The First Coffin

By M John

The Mumbai underworld is controlled by the Devgun family. When an upright and senior member of the Mumbai police stands up to them, the family decides to send out a strong message, by killing not just him, but his whole family. They employ the services of a professional assassin, who does the job, but is unable to kill the police officer s son, who was not with his family at that time. Because of this technicality, the Devgun family decides to withhold payment to the assassin.

The assassin is now out to collect his payment.

The son has come back, and is now, out seeking revenge.

The Mumbai police are pulling out all stops to solve the case, because the victim was one of their senior officers.

Will things ever be the same again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Notion Press
• Release date: Jun 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9789352061501

Book preview

Note

Prologue

The Assassin

He was at the computer when he got the call on his mobile phone. From the caller ID, he knew that it was from Islamabad. After he said the pass-phrase, You appear to have dialled a wrong number, he heard a short message: Expect a mail shortly. It was probably a new ‘job’.

He returned to the computer and contacted a site he had subscribed to. The site provided up to 15 temporary e-mail IDs on demand. The IDs were untraceable, and each ID was valid for 30 minutes after it was activated. The list of e-mail IDs came in an encrypted file. His current ID had been obtained from the same site. Unlike the temporary e-mail IDs, this e-mail ID would remain active till such time as he de-activated it.

The mail came after about five minutes: Require cleaner. It was a new ‘job’. Immediately after he got the message, he wrote down the sender’s e-mail ID, then de-activated his e-mail ID – effectively removing all traces of that account from his computer and the hosting server. He waited for an hour before sending his response from the first temporary e-mail ID; putting pressure on the other party was useful during the initial negotiations.

Before sending his response, he attached a small Trojan program to it. The Trojan would reside in the recipient’s computer and send a request to a geo-location site. It would then forward the geo-location data to his computer. The geo-location accuracy was about a kilometre – adequate for his purpose. A few minutes after he sent the response, he got the geo-location data. The client’s computer was in South Mumbai.

He continued with the e-mail exchanges, changing the originating e-mail address each time. The geo-location data tallied with the ‘requirement’ projected by the client. It was okay for him to continue with the negotiations.

At one stage of the e-mail exchange, the client seemed to hesitate. However, he stuck to his terms: His fee was non-negotiable, half the fee was to be paid in advance, and no face-to-face meetings. The client finally agreed to his conditions, and then, as instructed, e-mailed his cell phone number and that of his representative. The ‘meeting’ with the client’s representative was fixed for 06 March at 0600 hrs at Nehru Park, New Delhi. Unknown to the client, he had procedures in place to ensure that the ‘meeting’ would be carried out without any face-to-face contact.

He then called a landline telephone number in Mumbai. He got the expected response: Rahul’s hotel. Would you like to order now? His response was short: Check mail. He cut the line when he got an acknowledgement.

He sent the e-mail from one of his mail IDs.

Purchase a second-hand Maruti WagonR in good condition with proper papers for Mumbai. Expenditure to be intimated and will be sent through transfer. The car is to be parked at Mumbai Domestic Airport terminal parking lot on 01 March at 1800 hrs with full fuel. Parking ticket, copy of Registration book and one set of keys to be couriered to my Delhi address. Car also to have one set of Haryana registration plates with supporting documents. Acknowledge.

The response came almost immediately; Understood; will do the needful.

Once he received the response, he de-activated the e-mail account.

After that, he went out for a walk. He stopped at a Public Call Office and made a few calls. After speaking to a few ‘contacts’, he was reasonably certain about the client’s identity. Such information was important.

He spent the rest of the day packing his stuff into a holdall. He went over the packing list to ensure that he did not leave out anything.

On 03 March, he was in New Delhi. He went to the small travel agent’s shop in South Extension and asked for mail addressed to Mr. Roshan. For an annual ‘membership fee’, the travel agent’s shop provided a postal address for small-time businessmen who could not afford an office. He produced his membership card, and took receipt of the parcel containing the car keys, copy of the car registration book and the parking ticket.

He then went to the Delhi airport and took a flight to Mumbai.

He found the car in the parking lot of the Mumbai domestic airport terminal. He had to pay over a thousand rupees as parking charges. After dinner, he set out by road to New Delhi. Halfway through the journey, at an isolated stretch of road, he changed the registration plates to the Haryana number plates.

