NAYANTARA & NEELANJAN CHAPTER 8

In that dingy apartment in Jogeshwari, life was nothing less than hell.
If not cockroaches, the tremendously mobile mice family kept me on my toes.
They had eaten up my shirts, notes, currencies and at time even cheques.
When I tried to complain to my landlord, he retorted that this was still much more of a paradise I can expect to inhabit in Mumbai.
Going to the office was out of question.
I still called them up to inquire if any one was around. Sajjan replied, “Sahab aaj aaram kijiye”. (Sir! You rest for the day today)
No one seemed to have turned up after a turbulent lash of monsoon the previous evening. Before I could hang up, I asked Sajjan to help me with the number of our Colaba office.
Inadequately educated and least interested in digging for numbers, Sajjan still reluctantly helped me with the numbers. Before I could hang up, he couldn't hide his curiosity to ask me as to why I needed the number of our Colaba office.
I dialed the number from my mobile phone and in a much heavier tone asked for Paaki Seth. The voice on the other end replied that she was absent. I was a bit surprised. I was not thinking of that moment but of the evening. She had asked me to meet her at Leopold Café. She had not confirmed the time but I was fine as far as she was comfortable meeting me in the evening.
I shaved and was about to step into the bathroom for a shower. I suddenly heard a knock on my door. Grabbing a shirt to shield my average built, I opened the door. In front of me was standing Reshma. She has been working in this building as a maid in at least five of the rooms. Some rumored about her to be much more than a maid. But my landlord maintained she has always been a victim of jealousy. I agreed. I was only stunned as to why she was at my door.
“Your landlord told me you need a maid”, spoke Reshma.
“I never asked for one because I don’t require one”, I replied in a displeased tone.
“Rs. 250 for washing of clothes, Rs. 250 for utensils, Rs. 250 for housekeeping and for anything else it can be negotiated”, spoke Reshma with intoxicating confidence.
I wondered what she really tried to explain with her extra stress won anything else for which she was open to negotiations.
“If you don’t mind, I want you to leave now”, I told Reshma.
I made it clear to her that I being single never would require any of her services and mildly warned her to not lure me to the set of anything else she was referring to.
“Rude”, yelled Reshma and left to my relief.
I took a peaceful shower and put the music on.
Lost in Kishore Kumar’s melodious voice he lent for every song he sung for Aandhi, I retired speechlessly into instant sleep.
Luckily I had set an alarm for 4 pm on my mobile phone. I jumped off my bed and was also surprised to see around ten missed calls. Every call was made from different numbers which appeared to me of public booths. But one number that caught my attention was the number Paakhi had asked me to dial. I mustered the courage to dial it. The beep suggested the owner of that number was busy on a call.
I looked at the watch and decided to leave for Colaba to be at Leopold Café by 8 pm and not upset my Nayantara.
At exactly 5 pm, my phone rang again. This time it was the number Paakhi had asked me to dial for her. The voice on the other end was of a male.
“I received a call from this number, who is it?” asked the voice.
“I am Abhiroop”, I replied.
“You have been bothering me gentleman. I am clueless as to what kind of problem do you have?” he asked angrily.
“I am requesting you to stop calling my number because I hate wrong numbers and blank callers”, ended the voice.
I was angry and at the same time clueless as to whose number was it if it was not Nayantara’s or Paakhi’s.
At 8 pm sharp, I was at Leopold Café. On some of the walls I could see what the massacre of 26th November had done to this café which was established in 1871. The Leopold Café opens up at 8 am in the morning and remains functional till midnight. Authors, poets, lovers, travelers, photographers frequent this place.
I spent some time at the counter that sported the lovely Leopold merchandise one can purchase and take along. I was impressed by the T-Shirt and the coffee mugs.
I looked at my watch and it was ticking 10 minutes past 8 pm. I stepped out of the café and was relieved to see Paakhi trying to cross the road. The traffic was thick. Rains had once again started but this time the downpour was moderate. Paakhi waived a hand to me. I signaled back. The road got clearer. She stepped down from the divider and started pacing a little faster to cross the road. Suddenly I saw a car speeding from the right and before Paakhi could cross the road, the car barged in and in front of my eyes flung her at least five feet above the ground and sped off. She landed on her head. Her left arm was bruised. Blood suddenly oozed out of her forehead and within minutes, a crowd gathered. I ran faster, took her in my arms and held her close to my heart and screamed – Ambulance Please!
Some visitors who were already sitting at the café came to my rescue collected the things that might have fallen off from her purse. One of the crowd members handed over to me her mobile phone, which rang the moment I placed it in my pocket now drenched with Paakhi’s unstoppable blood. I couldn’t answer it. And then the last content that seemed to have been lying their unattended was handed over to me. It was a small photograph; the one’s which fit into a wallet. Half of the portion was now badly drenched in blood and slightly mutilated by now because of manhandling. On the right was visible Paakhi’s image in a vague tone. Amidst chaos, I could not figure out whom she was with?
An ambulance arrived and so did some cops. I requested them to first help me take Paakhi to the hospital, any hospital nearby and assured them of answering all queries that might rise.
In the ambulance, I was accompanied by one traffic cop and a bystander.
As we started moving towards an unknown hospital, Paakhi’s phone rang.
This time, I answered it.
The voice was familiar to me.
“I have been trying your number since one hour, where are you?” inquired the voice.
“I am taking her to the hospital. She has met with an accident”, I replied back.
“What? Where? And how did this happen? Which hospital are you taking her to?” questioned the voice.
I was myself clueless as to which hospital we were headed to so I looked at the cop. But the cop was himself on the phone inquiring about hospitals around.
“Who are you?” asked the voice.
“I am Abhiroop”, I replied.
“Are you not the one, I spoke to this morning?” he asked.
I said yes to his question.
“Give me your location, I will be there in one hour”, he replied angrily.
The ambulance stopped and the cop signaled me to get off the ambulance.
Paakhi suddenly opened her eyes and cried out a name which pierced my ear and heart too.
“Sanjeev”, she cried in pain. She then again slipped into unconsciousness.
The phone rang again.
“See Mister whoever you are, I am Sanjeev here. See to it that nothing happens to my Paakhi. And if you are the one who is responsible for this, let me tell you the worst is on its way”, he completed.
I was stunned, surprised and speechless about whatever was communicated to me over the phone.
The cop asked me something but I went blank and slipped into a strange state of silence.

- vociferous