Heroes R Us (14 page)

Jayantada noticed Arnab sitting in a corner and came over to sit by his side.

'What are you thinking about?'

Arnab would have lied and got on with his work, but not having anyone else to confide in, he opened up to Jayantada.

'I was thinking about money. You know, I had never thought I'd be very rich, but how does one know if one is rich enough?'

Jayantada smiled, 'Ah, money. Which young man has not thought about that? If money is all you want, no matter how much you have, it will never be enough. But here's some free advice from an old man. If you can have a home to call your own, can provide for your family, and have enough left over to buy the occasional surprise gift or dinner out for your wife, then you have enough.'

Jayantada laughed and went back to work, leaving Arnab thinking about his words. Arnab did not get much time to ponder Aggarwal's offer as his phone soon buzzed with a new message from P.C Sharma, asking for a meeting that night.

Arnab had no idea what Sharma wanted and would have refused but Sharma sent him four more messages pleading with him to meet, saying that the Honourable Minister wanted to clear up matters between him and the police. That got Arnab's attention. It was true that Upadhyay was a crook, but breaking the arm of the Deputy Commissioner of Police and sending half dozen constables in uniform to hospital was bound to have consequences. If nothing else, pissing off the cops and being wanted for assaulting them could make it very difficult for him to operate openly again. He had been wondering what shape and form Upadhyay's retribution would take, so he was glad that Sharma and the Minister seemed to be offering him a way out.

When Arnab reached a deserted alley behind Khan Market, which had been the agreed meeting spot, he found Sharma and another man waiting for him. Arnab had never seen him before, but assumed he was another one of the Minister's toadies, since he was dressed in a safari suit like Sharma. As Sharma and Arnab acknowledged each other, Sharma's companion kept silent, holding onto a large suitcase with both hands.

'So Mr Sharma, what does your Minister want?'

Sharma took out a cigarette and lit it up. Unlike their previous meeting, he betrayed no sense of nervousness, and displayed a smug smile that told Arnab who was in control of the situation.

'My young friend, its not what the Minister wants, but it's what you should want.'

When Arnab asked him what he meant, Sharma took out a mobile phone and dialled a number, handing it over to Arnab after a second. Arnab heard a familiar voice at the other end.

'Hello, I hope our superhero is doing well and has time left over to fight criminals in addition to beating up my policemen.'

It was Balwant Singh.

'Sir, I hope you know what DCP Upadhyay is up to...'

Singh interrupted him, 'It has come to my notice and I have asked for him to be disciplined. See what happens when good people get carried away? A bit like you and your attack on the police.'

Minister or no minister, Arnab was getting tired of being blamed for things that were not of his making, and he began to protest when Singh stopped him again.

'Look, you and Upadhyay had a fight, and I don't want to interfere like a father when two children squabble. Each one will claim the other was to blame. I'm not interested in who was to blame; I just want to make sure that this ends. As I said, Upadhyay will be disciplined. But that leaves you.'

'What do you mean by that?'

The Minister laughed, but his tone seemed more sinister than funny.

'You have made some powerful enemies, and Upadhyay likes his Sunday golf sessions, you see. With his fracture, now he won't be able to play for weeks, and he's itching to shoot you dead. I've tried to reason with him, but it's hard to control someone as hot-tempered as him.'

Arnab started to feel that his fears were about to come true so he asked what the Minister wanted him to do.

'A simple quid pro quo. Don't worry; this may be new to you, but its how politics works. You do something for me, and I do something for you in return.'

'What could I possibly do for you?'

'Before we get there, let me tell you what I can do for you. I can give you my official blessings, and say that you are working in collaboration with the government. That way, you can go about your business without worry, and not have to worry about a police bullet in your back.'

Arnab began to suspect that the Minister was not making the offer out of the kindness of his heart, so he asked what he wanted Arnab to do.

'My man Sharma has already mentioned it to you. Elections are coming up, and in our democracy, elections are a bit like Football; possession counts for everything- by that I mean possession of the polling booths.'

