Vikram Chandra - Sacred Games

'I was just one of his Number Twos.'

'I was told you were the closest to him.'

'I stayed with him.'

'And the others left him? Why?'

There was a thin crackling on the line, of cellophane and cardboard, and Sartaj waited as Bunty lit his cigarette and took in a drag.

'Some left. Business was down,' Bunty said.

'Why?'

'It doesn't matter now.'

This was the heart of the matter. Sartaj knew this from Bunty's reluctance to give it away, from his studied casualness. Carefully, very slowly, Sartaj said, 'You're right, Bunty. It doesn't matter now, so tell me.'

Bunty drew on his cigarette. He let the smoke out, wheezed a little. Sartaj waited.

'Saab, business is down for everyone.'

'But more for the Gaitonde company than all others. Bunty, don't be a chutiya. If you are honest with me, I can be straight with you. Tell me.'

'Bhai wasn't concentrating on business. He had us all running here, running there.'

'After what?'

Bunty laughed suddenly. 'He had us chasing a sadhu. He said we had to find a wise man.'

'What sadhu? Chasing where?'

'Three sadhus altogether, and one was the leader. Really, saab, I can't tell you more.'

'Why not?'

'I don't know much more.'

'Tell me what you know.'

'Not like this, saab.'

'So let us meet.'

'Saab, you talk to Parulkar Saab.'

'About what?'

'I want to surrender. But they will do an encounter on me, saab.'

It made sense, that Bunty wanted to come in. He would be safer in custody, and jail would shield him from his many enemies. But he was afraid of being executed before his name ever showed up on an arrest roster. 'If you have something good to give us,' Sartaj said, 'I am sure Parulkar Saab will look after you.'

'I have everything, saab. I was with Bhai for a long time.'

'Okay. I'll speak to Parulkar saab. Then I want to know who this sadhu was, this leader fellow.'

'Once I am safe, saab, I will tell everything I know. I will give you his name. I am the only one who knows.'

'All right. I will talk to Parulkar Saab, and tell you what he says. Give me a phone number.'

'I am calling from a PCO, saab. And I am not in Mumbai. I will call you.'

'Fine.' Bunty must be very afraid, to be this careful even as he searched for a way to secure shelter. 'When will you be back?'

'Monday, saab.'

'Call me on Monday evening, and I will tell you what Parulkar saab says.'

'Yes, saab. I will put down now.'

Bunty hung up, and Sartaj made chai and considered the vagaries of the gangster's life. That death could come suddenly was a given, but what struck Sartaj as poignant was that Bunty was trying to trust Parulkar, his most feared predator. Parulkar had over the years been responsible for the hunting down of many G-Company men. He had used his many sources to obtain intelligence and fix the whereabouts of Gaitonde's functionaries, and had sent out his teams to trap them and kill them. Unless the dead men were prime shooters or eminent Number Twos, the newspapers reported their deaths in one-paragraph stories at the bottom of back pages. Bunty might rate a front-page mention in the city sections, perhaps. For his special wheelchair, maybe, if not his death.

Sartaj finished his chai, and then called the Delhi-walli, to tell her about Gaitonde's search.

'A sadhu was the leader of this group?' Anjali Mathur said.

'Yes, madam.'

'What sadhu? Was there a name?'

'No, madam. The source refused to release any other information at this time. I might know more in a few days.'

'All right. This is very strange. We knew that Gaitonde was very religious, that he conducted pujas quite often. But we don't know of any sadhus in connection with him. And why would he be looking for this man?'

'I don't know, madam.'

'Yes.'

She paused. Sartaj waited. He was getting used to Anjali Mathur's slow deliberation.

'I have an address for you,' she said. 'Write it down.'

'The sister?'

'Yes, the sister. She's moved. She's in Bandra now.'

* * *

Before going to see the sister in Bandra, Sartaj made a stop at the station. He had to make a phone call. The piece of paper that Parulkar had given him with the S-Company contact on it had only a phone number, no name. Sartaj had to make an effort to remember. Iffat-bibi. Yes, that was it. Iffat-bibi, who was Suleiman Isa's maternal aunt and criminal accomplice. Sartaj couldn't conjure up a face for her as he dialled, but when she answered her phone and he heard her voice, he instantly thought of Begum Akhtar. There was the same roughened sweetness about the voice, that old-world heartbreak that floated off worn vinyl albums, full of pain but strong as the edge of a curving Avadhi dagger. 'So you are Parulkar's man?' she said.

'Yes, madam.'

'Arre, don't call me that, you can't be so formal with me. After all, you are Sardar Saab's son.'

'You knew him?'

'Since when?' Iffat-bibi said. 'I knew him when he was a young rangroot, almost. He was so handsome, baap re.'

Papa-ji had never told Sartaj about Iffat-bibi, but maybe she was the sort of woman fathers didn't tell children about. 'Yes, he was very keen about his clothes.'

'Your father,' Iffat-bibi said, 'loved the reshmi kabab from a place we owned called Ashiana. But that restaurant no longer exists.'

Sartaj remembered the kababs, but he didn't know that Iffat-bibi had had anything to do with them. Iffat-bibi wanted to tell stories about Sardar Saab. She said he had once found a destitute twelve-year-old boy wandering around VT, and Sardar Saab had used his own money to buy him food and a reserved train ticket back to Punjab. 'Sardar Saab was a good man,' she sighed. 'Very straight and simple.'

Sartaj looked at his hand, at the steel kara on the wrist and the mark it had left over a lifetime, and nodded. 'Yes.' He waited.

'You should come and visit us some time. I will give you better reshmi kababs than the ones from Ashiana.'

'Yes, Iffat-bibi. I will come some time.'

Iffat-bibi had observed the proprieties, and now she was willing to get down to business. 'What can I do for you?'

'I need information about Gaitonde.'

'That maderchod?' It was a shock to hear the word in that voice which promised song, and now Sartaj understood how she could be counsellor and helpmeet to a bhai, and not just an indulgent grandmother offering food. 'For years he bothered us. Very good that you took care of him at last.'

'I didn't, Bibi,' Sartaj said. 'But tell me about him. What sort of man was he?'

He was a conniving, cowardly cur, she said. He ran from a fight, and he betrayed his own men. He was a sinful lecher who used and destroyed young girls.

'But he ran a big company, Bibi.'

She allowed that he was a good manager, and he had made some money in his day. No, she didn't know what he was doing back in the city. The last she had heard he was skulking off in Thailand or Indonesia, the bastard. She told stories about Gaitonde, about his perfidies. He had killed innocent people, saying they were Suleiman Isa's friends. He was an insect.

'Bibi, do you know of any sadhu in connection with him?'

'Sadhu? No. All that praying and piety, everything was a sham. He never did a bit of good for anyone in his life, may he burn.'

Sartaj thanked her, and said, 'Now I must go, Bibi.'

'You're talking to anyone on Gaitonde's side?'

'Here and there, Bibi.'

She laughed. 'Fine, don't tell me if you don't want to, beta. But if you have a problem, come to me. After all, you are Sardar Saab's son.'

'Yes, Bibi.'

'Phone me some time. I am an old woman, but keep in touch. I may be of use. This is my personal number, write it down.'

Sartaj put the number and name into his diary, but he thought she wouldn't be of much use, this garrulous old woman. She had nothing useful to give him, or perhaps he didn't have anything she thought worth trading good information for. He put the phone down, and went out into the station, looking for Katekar. Now they had to visit another woman.