Vikas Swarup - Six Suspects

'Is your name Munna Mobile?' the bald man addresses me. He was the one pulling my hair.

'Why do you ask?' I counter-question.

The baldy turns to the tall, wiry man. 'Tell him, Brijesh.'

'You stole the mobile phone from my car.' Brijesh looks at me accusingly and recognition dawns on me slowly. He is indeed the guy from whose Maruti Esteem I took the Nokia. The past has caught up with me again.

The bald man smiles menacingly. 'You have something which belongs to us.'

I try to bluff my way through. 'You are mistaken. What could a poor man like me have?'

The bald man snaps his fingers and his two assistants begin scouring the room. They take in the posters on the wall, the metal torch on the small wooden desk, and their eyes come to rest on the mattress. The little bump where the briefcase lies is plainly visible. 'Get up,' the short man orders. I stand up; he catches the mattress by a corner and lifts it in one movement. The briefcase is revealed, looking like a black island in a sea of dust.

'What do we have here?' the bald man whistles. He reaches down and picks up the briefcase. A pistol appears magically in Brijesh's hand.

At that very moment Mother enters through the wooden partition in her faded yellow sari and maroon blouse.

'Who are you people? What are you doing in my house?' she demands.

In response the bald man shoves her rudely aside. 'Don't ask questions, budhiya.'

Mother is not one to give up easily. 'I will teach you ruffians a lesson,' she snaps. She picks up the torch from my desk and whacks the bald man on his buttocks with it, knocking the briefcase out of his hands. Despite his bulk, the man whirls around on the balls of his feet, quick as a cat. In one seamless motion he snatches the torch from Mother's hand and swings his fist at her face, sending her sprawling on the floor. Mother raises her head and whimpers. I can see that she is bleeding from her mouth. She tries to stand up and that is when Brijesh clubs her on the head with the butt of the pistol. I cry out in horror as Mother crashes down, knocked senseless, which is just as well because she wouldn't have been able to bear what happened subsequently.

The bald man regains the briefcase and clicks open the two latches. He raises the lid and examines the contents. 'Hmmm… It looks like most of the cash is still here. Only a couple of wads are missing. This might just have saved your life, Munna Mobile. But you will still have to pay the price of stealing from us.'

'What… what do you intend to do?' I ask, backing into the wall, my voice sounding hoarse and unnatural.

'Something that will ensure you never steal another mobile phone.' The bald man grins and snaps his fingers again.

Brijesh hands the pistol to the bald man and suddenly grips both my arms. I squirm, try to break free, but he is too strong. The short man raises his hand to hit me when a mobile phone rings in the room. The three ruffians look at one another quizzically before the bald man takes out a Motorola from the pocket of his jeans and checks the display. 'Yes boss?' he says, putting the mobile against his ear and moving off towards the door. I hear snatches of his conversation. 'We found the briefcase… looks to be reasonably intact… Right now?… OK, OK… I will leave Brijesh and Natu behind… Wait for me. I am coming.'

'That was the boss,' the bald man informs his lieutenants. 'He wants me to come with the briefcase right now. You two finish what you have to. We will meet tomorrow.' He cocks the pistol at me and fires an imaginary bullet, opens the door and steps outside. A little while later I hear a motorcycle being gunned into life. Brijesh still has me pinioned in a vice-like grip. But it is Natu, the short one, who fills me with dread. 'Have you seen the film Sholay?' he asks me, bringing his face close to mine. I can feel his fetid breath on the skin of my neck.

'Yes.'

'Do you remember the scene when Gabbar asks Thakur to give him his hands? Thakur refuses and Gabbar chops off both his hands. I am not going to ask you for your hands, but I will ask for your fingers. All ten of them. Will you give them to me?' He grins, showing uneven teeth stained with betel juice.

I shiver as a chill runs down my back, which by now is completely soaked in sweat. Natu takes hold of my left arm from Brijesh. Then, grabbing my wrist, he lifts up my forefinger and begins arching it backwards. Brijesh hurriedly stuffs a handkerchief into my mouth, smothering my scream. Flesh and bone are stretched to breaking point till the joint pops, accompanied by a sound like that of a hole bursting in a sheet of bubble wrap, and my left index finger droops down. Natu grins and begins to work on my middle finger.

The only good thing about pain is that it empties your mind of everything else. It fills your brain so completely that all feelings of love and hate, envy and jealousy are bleached from it and you are left simply with an excruciating agony filling each and every pore of your body, till even the agony disappears, to be replaced by a dull ache. By the time Natu breaks my left thumb, I have surpassed pain. But that is when the terror begins. Champi wanders into the room, wearing a light-green salwar kameez with no chunni. 'What is happening, Munna?' she asks in a sleepy voice.

Brijesh looks at Champi and averts his face. I can see that he is revolted by her ugliness. But Natu seems entranced by her. 'Oh ho! Who do we have here?' he whistles wolfishly as Champi tries to feel her way towards me through the altered geography of the room.

'Who is she? Is she your sister?' Brijesh barks at me, pulling the handkerchief out of my mouth.

'Yes. You leave her alone. Your business is with me, not her,' I speak quickly, taking in mouthfuls of air. 'Moreover, she is blind.'

'Blind?' Natu peers at Champi's eyes. 'She doesn't look blind to me.'

'She is, I am telling you,' I say, trying to hide the desperation in my voice.

'OK, let me test,' says Natu and taps her left breast. Champi whimpers in protest and moves her head from side to side, trying to determine the location of her tormentor. Natu claps his hands. 'This is fun. She has solid tits. What do you say, Brijesh, do I have your permission to enjoy a little?'

'Don't you dare touch my sister.' I glare at Natu and strain against Brijesh like a dog on a leash. 'If you touch her I will kill you, motherfucker.'

Natu slaps me across the face with his open palm and Brijesh stuffs the handkerchief back into my mouth. This is all the encouragement the short man needs. He grabs Champi and clamps his hairy palm over her mouth. With his free hand he begins lifting up her shirt as she flails against him like a goat about to be butchered.

Terror, like toothache, cannot be described. It can only be experienced. I stand in Brijesh's grip like a quivering lump of flesh and watch Champi about to be raped.

I wish the earth would open up and swallow me whole, because I know I am directly responsible for the scene unfolding before me. And I have a good inkling of what will happen to Champi after Natu is through with her. She is already blind, now she will become deaf and dumb as well. The whole day she will just sit outside, fanning herself slowly, with a demented look on her face. At night, she will suddenly scream in her sleep. Nightmares will plague her all her life. It is a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy.

For twenty-one years I have lived without faith in God, but at this moment I become a believer. I start praying – to all the gods I know and even those that I don't – making just one appeal, to please, please save my little Champi. I remember all those films in which God responds to prayer and works his magic. But I don't hear the pealing of temple bells; I don't see the floor shake.

Denial is the final refuge of the powerless. Even as Natu is fumbling with the cord of Champi's salwar, there is a voice in my head repeating like a stuck record, 'She is not my sister, She is not my sister, she is not my sister… She's a worthless Muslim whore.'