Three Bargains: A Novel (34 page)

“Your father is crazy,” Preeti said, cradling Arnav in her arms and settling down on the study’s couch. “It’s a good thing he can’t take you with him to the office or to meetings or on business trips, or Mama would get no time with you.”

The maid smiled too. “Memsaab, you’re right. Saab would put him in his briefcase and take him if he could,” she said.

“We have to enroll him in a school. There are such long waiting lists,” Preeti said to Madan. To Arnav she added, “And what will your papa do when you start school? Poor Papa won’t be able to drop in and see you anytime then.”

“Which schools?” Madan said, already worried as well. His son would have the best of schools. “Give me a list. I’ll start on it right away.”

“I can do it,” Preeti said with a laugh.

Arnav could not fight off his sleep any longer and the maid took him up to his room. Preeti had chosen the name Arnav after an intense search, and though she had consulted Madan about a host of baby names, he never felt any particular affinity for any of her suggestions, until she said Arnav, and it fit. Ketan-bhai rocked him in his arms and agreed, “Yes, he is Arnav, the vast ocean, and like his name he will immerse you in waves of his love.” It was the truest thing Madan had ever heard.

Landing in Mumbai always made Madan glad he had ended up in Delhi, and not this sludgy seaside city. The information Madan had shared with the detective agency proved invaluable. It hadn’t taken them long to locate Dhiru Sood, now a prosperous dealer of diamonds and semiprecious stones in Mumbai’s Zaveri Bazaar. Shortly after Arnav’s birth, Madan had called Dhiru Sood to remind him of who Madan was. Dhiru Sood, whose skin had slackened and belly had grown, had not forgotten. He came to the airport to pick Madan up, taking him to his house for lunch.

“Forgive me,” Dhiru Sood said, when Madan caught him staring at him yet again. “It’s hard for me to believe you’re the same boy from Gorapur.”

Madan indulged Dhiru Sood’s reminisces, bringing him up to speed as to Madan’s reasons for seeking him out. He was here for Dhiru Sood’s vast tracts of ancestral land on the outskirts of Gorapur. Though Avtaar Singh had claimed the land for his own, for all intents and purposes the land still belonged to Dhiru Sood. The township of Jeet Megacity would rise from this land.

Dhiru Sood was cautious at first, becoming more intrigued as the scope of the project sank in. “Will Avtaar Singh allow it? If this big city comes up next to his, what will happen to Gorapur? The influx of people from the outside who don’t give a damn who Avtaar Singh is will bring big changes to the area. These new people will have their own ideas and ways of doing things, and will not give him or his town the importance he’s used to. And who will want to live in Gorapur with Jeet Megacity offering jobs, and security, and a life where they don’t have to be beholden to Avtaar Singh? Gorapur will be reduced to a dusty village, sucked dry of its people and its influences.”

“He can’t stop us,” Madan assured him. “We have the political will on our side, we have the financial backing, we have resources and we have the manpower to get it done.”

“You don’t need to give me this salesmanship talk,” Dhiru Sood said. “I understand what you’re doing. Avtaar Singh is Gorapur, and Gorapur is Avataar Singh. You destroy one, it’s the same as getting them both.”

Dhiru Sood wasted little time accepting Madan’s offer. “Of course,” said Dhiru Sood, nervously touching the spot where the bullet had struck him. “A shot to the heart would be quicker. But you’ve decided to give him a long, slow death.” Dhiru Sood signed and transferred the yellowing title papers to the Jeet Megacity project. Madan promised Dhiru Sood a share in the township project for his children. He shook Madan’s hand and folded Madan into a tight embrace as he took his leave.

That was seven years ago now. Avtaar Singh did not give up Dhiru Sood’s land easily. Assuming that Dhiru Sood was fodder for the field rats, Avtaar Singh hadn’t bothered to issue another title, but had paid revenues on the land, which he believed made him the de facto owner after all these years. He was angry and stupefied to find himself fighting for what he had thought was his. With revenue records in hand, Avtaar Singh’s lawyers swept into court to contest the title, but the lawyers for Jeet Megacity, with the original title papers, fought back.

Madan spent his days plotting with the lawyers, and lying in bed at night he wondered if Avtaar Singh was up as well, gazing unseeing into the dark fields, puzzling out Dhiru Sood’s reappearance. When Avtaar Singh realized that the only way Jeet Megacity Enterprises could have got the title papers was from Dhiru Sood himself, did he question who had let him down so long ago? Did he think back, and recall who had sauntered into his office to assure him that Dhiru Sood would never trouble Avtaar Singh again, that he was no more than a corpse rotting under the cornstalks? It should not take Avtaar Singh long to recall. It had been Madan.

It was a late Delhi afternoon, heavy clouds and the monsoon breezes tempering the heat of a particularly scorching summer, when Madan heard Avtaar Singh had withdrawn his case. Perhaps he realized a corporation of the size of Jeet Megacity would not give up easily and there was no point in paying lawyers to drag out the case in court for years to come. Or perhaps it may have been the additional pressure by Jeet Megacity lawyers who threatened to lodge other cases against Avtaar Singh for fraud and criminal intimidation. Dhiru Sood, they told Avtaar Singh, was willing to appear in court to give witness. Avtaar Singh capitulated, postulating that he had better things to do with his time than argue over an inconsequential piece of land. The team celebrated the news in Madan’s office. Madan wanted to warn the revelers to remain vigilant. This was but the first skirmish. Avtaar Singh would not disappear so easily.

