Riders, Aniruddha Banhatti [reading eggs books .TXT] 📗

RIDERS

If you go to Goa, you will find Riders with yellow and black motorcycles at every Tisk. Tisk means a confluence of three roads. In Goa, you will find plenty of tisks but hardly any squares or crossings or carrefours, i.e. the confluence of four roads. But even for confluence of more than three roads, the word used is Tisk!

These motorcyclists who are called Riders by the locals are actually motorcycle taxis, and they transport you to the desired place on their pillion seat and charge you by kilometres travelled.

On the Mapuca tisk, riders were standing, chatting together in the morning waiting for passengers. Santosh Shenvi was imitating his father and others were having a good laugh. Then Shiva arrived on his Pulsar with the booming sound of its engine.
“Oh ho, Shiva,” cried De Mello, “She was a nice one! That sexy babe on your back seat yesterday afternoon!”
“Just a tourist,” said Shiva, “Don’t want such types at all! Left her at Anjuna beach and came back.”
“And her boyfriend, who left him? I think they came together, didn’t they?” Santosh asked.
“I left him,” said Shiva’s fast friend Pinto.
“Oh fucks,” Khandeparkar said, looking at the road towards Porvorim, “Why is that bastard John heading this way? In his Jeep? I think he is coming towards us.”
And lo, the Police Jeep came and halted near them and John and Raykar, the two policemen got down. John was an Inspector and Raykar a Sub-Inspector, but both were rascals. All the Riders were afraid in their minds. Recently there were three four rapes and murders of foreign girls on Goa beaches, and during the investigations the Goa Police had severely harassed the Riders.
John and Raykar came straight towards Pinto and Shiva. Clapping his hand on Shiva’s shoulder, John said, “Yesterday, you two left the foreign tourists at Anjuna beach, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Shiva said, “The girl was on my bike and the man was on Pinto’s.”
“Why Sir, what happened?” Pinto asked Raykar.
“A corpse of a foreigner is found on Anjuna beach, a beheaded corpse.”
All the Riders felt a cold fist clutching their innards.
“You two come with us. See if you recognize the corpse”
“Is it a man or a woman?” asked Shiva.
“Man. Come, get on with it.”
“You go ahead in your Jeep. We will follow on our bikes.”
“No, no! Climb in the Jeep. Keep your bikes here.”
“Oh! Please Sir! Should we walk back from Anjuna? Let us take our bikes. We won’t run away, we fear you so much!”
“Okay, okay, but keep driving in front of the Jeep. We will follow you all the way.”

The procession started. Shiva and Pinto’s bikes at front, followed by the white Jeep of Goa Police. Within half an hour they reached Anjuna beach. It’s a rocky beach. After crossing the rocky band is the soft silky and very fine sand. The corpse which was found in the sand was now brought near the ambulance standing on the red rocky patch. A smallish crowd had gathered seeing the ambulance and the Jeep. Pinto parked his Splendour and Shiva his Pulsar and they came near the ambulance with Raykar and John. They immediately recognized it on seeing, definitely, the corpse of yesterday’s foreigner.
“Yes Sir, yesterday’s passenger. He came on my bike,” Pinto said.
“How can you be so sure? He doesn’t have any head.”
“That tattoo on his back. One with the snake coming out of the skull’s eye, and the other on his arm, the dagger with the dripping blood. What do you say Shiva?”
“Yes Sir, he’s right.” Shiva corroborated.
“Wasn’t he wearing any shirt yesterday?”
“He was wearing a small jacket, Sir, but as he got down he had taken it off. It was a sleeveless jacket, a leather jacket.”
“At what time did you bring him yesterday?”
“They got down from the 3-30 Panaji-Mapuca Bhagirathi bus and came to me and Pinto within five minutes. After that, twenty minutes to Anjuna.”
“Any luggage?”
“The woman had a red bag, small one, of American Tourister. I held that in front of me. On the petrol tank.”
Their report was written down by the constable.
“Do you know any names? They might have called each other, while talking?”
“No. Both were on separate bikes. After getting down on beach, they went talking with each other, but not in English, most probably they were talking in French.”
Both of them signed the written statement.
“If you remember anything or know of anything, tell it all just now, or else I know how to take you in and make you talk!”
“Oh Sir, what are you talking about? Already you had troubled us enough! The business is not so good. The Riders had nothing to do with those murders but we were targeted and were given a bad name. I think we should close shop entirely then only you will be satisfied.”
“Don’t give me that,” said John, “I know exactly which Rider is involved in what kind of racket! Go now, give me a break!”
Pinto and Shiva came to Anjuna tisk and awaited passengers. They ate the black peas curry called Usal and the typical fermented bread of Goa, called Roat, and Shiva lighted his small four square cigarette. A city type from Mumbai came and wanted to go to Panaji secretariat before three. It was already two-thirty. The secretariat closed down at three. He had a new, shiny briefcase. Nowadays you saw many of these Mumbai people buying up property in Goa. Within half an hour from Anjuna to Panaji, it was a tall order.
“You go,” Shiva said to Pinto.
“Fifty rupees,” said Pinto. The passenger agreed. Pinto gave him the spare helmet. The passenger put it on and the Splendour started booming with full throttle towards Panaji.
Shiva puffed at his cigarette pensively. He didn’t like these new people taking over Goa and its leisurely way of life. All of them were coming down here and buying property at exorbitant rates. If it continues, thought Shiva, Goa will become another Mumbai. Bus stand was a bit ahead from the tisk. Two buses came and went. One of Lobo travels and other the government run Kadamba. Now there was no bus for at least an hour. After some time someone called, “O Rider!”
Hearing a girl’s voice Shiva turned around.
“Will you come to Mapuca?” the girl asked in Konkani language. She was a college girl in jeans and top.
“Fifteen rupees.” Said Shiva.
“Okay,” the girl said. Shiva gave her the spare helmet. On her back she carried a heavy looking sack.
“Give the sack here, be comfortable,” Shiva said and put the sack near his stomach, on the petrol tank. The Pulsar came to life with a muffled dhak-dhak-dhak and eased into a smooth vroooom towards Mapuca.

