DRIVE — part II

A year back…

When the taxi finally stopped at Apollo Bandar, Abhigyaan could feel his entire life being stripped apart into fragments. The Taj Towers was ablaze, the police had barricaded the area, and a confused cry of grief and terror blanketed the place. For the past 12 hours, he had not been able to get through Priyani's cell, and everytime he thought she would receive the call, he had met only with disappointment.

The police missions, encounters and other ventures never succeeded in weakening his spirits or courage, but the Deputy Commissioner of Kolkata police could now feel his legs tremble as he stood on the chaotic Mumbai street, watching the Mumbai police combat the belligerent attack on the city's oldest five star hotel.

A year later…

Srijit Roy Chowdhury stood in the basement car-park, smoking a cigarette, waiting for his friend to appear. He was about to take out his cell when Abhigyaan appeared at the entry ' his white pyajamas changed into denims, a dazzling silver Rolex watch shining on his right wrist with the kurta sleeves rolled up, and the archetypal rimless glasses back on his face.

'Ready to go Sirjee?' Srijit shouted.

'Yes reporter!' Abhigyaan laughed.

As the finally settled on the front seats of Srijit's golden SX4, Abhi took out his Dutch 9.4 revolver and kept in the dashboard.

'Man, what are you doing?' the sight of the revolver almost jolted out Srijit in surprise.

'What?' Abhigyaan adjusted his seat belt, 'this is my service revolver. I am entitled to carry it all the time.'

'Yeah, but this is just a casual drive.' Though this was not the first time the Senior Correspondent was seeing a gun, he had hardly planned for a drive tonight with a revolver in his dashboard!

'Once a cop, always a cop.' Abhigyaan winked at his friend.

'Yeah right,' Srijit dropped the argument and turned on the ignition of his car, 'especially when he is drunk.'

***

There's a different aura to Kolkata streets when they are rain-soaked. The best part is however the decreased amount of dust and traffic.

'Tera… hone laga hun…' Atif Aslam sang one of his latest chartbusters from the SX4 music player. Srijit adjusted the volume with his steering audio control.

'Change this song,' Abhigyaan spoke from his half laid position.

'This is a popular number man,' Srijit decreased the volume, 'and a melodious one as well.'

'First stop trying to remind me that I am a man,' Abhigyaan smirked, 'and change this song. I don't like this guy.'

'But…' Srijit tried to explain.

'The rules are mine,' the rejoinder came before Srijit could complete, 'You remember it, right? I am not in a mood to listen to a Muslim voice now.'

The tone and words silenced even the man known for his gift of gab. Srijit looked at his friend lying with the seat inclined, dumbfounded, and changed the track. Kaliash Kher sang out "Tu jaane na…"

***

They had stopped twice on their way. Once at Goutam's ' a food joint near Ultadanga for late night snacks and their cold coffee with ice cream, and the second time for a smoke on the by lanes of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Airport.

Abhigyaan sat upright, while the car cruised along, with his eyes shut. However, despite the loud music, he could hear Srijit's nail tapping the steering wheel occasionally. The smell of tanned leather in the air said they were crossing Tiljala.

Suddenly, he could hear a faint sound of an argument which soared as they gradually moved ahead. Srijit hadn't noticed the chaos but when Abhigyaan peeped out of the window, even he looked around.

Much to their surprise, they could see a middle aged lady and a young girl arguing with a truck driver, with a traffic police playing a hapless referee.

Srijit pushed his brakes but even before he could stop the car or say something, his partner had dashed out and was strolling towards the place or argument with the revolver tucked in his waist.

Srijit stopped the ignition and came out. By the time he could catch sight of the entire scene, the traffic police was explaining the situation to Abhigyaan. The young girl was almost in tears. However, the other lady who was presumably the mother had maintained her calm and putting up a strong fight. Srijit could see a Maruti Alto parked near the truck, the former with a headlight broken and a crumbled bonnet.

'But, you didn't even blow horn while coming out of the street,' the lady said.

'You know what the time is?' the truck driver didn't seem to bother the presence of the cops. As the discussion continued in Hindi, Srijit noticed the driver had a strong Jat accent with a physique about 3 inches taller and 5 inches broader than Abhigyaan. The lady, with Gujarati diction of speech, seemed too much in contrast in her petite frame.

'Mom had come to pick me up from airport,' the girl seemed to gain some strength in the presence of the two new men, 'we were returning home and his truck came out of the blue. We did blow horn but he didn't.'

'Civilised women don't return home at this time,' the driver's tone was that of sarcasm.

But the reaction that the comment generated was something none present at the scene could have guessed.

Abhigyaan's arm swung in a lightning speed, crashing on the driver's lower jaw and the giant Jat spun twice before collapsing on the street with a banging sound. Srijit could hear himself whistle as everyone gasped at the sudden turn in events. 'Get him in for the next week,' Abhi instructed the traffic police with an iron face as if nothing had happened, 'call police from the nearby station.' He turned at the two women, 'Avoid late night flights. Now, get back fast.'

Even before they could thank him, Abhigyaan was walking back towards the car ' a quckly lit Dunhill fine cut light dangling from his lips.

***

It was past midnight when the car breezed along the deserted city streets, the window shutters brought down to let in the drizzle.

Srijit had turned on the radio half an hour back. The baritone voice of the middle aged RJ permeated through the confines of the car, as he interjected the songs with anecdotes, conversation with callers and quotes of great people.

"The clock in my office shows 12:45," the RJ announced, "and the date  sends shivers down my spine. It's 26th November. Exactly a year after the black day of every Indian's calendar, 26/11, that tarred our lives and our memories forever.”

From the corner of his eye, Srijit could see Abhigyaan suddenly attentive to the announcement on air. He knew this was the last topic they would like to discuss tonight, in this drive. He pressed the tuner on his steering and changed the channel.

'Back,' Abhigyaan's voice was almost commanding.

'Abhi…'

'Back.'

Srijit shook his head and adjusted the tuner to the previous station. The RJ was continuing.

"The number of deaths was beyond our imagination. But, the ulterior motive was much more than the death; it was the terror that was injected in the minds of the people ' the helplessness, the fear of losing a loved one, the fear of facing death unprecedentedly. But, did the terrorists actually succeed in doing so? Do you think that they created a sense of panic which they aimed at? If yes, then why? Have we become cowards or have we started accepting that our system wouldn't ever do anything to protect us from the terrorists? If not, then why not? Have we actually started taking danger in our stride or have we started neglecting the deaths of others unless it happens to someone near and dear to us? I want you guys to call me up and answer…"

'Sensitisation, that's all they can,' Abhigyaan looked outside and brought out a cigarette while the RJ repeated his phone numbers asking listeners to call in and voice their opinions, 'all they want to do is survive on dramatisation.'

Srijit braked the car and pulled it to halt. Abhigyaan thrusted it open and almost burst out into tears. Srijit released his seat belt and turned to console his best friend.

'They don't realise what those people go through,' the vulnerable DCP complained, 'who lost everything that night.'

'Don't do this to yourself man,' Srijit rubbed his hand on his friend's back.

'I feel like…' Abhigyaan couldn't complete his sentence. His jaws tightened and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Srijit felt miserable for his friend. He had seen Abhigyaan trying to put up with the trauma for the past one year. But, what was about to happen in the next half an hour was something he could have thought he they started on this drive. He didn't know that for the rest of his life he was going to wish he had not stopped the car at that place.

Half a mile away, a couple was approaching them on a bike. Riyaaz and Salma!

To be continued in the concluding part…