Getting Tara Back

By Almas Hussain

Even the gentlest of people can go rogue.
It’s just a matter of how far one is pushed.

At 30, small-town mom Damini was living an idyllic life with her doctor husband and their three-year-old daughter, Tara. She’s violently wrenched out of her peaceful existence when her toddler is kidnapped by a big-city gang.

The gangsters choose to communicate only with her. Secretly. Isolated, Damini becomes their slave. She’s ready to do anything to save her baby’s life. Then they ask for the unthinkable. An inside job that’ll devastate everybody she holds near and dear to her.

With her back to the wall, Damini changes. So far, they were glad to see she was ready to do anything to get her baby back.

They failed to realize that anything means anything.

Then, the kidnappers begin to die.
One by one...

• Language: English
• Publisher: One Point Six Technologies Pvt Ltd
• Release date: Jul 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9789356672536

Almas Hussain

ALMAS HUSSAIN traces her ancestry to the Nawabs of Jalpaiguri and Simri Bakhtiarpur in Eastern India. Within this patriarchal ethos, it was difficult to be born the fifth daughter in an all-girl family. Luckily, her father Kabir explained to his five-in-a-row girls from the get-go that their feminine lot was not patience and sacrifice but a full-blooded pursuit of happiness and fulfilment. Like her characters, Almas invariably says yes to life. She enjoys writing fast-paced romances and thrillers unveiling the inner strength and resilience of women triumphing over nearly impossible odds. She believes people already have what they’re looking for.Her previous novels have recently been picked up for filming – Venus With A P*nis bought outright by a leading Indian OTT channel and Daughters of Char Chinar optioned by a major Hollywood motion picture producer. Prior to her writing career, she started up two advertising agencies, Via and Diva.Her current domestic thriller Getting Tara Back was dashed off in two months but reworked upon for two years. Someone’s got to tell Almas one of these days that her characters aren’t real people. Easily distracted by food, films and phonecalls, Almas is an obsessed storyteller when not faffing around with her family and friends. She treats herself to a film a day. After living in Dhaka, Tehran and London, she currently resides in her beloved hometown Kolkata with her husband, Manzer and son, Mikhail. She also has a daughter Soraya who lives and works in London with her husband, Amit and their son, Kaveer.

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Day 1

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A Fateful Outing

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The day Damini and Rajan’s three-year-old daughter, Tara disappears begins like any other.

It’s half past six at Kaatgram village, Jharkhand. The morning autumn sun is mopping the dew from the sweaty roof tiles of their cottage by the river. Dr. Rajan Sharma creeps out leaving his wife, Damini, and child, Tara, snuggled up to each other in the comfort of their darkened bedroom. He has a C-Section scheduled at 7:30 this morning. Mustn’t get late.

Before he can get away to his maternity clinic, his two adopted daughters, Shaalu aged ten and Amita aged thirteen, corner him. They are being brought up in Kolkata by Rajan’s parents but twice a year, they come to spend a week with their daddy in this remote village.

When are you taking us to the mela? Shaalu asks, blocking his way.

I’m not going to leave you, daddy, Amita adds. "Every day you say tomorrow-tomorrow-tomorrow. It’s been four days already. I’ll tell Dadaji. Today, you have to take us!"

Rajan sees the accusation in their eyes. He gives them a hug. Beta, what to do? My assistant is on leave. I have surgery today. I swear I’ll take you all out after lunch, okay?

Somewhat appeased, the girls follow him to the gate. In his hurry to get away, Rajan nearly runs over Montu, his father-in-law’s bearer. Young Montu has come on a cycle from the haveli, Damini’s ancestral home, with some canvases and a huge gift-wrapped box. These are for didi, he explains, as the doctor drives away. The children follow Montu into the kitchen where Gulabo is making breakfast. They can’t tear their eyes off the gigantic present. Montu is taking no chances. He places the shiny box on the shelves well out of reach of their prying fingers.

