Valley of Death Page 3

  His temper rose, when he saw his wife glued to the phone, instead of getting dressed to go to the marriage, about which he had told her in advance. That was perhaps the reason why he spoke to her in a harsher manner that he had intended. A headstrong person that she was, Payal matched the bitterness of her husband’s voice and an argument ensued, which snowballed into a major fight. Her list of complaints about Abhay’s shortcomings and faults was even longer, which she delivered in a heart-puncturing and blood-boiling efficiency. Abhay’s anger, in turn, made her fury inflate like a giant balloon before it exploded.

  She ran into the room with the temple and slammed the door so hard that it was a miracle that it didn’t fell off its hinges. Abhay was also infuriated and shouted at her from outside the bolted door, albeit failing to evoke any response from her side. In the worst of moods, he got ready to go to the wedding; before he left he stood on a chair and looked inside the room through the ventilator above the door. He saw Payal sitting before the statue of Goddess Kali, next to which was kept the talisman given to her by Tantrik Bharoo. She had lit a jyoti (oil soaked cotton bud) before the idol, the flame from which rose and flickered like the tongue of a serpent. In its light, Payal’s face shone in a strange hue, as she sat with her long hair open and in a trance-like state with her burning eyes transfixed into a void. He didn’t know why, but Abhay felt spooky; she was a far cry from Payal he knew. She seemed to have been transformed into a mysterious Bengali woman deeply involved in occult and black magic, a scary stranger whom he didn’t recognize and towards whom he didn’t felt any affinity.

  It was thus that he was driving his car in Connaught Place, cursing the harrowing traffic jam. But the nightmarish evening was far from over; his car abruptly stopped at a red light and after he failed to get it started, he had to get down and push it aside to let the vehicles behind him pass, whose drivers were continuously honking their horns. He turned the key into the ignition many times, with the car standing next to the pavement, but to no avail. He opened the bonnet, but couldn’t find anything amiss, which made him kick the tyre in frustration. He stood undecided next to his car, as the vehicles sped past him; an endless row of shining headlights, a dazzling stream of lights.

  An S.U.V. stopped in front of his ‘Esteem’ car, and its driver came out; Abhay saw that it was Rudolf Schönherr! The latter boldly walked up to him and thrusting out his hand said cheerfully, “Abhay; how are you, my friend? Any trouble with the car?” He inquired.

  Abhay shook his hand absentmindedly and replied, “Yes, the engine is not starting.”

  “Let me take a look at it,” Rudolf said and turned the key into the ignition, but the result was a dud. “Looks like the battery is dead; no problem, I’ll call the car helpline and they’ll fix it up,” he said taking out a stylish, imported mobile, which was not yet available in the Indian market and which cost a small fortune and called a number. “Come; let us sit in my car until those people arrive.”

  He was so courteous, friendly and helpful that Abhay could not refuse him and winding up the window and locking his car he went with him. He sat on the same seat of Rudolf’s Toyota Pardo on which Payal had sat when the former had taken her to his farmhouse. Not realizing it, Abhay looked appreciatively at the well-decorated interiors of the car, inhaling the sweet lavender fragrance of the car-perfume, as Rudolf switched on the air conditioner and compact disc player. As the soft music filled the car, which was cooled by the powerful air conditioner, Rudolf offered him a cigarette and lit it with a gold lighter. He himself also lit a cigarette and threw out the smoke from his nose like an old smoker.

  “Where are you going Abhay? He asked.

  “Taj Man Singh Hotel,” Abhay answered, “to attend the marriage of a colleague.”

  “Don’t tell me!” Rudolf was surprised. “I’m also going there; what a coincidence! You are a friend of Mohit, the bridegroom?”

  “No; I have been invited by the bride Anjali, who works in my office.”

  “And the elder brother of the bridegroom is a friend of mine. It’s a small world, no?”

