No Safe Zone Page 11

  Calling out to one of them, he asked, ‘Do you know where Bholu Sapera lives?’

  They simply grimaced and went back to poking into the garbage, picking up odd items and thrusting them into the half-filled plastic bags they carried on their shoulders.

  For a moment Kabir thought he should give up this crazy idea of seeking out a man he had last seen when he was seventeen years old. A man who visited him in his nightmares every once in a while. And yet, Bholu was the one who had ensured his life did not turn into a living hell. Bholu was the only bridge to a life he foolishly believed he’d left behind. For ever. Who would have thought he’d want to revisit Sonagarh!

  Qiara was right: he was a coward. He had locked away the old memories rather than deal with the hurt they caused. On the other hand, she was so much braver than him – willing to face the truth even when her entire life was unravelling around her; when every truth as she knew it seemed to be built on a foundation of lies. He wanted to be there for her, shelter her from life’s vicissitudes. But how could he when he was unable to give up his secrets?

  While walking into ‘the lion’s den’ on his own would be the macho thing to do, he wasn’t a fool to go rushing in without any preparation. That’s exactly why he needed Bholu. If there was one person who knew what Suraj Pratap Singh, the man responsible for his flight from Sonagarh thirteen years ago, was up to it would be him. It was imperative that he find Bholu, if he had to sort out the unholy nexus between Suraj, Rathod and Mehender Singh.

  However, finding him in this stinking hell hole would be no easy feat. Much like the snakes he charmed, Bholu knew exactly how to disappear and avoid detection. With his help, Kabir and his mother had made their way to Delhi from Sonagarh. He had never seen his friend again after that fateful night and all he knew was he had taken refuge in this ghastly slum.

  It was going to be a bit like a throw of the dice. Kabir was not one to mock the all-powerful force of destiny. If she happened to be on his side, he might be able to track down his friend. The row of shanties loomed ahead and he broke into a run; he just didn’t have time to wait around for destiny to show her hand. He planned to meet her head on.

  It was time for a showdown with his wily half-brother, Suraj Pratap Singh.

  Eleven

  Three hours later, Kabir was no closer to finding the elusive Bholu. The most infuriating part was while everyone he spoke to seemed to recognize Bholu, each one referred to him by a different name and directed him to diverse locations within the maze-like alleys of crumbling tenements. Kabir’s frustration knew no bounds and yet he could only admire the sheer ingenuity with which Bholu had found a safe haven for himself. Everyone knew of him and yet no one could find him.

  Collapsing into a chair at a chaiwala’s shop, Kabir called out for a glass of tea. He’d reached a dead end. Taking a sip of the syrupy sweet brew, he pulled out his phone. Two missed calls from Qiara’s new mobile number. But right now, there wasn’t any signal. He took out Qiara’s cell phone and found the message icon blinking. Rishi.

  He let out his breath as he pondered the only option open to him – go in blind into enemy territory. Taking out a twenty-rupee note, he whistled to catch the attention of the tea stall owner.

  ‘How much?’ he asked the man who approached him.

  ‘It’s not the kind of special tea you are used to and we only have chipped glasses to serve them in. But for you, Kunwarji, it’s free.’

  Kabir’s head jerked up as if his neck had been yanked by a rope. The guy’s face was in the shadows and the red bandana tied around his head fluttered in the night breeze. He would have recognized that rustic lingo and the gruff voice even if he were blindfolded.

  ‘Bholu!’

  Kabir shot out of the chair. Grabbing Bholu by the shoulders, he turned him towards the pale yellow light that spilled from a street lamp. The dark face was split in a wide grin.

  ‘You bloody snake! You led me on a wild hunt on purpose, didn’t you?’

  Kabir’s sharp words were tinged with amusement and he pulled his old friend in a bear hug.

  Bholu’s low laugh of pure joy took Kabir back to the days when the two of them would ride wild through the dense forests behind Sonagarh Palace – he on his faithful Chetak with Bholu astride any steed he had managed to sneak out of Suraj’s stable for a couple of hours.

