Salt and pepper, ginger and garlic, came to Gustad’s mind, what he used to tell Sohrab about propaganda and falsehoods. ‘I know how to read a newspaper,’ he said. ‘But you tell me the truth. Why Jimmy sent ten lakh to me for deposit. You say what the truth is.’ He felt his anger rising, though he knew this man had to be dealt with cautiously. ‘And tell me also about the cat and the huge rat thrown in my bush. With the heads chopped off.’
He watched him closely, but Ghulam betrayed no trace of emotion. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Noble. In RAW, we have no time for playing with cats and rats. But I can tell you this. Bili Boy has enemies. This whole story was cooked up by people at the very top to cover their wrongdoings.’ He leaned closer. ‘I’m glad you asked about the money. Sadly, I am not in a position to answer your questions. Bili Boy will tell you himself, at the proper time. You have to trust him.’
‘I think I have trusted him too much already.’
‘Now, Mr. Noble. No sense being upset with your friend when he needs you most.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His life is in danger,’ said Ghulam Mohammed. ‘He is—’
Screams and shouts drowned the Dil deke dekho record. Ghulam jumped up from his chair and checked the back alley outside his window, then opened the door to listen. The women were yelling abuse at someone — a male, judging by the derision and taunts concerning his manhood which flew thick and fast. The two men went to the landing. The attar-clouded air of the brothel filled with the women’s colourfully obscene speech.
Then, through all of that, penetrated an unmistakable high-speed utterance: ‘Pleasepleaseonceonly. Onceonlyonce. Fastfastrubbingpleaseonceonly. Pleasetakemoneypleaseplease. Letmetouchletmepressonceonly.’
‘I can’t believe it!’ said Gustad.
‘What?’
‘That voice! It’s Tehmul-Lungraa, lives in my building. Poor lame fellow with a half-cracked head.’
‘You are sure?’
He seems relieved, thought Gustad. ‘Completely sure. What is he doing here, but?’
‘Same thing that other men do, I think.’
‘Cannot be, he’s like a child. Sounds like he’s in trouble.’
The row was proceeding on the ground floor. Hydraulic Hema, favourite of the mechanics, with lips like blood and eyes black as coal, was savagely shaking Tehmul by the ear. Women surrounded him, taking turns to clip him on the head, pinch, pull his hair. They were enjoying the sport, staying out of his reach as he continued to make a grab at a breast or tried to reach inside a skirt. ‘Pleaseletmetouch. Pleasepleaseonceonlyletmetouchplease. Takemoneyplease.’ He held out a round cigarette tin that jingle-jangled, but there were no takers.
‘Tehmul!’ shouted Gustad. ‘Stop it!’
Tehmul dropped his hungry hands. He looked around, trying to locate his beloved Gustad, and found him, halfway up the stairs. ‘GustadGustadGustad.’ He waved the cigarette tin, with the blood-lipped amazon still clutching his ear. A well-placed blow dislodged the tin. It burst open on the floor and scattered the coins. Most of them twenty-five paisa pieces. The women fell silent.
‘What is all this shouting and screaming like a madhouse?’ demanded Ghulam Mohammed. ‘This is a respectable establishment, not some third class rundi-khana.’
The women protested, all speaking at once: ‘It’s not our fault, this fellow—!’
‘He keeps wanting to touch and—!’
‘There is no law that we have to lift our skirts for anyone who can pay!’
They say madmen have very big ones, built like horses! We don’t want to get hurt!’
Hydraulic Hema held on to Tehmul’s ear while her sisters poured out their grievances. ‘Enough!’ said Ghulam Mohammed. ‘I have heard enough! Let go of his ear!’
‘Arré, he’ll start grabbing again, he’s a complete gone-case!’ she said, her voice like sandpaper.
‘No, he won’t.’ Ghulam Mohammed looked at Gustad. The women moved away as Tehmul was released. He stood motionless, contrite.
‘What is all this, Tehmul?’ said Gustad reproachfully. ‘What have you done here?’
‘GustadGustadverysorryGustadpleaseGustad.’ He stooped to pick up his empty cigarette tin. ‘Somuchmoneyallgonegonegone. Moneyforrubbingfastfastfastfast. Nicenicefeelingallgone.’ He looked forlornly inside the tin.
‘Where did money come from, Tehmul?’
‘Ratratratdeadratmunicipalrat.’
Of course. ‘He is OK now,’ he told Ghulam. ‘I’ll take him home with me.’ Tehmul began to gather his coins.
‘Chulo, everybody back to your rooms,’ ordered Ghulam, ‘tamaasha is finished.’ The women dispersed, save a couple who stayed to help Tehmul refill his tin. Tehmul slipped his hand in Gustad’s as they walked outside to Peerbhoy Paanwalla. The latter had already gathered what the commotion was about. He agreed to watch Tehmul till Gustad finished his business.
‘I was telling you that Bili Boy’s life is in danger.’
‘First you say he is in prison, then you say his life is in danger.’ What does he take me for.
‘I know you are upset, Mr. Noble,’ said Ghulam patiently. ‘But please try to understand. People at the very top are involved. They can do whatever they like with Bili Boy. In this country, laws don’t apply to the ones at the top, you know that.’
‘So what can I do?’
‘First of all, the money must be sent back.’
‘Sure. But I have already deposited half. You can have the remaining fifty bundles any time.’
‘All of it, Mr. Noble. Withdraw the rest if you have deposited it.’ The voice was sharper now.
‘Do you know how difficult it is to deposit and withdraw these big amounts? How dangerous? The law is being broken.’
‘Better than bones being broken, Mr. Noble.’ Whose bones does he mean? Unemotional, the bastard’s voice. ‘Do you know how dangerous it is for Bili Boy? They are using their usual methods to make him say where the money is. The only reason he has not confessed is that he wants no trouble for his friends.’
What part of this to believe? How to trust him or Jimmy? ‘Now Bili Boy has made a deal with them,’ Ghulam continued. ‘If the money is returned in thirty days, they will ask no more questions.’
For all I know, this bastard could take the money and disappear. But if Jimmy is really being tortured? ‘Thirty days is impossible. I can only withdraw one bundle a day.’
‘Withdraw two, Mr. Noble.’ A smile appeared suddenly on his face. ‘Or I will have to come and rob your bank.’ Disappeared just as suddenly. Poison again, in his voice. ‘I will do whatever is necessary to help Bili Boy. You have thirty days to return the full package.’
Gustad tried to protest again, but the man was hard as steel. ‘If the money is not delivered on time, things will go badly for all of us, Mr. Noble.’ Bloody bastard. With one hand I could flatten him. He knows I dare not.
They fixed the delivery date. ‘But if you are ready earlier,’ said Ghulam, ‘please come. I will be here every evening.’ He led him to the door. ‘So you were saying someone threw a dead cat and rat in your bushes?’
‘Yes.’ With one hand. Just one blow.
‘Hope you catch him, whoever he is.’
On the way downstairs most of the doors were shut. Brisk business. The record-player was spinning another song, about undying love, constant for over a hundred years, for eternity…‘Sau saal pahalay, mujay tumsay pyar tha, mujay tumsay pyar tha, aajbhi hai, aur kalbhi rahayga…’ the melody warm and syrupy, dripping nostalgia. And no way out for me. Have to withdraw. Involve poor Dinshawji also in the risk.