What The Eyes Don't See

11 | Criminal Without a Cause

It was like a mindless reverie playing out.

Anay was in some kind of fugue state, with no sense of what was going on around him. There were people around him everywhere, talking in loud angry voices, but he had little sense of who they were. Everything was a blur, a distorted spectrum of crazy colors dancing beyond the spots in front of his eyes.

Somewhere above him, there was that booming voice again: "Tell me, asshole, what was that girl doing in your house so late in the night?"

There was a crack of something over his head. He turned his head to see even crazier lights, and cutting through those lights was the distended silhouette of something long, and he realized instantly what it was—a policeman's baton.

He gained some consciousness. He was on the floor of the police station. There was a stench all around him, that of dusty furniture and molding walls and crumbling paper files. He could see the policemen's khaki clad legs and their leather boots. He was not given a chair to sit on. He was made to squat in a corner on the floor surrounded by the rank odor of shoes and socks of the uniforms around him. His dank perspiration made his shirt cling to his body. He hated every bit of what was happening. He hated himself too, but he had no control over it. He had lost control the moment the police had banged on his door in the middle of the night. They had claimed to have a statement from his neighbor, Ratna Shetty, who had stated that the poor deceased girl had entered the house with him. Even that would have been all right, but Shetty, in her zeal, had shared with the police that she had overheard an altercation between the boy and the girl and her death might not have been an accident.

The inspector, whose tag pronounced his name as B. Sawant, tapped the baton on his shoulder. "We know she didn't die by accident. Nobody falls off a building just like that. Cooperate with us and you will be happier."

Anay cried out loud, "There's nothing to say, sir! She is... was a friend. We spent time together, our group of friends."

Sawant made a throaty sound. "Fucker, do you recognize me? I spoke to you at the café that day. Aren't you the selfish bastard who did not save that poor café owner's life when you could have? So now you have graduated to murder?"

"Sir!"

"Why was that girl in your house at that indecent hour?"

"Sir..." Anay fumbled for words. Over his head, he heard the obscene sniggering of the policemen.

"Was she your girlfriend?" Sawant asked.

"No, sir."

"Oh, so she was... what do you guys call it? Fuck buddy?" More sniggering followed.

"We were just chilling, sir."

"Fucker! I know what that means. Don't think I am a baby," Sawant boomed. "What happened then? Did she refuse to suck your dick? Did you have a fight?"

"No, sir."

"Bastard! Let me tell you what I think. You brought your friend home. Both of you were drunk. A lot. You wanted a good time, of course, and she did not agree. So you tried to rape her."

"NO, SIR!" Anay screamed in anger, rising on his feet.

That same instant, his body was impinged by a bolt of electricity. It took a moment for him to realize what had happened—a constable had hit on his knee hard with the baton. Anay crashed on the floor, grabbing his knee, writhing. "Motherfucker!" he yelled. But the constable, immune to all abuse, only kicked him harder and prodded him into the humiliating squatting position again.

The inspector continued his theory oblivious to his reaction, "But then she tried to run away. You got scared that she might complain about you. So you followed her and pushed her off the building in your mad impulse."

Watching the constable's baton nervously, Anay said, "No, sir. Nothing like that happened. It was an accident."

Sawant snorted. Going down on his haunches, he stared into Anay's perspiring face. "Do you think I am a fool?" he said, spittle flying out of his mouth. "We checked the height of that window. It's not so low that anyone could just fall off it."

Anay held the inspector's gaze. He had to find the courage within himself to come out of this ordeal. "I am not a roadside goon, sir," he said in a calm but unwavering voice. "I am an employee at a respectable company. I am well-educated management degree holder."

Maybe it was that last statement that provoked the inspector. Without any warning, he landed a firm slap across his cheek, so hard that Anay toppled over on the ground.

"Flaunting your education at me, you bastard! Shove your degrees up your ass!" he yelled.

"You cannot hit me!" Anay shouted back. "I know my rights. I am not a criminal."

Fire arose in the inspector's eyes. "You cock-sucking son of a whore! You will teach me what to do? I've had enough of assholes like you migrating here from other cities under the pretext of work and then raping our girls." Turning to his constable, he said, "Strip this fucker naked and dump him in the lockup for the night. Let me see if I cannot kill his pride."

Anay knew it was illegal. The inspector had taken a dislike to him at first sight, and that made things all the more complicated. There ought to be something he could do, but what? He was alone. Who could he have reached out to? In a flash, he thought of all the possibilities. Salil, perhaps. But how could he talk to him? And no, what was he thinking! Salil must not know. Salil was his boss. He'd not want a jail-stained fellow in his company. Could he call Vishwa or Kautuk? No, then Vishwa would know. He'd be in a boiling rage when he found out that Renee was with him... Then who? Shanaya, perhaps?

He felt the constable's hand on his neck. He was lifted off the ground with that force and marched to the back of the police station where the lockups were. Even in his half-conscious state, he could see the people in the lockup. Petty criminals all, kept in the lockup as a temporary measure, only for a scare perhaps. There'd never be a trial, for they would be released by morning. He imagined being put in there with them. Would he be the same man in the morning?

He heard the constable ordering him to strip. "Didn't you hear, fucker? Sir has asked you to get naked."

There was a leery shout from the cells. A gruff heavily-bearded man tugged at his crotch obscenely. Others jeered. Anay trembled in fear and embarrassment. He would be their entertainment for the night.

"This is not right," Anay said, his tears choking him.

The constable laughed and the criminals followed. "In this place, whatever Sawant says is right!" he declared.

The baton was raised again, this time aimed for his other knee. Tears rolling down his cheeks, Anay unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop. The occupants of the lockup cheered him on with their derisive hoots and abuses. The constable pointed his baton at his belt. He let his pants drop, leaving his briefs on. More jeering followed. Someone passed a comment. He felt like an object in a cage. His vision blurred. He felt the baton's tip on his waist, egging him on to remove the last bit of clothing.

Just as Anay was about to succumb to the ultimate humiliation, he heard a voice outside. For a moment, he could not believe his ears. Then he smiled and took away his finger from the waistband of his briefs. It was Kautuk arguing with the inspector.

"You cannot do this, Inspector, and you know that," Kautuk was saying in a firm no-nonsense voice. "My friend is not a criminal. You can question him but not humiliate him. My uncle is a criminal lawyer with the High Court. Naresh Tiwari. Look him up. I know the law. You have to let my friend go right now."

A few moments later, Anay was marched out again, back to Sawant's busy desk. Sawant looked at him as if he were a worm. "I am allowing you to go now, motherfucker," he said, "but we will be meeting again very soon. Be assured of that."

Anay walked out. He did not look at Kautuk's bewildered expression at his disarrayed state. They hardly spoke. Kautuk took him to a waiting cab and brought him to his apartment. It was dawn when they reached.