Raja of Windsor Castle

No one really knows how old Windsor Castle of Junapada in Mumbai really is. A dark old relic made of stone in the Victorian style. A huge narrow archway

 that is its entrance leads to the stairway after you have walked down the dimly lit passage. The stairway was once solid large stone, but now broken and infirm, fun for a child but God forbid if someone is old and arthritic. At every bend of the stairway, there is a small window at the top right corner with horizontal iron bars that just about lets in the light and the breeze. You would wonder how the light and the breeze manage to seep in through those windows heavy with layers of dust, cobwebs, random dry twigs that may once have been home to an avian family. And no, you wouldn't want to venture close to the window because the wall is equally filthy showcasing an unwelcome graffiti of stains from pan spit. What Windsor Castle lacks in aesthetics, it fails to make up for even in spirit. 

The houses are essentially a set of single rooms dotting the long narrow lobby with a common toilet and bathroom for the entire floor. The rooms are dark, gloomy and mirthless with old creaky fans where the breeze, if at all, is more thanks to the broken windows. As a tribute to human dexterity, each such homes accommodate a bustling brood of ten and sometimes even more.    

The neighbourhood is remarkable for its filth and dirt. If the city has an underbelly, this would be its underbelly. There are two clear sections divided by the traffic light crossing. This side is the Hindu area and the other is where the Muslims live. They say that at one point there always was simmering tension between the two and clashes were frequent, though things appear to have calmed down now. Both sides have learnt to tolerate if not love each other. People who live here are unskilled labouerers, daily wage earners, truck cleaners, odd jobbers and ruffians. The collar here is deepest blue.

It was July of 1992 or 1993. The day was particularly unremarkable. It had rained the previous two days and on that day it hadn't. As a result the day was muggy, hot with almost no breeze blowing. People already harassed by life were sweaty and uncomfortable. On this day a baby boy was born into one of the rooms of Windsor Castle. With disdainful disregard to their fortune and life in general, the boy's parents named him Raja.

As Raja grew up, it was very clear that his personality was heavily borrowed from the day of his birth. You would miss him even if was alone in a room, almost invisible to everyone except perhaps his own mother.  He wasn't weak, but was meek and not academically gifted either. You could be forgiven for thinking that he was a complete loser and would somehow manage to only drift through life. For all the odds that his destiny had stacked against him, he possessed a cheerful demeanour,  keen observation and a curious mind. Raja's father worked as an attendant in the local library, whose owner had allowed Raja a free pass with all the books and publications. Raja made most of the free pass, he read books and publications in Marathi, Hindi and English and his favourites were detective stories and thrillers. This habit further honed his natural gifts. He must have been in his teens when he decided to become a detective. He was unlike the other boys his age who were taken in by the glamour and means to earning a fast buck lifestyle that crime offered. 

There was a police station at the corner of the lane and in front of it was a roadside tea vendor. Raja took up a job as the tea vendor's errand boy. With a permanent smile, he would deliver tea to the cops, he would help them with their cleaning and dusting and would also run errands for them. The cops liked him and his never say no attitude. 

One fine day, PI Wamanrao Ghorpade and SI Abhay Chavan were posted to this police station. Tough cops both. Both were men of the world and knew where the line was between corruption and treason. They had a terrific network and many accomplishments to their credit. In the police circles they were called the "GhoCha" monikered from their respective surnames. Despite his inconspicuous personality, the keen eyes of GhoCha spotted Raja. At first they were suspicious and resentful. They casually asked a constable to keep an eye on Raja, his whereabouts and his friends. The constable expertly tailed Raja for over a month and told GhoCha " Sir, he quietly works with the tea vendor, runs errands for the cops who sometimes tip him. He studied commerce till 12th in Maratha Samrat college. His family isn't too bad either. He is the only child, his father has studied till the 10th and works at the local library and mother is a homemaker. Raja loves to read, but he doesn't have too many friends and steers clear of the trouble mongers." 

