Chapter Forty-Nine
There will be constant affirmations, Idriss had said, again and again. If they were there, I didn’t see them, even in dreams. Idriss talked of spiritual things, but the only thing that came to mind for me, in the word spiritual, was nature. I hadn’t found my connection to his tendency field, and out there on that fringe of the world, I didn’t feel that I belonged to anything but Karla.
I’d searched the faiths I could find. I learned prayers in languages I couldn’t speak, and prayed with believers whenever they invited me to join them. But I always connected to the people and the purity of their faith, rather than the religious code they followed. I often had everything in common with them, in fact, but their God.
Idriss spoke of the Divine in the language of science, and spoke of science in the language of faith. It made a strange kind of sense to me, where Khaderbhai’s lectures on cosmology only ever left me with good questions. Idriss was a journey, like every teacher, and I wanted to learn on the way, but the spiritual path I could see always led to forests, where talking stopped long enough for birds to find trees, and to oceans and rivers and deserts. And each woken beautiful day, each lived and written night, carried inside it a small, ineffaceable emptiness of questions.
I showered, drank coffee, tidied my rooms and went down to my bike, parked in the alleyway under the building. I had a breakfast meeting with Abdullah. I wanted to see him, and I was afraid to see him: afraid that friendship had faded in his eyes. So I rode and thought of Diva Devnani, the rich girl in a very poor slum, whose father was watching the sand run through his fingers. I made a note to buy her some Kerala grass and a bottle of coconut rum for when I checked on her.
When I parked my bike beside Abdullah’s, across the street from the Saurabh restaurant, I looked up slowly and reluctantly, but the eyes that met mine were as true as they’d always been. He hugged me, and we squeezed onto a small bench behind a table that gave us both a view of the door.
‘You are the subject of discussion,’ he said, as we worked our way through masala dosas and dumplings in mango sauce. ‘DaSilva made a bet that you would not live to see the end of the month.’
‘Anyone take the bet?’
‘Of course not,’ Abdullah said, between mouthfuls. ‘I beat DaSilva with a bamboo rod. He withdrew the wager.’
‘Solid.’
‘The talk from Sanjay is what counts, for now, and Sanjay wants you to live.’
‘In the way a cat wants a mouse to live?’
‘More like a tiger and a mouse,’ he replied. ‘He thinks the Scorpions are cats, and that they hate you more than DaSilva does.’
‘So, am I a target or a useful distraction, for Sanjay?’
‘The last. He does not expect that you will survive outside the Company for a long time. But you are useful, in a unique way.’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘While you live, you are irritating.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention. In fact, I think you will probably be irritating, even after you are dead. It is a rare quality.’
‘Thanks again.’
‘Don’t mention.’
‘Where do I stand with business?’
‘He does not think you will survive long enough, to establish a business.’
‘I got that. But if I do survive, say, until the day after tomorrow, when I’d like to get started, how do I stand?’
‘Sanjay assured me that he would license you, like everyone else, but at a higher percentage.’
‘And they say mafia dons have no heart. Can I do my own passports?’
‘He does not think you will –’
‘– survive long enough. But if I do?’
‘Sanjay has said that you are banned from the passport factory. Your young man there, Farzad, came to see Sanjay personally, asking that he be permitted to learn from you privately. Sanjay said that he did not think –’
‘– I’d survive long enough, right, but he didn’t rule it out?’
‘No. He ordered Farzad not to contact you, or speak to you.’
‘And if I bought my own kit, and started modifying books?’
‘He does not think –’
‘Abdullah,’ I sighed, ‘I don’t care if Sanjay thinks I won’t last the winter. The only opinion I respect on that subject is my own. Just tell Sanjay, when you get a minute, that one of these days he might need a good passport from me himself. If he’s cool with it, I’d like to start making books. I’m good at it, and it’s an anarchist crime. See if you can get him to agree, okay?’
‘Jarur, brother.’
It was good to hear him call me brother, but I didn’t know if he was accepting my defection from the Company, or if his disaffection was driving him closer to my renegade side of the line.
‘You will be taking over all of Didier’s enterprises?’ he asked.
‘Not all of them. I’m letting the drugs go. The Company can pick it up, if they want. Amir can have it. And the escorts, too. They can have all of Didier’s escort strings in South Bombay. I wrote off the debts, and let everyone run free. They’re out there, doing their own things. But the Company can probably negotiate them back again, I guess.’
‘It will be done before nightfall,’ he intoned, his deep voice rumbling the syllables. ‘So, without the girls and the drugs, you will have what, exactly?’
