Second Lives (15 page)

He was back in less than a couple of minutes. ‘They’re gone,’ he said shortly.

‘Was there anyone else around?’

‘Nope. I guess they must have come round and managed to get away.’

‘Or maybe there was a third man in the gang who landed up later and found them lying there.’

Neel thumped a fist on his other palm. ‘I didn’t hit them hard enough. They should never have been able to get up again.’

I held his hand. ‘Don’t be silly, Neel. You’ve given them a hiding they won’t forget in a hurry. Any more would have killed them.’

I had put a pot of coffee to brew and it was ready. We sat in silence next to each other, holding our steaming mugs. Drinking the strong black coffee made me feel much better.

Neel asked, ‘Sara, do you think it was them?’

I thought about that. ‘I don’t think so. Unless they’ve staked out the house, they couldn’t have known I was going to be on the beach at that time.’ I was convinced it was a random incident. The two men had seen me alone and spotted an opportunity. They had obviously done this before. After the encounter with Neel though, I hoped they would think twice before ever attempting it again.

As it turned out later, I was both right and wrong.

Neel put his arm around me and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you, Sara.’

I touched his cheek affectionately. ‘Something
would
have happened to me if it wasn’t for my knight in shining armour.’

‘It was lucky I came out to watch the sunset when I did. In fact, I didn’t even know it was you until you started shouting.’

Those terrible moments played themselves out in my mind again. That sickening feeling of utter helplessness when I was being carried away by the two men was something I would have new nightmares about. Hot tears welled up in my eyes and I let them flow. A number of emotions had swept through me in the last couple of hours but I hadn’t broken down until then. I put my head on Neel’s shoulder and wept.

When I had no more tears left, he gently wiped my cheeks with his hand. I looked up at him and my red, swollen eyes met his. There was a strange expression in them. He cupped my face and said, ‘Marry me, Sara.’

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t, since I hadn’t even told him the entire truth about what we were doing here.

part two

38

I killed for the first time when I was fifteen years old. It was almost unintentional.

I was riding a borrowed motorcycle on a narrow mountain road. The vibration of its deep-throated engine was giving me some kind of a sexual tingle. I had no license but that would never be a problem. I was trying out a motorcycle for the first time, having only ridden scooters earlier. It was like graduating from a pony to a stallion. I was exceptionally strong for my age, however, and my hands were as big and thick as an adult’s. When I held the wide handlebars, I knew that taming this beast would present no major challenge.

I passed a group of children, who were sitting on a shaded patch of grass under a large tree. They were on their way back from school and had stopped to rest. It was a sweltering summer afternoon, typical of the hills where the sun beats down more fiercely than it does in the plains. The nearest hamlet was almost two kilometres away and I figured that these kids must be headed there. Walking such distances back and forth from school was the price they had to pay for primary education in the vast rural hinterland.

I waved at them and continued on my way. Only one of them waved back. There was a hairpin bend coming up and I revved the engine to negotiate it. When I turned the corner, I noticed a girl standing a few metres ahead.

As I approached, I saw that she was no more than ten years old, with twinkling eyes and apple cheeks. The uniform suggested that she had been with the party of children I had seen earlier. She flailed her arms to flag me down.

I stopped. She gave me a mischievous smile and said, ‘Can you please drop me to my village? It’s further down this road.’

‘Haven’t your parents told you not to talk to strangers?’

‘They have but you seem like a local. And we hill-folk are one big family, right?’ With these precocious words, she hoisted herself up behind me.

She sat demurely with both her legs on one side, and put her little hands on my shoulders. I found out that her name was Bholi. She admitted that all the boys and girls had strict instructions never to leave the group under any circumstances. ‘But what do I do? The others want to stop every few minutes and it takes us an extra hour every day to reach home.’ I realised she had taken lifts like this before.

At that moment, the devil entered my mind. For the first time in my life but definitely not the last. Until then, I had thought of nothing other than dropping Bholi home and carrying on.

I felt myself getting a massive erection. My hands became slippery with sweat and there was a pounding inside my head. We were passing through a gentle gradient, with dense undergrowth on both sides. The road was little more than a forest path on this stretch. I stopped and said, ‘You need to get off for a minute, Bholi.’

She complied without saying a word. I wheeled the motorcycle into the bush and parked it behind the bole of a tree so that it wasn’t visible from the road. Bholi followed me and said worriedly, ‘What are you doing?’

I held her hand firmly and said, ‘We’ll take a walk in the forest. I want to show you something.’

‘No!’ There was alarm in her eyes and she tried to pull herself free. I guess she had figured out something was wrong.

As I dragged her away, she began to struggle mightily, shouting at the top of her voice. She was no match for my superior strength but I worried that someone would hear her and come along to investigate. I was inexperienced in those days so it didn’t strike me to incapacitate her first. One blow to the head would have done it.

Unable to shake herself loose, she suddenly bent down and bit my hand hard. It was my turn to scream and I found myself letting her go. In a trice, she started running away. Luckily, I was between her and the road so she was forced to head deeper into the trees. I smiled to myself, for the forest was my domain and she couldn’t escape me there.

I ran after Bholi. She had already put some distance between us but I could follow the flashes of her red uniform through the greenery. Though I knew these parts well, it wasn’t easy going. Bholi was quick and kept changing direction. I realised she was instinctively veering away from thicker jungle so that her speed wasn’t hampered.

I pursued her for several minutes, and then lost her. I had reached a small clearing and looked around. There was no sign of her. I felt a burst of panic. What if she had gotten away? It would be very inconvenient if she reported the matter.

