Chapter 16: Takraar (Confrontation)

2005

The cost arrived. The cost that Bharati had predicted — "keemat hamesha hoti hai" — the cost arrived not as a single event but as a convergence, the convergence of three forces that had been moving toward each other for twenty-seven years and that were, in 2005, approaching the intersection.

Force one: Samaira. Samaira who had found Vandana. Samaira who had the promise. Samaira who was, in 2005, fifty-three years old and who had been investigating for twenty-seven years and who was — Samaira was close. The close that the investigator felt before the close was confirmed, the feeling being: the data is converging, the threads are thinning, the answer is near. The near that was — the near was: Samaira had traced the journalist. Rohini Deshmukh. The journalist who had broadcast the Prerna Pharmaceuticals story. The journalist who had received the evidence from an anonymous source. The anonymous source who was — Samaira's instinct said — connected to the network. The network that had taken Lata. The network that Samaira had been chasing for twenty-seven years.

Samaira contacted Rohini. The contacting that was — the contacting was professional. Investigator to journalist. The professional courtesy that existed between the two professions: both seekers of truth, both operating in the space between what the system knew and what the system hid, the space that was their shared territory.

"Tumhe Prerna ka evidence kisne diya?" Who gave you the Prerna evidence?

"Source confidential hai," Rohini said. The journalist's reflex — the reflex that was correct and that was legal and that was the wall that journalists built around their sources the way Kaveri built walls around her shelter's residents.

"Main jaanti hoon ki source confidential hai. Main yeh nahi pooch rahi ki kaun hai. Main pooch rahi hoon: kya yeh source ek woman thi? Young? Thirty-something? Marathi-Hindi bolti thi? Koi naam nahi diya?" I know the source is confidential. I'm not asking who. I'm asking: was the source a woman? Young? Thirty-something? Spoke Marathi-Hindi? Gave no name?

Rohini's silence. The silence that was — the silence was the confirmation. The silence that said: you are describing the person accurately and my silence is the confirmation that I cannot give verbally because the giving-verbally would be the breach and the breach is the thing I cannot do.

"Dhanyavaad," Samaira said. Thank you. The thank-you that was: enough. The silence was enough. The silence confirmed: the network's operative — the operative who had given Rohini the Prerna evidence — was a woman, young, Marathi-Hindi speaking, no name. The description that matched the pattern that Samaira had been building for twenty-seven years: the network was run by women, the network operated across central and western India, the network's operatives were invisible.

Force two: Dinesh Rao. Rao who had been arrested and who had been released on bail (the bail being the system's consistency — the system that released violent husbands on bail and that released drug manufacturers on bail, the releasing being the system's default and the default being the thing that the network existed to counter). Rao who was out and who was — Rao was angry. The anger of a man who had been exposed and whose exposing had cost him: his factory (closed), his political protection (Reddy defeated), his reputation (the media's three-week cycle having imprinted Rao's name on the public consciousness as "Haldhar manufacturer"). Rao was angry and Rao was looking — looking for the source of the exposure. The source that had disrupted his supply chain and that had given the evidence to the journalist and that was — Rao's investigation (funded by the wealth that the Haldhar production had generated and that Rao had wisely distributed across untraceable accounts) was cruder than Samaira's investigation but was, in its crudeness, more dangerous, because Rao's investigation was not seeking justice. Rao's investigation was seeking revenge.

Force three: Inspector Deshpande. Deshpande who had been the competent-dangerous investigator in 1987 and who was, in 2005, retired — but whose retirement had not ended his interest. Deshpande who had been the one police officer who had seen the pattern and who had, in his retirement, continued to maintain his files (the files being the particular obsession that investigators developed and that retirement did not cure, the cure being nonexistent because the obsession was not a disease but a condition, the condition being: I saw something, the something was real, the something was never resolved, and the unresolving is the thing I cannot let go).

Deshpande contacted Samaira. In 2005. The contacting being — Deshpande had heard of Samaira. The hearing being: the investigator's network, the informal chain of investigators who knew investigators who knew investigators, the chain that had produced the original referral (Pradhan to Samaira, twenty-seven years ago) and that now produced the convergence (Deshpande to Samaira, the convergence of the retired inspector and the obsessed investigator).

"Aapko network ke baare mein pata hai?" Deshpande asked. On the phone. The STD call that was now cheaper (the telecommunications revolution having reduced the eight-rupees-per-minute to two-rupees-per-minute, the reduction being the particular Indian progress that made obsession more affordable). Do you know about the network?

"Haan." Yes.

"Mujhe bhi pata hai. 1987 se. Main unhe pakad nahi paaya — woh badal gaye. Lekin — main jaanta hoon ki woh real hain. Aur ab — Prerna case ke baad — main sochta hoon ki woh bade ho gaye hain. Sirf bacche nahi nikalte — drugs ke against bhi kaam karte hain." I know too. Since 1987. I couldn't catch them — they changed. But — I know they're real. And now — after the Prerna case — I think they've grown. Not just extracting children — working against drugs too.