Over breakfast, Shaalu and Amita try to figure out the mystery of the out-sized box. It’s wrapped like a birthday present with multi-coloured ribbons. God knows what’s inside. It looks deliciously expensive.

How I wish we had real birthdays instead of a joint one, Shaalu whispers.

Nobody remembers when or where we were born. You should be grateful to have a birthday at all, Amita says.

Shaalu is not convinced. She talks with her mouth full of scrambled eggs. Why didn’t daddy ask ma before she died? She would’ve known.

Amita rolls her eyes.

The girls creep into the kitchen under the pretext of clearing their plates and have another peek at the present. Mamma had said she would give them this year’s birthday gift when they came to the village. Surely, this is it. No matter how much they badger Montu and Gulabo, neither of them brings down the package. The children decide to clamber on to the sun-deck facing the master bedroom and wait till mamma comes out with Tara. They know the wooden sun-deck, surrounded on three sides by a bend in the Suvarnarekha, is mamma’s favourite section of the bungalow.

It’s almost 10 by the time Damini steps out and takes a deep breath of the fresh village air. Her gaze takes in the sparkle of the river. Tara is trailing her mother but Gulabo swoops up the toddler and takes her to the washroom. By the look on the faces of the girls, Damini knows that Montu has brought the present that she ordered. Where has he kept it? she asks, raising her eyebrows.

In the kitchen, mamma, Shaalu says. Right up, so we couldn’t even reach it.

Montu! Bring the present, please, Damini shouts in the direction of the kitchen. Once it is brought she makes the girls rattle it and guess what is in the package. They wait for Tara to join them. The three girls tear the wrapping paper to reveal a full-fledged Beauty Parlour kit with two transparent toiletry bags crammed with real make-up. Their squeals of delight reassure Damini. The girls are always a little wary around her. Rajan’s adopted daughters are not very easy to please. This time at least she’s got it right. Last year, she gave them jigsaw puzzles which were a huge disappointment. Amita and Shaalu smile in gratitude but they are both well aware that in mamma’s world, there’s only one child and that’s her own daughter, Tara.

The girls dive into their roles. They convert the deck into a beauty parlour. Amita ties Tara’s unruly ringlets into pigtails. She uses red ribbon on the right side and purple on the left. Damini resists the urge to match the colours. Shaalu crouches at Tara’s feet, painting her toe-nails with the colours of her imagination. They are climbing over each other, pampering their bodies with perfumed lotions and potions. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea that Rajan’s girls are visiting from Kolkata. Tara is enjoying their visit.

Amita teaches Tara how to roar while operating the hair-dryer when she styles Shaalu’s hair. This is serious stuff! They have given her such an important role and by God, Tara is going to give it her all. At this ruckus, Gulabo and Montu rush in from the kitchen in alarm. Tara frowns and follows Amita’s brush movements with avid concentration. Damini and Gulabo join in the fun by admiring Shaalu’s tresses and Montu is ordered to take videos of the choreographed hair-dressing moves. Tara gurgles in approval and roars through the entire photo-shoot. Shaalu plays along by tipping the hair-dresser with a shiny five rupee coin. Tara poses with it for Montu as though she has won an Olympic gold medal. Seeing her grin into the camera, Damini can’t resist kissing the top of her head and giving Tara a tight hug.

It is seldom that one realises that within the ordinary lies what is most extraordinary. Only the wise understand the irony that they already have what they most desire. The smell of Tara’s baby-shampooed hair and the feel of her plump body is something Damini is destined to agonize over within the next few hours. Meanwhile, unaware of the nightmare that lies ahead, Damini shifts her attention away from the frolicking children to the forest beyond the river. Caught in her duties as the Kaatgram MLA’s daughter, the Doctor Babu’s wife and little Tara’s mother, Damini has long given up on her own dreams. This morning, she got a call from an art dealer in Mumbai badgering her to take up painting once again. The demand for her work triggers an itch in her fingers to pick up her brushes. She can almost smell the turpentine.

