Uma and Virginia in a Game of Intrigue

Chapter 1

Uma was on a shopping spree. She loved shopping and enjoyed it to the fullest even if it were for just a single T-shirt. Now, she had the scope to do much more than that since the festival of Deepawali was only two days away! She had to buy gifts for her parents, her sisters, two nieces, a nephew, the maid and the cook. She did not at all grudge the money spent. Her philosophy: money comes, money goes–and comes again!

A week earlier, she had enjoyed buying gifts for distribution to the employees at her place of business; their gifts had been carefully chosen, as per the recipient’s individual desire, and bought from dealers in Chandni Chowk area, near the Red Fort; she had been able to wheedle a good bargain for every item, and had enjoyed doing it. But today, there was such a press of humanity in all the shops of Sarojini Nagar market, that it was taking her ages to complete her selection, bargain with the over-worked shopkeepers for a good price and have the goods properly packed. Yet she did not mind it. She liked it when many like her were out shopping; she made easy friends at the counters, exchanged views about shops and gave and sought advice freely about goods.

But it was now getting dark. With the advent of winter, days were becoming shorter in and around Delhi. If she were to spend much more time shopping, her parents would worry about her. They never considered the city of Delhi, or any other city for that matter, to be safe for a single girl, particularly after dark. She had better hurry now! She wanted to get the gift items properly wrapped in coloured papers. But, considering the rush everywhere, she gave up the idea. She would do them up herself at her home tomorrow.

She carried the gift items she had bought for her parents and sisters and entered a sari shop; she wanted to gift saris to her maid and the cook. It was while she was making her selections that there was a deafening sound of a bomb blast; her hearing got blocked for a while and there was a funny buzzing sound inside her ear; glass panes of the display-cases of shops falling directly in line of the blast were shattered by the strong sound waves generated. Uma, and everyone else in the shop, looked out towards the parking lot in consternation. Was it another terrorist attack? Several had taken place during the last few months in various cities.

Uma saw a lot of smoke near one of the cars parked in the parking lot, just across the twenty-foot wide pavement. The glass panes of that car, a white Maruti van which was visible in the streetlights, were shattered to bits, and the car body bent out-of-shape. Hardly had the sound of the first blast died down, when there was a flash, followed by another explosion. It appeared like the bursting of a cooking gas cylinder. Uma and others in the shop ducked instinctively behind the sari counters for safety.

The second explosion was in fact due to a gas cylinder that had burst. The gas cylinder, on which a vendor was busy cooking his aaloo tikkia (small pancakes made of boiled potatoes) at the edge of the pavement, close to where the Maruti van was parked, caught fire from the first blast–made to go off strategically close to the gas cylinder–and exploded. The vendor and some of his customers died on the spot, flesh and parts torn out of their bodies; most of the shoppers close by suffered from concussion; several more car windows and wind screens got shattered. The pavement got splattered with blood and human flesh; here and there mangled bodies lay in their pool of blood. An arm and a leg that had been torn away from their respective bodies lay on the road leading to the parking lot. Screams and shouts rent the air.

Clothes hanging outside the shops caught the embers from the second explosion and began to burn. Suddenly, Uma realised–as did the others inside the shop–that the fire would soon make inroads within. Many of the adjacent shops were burning already. Now, there was a mad rush everywhere to get out of the burning shops via the back entrance. Uma was carried by the throng inside; she shot out of the sari shop on the lap of a human wave and was almost thrown out, on to the pavement at the back side. For a panic-stricken moment she did not know which way to turn because people were screaming all around her and running madly in all directions, bumping into each other! Her enjoyment of shopping had already evaporated in smoke!

Uma dodged her way past the screaming humanity as she focused on a route of escape from the mayhem that was happening at the Sarojini Nagar market.

She got her bearings finally, and ran away from the market area, in the direction of the Sarojini Nagar Railway Ticket Reservation Office, a quarter of a kilometre away. Halfway there, she realised that she had left her gift packets behind, in the last shop she was in. Shit!

