Vikas Swarup - Six Suspects

As the auto-rickshaw departs, trailing a plume of smoke, a pang of sadness squeezes my heart with such force that I almost cry out. And a new realization dawns on me. I had come to Paharganj a boy, looking for a tawdry thrill. I was leaving it a man, madly in love.

Lying in bed that night I am tormented with dreams of Ritu. She began as an object of desire for me, a seemingly unattainable fantasy, and then somewhere along the way she became real. I am all too painfully aware of the wide gap between us. She is the daughter of an upper-caste, upper-class business tycoon and I am the uncouth son of a temple sweeper. The chasm between us is so wide that it can only be bridged in dreams. But I pinch myself and regain confidence with the knowledge that Ritu returns my love. And, as they say in Hindi film songs, pyaar respects no boundaries. Our love will bridge the chasm. With a little bit of help from a black VIP briefcase.

I decide to use the three weeks until Ritu comes back to Delhi to make myself worthy of her. I start going to a private tutor for English lessons. I meet a property agent to discuss renting a fourbedroom flat on Ramoji Road. I visit the box factory on MG Road to familiarize myself with its operation. And then I decide to buy a birthday gift for her. A diamond engagement ring. It seems like the best way to convince her family of my richie-rich credentials and seal our relationship.

I go to a swanky jewellery showroom on Janpath and sit in air-conditioned comfort as a sales girl in a pink top shows me one magnificent ring after another. The glittering diamonds are all shapes and sizes, some as small as a grain of salt and some as big as a thumbtack, but all of them carry indecently large price tags. The cheapest diamond ring in the store costs fifty thousand rupees. What disturbs me is that similar rings, shining just as brilliantly, are available in plenty of roadside shops in Janpath for as little as five hundred rupees. 'Those are not diamonds, Sir,' the sales girl titters. 'They are cubic zirconium pieces, totally fake. Under a microscope you can spot the difference immediately.' For a moment I am tempted to buy a fake diamond ring. It feels silly to be blowing all this money on a piece of rock. And Ritu is not going to examine it under a microscope. But the very next moment I chide myself for thinking like a slum-dweller and select a shiny, one-carat ring costing a whopping 120,000 rupees. I pay cash, have it nicely gift-wrapped, and then call Ritu on her mobile. 'I have a surprise present for you. Can we meet on 10 March?'

'That is the day I arrive in Delhi. My family will not allow me to go out on my birthday.'

'But it is absolutely critical that we meet. How about the Nehru Park at three o'clock?'

'It's going to be very difficult, but I'll do my best to come,' she promises.

On 10 March, I proceed to Nehru Park with the costliest gift of my life in my pocket, my palms clammy with sweat. Ritu arrives on time and alone. We sit down on a secluded bench underneath a shady tree.

I take out the gift-wrapped packet from my breast pocket and place it gently in her palm. 'Open it,' I say. She begins unwrapping the golden paper till the red velvet box is revealed. She slowly raises the lid. I expect her eyes to be dazzled by the glittering diamond and a look of shocked delight to appear on her face, but what I get instead is a pained and pensive expression. 'This looks like an engagement ring,' she says in a shocked voice.

'It is,' I reply. 'Ritu, will you marry me?'

'But I am already engaged,' she whispers.

'What?'

'Yes. My father has got me engaged to Kunwar Inder Singh, the crown prince of Pratapgarh princely State. I have managed to put off the wedding till after my graduation, but I could not prevent the engagement.'

'So you don't really want to marry this fellow?'

'I detest Inder. He troubled me so much in Lucknow that I came away to stay in Delhi with my brother. I love you, Vijay, but I cannot marry you. If I defy my father he will not only kill me, he will also kill you. That is why I cannot accept this ring.' She closes the lid and passes the velvet box back to me.

I purse my lips. 'I think it is time you told me about your family.'

'Yes. I think it is time, too.' She takes a deep breath. 'I am Jagannath Rai's daughter.'

I feel an electric current dart up my backside. 'Arrey baap re! The Home Minister of Uttar Pradesh? That dreaded mafia don?'

'The same,' she replies in a low voice.

'Then where are you staying? In some government guesthouse?'

'No. I am staying with my brother in Mehrauli. At Number Six.'

'You mean you are Vicky Rai's sister?'

'Do you know him?'

'Who doesn't know him? He is all over the news for getting away with the murder of Ruby Gill.'

'I can tolerate the verdict,' she says bitterly. 'What I cannot stand is the gloating that is going on in our house. It sickens me. I feel ashamed to belong to such a family.'

'It looks like you don't get along with your father and brother.'

'I never have. There are two camps in our house. My mother and I are on one side and my father and brother are on the other, and there is perpetual wrestling going on between the two camps. Of course, it is the men who always prevail over the women.' Her head hangs down and a tear trickles out of her eye.

I kiss away her tear. 'Now you can add one more person to your camp. I will be there for you, always.'

'So you still want to be friends with me, Vijay?'

It is my turn now to take a deep breath. In the face of her confession I feel the time has come for full disclosure on my side as well. 'I need to tell you the truth about me, Ritu. Then I will ask whether you want to be friends with me.'

'Do not speak in riddles.'

'I won't. Not any longer. So here's the truth. I am not Vijay Singh. My real name is Munna. I am not a Thakur. I don't own a four-bedroom flat. I live in a one-room shack inside the Bhole Nath Temple, where my mother works as a sweeper. Everything I told you before was a lie. But only because I am madly in love with you and didn't want to lose you.'

Ritu crumples in front of me, doubling up in pain as though I have hit her physically. There is a long pause as she digests the information I have given her. Then she turns to face me. 'I am presuming you don't own any factory either. What do you really do, Mr Munna, besides lying and cheating?' she asks accusingly, clenching her fists.

I debate whether to tell Ritu about my career as a mobilephone thief and decide against it. Love might make one blind, but not stupid. I had to tell her the truth about my family because a man of Jagannath Rai's connections would have seen through my deception instantly. But even Jagannath Rai cannot know about my briefcase. Still, I have the sinking feeling that my love affair is all but over. Even the money in the briefcase will not be enough to restore Ritu's faith in me.

'I am a manager at a box factory,' I say with downcast eyes.

'Then where did you get this diamond ring from? Did you steal it?' Ritu demands.

Having decided not to tell her anything about the briefcase, I am left with just one option. To prove that my love is real, the diamond ring will have to become fake.

'It is not a real diamond ring. It is simply cubic zirconium. This was all I could afford.'

Ritu clenches her fists again and I can sense deep emotion welling up inside her. In Hindi films, this is when the heroine stands up and slaps the deceitful hero. I wince, expecting Ritu to do the same, but what happens next is entirely unexpected. Instead of slapping me, Ritu grasps my hand. 'You sacrificed your hard-earned money for my happiness? And that lunch in the fivestar restaurant… You must have blown a month's salary just to impress me.'

I nod and her eyes turn tearful again. 'I am glad you told me the truth, Munna,' she says in a broken voice. 'I can tolerate poverty, but I cannot tolerate falsehood.' She looks me in the eye. 'You asked me whether I still want to be friends with you. This is my answer.' She kisses me on the cheek and takes back the ring.