against seven men armed with iron rods and the occasional knife. The solitary gun meant that the second group wasn't readily pressing home its numerical superiority, but in a street fight like this, one gun would never be decisive, so the two groups were locked in a stalemate, threatening and abusing each other. When they saw Arnab, Balwant's men visibly relaxed, and their leader, a tall man carrying the gun, walked up to Arnab and nodded at him. Arnab ignored him, focusing on the seven men who now faced him. Unlike the group at the previous booth, they were sober, and when some of them recognized him, they began whispering among themselves. They were all strongly built, and had been recruited from gyms and wrestling schools in nearby towns and villages and brought in for the elections. While they had been paid handsomely in cash and liquor for their services, taking on someone known for superhuman strength and speed was not what they had bargained for, and something their compensation certainly was not enough to cover.
One or two of them began to waver and took a few steps back, but one of them was foolhardy enough to swing at Arnab with the rod he was carrying. As the other men watched on with morbid fascination, the man seemed to be lifted off the ground and thrown several feet away in less than a split second. That was enough for his friends to drop their bravado and make a hasty getaway. Arnab was about to leave when the leader of Balwant's men said something that stopped him in his tracks.
'Thanks. It's great to have you in our team.'
Arnab turned towards the man, blood pounding in his ears as he struggled to control his temper.
'I am NOT on your team.' He said, spitting out the words.
The man laughed and sniggered, not really knowing what he was about to unleash.
'Whatever. We're all being paid by the same master to do the same thing. In my book, that makes us part of the same team.'
Arnab looked at the man. He was unshaven, his once muscled frame long having degenerated due to an excess of alcohol and food into flab and his lips were stained by years of chewing tobacco. His dull eyes gave away that what he perhaps had in street-smarts at best struggled to compensate for lack of much by way of education or intelligence. Arnab stopped and stared, asking himself whether, with all the compromises he had made, he was truly becoming no better than this lout before him. No better than being yet another muscle for hire. He shook his head at the thought and said to nobody in particular.
'I am not one of them.'
The man in front of him looked at him curiously, this strange superhuman who was mumbling to himself, and thought he would be more friendly towards someone who had just saved him and his friends from a dangerous situation. He walked up to Arnab, asking him to lighten up, and placed his hands on his shoulders.
'Look, if you need a break, join me and the boys. We'll go have a few drinks and then go find ourselves a few nice whores for the night.'
His friends laughed but Arnab was still silent, saying only the following words.
'Get your hands off me.'
The man was taken aback, and noticing the threatening tone in Arnab's voice, took a step back, bringing his gun up towards Arnab.
'Get lost, you fucking freak!'
Something snapped inside Arnab. All the pent up frustration of having sold himself to Balwant and Aggarwal, the anger at knowing there was a terrible attack about to occur but not knowing enough to do anything about it, and the fury at having being reduced in his own eyes to a mere pawn exploded in a split second of action.
The man's friends saw only a blur of movement, but heard the snapping sound of his wrist being broken as the gun fell from his hands, and he collapsed in a heap, screaming in agony. The other men could not see Arnab's eyes under the hood, but if they had, they would have seen a fury that had never before appeared on his face. Arnab casually walked to the nearest man and slapped him down. He did not get back up. The others scattered, terrified out of their wits. At that point, Arnab was too angry to think about what he was doing, but he made for the next polling booth.
At booth after booth, the same story repeated itself through the night as Arnab expended his anger and frustration in a whirlwind of violence against thugs of both sides. By the time he reached the fourth booth, the word had spread, and instead of being at each other's throats, the hired goons of both sides joined forces in trying to stave off the hooded marauder who was seemed bent on hunting them down. It was an exercise in futility. Arnab would just zoom in from the darkness and knock out one or two men, and that was usually enough to send the others fleeing. Some of the thugs tried to make a stand, and ended up with broken bones to show for their misplaced bravado.
Arnab got back home as the Sun was slowly rising above the horizon. His entire body seemed to ache, and he had a throbbing headache. He was sure Balwant would wreak a terrible vengeance, but at that moment, he felt cleansed, as if he had in some small measure washed away his shame and anger in the blood of the thugs he had struck down that night. As he collapsed on his bed and fell into a dreamless slumber, Arnab had no idea of what he had really done.
That morning, as voters streamed to the polling booths to cast their votes, they were met by election officials who had earlier in the morning been shocked to find thugs being carted away by ambulances and also to find that the ballot boxes had not been touched. Most of them had taken such tampering for granted, and for most of them, it was to be the first election they had supervised where there was no evidence of rigging.
That morning, as an exhausted Arnab slept and a furious Balwant Singh plotted his revenge, Delhi awoke to the most free and fair elections it had experienced in many, many years.
***
Arnab woke up only late in the afternoon, to find out what a sensation the previous night's activities had unleashed. A passer-by had taken a few photos of him in action at one of the election booths, and the media was going berserk about how the country's favourite superhero was not only busy fighting crime, but also helping to clean up the political system. Arnab still dreaded what Balwant would do by way of retribution, but after many days, he finally felt good about himself and what he had done. Also, with the widespread press and public adulation that was pouring in, together with the very public endorsement that Balwant himself had given just a few days ago, Balwant would find it very difficult to now win the PR battle against Arnab. That was little cause for comfort, since Arnab was sure that Balwant was already summoning his henchmen, in and out of uniform, to hunt him down. After what he had done to Upadhyay's arm, Arnab was sure he was itching to take another shot at him.
As Arnab got up, planning to go meet Khan and seek his advice, his phone rang. It was Pravin Aggarwal.
'My, you really do seem to have come back with a bang. I must say I am impressed at how quickly you've managed to go from villain to hero again.'
As Aggarwal spoke, Arnab looked at the suitcase filled with cash lying in a corner of his bedroom. While it was an obscene amount of money, Arnab realized that he could not bring himself to just take it and spend it with a clean conscience. Not when he knew that its original purpose, to help unlock the mystery of the impending terror attack, had not been fulfilled. Aggarwal continued speaking.
'Listen, my company is sponsoring a big Cricket match between India and Pakistan in the coming weeks. You must have read about the Woodpecker Cup. Its going to be a huge event, and the Prime Minister himself is going to be there as the Guest of Honour. The media are going to be all over it, and I was thinking that could be the perfect venue to unveil you as our brand ambassador.'
Arnab's response shocked Aggarwal into silence.
'Mr. Aggarwal, to be honest, I'm having second thoughts about this. I'm not sure I want to go ahead with our deal. I still have the money you gave, and will return all of it.'
When Aggarwal responded, he spoke haltingly, as if he were forcing himself to stay calm.
'Don't decide anything in haste. Think it over and let me know.'
Arnab hung up, wondering how he would possibly extricate himself from the mess he had gotten himself into. When he got to Khan's place and told him everything, Khan had little to offer by way of advice.
'You are in a really screwed up situation.'
Arnab looked at him and smiled, 'Khan chacha, I know I'm screwed. What I don't know is what the fuck to do next.'
Khan laughed out aloud, prompting Arnab to ask him what he found so funny.
'It's the first time I've ever heard you swear. You really are screwed.'