At Delhi, he would get the identity of his target, and confirmation about payment of his advance – that information would be carried by the client’s representative. If the advance was paid as per his instructions, he would proceed with the ‘job’.

PART 1

GENESIS

Chapter 1

The Rubber King

Mathew Cherian, or Mathachan as he was commonly known, was among the more prosperous farmers in Pala, which lay in the Syrian Christian-dominated part of central Kerala. ‘Farmer’ would be a misnomer, because his current land holdings were in excess of 750 acres. Most of the land had rubber trees. He was therefore also referred to, irreverently, as the ‘Rubber King’.

Mathachan was a visionary, and, unlike many of his peers, he had diversified into spices. When the cocoa boom hit Kerala, he converted only a small part of his holdings for planting this crop. However, unlike many of his peers who cut down existing rubber trees to plant cocoa, he kept the rubber crop intact. He was able to reap a modest profit from the cocoa boom; but, when the bubble burst, his rubber plantations pulled him through. Many of his peers, who had cut down their rubber plantations to plant cocoa, had become near paupers. Mathachan took this opportunity to acquire some land from these individuals, and slowly built up his land holdings to the current level.

In addition to managing his business, Mathachan also made generous contributions to the local church. Though he did not have any political ambitions, he also made significant contributions to the two main political parties in the state – the Indian National Congress party and the Communist Party of India (Marxist). This was a juggling act that he managed deftly, without either party getting to know details of his contribution to the other. The end result was that his interests were looked after, irrespective of which party was in power. His rapport with the Communist Party of India also ensured that he was relatively immune to the biggest problem faced by his peers – labour problems. Therefore, by all rights, Mathachan should have been a contented man. However, like all human beings, Mathachan, too, had his personal cross to bear.

Mathachan had married Marykutty when she was just 19 years old. At that time, he was 27. Marykutty was petite and attractive, with a bubbly personality. They had met within the traditional norms of an arranged marriage.

Mathachan had accompanied his father Ousepachan (as he was commonly called) to see the girl. They traveled the 30-odd km by taxi to Kottayam, where Marykutty stayed. Mathachan was dressed in a white mundu and his new cream coloured ‘terylene’ shirt, which was the fashion in those days. He was tall by local standards – just short of six feet, sported a moustache and was fairly good looking.

Marykutty’s family was fairly well to do. Her father Lukachan ran a successful spice export business. Ousepachan’s first impression of the family was positive. The house was large, and built on a plot measuring almost an acre. There was a new Ambassador car parked in the porch. Marykutty’s entire family was present to welcome them – three elder brothers and her parents. The two older sons helped their father with the spice business. The third was an engineer who had just gotten a job in Dubai; he was to join duty in a week’s time.

They all sat down in the large drawing room and started with the usual exchange of pleasantries. Marykutty’s family took great pains to put Mathachan and his father at ease. After a little while, Marykutty, along with her mother, entered the room, carrying the tea and snacks. She was dressed in a light blue silk saree. Despite the fact that she was wearing practically no make-up, she was stunningly beautiful. What made a difference was that she appeared to be totally oblivious about her appearance. Mathachan felt as if he was hit by a thunderbolt, and he fell madly in love with this beautiful woman. His chest felt constricted and he was having difficulty keeping track of the conversation.

Lukachan had seen Mathachan’s reaction, and knew with some certainty that the ‘match’ would go through. Marykutty went straight to Ousepachan and served him tea. She then went to Mathachan and gave him his cup of tea. Mathachan did not have the courage to look at Marykutty’s face and concentrated on taking his cup from the tray. Marykutty then left the room while her mother served the rest of the tea and snacks.

As Mathachan sipped his tea, he was only vaguely aware of what was happening around him. He was jolted back to reality when his father nudged him and said, You should meet Marykutty now.

Mathachan walked into the adjacent room and found that Marykutty was waiting for him. She looked calm, and had a small smile on her lips. Mathachan’s heart was pounding so hard, he was worried it would burst out of the ribcage. He felt tongue-tied and had no idea of what to say. Marykutty sensed his discomfort and said, That is a nice shirt you have on. She had probably said the magical words, because Mathachan suddenly found his tongue and began to converse with Marykutty. Mathachan felt as if he had known Marykutty all his life, and found himself telling her things about his life that he had not told even his good friends. They talked for nearly half an hour, and stopped only when their fathers came in.

