'Mr Bank Manager, please join this poor old man for dinner. Who knows, if you like my Biryani, you may give poor old me a huge loan someday at zero interest.'
The two of them ate, chatting away like the old days. There was no mention of Arnab's decision, no discussion of what Arnab had said to Khan. Arnab was grateful for that, and glad that all he had to do that evening was to share his happiness with the man who had given him so much. Over dinner, Khan asked Arnab all about what his work would be like, to which Arnab truthfully replied that he had absolutely no idea of what a bank manager did other than wear a tie and sit in a cabin. The two of the shared in the laughter, and as dinner ended, Khan walked up to a cabinet in the kitchen and produced a bottle of rum.
'Arnab, join me for a drink.'
'Khan chacha, I don't drink.'
As if not hearing him, Khan poured pegs into two glasses, topping them up with Coke before handing one to Arnab.
'My boy, I'm not asking you to get drunk. Just give this old man some company as he gets drunk.'
As Arnab accepted the glass he asked Khan why he was in a mood to drink. In all their months together, he had never seen Khan drink alcohol before. As the two sat down, and Khan took a sip of his drink, he responded.
'Arnab, in my army days, we would all get rations of rum. To keep out the cold, to steady our nerves, and yes, also to prevent us from losing our minds after an operation. Many times in Kashmir, we would come back from patrols or skirmishes-having killed men or seeing our brothers die in our arms. At times like that, I would drink to forget.'
Arnab took a hesitant sip from his glass. It was sweeter than he had imagined, and not altogether unpleasant.
'So, Khan chacha, what are you trying to forget tonight?'
Khan's expression suddenly turned more sombre.
'Trying to forget all that's evil in this world. Trying to forget that we live in such bad times.'
Then he looked at Arnab and his expression brightened,
'And also hoping that your life continues to proceed in a smooth manner, untouched ever again by these things.'
Arnab thought Khan was referring to what he had been through with Upadhyay and Balwant Singh and said,
'Khan chacha, I've decided to leave that life behind me.'
Khan looked at him with a sad expression on his face and poured himself another drink, which he gulped down, as if seeking courage for what he was about to say next.
'That's why, Arnab, I feel so bad about asking you to be a part of that world again.'
Arnab was shocked at the old man's words.
'Khan chacha, I don't want to hurt your feelings again so I don't want to say anything I'll regret later, but that chapter is closed. Please let it remain that way.'
Khan put his hand on Arnab's arm, as if both to calm him and also to support himself.
'Arnab, it's not easy for me. I saw what they did to you, and I would not wish that on my worst enemy. But..'
Arnab interrupted him.
'But what? That there are people to be helped, that there is nobody to stand up for them? I buy all that, but where were all these people when I needed support? Why did nobody believe in me, but like an unthinking mob with no brains of their own, just believed blindly in what they were told?'
'Arnab, I cannot imagine what you feel, but you must realize, you are not like me or other ordinary people. God has given you a gift, and perhaps your destiny is to use that gift to help others, no matter whether they appreciate it or not.'
Arnab poured himself another peg, and in his agitation, gulped it down neat, coughing and wheezing as the rum scalded his throat. As he turned to face Khan again, the old man laughed,
'Superhero or not, you sure are no drinker.'
They both laughed, helping to defuse some of the tension in the room, as Arnab looked at Khan.
'I don't want this destiny or this gift. I have a choice, don't I?'
'Of course you do, Arnab. You can just ignore it, and that's what you had set out to do. I had reconciled to it myself, since I had no right to demand you put yourself in harm's way. But something's come up which forces me to ask for your help.'
'Khan chacha, I am not going to enter that world again to save a friend or two of yours from a couple of goons.'
Khan smiled sadly at Arnab,
'And my son, I would never be as selfish as to demand such a thing.'
'Then what is so important that you want me to return to the path I want to forget?'
'The lives of perhaps thousands of innocent people.'
Arnab was speechless.
***
Two days later, on a gloomy Saturday evening, Arnab and Khan were in a taxi, entering the small by lanes of the Jama Masjid area. Arnab was still hesitant about getting involved, and they were repeating the same conversation that they must have had a dozen times over the last two days.
'Khan chacha, why doesn't this friend of yours ask this man to go to the police?'
'Arnab, with no concrete evidence, do you think the police will believe him? Even if they did, if what he says is true, there may be no time left to do anything about it.'
Arnab was not convinced, but Khan had virtually begged with him to come along. Arnab figured he owed the old man at least that much.
The taxi passed through several small lanes, and came to a stop near a small electronics shop. Arnab and Khan got out and were met by a fat man wearing dirty jeans and a vest. Khan introduced him to Arnab, who by now was wearing his sweatshirt, his face hardly visible in the dark.
'This is Rashid, an old army friend. The man we are meeting lives in his house. Rashid, this is the friend who I said may be able to help you.'
Rashid looked at Arnab, and all he said was, 'If what the papers say about you is even half true, then perhaps you can indeed help.' Rashid filled Arnab in on the details as they entered the house next to the shop.
'About a month ago, this young man came to my house, asking if I had a room to rent out. I had a small loft above the house available and he seemed to be nothing more than a needy student so I said okay.'
They started climbing a set of winding stairs, as Rashid continued.
'For three weeks, I noticed nothing amiss. He would go out in the morning and come back late. He would keep to himself, and was no trouble to anyone. Then one day he came back looking really worried. He stopped going out and after a couple of days, I went to ask him if he was well. That's when he told me. Has Khan told you the story?'
'Only in brief. What is the full story?'
'Hear it from the horse's mouth.'
With that Rashid knocked on a door at the top of the stairwell. It was opened on the second or third knock. As the door swung open and the three of them walked in, Arnab noted that the room was dark, with no lights on and the curtains drawn. Arnab saw a man huddled in the corner, and as the door opened, he got up and walked towards them. In the darkness, Khan still had not seen him, and when Arnab saw that the man was carrying a gun in his right hand, he stepped between Khan and the man, ready to disarm the man.
'Arif, relax. These are the friends I told you about. They are here to help you.'
The man seemed to relax a bit but kept the gun in his hand as he turned on a small table lamp. Arnab winced a bit as the light came on, but it was still dark enough for him to see clearly. He was young, perhaps barely out of his teens. He was clean-shaven, wearing jeans and a polo t-shirt and would not have looked out of place in a college campus. They sat down, Arnab and Khan on two small chairs and the young man on the bed in the far corner of the small room. He began speaking without any more pleasantries, as if he was keen to get what he had to say off his chest.
