When Arnab woke up, he was lying in total darkness, his throat so parched he was having trouble even swallowing his own saliva. When he tried to get up and find some water, an unbearable pain shot through his legs and he collapsed back on the bed. As he looked at the green-tinged view around him, he saw that he was lying on a bed, with his glasses on a table next to him. The room looked familiar, and with a start he realized that he was in Khan's house. That brought back memories of what had happened that night with Upadhyay and his men, and Arnab began to panic. Just how badly had he been hurt? How long had he been unconscious? And most importantly, how much did Khan know about his secret identity? He could see nobody else in the room, and he called out for water, but soon realized that with his weakened state, even he could barely hear his own voice. He mustered all the strength he could and pulled himself upright, holding onto the side of the bed for support. Step by agonizing step, he walked towards a table in the corner of the room where he could see a jug of water. As he came close to the table and reached out to grab the jug, he lost his balance and fell down, sending the jug crashing down to the floor with a cacophony of noise that shattered the quiet in the room. The lights flickered on and Khan rushed into the room.
'Are you okay?'
The old man helped Arnab back to his feet and guided him back to the bed. He handed Arnab a glass of water that he drank in one go.
'Easy, Arnab, easy.'
With the lights on, Arnab could barely see anything, and fumbled on the bedside table, gathering his glasses and putting them on. Finally, Arnab took stock of the state he was in. His right arm was bandaged as were both his legs, and he was wearing a t-shirt and shorts that weren't his. He looked up at Khan, his eyes asking the question that he didn't dare ask. Khan smiled in response and got up, opening the cupboard to take out a bundle that he put beside Arnab.
Arnab opened the bundle to find his sweatshirt and clothes, all covered with dried blood. As he held the sweatshirt up in his hands and looked up at Khan, the old man sat down beside him.
'You know, Arnab, there are many things about me that you do not know as well. My wife, Salma, died four years ago, after giving me thirty of the best years of my life. I have a son, Asif, who lives in Canada.'
Arnab could see the tough old boxer's eyes begin to moisten. Khan continued.
'He would be almost the same age as you. The fool has changed his name to Alex and refuses to stay in touch with the poor, old man who brought him up. Perhaps he is ashamed of me. Perhaps he blames me for not doing enough for him. Anyways, I have nothing to live for and not much I can say I did with my life.'
Arnab reached out to touch Khan's hand, but he pulled away. Khan got up and stood before Arnab.
'You have kept your secret well, and I will now help you keep it. I don't understand how you do what you do, but in these dark times, perhaps it is but a gift from the Almighty. Inshallah, if I can help you continue what you have started, then perhaps I can one day say that I did something worthwhile after all before I die.'
Arnab tried to thank Khan, but the old man shook his head.
'My son, no need to thank me. It is you a lot of people have to thank. Now you need rest to recover your strength, and then I will teach you a few moves you won't learn in the boxing manuals, so that when you meet the swine who did this to you, you can give them a gift from me.'
The old man laughed and said he'd go and get some dinner. Arnab asked him if anyone else knew.
'Not a soul. You were lucky, or perhaps charmed. Three bullets grazed you, but none went in. You lost a lot of blood but no lasting damage. I did the first aid and the bandages. It may not look pretty, but I treated a lot of cuts and bruises in my time in the ring, so I think you'll be fine.'
As Khan went out of the room, Arnab sat back, thanking his lucky stars, and also burning with anger within. With all that he had seen and heard in the last few months, he realized that he had never really felt this kind of fury. He had been going about his work with the kind of detachment that Arnab Bannerjee brought to everything he did. It had become something he had taken as another piece of work to be done, almost a night-job of sorts, to be done with diligence but without much emotion vested in it. Now it was something different. It was personal. He would not let Upadhyay and his men continue what was little more than cold-blooded murder any longer, and he realized that to do that, he would need to rely on more than just his strength and speed. He had learned the hard way that those were not enough when stacked up against men with guns.
When Khan re-entered the room, Arnab stood up, masking out the pain, resolve in his eyes.
'Khan chacha, I need to fight an enemy more dangerous than a few goons with knives. I need more than boxing skills to fight them. You were in the Army, right? Can you help me?'
Khan put the plate of steaming hot parathas on the table and smiled at Arnab.
