Turbulence (17 page)

“He’s out there, I know he is. Do you know him? Do you work for him?”

“We don’t know who you’re talking about,” Tia says.

“I can’t do this,” Namrata says. “I can’t take this any more.”

She turns and runs full-tilt through the abandoned press box, and into something in the darkness, something solid standing in the doorway. She screams and falls with a clatter.

Aman and Uzma start towards her, but before they get anywhere two Tias leap on them from behind, hands over their mouths, dragging them back, down on the floor, into the shadows.

“Not good. Not good,” a Tia whispers.

They see Namrata half sliding, half tottering back, trying to
get up and then falling again, holding herself up with her arms on the floor, palms down behind her back. Her face is pale, and her eyes are staring upwards at the man who emerges from the darkness in front of her, walking up close to her with a heavy tread. A single beam of slanting light illuminates heavy boots, smart black clothes and, finally, a sharply handsome face, mouth twisted in a smile. His eyes glitter, wild, brilliant.

“My name is Jai Mathur,” he says to her. “I thought I might find you here.”

Namrata gulps, her eyes not leaving his face.

“You keep running away every time we meet,” Jai says. “I wonder why that is?”

“You — you stole the baby. You killed his parents,” Namrata stammers. “You tried to kill Reddy today.”

“I just wanted to talk to him. And I just want to talk to you, now.”

Jai pulls Namrata to her feet. She stands close to him, breathing heavily, a rabbit staring into the eyes of a cobra.

“What’s your power?” Jai asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispers.

Jai’s smile fades. “You know, I thought you were a clever girl,” he says. “Are you going to make me force it out of you?
What’s your power?”

“I see news,” Namrata says quietly. “I know when and where bad things are going to happen.”

“So tell me,” Jai says, “are you having visions of dying? Of me ripping your head off your spine with my bare hands?”

Namrata bursts into loud, racking sobs.

Jai grasps her chin and holds it up, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“Are you?” he demands.

“No,” she sobs.

Jai grins. “Then you shouldn’t be worried, should you? I don’t want to hurt you. In fact, I want you to work for me. Advance intelligence is an invaluable asset.”

He lets Namrata go, and she staggers backwards, almost falling. She looks at him again and forces herself into a state of calm.

“You really scared me,” she says.

“Of course I did. I asked you not to be worried,” Jai says. “I didn’t ask you not to be afraid.”

“What do you want from me?” she asks. “Why have you been following me?”

“Following you?
You
’ve been following
me,
my dear. I’ve simply been making you famous. And I want something in return.”

“Will you leave me alone if I help you?” Namrata asks.

Jai laughs out loud. “From grovelling to bargaining in seconds. You’ll go far,” he says. “Now tell me. Have you met any other superhumans?”

In their dark corner, Uzma draws in a sharp breath and stirs. Aman notices, to his horror, that one of her hands is in the light; he draws her to him silently. She’s trembling.

“No,” Namrata says after a pause. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re lying,” Jai says. “I think you know who’s behind this mass insanity. Tell me, Namrata — who’s making these mobs run after my targets?”

Namrata looks at him blankly.

“It’s not you?” she asks.

A pulse quivers in Jai’s throat.

“Of course it’s bloody well not me!” he answers. “Someone else is gathering superhumans, and I must know who it is. This is how you will make sure you stay alive, my little super-journalist. You will find my rivals for me. I almost lost that accursed baby, and the cricketer escaped today. I’ll find him, of course, but somebody got in my way just now. I don’t like that. I’m going to find whoever’s behind these mobs. And if I find they have anything to do with you —”

“Please. Please believe me. I don’t know anything.”

“There’s a man in Mumbai, about your age. Could be a hacker I’ve been trying to track; could be someone else. He’s been seen with a woman who can split into multiple bodies. There’s also, obviously, a man — or woman — who can control mobs. You will find these people for me. Use everything you have. Everyone you know.”

“I will.”

“Good. You work for me now, Namrata. I know everything about you. Where you live, where I can find you. And I’m not a patient man.”

Namrata nods. “I’ll get them,” she says. “Can I ask for one favour?”

Jai raises an eyebrow.

