The Benefit Season (31 page)

Meanwhile, she wondered, whether she could
take advantage of the romantic settings of the old, slumbering
fort, and make love to her man, all night, and all day, till it was
time to set out on the hunt once again.

ϖ

Chapter 13

A Tiger by the Tail at
Sariska

Monal shivered uncontrollably as the thugs
drove them in their Prados to somewhere in the middle of craggy
mountains. They crossed a number of pickets where sleepy old men
noted down their car number and waved them through. Arjun thought
Monal was cold and covered her with his pullover, but she wouldn’t
stop trembling. Finally, he wrapped his strong arms around her and
she laid her head on his chest and began to relax and the tremors
stopped jerking her body. She slept, though restive, she slept.
Something had apparently frightened her- he wondered what it was.
She was the kind who always remained in calm control of themselves
and the situation. But here was something that had obviously shaken
her badly.

They kept climbing the narrow, winding road
cutting through the overhanging branches of Dhok and Gum trees. The
rolling hills, of red clay - that they could make out once the
slanting rays of the sun peeped through the lifting fog, were
sparsely covered with scrub forest and tangled thorn thickets-
ideal habitat for wild animals. In the grey of the early morning
they could spot Sambars, Spotted Deers, and an odd hyena even,
foraging through the forest. Arjun guessed since they’d travelled
roughly 120 kilometers- as per the car speedo- in a southerly
direction, they would probably be wandering somewhere in the
Sariska forest reserve. He’d travelled through these parts as a kid
during a school excursion. He looked for tigers but being nocturnal
creatures, there were none at this time. He hoped they hadn’t
killed them all. Sariska had been the notorious hunting ground of
poor, hapless tigers, whose legs could not carry them fast enough
out of the reach of the gunpowder and lead of the Rajasthani royals
and the British rulers who came here to boost their manhood by
posing for pictures with their dead bodies.

At the steep hilltop they
came upon the imposing gates of a crumbling old fort, probably a
timeworn hunting lodge now definitely out of use. Its looming
ramparts clung desperately to the steep and slippery rock face. It
seemed there was no escape from this place. Even if one managed to
evade the guards and scale the massive stonewalls, one would fall
to his death from the sheer drop on all sides. Behind the fort lay
the vast expanse of the hostile forest teeming with wild animals
that would tear you apart in no time. The only way out was through
the gates and down the road in a safe vehicle. A small sign along
the dry moat lining the walls read, “Kankwari Fort”. It seemed more
like a haunted place, like the 17
^th
century deserted city of
Bhangarh that lay below at the foothills of the Aravali Ranges in
the sleepy, barren countryside.

The driver got out and
shouted to two armed guards who appeared above the fort gates.
After identification they said something to the guards below who
were manning the gates. A massive, creaking bridge was lowered over
the dry moat separating them from the fort gates. The gates creaked
open, sending out a jarring noise that sent the birds screeching
and fleeing from the bushes, bringing the sleepy forest rudely
awake. They drove through and came upon the pale, worn walls of the
fort’s narrow, congested living quarters. The road was slippery
with moss and ivy had climbed the corners of the double storied
buildings, and crept around the rusty iron bars of its windows set
deep inside the thick walls. It resembled a dilapidated prison
lying in ruins. The cars were parked by the wayside and the
captives were ordered to walk. They walked through another couple
of high arches, to the sides of which precariously hung half shut
heavy wooden gates with iron studs, till they came upon a vast
expanse of rolling greens. The grounds were surprisingly well cared
for, and were nothing like the grey, crumbling edifice that lay
without. The structures outside were meant for the stables and
staff apparently. Even a few horses grazed peacefully in the vast
parks! In the midst of the sylvan greens lay a beautiful mansion
that apparently had been the living quarters of the royals. The
captives were rudely bundled into a large hall that had very high
ceilings and lovely windowed alcoves, and told to wash up and get
ready for breakfast in the grounds outside, where
“
Bhai
”, or
the
Big Brother
was going to meet them.