  The Maruti van of the car helpline arrived and after checking the car, they told Rudolf that the battery of the vehicle had been discharged. Since they didn’t have a spare battery for the Esteem car, they would have to call their control room and ask for the same. It would take at least half an hour for another van to come and change it. Rudolf told them to deliver the car at the Taj Man Singh Hotel, after replacing the battery, and to bring the original battery of the car, after recharging it, at Abhay’s Connaught Place office on the next day. After which he drove towards the venue of the wedding.

  Abhay was yet again impressed by the personality of Rudolf Schönherr; like he had been the first time he had met him. Wearing a well-tailored suit with expensive crocodile skin shoes with high heels, he was looking even more handsome than he did on his television show. He drove aggressively, yet extremely skilfully on the traffic-filled roads, circling the brilliantly lit India Gate.

  His car seemed an extension of himself; the way he manoeuvred it in the traffic jam, the front and rear bumpers of his Toyota Prado cleared the other cars neatly, at a distance of merely a few inches. Though he was himself a good driver, Abhay could only dream of that kind of masterly driving.

  “Congrats buddy! I heard that you got married to a former student of mine. You both forgot to invite me, didn’t you? Never mind, I wish you all the happiness.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Schönherr,” said Abhay unenthusiastically.

  “What’s the matter pal, you look ill at ease?” Rudolf asked with a smile, as their car came out of the jam and negotiated a roundabout. “If you fear that I will use this occasion to ask you to become a mediator and help me reach a settlement with Payal, chill out! I know quite well that the woman you have married is an obstinate person, and also unreasonable, if I may so. It is said that three kinds of stubbornness can’t be overcome - Istri hath, Bal hath, and Raj hath, viz. the stubbornness of a woman, child or government.”

  Abhay was unwittingly reminded of the obstinacy and unreasonableness that Payal had shown that very evening. “I am afraid that I can’t be of any help to you in this matter,” he said.

  “As I said, I don’t want to drag you between the two of us. And whether you believe it or not, I have always looked upon you as my friend; I believe that the fraternity of us Punjabis is one big family and by that extension I consider you, a fellow Punjabi as my younger brother,” he said acting extremely sincere. “I have often wondered how a North Indian like you fell for that Easterner?”

  “When two people love and are committed to each other, an inter-caste, inter-region or even inter-religion or inter-race marriage can be successful.”

  “Really?” Rudolf said acting surprised as he momentarily took off his eyes from the road ahead.

  The rest of the journey was completed in silence and it was about half an hour after they had reached the venue of the marriage ceremony that Rudolf rejoined Abhay. As they both eat delicious non-vegetarian snacks, washing it down with imported whiskey, Rudolf said, “Abhay; I speak only as your well-wisher. Did you make any inquiries about Payal before you got married to her?”

  “What was there to inquire? She’s a beautiful young woman, well-educated, intelligent and hails from a decent family.”

  “Ah! But she’s a Bengali, you forget, and these people are totally different from us Punjabis. We are large-hearted, sometimes loud, but never secretive; our lives are like open books, whether we love or hate someone, we admit it frankly. But your wife hails from a markedly opposite culture, with its own set of values, ethos, and way of life. Not just the food habits, interests, but also the manner of the upbringing of children, behaviour, and way of life of Bengalis has little in common with us. If your Parents were alive or you had an elder relative or sibling, perhaps they could have cautioned you or at the very least could have got the girl’s background or ascendants checked before marriage, as is the prevalent practice.”


  “Aren’t you saying all these things because you hate my wife?” Abhay asked him bluntly.

  “Thank you Mr. Abhay; it was nice talking to you, have a pleasant evening. Before I leave let me apologize for my mistake of thinking of you as my friend and younger brother and being concerned about your well-being. I assure that I’ll not do so in the future,” Rudolf said acting deeply hurt and turned away.

  “I didn’t want to be rude, Rudolf,” he said hurriedly. Being a thorough gentleman, he didn’t want to upset the man who had helped him only an hour ago.

  “I admit Abhay that I am no admirer of your wife, but that is not the reason I mentioned all these things to you. My line of business is such that I have to travel widely and I come across a cross-section of people from the varied background on a daily basis. I am also older and more experienced than you; particularly when it comes to women. I meet more than half a dozen girls like Payal on any given day and hence am not over-impressed by their physical beauty.”

