curls inside me. I feel as if I have committed some kind of
crime. But the colour of my skin is the colour of my skin. There is
nothing I can do about it.'

'I agree. Just as I cannot do anything about my face. It is
God's will,' Champi said and slowly raised her right hand. With
her index finger, she traced the contours of his face, memorizing
every angle, every shallow curve and declension. 'Now I can see
you.'

Eketi shivered from her touch and looked into her unseeing
eyes. 'Tell me, are you married?'

'What kind of question is that?' Champi giggled. 'Of course not.'

'Neither am I. Will you come with me to my island?'

'And what do you promise me there?'

'Lots of fish and fruit. No one to trouble you. And absolutely
no need to work!'

'I would love to visit your island one day, but not now.'

'But why?'

'My family is here. Mother and Munna. How can I leave them?'

'Yes, you are right. I also remember my father and mother a lot.'

'But you must speak to Nokai about me.'

'I will. And if you cannot come with me to Nokai, I will send
Nokai to you.'

'What do you mean?'

'Nokai can fly out of his body and go wherever he wants.'

'
Ja Hut!
Now you are sounding just like Aladdin in the TV
serial.'

'Honest, I swear on Puluga. Nokai even taught me the trick,
but I haven't tried it yet.'

'The things you say!' Champi laughed and made her way back
to the house.

Eketi didn't see her again that day, but she remained in his
mind, a joyful presence which lent a spring to his step and
made him daydream. At night, he lay down on the stone floor of his
shack, took out a lump of red clay, mixed it with pig fat and began
making delicate designs with his finger on the wall. If Ashok had
seen it, he would have recognized it as a wedding pattern.

Four days later, Ashok Rajput paced up and down the marble floor
of his guest room. A heady excitement was building inside him,
stemming from the latest piece of gossip he had picked up from
the neighbourhood tea stall. Vicky Rai was planning to host a big
party on 23 March, just over a week from today. This would be his
opportunity, he was convinced. All that was required was to give
Eketi some elementary electrical training. Slowly but surely, his
plan was taking shape.

The same afternoon, two men barged into Eketi's hut at noon.
One was in his forties with ginger hair and a scruffy beard, and the
other was younger, with an athletic build and spiky black hair.
Dressed in nondescript trousers and shirts, they had identical
brown jute bags hanging from their shoulders.

'We have heard that you are from Jharkhand, is it true?' the
older man asked Eketi.

'Yes,' he replied, feeling a little scared. 'I am Jiba Korwa from
Jharkhand.'

'Hello, Comrade Jiba. My name is Comrade Babuli. This is
Comrade Uday.'

Eketi nervously fingered his cap.

'Comrade Jiba,' the older man continued, his eyes scanning
the room, 'we are from the Maoist Revolutionary Centre – MRC
for short – the most progressive revolutionary group in the
country. Have you heard of us?'

'No,' said Eketi.

'How can you be from Jharkhand and not know our group?
We are the biggest Naxalite organization in the region. And we are
fighting to awaken people like you.'

'But I am already awake!'

'Ha! You call this being awake? Your lives are controlled by the
imperialist rich. They employ you and pay you a pittance. They
grab your land and rape your women. We will change all that.'

'Yes. We are going to destroy this corrupt and hollow
bourgeois society and its institutions and replace them with a
completely new structure,' the younger man added. 'We are going
to create a new India. And we want you to help us.'

'Help you? How?'

'By participating in our armed revolution.'

'So you have come to offer me a job?'

'Comrade Jiba, we are not a government department. We are
not offering you a job. We are offering you a lifestyle. A chance to
become a hero.'

'And what will I have to do?'

'Become a revolutionary guerrilla. Participate in our people's
war. We shall even give you a gun.'

'I don't like guns.' Eketi shook his head. 'They kill people.'

'Comrade Jiba, try to understand,' said Comrade Babuli
impatiently. 'Our struggle is to make your life a better one. Tell
me, what is the one thing you want most in life?'

'A wife.'

'A wife?' Comrade Uday glared at Eketi as if he had committed
heresy. 'Here we are, trying to promote a revolution, and all you
can think about is a bloody wife?'

The elder comrade tried to soothe matters. 'It is all right.
Comrade Jiba, we understand your needs. We have plenty of girls
in our organization. All young revolutionaries. We will find you a
wife. All we want from you at this stage is to consider our offer.
We will leave behind some literature for you. Have a look, and
then one of our associates will contact you. Comrade Uday?' He
gestured to his younger colleague.