But, it was of no use to go back now; the shop was already up in flames. She could hear the clang of bells ringing and the alarms sounding in the distance as the fire tenders from the nearby Sarojini Nagar Fire Station made their way towards the market. She also heard the wail of a Police Jeep approaching.

Uma stopped and looked back. A thick pall of smoke seemed to hover over the market area. A peculiar mix of smells–of burning merchandise, wood, petrol, rubber and human flesh–stung her nostrils. Some of the cars parked behind the burning shops had also caught fire. Now that there were no more explosions, every one’s attention was focused on the fire that was raging in the shops, which threatened to burn down the entire market.

The shops in the market were attached to each other by common walls in a bracket-like formation. The only gaps that were there were between the short arms and the long arm of the bracket. These gaps opened on to roads leading away from the market. These roads were also lined by shops on both sides. The short arms of the bracket had shops in front and behind as well. The main parking lot was in front of the bracket-like formation, separated from the shops by the twenty-foot pavement that ran all along the bracket. However, vehicles were parked behind the bracket as well. Some of these vehicles parked behind the short arm of the bracket on the left, had caught fire.

The shops were full of ready-made clothes for children and adults, saris, cloth material for ladies and gents’ suits, curtains, sofas and cushions. Due to the proximity of the shops one to the other, the fire that had started at the end of the left arm of the bracket now moved easily and rapidly along the arm. If it was not contained in time, it would reach the long arm of the bracket, and could well engulf the shops lined along the side roads behind the bracket. Shopkeepers shouted out instructions to each other as they struggled to salvage their goods.

Fortunately, the Sarojini Nagar residential houses were situated at a distance from the market place. There was no immediate concern that the fire would extend to those houses.

Men, women and children still cried or screamed in pain and fear; Uma could hear people calling out to their dear ones who had got separated in the confusion and were lost to sight. Some of them, she knew, would never return. Many would be maimed for life for no fault of theirs. She was lucky to have survived–with body and limbs intact! Were there more bombs placed around and inside the market? If so, where were they placed? She realised that it was a terrorist attack on innocent shoppers and shopkeepers. The terrorists’ thirst for blood and gore was not satiated after exploding just one bomb! Would other bombs also burst soon? She could not forget what happened in Mumbai in 1993. She was there when it happened.

It was imperative that the market place be cleared quickly and a search made by professionals to check for more bombs. She hoped the bomb disposal squad would arrive soon! Suddenly, she saw someone moving around the main parking lot. The market was now lit up by the raging fire; but it also cast dark shadows. Nonetheless, she was sure she saw someone moving about amongst the parked cars. When everyone else was running away from the market–and definitely from the parking lot where the initial explosion had taken place–what was this man doing amongst the cars? Could he be a terrorist? From where she was standing, she was unable to see the man clearly; but his actions seemed suspicious. Should she inform the Police? Where were they?

She was jolted out of her thoughts by the ringing of the cell phone inside her handbag. Her nerves were so strung, that she nearly flung the bag away in fear, but checked herself just in time.

She opened the bag with trembling hands and hunted out the cellphone.Then she realised that she had picked up somebody else’s handbag! It looked so similar to her bag!

Shit! Where was her bag?

She remembered putting it down on the counter when she was checking the saris. There were many others also who had put their handbags down. In their anxiety to get out of the burning shop each had made a grab at their bags and run for dear life. Anyway, she picked up the cell phone.

Hallo! She responded.

"Beti! Exclaimed the male voice from the other side, anxiously. Tum theek to ho naa (Are you alright)?"

"Sorry Uncle, I’m not your Beti, said Uma. Somehow the voice on the other end helped to stabilise her nerves. But, I just escaped from the Sarojini Nagar market," she added.

"Thank God! Are you her friend? This is my daughter-in-law’s cell phone! Why didn’t she answer? Is she alright?" The voice at the other end was very worried.

No, I’m not her friend, said Uma. I picked up her handbag by mistake. I think we were in the same shop when the bomb blast occurred. We all ran out of the shop in a hurry. Nobody amongst us was injured. So, don’t worry.

