Vikram Chandra - Sacred Games

Ma didn't get up, but she mustered up enough politeness to say, 'Yes, you must,' and wish Parulkar's children well. Sartaj walked out on to the veranda with Parulkar, who was polishing a pair of shiny silver-and-black dark glasses.

'Did it go all right, sir?'

'Yes, yes. The man just needed some sorting out. He is quite reasonable, if you know how to handle him.' Parulkar put on his glasses with a flourish. 'Anyway, it is settled now. Finished. Good work, Sartaj. Thank you.'

'Sir, no need…'

Parulkar patted his arm. 'Your mother looks healthy. You have good genes. You will live long, Sartaj, if you take care of yourself. Okay, chalo, I will see you back in Bombay. Have a good rest. Relax. Go and see a film or something.'

He turned smartly and trotted off to his car. The bodyguards got into their jeeps with a clanking of weapons and doors, and the procession went on its way in a festive cloud of dust, followed by two yelping dogs.

Ma was standing by the door. 'The bananas and the beer,' she said. 'You knew he was coming.'

'Yes.' She hadn't listened to all those policemen's tales for all those years for nothing. She knew how to take apart motives and actions, consequences and causes.

'Are you all right?'

'Yes.'

'Is there any trouble? Did you do something?'

'No.'

'Go and rest.'

As he went by her, she laid a hand on his wrist, in an action as familiar and old as childhood. She was checking him for fever, for anything out of balance and in need of care. But today, this afternoon, there was no sickness in him, no particular bodily reason for his exhaustion and his reddened eyes. As he slumped by the open door to Ma's room, he saw something glint and glimmer on the table next to her bed. So Ma had decided to keep the photograph of her beloved Navneet. Ma's attachment to things was fading, but she still cared for people. He could still feel her hand on his wrist. How small her hands were, and her feet. She was altogether a small person, so tiny in her childhood that Navneet and the rest of the family had called her 'Nikki'. It was hard to imagine her as a giggly girl, but little Nikki had somehow grown into Ma, who took care of him even as she slowly loosened herself from the world's grip. In his room, Sartaj put the fan on full and stripped down to his underwear. The sleep came fast, and when he woke up it was quite dark. He lay still, listening to the night. He could hear Ma, moving things about in the kitchen, and beyond her, the neighbours and a slight shifting of wind and cars and a small squall of children's voices. We are still here, he thought, we are still alive. We have survived another day. But the thought did not make him feel any better.

* * *

Sartaj called Iffat-bibi four times that night, and then every hour the next morning, while he drove back to Bombay. Each time she said the same thing, 'When they are ready, they will tell me. And then I will tell you your sadhu's address. You will get your information, saab. Don't worry. Just have a little patience, a little more.'

But Sartaj, who had practised patience his entire career, found it hard to find any now. Back in Zone 13, from the patio of the station, he watched Parulkar come into work that morning, and the man seemed as jovial and energetic as always. So he was still unaware of the trap that already had him in its teeth. And he didn't know, yet, who had set him up. He would know soon.

Sartaj left the station and halfheartedly pursued leads on a burglary case until noon. He then decided he needed an early lunch, and made his way to Sindoor. He asked for some papad, and chicken tikkas, and gave the waiter a bottle of Royal Challenge whisky in a plastic bag. By the time Kamble joined him an hour later, Sartaj had managed to soften the light inside Sindoor into a gentle haze. Kamble sat, and watched as the waiter put another full glass of tawny liquid on the table.

'Boss,' Kamble said, 'do you want to eat something also?'

'I'm not really hungry. This is enough.'

'Bring some naan,' Kamble told the waiter. 'Lots of naan. And some vegetable raita. And some daal.' He settled back into the booth, squared his shoulders and said softly, 'What happened? Trouble with the girl? Tell me.'

Sartaj laughed, then stopped himself, and laughed again. Kamble was sympathetic, he wanted to give advice about women. Kamble the man about town. Kamble was a good fellow. Kamble was a dirty bastard, had his fingers in every filthy deal, but he was also generous. He was kind. He was a good man. 'Kamble,' Sartaj said, 'you are a good man.'

'Yaar, I am as good as I should be. Here, drink some water. What are you doing?'

'What am I doing?'

'Yes.'

'I am eating my lunch. I am sitting in Sindoor eating my lunch with my good friend.'

'That's all?'

'I am also waiting for some very important information.'

'From who? About what?'

Sartaj shook a finger at Kamble. 'That I can't tell you. Sources must not be revealed. Even to a friend. Not this source. But the information is good. I tell you it is good. And we need it, it is for the big case. The biggest case. You know.' Sartaj pointed at the patterned ceiling, and made the sound of an explosion.

'Yes, I know. Here, eat.'

Kamble put a piece of chicken on Sartaj's plate. Sartaj nodded, and picked it up and chewed. Kamble fussed over him through lunch, and made him eat far too much, and drink a glass of chhass. Still, Sartaj managed to keep up his intake of alcohol to match, despite Kamble's dodges of handing half-emptied glasses to passing waiters. So he was still nicely fuzzy when Shambhu Shetty came into the restaurant and pulled a chair over to the booth.

'The boys said you were here,' he said. He had the pudgy look of a very content man.

'Shambhu, you have to start exercising more,' Sartaj said. 'It's not nice to see you like this.'

Kamble whispered something to Shambhu, and Shambhu whispered back. Then he unfolded a paper and slid it on to the table. 'Saab,' he said. 'I get Samachar early at the bar. I thought you would want to see.'

There was a triple-height banner headline spread across the page: 'Senior Police Officer Caught in Conversation with Anti-National Don.' And a picture of a uniformed Parulkar underneath. The subheading ran: 'Opposition Demands Suspension and Probe.' Sartaj turned his head away. He didn't want to read further.

'They say that the ACB has a half-hour recording of Parulkar talking to Suleiman Isa in Karachi, and this recording has been leaked to all the newspapers,' Shambhu said. 'It is already on several websites, you can listen to the whole thing. Parulkar discusses money payments with Suleiman Isa, specific jobs, things like that. And – where is it? – here. "Independent voice experts have already indicated to this newspaper that in their opinion the recording in question is of the voices of DCP Parulkar and Suleiman Isa."'

'Bhenchod,' Kamble said. 'Let me see.' He grabbed the paper, read rapidly, threw over the sheet and skimmed down the page. 'Maderchod. The man is finished. This saala is gone.'

'I can't believe it,' Shambhu said. 'Such a mistake from him.'

'Everyone makes mistakes,' Sartaj said, 'sooner or later. Tomorrow if not today.'

They both were quiet. Then Kamble pointed to the newspaper. 'You want to read it?'

'No.'

'All right. I have to go back to work. What are you going to do?'

'I will sit here and wait for my information.'

But Kamble seemed to think that was a bad idea. He objected and argued until Sartaj grew furious, and then Kamble argued some more. The other diners in the restaurant, the tables of executives and housewives, risked uneasy glances over shoulders, and began to mutter, and so finally Sartaj gave in. He went with Kamble on his very boring rounds of a matka den and a shoe factory, and of the Nehru Nagar basti in Andheri in search of a tadipaar who had reportedly crept back into Kailashpada and exited again. Sartaj stumbled through the lanes behind Kamble, his head reeling from the fanfare of smells, good and bad. He was not drunk any more, but the walking and the unceasing surge of faces pressing close to him kept him occupied and comfortably numb.