"Aap kya chahte hain?" What do you want?

"Main unhe dhuundhna chahta hoon. Aap bhi dhuundh rahe hain. Saath mein dhuundhein?" I want to find them. You're looking too. Shall we look together?

The together. The together that was — the together was the convergence. The convergence of the retired inspector and the obsessed investigator, the two people who had been looking for the same thing from different directions and who were now, in 2005, close enough that the together-looking would be faster than the separate-looking.

Samaira agreed. The agreeing that was — the agreeing was the acceleration. The investigation that had been Samaira's alone for twenty-seven years was now Samaira-and-Deshpande's, the adding of Deshpande bringing the police files (the files that Deshpande had maintained, the files that contained the evidence that the police had gathered in 1987 and that the police had not followed up on and that Deshpande had kept) and the police contacts (the contacts that Deshpande maintained, the maintaining being: retired police officers maintained contacts the way retired generals maintained networks, the maintaining being the habit that the profession installed and that retirement did not uninstall).

*

The convergence produced: the Satpura lead.

Not immediately — the lead came through a chain of connections that Deshpande's files provided. The chain being: a report from 1987 that mentioned a "suspected hideout in forested area, Hoshangabad district, MP" — the report that Deshpande had written and that the police had not followed up on because the police had not had the resources and the not-having was the system's chronic condition. The report that said: the network has a base in the forest. The forest being — the Satpura range. Hoshangabad district being the district that contained the Satpura hills.

Samaira and Deshpande went to Hoshangabad. Together. The going that was — the going was the expedition. The expedition of a fifty-three-year-old investigator and a sixty-seven-year-old retired inspector, the two of them in a rented Maruti 800 on the roads of Madhya Pradesh, the roads that were — the roads were the Indian-road experience: partly paved, partly not-paved, the not-paved being the majority, the majority producing the particular driving experience that Indian roads provided: slow, bumpy, the body being shaken the way a mixer-grinder shook, the shaking being the physical cost of Indian investigation.

They did not find the camp. The not-finding being — the not-finding was the network's success. The network's camp had been moved. Moved in 2004, after the Prerna operation, the moving being Bharati's precaution, the precaution that said: the Prerna operation exposed us (partially), the exposure requires the change, the change is the survival.

The camp had moved from Satpura to — the camp had moved to Panchgani. The hill station in Maharashtra. The hill station that was, in the network's strategic thinking, the better location: closer to Pune (where Kaveri's shelter was), closer to Mumbai (where the network's operations were increasingly focused), and more populated (the population being, paradoxically, the hiding-place — the city being the place where invisibility was easier than the forest because the city had more people and the more-people was the cover).

But Samaira and Deshpande found evidence. Not the camp — the evidence of the camp. The evidence being: the clearing in the Satpura hills where the camp had been. The clearing that showed the signs of habitation: the fire-pit (cold, months-old, the ashes compressed by rain), the flat rock by the stream (the rock where Chinmay had played harmonium and where Leela had learned harmonium and where Raju had listened), the cellar (the cellar where Lata had spent five days in darkness, the cellar now empty, the emptiness being the particular desolation of a place that had been lived-in and that was now abandoned, the abandonment being the evidence that life had been here and was now gone).

"Yahan the," Deshpande said. Standing in the clearing. The clearing that was — the clearing was beautiful. The Satpura beauty that was indifferent to human occupation and human abandonment, the beauty that continued regardless: the stream running, the canopy providing shade, the birds singing (the coppersmith barbet still tonking, the tonking being the constant that human presence and human absence did not affect).

"Haan. Yahan the. Ab nahi hain." Yes. They were here. They're not here now.

"Kahan gaye?" Where did they go?

"Pata nahi. Lekin — yeh evidence hai ki woh real hain. Yeh camp real hai. Twenty-seven years of evidence, aur ab — yeh jagah. Yeh jagah kehti hai: they were here. They lived here. They operated from here." I don't know. But — this is evidence that they're real. This camp is real. Twenty-seven years of evidence, and now — this place. This place says: they were here. They lived here. They operated from here.

Samaira stood at the stream. The stream that she did not know was the stream where Leela had learned harmonium. The stream that she did not know was the stream where Bharati and Chinmay had married. The stream that she did not know was the stream where Keshav made chai every morning for twenty-six years. The stream that was — the stream was running. The water that did not stop. The water that went somewhere and came from somewhere and that was, in its running, the particular persistence that matched Samaira's own: I do not stop. I continue. The continuing is the thing.

She took a photograph. Of the clearing. Of the stream. Of the flat rock. The photograph that went into the file — the file that was now a box that was now two boxes, the two boxes being the twenty-seven years of evidence that Samaira had accumulated and that was, she felt, approaching the critical mass, the mass that would, when achieved, produce the answer.

The answer was: where is Lata Jadhav?

The answer was close.