“Dara Singh was nothing compared to Sundar Narayanan,” She said earnestly. We were sitting together by the water drinking cognac watching the sunset. There was nothing else to do until her husband came to pick her up. And she told me a story that was so rivetting I forgot to drink my cognac and the sun forgot to set. This is her story.
Power oozed from every pore of Sundar Narayanan’s body. Sundar Narayanan was the head of a conglomerate of loosely based ideas, a first among equals one might say, in a consortium of three. The other two members of the consortium were Sathya Narayanan and Shiva Narayanan.
The trio Narayanan were not brothers, nor were they of some godly triumvirate. They were simple Bangalore folk who were equally in love with our protagonist, an idealist youngster whose preoccupation with dusty cars and astrology left her with very little time to notice that the Narayanan triumvirate collectively let out a sigh every time she walked past them. The fact that they were old and married never acted as a deterrent in their heads every time they gazed desirously as the protagonist as she smiled at them.
But Sundar Narayanan was the strongest of them. He was not particularly strong physically. Well, he was quite weak really. His habit of surreptitiously tasting the sweat as it fell to his lips from the brows via the bridge of the nose made him appear a little lizard-like. But that having said, his ideas made him powerful. He was an idea man and as idea men go, he was good and motivating. And helpful. Once, when our protagonist was lost on the streets of the city on her way to a thread-ceremony of Sathya Narayana’s child, it was Sundar Narayanan who came in his dhoti to rescue her. And that is when she noticed him for the first time. I mean, noticed if you catch my drift.
And she ewadily fell in love with him, head over heels. Not just with him, but with all his assorted qualities. His power-filled pores, his animal magnetism, his squinting eyes. Life was good. The fact that he was already in love with her made the whole story a lot easier.
It was just a matter of chance. For all we care, she could have been lost on the way to Shiva Narayanan’s child’s mundan ceremony and Sathya Narayanan might have rescued her. Who she might have fallen for in that scenario is entirely unknown to me, dear reader. And I don’t like making things up. I just state things as they are.
Of course, the other Narayanans were not amused. I would venture to say, they were pissed off. Forgetting the freshly shaven heads of their newly be-threaded children and the lily-white flowers in their back gardens, they yearned for her.
Then they came to a simple conclusion.
Sathya Narayanan must go. He must be made to disappear. Pay for his sins.
There was only a small problem. Well, apart from all the usual problems associated with planning a murder, there was a small additional problem. All the big problems associated with murder-planning were not that critical to them, been so jealously in love.
Sundar was their idea-man. Shiva Narayanan was a wizard in finances and Sathya Narayanan could talk a good talk. But without Sundar Narayanan they were dead in the water.
That and they had no previous experience in committing murder.
It is only when you sit down to plan a murder that you realize all the complexities involved in it. First, there has to be pretty easy way to do it, which does not involve serious capital investment costs. Then there is the matter of the disposal of the body. Do they kill and leave the body as a reminder to everyone else as a warning or cut him up and distribute his remains all over town in garbage bags?
You might think this is trivial. Try murdering someone and you will see how quickly these complexities add up. If you are indeed planning to murder, and not doing it because there are no suitable people you feel like killing, you might want to consider offering your services in the Mercenary Hunter magazine. But I digress.
So after much consideration spread over many meetings filled with endless cups of coffee and cigarettes, they decided to reduce the scope of the exercise to assault and intimidation.
Of course they could not do it. For starters, they were equally as old as their blissfully-unaware intended victim. Next, the victim sort of knew them since they all worked in the same office. Well, they were partners.
So they decided to hire Dara Singh!
Dara Singh was no relative of the famous wrestler who was his namesake. He was a hapless part-time chowkidar in our protagonist’s house who spent most of his days sleeping balanced on a stool placed right outside the gate. Given his amazing hunger for pedhas and ladoos, our potential assaulter was quite heavy and portentous.
That and he had an intimidating moustache. One of those moustaches that could contain the remains of many breakfasts from previous weeks and you would barely notice it except for the flies that made it their home.
