Chapter 17: Panchgani Mein Naya Ghar (New Home in Panchgani)

2005-2008

Panchgani was not the forest. Panchgani was the compromise — the compromise between the forest's safety (the safety of isolation, the isolation that the Satpura hills had provided for twenty-six years) and the city's utility (the utility of proximity, the proximity to Mumbai and Pune where the network's operations were increasingly concentrated). The compromise that Bharati had made because the Prerna operation had changed the calculation: the network needed to be closer to the action and further from the evidence, the closer-and-further being the particular spatial paradox that Panchgani solved.

Panchgani was a hill station. The hill station that the British had built for the same reason that the network now used it: the climate. The climate that was moderate when Mumbai was brutal and cool when Pune was warm and that provided, in its moderation, the particular comfort that allowed thinking and planning and the long-term operational management that the network now required. The hill station that was, in 2005, a mixture of old British bungalows and new Indian tourism and the particular tension between the preserved and the developed that all Indian hill stations experienced, the tension producing: a town that was busy during tourist season (October to February) and quiet during the off-season (March to September), the quiet being the network's operational window, the busy being the network's cover.

The new base was a bungalow. A British-era bungalow on the road to Table Land — the flat-topped plateau that was Panchgani's tourist attraction and that was, for the network, the landmark that oriented the geography. The bungalow was — the bungalow was different from the Satpura camp. The difference being: walls. The walls that the forest did not have and that the bungalow had and that the having produced the particular sensation that Leela experienced on the first night: enclosure. The enclosure that was not the hole's enclosure (the hole being the darkness, the darkness being the terror) but the house's enclosure, the enclosure that was — Leela had not lived in a house since Sitapur Gali. Twenty-seven years of forest and camp and clearing and stream, and now — a house.

The house had: four bedrooms (Bharati and Chinmay, Keshav, Leela, and the rotating room — the room that held whatever children were currently in the network's immediate care), a kitchen (the kitchen that became, immediately, Leela's — the kitchen that was the first kitchen Leela had since Sitapur Gali, the first kitchen in which Leela could make pohe not in her mind but in reality, the reality-pohe being the thing that the forest camp had not provided because the forest camp's cooking was Keshav's fire-pit cooking, the fire-pit being the limitation), a sitting room (the sitting room that became, through the placement of Chinmay's harmonium and Bharati's notebooks and Keshav's maps, the operations room), and a verandah (the verandah that faced the valley, the valley that dropped away from Panchgani toward Wai and that was, in the mornings, filled with fog and that the fog made beautiful the way all Indian hill-station valleys were beautiful in the fog: the obscuring being the beauty, the beauty being the not-seeing, the not-seeing being the rest that the eyes needed after years of forest-seeing).

Leela made pohe. Real pohe. In the kitchen. The first morning in the bungalow — the first morning that was the beginning of the new life, the new-new life, the life that was: house, kitchen, walls, ceiling. The pohe that was: flattened rice soaked for four minutes (the four minutes that were sacred, the four minutes that had been maintained mentally for twenty-seven years and that were now, for the first time, physical — the timer on the kitchen counter, the counter that was real, the kitchen that was real, the four minutes that were real). The tempering: mustard seeds in the oil (the popping — the sound that was the morning, the sound that was Vandana, the sound that was Sitapur Gali transported to Panchgani through the medium of a woman's hands and a woman's memory and the memory's refusal to fade). Curry leaves. Turmeric. Green chillies — Nagpuri mirchi, because Leela had, in twenty-seven years of not being in Nagpur, maintained the Nagpuri mirchi standard, the standard being: hot, unapologetically hot, the hotness being the Vidarbha identity that the Satpura forest had not erased and that Panchgani would not erase.

Peanuts. Extra peanuts.

The extra peanuts. The extra peanuts that Leela added because the extra peanuts were Lata's preference and the preference had been maintained across twenty-seven years and the maintaining was the connection and the connection was the mother, the mother who was in Pune (forty-five minutes from Panchgani by road, the forty-five minutes being the closest that Leela had been to Vandana since the night of the knock, the closeness being the particular cruelty of proximity-without-contact, the proximity saying: your mother is forty-five minutes away and you cannot see her and the cannot-seeing is the price and the price is the safety).