‘All Didier’s currency touts are with me. I’ve got enough to float about fifteen of the black money traders from Flora Fountain to Colaba Market, for a month. If it ticks over, I’ll do okay. On the side, I’m specialising in watches and technology. Every street guy on the strip will bring stuff to me first, before any other buyer. I think I can make that work.’
‘Watches?’ he asked, frowning sternly.
‘There’s a lot of money in collector watches.’
‘But watches, Lin?’ he said, suddenly almost angry. ‘You were a soldier, with Khaderbhai.’
‘I’m not a soldier, Abdullah. I’m a gangster, and so are you.’
‘You were one of his sons. How can you sit here, and talk to me of watches?’
‘Okay,’ I said, trying to make it light. ‘How about we ride our bikes to Nariman Point, and I’ll sit there, and talk of watches?’
He rose from the table, left the restaurant, and strode to his motorcycle. He didn’t pay a bill in any restaurant in South Bombay. No gangster ever did. I paid, left a tip for the waiters, and caught up to him.
‘A ride is necessary,’ he said.
I followed him to Bombay University, where we parked the bikes, walked through the colonnades and leafy laneways, and entered the open playing fields called Azad Maidan, behind the campus and other buildings.
There was a fence of iron spears between the vast expanse of the playing fields and the street outside, with only one other entry point, served by a long path across the lawns to the university. The sun’s invisible lake of light reflected gold off every surface and feature.
Abdullah and I walked the fence line, side by side, just away from the shaggy weeds that gathered at the base.
It was almost exactly like the walks I’d made with other men every day, in prison, walking and talking, walking and talking in circles of years.
‘How bad has it been?’ I asked him. ‘I heard some stuff on the mountain. What’s the deal with the fire, at the Scorpion house?’
He pursed his lips. He’d anticipated that I’d ask him about the fighting in Colaba, and the fire that killed a nurse in Vishnu’s house. I knew why that nurse was in the house. I wondered if Abdullah or anyone in the Company knew that civilians were in the house. I hadn’t known, when I rang the bell, and I hadn’t told Abdullah or anyone else about it.
He let a deep breath escape through his nose, his lips pressed firmly in a rumpled frown.
‘Lin, I am going to trust you, as if you are still in the family. It is not what I should do, but it is what I must do.’
‘Abdullah, I’m a broad strokes guy, you know that. I don’t want intimate details about anything except intimacy, if I can help it. And don’t go breaking your oath for me, although I love you for it, man. Just let me know the big picture details, so I know who’s shooting at who.’
‘It was Farid,’ Abdullah said. ‘I counselled against it. Fire is indiscriminate. I wanted to discriminate, and kill them personally. All of them, once and for all. Sanjay decided to use fire. Farid set it, and the Scorpions escaped, but a nurse, who was not supposed to be there, she died in the flames.’
‘Where’s Farid now?’
‘He is still here, at Sanjay’s side. He refuses to leave the city, when it would be far wiser if he did.’
‘There’s a lot of that going around at the moment.’
‘What is going around?’
‘Nothing. Just a stray thought in the wind. The Scorpions will hit back hard, Abdullah. I’ve met this guy, Vishnu. He’s no lightweight. He’s smart, and he’s got a political agenda. That gives him allies in unlikely places. Don’t underestimate his revenge.’
‘What does he want?’
‘He wants what you want, up to a point. He wants Sanjay dead. But he wants the whole Company dead with him. And he’s got a thing about Pakistan.’
‘Pakistan?’
‘Pakistan,’ I repeated. ‘Neighbour country, kind people, nice language, great music, secret police. Pakistan.’
‘That is not a good thing,’ Abdullah frowned. ‘Sanjay has made many friends in Pakistan. It was those friends who sent the Afghan guards to protect him.’
We were approaching a curve in the fence. A young couple sat on a blanket in the warm, plush grass. They had several books open in front of them. A message of crows was hopping around them, basking in the morning sun and searching for worms.
Abdullah began to turn away to avoid the couple.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘I know those guys.’
Vinson and Rannveig looked up, smiling, as we approached. I introduced Abdullah, and stooped to pick up one of the books. It was Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces.
‘How did you get into Campbell?’
‘We studied him at university,’ Rannveig said. ‘I’m teaching a crash course to Stuart.’
‘It’s over my head,’ Vinson grinned, waving a hand over the blonde waves of his hair.
