Travails of a married man - Part 3

A fictional story by Prakash Subbarao (Prakash@3xus.com)

You’ve read parts I and II of this story, right? If you haven’t, you need to catch up, dude. It’ll be good for you. It will make it easy to understand this story. As David C. McCullough said: “History is a guide to navigation in perilous times. History is who we are and why we are the way we are”. Who is McCullough? The guy who made the statement, dude. That’s all you need to know at this stage.

To read Part I and II of the story, search for it on my blog:

(http://prakashsubbarao.blogspot.com).

Those who have read Part 1 & II and forgotten it, go back and re-read it. Do not pass GO, do not collect $200.

Those who remember it with clarity, uncomfortable or otherwise, read on………………..

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The cast so far:

Me

My wife: Sarita

My friend: Probir

His wife: Malini

His sister: Rani

The action is taking place circa 1986.

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There I am, one day, doing what I have to do at work. The time is 5 pm. For some strange reason I remember the time with great clarity. The phone rings. I pick up. I here someone whistling at the other end of the line. I am nonplussed. “Hello” I say. “Hi! This is Rani” a disembodied voice says at the other end of the line. “You asked me to whistle if I needed your help. I am whistling now. I desperately need your help”.

Memories start swirling in my brain. I remember the cool reception that I initially got from her. I remember the distant way she acted as “mum” at my daughter’s school at the time of admission when I needed a “wife” – she was distant with me but she charmed the principal and the staff! I remember the way we took off to have a drink when we were supposed to attend a wedding and how we blamed it on a punctured tyre. The memories come rushing back.

“What has happened, Rani” I ask, alarmed. There is a silence at the other end of the line. After some time I can hear the sounds of her sobbing. “When can you come to Bangalore?” she finally asks. “I am in deep trouble and cannot tell you over the phone. It’s a long story. I need help”.

“When would you like me to come?” I ask. “Will the weekend be OK”.

“No” she says. “That will be too late. Can you come tomorrow?”

Too late? Too late for what? I wonder…..

“OK” I tell her. “I’ll be there tomorrow”

I was on the early morning flight to Bangalore. In those days the first flight took off at 6 a.m. and one was in Bangalore by 7a.m. I was at the Taj Residency by 7.30 a.m. and called Rani by 8 a.m. “OK, so I am in Bangalore. Now tell me what the problem is”.

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

“Room 804 at the Taj Residency” I replied.

“I will be there in an hour” she said and hung up.

An hour later I heard a knock on the door. It was her.

She looked very harried and had dark circles under her eyes. She took out a packet of cigarettes and nervously lit one. Taking a deep drag, she looked at me with very pained eyes and said “I am in deep trouble”.

“What happened?” I asked her.

“Humph!” she snorted. “What happened? Nothing much happened! That fool of a father of mine suddenly remembered one day, some time ago that he has a friend in RAW. You know what RAW is, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, I know about it" I replied. “Go on”.

“My father phoned this friend, who is in Bombay, and told him on the phone about my problem. ‘Can you fix this problem for me? The IAS officer who married Rani must agree to a divorce. I will be eternally grateful if you can manage that” my father told him. “Yes, I can fix it” he said.

A few days later this person, Raj, was in Bangalore. He rang up and told my father that he would send a car over and to send me to meet him so that he could learn about the background directly from me. So I went. I thought that I was meeting a decent person, a friend of my father…………….”

She nervously took another long drag on the cigarette. The ash fell to the floor but neither of us noticed.

“He was staying at the West End. In a cottage. How can a guy who works for RAW afford such extravagance? Anyway, he was very nice and polite and heard me out and offered me dinner. After I had told him everything – I hid nothing back – he looked very thoughtful. “How badly do you want this divorce?” he asked me. “Very badly” I told him frankly. “Are you willing to do anything for it?” he asked. “Yes” I told him, without thinking. “Good” he said and smiled. He got up and came near me. He hugged me to him, holding me closely. He started fondling my breasts. “I can get you off. I can get you a divorce. I know how to twist the arm of your husband so that he will say ‘yes’ to the divorce on your terms. But I want you, my dear. Do I make myself clear?”

I was feeling wretched. I fought him and managed to get away. “Think about it” he said. “I can do what you want. I want a little something in return. It will be very easy. Trust me”.

“I have to think about it” I told him.

“Don’t take too long! I came to Bangalore only for you” he replied. “Meet me tomorrow, at 11 a.m. at my cottage” he said.

“When is that?” I asked.

“Today” she said. She looked at her watch. “In an hour from now”.

“OK” I told her briskly with a confidence that I didn’t feel. “Leave it to me. Go home and I will handle it. Don’t go to his cottage, whatever happens. OK?”

She nodded numbly. “What will you do?” she suddenly asked. “He is very powerful. Very dangerous. He can harm you”.

“Don’t worry about that” I told her.

After a cup of coffee she left. I could see a renewed sense of hope in her.

I brooded for a while. On an impulse I picked up the phone and dialled the number of the Taj West End. “Cottage 616 please” I told the operator. “One moment Sir” she said. A second later a very deep voice said “Hello!”

“Raj?” I asked.

“Yeah” the voice boomed.

“Raj, you are under surveillance” I said.

He didn’t appear fazed. “By whom?” he asked.

I just hung up.

That evening, at about 6 p.m. I got a call from Rani. “I want to meet you” was all she said. “Let’s go and have a drink”.

“OK” I said. I remembered vividly the last time that we had had a drink. This time I hoped she wouldn’t cry.

She was late and I waited for her at a pre-arranged spot. Soon I saw her drawing up in an auto. She paid off the auto driver and turned to me. Her eyes were wide as saucers and she was smiling from ear to ear. “What did you tell him?” she demanded.

“Who?” I asked, pretending not to understand.

“”Raj, you idiot!” she said, playfully punching me in the stomach.

“Nothing why?” I said.

“Because he’s on the run. He checked out from West End and rushed to the airport. I think he caught the first possible flight out of Bangalore. To Coimbatore, I think he said. He promised my father that he would do everything to help me. As a good family friend would. And I think he will. You scared the shit out of him. What did you say?”

“I told him “Raj, you’re under surveillance.”

“That’s all?” she asked incredulously.

“That’s all, Rani” I said. “Such people have a lot to hide. There was nothing else that I could think about so I just impulsively called him”.

Her eyes were sparkling. She was laughing. The world seemed so far away………………..

A few days later Raj delivered on his promise. Her husband, the IAS officer, agreed to a divorce.

A few months later, she was free of the marriage.

Her cousin Prasad flew down from the US. They announced to the elders that they were getting married. It was a firm announcement. No ifs and buts about it. The elders were silent. The silence was taken as consent.

Rani and Prasad were married a little later. She soon left Bangalore for the States. Before she left she called me. “Let’s get together sometime” she said.

That was way back in the 1986.

We never met again.

It is fourteen years later that I am writing this narrative. Strangely I have a sixth sense that I will run into her someday. I visualize it happening at a marriage of a mutual friend.

She will have her daughter with her. Not a son. A daughter. And she will tell the daughter “Say Hi to my old friend Uncle Prakash”.

And our eyes will exchange a secret message and smile.