Once Rajan’s girls go back to Kolkata, she will build up a body of work for an exclusive exhibition. Why not? How many canvases would they need for a solo at the Jehangir Art Gallery in Mumbai? Time always whizzes past when she thinks about art. The sound of the Suvarnarekha lulls her senses. Her gaze rides the undulating ripples, planning her first painting. She is staring transfixed at the water, when Rajan returns from the clinic.

Tuning into the mood of his three girls, he squats on the floor and insists on a shampoo and blow dry. He unties his ponytail and pretends to be a difficult customer. Tara gives him her roaring hair-dryer routine. He dashes to the kitchen and brings a bowl of yoghurt and papaya. He mashes it and applies the gooey mix on the faces of his daughters and himself. They lie in the shade and he places cucumber slices on their eyes as they wait for their ‘facials’ to work. Rajan begins to snore under his breath. Having had a busy week, he is out cold. The children remove the cucumber slices from their eyes and start giggling. Hearing Gulabo approach, Damini urges them to hide behind the sofa.

Lunch is ready. Gulabo comes to call the family. She sees Doctor Babu with beribboned hair, an orange face and green eyes, sprawled in the shade. She shrieks in terror. He jolts awake. Damini and the kids scramble out of their hiding place enjoying Gulabo’s embarrassment. By the time they’ve cleaned up for lunch, their father hopes they’ve forgotten his morning promise, but no such luck.

Will mamma also be coming to the mela? Amita asks.

Damini flashes Rajan a look of annoyance. Nobody is going to the mela, she says. That’s the place where your daddy almost died.

They’ve heard this story several times. Looks like Mamma is going to ruin their plan. "But that was so long ago! And your family hosts the Durga Puja Mela every year, Montu was saying. You should be happy we’re going. This year they’ve got a special Giant Wheel. Let’s all go, mamma," Amita begs.

Shaalu sticks out her lower lip. Daddy promised us.

Rajan rubs his forehead. There’s no way he can keep everyone happy. He makes a feeble attempt. This year’s mela won’t be that good. How about a picnic in the forest instead?

We’ve already done that! both girls say in unison.

We can take Chinese food this time, he persists.

I’m fed up of Gulabo’s Chinese! Amita says.

Before she can control herself, Damini says, Why can’t you two be considerate for once? You’re grown-up kids now. Try to understand. The mela is full of drunkards. Kaatgramis can turn violent without warning. When your daddy dressed up as a lady doctor, didn’t they attack him? They killed poor Titli and we almost lost him. It’s too dangerous. I’ve decided. Nobody’s going, and that’s final.

Amita storms out and slams the door. Shaalu begins to sob, throwing an accusing glance at Rajan. You never keep your pr-pr-promises, she says.

Rajan is caught between his wife and the girls. Damini realises she shouldn’t have raised her voice. The girls are experts at manipulating Rajan. He’s like putty in their hands. But they will be gone in two days. Today is Wednesday. They’ll leave on Friday evening. She clenches her jaw and forces herself to calm down.

Okay, go. But please be careful, Damini says.

This year’s mela is extra special, Jamai Babu, Montu says, bringing in the pudding. They’re putting up a musical Giant Wheel from Ranchi.

Montu describes all the attractions and Shaalu brings Amita back to the dining table. The older girl pretends that she has not just stomped out in a temper tantrum. Tara’s eyes sparkle with excitement. Me go mela! Me go mela! she shouts.

Shall I take her as well? Rajan asks his wife. Gulabo can come with us. She can also have a nice outing. She’s been cooped up for so long.

Damini gives him a look that questions why he is asking for permission when he has already decided what to do. Sometimes, he annoys her with his constant attempts to keep everybody happy. He rarely says no to anyone except his wife. Over the last few years, the doctor has gradually started taking Damini for granted. In his eagerness to serve the village women, he gives his home front last priority. Damini shrugs and retreats to the master bedroom. Rajan is contemplating cancelling the outing when Damini returns with money for the children and Gulabo.