Thank God!He said with a sigh of relief. We were watching some programme on the TV, when they started reporting about the bomb blasts. There have been two more–first one at Paharganj and the second one in a bus at Govindpuri and now this one at Sarojini Nagar market. My daughter-in-law and her friend have gone to that market. I don’t know what has happened to them. Do you know anything about my daughter-in-law?

No, but I’ll try to find out, replied Uma. What’s her name?

Her name is Shweta–Shweta Sharma. She is very young, very fair and has light green eyes. She is wearing a blue sari which has a lot of silver work on it. She is wearing a lot of bangles too.

OK, I think I noticed her in the sari shop before all of us rushed out of it. Now don’t worry, Uncle. I’ll check and let you know at the number you’ve called from.

Uma cut off the connection and dialled her own number on the off chance that her bag may have got interchanged with Shweta’s because of the similarity in their designs. Shweta might need help too; the description of her sari and the fact that she was wearing a lot of bangles to the market meant she was married recently. She was young and might panic in the present situation.

Hallo! Said a young, breathless female voice from the other end.

Is that you–Shweta?

Yes, replied the tentative voice from the other side. But who is this?

You don’t know me but, thank God, Shweta, I have found you and my handbag. But why are you panting so much? Are you alright? You’re not hurt, I hope!

No, no, I’m not hurt, said Shweta. Only, I and my friend rushed out of a shop and have been running away from it. My friend is also unhurt. We are in one of the residential blocks of Sarojini Nagar.

OK, it’s good to know that you’re both unhurt. Now, that’s my cell phone you’ve picked up. I’ve got yours, informed Uma.

Oh, I’m sorry, apologised Shweta. In the hurry to get out of the shop, I must have picked up your bag by mistake.

I made the same mistake because our bags look similar. But, that’s not a problem that cannot be rectified easily, said Uma cheerfully. I’m in the lane going towards the Railway Ticket Reservation Office. Your father-in-law called just now on your cell phone to check whether you are alright. I promised him I would check and let him know. Now I’ll continue towards the Reservation Office. Could you meet me there? We’ll then be at a safe distance from this market.

Yes, replied Shweta. I know where the Reservation Office is. I and my friend will be there in ten minutes.

Uma watched the spiralling fire of the burning shops for a few minutes. The Fire Brigade team had started to arrive at the market. They had to first remove those injured before they could spray water on the fire; but, they had to move fast. Fortunately, a couple of Ambulances from the nearby Safdarjung Hospital also arrived at the market. A Police jeep, followed closely by a Police van and the bomb disposal squad, arrived at the same time. The Police and the Fire Brigade personnel immediately got busy; while the first group started clearing the entire market of people, and checking for more bombs, the second group started dousing the flames. Uma ran up to the Police Inspector in charge of the operations and told him about the suspicious movements around the parking lot. The Inspector thanked Uma and immediately despatched two constables to the main parking lot to investigate.

While the rescue operations were going on, the staff of two TV channels arrived with their equipments and transmission vans. Uma decided it was time for her to move out.

She met Shweta and her friend after ten minutes. Uma got back her handbag. Uma and Shweta realised that their handbags were very similar in size, shape, colour, and looks.

Our bags are so similar, I suspect that your bag is also my creation, said Uma. Just check if there is a small label with the word ‘pooma’ stitched on the inside.

Is that so? Let me check. Shweta smiled in pleasant surprise. Yes, the label is there alright. I got this as a wedding gift. Do you manufacture handbags?

Yes, I’ve a manufacturing unit in Tilak Nagar, said Uma. It’s not a large unit but quite an exclusive one. Here’s my card. Do keep in touch. Now let’s not talk about handbags or the bomb blast, though. Our first duty is to let our people know that we’re safe and then reach home at the earliest. Who knows at how many places the terrorists have planted the bombs? This was the third for this evening as per your father-in-law’s information obtained from a TV channel.

So, without much ado, Uma and Shweta informed their parents that they were safe and that they were on their way home by the first available bus.

Uma reached her home in Dwarka, in West Delhi, two hours later. Relief was writ large on the faces of her parents, when they saw her. They had a hundred-and-one questions to ask though!

