Six Suspects (52 page)

Aired 2 April – 15:37

THIS IS A RUSH TRANSCRIPT. THIS COPY MAY NOT BE IN
ITS FINAL FORM AND MAY BE UPDATED.

BARKHA DAS: On 13 January 1898, writer Emile Zola's famous incendiary
open letter to the President of France blew the lid off the Dreyfus Affair
and caused 'one of the great commotions of history'. Investigative journalist
Arun Advani's 2,402-word open letter to the President of India –
an impassioned defence of the tribal Eketi, who was wrongly killed for
the murder of Vicky Rai – has similarly electrified the nation. The government
has been compelled to swing into action. Sub Inspector Vijay
Yadav has been arrested and charged with the murder of Eketi Onge.
Inspector Rajbir Singh and Police Commissioner K. D. Sahay have both
been suspended. A nationwide manhunt has been launched for Ashok
Rajput. We have our crime correspondent Jatin Mahajan standing by in
front of Mehrauli police station. Let's turn to him for the latest. Jatin, we
are hearing reports of commotion outside the police station. What's
happening?

JATIN MAHAJAN: It is unbelievable, Barkha. We are witnessing extraordinary
scenes. The entire population of the Sanjay Gandhi slum, it
seems, has come out on to the streets and surrounded the police
station. Slogans are being raised against the police and Sub Inspector
Vijay Yadav.

BARKHA DAS: Who is leading the demonstrators, Jatin?
JATIN MAHAJAN: It is Munna Mobile, who, you will recall, was himself a
suspect in the Vicky Rai murder case. A large number of students have
also joined the slum-dwellers. There is considerable anger at the death
of Eketi. Arun Advani's latest piece has really galvanized the public.
People are saying that they have had enough. They will not tolerate
police brutality and high-handedness any longer. They will not have one
kind of justice for the rich and another for the poor.

BARKHA DAS: Absolutely, Jatin. In fact, responding to the public sentiment,
the government has already announced that a whole host of high-profile
cases in which the rich and famous had been let off are now going to be
re-opened. A commission is being set up to look at reforms of the
police and of the entire system of collecting evidence.

JATIN MAHAJAN: Also don't forget, Barkha, the government has
announced another look at the entire compensation package for the
victims of the Bhopal Gas Tragedy.

BARKHA DAS: Yes, Eketi's death has also focused the spotlight on Champi
Bhopali, the Face of Bhopal. The tribal was in love with her and had
promised to cure her blindness. How has his death affected her, Jatin?

JATIN MAHAJAN: Well, Barkha, Champi refuses to believe that Eketi is
dead. She claims he visits her every night and talks to her.

BARKHA DAS: Isn't it one of the great ironies of our time that all these
years when Champi Bhopali was highlighting the plight of the victims
denied compensation in the Bhopal Gas Tragedy, no one thought about
her own plight, Jatin?

JATIN MAHAJAN: Precisely, Barkha. All of us remember her as the Face of
Bhopal, but none of us thought of doing anything for that face. Only
now, following the public outcry over Eketi's murder, have a whole host
of individuals and NGOs stepped forward to help her. Sufficient funds
have been collected for her plastic surgery. There is even talk of a retinal
eye transplant which might restore her vision. So in death Eketi may
have done more for her than we, the living, were ever going to do.

BARKHA DAS: Well, Eketi's death has clearly been a much-needed wakeup
call for all of us. Are we looking at the dawn of a new India? This is
the question I will be posing in
Burning Issue
immediately after the nine
o'clock news. Do join me for that panel discussion. This is Barkha Das
reporting for ITN Live.

'Welcome, welcome, Singhania. Come and have some
sweets. Today is one of the greatest days of my life.
Second only to the day I became Chief Minister.'

'I know, Netaji. I just heard the news on the radio. '

'Yes. Jagannath Rai has been formally charged with the
murders of Pradeep Dubey, Lakhan Thakur and Navneet
Brar and with the abduction of Gopal Mani Tripathi's son.
We couldn't pin the Rukhsana Afsar suicide on him, but it
doesn't matter. With Tripurari Sharan turning approver, we
have enough to hang Jagannath. Now all the party MLAs
who joined him are in hot water. I am demanding two
crores from each of them before I agree to take them back.
They have to pay a price for their foolishness.'

