Club You to Death Anuja Chauhan (best ebook reader for ubuntu .TXT) 📖

‘Sorry,’ Kashi had muttered contritely. Kalra had just moaned in pain.

She’d changed gears, got the car to move. ‘The Spinal Injuries Institute is closest,’ she’d said curtly. ‘Brace yourselves for the ride.’

And that had been that.

Now, Kashi stares out of the window at the passing wilderness, and feels like a total heel.

Then he reaches for his phone, types out a message, and presses send.

‘Well, at least this young lady likes to wake up early!’ Bhavani chuckles besides him. ‘Your other young lady, she doesn’t like to wake up early, no?’

Kashi looks up from his phone, confused.

‘Arrey, for the Zumba!’ Bhavani reminds him.

The tips of Kashi’s ears redden. ‘She’s not my other young lady,’ he says shortly. ‘She’s just a … a bachpan ka dost.’

And then he remembers how hurt he’d been when Bambi had used exactly this phrase to describe him to her juice stall assistants, and starts to feel wretchedly guilty.

‘I’m just …’ he hesitates and goes quiet.

Missing something, he admits to himself. Something he wasn’t even aware he was missing until he met Bambi Todi again. The memories, and the level of comfort and familiarity they share is insane, and then there’s that trustful, peculiar softness of her, the open vulnerability, the total access pass – the whole combination is a potent package.

Basically, when Kuhu turns her eyes on him and smiles, he feels like the sun has come out from behind a dark cloud, but when Bambi Todi does the same thing, he feels like the sun itself.

Besides him, Bhavani Singh, seemingly unaware of Kashi’s internal churnings, gives a satisfied little grunt. ‘Ah! There is the Badshahpur turn-off …’

Twenty minutes later, they are driving through a large, rather ramshackle gate on a kachcha road, into the compound of the Children’s Village.

A game of basketball is in progress on the newly cemented court. As they alight from the Gypsy, several of the boys raise their arms and wave at Kashi, who waves back. A lean, dark man in his mid-thirties breaks away from the group of players and strides towards them, letting down the cassock that he had hitched up around his waist.

‘Kashi!’ he greets the lawyer. ‘How are you, men? Good to see you again! What’s happening?’ His gaze travels to the quiet, homely stranger standing beside Kashi, and his face grows slightly apprehensive. ‘Has … has something happened?’

‘This is ACP Bhavani Singh,’ Kashi says formally, looking at the priest with troubled eyes. ‘We don’t have good news I’m afraid, Father Vick …’

In his little office, lined on three sides with metal filing cabinets, Fr Victor sits behind a metal desk, a crucifix and a portrait of Mahatma Gandhi on the wall at his back, and stares at his guests, his expression stunned.

‘Dead! Dead yesterday morning! Lambu! I can’t believe it! I just spoke to him on Saturday!’

‘We saw your call history on his phone,’ Bhavani replies.

‘You have his phone?’ Fr Victor looks startled. ‘Yes, of course, you would have his phone … what am I thinking …’

‘My men tried to call you.’

Fr Victor turns to look at the policeman in an uncomprehending sort of way. ‘They did? I’m sorry, I didn’t see … Mornings are so busy here … all the boys have to be bathed and dressed and fed …’

‘Of course, of course,’ Bhavani murmurs.

‘How … how did it happen? An accident? That accursed motorbike!’

Victor listens intently as Bhavani explains the details. Then breaks down and asks for permission to go away and pray. Bhavani nods very solicitously, and grants it.

The priest returns after twenty minutes, his eyes bloodshot, but his expression calmer.

‘This is going to hit the boys hard,’ he says sombrely. ‘They’re all so fond of their Lambodar bhaiya. They work so hard to impress him, and they’re all hoping he’s going to give them a big leg-up career wise and so on … He’s the big success story around here, for sure—’ He looks up at Kashi, ‘You know that, men!’

‘Yes of course.’ Kashi’s voice is reassuringly steady. ‘I’ve personally seen how much the kids idolized him – but right now it’s you I’m thinking of Fr Vick – you two were,’ he pauses (that damn phrase again!), ‘childhood friends, right?’

Fr Victor nods, his eyes still stunned. ‘We grew up right here in BCV – Lambu, me, and our friend Rax. I was the good boy – always did what I was told and so on. Rax was born with a misshapen leg – and the Brothers used to say that his mind was even more twisted than his twisted body. And Lambu … he was the tallest and the strongest boy in all of Badshahpur, all of Haryana perhaps! We were a good, tight team and we watched out for each other, and all the little fellows too. When we got older, I went off to the seminary, Rax got an accounting job in a sports store, and Lambu got placed as a waiter in a small café in Mangalore.’ He gives a short, unsteady laugh. ‘He used to get angry if anybody called him a waiter – he said he was doing hotel management, if you please! But he did well … he was noticed by the senior people, and soon he got a job as a cleaner on a cruise ship! It was the lowest paying job on the ship, but Lambu always knew how to talk to people and charm them – and soon he was cleaning on a bigger, better cruise ship – and then he wrote to me that he was learning dancing, and that they let him work out in the gym for free …’

His gaze grows distant. They all sit quietly for a while – the only sound in the room is Bhavani Singh steadily working his way through a cup of tea and a packet of Parle-G biscuits.

Fr Victor draws a deep, shaky breath, then continues.

‘When he came