It was close to dinner time. Sarita Chopra decided to serve dinner as Uma joined them after having a wash. Uma had got back to her normal jovial self. Over dinner she gave them the details of what had happened while Pran and Sarita Chopra informed her about what the TV channels had said.

More than forty people are dead in Sarojini Nagar market itself, informed Pran Chopra, punctuating his sentences liberally with the ‘b’ word as was his habit. An equal number are injured, b********. You were damn lucky, b********.

Then, suddenly remembering, he said, Oh b********! There was a blast at Paharganj before this, at about 5.30. Gopi returns from work at about that time. And he takes the Paharganj road. Uma, just ring up his wife and check if he is safe.

Uma rang up Gopalkrishna Hegday’s house.

Hello, said his wife, Lakshmi.

"Hello Bhabhi, mein Uma bol rahi hoon (I’m Uma calling)! We wanted to know if Gopal Bhaiya was back from his office! There was a bomb blast in Paharganj you know!"

Oh, I know! Cried Lakshmi Hegday. I was so-o-o worried! I kept ringing and ringing his cell phone. At last he replied that he was OK. He was busy–he was helping the injured. I told him to come home as soon as possible. He just arrived. He has gone for a bath. His clothes were stained with blood and dirt! On seeing the state of his clothes, I was terrified that he was injured! Happily, nothing has happened to him. He had not left his office when the blast took place.

Thank God! Said Uma. Actually I was caught in a bomb blast. I was at the Sarojini Nagar market when the blast took place there. It was a weird and terrifying experience! I also returned just an hour ago. Everybody here was very worried.

"Some people are born only to create problems for others! What have we, or our country, done to these terrorists that they should kill innocent people and destroy our properties? These terrorists are the present-day raakshasaas (demons)! Said Lakshmi heatedly. They become restless if they cannot foment trouble somewhere or the other. They cannot tolerate it if others progress. We need somebody like Rama or Krishna again to annihilate them! Our neighbour’s son, Sushil–such a nice boy, so well behaved and so good in his studies–he is injured, though not seriously. He was on the bus that got damaged because of the bomb blast in Govindpuri, you know!"

They exchanged more information for the next ten minutes. Lakshmi told Uma about the brave act of the bus driver and conductor who had spotted a suspicious, unclaimed plastic bag in their bus when they were plying through Govindpuri, and quickly alerted the forty odd passengers travelling in it. The driver selected a less populated area of the road and stopped the bus. The conductor asked the passengers to disembark as quickly as possible. In the meanwhile, the driver threw the plastic bag out of the bus before the bomb contained in it could explode. It exploded as it was dropping to the ground; the driver, the conductor and five passengers who did not have the time to get off the bus were injured in the explosion; Sushil was one of them.

Uma gave a graphic account of her own experience. The discussion would have gone on much longer had Gopalkrishna Hegday not come out of his bathroom and demanded his dinner from Lakshmi.

But, that night, telephones kept ringing across the city of Delhi–nay, across the country–to check if their near and dear ones were affected by the bomb blasts or not. A cosmopolitan city like Delhi had people from all parts of the country living there! Their relatives would certainly be worried!

Had any of the Lashkar-e-Taiba terrorists been caught immediately, it would have, perhaps, acted as a balm on the wounds of the injured. As it stood, the crime against the people of India had turned the festival of Deepawali from one of rejoicing to one of mourning.

A few days later, ten suspects were picked up–five from the New Delhi Railway Station and another five from other railway stations and bus terminals in Delhi. Tariq Ahmad Dar who masterminded the attacks was arrested on the tenth of November 2005. The Police said that he had telephoned his bosses in the Lashkar-e-Taiba to inform them that he had been successful. The suspected Govindpuri bomber, Mohammed Rafiq Shah was also arrested.

However, come November, December and January, and the resilient people of Delhi were getting ready to celebrate, much to the surprise and chagrin of the terrorists, Guru Nanak’s birthday, Christmas, New Year, Lori, and Makarsankranti, as though nothing had happened! The terrorist attacks had become a part of history by then, just as the terrorist attacks of 12 March 1993, 6 December 2002, 27 January 2003, 14 March 2003, 28 July 2003, and of 25 August 2003 had become a part of Mumbai’s history within a few days of their happening!