  “Payal and you had a troubled professional relationship; I would not argue here all that she has said about you in her complaint to the Police. But that does not mean that she is not a good person; or that Bengalis are not decent people!” Abhay pronounced emptying his third glass of whiskey.

  Rudolf handed him a new glass, which he picked from the tray of the waiter he had called with the motion of his left hand. In a patient and unhurried manner, he replied, “The problem with you my man is your inexperience with women; you fell for the first pretty face you saw. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that she had used black magic or occult charm on you; these Bengalis are worshippers of Goddess Kali and are great believers in supernatural and Tantriks,” Rudolf said trampling on Abhay’s raw nerve.

  The latter was reminded of the day he saw a blind Tantrik giving Payal a talisman, which she had tried to hide from him and her mysterious transformation that evening. He stared at Rudolf foolishly and felt slight tremors in the supposedly rock-hard surface, on which stood the castle of his belief in his marriage. It took him a little while to recover from his state of self-doubt; but the seeds of suspicion had been planted, ebbed deeply in is mind.

  “Rudolf! My friend!” A man came and warmly embraced him.

  “This is my buddy Rohit Mirchandani; and Rohit, meet Abhay Batra,” said Rudolf making the introduction.

  After shaking hands with Abhay, Rohit turned to Rudolf and said in an excited voice, “Did I tell you that that Bengali woman had an affair back in Shimla and one in Kolkata before she came to you? The private detective, which your lawyer hired for a background check of the case says that she’s a characterless woman who-”

  “Rohit!” Rudolf said in a scolding voice, “Looks like you had too much to drink.”

  “What has that got to do with the fact that-”

  “Did I tell you,” Rudolf yet again interrupted him in the middle, “that Abhay has recently married a former student of mine; Ms. Payal Chatterjee,” he said peering at his friend meaningfully.

  “What! This...this…you mean with ‘that’ Payal!” Rohit said acting flabbergasted.

  “See you later Abhay; come to Rohit,” said Rudolf pulling away from his friend by his arm.

  But the effort came too late; it was as easy as putting two and two together for Abhay. He was unwittingly reminded of how many blank calls came at his home when the person did not respond upon hearing his, Abhay’s voice. And the caller identification device built in the phone showed that such calls came as far away as Kolkata and Shimla. Payal always feigned ignorance and denied knowledge of who could have made such calls and why did the caller disconnected upon hearing a male voice.

  But Abhay was still willing to give his wife, who he loved so much, the benefit of the doubt. His faith in her resurfaced; maybe he was letting his imagination run wild; he tried to reason with himself, despite all that he had heard. His Payal could not betray him; damn that Rudolf and his friend – he told himself and finishing his glass went to eat the buffet dinner. The mechanic from the car helpline came and handed him the keys of his Esteem car and Abhay went out after meeting the married couple and greeting the parents of the bride, the hosts of that function, but avoiding to run into Rudolf again. He came out of the Hotel and sat in his car; despite having three pegs of whiskey, he drove away his car in a responsible manner.

  He was fully in control of his faculties and was driving in a sombre mood when a large truck carrying cars overtook him from the wrong side; his gripped the steering wheel tightly to steer it away. He was horrified when he felt the car shaking and steering wheel slipping out of the grip of his hands; by the time he had reached New Rohtak road. His car swung dangerously to the right, he saw a street pole swinging towards him, followed by deafening noise and crashing of the windscreen into thousands of flying splinters, as he fell unconscious out of panic and shock.

  When he regained consciousness, Abhay saw that he was lying on a sagging charpoy (cot) at the roadside, surrounded by a crowd. The unfamiliar faces of Truck and tempo drivers, people from tea-stalls and dhabas (roadside restaurants), labourers and those who lived in the vicinity were looking down at him. He saw that his suite was torn from many places and he had bruises all over his body. Blood had come out from a cut in his head, where the steering wheel had hit him and its stains were visible on his shirt and suite. His tie hung loosely around his neck and someone had tied a cloth on his head to stop the blood from oozing out of the wound.

