Vikram Chandra - Sacred Games

'Just some few bananas, Ma.' Sartaj went into the kitchen, stepping over red bedcovers. He took the little Chini bananas out of the paper packet and put them on the counter.

'Is that beer?' Ma said. She was standing in the doorway. 'Why?'

'Just like that.'

'I thought you didn't like beer.'

'Now I do. Can we eat? I'm hungry.'

So Sartaj opened a bottle of Michelob and sipped at it and picked at his food. Afterwards, he lay on the bed in his room and shut his eyes hard against the glaring afternoon light that seeped past the curtains. At two, he got up and went back to the kitchen. Standing next to the washbasin, he opened another bottle of beer and forced down the thick bitterness of it. Then he padded past Ma, who was still at work among her trunks, and groped in the bathroom shelf till he found his tube of Vajradanti. He brushed his teeth twice, then sat on the bed to wait. He watched the clock.

He heard the knock on the door at two-thirty. He let Ma get up and shuffle over and open it, and then he listened to Parulkar greeting her effusively. 'Bhabhi,' he said, 'you look completely fit. After retirement I too will come to Pune. The air here is so much better.'

'Arre, Sartaj didn't tell me you were coming. Sartaj? Sartaj?'

But Sartaj didn't want to get up off the bed, not yet.

She called again, 'Arre, Sartaj, Parulkar-ji has come. Beta, where are you? I don't know what he's doing.'

Sartaj knew what he was doing, yes, he did. So he forced himself up and went out and pretended surprise at Parulkar's visit and welcomed him in and cleared the sofa for him and offered him beer and little Chini bananas. Parulkar drank with his usual gusto, and asked for Ma's special spicy pakoras to go with the beer. He stood in the doorway and talked to Ma as she brought out her pans. 'So then Sardar Saab said, "I need to go home, I have a new wife I haven't seen for three days." And only then I realized he hadn't slept for four days.'

Parulkar's story was about Papa-ji, who had been famous in the department for being able to go for long days and nights without sleep, and also for his prodigious naps. Despite Ma's ambiguous feelings about Parulkar, she was charmed by this talk of her dear departed, of his talents and his dedication to his work. She cut vegetables with new enthusiasm, and laughed, and told Parulkar that she remembered that week, and the kidnapping case they had been working on.

'That was when the baby boy was stolen by his uncle,' she said. And then they talked on about the long-ago past.

Parulkar glanced at his watch, and Sartaj nodded. It was two forty-five. He walked into the bedroom, picked up his mobile and called Iffat-bibi. Of course she already knew the number, but the play had to be acted out. 'Tell me,' Iffat-bibi said, and Sartaj recited his lines.

In the kitchen Parulkar was now telling stories about Sartaj, flattering ones about his successes in sports, and Ma was smiling. These were two of Parulkar's great talents, this immense memory and this easy charm. It was impossible not to respond to his concern for your well-being, his intimate knowledge of your history and your hopes. So now they stood, all three of them, in a little family group, near the kitchen door. Parulkar asked Ma about her health, and the upkeep of the house, and Papa-ji's pension payments. 'Any problem you have, Bhabhi-ji, you call me immediately. Sartaj of course has my direct mobile number always.'

Ma was distinctly chatty. She asked about Parulkar's daughters, and their children. Parulkar proudly told her of their various achievements and joys. Even the divorced one (and she was well rid of that spendthrift, drunkard husband) was doing well now, she had started her own clothing business. At first it had been just modern salwar-kameezes and fancy ghagras for the women in the colony, but now she was getting customers from as far away as Shivaji Park. 'All this,' Parulkar said, 'she did with only little support from me. She did it all alone. She used to be such a home-caring type, you know, always with the children, didn't even know how to write a cheque. Now she is handling thousands of rupees, and she has four tailor-masters sitting for the whole day in our house. And is talking about buying a shop near by.'

'The world has changed,' Ma said. 'All these young girls have become very brave.'

'Yes, yes, Bhabhi-ji, what a change in our very lifetimes.'

Ma pointed at sliced onions and cauliflowers. 'These won't take too long.'

'No matter how long, Bhabhi-ji,' Parulkar said. 'I must have them. I am trying to avoid oil and fried foods, but for your excellent pakoras I must make an exception. But only today, and only since I am here in Pune.'

Ma took in the gallantry with a pleased little nod. 'Once in a while fried food is all right. But this Sartaj, he eats so badly all the time. All that greasy restaurant food, this is why he looks so tired.'

'Yes, yes, Bhabhi-ji,' Parulkar said. 'I tell him all the time, this is no way to live. Whatever has happened, a young fellow cannot be alone. A man needs a family.'

They both assayed Sartaj expectantly, like benign doctors looking for signs of improvement in a particularly intractable patient. Sartaj knew he should say something, but he felt very distanced, separated from the both of them by some fissure in the air, by a fracture that had flung him far away. They had the look somehow of an old photograph, as if they were made already unreal by the orange glow of nostalgia. 'Yes,' Sartaj said.

'Yes what?' Parulkar said.

The phone churred out its old-fashioned ring.

'Phone,' Sartaj blurted, full of relief and terror. He got up, picked his way across the trunks. 'Hello?'

'Give it to Saab.' The man's voice was confident, aggressive.

'Sir,' Sartaj said, 'the phone is for you.'

'Oh,' Parulkar said, 'okay.' He was in no hurry. He took a long swig of his beer, wiped his hands on a handkerchief.

'Sir, you could take it in there, sir. In the bedroom.'

Parulkar nodded, and went. Ma didn't like this, Parulkar going into her room, but she couldn't stop him now. The bedroom door snapped shut, and she shook her head at Sartaj. He waited for the click on the handset, and Parulkar's 'Hello', and put the phone down. 'It's an important call, Ma,' Sartaj said. 'Very important. From the central government.'

She still didn't like it, but she was still enough of a policeman's wife to know that calls from the central government couldn't be avoided, and sometimes had to be taken in private. She cleared the table and wiped it clean. Sartaj drank another beer and watched the clock. Fifteen minutes passed, and then twenty. Parulkar was going over his limit, but maybe they were arguing about money. Maybe they were fighting about the deaths of Suleiman Isa's shooters and controllers. Maybe they were threatening each other.

'What is that man doing in there?' Ma said. 'I'm tired. His pakoras are ready, they will get cold.'

She had missed her afternoon rest, and had been distracted from her work. 'Ma, it's not his fault the call came.'

She shrugged, and sat down decisively on the floor, back at the trunks. 'He should think himself, coming to people's houses in the afternoon. But he was always like that.'

Sartaj tried to hush her down from her old woman's loudness. 'He will hear you, Ma. You don't worry, he'll be finished soon.'

But it was a full ten minutes before Parulkar emerged. He was triumphant. He winked at Sartaj and picked up his glass from the table and took a swig of beer. He sat down, in what used to be Papa-ji's chair, and ate pakoras with deliberate, unhurried enjoyment. He was calm and confident and clearly victorious. He knew he had vanquished Suleiman Isa and all his henchmen. He talked to Ma about old times, when they had all been young, when Papa-ji had been renowned for the mirror gleam of his shoes. Finally Parulkar said, 'Achcha, Bhabhi-ji. Now I must go. But I will come back for your pakoras soon. No, no, please don't get up.'