  ‘I had to be sure you were who you seemed to be and not yet another of your bade bhaiyya’s goons.’

  ‘He’s still looking for you? Does he know you’re here?’

  ‘Kunwar Kabir Pratap Singh, you know me. I lead my life my way…no worries, no tension.’

  ‘I shed the Kunwar tag long ago and adopted my mother’s maiden name. Now, I’m simply Kabir Shorey.’

  ‘I’m impressed you found me.’ He paused and looked at Kabir earnestly before he belched out a string of cuss words. ‘Don’t tell me you’re a cop!’

  ‘Well, not really, but kind of similar.’

  ‘I’m a borderline criminal. I have had run-ins with the cops and believe me that hide and seek game I just performed for your benefit…it’s a game I routinely play out with those bastards. Should I be even talking to you?’

  Kabir recognized the shifty nervousness that made his friend bounce on the balls of his feet. He knew, friend or not, Bholu would take flight at the slightest provocation and he’d never be able to track him down.

  ‘Relax, Bholu. I’m not interested in your petty crimes. I desperately need your help with an assignment I’m working on. If anybody can help me, it’s you.’

  Bholu relaxed visibly as he shrugged again.

  ‘People change and I wasn’t sure if you had too.’ His face broke out in another grin. ‘Tell me, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Frankly, save my ass once again!’ Kabir laughed.

  For the next few minutes, Kabir recounted all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. ‘I’m hundred per cent sure this whole bloody business is connected with Suraj. For now, I need to get a fix on this Rathod character. What’s his game? What’s happening at Mithapur Haveli right now, as we speak?’

  ‘Mithapur Haveli, did you say? Let me see.’

  He turned towards the chai stall, put his fingers in his mouth and let fly a piercing whistle.

  A boy came running up to them. Bholu gave him some instructions.

  Kabir fiddled with his mobile but couldn’t get a network connection. He tried not to think about Qiara and hoped she had gone back to the bungalow as he’d instructed her to after she was done with her sightseeing.

  In less than an hour Bholu had rounded up a clutch of people: a taxi driver, a waiter at a restaurant, a petty thief who worked the streets near Mithapur Haveli and a young woman who performed as a Rajasthani folk singer at five-star hotels. After speaking to each of them, Kabir had what he needed to know: Mithapur Haveli, which once belonged to his father, Raja Saheb, had changed hands. Even if Rathod wasn’t the owner of the haveli, he clearly was the one running the place, and right now he was hosting a group of wealthy Westerners.

  He wondered whether they were Rathod’s business clients. It could be something totally business-related and he may just be going off at a tangent with all his suspicions about his step-brother’s involvement. He was barely listening to the singer when his ears perked up at the mention of Sonagarh.

  ‘What did you say?’ he asked.

  ‘I heard some of them talking about their trip to Sonagarh. They were discussing a polo tournament,’ she repeated.

  A strange sensation fluttered in the pit of his stomach. He shot a look at Bholu who had unwittingly let out a sharp curse.

  ‘Are you sure they said polo tournament in Sonagarh?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Rathod has hired a troupe of dancers to perform at Sonagarh. One of them is my friend.’

  ‘When do they leave?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  There wasn’t much else that Bholu’s informers could tell them. Kabir thanked them for their help and doled ou
t some cash which they happily pocketed.

  ‘What now?’ asked Bholu.

  ‘I didn’t think I would ever go back to Sonagarh.’

  ‘I always knew you would. No matter how hard you try to run away from your destiny, she will always find you.’

  Garima Nursing Home, Phulera

  The lobby of the nursing home was teeming with people. Patients and their relatives waited for their turn. The rows of bleachers lined up in the reception area were all taken up. Qiara had no idea where she should begin her search or for that matter what exactly she was looking for. All she knew was something sinister was going on. She glanced at the board, listing the different medicine specialities with the names of doctors written under each. She wondered if the tattoo man had fobbed her off and sent her on a wild goose chase. But now she was here, the least she could do was check out if there was really something fishy going on in this place. She sidled away and walked down a long corridor leading away from the reception area. Black plastic name tags with doctors’ names printed on them in white were nailed to doors on either side of the hallway. She opened a door and peeked inside.

