Mumbaistan Read Online Free Page B

trying to explain something.
    A woman in a burqa walked up to Tanvir and, without a word, handed him a small plastic carry bag that she withdrew from the folds of her burqa. She pointed towards the constable. Before Tanvir could react, she merged into the crowd.
    Tanvir's body tensed. Drawing a quick breath, he looked heavenwards. Then, without another word, he strode towards the constable, the plastic carry bag in his hand. In the middle of the street, Tanvir put his hand inside the bag and took out a small revolver. He cocked the revolver without breaking his stride and stood in front of the constable, who was still engrossed in his conversation. At point-blank range he raised the revolver. The constable's jaw dropped. He froze with fright. Tanvir squeezed the trigger. But the hammer just clicked. He squeezed again. Nothing. Now Tanvir went crazy, squeezing the trigger in quick succession. But the gun just kept clicking. It was then that the psyched-out Tanvir realized that there were no bullets in the gun.
    Tanvir and the constable both reeled in shock, staring at each other.
    A woman somewhere let out a hysterical scream, breaking the spell. Tanvir turned and ran pell-mell. He kept running until he was far away from the scene of crime.
    The constable, still stunned with fear, turned his attention towards the woman who had screamed. He realized that it was the same burqa-clad woman who had run after the young thief. The same woman who had been taken aside by her other burqa-clad friend, and had been sipping a cold drink while he called his senior to explain the incident.
    The constable's blood pressure dropped and his eyes began to droop. Through the haze creeping over his mind, he wondered why she had been so hysterical. Just before he fainted, the constable also realized that the screaming woman's flirty companion had disappeared.
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    Zohra stood shivering at an STD booth near the Jama Masjid. She had run all the way without once stopping to catch her breath. Running away was not new to her. In fact, she had been trained to run away at the smallest hint of trouble while growing up in her small village near Kupwara in Kashmir. The rule there was: 'If you see a gun, run. If you see a man near the gun, run harder. If you see a man holding a gun, there is no use running, a bullet can outrun you.' Today, she was thankful she had defied the rules.
    But now, she was scared. The man holding the gun had been right in front of her. But she was not dead. She had had her veil down, so he had not recognized her. But she had. She knew that it would only be a short while before the police connected all the dots and came knocking at her door.
    Zohra decided that it was time to break the rules again.
    She picked up the phone and dialled 100.
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    Tanvir was gasping for his life in a dark recess. He had run into an excrement-encrusted by-lane between two old buildings off Shuklaji Street. Every breath he took filled his lungs with revolting odours. But he had no choice. At this time of the day, this was the only place that would accord him a safe moment.
    Tanvir was about to throw up when he noticed a burqa-clad woman entering the lane. He could only see her shape silhouetted against the sun-drenched outer street. But as she came closer, he realized that it was the same woman who had handed the revolver to him in Chira Bazaar. Her palm was extended towards Tanvir. As she reached him, she said, in a deep male voice, 'Give me the gun, quickly!' Tanvir noticed that her arm had dark hair curling above her wrist. Unsure, he slid further back into the dark recess. The burqa-clad 'woman' raised her veil to reveal the stone throwing computer salesman' who had given Aalamzeb's mobile number to him. The man flashed his hyena grin. 'Surprised? Don't be. We are only a few, but very effective. And now, you are one of us.'
    Tanvir stood his ground by not placing the revolver into the man's hand. Instead, he spat out, 'Why were there no bullets in the