As per tradition, Mathachan and his father would leave, and would communicate their decision through a letter. Mathachan threw tradition to the winds and blurted out, I like Marykutty and we can plan the marriage at the earliest and I DO NOT WANT ANY DOWRY. There was pin-drop silence. Lukachan brought the situation under control by announcing, These are all issues we can discuss at leisure. I am glad that you and Marykutty got along.

The marriage took place within 20 days. Ousephachan was a bit annoyed about the ‘no dowry’ announcement by Mathachan. However, he too liked Marykutty and he was happy for his son. Marykutty’s engineer brother decided that being present for his sister’s marriage was more important than the job offer in Dubai and stayed on for the marriage. Fortunately, another job offer in Doha came his way after a month, and so all ended well.

The first year of the marriage was one of pure bliss for Mathachan. Exactly nine months after their marriage Marykutty gave birth to a baby boy; Mathachan had erotic dreams about their wedding night for many years after. The delivery was normal, and Ousephachan was overjoyed when he became a proud grandfather (‘Appoppa’ as he wanted to be called). Marykutty’s family was also present to celebrate the event.

A month after the delivery, Marykutty complained of discomfort in her lower abdomen. The local doctor prescribed the usual medicines for an upset stomach, which, according to him, was a normal post-natal complication. A week later, Marykutty woke up Mathachan in the middle of the night. She was bleeding heavily and was in great pain. Mathachan managed to get a taxi, and rushed her to the Medical College at Kottayam. When the gynecologist examined her the next morning he discovered that her uterus was severely infected. In his opinion, if an emergency hysterectomy was not carried out, Marykutty’s life was in danger. Mathachan did not hesitate in taking the decision: Doctor, please save her life at all costs.

The operation was successful, and Marykutty recovered without complications. Her family was on call throughout for help and support. After being discharged from the hospital, she and the baby spent a month with her family to recoup. When Mathachan went to pick her up after a month, he felt an undercurrent of resentment amongst Marykutty’s family members – they believed the incident could have been avoided if Marykutty had been given better medical care in the initial stages. Marykutty too had undergone a transformation – she had become withdrawn and quiet. The fact that she would not be able to have any more children had finally dawned on her.

Mathachan’s life changed drastically after he returned home. Marykutty started taking out her frustration on him, and he felt it better to stay out of the house than to be with her. In the bargain, the baby grew up without much contact with his father.

When the boy was 12 years old, Marykutty decided to send him to a boarding school in Kodaikanal in South India. Mathachan had no say in the matter and went along with the decision. The boy found the environment in the boarding school a welcome change from the strained atmosphere at home. He had become an introvert and did not make friends easily. However, he managed to get involved in various activities, including sports.

Each time he came home for the vacations, he felt more and more detached from his parents. While he was close to his mother in his early years, as he grew older, he reasoned that she too was to blame for the tensions in his family. He also did not find much in common with his mother’s family.

After finishing school, the boy joined a college in Pune in Maharashtra and graduated with honours. While Mathachan hoped that his son would help him manage the property, the boy had other ideas. He took up a clerical job in Pune. His trips to Kerala became less frequent.

A few years later when he came home for a short vacation, he dropped a bombshell – he had decided to marry an Anglo-Indian girl from Goa. Mathachan was shocked – family name and ‘honour’ were important ingredients of life in his part of the world. He tried to reason with the boy, and, when it did not work, issued the ultimate threat: If the boy did not change his mind, Mathachan would disown him and cut him out of his will. It was a bluff that failed miserably; his only son walked out of his house and his life without even wishing his parents goodbye.

Chapter 2

The Old Man and the Boy

The boy sat crossed-legged on the ground. He looked like any other seven-year-old, except for his eyes, which appeared to shine with a strange kind of intensity. The eyes were focused with rapt attention on the old man. The old man was also sitting crossed-legged, and was facing the boy. He seemed to be oblivious to the presence of the boy. The old man was in the process of preparing a paan. He opened the small ornamental metal box and took out a green paan leaf. He broke off the stem, and then spread a fine patina of white lime paste on it. He then took out a full areca-nut from the metal box, and placed it on the ground in front of him. The areca-nut was dark brown in colour, indicating that it was dry.