Balwant Singh roared in laughter at his own joke, and Arnab continued listening in silence.

'Sharma will give you a list of polling booths. The Opposition will also be trying to capture these the night before polling, and I need your services in ensuring they don't do so. It's as simple as that. Think of it this way- you just bash up some more goons- no different from what you would be doing anyways.'

Arnab had a sad smile on his face. To hear such an offer from the Law Minister was a sobering experience. Balwant Singh took his silence to mean that Arnab didn't find the offer attractive enough, so he asked Arnab to give the phone to Sharma. Sharma listened to the Minister's instructions and hung up. He motioned to the man with him, and he stepped forward towards Arnab.

'We will also handsomely reward you for your services. Here is a token of our appreciation for your help in the elections.'

The man opened the suitcase in his hand to reveal stacks of thousand Rupee notes. Arnab was by now getting tired of being offered money- why didn't these people understand that everything and everybody was not for sale?

Arnab asked Sharma to dial the Minister again. When Singh picked up the phone, Arnab made his intentions clear.

'Sir, your offer is tempting, but I cannot possibly accept it. As for Upadhyay, I'll take my chances.'

Balwant Singh's friendly demeanour disappeared in an instant. It was replaced by a low, menacing growl.

'You fool! Upadhyay is the least of your worries. You are in the deep end of the ocean, not playing in a children's pool anymore, and I'm the fucking shark that rules it. For all your superpowers, I can rip you to shreds if I want.'

Arnab remained silent, so Singh continued.

'Have it your way, but I will teach you a few lessons in power.'

With those final ominous words, Singh hung up.

***

The next evening when Arnab got home, he was about to change and head over to Khan's place. By now, Khan had become much more than a boxing instructor. He was the only person who was privy to Arnab's secret, and that had created a strong bond between the two men. The previous night, Arnab had called Khan to tell him what had happened during his meeting with Sharma and Khan had told him that while he had done the right thing, in today's day and age, doing what was right usually came with a high price. As Arnab reached Khan's house, he found the old man in a very agitated state, muttering curses under his breath and pacing up and down the room.

'Khan chacha, what's up? You look really worried.'

Khan paused and looked at Arnab.

'Those bastards set you up!'

When Arnab asked what he meant, Khan turned on the TV and threw the remote down on the floor in disgust. A young female anchor was in the studio and Arnab saw the headlines scrolling across the screen.

'Superhero for sale! Sting operation exposes so-called Superhero.'

Arnab looked on in dread as the screen then flashed a grainy video that showed his previous night's meeting. Sharma was nowhere to be seen, perhaps having been digitally erased from the footage, but the video showed the man opening the suitcase to Arnab, and then the camera zoomed in to show the currency notes in the suitcase.

The audio had also been doctored and was devastating. In the video, as had happened the previous night, the man with the suitcase said,

'We will also handsomely reward you for your services. Here is a token of our appreciation for your help in the elections.'

But then someone had inserted a voice over which showed Arnab responding with a 'thank you'. With the hood it was impossible to see his face anyways, so to any viewer it looked like Arnab was accepting the money. The anchor returned on screen,

'Here at Tamasha.com, we always believe in exposing the real face of the scams in our society. And tonight we have got hold of video footage which shows Laxman Yadav, a known fixer for the Opposition, approaching the so called superhero of Delhi, and buying his services to help fix the upcoming elections. Is this the new face of Indian democracy?'

Khan turned the TV off, while Arnab sat in front of it, speechless. He had interpreted Singh's threat to imply that he would probably have more run-ins with Upadhyay's men or other hired goons, and while certainly something to watch out for, he had been confident that he could handle any such threat. Never had he imagined that the Minister's vengeance could take such a form.

He looked up hopefully at Khan, like a drowning man grasping at straws.

'Khan chacha, there's always some nonsense or the other on TV. Maybe people will just ignore it.'