‘Carlos Castaneda,’ I said, reading the covers of other books. ‘Robert Pirsig, Emmett Grogan, Eldridge Cleaver, and the Buddha. Nice bunch. You could throw Socrates and Howard Zinn onto that list. I didn’t know you’re a student here.’
‘I’m not,’ Rannveig said quickly.
‘Technically, I’m the student,’ Vinson said. ‘I enrolled here nearly two years ago, but I’ve bunked all my classes. Still have the library card, though.’
‘Well, happy reading, guys,’ I said, turning away.
‘It worked,’ Rannveig said. ‘That thing, with the plate of food.’
I turned back.
‘It did?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Sweet Tooth was happy, I guess. He’s gone. Thank you.’
‘What are you guys talking about?’ Vinson asked, his face as perplexed as a ten-year-old kid’s.
One of the things I liked most about Vinson was that his face was so wide open that it gave nowhere for his feelings to hide. Whatever he thought or felt started in his face. He was his own straight man.
‘Tell you later,’ Rannveig said, waving goodbye.
‘Do those people also buy and sell watches?’ Abdullah asked, as we continued the loop of the playing fields back toward the campus entrance.
‘Are we back to that again?’
Abdullah harrumphed. There actually are people who harrumph. I know quite a few, as it turns out. My theory is that harrumphers have a tiny pinch of extra bear DNA than the rest of us, in their setup.
‘I have your guns for you,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Tell me where you want me to deliver them.’
‘I know a guy who’ll keep them safe, for ten per cent. I’ll give you the details. Thanks, Abdullah. Let me know what I owe you.’
‘The weapons are a gift,’ he said, stung.
‘I’m sorry, brother, of course. Damn nice. And speaking of weapons, I’ve got a meeting with Vikrant, my knife guy, in Sassoon Dock. Is there anything I can do for you?’
We approached the archway leading back through the campus to the street, but he stopped me before I could join the mill of students passing through the arch.
‘There is something,’ Abdullah began, but he closed his mouth firmly again, breathing hard through his nose. ‘Sanjay has forbidden us from befriending you, or contacting you, for any reason other than Company business.’
‘I see.’
‘You understand what this means?’
‘I . . . guess so.’
‘It means that the next time we meet openly, Sanjay will be dead.’
‘What?’
‘Be confident and unafraid,’ he said, hugging me fiercely, and then holding me in his outstretched arms, as solid as a doorjamb. ‘You have eyes watching you.’
‘You got that right.’
‘No. I mean that I have paid some eyes to watch you, for some time,’ he said patiently.
‘You have? Who?’
‘The Cycle Killers.’
‘You paid homicidal maniacs to watch out for me?’
‘I did.’
‘That’s very thoughtful. And expensive. Maniacs don’t come cheap.’
‘You are right. I took some money from Khaled’s treasure, to pay for it.’
‘How did Khaled feel about that?’
‘He agreed. My feeling is that the only way I can lure him back to Bombay, and his true destiny, is to bring his treasure from the mountain to the city, one piece at a time.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’
He looked me up and down, profoundly offended.
‘I never make jokes.’
‘You do, too,’ I laughed. ‘You just don’t know you do. You’re a funny guy, Abdullah.’
‘I am?’ he asked, grimacing.
‘You hired homicidal maniacs to protect me. You’re a funny guy, Abdullah. Lisa always laughed when she was with you, remember?’
Lisa.
He looked across the fields, the muscles in his jaw rippling, although his eyes were perfectly still. University students were playing cricket, kicking footballs, sitting in groups, doing cartwheels, and dancing for no reason.
Lisa.
‘You were her Rakhi brother,’ I said. ‘She never told me.’
‘Big changes are coming,’ Abdullah said, finding my eyes. ‘The next time you see me, perhaps it will be at my funeral. Kiss me as a brother, and pray that Allah forgives my sins.’
He kissed my cheek, whispered goodbye, and slipped gracefully into the stream of students flowing through the arch.
The fields, surrounded by the long, speared fence, seemed like a vast green net, cast by the sun to catch brilliant young minds. My eyes searched for Vinson and Rannveig, in the far corner of the park, but I couldn’t find them.
Abdullah was already gone when I reached my bike. It was high noon, and he didn’t want to explain being seen with me. I wondered when, and how, I’d ever see him again.
I rode back to the Sassoon Dock area, and Vikrant’s metal shop. I presented the renowned knife-maker with the two halves of the sword willed to me by Khaderbhai.
Vikrant’s bargaining system was to begin with the cheapest solution, sell you on it, and then expose the fatal flaw in the cheapest option. That, of course, led to the next cheapest option, the next hard sell, the next fatal flaw, and the next option, and the next fatal flaw.
