Mainak Dhar - Heroes R Us

When he did finally answer the phone, it was not Sharma, but Balwant himself at the other end. The Minister sounded really irritated as he waded into Arnab.

'I thought we had a deal. Ignoring my calls is not the best way to show that you plan to honour it.'

Arnab was about to retort in anger when he realized that, no matter how much he had failed in achieving his objectives, he had after all made a deal with Balwant. To back out now would mean that Balwant would no doubt find some new way of ensuring he was put out of action, which would make it impossible for him to do anything about the terrorist attack. He listened quietly to the Minister's tirade, and agreed to meet Sharma the next day for detailed instructions.

Sharma met him at an abandoned warehouse. He had come alone, and as soon as he met Arnab, he got straight to business.

'Tomorrow is the first day of polling in Delhi, and the Minister's own constituency is in South Delhi. Here is a list of the key polling booths around Delhi.'

He handed a sheet of paper to Arnab, who took it wordlessly as Sharma continued.

'During every election, unknown to most people, a little game is played out the night before polling. We want you to win that game for us.'

'Game?' Arnab asked incredulously.

Sharma sniggered as he responded.

'The great game of Indian democracy at work. The game to decide which political party can take control of the polling booth. Both sides send thugs and musclemen to capture key booths, and once they are successful, ballot papers are stamped inside. The next morning, voters queue up in the heat, thinking they are about to decide the fate of Indian politics, but that fate has often been sealed the previous night.'

Sharma laughed at his own words, though Arnab could find nothing funny in them. If anything, he was feeling even more angry and humiliated, at having been reduced to being little more than Balwant's hired muscle, and at not even having made any headway on stopping the terror attack, which would at least have made this seem like a fair price to pay. Sharma seemed to sense his dark mood, so he cut the conversation short, not wanting to stay alone with Arnab any longer than was necessary.

'Our men have been advised to all wear green headbands so you know who they are. Good luck.'

As Sharma left, Arnab looked at the sheet of paper in his hand and set out wordlessly for the nearest booth. He was still stewing with rage, and was in a way looking forward to taking it out on the thugs he encountered there.

***

When he reached the first polling booth on his list, Arnab found a half dozen men already there. They were not wearing green headbands, and presumably were not on Balwant's payroll. Three of them seemed to be keeping a watch while the others were busy trying to pry open the door of the booth with a crowbar. The stench of alcohol and a couple of empty whisky bottles explained why they never noticed Arnab until he was just a couple of feet away. Part of Arnab wanted to wade into them, but he remembered what Khan had told him about playing to his strengths. There was a solitary streetlamp nearby, and Arnab picked up a rock and shattered the bulb, plunging the area into darkness. The men swore as they tried to see what had happened, and Arnab took advantage of his night vision by going behind the largest of the men and tapping him on his shoulder.

The man whirled around, trying to swing the crowbar that he was holding in his hand. Arnab hit him so hard that he flew towards the door, shattering it as he fell inside the booth. His friends, shocked at the sudden attack, and floundering in the darkness, were too dazed to react, and Arnab did not give them a chance. Within thirty seconds, all six men were unconscious on the ground or moaning in pain. Satisfied that his job here was done, Arnab made for the next booth at top speed.

When he reached, he found the booth the scene of a tense stand-off between two groups of men. Five of them were wearing green headbands, and armed with hockey sticks and a country made pistol, they were facing off against seven men armed with iron rods and the occasional knife. The solitary gun meant that the second group wasn't readily pressing home its numerical superiority, but in a street fight like this, one gun would never be decisive, so the two groups were locked in a stalemate, threatening and abusing each other. When they saw Arnab, Balwant's men visibly relaxed, and their leader, a tall man carrying the gun, walked up to Arnab and nodded at him. Arnab ignored him, focusing on the seven men who now faced him. Unlike the group at the previous booth, they were sober, and when some of them recognized him, they began whispering among themselves. They were all strongly built, and had been recruited from gyms and wrestling schools in nearby towns and villages and brought in for the elections. While they had been paid handsomely in cash and liquor for their services, taking on someone known for superhuman strength and speed was not what they had bargained for, and something their compensation certainly was not enough to cover.

One or two of them began to waver and took a few steps back, but one of them was foolhardy enough to swing at Arnab with the rod he was carrying. As the other men watched on with morbid fascination, the man seemed to be lifted off the ground and thrown several feet away in less than a split second. That was enough for his friends to drop their bravado and make a hasty getaway. Arnab was about to leave when the leader of Balwant's men said something that stopped him in his tracks.

'Thanks. It's great to have you in our team.'

Arnab turned towards the man, blood pounding in his ears as he struggled to control his temper.

'I am NOT on your team.' He said, spitting out the words.

The man laughed and sniggered, not really knowing what he was about to unleash.

'Whatever. We're all being paid by the same master to do the same thing. In my book, that makes us part of the same team.'

Arnab looked at the man. He was unshaven, his once muscled frame long having degenerated due to an excess of alcohol and food into flab and his lips were stained by years of chewing tobacco. His dull eyes gave away that what he perhaps had in street-smarts at best struggled to compensate for lack of much by way of education or intelligence. Arnab stopped and stared, asking himself whether, with all the compromises he had made, he was truly becoming no better than this lout before him. No better than being yet another muscle for hire. He shook his head at the thought and said to nobody in particular.

'I am not one of them.'

The man in front of him looked at him curiously, this strange superhuman who was mumbling to himself, and thought he would be more friendly towards someone who had just saved him and his friends from a dangerous situation. He walked up to Arnab, asking him to lighten up, and placed his hands on his shoulders.

'Look, if you need a break, join me and the boys. We'll go have a few drinks and then go find ourselves a few nice whores for the night.'

His friends laughed but Arnab was still silent, saying only the following words.

'Get your hands off me.'

The man was taken aback, and noticing the threatening tone in Arnab's voice, took a step back, bringing his gun up towards Arnab.

'Get lost, you fucking freak!'

Something snapped inside Arnab. All the pent up frustration of having sold himself to Balwant and Aggarwal, the anger at knowing there was a terrible attack about to occur but not knowing enough to do anything about it, and the fury at having being reduced in his own eyes to a mere pawn exploded in a split second of action.

The man's friends saw only a blur of movement, but heard the snapping sound of his wrist being broken as the gun fell from his hands, and he collapsed in a heap, screaming in agony. The other men could not see Arnab's eyes under the hood, but if they had, they would have seen a fury that had never before appeared on his face. Arnab casually walked to the nearest man and slapped him down. He did not get back up. The others scattered, terrified out of their wits. At that point, Arnab was too angry to think about what he was doing, but he made for the next polling booth.