***

When Shiva left the girl at her college and came back, there was only Khandeparkar at the Mapuca tisk. He gave Shiva a four square and asked,
“What happened?”
“Yesterday’s foreigner is dead. Murdered. Now unnecessary trouble for me with the police!”
“You immediately inform Rodrigues about all this. It will be best I think. Now the elections are also coming, John and Raykar will get the pressure from above not to trouble us.” Khandeparkar said.
“Ye—ees!” Shiva said thinking, “You are right. What an idea! Thanks. I will immediately go and catch him in the Union office.”
Starting his Pulsar, Shiva took the Porvorim road and crossing the new bridge on Mandovi river, entered Panaji. Rodrigues was the president of the Riders’ Union. Shiva found him at the Casa Menino bar.
“Don’t you worry,” Rodrigues said, “I know both John and Raykar well. If they try to arrest you or threaten you, just tell me. After the recent Vasu Kamat scandal, the police will think twice before touching anyone of us.”
Shiva was hugely relieved. He waited at the Panaji tisk with the other riders. Really, Rodrigues had handled the Vasu Kamat affair very well. The police had unnecessarily arrested Vasu without any proof and had beaten and tortured him. For that Rodrigues had filed cases even up to the International Human Rights Commission. The Chief Minister Parrikar had come personally for resolution of the issue. Vasu Kamat got much money as compensation and two of the corrupt police officials were suspended. Some buses came and the neighbouring Honda CD Dawn went away with a passenger. Another one came to Shiva.
“Donna Paula.”
“Thirty rupees.”
“Okay.”
Shiva gave him the helmet. The Pulsar started with dhak-dhak-dhak and as it sped on the road, there was a liquid sound as tyres rolled on the slightly molten tar of the smooth road.

***

At long last, Inspector John finally met Louisa Bruny at Hotel Blue Merlin which was a cottage hotel right in the middle of the Vagator beach. It was not from the chain of Hotels owned by The Man, the new rising star of the Goa underworld. Louisa was good looking. She appeared clean, most probably didn’t do drugs. Today morning the corpse was discovered and now in the evening John was showing the photographs of the corpse to Louisa Bruny, whom he had traced from Anjuna beach to this Hotel Blue Merlin. Tattoos. The tattoo of the snake coming out of the snake coming out of the skull’s eye on the back and the tattoo of the blood dripping dagger on the arm. Louisa Bruny recognised both immediately.
“Oh my God!” she said, “Where did this happen? And when?”
She was talking in English, with a French accent. Inspector John now was much familiar with the tourists’ English with various accents due to a spate of cases involving foreigners in last year.
The dead man was Andre Molier. Louisa had met him at Mumbai, at Sahar. No, she didn’t know him previously. They had come to Goa together. He said that he knew a very good cottage at reasonable rent for staying at Anjuna beach, so she had come with him to Anjuna. But she didn’t like the cottage at Anjuna and came here to Hotel Blue Merlin. Her friend had stayed here a few months back and had mentioned it to her. Her friend’s name was Maria. She was in France at present. Yes, she could be contacted. This was her mobile number- and Louisa had given him the number. Inspector John had painstakingly elicited this information and written it down. Then he said, “You will have to come to Anjuna police station tomorrow and sign the identification statement.”
“Okay.”
Inspector John finished the mug of beer served to him by the manager of Hotel Blue Merlin and started walking back to his Jeep.
The Sun was touching the sea near the horizon.

***

By next day afternoon, the news appeared on TV channels and the phones started ringing incessantly, because Andre Molier was a big criminal fleeing from France. The French police had requested the Indian police not to make all the facts public. They wanted to make sure that Andre Molier was really dead, because if so, then a major force in the French underworld would be gone. As the overall effect of all this, the Goa Police Commissioner Mr. Vernekar was giving a briefing to his officers :
“During the last six months, Andre Molier’s gang had disbanded in France. There were five main stakeholders in