Finally they began laying ground. As Madan had planned, Ketan-bhai became the public face of the Jeet Megacity project, talking to the press and overcoming hurdles on the ground. “Why don’t you do it?” he said once to Madan. “Didn’t you say you spent some time in your childhood in this area?”

Madan had deflected, saying that Ketan-bhai was much better at dealing with such matters than himself. He had done his utmost to ensure that when Avtaar Singh dug deeper into the provenance of Jeet Megacity, he would not find any connection to the Madan he had known over two decades ago. He had listed Preeti as a major shareholder instead of himself.

Going over the progress a few months after construction began, Madan noticed the first real casualty of the behemoth that would be Jeet Megacity. Guru Gianchand’s akhara had disappeared from the map, demolished, the land cleared for what would take its place.

Avtaar Singh’s response came swiftly, beginning with a project manager pulled out of his car and roughed up enough for him to quit while recovering in the hospital. The harassment continued. Equipment vandalized while guards or workers who were supposed to be on the lookout made themselves scarce, allowing property damage, labor strikes, work stoppages and financial losses. Then reports came of a large fire that consumed two godowns, one on the north side of the construction site and the other on the west. Both contained large quantities of construction material. Madan could not stand any more delays. He waited for the time when Jeet Megacity would be ready. He could feel Avtaar Singh urging him on, pushing him for completion so they could face one another again. Yet, perversely, it was Avtaar Singh who stood in the way, causing problems.

And so, unbeknownst to Ketan-bhai, Madan met up with Sourav in a hotel bar. Ketan-bhai would not approve of what Madan was going to ask of Sourav, who was on his second martini, olives tossed aside in disgust, when Madan brought up Jeet Megacity.

“I understand this is a big problem,” Sourav said. “For someone like Avtaar Singh, this is war. We are threatening his domain, and he’ll do all he can to disrupt us. There are no rules in a battle like this. One way or another, Avtaar Singh wants to win. Ketan-bhai is well meaning, but his ways will have no effect on Avtaar Singh.”

Ketan-bhai had wanted to buy Sourav out some time ago, but Madan resisted cutting Sourav loose. He and Sourav shared more than their recent affiliation. Sourav could have grown up in Gorapur. Madan could see Sourav hanging out with Jaggu and the rest of the boys, playing truant from school, living for the next cricket match, ending up every evening in Avtaar Singh’s office, grateful for any word, any sentiment Avtaar Singh deigned to bestow.

Madan said, “I need someone to show Avtaar Singh that we’ll reply in kind to any nuisance he creates for us. Show him in a way that he’ll understand that any losses on our side will mean losses for him. Don’t get us any undue attention, but you know what needs to be done.”

Sourav nodded. “I see what you’re getting at. I’ll have my nephews send their people. They’ve been helping me take care of my concerns in Punjab.” Madan had scant knowledge of Sourav’s large clan, spread over Haryana and Punjab. Sourav, as the most ambitious and educated of the lot, headed their family business, and one could forget the web of brothers and uncles and cousins running and helping with the different arms of his organization. “My nephews, they’re young guys, in their early twenties, full of action, running around town with their guns and cars. Better they make trouble where I tell them to, than cause me trouble.”

“Make sure they understand my concerns. These young boys can be quite hotheaded, and I don’t want any more problems than we already have,” said Madan.

Sourav finished his drink and signaled for another. “You worry too much,” he said.

“
P
APA?” MADAN HEARD AS HE SLIPPED ON HIS JACKET.
“Papa?” He turned to see Arnav peering around the dressing room door.

“What are you doing up?” Madan asked. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

Arnav grinned. “I’m hungry.”

Madan shook his head ruefully and tousled his son’s hair. Arnav would be turning nine in a few months and Madan could no longer lift him up into his arms with one big sweep. Even now Arnav protested when anyone hugged him tight or treated him like a baby.

“Your mother is going to be upset to see you out of bed,” said Madan.

“Why can’t I come to your party, Papa?” asked the boy.

Indeed, Madan himself would have preferred to spend the evening with Arnav instead of half of Delhi. He didn’t think it appropriate for a forty-two-year-old man to have a birthday party, but Preeti, who couldn’t let the chance for any celebration slip by, had insisted. “A small party,” she’d promised. “Eighty people at the most.” From the preparations outside, he could see that the guest list would far exceed that number.

“I want that cake,” Arnav said, pointing to the sheet of frosted cake sitting on a separate table. His entreaty caught at Madan’s heart. Madan thought of Swati, with her swinging braids and incessant demands. If she could see Arnav now. His heavily fringed eyes were Preeti’s, but in other mannerisms and features, he was all Madan. Swati would have lost her girlish braids by now, but whatever the changes that had come with age, he would know her instantly, he was sure of it. Would she recognize Madan if she saw him? Would she see Madan in her nephew’s features, if she knew him?