Khan however had little by way of reassurance to offer.

'Arnab, this could be bad. A man can survive physical attacks and broken bones, but if you shatter his reputation, it can be a much more dangerous thing. I pray it turns out to be as you hope.'

Arnab woke up the next morning, a Saturday, to find that his worst fears had been realized. Almost everything that could have gone wrong had gone belly up, and in spectacular fashion. Tamasha.com had kept running the hidden camera footage all night, and most other channels had picked it up. Laxman Yadav had also accumulated significant airtime, telling anyone who would listen that he had offered ten million Rupees to the city's famous superhero to enrol his services in capturing polling booths. Either he was a seasoned actor or just very used to telling white lies, since he seemed utterly convincing, and Arnab wondered if the money in the suitcase had in fact gone to Yadav to get him to malign his own party. The leaders of the opposition party cried themselves hoarse that they were not behind it, but in the battle between laboured denials by old men and a sensational piece of video, the video seemed to win hands down.

As Arnab kept tracking the news through that day, things kept getting worse. Balwant Singh came on TV and while he took the moral high ground and refused to condemn Arnab, he did say that it was unfortunate that in this day and age of corrupt politics that the Opposition practised, nobody was as clean as they seemed. Arnab would have brushed off the accusations and insinuations if they had come from Balwant Singh and hysterical TV presenters alone, but by evening the backlash he faced took a new turn. Forums and message boards on fan websites and communities dedicated to the 'Guardian Angel' started becoming inundated with messages filled with a sense of betrayal and anger. Arnab read through some of them,

'I thought he was at least a clean role model but looks like he's no better than the other scum'.

'I am so hurt. I believed in him and now he's turned out to be no more than a gun for hire.'

And on it went. To have the same people who blindly believed in him and deified him turn against him so quickly came as a shock to him. Even so, he kept telling himself that it was one thing to put comments on a website and quite another to actually turn your back on someone who had done nothing but help you and asked for nothing in return. So that night, against Khan's advice, Arnab set out again on his nightly mission.

That night his area of patrol was in Malviya Nagar, where robbers had been striking almost every night, breaking into houses and robbing the occupants at gunpoint. Arnab spent a good two hours patrolling the area, and then at about midnight, he saw three men walking in one of the alleys. There was no indication that they were the robbers, but he decided to follow them to be sure. He maintained a safe distance, following them as they walked along the narrow alleys. After a few minutes, they came to a stop near a house and sat down on the stairs in front of it, one of them lighting a cigarette and passing it around. Arnab was now quite suspicious, and assuming that they were planning a robbery, stepped out in front of them. He had no wish to provoke a confrontation, but assumed that if they were robbers, the mere sight of him would send them packing. To his surprise, one of them, a young man barely out of his teens, looked up calmly at him and asked him what he was doing there.

'I should be asking you what you're doing out so late sitting in front of this house.'

The man didn't flinch as he replied.

'Ah, so our superhero has found time from rigging elections to fight crime.'

The other two men laughed, and Arnab was tempted to teach the man some manners but held himself back. The man showed no such signs of restraint as he continued.

'Look, asshole, this is my house and I've just come home from a party. Do you want to ring the bell and ask my parents?'

Arnab didn't know if the man was bluffing or not, but he got an answer when the door opened and an older man stepped out.

'Rajiv, what's going on?'

'Nothing dad, our superhero here thought we're robbers.'

The father told him to be quiet and turned to Arnab.

'Don't mind my son. The young nowadays speak before they think. Thank you for what you're doing, but there are no robbers here, just a young man who's going to get into trouble for being so late.'

He smiled as he led his son in, and the two other men walked off, muttering among themselves. Arnab thought he heard one of them say, 'Superhero, my ass.'

It was a small incident, but actually hearing and seeing for himself how people's attitudes towards him were changing so fast came as a real shock to him. The next night only made matters worse when an old woman he had rescued from a mugger shook his hands off, looking at him and saying in a sad voice,