Have fun, you horrors, she says, giving the girls two hundred rupees each. Stay together. People come to our mela from ten surrounding villages.

At this time of the day, the crowds will be less, Montu says.

Damini follows Gulabo to the kitchen. She gives her a thousand rupees. Buy yourself a nice new saree, she whispers.

Oh didi, thank you, Gulabo says. You also need to go out. Why don’t you come with us?

No, you go and have a nice time. I’m going to plan my next painting. Please don’t let Amita and Shaalu bully Rajan. Just because their mother died on his operating table, he’s on this perpetual guilt trip.

Doctor Babu is like that only, Gulabo says, looking up from the dishes she is washing. Anything goes wrong, he’ll take the blame.

Damini raises her gaze to the ceiling. Always. The girls know we have a bad history at the mela. I’ve never seen such inconsiderate children. They’ve grown up to be so selfish, ufff!

Gulabo shakes her head and sighs. Whenever they come from Kolkata they drive him crazy with their demands. Your sasural is really weird, didi. I can’t understand why your in-laws give more importance to these adopted girls than to our Tara.

Damini forces a smile. It’s just a matter of two more days. She can disguise her displeasure for two days. Amita and Shaalu will be gone by the weekend. What she doesn’t realize is that her own baby will be gone within an hour. She kisses Tara goodbye at the gate as Rajan sets out for the mela with Gulabo and his three daughters. Tara grins at her mommy and waves goodbye.

Gulabo Vanishes with Tara

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On a Wednesday afternoon, the Durga Puja Mela isn’t as crowded as he expected it to be. Even so, Rajan asks everybody to huddle together so nobody gets lost. Hand in hand, they wander through Lucky Dip, Shoot the Balloon and Hoop the Prize kiosks interspersed with stalls selling all manner of chaats, mithaais and clothing. To keep the rising dust down, bhishtis have been hired to sprinkle the ground repeatedly with their water-bags. The air smells of damp earth.

The girls insist on having candy floss and chamchams. Half the people they pass bow their heads and greet their doctor with a respectful namaste. They move deeper and deeper into the heart of the mela. It seems as though the entire universe is urging them to buy, buy, buy! Loudest among the chanters are the insistent fortune-tellers, ayurvedic and unani medicine men and the lottery-ticket-wallahs. They entice Rajan with promises that one ticket can transform his entire life and help him get all three of his daughters married. He buys a ticket for laughs and gives it to Gulabo, but she is eyeing a sunny-yellow bhel-puri cart. He gets a batata puri for her and perches Tara on his shoulders while Gulabo wallops it down. Tara rubs her face on his ear and Rajan smells her freshly-washed hair and her baby breath. Out of all the smells in the world, these are the ones he likes best. Who’s my smallest and sweetest baby?

Tara thumps a plump palm on her chest. Me! Me!

Hindi film music blares at them from loudspeakers on cloth-wrapped bamboos. Tara tugs at his hair and swings her little body to the beat of ‘Baby Doll main soney di.’ Gulabo tries to take her down but Tara hangs on to her vantage position high on her papa’s shoulders. Labo, look-see! she says, pointing to the juggling madaris.

Gulabo looks up at Tara. Yes, Baba. Wow!

The tribal madaris put up a special tight-rope show for the girls. When Rajan tries to pay them, they refuse to take his money. The doctor and his wife have been looking out for their clan free of charge over the last few years. Finally, the brocade-coated performing monkey pockets the money, jumps up a pole and does an exaggerated salaam to Tara who almost falls off from her perch on her father’s shoulders with delight. Grabbing her in mock alarm, Rajan congratulates himself for bringing his children here. All three are having the time of their lives. They’ll probably remember this day even when they grow up to be adults. They will remember it, but for the wrong reason.