Bharati ate the pohe. Chinmay ate the pohe. Keshav ate the pohe.

"Yeh pohe —" Bharati started. And stopped. Because Bharati recognised the pohe. Bharati who had been in Vandana's kitchen on the night of the knock. Bharati who had smelled the pohe that Vandana had been making. Bharati who understood — with the particular understanding of a woman who had spent twenty-seven years carrying the weight of the seventh extraction — that the pohe on the Panchgani kitchen table was Vandana's pohe, made by Vandana's daughter, in a kitchen that was not Vandana's kitchen.

"Bahut achha hai," Bharati said. It's very good. The words that were insufficient and that were enough and that carried, in their insufficiency, the weight of twenty-seven years of: I took you from the woman who taught you this and the taking was necessary and the necessary does not make the taking less heavy.

Raju ate the pohe. Raju who was now thirty. Thirty and still silent — but the silence had evolved. The silence was no longer the trauma-silence (the silence of a boy whose speaking had been punished). The silence was now the choice-silence, the silence of a man who had decided that his contribution to the world was not words but presence, the presence being: Raju was there. Raju was always there. Raju was the network's constant, the person who did not speak and who did not leave and whose not-leaving was the stability that the network needed, the stability being: in a world of change and danger and moving and hiding, Raju was the fixed point. The point that did not move. The point that said: I am here. I will be here.

Raju ate the pohe and held the plate with both hands. The holding that was — the holding was Raju. The boy who had held the chai tumbler with both hands at eight was now the man who held the plate with both hands at thirty, the holding being the constant, the constant being: trust, expressed through grip, the grip saying what the mouth did not say.

*

The network's operations expanded from Panchgani. The expansion being — the expansion was the Haldhar aftermath. The Haldhar aftermath being: Prerna was closed, but Haldhar was not gone. The demand existed. The demand produced the supply from other sources — the other sources being: smaller manufacturers, the manufacturers that did not have Prerna's scale but that had the chemistry and the will and the market, the market being Mumbai's slums and now, spreading, Pune's slums and Nagpur's slums and the particular geography of Indian urban poverty where the drugs found their customers and the customers' families found the violence.

The network's response was: both. Both extraction (continuing to rescue children from violent homes, the continuing being the network's founding purpose and the purpose that did not change) and intervention (continuing to address the systemic causes, the causes being the drug manufacturers and the political protectors and the police's selective blindness). The both-response being the evolution that the Prerna operation had initiated and that was now the network's operating model: rescue and prevention, the individual and the systemic, the child and the system.

Leela ran the operations. From Panchgani. The running being — the running was the job that Leela had grown into over twenty-seven years, the growing being the particular development that the network had produced: from twelve-year-old kidnap victim to intelligence operative to extractor to operational leader. The development that was — Leela reflected, on the verandah, in the fog, in the mornings — the development was Bharati's design. Bharati who had seen, in the twelve-year-old Lata, the potential that the twelve-year-old did not see. Bharati who had trained the potential into capability and the capability into mastery and the mastery into leadership. The design that was not cynical (the design was not: I will take this child and shape her into a weapon). The design was — the design was rescue. The rescue that included not just the taking-from-danger but the building-into-person, the building being: you were in danger, I took you from the danger, and now I will help you become the person that the danger would have prevented you from becoming.

But the operations brought the dangers closer. The dangers that were — the dangers were multiplying. Samaira was close (Leela knew about Samaira — the network's intelligence had identified Samaira years ago, the identifying being: a Mumbai-based private investigator who has been investigating the network for decades, the investigating being persistent and competent and approaching the answer). Rao was searching (the revenge-search that Rao funded and that Rao's hired investigators conducted, the conducting being cruder than Samaira's but more dangerous because Rao's investigators did not seek justice, Rao's investigators sought the person who had destroyed his business). And the police — the police who had, after the Prerna media exposure, developed a renewed interest in the "child-extraction network" that had been a footnote in their files since Deshpande's 1987 investigation and that was now, thanks to the Prerna connection, a headline.