Then I saw a small movement out of the corner of my eye, near a bush barely ten feet away. I rushed across and found Bholi cowering behind it. The fight had gone out of her. She whimpered as I lifted her up roughly. Her eyes were glassy with tears as she begged me to let her go. I caught a handful of her uniform blouse and ripped it away. Her tiny, budding breasts poked out through the cotton vest she was wearing inside. I unbuckled my belt and let my trousers fall to the ground.

Then I noticed her pale throat. It seemed to invite me strangely. My hands encircled her frail neck and began to squeeze. I could have broken it in an instant but I took my time. Bholi’s eyes bulged and her legs thrashed. I increased the pressure gradually. Her face contorted in agony as the soft flesh around her larynx was slowly crushed. I felt bones dislocate beneath my hands and eased off to prolong the act but the light went out of her eyes. Her head slumped back.

I ejaculated in hot, unending streams.

39

Neel

One of my hidden talents is organisational skill.

I’m really good at planning events. Following up on actions and rallying people around a cause. Thinking through the smallest details. Prioritising tasks and resources. Had I been in engineering or construction or IT, I would have made a great project manager. I don’t thump my chest or shout from the rooftops. But I get the job done.

I was the general secretary of our school alumni association for over six years. Only resigning when my wife and son died. During that time, it transformed from being an informal old boys’ (and girls’) network to a full-fledged organisation registered under the Societies Act. Complete with a governance council and a vision statement. Not to mention, twelve chapters in India and overseas. Our activities now include social awareness initiatives and health clinics. Scholarships for underprivileged children, educational tours and student exchange programmes. Endowments for retired teachers and infrastructure development for our alma mater. I can say with pride that I’ve been a major contributor to this progress.

There’s one project with which I’m still very involved. It’s close to my heart. And a commitment I made many years ago. On our final day in school, we all made a pact to get back together on campus the year we turned thirty. I was unanimously given the charge of reminding everyone of our common promise. And also planning the event, of course. It’s scheduled for next month. Part of the annual Founder’s Day jamboree. People from all over the world have already made their plans to attend.

It was in this connection that I called Mrs Iyer, Jo’s mother. We wanted to have a special memorial service for Jo. And other members of our batch who weren’t with us anymore. Like Roy and Rachel.


Just before hanging up, Mrs Iyer asked me, ‘Did Rachel ever tell any of you what I had told her?’

‘No,’ I said, mystified.

Hesitantly, she said, ‘Then maybe I should tell you.’

Her story shocked me.

One Friday evening, a woman had landed up at her house in Chennai. Mrs Iyer had no idea who she was. Until she introduced herself as the wife of the man who had murdered Jo. She said tearfully that her husband was about to be executed. Even though he was completely innocent. There was only a week left for the hanging.

The woman went on to say that three days after Jo’s body was found, her husband had been approached by a stranger. To plead guilty to the crime. In return, his family would be very well taken care of for the rest of their lives. Poor as he was, it was an offer that had to be considered. The couple had discussed it long into the night. The sight of their five sleeping children, put to bed hungry and half-naked, had finally decided it for them. The man was willing to sacrifice his honesty and his life for their sake.

The promised money had come in. But as the months went by, the decision haunted the woman more and more. Every time she went to meet her husband in jail, her resolve to stick to their side of the bargain weakened further. When the final petition for amnesty was turned down, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Despite protests from her husband.

But as could be expected, no one believed her. She went to the police, the press, human rights organisations, even the local MLA. It was of no use. A couple of people were sympathetic and heard her out. But there was no question of the High Court’s order being challenged. It was a clear indictment for a grievous felony.

As a last resort, she had come to Mrs Iyer. Thinking that if she could convince the victim’s mother, then there was some hope. For Mrs Iyer, it was a reopening of a terrible wound, that had only partially healed over time. Her first instinct had been to throw the woman out. But something had made her stop and hear what she had to say. Her mind was in a storm as she listened. She also went through the evidence which had been brought along in a grimy plastic bag.

Mrs Iyer found herself believing the woman. Much to her own surprise. After all, here was the wife of the man everyone was convinced had killed her beloved daughter. It was already too late to save the poor man, though. He died to protect someone who didn’t deserve to live.

‘I called Rachel and told her everything,’ said Mrs Iyer. ‘Jo used to be quite close to her. Besides, I thought that since she was in the media, maybe she could expose this whole frame-up and find out who my daughter’s killer really was.’

I asked Mrs Iyer when she had spoken to Rachel. She said it was over six months ago.

One piece of the puzzle fell into place. I now knew what had started Rachel off on her ill-fated investigation.

40

Omar

I jumped as a car stopped next to me with a loud screech. It was a red Mercedes SLK 350 roadster, and I gaped at its beautiful contours.

‘Hi, handsome!’ I didn’t recognise the voice but then, we had hardly spoken to each other during our first meeting. I bent down and looked inside the open window.

The woman from the Marriott was at the wheel, the one I had met in the casino.

I smiled and said, ‘Are you stalking me?’

‘Get in.’ Her tone was authoritative, like she was used to being obeyed without question.

I obeyed without question. This woman was clearly something else and if fate had thrown us together again, who was I to complain? I got into the passenger seat next to her, and she roared off. I suppose anyone watching the whole thing could be forgiven for thinking it was a classic pickup scene being filmed for a movie.

I held my hand out towards her and said, ‘Omar. It’s good to meet you.’

‘Just call me D.’ She didn’t take my proffered hand.

She drove expertly and fast. The purr of the massive three and a half litre engine never missed a beat as we slowed, stopped and accelerated through the frequent intersections. Though the car was too low-slung for Indian roads, I was amazed at how its suspension negotiated all the bumps and potholes—the ride couldn’t have been smoother if we were on an express highway. I would have given anything to drive a magnificent machine like this.