The boy knew from watching his own grandfather that the next step was to split the areca-nut. He had watched his grandfather struggle at times with this operation. Dry areca-nuts are hard, and splitting them required a fair amount of force. His grandfather often used a hard wooden baton to hammer the blade of his penknife to split the areca-nut.

The old man opened a small pen-knife, and, with the finger tips of his left hand, placed the point of the knife’s blade on the areca-nut. The knife was vertical with the handle pointing upwards. With his right hand he picked up the small handkerchief lying by his side. The boy knew that he was about to witness something unusual and was hoping that he would not blink at the crucial moment and miss the event.

The old man dropped the rolled up handkerchief on to the handle of the pen-knife, and the areca-nut split neatly into two. The boy had not blinked; he had seen the event clearly.

The boy had met his paternal grandfather for the first time just a week back. The grandfather was a prominent, well-to-do member of the Syrian Christian community of Pala in Central Kerala. When his only son had decided to marry an Anglo-Indian girl from Goa, he was shocked. He had tried his best to dissuade his son, but the son was adamant. Finally, he gave his son an ultimatum: If you marry the girl, I will disown you, and cut you out of my will. The property involved was huge. The old man was quite confident that this would bring his son back to his senses. He was a firm believer that everything in the world had a price. His son’s response was to walk out of the house. This came as a shock to old man, especially the realisation that, maybe, money could not buy everything.

The old man did not hear from his son thereafter. It did not worry him too much for the first year. He was a proud and arrogant man, and his family’s ‘reputation’ had been ruined by his ungrateful son. His wife did not take it too well. She made it a point to vent her anger and frustration on him. After a while, she ran out of steam and gradually withered away because of the sorrow of losing her only son. She died 18 months after the son left. It was then that the old man realised that pride and arrogance could keep one going just that much and no more. However, it took almost a year more for him to realise that he ‘needed’ his son. By then, he had no idea where his son was. He had not even bothered to ask his son about the girl’s address. In fact, he did not even know the girl’s name!

The old man began the process of trying to locate his son and his family. For over a year, there was no progress. Then, he got a lead from one of his acquaintances about a family in Mumbai in Maharashtra that appeared to fit the description of his son. While his money could not buy him his son, it certainly made it possible for him to confirm that the family in question was indeed his son’s. The son had inherited the old man’s pride, and refused to acknowledge communications from his father.

The old man gradually gave up all hope of ever seeing his son again. His stubborn pride was replaced with a feeling of emptiness. It was almost 10 years after his son walked out of his life, that, one day, the servants came running to him. Baby, as the servants had called his son, had returned. By now, the old man had become quite feeble, and was resting. He got out of bed and hurried towards the front door. He could see people getting out of a taxi that was parked in the porch. The son appeared to have grown bigger than the old man remembered. The wife was petite and pretty, and there was a boy and a girl – it appeared to be a family like those in some English movies that the old man had seen a long time back. The son and his family stood awkwardly, not quite sure of what to expect. The old man walked towards them, his arms open, tears streaming down his face. As he hugged his son and his family, his body was racked by sobs.

Please try and forgive a foolish old man.

The son did not respond, but he too had tears flowing down his face.

The son and his family stayed on for two months. This was probably the happiest period of the old man’s life. His son’s behaviour was restrained and polite. The daughter-in-law was respectful and reserved. The little girl was too small. However, the boy and the old man got along like long-lost friends. The boy was intelligent and inquisitive. He found the old man to be a warehouse of all types of information.

The boy had just seen the newly released martial arts movie, Enter the Dragon, and his latest passion was martial arts. He explained to the old man that a number of modern Asian martial arts had originated in Kerala where it was called ‘kalaripayattu’. He was hoping that the old man knew something about the subject.

I do not know much about kalaripayattu. However, after breakfast we could go and meet an old friend of mine. The twinkle in the old man’s eye told the boy that it was going to be an interesting day.

Kurup was cleaning up after his morning session. He ran a ‘kalari’, which was a school that taught kalaripayattu. He was of the same age as the old man. That was the only common attribute between them. While the old man had become noticeably frail, Kurup was short and wiry, and looked tough. Looks can be deceptive – he was not just tough, but actually dangerous. He had started learning kalaripayattu as a child, and, after reaching the highest level of proficiency, had graduated to ‘marma vidya’, which focused on ‘marmam’ or vital points for