I’d tried over the years to get Vikrant to cut straight to the very-expensive-option-with-zero-fatal-flaws, but unfortunately that wasn’t an option.
‘Do we have to do the option thing again, Vikrant? Can’t you just gimme the deluxe deal now? I really don’t give a shit how much it costs. And it’s really irritating, man.’
‘As in everything else in life,’ the knife-maker said, ‘there’s a right way, and a wrong way, to be irritating.’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘Indeed. Me, for example, I’m professionally irritating. My irritating goes with the territory. But you, you’re irritating without any reason at all.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘You’re irritating me now, even as we speak.’
‘Fuck you, Vikrant. Are you gonna fix the sword, or not?’
He studied the weapon for some time, trying not to smile.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘But only if I can fix it my own way. The hilt has a fatal flaw. A third-rate option.’
‘Great. Go ahead.’
‘No,’ he said, holding the sword in his upturned palms. ‘You must understand. If I fix it my way, it will never break, and it will be a partner with Time, but it will not be the same sword that Khaderbhai’s ancestors carried into battle. It will look different, and it will feel different. The soul of it will be different.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you want to preserve history,’ the knife-maker asked, allowing himself a smile, ‘or do you want history to preserve you?’
‘Funny guy, Vikrant. I want the sword to last. It’s like a trust, and I can’t be sure that the next guy will have it repaired if it breaks again. Do the deluxe, Vikrant. Make her last forever, and give her a makeover, but keep her under wraps until you’re finished, okay? It makes me sad.’
‘The sword, or the trust?’
‘Both.’
‘Thik, Shantaram.’
‘Okay. And thanks for the message you sent through Didier, about Lisa. Meant a lot.’
‘She was a nice girl,’ he sighed, waving goodbye. ‘Gone to a better place, man.’
‘A better place,’ I smiled, thinking it strange that we can think of any life as better than the life we’re living.
I avoided better places, and spent the long day and evening doing the rounds of currency dealers and touts, from the Fountain to the Point to the mangroves in Colaba Back Bay.
I listened to Chinese-whispered gangster gossip up and down the strip, made notes on all the money changers’ tallies and estimates, checked them against Didier’s notes, found out who the principal predators were, which restaurants favoured us and which banned us, how often the cops demanded money, which men could be trusted, which girls couldn’t be trusted, which shops were fronts for other businesses, and how much each square foot of black market footpath in Colaba cost.
Crime does pay, of course, otherwise nobody would do it. Crime usually pays faster, if not better, than Wall Street. But Wall Street has the cops. And the cops were my last stop before visiting the slum, to check on Diva and Naveen.
Lightning Dilip gestured toward a chair, when I walked into his office.
‘Don’t sit in the fucking chair,’ he said. ‘What the fuck do you want?’
He was looking me over, remembering the last beating he’d given me, hoping for a limp.
‘Lightning-ji,’ I began politely. ‘I just want to know if I can still bribe you, now that I’m freelancing, or if I have to go to Sub-Inspector Patil. I’m hoping for you, because the sub-inspector can be a real pain in the ass. But if you tell him that, I’ll deny it.’
The constables laughed. Lightning Dilip glared at them.
‘Throw this motherfucker in the under barrack,’ he said to the cops, lounging in the doorway. ‘And kick his head sideways.’
They stopped laughing, and moved toward me.
‘Just kidding,’ Lightning laughed, holding up a hand to stop his men. ‘Just kidding.’
The cops laughed. I laughed, too. It was pretty funny, in its own way.
‘Five per cent,’ I said.
‘Seven and a half,’ Lightning shot back. ‘And I’ll give you a chair to sit in, next time you visit the under barrack.’
The cops laughed. I laughed, too, because I would’ve given him ten per cent.
‘Done. You drive a hard bargain, Lightning-ji. You didn’t marry a Marwari wife for nothing.’
The Marwaris are trading people from Rajasthan, in northern India. They have a reputation for shrewd business, and sharp deal making. Lightning Dilip’s Marwari wife had a reputation for spending money faster than Lightning could beat it from his victims.
He looked at me, tasting the mention of his wife without pleasure. His lip curled. Every sadist has a sadist in the shadows. When you know who it is, just the mention of the name is enough.
‘Get out of here!’
‘Thank you, Sergeant-ji,’ I said.
I walked past the cops who’d chained and kicked me, weeks before. They smiled, and nodded good-naturedly. That was pretty funny too, in its own way.