BENEATH --1

’’Seth -- Bhai bol raha hoon Dubai se!!

H***mkoor kaan khol kar sun lo.

Apna beta ka zindagi chahate ho tho Pachas peti Chotta Miya ko pahucha dena’’

(It was an extortion call from the kingpin for 50 lakh rupees.

This money was to spare his son’s life and the money was to be handed on to the local goon Shakoor Khan aka Chotta Miya)

The line went dead.

Seth Govindram was in panic mode.

Shivering and in a desperate situation he slowly disconnected his phone.

Govindram was a businessman who had built up his diamond polishing empire over a few decades.

Born into a rich brahamin caste family his grand father and father had passed on the baton of responsibility to him before leaving for their heavenly abodes.

Brain washed from childhood about the superiority of his caste he looked down upon other people from lower castes and treated them as muck.

They were beneath his level.

It was the 20th century but caste discrimination still existed in patches and parts all over India and even government efforts in the direction of getting equality still could not eradicate the age old problem.

Narrow minded people like Govindram though being among the affluent added in building and widening this gap.

Having all the wealth he was still deprived of children and both he and his wife craved and prayed that they be blessed with an offspring.

There was more than enough suggestion towards medical and divine routes but they all were unfruitful.

After almost giving up in their later years they were miraculously blessed with a son.

Not wanting to pinpoint whether it was a scientific development or a Godly miracle they just wanted to enjoy the moment and look after and pamper their son.

He was now a blessed age of five years old and even though both parents knew there was a big generation gap and they would be at the end of their lives when he teenaged they wanted to enjoy his childhood presence on every day that they could.

He was given the best of amenities with the top class team of maids taking care of his tantrums.

Both parents also loved him to their hearts content, and even became play horses and rid him on their backs making him enact ‘’Chal mera gooda -tuk tuk tuk’’

He was well dressed and decked with the choicest of jewels and gold ornaments even at this age.

However just this morning as his maid had taken him for a stroll on the road adjoining their bungalow a black car suddenly with screeching brakes pulled up besides them.

Two men with their face covered with handkerchiefs like Western Cowboy film characters snatched the baby after pushing down the maid.

In a jiffy they got back into the car and screechingly drove off with the dust from the dry road dispersing around the scene.

It was a targeted daylight kidnapping and left onlookers in shock.

The call to Govindram from Dubai had come within half an hour of the kidnapping.

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The year was 1990 and extortion was peaking in Bombay.

With the rampant sale of mill lands, builders were getting richer and richer by the day and to milk the maximum out of deals they has started using muscle power to enhance their stands.

This had backfired and now they themselves had become targets of black mailers and extortionists.

High profile killing and gang war led to the police machinery resorting to a high handed approach with encounter killings of extortionists and gang members.

Due to this this the higher echelons of the gang had fled the country but were still operating from havens like Dubai, Malaysia and Nepal.

Since security had increased for builders and police officials and ministers (for hefty sums of retainers) were making life saving pacts it was now getting difficult for them to be targeted.

Money was getting dry in the underworld

so now they had started using the rung below like smaller businessmen and high earning CEO’s and white collared executives as their extortion targets.

The top gang leaders would make the initial chilling hard hitting call to the target and this would then be followed up by the local goon carrying out the action.

It was getting difficult for the law and order system to ‘one up’ on this and they were fighting a loosing battle.

Due to this the targets preferred to pay off and get a ’mandoli’ (settlement)

The normal understanding was that it was better to pay off rather than approach the police.

It was a new systematic underworld operation.

Sethji organised the money and as per instructions was on his way toward Kurla Pipe Line Nala’ (creek)

He had not involved the police.

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Kesariya was born an untouchable to a Bombay squatter.

The squatter settlement here is now home to over 1 million people

Growing up in Bombay was not easy.

For his type of people who were beneath the caste and race of the majority of inhabitants, the pangs of hunger and chains of castesim dragged him and thousands like him even in this so called advanced and booming metropole.

For people like them day to day existence was a challenge.

He lived on Kurla pipe lane and like hundreds of families lived literally inside a pipe.

These huge roadside abandoned concrete pipes became their homes and hanging draped cloths over the open ends provided a little if any privacy for these squatters.

They lived and slept inside the concave structures.

His neighbourhood was scattered with hoards of pigs who openly mucked around in this unhealthy slimy creeks.

These creeks were the accumulation of the waste pipes from neighbouring societies and buildings emptying them into these open areas.