'So your Chief Minister's chair is safe till the next
elections.'

'Why only till the next elections? Haven't you seen the
opinion poll in the
Daily News
? My decision to get rid of all
tainted ministers has boosted my approval ratings to 67 per
cent. High Command has now given me a totally free hand.
I think another term is a sure shot.'

'Jagannath Rai's downfall has been very swift indeed.'

'That bastard thought he was being very clever, getting
all his dirty work done by Mukhtar. But these twopenny
gangsters can never beat us professional politicians. The
idiot believed that just because he was Home Minister he
was above the law. He didn't have a clue that I had been
having his phone tapped for the last three years. And people
can be so indiscreet on the phone.'

'Is that why you never discuss business with me on the
phone?'

'One can never be too careful, Singhania. Though no
one would dare tap the Chief Minister's phone. (
Laughs
.)

'So was it you who sent the tapes to Advani?'

'Who else, Singhania? Use a snake to kill a snake. Advani
promptly published the tapes, finishing Jagannath's
political career and eliminating the biggest threat to my
post. It's a pity Mukhtar wasn't allowed to kill Vicky Rai.
That would have been the icing on the cake. Why did
Shabnam Saxena do something so idiotic?'

'I have no time for Shabnam Saxena. My biggest
headache is Ashok Rajput.'

'Ashok Rajput? That fellow who murdered Vicky Rai?
What's your connection to him?'

'He is the son of Vinay Rajput, who was my father's
masseuse. You know we are originally from Rajasthan. I
grew up with Kishore and Ashok in Jaisalmer. When
Kishore died, I helped Ashok get that job in the Tribal
Welfare Department.'

'Is it true, this story about him wanting to marry his
brother's widow?'

'Yes, Netaji. Gulabo was always a bit weird. It was at her
urging that Ashok decided to kill Vicky Rai.'

'Aha! So Rajput has already confessed his crime to you.'

'Yes, he has. He told me this was his second attempt.
About six years ago he managed to enter the farmhouse
with a gun, but his nerve failed him at the last minute. This
time round he decided to take advantage of that tribal
Eketi. I actually saw Ashok at the party, dressed in a snazzy
blue suit. I found it strange that he had been invited to
Number Six, but even I couldn't have guessed that he had
gained entry to kill Vicky Rai. Now, since 24 March he has
been holed up at my Meerut guesthouse. He thought he
had got away with murder when the police arrested Eketi,
but that Arun Advani is too clever. How he ferrets out
information is simply amazing.'

'What are you going to do about Rajput?'

'I have been advising him to go to the police and make a
clean breast of it. But he is still hoping for a miracle and has
asked me to give you a message.'

'What is that?'

'Ashok Rajput is willing to give you this stunning
shivling
(
sound of unwrapping
), if you can somehow save
him from the gallows.'

'
Arrey
, isn't this the
shivling
that the tribal was trying to
steal on the night of the murder?'

(
Laughs
.) 'No, Netaji. Ashok Rajput had a replica made
by a sculptor in Jaisalmer and planted it in the temple in
Vicky Rai's garden. What you are seeing is
the genuine article, which he stole from Swami Haridas in
Allahabad.'

'
Wah!
What a magnificent piece. So smooth, and what
are all these strange letters on it?'

'According to Onge legend, these were engraved by the
first man. Chief Minister Sahib, this
shivling
is the rarest and
most ancient antique in the country. It's priceless.'

'I want it, Singhania, and in return I will try to save your
friend. Because I know he is innocent.'

'And on what basis are you saying this, Netaji?'

'On the basis of what Delhi Police Commissioner K. D.
Sahay told me in confidence. KD and I are old friends. You
see, the police discovered another spent .32 bore cartridge
in the garden of Vicky's farmhouse.'

'But Rajput fired only once.'

'Exactly. So there was another person who fired a bullet
at Vicky Rai that night.'

'It makes sense . . . I thought I heard another gunshot
immediately after the first one, but others said it was a
cracker burst.'

