Show Business (7 page)

Barely has the applause in the twenty-five-paisa seats died down when the audience and Ashok are both drawn up short. For there is a barrier across the road, guarded by two enormous, half-naked wrestler-types, each wielding a sizable sword. The fatter of the two
pahelwans
pats his belly, grunts, and moves threateningly toward our hero, sword at the ready. His partner proceeds to do the same. Ashok looks at both of them, begins to dismount. The guards nod to each other in impassive anticipation. Then, suddenly, Ashok swings back into the saddle of the motorcycle, revs up his engine, and makes for a point between the two men. They raise their swords. Ashok roars in, and in a remarkable feat of action (the credit for which stunt man and editor would later dispute), simultaneously he kicks one wrestler in the vitals with an extended left leg and hits another in the gut with an upthrust right fist, while ducking to drive the motorcycle between the raised sword-arms. The two flabby toughs collapse in a heap, and our hero takes his motorcycle crashing through the barrier.

But once more the applause of the twenty-five-paisa wallahs is doomed to die down. For as Ashok rides on in the ill-lit hill tunnel, slowing down to look for the errant Ambassador, a rustle is heard, soon drowned on the sound track by the violins of violence. He looks up in surprise as a gigantic net falls on him, enmeshing him in its chains and bringing hero and motorcycle spinning to the ground.

A light is flashed into his eyes and Ashok blinks, dazzled. Pranay is standing above him, whip triumphantly in hand. “Welcome, Inspector Ashok,” the vile villain snarls through red-stained lips. “Mighty Godambo is waiting to meet you.”

Ashok is dragged through the cavern by two heavies in black, his hands tied behind him. The audience sees it all again as if for the first time: the marble floor, the eerily illuminated pillars, the Black Cheetahs, the fountain-flanked pool with its darting floating fin, and finally the jeweled throne. On this the bald caped figure sits comfortably, but the pet cheetah is at his feet. It has grown too big for his lap since the film's shooting began.

“So you are Inspector Ashok,” the principal villain says gutturally. “Thank you for paying us a visit.”

“Where is my sister,
kameenay?”
our hero asks disrespectfully.

“Your sister.” Godambo does not seem unduly put out. “Let me show you.” He leans back and presses a button on the console beside him. The giant screen again emerges. This time it shows a barred cell, within which Maya weeps, tugging vainly at the bars with handcuffed hands.

Ashok, enraged, struggles to cast off his captors. Godambo laughs. “Why have you brought me here, villain?” our hero asks.

Godambo seems to enjoy this hugely. “Why have we brought him here, he wants to know. But you came here yourself! Uninvited, I might add.”

“What do you want with my sister, you castoff from an asylum?”

“Silence!” This is Pranay, accompanying his admonition with a crack of the whip. “No one abuses the mighty Godambo.”

“It doesn't matter, Pranay,” interjects the most-wanted man in India. “We will tell him what he wants to know. Or perhaps he would prefer to hear it from more familiar lips.” The ghost of a smile haunts his impassive, hairless face. He claps his hands. “Agent Abha.”

Abha steps forward reluctantly. She is in her most recent Godambo uniform, complete with springing cheetah. Ashok's eyes widen in betrayed realization.

“You know each other, I believe?” Godambo asks.

Outrage and contempt blaze from Ashok's eyes. “I even took you home to meet my mother,” he says accusingly, the very thought drenching his voice in self-reproach.

“Forgive me, Ashok,” she pleads. “I had no choice.”

“No choice! Do you still expect me to believe those lies about your miserable parents?”

“They're not lies —.” But she is silenced by a minatory wave of Pranay's whip.

“Can you deny you were working for these thugs all along? Even when we went out together?”

She is silent; she cannot deny it. Ashok looks away bitterly.

“Enough of this love-shove talk,” Pranay snaps. “Tell him.”

Abha pulls herself together, but the strain shows on her face. “Ashok, mighty Godambo wants you to give up your pursuit of him. And he invites you to join his organization.”

“Never!”

“Ashok, if you don't do as he says, he will — kill Maya.”

On the screen the concealed camera zooms in on Maya, hands tightly gripping the bars of her cell, tears streaking her pretty face, pigtail dangling by one wet cheek. Ashok grits his teeth, straining to shake off his shackles. He is restrained by the black-clad commandos and a menacing crack of Pranay s whip.