'I was a lowly infantryman, so I can't teach you fancy tactics and theory. But I have been fired on and have fired back, and have grappled hand to hand with men far more dangerous than the ones you face. So yes, I can teach you a thing or two.'
Arnab called Jayantada the next morning, saying he was down with a bad case of the Flu and needed several days of being on antibiotics to recover. With winter vacations around the corner, he'd miss only a day or two of work, so he wasn't too worried about Jayantada noticing anything amiss. Arnab spent the next week at Khan's place, waiting for his wounds to heal, exercising to keep in shape, sparring with Khan and spending hours talking with Khan about combat tactics. Moving from cover to cover, flanking an enemy position, doing battlefield reconnaissance-it was all new to Arnab, but Khan was a patient teacher, and every time Arnab's concentration flagged, he'd picture Upadhyay's face. When Khan learnt of the full extent of Arnab's capabilities, he exclaimed in delight.
'My boy, you need to use your secret weapon more!'
Arnab had no idea what Khan meant so he continued.
'The fact that you can see in the dark. Everybody by now knows about your speed and strength, and this DCP now also knows that with the right numbers and firepower those can be defeated. What nobody knows about is your night vision-and there is no way anyone can know that unless you tell them. That is what you must learn to use to your advantage.'
During this time, the papers were having a field day with the sudden absence of the 'Guardian Angel'. A few wags quipped that perhaps even superheroes needed a break during the holidays, and wondered where Delhi's resident superhero would have gone for his annual vacation.
When Arnab got back to his apartment, there were just two days to go to the New Year, and he decided that before the break was over, he would devote every night to putting an end to the 'Stoneman' scam. However, his planning was interrupted when he received an SMS from Mishti.
'Hi stranger. You never reply, but now you can't escape. Am in Delhi! What say to coffee today?'
As Arnab put the phone down, he felt a strange sadness come over him. Just a few weeks ago, he would have been jumping through hoops on receiving such a message from Mishti. He remembered his trip to Gurgaon to meet her, feeling as nervous as a schoolboy on his first date. He remembered the exhilaration of the days he had spent being in daily contact with her, sharing every little detail of his day, feeling closer to her than he had with any friend previously. Now, as much as he tried, he could not bring himself to feel anything approaching that. Everything he had seen over the last few months had perhaps taken its toll, without him realizing it. Had he been so immersed in fighting the dark side of man that he wondered if in some way, it had rubbed off on him? In looking evil in the face every night, had he lost something of himself to it? When he rode in a bus nowadays, no longer was he immersed in his make-believe world of novels. He found himself scanning his surroundings for any sign of trouble. When he entered a room, he focused on possible exit routes. When a car braked suddenly on the road, he turned, ready to fight.
What has happening to him?
***
That evening, Arnab met Mishti at a coffee shop, and when she walked in, there was a brief moment of awkwardness when it seemed that she was about to hug him. Arnab stuck out his hand, and laughing, Mishti shook it instead.
'God, it's been so long, Arnab. How have you been? My boss is coming to Delhi for some meetings, and I figured I'd come a few days early and spend New Year's Eve here.'
As the two of them sat at a corner table and talked, Arnab realized that he was not the only one to have noticed the changes in him. After a few minutes of conversation, Mishti put her hand on his and asked, 'Arnab is everything all right? You seem different.'
'I'm fine, Mishti. Why do you say I'm different?'
'The Arnab I knew smiled a lot more, and his eyes were not so…so…hard.'
Arnab brushed it off, saying he was just tired, but then Mishti dropped a bombshell.
'Arnab, there's something I want to talk to you about. This is awkward for me to bring up, but there's an old friend of mine from college, Pankaj, and he recently proposed to me. We were seeing each other in college for some time, and then drifted apart when he went abroad. He's come back and we've been in touch, and he's asking if we could be together again.'
Arnab's heart stilled. Why was she telling him this? When he said nothing, she went on,
'I haven't replied to him. I wanted to talk to you first.'
'Why?'
'Because…because I wondered if there was anything between us, if you were interested in me? The way we were getting to know each other, I thought there was something special between us, and under other circumstances, I would never have brought this up. But with Pankaj coming back into my life, I wanted to be sure.'
Arnab's world stopped for a moment. Here was a woman he found really attractive, someone he would have loved to be with, virtually telling him she was interested in him. He realized just how tough it would have been for Mishti to put her feelings out there like this.