'It was this second gunshot that actually killed Vicky
Rai. The bullet passed cleanly through his body and landed
in the garden.'

'But then the police should have found another gun!'

'That is where the problem lies! KD says the police
sealed the premises immediately after the first gunshot. So
the murderer couldn't have managed to escape. Then they
went over the farmhouse with a toothcomb. They frisked
each and every person present at Number Six. Checked
every vehicle that was parked inside and on the road. But
they did not discover any other gun, apart from the six
recovered from the six suspects. So they went for the only
option available to them. They pinned the murder on Eketi,
and suppressed all evidence of the second bullet and the
seventh gun.'

'Oh my God! Then who is the real killer?'

'Singhania, you have wealth, but you don't have brains.
Now I will tell you who really killed Vicky Rai.'

'Who, Netaji?'

'It was Jagannath's daughter, Ritu.'

'Ritu Rai? But how? And how do you know this?'

'This was revealed to me by my new best friend,
Tripurari Sharan. But before I tell you his theory, I have to
tell you a little story. I have a man who occasionally works
for me called Chhotu Lochan.'

'Oh, that notorious gangster?'

'What can I do? Politics demands both money and
muscle. Even Chief Ministers have to keep some pet dogs.
Just as Jagannath had Mukhtar, I have Lochan. I have used
him for a few operations. '

'Go on, this is getting interesting.'

'Lochan told me that on 20 January he kidnapped a
child from Noida, the seven-year-old son of an industrialist
who owns four factories. Ransom was set at seventy-five
lakhs. The father delivered the money on 26 January,
Republic Day. It was put in a black attaché case and left
inside a dustbin in an alley behind the Goenka School in
Mehrauli. Lochan's man Brijesh was to collect it, but
Brijesh's mobile phone was stolen by Munna Mobile. So
when Lochan relayed the pick-up location, Munna heard it
and made off with the briefcase.'

'Don't tell me! That two-bit mobile-phone thief got
away with seventy-five lakhs?'

'Yes. It was with all that money that he befriended Ritu
Rai, started a love affair.'

'Then what happened?'

'What always happens. Lochan tracked down Munna
Mobile eventually. The tentacles of these people extend
everywhere. So he sent in three of his goons, who beat
Munna up badly, even broke his fingers, and took back the
briefcase.'

'How sad! That is what I don't like about gangsters. The
way they resort to violence. I abhor violence. '

'Anyway, the twist in the tale is that Munna never told
Ritu about the briefcase, but Ritu told her family about
wanting to marry Munna. Both Vicky and Jagannath were
completely opposed to it. Tripurari says there were daily
show-downs between brother and sister. So when she
discovered what had been done to Munna, she thought that
Vicky Rai had sent in the goons to teach Munna a lesson,
and flew into a rage. Ritu is adept at handling guns. Did you
know she is the State air-pistol champion? So on the night
of the party, she, too, was in the hall with a gun. It was she
who got the fuse taken out of the mains switchboard at a
pre-determined time. As soon as the lights went out, she
shot her brother with a .32-bore pistol and then hid the
murder weapon in some private nook of the house, which
the police have not been able to figure out till now.'

'Amazing! So Ritu has got off scot-free?'

'Hasn't she suffered enough, being Jagannath's
daughter? Now she is marrying Munna, who, in turn, is
getting a hero's role in some film. So it looks like there will
be one happy ending at least.'

'Then what should I tell Ashok Rajput?'

'Tell him to stay put while I work out a strategy. And
thank him for the
shivling
. It will have pride of place in this
house from today.'

'It is supposed to be the ultimate good-luck charm.'

'I can feel the positive vibrations already. Through the
blessings of Lord Shiva, I will now remain Chief Minister
for the rest of my life.'

'Now, if you have time, Netaji, can I discuss the Badaun
Cement Plant with you?'

'I have time to discuss even the textile mill project. The
whole State is yours, Singhania. Now that Jagannath is out
of the way, we will enjoy the fruits together.'
(
Laughter
.)

'Nothing in the world is harder than speaking
the truth.'

Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky,
Crime and Punishment

I COULD TELL you the name I gave the police, but you wouldn't
recognize it. A better clue might be the outfit I was wearing. It
was a red waistcoat with brass buttons, worn over a white shirt
and complemented by pleated black trousers and patent leather
shoes. Don't forget those shoes.

No one really took any notice of me. I was deemed to be one
of those faceless service people who unobtrusively keep a big
party going. I could just as easily have been one of the hordes who
fill the streets when there is a big political rally or religious
procession, that blur of colour when the TV camera pans over the
stands in a cricket match, or in the anonymous queue which forms
in front of polling booths during elections.

You want me to be more specific? OK, I was the bearded
waiter at the party. I was standing next to Vicky Rai when the
lights went out. And I shot him at point-blank range.

If this comes as a shock to you, I apologize. There is something
gruesome about murder, about the forcible ending of a life, which
doesn't sit well with our conscience and our criminal-justice
system. 'Thou shalt not kill' is a biblical injunction, after all. But
there are occasions when murder is not only justified, it is
necessary. And I am not referring here to legally sanctioned
murder: the State executing a terrorist or an enemy soldier killed
in war. I am talking about murder as a ritual of righteousness. In
the Mahabharata, Arjuna had a duty as a Kshatriya warrior to
fight the evil Kauravas on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. I am also
a warrior, fighting a righteous war against the forces of evil in
society. In killing Vicky Rai I simply did my duty, upheld my
dharma
.

Please believe me, I had no personal score to settle with Vicky
Rai. I am not related to any of the six homeless people he mowed
down as a teenager. I had never set eyes on Kishore Rajput, the
forest ranger whom he got killed. Ruby Gill was neither my
colleague, nor my sister, nor my lover. I didn't know her, never met
her.

I presume my action will be seen as vigilante justice. The act
of a citizen who takes the law into his own hands when the actions
of established authorities are insufficient.

And the actions of established authorities clearly were insufficient.
Vicky Rai broke one law after another and received one
acquittal after another. The final straw came when he was even
exonerated of the murder of Ruby Gill.

Our great epics tell us that when evil becomes all-pervasive,
God comes down to restore goodness. With all due respect, that's
nonsense. No one comes down from heaven to sort out the mess
on earth. You have to clean up the shit yourselves. You have to
take off your shoes, hitch up your trousers and wade into the
sodden muddy pit.

That is what I did. My conscience left me no other choice.

The middle class is supposed to act as the conscience of the
nation, an ethical beacon guarding against the excesses of
the upper class and the defeatism of the underclass. It is the
middle class which challenges the status quo, which brought
about the great revolutions of the world – in France, China and
Russia, in Mexico, Algeria and Vietnam. But not in India. Our
middle class believes firmly in the preservation of the status quo.
Unconcerned with the declining standards in public life, apathetic
about the plight of the poor, it indulges in rampant consumerism.
We have become a nation of voyeurs, hooked on inane soap operas
about scheming mothers-in-law and suffering housewives, feeding
on the carcass of others' misfortunes, salivating at the break-up
of a celebrity marriage, mesmerized by flickering TV images of
politicians caught accepting bribes on camera.

I have nothing against voyeurs. I admit, in my younger days
even I was tempted occasionally to peep into my neighbour's
house, hoping to catch a glimpse of his young daughter taking a
bath. But what if instead you catch your neighbour choking his
middle-aged wife to death? What do you do then? Do you slink
into your bed like a half-guilty thief or do you rush into the neighbour's
house and put a stop to the crime?

This was the dilemma I faced when I listened to the tapes of
Vicky Rai's conversations. You see, I had been tapping his phone
for the past two years, just as the Chief Minister was tapping
Jagannath Rai's phone.

When I first began the phone tap, I had no idea what I was
getting into. It seemed like a harmless way to ferret out information
and it was easy. India is an eavesdropper's paradise. Nobody
is bothered about infringement of civil liberties, privacy rights and
data protection. All you need is some electronic equipment which
can be bought off the shelf from any shop in Palika Bazaar and
some connections in the phone department and you are all set
for some freelance tapping. I currently have seven intercepts
running all the way from Jammu to Jabalpur.