And he was known to Narayanans primarily because they had taken to walking by the protagonist’s house for no apparent reason. And in uncharacteristic modesty, they had taken to stopping and exchanging a few words with Dara Singh while surreptitiously surveying the top floor bedroom of the protagonist for any sign of activity.
There was never any. The protagonist roamed the streets of the city in her dusty car with dreams in her eyes and Sundar Narayanan on her mind.
Over tea and pedhas, Sathya and Shiva very gingerly introduced Dara Singh to the plot. He was to approach Sundar Narayanan menacingly one evening at the parking lot, push him around and slap him. And as he turned to walk around, he was to look at Sundar Narayanan with great contempt as his lay on the ground with dirty and torn collar, and say, “stay away from her. Next time you won’t be so lucky.”
Dara Singh was not keen on this. But the five thousand rupees that was promised would buy him a lot of sweets. And tea. Even a trip to UP where he was from.
So he agreed.
Money changed hands and a date was fixed for the intimidation.
On the appointed day, Dara Singh approached Sundar Narayanan and just as he was supposed to do the deed, a car pulled up in front of him distracting him. If you are planning an assault, focus is key. Well, focus and the element of surprise. With those two lost, Dara Singh decided to cut his losses and wait for a better day.
Next day, the other Narayanans were very surprised to see Sundar in the office. With no visible sings of assault. That afternoon they were livid when they saw the protagonist drinking sweet Bangalore tea in Sundar Narayanan’s office. They melodious laughter sent shock waves through their collective systems.
Hurried conferences were set up and the message of urgency was reinforced with Dara Singh.
The next day Dara Singh waited in the parking lot for Sundar. He had offered to drive the protagonist to her house as her car was being washed.
Dara Singh stepped out of the shadows and froze when he saw Bibi-jiwith her assault victim. She smiled earnestly at him, Arre! Dara Singh, what are you doing here? Is everything OK?
Dara Singh froze. He had nothing to say. Without pausing she turned around and said to Sundar, this is my watchman.
Sundar suddenly remembered that he had seen Dara Singh before at the same parking lot. Dara withdrew to himself in embarrassment and confusion. Suddenly, he became acutely aware of the power that oozed out of every pore in Sundar Narayanan’s body. He was overcome with remorse. Sundar Narayanan licked his swat off one last time as he led the protagonist into his Mitsubishi Lancer. Then with a thousand questions in his head still unanswered, drove off the parking lot.
“Dara Singh was nothing compared to Sundar Narayanan,” She repeated earnestly after recalling this tale. Many winters had passed and she had come to learn all about the story after she left their company and moved to Harare.
Dara was broken hearted and sad. He decided to wait for the other Narayanans to arrive to their cars. When they did, half-hour later, with heady expectations, they were met with Dara and his assaulting kicks. As they fell to the ground, dazed and confused, he looked back in contempt and said, “Leave him alone. Or next time I won’t be so nice.”
Next morning, the train to UP carried a man with five thousand rupees running away from Bangalore.
Epilogue
The Protagonist currently lives in Harare as the head of the UN Mission for African Diseases. She is married to A. P. Anantha Murthy whom she met on a matrimonial site and he is decidedly not a computer professional. She is no longer in touch with Sundar Narayanan.
Sundar Narayanan continues to create great ideas in Bangalore. His company imovemoutains.com is now the number one provider of statistical software in the Japanese market. He is still pining for the protagonist who left him broken-hearted by marrying a rather boring chap (in Sundar’s opinion) called Murthy or some such name.
Sathya Narayanan was not happy with the peripheral role in this story. So he went into film production to make a name for himself and is pursued by Dawood Ibrahim for unpaid debts.
Shiva Narayanan broke his hip in a fall and came back to win the bicycle marathon. He got a contract as a spokesperson for a bicycle brand based in Thailand.
Dara Singh’s whereabouts are unknown. Last, he was seen heading towards Khandahar on a stolen Royal Enfield motorcycle with a rider with a black beard and black turban called Muqsuda Ali Omar.