They were unghastly sights with flies and mosquitoes buzzing around and a breeding ground for disease.

Unhampered by their surroundings the families lived and cooked on open flames of discarded wood pieces on basic utensils food, the raw ingredients of which were obtained literally on a day to day basis.

It was just a rice gruel or sometimes a basic grain flour, skillet griddled flat bread (tawa bakri/ roti) eaten with some pickle, a hand punched cracked onion and some raw green chillies.

Kesariya had found work and excelled himself in diving into cess tanks, manholes and pipes to unblock filth and keep the flow of the underground dirty pipes moving.

This prevented the overflow of muck into the streets of the upper class residential areas.

He was called sometimes into these societies and bungalows in the cleaner adjoining areas to help out unblocking these issues.

He would never forget an incident when a few months back he was called to Seth Govindram’s bungalow for to unblock a waste drain.

After being paid off he was terribly insulted by this Sethji who verbally attacked his lower caste and made him feel dirtier than the black muck that was caked up on his skin.

He had used buckets of water to wash off his bodily dirt but he felt the insulting dirt heaped upon his soul (for being beneath the Sethjis caste) would be difficult to get rid of.

He would never forget the Sethjis face not forget the Arrogant man’s abuse.

Few months had passed for this incident and today as he stood near the dirty pig infested creek he sighted the same Sethji desperately crying and waving his hand frantically pointing into the dirty pool and asking for help.

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Shakoor Khan aka Chotta Miya had done his homework

Seth Govindram would be a ’no problem’ target.

Due to the circumstances in which the kid was born it was open secret that Sethji loved his son a lot. He had the money, he would pay and he would not contact the police.

’The Bhai’ from Dubai had made the initial call and contacted his target after the kidnapping.

Chotta Miya made his calls to the target within a few minutes on a follow up.

Strict instructions were given that police should not be contacted.

Details were exchanged for the handover.

Sethji was supposed to get the money in a black briefcase in mixed ‘sirf keshar aur elaichi’ meaning mixed only Rs 1,000 and Rs 500 notes in Bombay gangland lingo.

He was supposed to wait on the small bridge near the Kurla creek at 8pm and when the black Ambassador with the driver wearing a red cap approached him he was supposed to throw the money bag into the window of the cruising car.

He was supposed to wait there for about 15 minutes and as soon as confirmation of the ransom being complete and untainted a second car would cruise down to him with his son.

He could not play any tricks ’nahi tho baccha ko ghoda se uda dhiya jayega’

(or else his son’s life would be in danger and would be shot by a local made gun)

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Seth Govindram had come alone to the secluded spot near the creek and had thrown the briefcase containing the requested ransom money into the open rear window of the cruising Ambassador car whose driver had worn a red Ferrari branded peak cap.

He was waiting near the stinking dirty creek for the second car to approach and could see the car headlights nearing.

As the car slowly cruised past him the rear door opened and his son who was gagged and had his hands tied behind his back was shuffled out of the car close to the small creek barrier.

The car picked up speed and sped off

The small boy was writhing and jumping as he was shuffled out of the car onto the dirt road.

He tripped over the short barrier wall and fell headlong straight into the dirty infected creek.

It was at this moment that Sethji realising what had happened not being a swimmer himself was frantically waving his hand and crying out for attention and help.

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Kesariya who happened to be nearby hearing this cry came running and realised that it was the same Sethji who had insulted him a few months back (of being beneath him and below his class) was now pleading with him for help.

Their eyes met and Sethji also realised he was now standing in front of a person he felt was beneath his caste level.

He now started pleading on bent knees and folded hands to save his son.

Forgetting all the insults showered on him Kesariya just jumped into the creek and dived deep to save the boy.

Not finding him immediately he surfaced a couple of times everytime watching the longing desperate father’s helpless emotional outbursts.

He had to dive into greater depths from before and somehow find and save the child.

As he fumbled in the dark waters his hand felt the child entangled in some blackened plastic waste.

Gripping the boy around his chest he upheaved himself emerging from the creek as two black dirt and filth covered entities.

As he caught on to the edge of the creek and pulled himself and the kid onto the small concrete bridge he felt himself and the coughing spluttering kid welcomed and hugged by the father.

Kesariya could not believe what he was experiencing and that it was the same Sethji.

Seth Govindram realised that a person who was beneath his caste had saved his sons life.

His false ego baloon had burst and he was now in gratitude to the lower caste human.

He finally realised that in life and humanity, this was all that mattered.