Monal was strangely quiet and distracted.
She had folded her legs and lain huddled in the massive, antique
wing chair by the large windows that looked out onto the water
channels and fountains lining the mansion. The washroom was well
stocked and Arjun was glad to use it. A small fire had been lit up
under the cranky old water tank providing piping hot water. Arjun
gratefully bathed himself by filling the stainless steel bathtub
with buckets of mixed hot and cold water. He relaxed in the tub and
decided not to try and escape. He felt it was time to unravel the
mystery that his life had become of late and try and make sense of
what was happening. He needed answers and he decided to stick
around till he got them. He, to the best of his waking knowledge
had no truck with these mean guys, or they with him, but it
definitely had something to do with Monal and Vishal, and coax her
hard though he would, she would not say anything- she had clammed
up. He knew he was some kind of pawn, and nothing more, in the game
that was being played around him, and he was being kept totally in
the dark, and it was this lack of knowledge, and his being utterly
of no consequence to anybody now, was what was possibly going to
keep him out of harm. Or so he thought. Anyway, he was going to
hang around and watch. When he came out all scrubbed and shiny,
Monal was still glued to her spot by the window. She seemed to have
aged overnight. The glow had departed from her damask cheeks and
the sparkle had run with the mascara. ‘What has happened to you’,
he asked repeatedly.

‘
It’s gone all wrong, all
wrong. He promised me no one would find us. We were supposed to be
on a flight to Seychelles. It wasn’t supposed to be like this’, was
all she muttered under her breath, clenching and unclenching her
fists, rocking back and forth like a mourner- with dry eyes and
stony face.

He finally managed to coax her out of her
blanket to go and freshen up. He almost had to lift her in his arms
and carry her to the washroom where he gently nudged her inside and
shut the door on her. Then he walked out into the sun deck, where
she joined him shortly.

ϖ

A sumptuous table, feast fit for kings had
been laid out in the lawns. A water channel punctuated with
fountains ran the entire length of the palace. The gardens were
made in the image of geometric patterns found in nature. The
landscaping was subtle, and it combined trees, flowers, waters and
even birds and sounds in harmony for a soothing and charming
effect. A raised marble lotus water tank in the center reflected
the image of the imposing façade within its mirror like waters.
Colorful flowerbeds separated by stone pathways lined the water
channels. Tall Cyprus trees covered the pale fort walls, beyond
which were the sheer cliffs on one side and dense forest on the
rest. Liveried men stood around politely, and drew chairs for them
as Monal and Arjun walked out into the garden.

Arjun was ravenous and looked forward to the
banquet. Monal turned from the food in disgust; the pleasing
environs had failed to raise her spirits. Soon there were sounds of
men approaching and the staff stiffened noticeably. The “Bhai”,
Chotta Shameel, feared and revered equally from Dongri to Dubai,
dressed in black, surrounded by his men and two lusty tigers,
stepped out of the French windows in the far corner of the building
and strode towards them. He needed no introductions and greeted his
captives warmly, crushing them in bear hugs, as if he’d met long
lost pals.

He sat at the center of the long table- fit
to seat 50 people. Arjun and Monal were seated at the head and end
of the table, respectively. They had to shout to be heard. The two
tigers lay down at the feet of the dreaded don, who raised a toast
of water that set the waiting staff on a spree among the myriad
dishes on display. Monal pecked at the boiled beans on her plate
while the Don and Arjun proceeded to secure the nourishments on
offer with the sworn vigor of the depleted and the deprived. They
sat by the fleshpots and ate the bread to the full and drank the
sweet water that had been drawn forth from the rocks.

After the first round of manna had been
partaken of and the fires of hunger and thirst that had spat at
their innards been sated, the Don dabbed at his lips and moustache
appreciatively with gold-hemmed linen napkins, cleared his throat
and signaled that he was now ready for a tete-a-tete with the
visitors. ‘I got this place on a 99-year lease from the original
owners- the royals of Alwar. The tigers- probably the only ones
left in Sariska- were complimentary’, he explained. ‘They are
generally well fed, except when we have unwelcome visitors- then we
want them in a foul mood. They’re man-eaters, yeah’, he suggested
with a sneer. ‘So how do we rate you- welcome or unwelcome?’ he
laughed raucously, his two cronies joining him in a cackle of
mating calls.