  A stern man wearing spectacles looked up. ‘Kya chahiye aapko? What do you want?’

  ‘Sorry, I got the wrong room.’

  She quickly closed the door and hurried down the corridor. A flight of stairs went up to the next level and she ran up them.

  A few people hung around in small groups, talking among themselves. A man sat on a bench, holding his head in his hands. A nurse rushed into a room carrying a tray of medicines and as the door swung open, Qiara caught a glimpse of a woman on a bed. Everything was clean and pristine; the antiseptic smell, so peculiar of hospitals, assailed her nostrils.

  At the end of the corridor was a tinted-glass-encased room. The sign read in big bold letters: ‘No entry without permission.’

  Qiara peered through the glass and spotted a row of cribs. Newborn babies, swaddled in soft whites, were sleeping peacefully. A nurse was checking on them and making notes in a file.

  On spotting Qiara she came out of the room and said sternly, ‘Visitors are not allowed here.’

  Qiara mumbled, ‘I was just looking.’

  She should have moved away but stood there for a moment debating with herself.

  The nurse was getting impatient, ‘What are you waiting for?’

  ‘I…I am visiting one of my cousins, here,’ she waved towards the rooms behind her. ‘She told me that if I want to adopt a child, there are people here who can help me. Would you know who I should talk to?’

  The nurse gave her an incisive look, taking in her bandhini salwar-kameez, her kohl-lined eyes and the flat-heeled shoes she’d purchased at Hawamahal Bazaar. ‘Where is your husband?’

  ‘I wanted to find out about the process before telling him. He feels we should keep trying for our own child. But I’m sick of going to doctors.’

  Qiara clenched her clammy hands. Would the nurse buy into her hastily made-up story?

  ‘Who did you say you were visiting? What’s your cousin’s name?’

  Her heart began to race at top-speed and for a moment she thought it would jump out of her mouth if she so much as uttered a word.

  Swallowing hard, she took the nurse’s hand in hers.

  ‘Please, I just want a child. Won’t you help me?’

  The nurse, whose name tag read Mary Kutty, looked at her for a few long moments.

  ‘My shift finishes soon. Wait for me.’

  Mary walked away from her, her heels echoing loudly in the corridor.

  For the next eighteen minutes, Qiara paced, trying to calm herself down. She tried calling Kabir but kept getting a ‘not reachable’ message. Finally, after what seemed like the longest wait of her life, she saw Mary beckoning her.

  ‘Follow me,’ she instructed, and led the way back to the lobby.

  At the far end of the reception, she opened a door and Qiara found herself in a small courtyard. Crossing the open space, they headed towards another wing of the nursing home. Unlike the pristine cleanliness of the main hospital, this portion was in a run-down condition. The dust-smeared walls were splattered with red paan stains. The stench of urine emanating from the public lavatories they passed made Qiara gag. They emerged in a large hall that looked like the waiting room of a railway station. Ailing people were lying around everywhere. Groans and coughs pierced through the low buzz of conversation. A woman, her face covered by her sari, squatted on the floor wailing inconsolably. The aura of death and disease hung over the place. An unknown fear wrapped its tentacles around Qiara’s heart as she tried to keep pace with Mary who marched on, totally oblivious to the desperation all around. She disappeared into a room and for a moment Qiara thought she had lost her.

  Scrambling ahead, she found herself in a room with three iron cots. A naked bulb was the only source of light in the room that was devoid of colour. The cement floor was chipped at places and a ceiling fan circulated stale air in the unventilated room. Mary was standing next to the cot at the far end of the room. A reed-thin woman lay on it, covered by a frayed white sheet that bore a few holes. Next to her on the bed was a newborn baby.

  Mary whispered, ‘You can have this child if you pay the right price. She is healthy and is barely two weeks old.’

  Qiara’s blood ran cold. ‘What about the mother? Doesn’t she want the baby?’

  Mary’s lips turned down in a shadow of a smirk.