For two years I listened to Vicky Rai's voice on a daily basis. I
listened to the favours being exchanged, the bribes being paid, the
frauds being perpetrated, the girls being seduced. I heard earnumbing
accounts of how laws were broken and subverted, how
evidence was falsified, how justice was trampled upon, raped,
pillaged and sold to the highest bidder. Every infraction was like a
band of iron squeezing my heart. Every injustice was like a nail
being driven into my body.

And then, on 17 March, I heard a conversation which set me
on fire. I will play you a small clip from that tape. Listen carefully.

'Hello, Vicky baba, recognize me?'

'Is it Mukhtar?'

'Yes, Vicky baba. I am sorry to call you so late, but—'

'What's the matter? You sound very worried.'

'You remember, Vicky baba, how we used to play
together in Lucknow? You would sit on my back and I
would race to the
peepul
tree and then you would say "Take
me to—" '

'I am sure you haven't called me at one o'clock in the
morning to reminisce about my childhood. Come to the
point, Mukhtar. Are you in some kind of trouble again?'

'No, Vicky baba,
you
are in trouble.'

'What do you mean?'

'Boss called me to his house an hour ago.'

'So? Who did Dad want bumped off this time?'

'You, Vicky baba. He gave me a contract to kill you.'

'Have you gone mad?'

'No, Vicky baba. I swear on my dead father. This is
exactly what Boss asked me to do.'
(
Long pause
.)

'I still don't believe this.'

'I couldn't either. I have seen you grow up in front of
my eyes, Vicky baba. How can I take your life?'

'When did Dad tell you to carry out the hit?'

'On 23 March. When you are going to have some big
party at Number Six.'

'I see.'

(
Long pause
.)

'I don't know what's happened to Boss. He is not the
man he used to be. This fight for the Chief Minister's chair
has warped his brain.'

'Mukhtar, will you do a job for me?'

'
Hukum
, Vicky baba.'

'I want you to kill Mr Jagannath Rai. On the same day,
at the same place. I will pay you one hundred times what
Dad would have paid you. Will you accept my contract?'

'Vicky baba, how can—'

'I will send you ten lakhs right away, and the balance on
completing the job. You don't need to do any more hits
after this one. Do we have a deal?'

'I don't know what to say, Vicky baba.'

'It will be your easiest hit, Mukhtar. I will keep the
service entrance unlocked. You come in through there with
your gun. I will be at the bar in the big hall and I will
ensure that Dad is in the other corner, next to the bay
window which opens on to the driveway. At exactly five
minutes past midnight I will get my trusted servant Shankar
to switch off the mains. Fireworks will already be going on
at the time. You finish off your work as soon as the lights
blow and race out through the service gate. Can anything be
simpler?'

(
Long pause
.)

'Do we have a deal, Mukhtar?'

'Yes, Boss.'

'Good. Then I suggest you disappear for a while. Do not
take any calls from Dad.'

'Yes, Boss. I will hole out in Sarai Meer, and then come
to Number Six only on the twenty-third.'

'Fine. I will have your advance sent to Azamgarh.'

'
Meherbani. Khuda hafiz
.'

(
Disconnect
.)

Something snapped in my brain when I heard this tape. How long
can you see what is happening around you and remain unaffected
by it? How long can you pretend you are not a citizen of this
country, not a thinking, feeling man? And I said to myself, 'Enough
is enough.' I decided to kill Vicky Rai, mete out my own justice to
him. If the corrupt father was going to die, then so would the
depraved son.

To kill a man you need three things. A powerful motive, strong
nerves and a good gun. I was motivated and steady, all I required
was a reliable gun. I went for a country-made pistol, a compact
semi-automatic .32 fabricated in Bamhaur; cheap, dependable and
completely untraceable. Then I paid a visit to Akram Bhai, a
wizened old cobbler who owns a small shop behind Jama Masjid,
specializing in custom-made footwear. He made me a pair of
patent-leather shoes which, once you lifted the insole, contained a
hollow compartment in the heel big enough to secrete a wad of
cash. Or a bar of gold. Or a compact gun.