"Hum exposed hain," Leela said to Bharati. At the operations meeting. In the sitting room. The sitting room that was the operations room. The harmonium in the corner. The maps on the wall. The tea on the table. "Samaira Apte kareeb hai. Rao ke log kareeb hain. Police kareeb hai. Teen taraf se — teen threats — aur hum Panchgani mein hain, ek jagah pe. Agar koi bhi ek hamare tak pahunch jaaye —" We're exposed. Samaira Apte is close. Rao's people are close. Police are close. Three directions — three threats — and we're in Panchgani, in one place. If any one of them reaches us —

"Toh?" Bharati's word. The word that said: what is the response?

"Toh — disperse. Network ko distribute karo. Hum sab ek jagah nahi reh sakte. Bharati-didi, aap Pune jao. Kaveri-tai ke saath. Keshav-bhai, Mumbai. Chinmay-bhai, aap — aap Bharati-didi ke saath. Raju, mere saath. Main — main yahan rehti hoon." Disperse. Distribute the network. We can't all stay in one place. Bharati-didi, go to Pune. With Kaveri-tai. Keshav-bhai, Mumbai. Chinmay-bhai, you go with Bharati-didi. Raju, with me. I — I'll stay here.

The dispersal. The dispersal that was — the dispersal was the breaking of the family. Not the permanent breaking (the network would remain connected, the connection being the operation that continued even when the operatives were distributed). The physical breaking. The breaking that said: the people who had lived together in a clearing in the Satpura hills for twenty-six years and in a bungalow in Panchgani for three years would now live separately, the separately being the safety and the safety being the price and the price being: loneliness.

Bharati's face. The face that was — Leela saw it. The face that aged. Not physically (Bharati was sixty-two and had been sixty-two for the entire meeting). The face that aged emotionally — the emotional aging that happened when a person realized that the thing they had built was being disassembled, the disassembling being necessary and the necessary not making the disassembling less painful.

"Sahi hai," Bharati said. You're right. The two words that were the approval and the grief simultaneously, the approval being: the operational logic is correct, the grief being: the family is splitting.

Chinmay played the harmonium. That evening. The last evening before the dispersal. The playing that was — the playing was the farewell that did not use the word farewell. The playing that said: we are separating and the separating is necessary and I will play the music that holds us together even when the togetherness is physical-absent, the music being the thread that distance could not cut.

He played "Lag Jaa Gale." The song that was the beginning — the song that had made Lata cry on the tenth day, the song that Leela had learned as her first song, the song that was Vandana's kitchen song. The song that was, now, the family's song — the song that meant: embrace me, because the night is passing and the passing is the separation and the separation is the thing we cannot stop.

Keshav made chai. The last chai. The chai that was — the same. Strong, sweet, wood-fire — wait. Not wood-fire. The Panchgani kitchen had a gas stove. The gas-stove chai was different from the wood-fire chai: cleaner, lacking the smoke, the lacking being the particular loss that modernity produced and that the chai-drinker noticed and that the noticing was the grief in miniature: even the chai has changed, even the constant is not constant, the not-constant being the condition of a life in motion.

Leela drank the chai. By the verandah. Looking at the valley. The valley that was foggy and beautiful and that was, tomorrow, going to be Leela's alone — Leela and Raju, the two of them in the bungalow, the two who had been the youngest and who were now the remaining, the remaining being the particular duty that the youngest inherited when the elders dispersed.

She made the mental pohe. That night. In bed. In the bungalow. The mental pohe that she could now make physically but that she still made mentally because the mental-making was the ritual and the ritual was the connection and the connection was: Aai, tomorrow the family is separating. But I am still here. The pohe is still four minutes. The mustard seeds still pop. The extra peanuts are still for you.