“When you do whatever it is that you’re planning, when you make your big move,” she says, “can I get an exclusive? Can I interview you? Let the world know what you’re about?”

Jai smiles. “Professional. I like that. And yes, why not? I wasn’t planning to add you to my little army in any case. There’s no need to reveal your powers to the world. Let them think you’re one of them, It doesn’t matter, really, whether someone helps the powerless bridge the gap between us, but, it
might make the transition smoother.”

“Transition?”

Jai sighs. “You know, I used to be a patriot,” he says. “With me in command, India could have ruled the world. I could have destroyed Pakistan single-handedly, and carried on from there. If only. If only they’d been capable of following a simple plan, listening to clear instructions. But something happened that made me realise that they weren’t ready — not just Indians. Humans. People who are not like us.”

“You’re uniting people with powers.”

“I’m uniting people who were chosen to stand above the ordinary. Chosen to take charge, to make changes. Who aren’t afraid of embracing their destinies. The rest are sheep. Their time has passed. And —”

Jai smirks and runs a hand through Namrata’s hair.

“You’re a good interviewer, you know,” he says. “But there’s no point doing this with no one listening, is there? Later, when you introduce the world to its new gods, make sure you have your questions ready.”

Namrata manages a weak smile.

“Now that’s incentive,” she says.

“I can inspire you further,” Jai says. He reaches out and touches her face, and she finds she’s trembling too violently to smile any more.

“How long do I have?” she asks.

“When I see you next,” he says, “your time will have run out.”

He turns and strides from the room.

Namrata stands silent, silhouetted against the madness outside, for a whole minute.

“You might as well get up,” she says finally.

“Yeah, you can let her go now, Aman,” Tia says.

Aman releases Uzma sheepishly.

They rise.

“Thank you,” Uzma says.

“So, you’re his enemies,” Namrata says. “Which one of you does the mobs?”

“Not us,” Tia says. “Why didn’t you tell him about us?”

“I never sign up for a job until I’ve looked around for a better offer,” Namrata says. “What’s yours?”

Uzma smiles her most winning smile.

“Coffee?”

Considering that Aman has recently stolen billions of dollars and put them into schemes to stop global warming, it is distressing that his car, currently zipping through the elegant streets of South Mumbai, is a giant SUV. But none of the big black monster’s other occupants are complaining about this. Beside Aman, Uzma stares through the tinted windows at the Mumbai traffic bathed in amber light. Behind them, Tia quickly gives Namrata a highly edited account of their superhero experiences so far.

It is difficult to tell Namrata elaborate stories, she has a TV reporter’s habit of interrupting constantly, not allowing her interviewees to get in more than a brief quote. But so gracious is her manner and so delighted her expression when another Tia emerges and clambers into the SUV’s spacious rear, that Tia does not really mind. Besides, the memory of Namrata’s ashen face in the shadows of the Wankhede press box would have
aroused pity in the hardest heart. Despite her swiftly regained composure and steady smile, Namrata is clearly too shaken by her recent encounter with Jai to go to her hotel, and has decided to spend the night with a friend who lives very near Yari Road.

Uzma has been stopped several times while trying to ask Aman and Tia why Namrata cannot simply come and live with them — their mysterious refusal, combined with the knowledge that Aman and Tia have clearly not told her all their plans, has cast Uzma into a slight but pointed sulk.

By the time Tia has finished their superhero origin story, though, Namrata has recovered considerably from her ordeal and has a million questions and theories, most of which concern the mysterious mob-frenzy specialist she first encountered in Delhi and now at the cricket match.

“Whoever he is, his power doesn’t work on me,” she says, her hands moving automatically to emphasise the point to her viewers. “I felt nothing at the rally or the game — and it doesn’t work on Uzma either.”

“Jai could be lying,” Tia points out. “I think it’s him, and he was just trying to sell you the idea that his enemies were even worse.”

“I don’t think it’s Jai,” Aman says. “We saw that tiger-headed guy and the green girl in the crowd, remember? If they were working for Jai, he would have kept them from going crazy. Whoever got the crowd going prevented them from capturing Reddy.”

“So now we have two sets of superpowered villains to worry about?” Uzma says. “That’s fantastic. How do we know that at least one of these groups isn’t following us right now?”