And then he stopped himself.
What kind of life would he offer her? How would he ever share his secret? How would he explain to her that every night he would leave her to risk his life? Or could he leave it all for Mishti?
He closed his eyes for a second. There was nobody to help him. This was his choice to make. He could be with Mishti, be happier than he had ever imagined, than he deserved to be, and give up the life he had been leading for the last few months. Then he sighed as he realized that he couldn't. Could he turn a blind eye when he saw some goons molesting a girl or robbing someone? Could he just forget what Upadhyay and his men were doing? Could he live with himself knowing that people were getting hurt and killed in crimes he could stop, just so he could be happy? He realized that he couldn't. Perhaps it was his destiny, or perhaps his curse, but he would have to fulfil it.
He looked at Mishti, and said with a forced smile.
'Mishti, there's nothing like that. I'm actually already engaged to a girl back in Kolkata.'
Mishti turned red, 'Oh God, I feel like an idiot. I'm so sorry, Arnab. Forget everything I said.'
Not knowing who else to unburden his heart to, Arnab went straight to Khan's place, and told him everything that had happened. For his part, Khan said very little, content with just sitting next to Arnab and letting him vent. When Arnab had finished, Khan spoke in a soft tone.
'Arnab, nobody else can tell you what to do in a matter like this. You need to make the choice that feels right. But there is perhaps only one thing I would ask you to consider. Perhaps you were not meant to be together; perhaps she would never have been able to accept the life you lead. But perhaps you should have given her that choice.'
Later that night, back in his apartment, Arnab buried his face in his pillow and cried himself to sleep-for even superheroes can suffer the pain of a broken heart.
The next day was New Year's Eve, and Arnab had a celebration of sorts in mind. He installed his stolen SIM card into his phone and sent a single message to Upadhyay.
'I lived. Now we meet again. Same place, same time, tonight-GA.'
He knew it was a risky thing to do. So far he had not made a single call or sent a message using the SIM card he used to receive messages meant for the Guardian Angel. Sending a message was advertising where he was, and he knew that Upadhyay could use that to trace where the message had originated. But he rationalized that it would only give Upadhyay a broad area to search, which would not really help him hunt down one person, and a librarian at a college was hardly going to be the prime suspect. As Arnab prepared himself mentally for the night, he tried to keep all other thoughts from his mind. For the most part, he succeeded. For the most part, since his mind did wander back to Mishti. That made him even angrier, and he tried to channel all his fury at Upadhyay and his men. Before leaving, he visited Khan and told him all about how he had first discovered his powers. It was a terrible burden to place on the old man, but Arnab wanted someone to know his story in case he did not come back. Khan listened silently, and as Arnab left, all he said was,
'Don't fight angry. Angry men make mistakes. And remember to use the darkness.'
Those words stayed with Arnab as he reached Mathura Road. It was dark now, but he had not yet changed. He quietly walked around the area, using his night vision to scan his surroundings from behind a tree. Upadhyay was standing just ten feet away, holding his revolver in his hand, standing partly concealed behind a parked police car. As he scanned the area, he could see five constables in the open, rifles in hand, and he could see two more hiding behind parked cars on either side of the road. He was glad he had listened to Khan's advice and not come raging into the ambush that had been set for him. As he walked out of the area, he put on his sweatshirt and gloves and sat down quietly near the base of a flyover, hidden in the darkness, watching. The policemen kept scanning the roads, watching for his arrival, but in the darkness, there was no way they could see that he was but a few feet away, hidden in the shadows. In contrast, he was able to see their every move, and see through the trap they had laid for him. They had the advantage of numbers, but he had the advantage of total surprise, and he had time on his side. So he just sat there, watching the men who had planned to kill him. After thirty minutes, he could see Upadhyay begin to get impatient, spitting on the ground and checking his watch. Several of the constables were also stirring, wondering whether they were just wasting their time instead of celebrating the New Year.
As one of the constables lying in ambush yawned, Arnab made his move.