“What kind of man are you, Godambo, to fight your battles through an innocent young girl?” he rails. “Come and face me in hand-to-hand combat, and we will see.”

Godambo stiffens in his throne. The hairless visage registers offense. “Don't ever, and I mean
ever,
speak to me like that again,” he growls, crunching gravel under every syllable. “What makes you think you are worthy of hand-to-hand combat with mighty Godambo? I could crush you like an ant with one hand tied behind my back, Inspector Ashok, but I won't bother. I have made you an exceedingly generous offer. I can see you need some time to think about it. Very well.” He laughs, but there is no amusement on his face. “I shall accommodate you with your sister. But if you want her to see another sunset, Inspector Ashok, you will give me the answer I want by dawn tomorrow.”

Ashok's eyes blaze defiance at this ultimatum, but the dialogue writer's imagination has failed him, and he remains silent. A snap of Godambo's fingers, a dismissive gesture, and Ashok is dragged away. But not without casting a bitter parting glance at his erstwhile lady love.

Abha looks away, and this time there are no dark glasses to conceal the despair in her reddening eyes.

Interior: Godambo's dungeons. In the dimly lit cell, Ashok consoles the tearful Maya. She nestles against his chest, and he embraces her as far as the knots on his wrists will allow: elbows and forearms resting on her shoulders, unfree hands clasped behind her head. He looks into her eyes and sings:

We're one small happy family,
We live and love together.
We're one small happy family,
In sunshine and bad weather.

We're one small happy family,
United, good and strong.
We're one small happy family,
So nothing can go wrong.

Maya's response is to burst into a fresh torrent of tears.

Outside the cell a Black Cheetah patrols the stone-flagged corridor in hobnailed boots. As Ashok looks up alertly, he hears another pair of footsteps. The commando's boots pause in their stride.

“Who is — oh, it's you, Agent Abha.”

“Just checking to see how things are, Ali. All well with the prisoners?”

“They were making a lot of noise, but its quieter now.”

“Could I see them?”

“I'm afraid not, Agent Abha. You know I can't let you in. Strict orders from mighty Godambo himself. No one may disturb the prisoners.”

“I won't disturb them.”

“Sorry, Agent Abha. I have my orders.”

“Good. I was just checking to make sure you were following them. Hey — what's that?”

“What?” The guard whips around, submachine gun at the ready. In a flash Abha brings the butt of her own revolver down on the back of his head. He sinks soundlessly to his knees. She eases him to the floor. Looking around quickly, she pulls his bunch of keys off the belt loop from which they are conveniently dangling and opens the barred gate of Ashok and Maya's cell.

“Come on,” she whispers urgently to the astonished prisoners.

“How do I know this isn't a trap?” Ashok asks.

“Of course it isn't,” Abha says in an urgent hiss. “I'm risking my life for this. And the lives of my poor parents. Hurry. If Godambo catches us, it'll be certain death.”

“What have we got to lose?” Ashok asks rhetorically. He raises his handcuffs. “Do you have the keys for these?”

“I think so.” Abha sifts through the bunch, finds a likely key and inserts it. It turns: Ashok is free. He rubs his sore wrists while Abha liberates Maya. The young girl smiles hopefully at her.

“Come on, we've got to get out of here,” Ashok says unnecessarily, taking charge. “Do you know the way out of this place?”

“Yes,” whispers Abha. “But I'm warning you, it's heavily guarded.”

Ashok sets his jaw. “We'll see about that,” he snaps, as the three creep out into the corridor.

They advance a few paces. Abha presses herself against a wall and pokes her head round a corner. The coast is clear. She signals, and they run down one more corridor. At the next intersection of pathways, Abha repeats the maneuver. They run — and are drawn up short by the sight of Pranay standing in the middle of the corridor chewing calmly, legs astride, whip at the ready, and a demoniacal gleam of delight in his eyes.

“And where do you think you're going?” he asks sardonically. The red stains on his lips look like blood.

It all happens very quickly. Abha pulls out her revolver. Pranay's whip cracks, and the gun clatters harmlessly to the floor. She cries out, holding her hand in pain. He laughs and again cracks his whip. This time it is Ashok who screams. Pranay is enjoying himself. He advances, the whip snaking out repeatedly, with a noise like a pistol shot. Ashok is hit once more, but then dodges, jumps. Pranay is unperturbed; he enjoys the challenge. “Dance, Inspector Ashok!” he snarls with each flick of his weapon. Ashok sidesteps him nimbly. Pranay strikes, the look of arrogant cruelty on his face turning to one of surprise as Ashok catches the cord of the whip in midlash.