"Ok, I want to talk to him, bring him to me tomorrow"

But that was not to be. Ghorpade received a tipoff for a potentially large drug deal and had to act swiftly. He set up teams with specific tasks assigned to lay a trap and catch the drug dealers red-handed. "I want to capture those people alive. They will lead us to their bosses and that way we can strike hard at the root" 

Now Junapada is a complex place with many dimly lit crisscrossing alleys. Some open into a maze of small squatters while some end blind. Local ruffians can easily enter any squatter and wait there till the cops leave. Nobody likes the cops enough to risk their life, so nobody talks. The goons sometimes help the locals with money, settle a fight and help with favours. They are regarded as Messiahs by the destitute of Junapada.   

That night the armed cops spread out in civil dress and waited at strategic vantage points to nab the drug dealers. At about 2.30, five of them arrived on motorcycles, joking, smoking and drinking beer out of the bottle waiting for the counterparty to arrive. In approximately 45 minutes an old Maruti 800 pulled up. A middle aged man emerged out of the car and suddenly the motorcycle gang stiffened. Their body language turned from rouge to subservient. Obviously the 800 guy was someone important. It was at that time when Ghorpade made his decision....get the big guy even if you have to give up on the loose change motorcycle gang. He crackled crisp on his comm device "go for 800". In a clean scoop, they swept Mr.800 off his feet with typical police charm while the motorcycle gang melted into the dark alleys.

Chavan was astute in his knowledge of the underworld daddies, at the police station after he had a good look at 800 after yanking off his false moustache and beard, he knew that he was none other than Pasha, the second lieutenant of the reigning drug lord, Mustafa. Pasha was not a man of music, but after a little encouragement from the cops at the station, he began to sing. The eloquent lyrics helped the police to locate, nab, seize a lot of Mustafa's inventory and men. Hiding his bloody nose with a handkerchief, Mustafa fled out to a safer neighbouring country which loves people like him. GhoCha and the station cops were heroes and toast of the police department. Yet Ghorpade wasn't as pleased as he had expected himself to be. The next morning over tea and a cigarette he realised why. He wanted the motorcycle gang and they would lead them to their boss. 

"Round up all the boys from the street", Ghorpade ordered his constables. By late evening, they had rounded an entire bunch of ruffians that dotted the street. Chavan swung into "persuasive" action with those boys. The boys were used to such persuasion...from parents, friends, bullies and gang rivals. They weren't talking much. As he was about to persuade the last of them when he realised it was Raja. His raised hand stopped midway, his body language softened. He dragged Raja to a secluded room and requested Ghorpade to join. It was just them and Raja. This was the evening when Raja's life changed.

By design the room was dimly lit and sparce. Just one table and one chair in that large empty room. Raja looked around...."this room is bigger than my house". Ghorpade took the chair and Chavan stood erect besides him with his legs spread and arms behind his back. Across the table and a few meters away stood a visibly nervous and shaken Raja. Moments passed, his breathing levelled, Raja's keen observation and their body language told him that the men across the table were only pretending to intimidate. He stood quietly and confidently waiting for them to begin. Chavan put on his harshest tone "I know why you come to the police station under the pretext of delivering tea. You want us to be soft with you while you spy and relay critical information to the local mafia"

"No sir. I do this because I want to learn your methods. I want to be a detective and this is the best way I could learn"

This threw GhoCha off balance. They had never expected this response. Chavan immediately softened, he suddenly liked the kid who stood in front of him.

"Sir, I could easily have become like those boys you have rounded off. I too am just as poor, never excelled at academics and don't seem to have much of a future. I hardly make enough to get by working at the tea shop. I could have have taken up the wrong path and made money, girlfriends and people here would have saluted me. I chose the difficult path, I chose my faith."  "Sir I am acutely aware that nobody notices me, I am almost invisible, and that actually works in my favour. I am blessed with a positive attitude, keen observation and a curious mind. Sir, I have read a lot and knowing people from the other side, I understand and can read a bit of Urdu as well. I am underconfident, but not weak" he continued as he felt a surge of strength, probably for the first time in his life. "You know sir, I have never known what it is to be happy, I have never smiled, I have never seen anyone in my family smile. My father has a perpetual frown...he is always worried about how he will provide the next meal. Until now I have never spoken more than two sentences together with anybody. Sir, I know that you are looking for those drug dealers from our area. Let me help you find them." It surely wasn't Raja speaking, it seemed like someone else. He had never felt like this before.