He sprinted at the man, grabbing his neck in a vice like grip from behind, putting just enough pressure that the man passed out. Khan would have been proud to see how well his student his learnt some of the new moves he had taught. Upadhyay and the others saw nothing, but felt a sudden gust, which they must have thought was just the wind blowing. Again Arnab waited. The second constable on the other side of the road stretched, putting his rifle on the floor for a second. Arnab picked up a rock from the roadside and hurled it with all his strength at the car the constable was standing behind. With Arnab's strength behind it, the rock hit the car with an impact that might have been more appropriate had it been struck by a rocket. It rocked back, its windows shattering and sending the constable behind it scrambling for cover as he was showered with shards of glass. Cut and bleeding, he lay moaning on the ground. Upadhyay and his men whirled around to see what had happened, unable to see much in the darkness. And then Arnab moved again. He cut through the five constables like a scythe, catching them from behind, and in a matter of seconds, all five were lying unconscious on the ground.
That left just Upadhyay.
Upadhyay tried to bring his revolver up but Arnab grabbed his wrist and took the gun from him, flinging it to the side of the road. Upadhyay faced Arnab with a smile on his face, but Arnab could see the policeman's hands were shaking slightly.
'So you survived. Fucking ghost.'
As Upadhyay spoke, his voice quavered a bit, and Arnab thought he could see fear in his eyes. Arnab said nothing, but just began to slowly walk around the DCP.
'What do you want?' Upadhyay was now screaming at him. Arnab said nothing.
'Do you want revenge for what I did to you?' demanded Upadhyay.
Then Arnab spoke for the first time that evening.
'No, I want justice for those you've killed.'
Upadhyay looked at him for a moment and then sniggered.
'Fool. If you wanted to kill me, it would be simpler. There is no justice to be had here, not for some dead nobodies.'
His words made Arnab's blood boil, but he remembered Khan's words. Don't act in anger.
'I want you to confess to what you did and face the consequences. Unlike you, I am not a killer, which is why you and your men are still alive.'
Upadhyay took out a cigarette from his pocket, and as he brought it up to his mouth, it slipped to the ground. When he bent down to pick it up, he plucked a hidden pistol from an ankle holster and brought it up, firing at Arnab. Arnab had been watching his every move, and as he saw Upadhyay raise the gun and fire, he stepped out of the way of the bullet. Upadhyay looked at him with disbelief, and was about to pull the trigger again, when Arnab rushed at him, grabbing his hand and forcing it back so hard, he heard the bones snap. Upadhyay screamed in agony and fell to the ground, his right arm dangling at his side like that of a doll that has suffered at the hands of an angry child.
Before Arnab could say anything else, sirens rent the air. The injured constable by the car had radioed for reinforcements, and as Arnab watched, four armoured cars sped into the area. These were odds even he could not face, and as he began to leave, he looked at Upadhyay again. He was clearly in pain, but had a triumphant look on his face.
'You cannot win. You are but one man.'
When Arnab reached home, he sat and reflected on what had happened over the past few days. His mission against Upadhyay and his men had, he realized, in part been the result of his seeking revenge for what they had done to him. However, he also realized that something in him had changed. He could no longer just walk away or turn the other eye when confronted with the corrupt system that someone like Upadhyay represented. He thought back to Upadhyay's words and realized that he didn't really care if he won or not, but he would make damned sure that people like Upadhyay weren't going to get away with it all the time.
***
While the rest of Delhi partied away into the wee hours on New Year's Eve, Arnab was hard at work. He worked tirelessly till dawn, ensuring safe passage for women, sorting out drunken revellers looking for trouble, and in one case, helping a drunken Bollywood starlet out of the car she had crashed. But he reserved his best for a two drunk young men in a jeep, who had run over a pavement dweller and were trying to race away to their farmhouse on the outskirts. Arnab had caught up with them, soundly thrashed them, and then dropped them in front of the Police Commissioner's house, after having divested them of their clothes. Naked, bleeding and freezing, the two upstarts, one of them the son of a Cabinet Minister, made for a great first page photo.
The next morning's papers were full of stories about the Guardian Angel's explosive comeback, and of how it been the most crime-free and safest New Year's Eve in living memory. But Arnab allowed himself no satisfaction at the night's events, or the humiliation he had heaped on Upadhyay. At best, he had won one more skirmish in what would be a long war, one whose end even he could not see.
As Arnab walked into college the next day, he met Jayantada who warmly wished him a happy new year. The old man was much chirpier than usual, and Arnab asked him what he had been up to.
'Arnab, you won't believe how happy I am today. I think Mishti is finally going to get married. One of her friends proposed to her….'