So on 23 March, I, too, was in Number Six with a pistol in my
pocket. Getting inside the farmhouse was child's play. I slipped in
through the unlocked service gate wearing a fake beard and the
red-and-black uniform of the waiters from Elite Tent House, who,
I knew from an earlier intercept, were doing the catering at the
party. I picked up a tray and hung around the garden, watching
the guests laughing and the booze flowing. It was a typical Delhi
party of the rich, with the usual air-kissing and pointless hugging,
the ritual exchange of business cards and the predatory circling of
women flaunting their bodies.

Just before midnight, a fireworks display began. Rockets
screamed, crackers burst, bombs exploded in celebration of Vicky
Rai's acquittal. At the stroke of midnight I moved from the lawn
into the big hall. I saw Vicky Rai making a speech in front of a
mike. Then he asked his father to speak and went to the bar on the
far side of the hall. As he began mixing a drink, I edged closer to
him. The room was chock-full of people, including the film star
Shabnam Saxena, and it would have been impossible to shoot him
and not be caught. My muscles tightened and a knot formed in the
pit of my stomach. I waited for the lights to go out. At precisely
12.05 a.m. they did and I whipped out my gun. A shot rang out
and Jagannath Rai screamed. Thinking that Mukhtar had done his
job, in that very instant I shot Vicky Rai at point-blank range. He
was standing directly in front of the open window and my bullet
must have passed clean through him. Coincidentally, another loud
cracker bomb burst at that very second and camouflaged the
sound of my gunshot.

Shooting a man is the easy part. The tough part is keeping your
nerves in control after the act. My hands began shaking and my
heart started hammering so violently I thought I was going to have
a coronary. The gun almost slipped out of my grasp. With
trembling fingers I took off my left shoe, lifted the insole and
deposited the pistol in the hollow compartment. I had just about
managed to retie my shoelace when the lights came back on and
the police rushed in. They asked for my name and address. I
showed them a fake ID identifying me as a waiter. They frisked me
from neck to ankle and didn't find anything. They let me go.

Would I have done things differently if I had known that
Mukhtar Ansari was not going to keep his appointment? I don't
know. It was only when the lights came on and I saw Jagannath
Rai very much alive that I realized something had gone wrong.
Now, of course, it is clear that it was Ashok Rajput who fired the
first bullet, also a .32 calibre from a locally made improvised
revolver. It narrowly missed Vicky and got lodged in the wooden
bar. Vicky Rai was actually killed by the second bullet – my bullet.
If the police had searched the premises thoroughly they would
have discovered a spent .32 cartridge in the garden outside.

I hope you see the irony – Vicky Rai was acquitted in the Ruby
Gill murder case because the police said the two bullets were fired
from two different guns, but Ashok Rajput has been arrested
because this time the police are loath to accept the two-gun
theory! If only he had not confessed, a smart lawyer might have
been able to get him off.

Many years ago I saw a film – I forget its name. It was one of
those arty movies in which people don't speak much and the
camera pans slowly, settling on minute details of everyday life,
such as an empty swing creaking back and forth for two minutes.
The film was about a village full of poor people being exploited
by a feudal landlord. Most of the film is a blur to me now, but I
still remember its last scene. It showed a small boy throwing a
stone at the
zamindar
's mansion, breaking a window. I was too
young then to understand what that stone meant. Now I do. Great
revolutions begin with a tiny spark.

I have lit that spark. A revolution is now underway. Youths like
Munna Mobile are the foot soldiers of this revolution. They are
vociferously demanding their rights. They will no longer tolerate
injustice silently.

Just as every revolution has a hero, it also has some collateral
damage. I feel a tinge of regret for Ashok Rajput. I genuinely
mourn Eketi's death. I did try to help him, but it was a case of too
little, too late. His death will forever remain on my conscience, a
cross that I have to bear. But his sacrifice was not in vain. Vicky
Rai is dead. Jagannath Rai is as good as dead. Justice has been
done. Henceforth the criminal rich will no longer be able to sleep
easily. They know now that retribution can return to haunt them
at any time.