But, for those who were directly involved, whose lives were changed forever as a result, the memories of the attacks got etched in their minds with an indelible ink. The scars would remain forever. Will they and their families and close friends ever be able to forgive the perpetrators of this damage?

Chapter 2

Uma was the youngest of three daughters of Pran and Sarita Chopra. Theirs was a middle class family. They lived in the Dwarka area of New Delhi where they had shifted after her father’s retirement. Chopra had retired as Foreman, after working for nearly thirty years in the maintenance workshop of the Indian Railways at Delhi. Unfortunately, over the years, he had built up an unenviable reputation of being an unscrupulous man who was slow on his job. He had twice received letters from his department, expressing their dissatisfaction over his work; Chopra did not lose any sleep over it. He knew that he had a permanent Government job and no one could throw him out, although he lost on his promotions. In any case, he was not interested in being promoted to the rank of an Officer. As Foreman he made a lot of extra money by way of overtime, which would have stopped automatically on his being elevated to an Officer’s grade, he told his colleagues, lacing his sentences for effect with the ‘B-word’ more frequently than he was apt to do. Instead of worrying over his job, he applied his energies in trying to earn extra money–by fair means or foul. The money so earned would serve as the dowry for his daughters, if they were to be suitably married. He would also have to spend substantially towards ornaments, clothes, venue of the marriage and reception, food for the guests, and so on, along the lines of a grand Indian wedding. So, he was on mission accumulation. He was even successful to a certain extent.

He had got his eldest daughter, Priyanka, married with much fanfare when she was twenty-two and a fresh Economics graduate of the Delhi University. He had no difficulty in finding a groom for her–she was not only very fair, intelligent and attractive, but had also landed a good job with the Punjab National Bank, soon after her graduation. Pran Chopra was pleased that he did not have to pay any dowry for the Electronics Engineer groom. He paid a price though–his son-in-law, Vijay, had a ‘Jaipur Foot’.

Vijay had met with an accident when he was a teenager–a train had passed over his right foot while he was crossing the railway tracks, illegally of course, along with some others, which necessitated amputation of the foot. After that he wore a prosthetic foot, specially designed to look lifelike by an institute in Jaipur, so he could walk and run like any normal male, though he could not use that foot for any rigorous exercises–like playing football, for example. With the ‘Jaipur Foot’ he could wear proper shoes and he had no limp to show. He carried himself well too! Even a close scrutiny could not reveal any defect.

Being a good, diligent student, Vijay did well academically and obtained a bachelor’s degree in electronics engineering from the Delhi College of Engineering. Immediately after graduation, he secured a well-paying job in a Central Government Department in Delhi, with residential quarters going with it.

So when the proposal of marriage came to the Chopra house, everyone was elated. A relative of Sarita Chopra brought the news.

"But, Bhaisaab, where did Vijay see Priyanka? Asked Sarita Chopra, much intrigued, but pleased, nevertheless. Does Priyanka know him?"

No, no, said Vinod Bhaisaab. Vijay saw her at the Industrial Expo held at the Pragati Maidan. Priyanka was selected as one of the hostesses to take care of the Pavilion of Nations, you remember.

But that was a year ago, when she was still in college, interposed Sarita Chopra.

That’s right, said Vinod Bhaisaab. "Well, Vijay was also on duty at the Expo during that period. His department had put up a stall. He met her then. He even asked a professional photographer to take a picture of Priyanka surreptitiously one day, without her knowledge. He also spoke a few words to her once–just asked her for some trivial information so that he could read the name on her badge. But he showed the photo to his mother and told her that he wanted to marry Priyanka, and that they had to find her. Without knowing her address, finding her in this large city was no minor problem.

"Then one day, I happened to visit Vijay’s house. His father and I were together at school and later at college. I know them very well. Only, I was rather busy with my business and had to go out of station several times, and so too Vijay’s father, and we had not met each other for several months although we did talk to each other on the phone.

"When I went to their house, Vijay’s mother told me about