Our hero grips the whip and wraps it around his hand, drawing his tormentor toward him. Pranay tugs at the whip handle, but in vain. Ashok pulls him irresistibly closer. As he nears Ashok, Pranay flings the stock of the whip viciously at our hero. Ashok dodges it. Pranay lunges for the gun on the floor. He is about to reach it when the whip strikes him across the hand. He looks stupidly at a red weal rising on the back of it. Now it is Ashok who has the whip. “Dance, villain!” he barks. The whip descends again, and a streak of red appears on the villain's cheek, competing with the gash of red across his narrow mouth. Pranay dances as the whip swishes repeatedly through the air, catching him on the legs, the arms, the behind. (The moralists in the twenty-five-paisa seats really enjoy this bit. You should hear them laughing and cheering in the aisles.)

Abha picks up the revolver and tosses it to Ashok, who flings the whip aside. “Come on,” he says to the whimpering Pranay. “You lead us out.” Pranay, clutching his arm, hobbles down the corridor with Ashok's gun pointing at his back. They reach a doorway guarded by two Black Cheetahs. A control panel embedded in the rock next to the doorway glows red. “That's the way out,” Abha breathes. “The switch is on that panel.”

“Go on,” Ashok orders Pranay with an ungentle dig of the gun into his back. “Tell your goons not to obstruct us, or you'll end up with more holes than a Calcutta road.”

Pranay hoarsely obliges. “Let them go,” he instructs the commandos. “Open the door.” Reluctantly the Black Cheetahs move toward the control panel.

“Stop!” There is no mistaking the voice. It contains enough gravel to resurface even Calcutta's roads.

The group spins around. Godambo stands there, huge and hairless, his cape swirling round him. There is no sign of the cheetah. “Don't touch that panel,” he instructs his commandos.

“B-boss,” Pranay bleats.

“Open that door, or Pranay gets it,” Ashok shouts.

“That incompetent? Who let himself be captured this way?” snarls Godambo. “Shoot him. You'd be doing me a favor.”

The group is frozen in indecision. Godambo advances.

“If they try to move anywhere near the control panel,” he tells his Black Cheetahs, “shoot them. Even if you have to shoot Pranay first.” Pranay winces; his master laughs gutturally. “Drop that gun, Inspector Ashok,” he says. “Nice try, but it's all over for you.”

Ashok tries to look defiant, but the truth of Godambo's conclusion is evident. The gun wavers in his hand.

“Let me do it for you, mighty Godambo.” This is Abha! Ashok and Maya stare at her in shock. She pulls the gun out of Ashok's surprised hand. “You didn't really think I'd deserted you, did you, mighty Godambo?” she asks as she walks over to him, the gun in her hand.

Godambo laughs with pleasure. “Agent Abha … ,” he begins, then stops as the barrel of the revolver presses into his ribs.

“You were saying … ?” Abha asks.

(Maya smiles in relief, and the twenty-five-paisa seats erupt in cheers.)

“Don't be silly, Abha,” Godambo growls. “Think of your parents. Your home.”

“I do,” she replies. “And I'm just trying to make sure you will no longer be in any position to harm them.”

Godambo's eyes turn round with rage.

“Tell them to drop their guns.” She gestures at the Cheetahs and presses her revolver in more deeply.

“Do what she says,” grunts Godambo.

The black-clad commandos drop their submachine guns. Ashok picks them up, slings one over his shoulder, and holds the other one. “All right, Godambo,” he announces. “You're coming with us.” He turns toward the switch on the control panel.

Suddenly, with a swing of his cape, Godambo knocks Abha's hand aside. A swift blow to her wrist and the revolver falls to the ground. Godambo, clutching Abha like a shield, backs away toward the interior. “Now try and shoot me!” he laughs, as Abha flails helplessly in his grip. Ashok raises a gun, realizes it's hopeless: he would hit Abha. Godambo breaks into a run. Ashok follows. “After him!” shouts Pranay, waving on the disarmed commandos in hot pursuit. Maya, alone and neglected, cowers near the doorway, her hands to her mouth.
“ Bhaiya!”
she screams in warning. Ashok looks briefly behind him and pauses to release a burst of semiautomatic fire at his pursuers. One of the commandos falls.