  ‘What will a poor, unwed mother do with a girl child? The mother wants to get rid of it. The baby is also dark, so, you won’t have to pay much. Ten thousand rupees, that’s all. Those two babies, you see there,’ she said, nodding at the other two cots, ‘will cost more. The one in the middle is a two-month-old boy and the other is a four-week-old girl and she is fair and pretty.’

  Nausea churned inside Qiara. She tried not to show her revulsion at Mary’s matter-of-fact manner.

  Mary smirked, ‘I know what you’re thinking. But before you turn me into an evil witch, think of the fate of these women and babies. This woman tried to kill her child last night with her bare hands. If you were to adopt her, she would at least live. And the money would help her mother to start afresh. She has already been abandoned by her parents and relatives. With no cash and no education, you would probably be saving two lives.’

  Twisted as the logic was, it did make sense. ‘What if the police finds out? Won’t I…I get into trouble?’

  Mary chuckled. Her dark eyes crinkled in the corners.

  ‘You think the police don’t know what’s going on here? They are paid to keep quiet.’

  ‘Paid? By whom?’

  Mary gave her a long hard look. ‘That’s no concern of yours. If you want the baby, I will make out the birth certificate so that it has your name as the mother of the child and you will not face any problem.’

  ‘I have to talk to my husband,’ she stuttered, searching for a way out of the situation.

  ‘Do that. But if you don’t come back by tomorrow night, she will be gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Yes, believe it or not, even these unwanted babies have a value. And there are many who are willing to pay big money for them. Adoption is big business. And like any business, there are touts who will facilitate the process.’

  ‘What about you…I mean…your charges?’

  Mary laughed a mirthless laugh.

  ‘My services are for free. Consider this to be my good deed. I get the child into a good home. While those agents, they will most probably sell them to some whorehouse in Mumbai and make a killing.’

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she contemplated the future of these newborn babes. Perhaps, Mary was indeed a dark angel who was trying to do her best for the helpless children in her own way. Mary was probably working on her own and by whisking away these children to safety from under the very noses of the baby mafia, she was putting herself in grave danger as well.

  ‘If you want the baby, let me know, come here with the c
ash tomorrow morning and I will make out the papers.’

  ‘Can I take a picture of the baby?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Absolutely not.’

  ‘Please, just to show my husband.’

  ‘No, get him here tomorrow. No pictures.’

  ‘Can I show you something?’ Before she lost her nerve, Qiara brushed aside her hair and showed her the tatoo. ‘Have you ever seen this before?’

  She heard Mary draw a sharp breath before she saw her turn visibly pale.

  ‘You are one of them?’ Mary breathed softly. Then, she shook her head as if everything began to make sense. Her eyes tightened into inscrutable slits.

  ‘You don’t want to adopt a baby, do you? You just want information. Who are you? Why are you here?’

  Qiara battled the fear that threatened to choke her. Could she trust this woman?

  ‘I just found out from a man in Hawamahal Bazaar that these tattoos are put on children who are sold from this hospital. He told me to come here and see for myself.’

  ‘Yes, if these girls remain here for long, those agents will take them away. Not all of them though will be branded with this tattoo. Only the ones meant for the foreign market, maybe that pretty one there.’

  She froze at Mary’s remark. Had she been inked for sale too? Had her non-resident Indian mother ‘shopped’ for her? Who were her real parents? The questions were piling up. Nothing made sense any more. The dark, depressing room was closing in on her. For a moment she just wanted to succumb to the wave of numbness sweeping through her, making her feel as if she had moved out of her body and was watching it all happen to someone else. Everything she’d taken for granted was up in the air; she no longer knew which of her memories were for real and which ones part of an elaborate lie. Her entire life was collapsing around her like a house of cards. She felt her knees start to tremble.

  Mary was beside her in a jiffy. ‘Come on, girl, breathe. Don’t faint on me!’

  Wrapping an arm around her, Mary hustled her out.

  Her legs felt like lead and every step she took was a massive effort. She willed herself to do it; she needed to get out of this claustrophobic environment as quickly as possible.