Arnab didn't hear the rest of the sentence but pretended to busy himself in his work, thinking again just how unfair life was. When he got home and installed his second SIM card, he saw a message waiting for him.
His fame had clearly attracted another suitor. He had received a message to meet the next day to discuss a 'business proposal'. He had half a mind to refuse, but then his new contact sent a follow up message pleading with him not to refuse as he was coming all the way from Bangalore to meet him. Arnab asked him to come to the car park opposite Pragati Maidan, which he had mentally begun to think as his venue for strange meetings, and the next night, waited for his contact, wary that it could be a trap sprung by Upadhyay. This time, it was not an armoured car, but a chauffeur driven Mercedes that pulled into the car park. Arnab could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw the man who emerged out of the car.
It was a face that he had seen innumerable times on the cover of magazines and in newspapers, and being interviewed on television. The same salt and pepper beard, the same flashy bracelets, and the same trademark paunch. Standing just a few feet away from him was Pravin Aggarwal, the owner of Woodpecker enterprises, and one of the richest men in India. Arnab wondered what a billionaire businessman could want with him, so he stepped out behind Aggarwal and gently cleared his throat to catch his attention.
'Oh, there you are! My, you aren't as big as they say you are.'
Aggarwal spoke in the forced American accent he was known for, and which Arnab had found funny while watching him from behind the anonymity of a TV screen, but now facing him in the flesh, he had to admit he felt intimidated. Aggarwal was known to be flashy, brash and aggressive, and lived a lifestyle that would have done movie stars proud, complete with rumours of affairs with starlets and jaunts in exotic locales.
'Man of few words, eh? Well, my friend, do you know what you are?'
Arnab just shook his head, wondering where this conversation was heading.
'You, my friend, are hot property. They say you're a superhero. I say you're the biggest brand name in the country. My research agencies tell me your top of mind recall is higher than Shah Rukh Khan, and you're viewed as being cleaner than Mother Teresa's sari fresh from the laundry.'
He laughed at his own joke, and Arnab still had no idea what he was leading up to.
'So, let me keep it simple. Before you consider any other endorsements, I want you to become the brand ambassador for my new beer brand.'
Arnab was perplexed, and blurted out, 'I don't drink beer.'
Aggarwal grabbed his ample belly with both hands and laughed, bending over with uncontrollable mirth and finally stood, looking at Arnab with amusement twinkling in his eyes.
'My friend, you are priceless. So here's the deal, endorse my beer, and I pay you ten million Rupees a year. My ad people even have a slogan that fits you perfectly-extra strength but with a heart of gold. Wonderful, isn't it?'
Arnab blinked hard. Ten million. He added up the zeroes the number represented. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined such a sum of money. When he remained silent, Aggarwal looked at him and said, 'Not enough? Well, make it twelve, no more.'
When Arnab protested that this wasn't his line of work, Aggarwal brushed away his objections.
'Bollocks, man! Every man has a price, and one with your talents commands a high price. Look at all the Cricket stars on my roster-they sell biscuits, toothpaste and beer-all for money. And they claim to be sportsmen though they earn more from my endorsement contracts than from the sport!'
He laughed and continued, 'They have found their market value and commanded it, now it's your turn. That's the way our system works, my friend. Or did you think you could earn a living beating the crap out of petty criminals? Even superheroes have needs, or do they not?'
Arnab would be lying if he said that he wasn't tempted, but he had never imagined that the night's meeting would involve endorsing a beer brand, and earning millions of Rupees. But something in his mind told him that it wasn't something he was ready for yet. He mumbled, 'I'll think about it.'
Aggarwal sighed and said, 'Okay, have it your way. Here's my card. Call me when you decide.'
As the Mercedes drove away, Arnab wondered where all this was headed. What had started as an act of personal vendetta had become something where he felt he was making a difference and finally counting for something. With the meetings with Sharma and Aggarwal, he began to wonder just how long he would be able to stay the course he had chosen. Fighting criminals had been the easy part, but he was realizing that things were not as black and white as that. When the police were on the wrong side of the law, and the Law Minister in possible cahoots with the criminals, what could one man do? When everything was a commodity to be bought and sold, when it was such common belief that everyone and everything had a price, what could one man do?
Perhaps Upadhyay had been right after all.