Normally GhoCha were never short on words. Their vocabulary was as eloquent as it was colourful and rough. This time all they could manage was a stutter and a cough.

Raja's mind cultivated from all the detective books and thrillers he had read, was now working overtime. "Those drug dealers would have hidden into their squatters thinking it would be impossible for you to find them. You don't even know who they were." Sometimes when I have some money, I visit Hanif bhai's Irani for some bun maska. Today morning I saw a guy at the Irani, Haroon, limp and had a bandage on his leg. Must have happened from the motorcycle crash when they were trying to escape last night. All I need to do is figure a way to visit the squatters and take a good look inside. I will find Haroon. Once you have him, he will lead you to the others." " Just how do I visit the squatters....what cover story should I spin." Clearly he had forgotten about the 2 senior cops and was talking to himself. "Oh yes" saying that he ran out.

GhoCha looked at each other as though they had seen a ghost.

Raja returned to the station in an hour, he went straight to the room. GhoCha were still there trying to process what had just happened. They were surprised to see Raja, but had half expected him to return.

" Sir, I have an idea. I spoke to the tea stall owner. I will visit all squatters and tell them that we will supply tea thrice a day. That way they wont have to worry about buying tea leaves, milk, sugar and can save on the cooking gas. We will offer very good rates and make it worthwhile for them. The tea stall owner can also save money because of the bulk purchases. It is a win-win. That's my cover story"

While Ghorpade was contemplating, Chavan, the more street smart, gave Raja a go-ahead.

"I also saw Haroon's unique shoes, I will be able to spot them." Raja squealed with excitement.

True to his plan, Raja diligently visited every squatter and looked around inside as he made his offer. After 73 minutes of painstaking relentlessness, he finally spotted Haroon's shoes in one of the huts. He made a quiet note in his diary and continued his rounds of the other squatters, not wanting to raise suspicion. After he was done, he slipped Chavan the details of the hut. Head constable Waghmare was dispatched with a team to round up Haroon. The team moved quickly, barged into the hut and picked up Haroon who was smoking a joint to ease his pain. They dragged Haroon to the station where Chavan was waiting and ready. He immediately swung into action and Haroon ratted off the names and whereabouts of his accomplices. Soon the police managed to arrest all five drug dealers who in turn ratted the name of the main distributor of Junapada. Before long, the distributor too was apprehended. The Junapada Police had busted and crippled a large drug network. It was a major victory for Mumbai police. Now the Junapada Police Station was turned into a major station and as a result the police team had moved up in the ranks.

After all the euphoria had settled, Ghorpade sent for Raja. 

"I cannot felicitate you publicly or give you any credit. Its for your own safety. But I must thank you for your brilliant job. Let me do two things for you; he handed Raja an envelope containing One Lakh rupees as reward. I am recommending your name for police detective. You will receive your license and you will officially help the Police with detection work"

Raja went home and the family enjoyed dinner that he had bought from the famous Shalimar hotel.

This was the first time the family had eaten to their heart's content. This was the first time they had dessert. This was the first time Raja's father did not have  frown on his face, this was the first time that Raja saw contentment on his mother's face. Today Raja looked out of his window and saw the full moon gleaming, he felt a light breeze across his face. Today was the first time Raja smiled.

   

(C) Copyright with Anuj Desai. Not to be used, copied or distributed without the author's express permission.

This story is completely fictional. All characters and names are imaginary. The author does not wish to deride any community or race. Any resemblance to any person or a group of persons or any organisation is purely coincidental and not intended.