  “What happened Baujee (Sir)? Are you all right? Thank God that you didn’t lose your life in the accident. You are very lucky; you must have done some good deeds in your past life to have survived!” Those were the kind of things that were said to Abhay, who experienced dizziness and shooting pain in his arms and a splitting headache.

  “Where’s my car?” He asked as people helped him to get up.

  The crowd moved sideways and made space for him to look at the road. His mouth hung open in astonishment when he saw his car, which had climbed the divider in the middle of the road and had crashed into the electric pole. The bonnet and engine had taken the brunt of the impact, the headlight was also broken, both the windscreen and rear glass were gone, pieces of its splintered glass were strewn all over the road. The front bumper, bonnet, and engine had been pushed inside on the impact and the front section of the car resembled a crushed matchbox. The yellow light of one of the indicators was permanently blinking, a reminder of the horrendous accident. Abhay’s body shuddered as he realized how death had brushed past him. It was indeed a miracle that he had been pulled out of that crashed car alive.

  A truck driver, who was closely examining the Esteem car walked up to Abhay and said, “Baujee, the left wheel of your car had come out, that is what had caused the accident. I have seen cases when the bursting of the tyre of a moving vehicle causes an accident, but the wheel never comes off in this manner. Even if the iron rim of the wheel is cracked near the nuts because of rust, it never breaks all of a sudden; and then also the rim is broken near one or two nuts only. In my entire life, I have never seen or heard of a case when all five nuts of the wheel of a moving car came out, all at the same time! It is almost as if some inhuman force had taken them off!”

  “Oye Balbeere! Don’t talk nonsense!” chided one the older truck drivers. “You are scaring baujee without any reason.”

  “I am telling the truth; such an accident could not have happened by any human mischief; and it is only the hand of God, which has saved baujee; else no one could have survived such an accident. You ought to go to the temple and thank the Almighty,” he added turning to Abhay, who was more shocked to hear the cause, than even the actual accident itself.

  Before he could respond the beat constable of the area came and made inquiries. He sympathized with Abhay and offered to take him to a hospital in the Police control room jeep, parked two intersections away. But Abhay told him that he didn’t feel the need for that and was in much better condition than he appeared. The polic
eman was unconvinced but accepted it nonetheless and allowed him to leave after taking down his name, residence and office address and telephone numbers. He also informed Abhay that the accidental vehicle would be taken away by the tow-truck in the morning and he could contact the area Police station for assistance or him personally on his mobile.

  Abhay, for his part, thanked the constable and all the people who had rescued and helped him in every possible way. Poor and common people were much more compassionate and humane than their rich, educated, urbane counterparts, he felt. Whenever there was an accident, mishap, tragedy or someone was in distress, it was these ordinary, nameless people, which were at the forefront of rescue and helped the victim. Their chivalry, however, remained largely unrecognized by the media and unrewarded by the government. The remuneration of that kind of selfless acts remained the heartfelt gratitude of the people who they had helped, and these honest and big-hearted people also never demanded anything more.

  In sharp contrast to them were the educated and well to do folk; who sped past all such accidents and tragedies in their air-conditioned cars. Keeping away from the distress and misfortune of others, even if they were from their own affluent community, remaining behind the safety of the tinted glasses of their cars. It was no more than a tamasha - a street sideshow for them; which they didn’t want to get involved in. After all, it was far more important for them to reach somewhere than help a human being like them, who was a victim of a mishap; the need to preserve the cleanliness of the up hostelry of the car far more important than to drive a bleeding man to a hospital.

  Such thoughts came in Abhay’s mind as he sat down in a cab and told the driver the address of his house; he rested the back of his head on the seat and closed his tired eyes. He recalled what the truck driver had said, about the unusual and extraordinary manner in which the accident had occurred. Rudolf also had been saying earlier that the Bengalis dabbled into occult and black magic and formed the major part of the clientele of Tantriks. Payal’s unusual behaviour and activities in the evening were also quite suspicious. But was she enraged to such an extent to have used black magic on him, he wondered; and could she have caused that accident, while she sat miles away from the place?