“We don’t,” says a Tia from the SUV’s rear. “Which is why Aman and I came up with a cunning plan. We’re ready.”

Aman brings his SUV to a halt, leans to his left and peers towards the back of the car. Namrata and Uzma turn too, and are greeted by a startling sight: there are two Tias sitting in the back of the car, each wearing a dirty sari and a wig of brown, sun-bleached hair. They carry bunches of lifestyle magazines under their arms. One Tia opens the rear door and hops out. Aman restarts the car and swerves back into the endless stream of traffic.

“What is she doing?” Namrata asks.

“Selling magazines,” Tia replies.

“We’re going to drop off a Tia at every major traffic intersection,” Aman explains. “She’s going to go from car to car pushing magazines into windows, seeing if Jai’s inside. If she finds him, she’ll tell us. They’re all going to call me once every five minutes — so we’ll know if
they
find
her
. She’s also going to send more Tias to local train stations, airports, the docks — Tia’s a one-woman city-wide manhunt.”

“I’m just a girl looking for love,” Tia says.

“And what if they catch her?” Namrata asks, horrified.

“I’ve died lots of times,” Tia says. “It’s all right.”

“You’ve died? How does it feel?”

Tia laughs, shifts along the seat, and puts a jovial arm around her copy’s shoulder.

An hour and a half and several Tias later, they’re sitting at the Barista on Yari Road, fending off waiters who keep flocking to Uzma to see if there’s anything else she might need with her coffee — ice-cream, a hazelnut topping, a wedding ring?

Around them, fashionable young men and women sit and loudly proclaim their plans to the world. The Yari Road Barista is always full of actors and producers, all of whom are permanently on the cusp of great things, great changes — TV to film, C-list to B-list, Bollywood to Hollywood, jobless to overexposed. Shiny, dressed up to within an inch of their lives, super-fit and eternally hopeful, they gather in little clusters as they reel off lists of forthcoming projects, laugh uproariously whenever they think jokes have been made and sit for hours not listening to any voices but their own.

Yet, even in the middle of all this compulsive attention-seeking, all eyes in the cafe flicker periodically towards Uzma. Finally one thick-spectacled producer shambles up to her and asks, “Weren’t you on TV just now?” Uzma denies this, smiling, and the bubble of self-obsession that normally seals the Yari Road cafe off from the rest of the world is restored.

“The rest of you have powers that you exercise consciously, right?” Namrata says. “But Uzma and I are similar — we don’t choose when our powers are going to, like, start doing their thing? It’s — what are those muscles in the stomach called?”

“Involuntary?” Aman suggests.

“Yeah. Things just happen to us.”

“It’s not like we have an ‘On’ switch,” Aman says. “The first time I figured something strange was going on, I started hearing this roar of phone conversations. Then screens from all the wireless internet connections in the area started flashing in front of my eyes. I thought I was going crazy. It was a long time before I managed to focus, to pick out what I wanted to hear. The first time, I felt like screaming, hitting everything around me — anything to make it stop. Now I’m offline unless I choose not
to be, but I’m still not sure how I do it. Our powers are growing. You’ll probably manage to control yours at some stage.”

“The funny thing is,” Uzma says, “that just a week ago I thought the Bollywood Grooves classes I took at Regent’s Park were going to be the toughest part of the whole adventure.”

“You had it easy, believe me,” Tia says. “I was in the bathtub at home, and the doorbell rang, and my mother-in-law was yelling for tea. I was really tired, and didn’t want to get up at all, but the noises outside didn’t go away. Everyone was yelling for me instead of hauling their own fat bottoms anywhere. And then I decided to get up, and suddenly there were three of me, and only one towel. I’ve never freaked out so much — I tried to beat myself up, all of us were screaming. Not fun.”

“What about the people in your team who have the real superpowers?” Namrata asks. The others stare at her blankly and she shakes her head. “Guys, you’re all really sweet, but come on, how stupid do you think I am? I’ve spent a lot of time with politicians, and none of you are good liars. Where are the big boys?”

“What big boys?” Tia asks.

“Well, don’t get me wrong, but you guys are the backup team, right? What about the leaders? The people like Jai? The strong men?”