Brutal (12 page)

A
urangzeb Road in Lutyens’ Delhi
, like the famous Kensington Palace Gardens of London, is often hailed as the richest road in India. The Birlas, Mittals, Jindals, Goenkas and some of the wealthiest people in the country have their ‘crown jewel’ properties in this part of the city. Their mansions stand in pride behind tall walls and hedges, comfortably secured from the much-detested world of common people.

But there are exceptions everywhere. Even on Aurangzeb Road.

One of the bungalows on the road is quite awkwardly named as Dharavi, the notorious slum in Mumbai, ridiculing the snobbery of the neighbours. The owner of the house probably wanted to remind the world of his origins.

The property is owned by the maverick business magnate named Anwar Shah, owner of the Centennium Group. With a combined turnover of more than $30 billion, it is one of the largest privately owned enterprises in India.

Century Corp is the media arm of Centennium Group, running a couple of film studios and a news channel, Century News, under the ‘Century’ banner. Anwar never wanted to carry a news channel under his belt. It didn’t fit well with his empire and also needed a different mindset to run. Besides, the margins were low and the competition was cut throat.

Century News was a part of Centennium Group only because of his sister, Diya Shah who was fascinated with an ailing news channel named
Sacchi Awaz
, run by some of the most respected journalists in the country. At one time, the channel used to be famous for its hard-hitting news and unbiased commentary, but slowly lost out to the new generation
masala
news channels. Anwar bought the news channel as a gift for her, not expecting any returns from the company. It was a toy for his kid sister to play with.

But quite contrary to his expectations, Diya turned around the news channel under its new name – Century News and it became one of the most popular news channels of India. It often swept the key prizes in award ceremonies for journalism.

Nonetheless, the fourth estate can rarely stay away from a crisis. Century News was going through one today. Its star reporter Seema Sharma had vanished while working on one of the stories. Diya was worried because in this profession, people who disappear often turned up later in body bags. She was upset with herself for not asking Seema in detail about her activities. She had probably come across some explosive revelations while working on the Nitin Tomar case.
What have you got yourself into? Where would I look for you now?

She was sitting in her brother’s private study, waiting for one of his early morning business meetings to end. She knew she was a bitch as a boss. But to her own surprise she had a compassionate heart for people who worked under her. Seema was a fighter who had helped Century News reach where it was today. She deserved to get some help.

“Why is my private study looking so wonderful today?” said Anwar, as he strode into the room with a broad smile. He opened his arms for Diya. “It has been so long since you stepped into this house.”

She hugged him.

“You know, I still miss your cooking,” he said. “Now that you are here, I’ll give my chefs a day off.”

“Sure,
bhaiya
,” Diya said, smiling.

“Now tell me. What pressing need brings you here?”

Her face grew serious. “You know why I am here. Don’t you?”

“One of your employees has disappeared.”

“Her name is Seema, our ace reporter. I think she rankled some anti-social elements while working on a story. She was last seen in a village near the Bandhavgarh forests in Madhya Pradesh.”

“Which story?”

“The Nitin Tomar case… the man killed a dozen children in cold blood. He himself was murdered a week ago. She was probably trying to find out who killed him.”

“You want me to help her family?”

“I don’t think she’s dead yet. You’ll have to help me find her.”

Diya looked at her brother. He was thinking.

“You surprise me sometimes, my little sister,” Anwar began, with an incredulous look on his face. “Diya, you remember what our father used to say sometimes? That my daughter would supersede my son in business. I couldn’t agree more. And look today, it’s me who is running this empire. You wanted to take a backseat. You wanted to pursue what your heart said. You’ve always been like that. Using your heart instead of your brain.”

He asked abruptly, “You know how many chemical plants we have?”

“18. Maybe 19,” Diya replied.

“25. We have 25 chemical plants employing more than ten thousand people. Every year, a few of them are lost to industrial accidents. It is unavoidable in hazardous businesses. We have insurance in place to take care of such situations. The reason why I’m telling you this is that an employer cannot keep running around to take care of every employee.”

“Seema is not just another employee. She has given my company a lot. Besides, she is a widow and has a little daughter. I can’t leave her amid the wolves.”

“What makes you think she’s alive?”

“She might not be. But I won’t sleep without ensuring I’ve done everything possible to bring her back.”

“What do you want from me, Diya?”

“Use your contacts. Use your power. Pull some levers.”