Arjun ignored him, believing he had no
choice really in the matter, piling the bacon, the pancakes and
cheesy omelets in a tall heap on his plate, while quaffing from a
large mug of orange juice. Monal simply scowled at the Don- no
reply was expected. The Don had already made up his mind, on
whatever it was.

After another round of sweeping the
refreshments clean off the plates the Don looked up again for
speech. This time he seemed less amiable and more business like.
‘Well, dear, I am told you have been looking after something that
belongs to me’, he said, turning to Monal, while winking at
Arjun.

Monal blanched; ‘I don’t know what you mean
sir’.

‘
Really! Are my words not
clear, am I not making sense? Do you need an interpreter?’ his men
tittered behind him, waiting to burst into guffaws on cue from
him.

She remained tongue-tied.

‘
Where’s my money, dear,
that your husband claims you have run away with, with your love
bird here, on your way to sun kissed shores somewhere in the Indian
Ocean?’

‘
What money’, Arjun asked;
nonchalantly flipping the hash browns from his plate into his
mouth. Sure that he had nothing to do with the gangster’s money, or
anybody else’s either, he knew the skeletons were on their way out
from the cupboards into broad daylight. ‘Who’s running
away?’

‘
I don’t have any money’,
Monal said, set a tremble again.

‘
Well, I have it on oath.
From your husband’.

‘
I know nothing about any
money, or your money.’

‘
Who knows then? You?’ he
asked Arjun, with scorn. Arjun who was brandishing a ladle of maple
syrup over the nut chocolate muffin shook his head without looking
up, and sighed with contentment at having some real food after days
in captivity, and after the spicy, oily and deep-fried Rajasthani
food at Sariska. He was thoroughly enjoying his freedom, or
whatever shape it manifested in at this moment.

‘
See he doesn’t care. Come
on tell us the truth. My tigers are not used to feminine flesh, but
my men are’, he said, jerking a thumb at his men, who grabbed their
crotches and leered down at her.

‘
I swear I have no money’,
she pleaded.

‘
Okay, I call upon witness
No 1, Vishal Nagrath’, he said dramatically and banged the table
with his fist, shaking the plates and Monal who jerked up in her
seat. She looked at him with horror and then looked at Arjun, who’d
for the first time in that morning, began to show an interest in
the proceedings.

‘
Which Vishal- her
husband? Isn’t he dead’ Arjun asked in disbelief.

‘
Now why would you say
that?’ the don turned toward him.

‘
Because I shot him. And
he fell into a deep pit and there was a JCB that buried him under
sand’.

The don laughed heartily. ‘Then who is that
monkey you just caught flying away to Seychelles with that Arab
belly contortionist’, he turned to his men and asked.

‘
Seychelles? With who?’
Monal said, trembling.

‘
Haven’t you heard?
Doesn’t the man tell you anything? Oh, I forgot, you were too busy
romancing your lover boy here. Well, Chand Mohammed, that is
ex-Vishal Nagrath, your husband, has converted, to take as his wife
Ruby Al Maqtoum, daughter of Rashid Al Maqtoum, the grand sheik,
who enjoys tremendous influence with the big Bhai at Dubai: our
supreme commander and leader. Weren’t you even invited? Well,
neither were we. And on top of it he was making away to Seychelles
without letting his old friend here throw him a reception! But we
wouldn’t hear of it, no sir. We told the sheik there was this small
matter of our missing money that hadn’t been fully resolved- as to
its exact whereabouts. Money that we trusted your husband to keep
safely for us. Money that he now claims has flown with you. You who
he claims have eloped with the stud here. So the sheik let us keep
the man, in return for the freedom of his daughter. We arranged for
a quick divorce right at the departure lounge- you should’ve seen
that woman take off without even looking over her shoulder. And the
conversion- all that pain came to naught! You know the sheik made
him undergo circumcision without anesthesia, just to test his
faith!’