Anwar made a brooding face. He seemed to be exploring options.

“I’m going to call up a few top law enforcement officials. Let’s see what they can do.”

Diya nodded.
At least that’s a start.

“But promise me one thing. You’re not going to personally get into Seema’s investigation. These people look dangerous. You better stay away from them.”

“OK.”

S
eema opened
her eyes and winced, trying to fight the brightness piercing her eyes. She remembered passing out with nausea some time back. How long ago, she didn’t remember.
Maybe hours, maybe days.
She felt a cold sensation on her right hand. It turned out to be a handcuff, fastened to a shackle protruding from the floor.

Her eyes caught the figure of someone standing in front of her. It was an old man; tall and lean, his head almost touching the low height ceiling. He was wearing rimless glasses and was dressed impressively – a jet black suit, spotless white shirt and shiny black shoes.

“Mrs Seema. One of the top journalists of India. How does it feel to be caged like an animal?” the man sneered with a slightly nasal voice. His face bore an intellectual look, accentuated by his French cut beard and greying hair, which had retreated enough to make his temple look broader.

“So you’re the bastard who got me kidnapped?”

“Impressive statement. I expected a more common question from you, like ‘Where am I?’ or ‘Who are you?’ But now that you have asked me a different question, let me answer it like this…,” he said with a flowing language and a condescending tone, as if conducting an orchestra. “You’re not kidnapped. You are dead. Dead, the moment you entered this facility. The powers that be, wanted you dead immediately. But I convinced them of your value. You can be such an important subject for our… projects.”

Seema was confused. “Who are you?”

“That’s the last thing you should be worried about… considering that you are about to go through a … transformative experience,” he said with a cunning smile. “I am usually called by the name Doctor.”

“Dr Avneesh Chauhan?”

“Oh! You have done your research. But unfortunately, you kicked a hornet’s nest with your little curiosity and look where it brought you,” the Doctor said. “To answer your question, Dr Avneesh Chauhan is only a name. Just a channel for me to get access to subjects.”

“What kind of subjects?”

“Subjects for our clinical trials,” he said. Seeing her confused and at sea, he smiled and continued, “Ohhh… I’m so sorry. You don’t know what’s happening, do you? That’s good. That mitigates the risk of you telling someone else about all this. Let me now explain to you in very simple words what’s happening. We are testing a molecule on humans.”

“Molecule?”

“Yes. A molecule, which has now been achieved as a drug, both in solid and liquid formulations. We call it NB-67. What does it do? It makes you dream. Simple.” His smile widened. “Actually, it makes you fear. It makes you feel threatened. To a point that you can no longer escape. So you react. You react with the primeval instincts of the human species. You attack your enemy and finish him off. NB-67 wakes up the inner demons in you, buried in the recesses of your mind.”

Seema’s stomach started churning. She could feel herself being consumed by a terrible sense of fear.
Inner Demons. Are Nitin Tomar’s actions and Bandhavgarh killings related to NB-67?

“You look lost. Won’t you ask me why you’re here?” the Doctor questioned. “You’re here as a trial subject. The plan is to administer you with NB-67 and then monitor you. There are lingering problems with the efficacy of this drug. It’s quite selective. Almost at a genetic level. Many a time when the subject is on NB-67, the results are not as we like them to be. The drug fails to express itself and subject is unaffected. We are still trying to remove all such deficiencies in the drug. But don’t worry. In case we fail to see the desired effect in you, we’ll do something to make the game interesting.”

“Son-of-a-bitch. You’re going to rot in hell,” Seema screamed. She tried to grab the man’s collar, but was restrained by her shackles.

“Good to see you behave like that,” the man said, laughing. “It’s going to help us.”

“I’m finally getting what you bastards are up to. What you’re doing to me, you did to Nitin Tomar and Kunal Chaubey also. They were depressed. They were fighting with life. And you guys approached them with phony psychiatrists and administered them with your drug. They murdered innocents and you watched them. That must have been your eureka moment. Isn’t it?”

“Phony psychiatrists! That’s an insult, my dear,” he said. “Ever heard these words from the Bhagavad Gita? – ‘I am become death, the destroyer of worlds!’… There was only one psychiatrist. Me. I’m the father of this drug. It’s me who finds the subjects. It’s me who tells them to consume it. It has been only me all the way.”

“You’ve betrayed the trust of your patients…”

“Every drug has some side effect. So does every big mission.”

“What’s your mission?”

“That’s none of your business. You aren’t going to endure our trial anyways.”

Seema’s eyes started to swell with tears. She thought about Vidisha, who would be all alone in the world now.
You don’t deserve this, my child.

“Are you thinking about your daughter?”

Seema looked at him with rage.
Is the bastard reading my thoughts?

“Poor girl. How will she survive?” he taunted her with a sad face. “Both her parents dying horrible deaths. Really awful.”

“You’re going to pay for your deeds. I might be dead then, but remember what I say today. You’ll die in excruciating pain. There will be retribution for every horror you’ve committed.”

He didn’t reply. Just kept looking into Seema’s eyes with a smirk.

“I have a gift for you,” he said, pulling out a manila envelope from his coat pocket. He passed it to Seema, who hesitated for a moment, but couldn’t avoid taking it.

Seema looked at what was inside. It was a stack of photographs. She eased them out. Her eyeballs almost popped out on seeing the first photo.
Oh my God!
It was the severed head of a man she had met recently.
Dr Kalyan Ghosh.
Her hands began trembling. She quickly shuffled through the next few photos. All of them were images of Dr. Kalyan’s headless corpse, taken from different angles. She felt sick, but being a crime reporter, it wasn’t the first time she was looking at such photos. She tried to pull herself together.

However, the next photo gave her nothing short of a nervous breakdown. It was the picture of a completely mangled car taken from the front. A smashed skull was protruding from its shattered windshield. Her heart began thumping. The churning in her stomach grew worse.
No. No. Please, no.
She looked at the number plate.
No.
It was her husband’s car. The photo was of the horrific road accident in which Mohit had passed away.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” she screamed and tossed the photos at the Doctor’s face.

The man didn’t flinch. He was smiling.

“We administered you with NB-67 a couple of hours ago. But you’re a tough bitch. The drug failed to express itself within your body. As I told you before, I had a card up my sleeves to make this game interesting. We call it external stimulation. These photos have helped us achieve that. What I’ve shown you is absolutely nothing in comparison to what you’ll go through now. Good luck!” he said and left the room.

P
rakash was
the last man to leave Roshni Lodge. The trio had decided to move out one by one in different directions to avoid being trailed. The plan was to meet at the Ambala Cantt. Railway Station in two hours and take a train to New Delhi. That appeared to be the safest way out of this place.

Mrinal had gone to check out his car in spite of Prakash’s warning. It was just too much for him to dump his car in some alley. He wanted to place it in some car garage for repairs and come back for it when things cooled off.

It was a bright sunny day. Prakash walked on the road in front of the lodge for a few minutes and then sneaked into a narrow lane. He kept his pace normal. Any sign of panic could be a giveaway. The lane ended in another road leading up to the Grand Trunk road. He checked for any suspicious movement in the small betel shops, metal works shops and car-repair garages lined up on the road. An auto-rickshaw was coming his way. He signalled it to stop. It was time to visit the hotel he was previously checked in at Ambala. He had called up the reception at the hotel to pack-up his bag and send it downstairs.
Let’s hope everything goes well.

A
n auto-rickshaw
laboured past the heavy traffic on Jagadhari Road. The heat had steadily risen in the last few hours and it seemed to have rubbed off the driver the wrong way. He was cursing every obstacle on the road, be it living or non-living. In contrast, the passenger sitting behind him was feeling a lot lighter.

Kunal felt as if a ton of weight had been lifted off his chest. Consumed by the guilt of murdering his friends, he had seen his life become hell over the years. But now, he had the chance to redeem himself. He had put Prakash on the right track. Once they reached New Delhi, he would become an undercover source for him.
The devil will finally be defeated.

He recalled the hardships he had faced since that fateful night. After the gruesome turn of events, he could never gather the courage to return to his college. There was also no family to go back to. His parents were long dead. He couldn’t even claim their insurance money because he was believed to be dead or missing. Getting back to live a normal life was too risky.

So, he took up small time jobs of a driver, a waiter and an insurance salesman, often shifting bases from one part of the country to another. He had not been able to sleep peacefully a single day, often awakened by the slightest of sounds. One day, unable to bear the mental torture any more, he decided that enough was enough. He would find and bring to justice the men who destroyed his life.

He clenched his jaws with anger.
These bastards will be on TV soon. Open for vultures to feast on them. A lot of sins are going to be paid for.