One of the highlights of the outing comes from an unexpected quarter. What the girls end up enjoying most is helping Gulabo choose her saree. The stall owner makes his two male assistants drape the sarees and pose for his customers. After a lot of giggling, the choice boils down to a pink floral one and a yellow striped one. Rajan buys both and presents them to Gulabo with a flourish. She protests that didi has given her a thousand rupees but Rajan tells her to buy something else with it. Gulabo stuffs her sarees deep into her cloth jhola and thanks Rajan and his girls for the lovely gifts.

They skip towards the chief attraction - the long-promised rides. Here, it is chock-a-block full of merry-makers. The colours! The smells! The music! The cheerful jostling and shoving! The girls, who have never experienced anything like this, are spellbound by the din of activities taking place all around them. Rajan feels a moment of panic. He remembers being hauled down from the stage and beaten up for masquerading as a lady doctor. The Kaatgramis had been outraged at a male gynaecologist handling their women. He winces at the memory of his beloved assistant Titli flying to his rescue. They had killed her on these grounds. The air has the same rancid edge to it. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Damini is always right.

Rajan finds an empty concrete bench outside the Khadim’s shoe stall. He puts all the purchases and balloons on the bench and asks Gulabo to wait with Tara while he gives the bigger girls a ride on the giant wheel. He gives his little daughter a plastic camera he bought on impulse from the itinerant khilona-wallah. It blows bubbles when you click photos. She’s already taking pictures of passers-by. He figures the yellow camera will keep Tara busy for some time. Rajan hurries with his older children towards the ticket counter and buys double rides for each of them.

The plasticky safety belts are flimsy but the seats seem sturdy enough. Rajan sits opposite Amita and Shaalu holding on to their knees. He knows his father will kill him if either of his precious granddaughters gets injured. Once all the customers are seated, the music begins and the wheel begins to rotate with a shudder, slowly at first and then picking up speed. Feeling the Giant Wheel throttle to life, the children squeal with delight. A panoramic view presents itself to them within seconds.

Akhiyon se goli maare, ladki kamaal re... blares the orbiting carousel.

Papa, look! Amita shouts. There’s mamma’s haveli!

His father-in-law, Choudhary’s sprawling residence is visible from their perch above the gul mohurs. As the Giant Wheel plunges downwards, Rajan tries to figure out where Gulabo is waiting. He catches a fleeting glimpse of her neon green saree on the bench outside the brightly-lit Khadim stall.

On the ground, Tara and Gulabo are delighted when a familiar figure approaches them from the right. He lures them to accompany him behind the Khadim store and they follow him.

On the next ascent, Shaalu pulls at Rajan’s shirtsleeves. Daddy, see! There’s the river!

It’s a road, stupid, Amita tells her.

No, it’s a river. Daddy, tell her it’s the river! Shaalu says.

She’s right, Amita. That’s the Suvarnarekha; the one that flows past our home.

Amita holds Rajan’s face with both palms and looks him in the eye. "No. There’s a lorry on the road. It is a road!"

Rajan explains to the children that what looks like a lorry is actually a barge, and settles their argument. He looks for Gulabo near the Khadim store from his vantage point. This time there’s no flash of neon green. Why isn’t she there? He asked her to sit on the bench outside the shoe store. Maybe she’s gone inside the stall to keep Tara amused? He has a double ticket. Seeing the snake-like queues for the other rides, Rajan convinces the girls to take this same ride once more. To his relief, both girls agree. They circle the air thrice again. By the time they get off, all three are a little unsteady on their feet. Over the heads of the crowd, Rajan can see the yellow and red Khadim’s sign board all lit up. Holding their hands, the doctor weaves his way through the villagers to the shoe shop. He had told Gulabo to stay put on the bench with Tara. But she has tied the balloons to the bench handle and left. Where is he supposed to find them? This is most irresponsible. He can see at a glance that Gulabo hasn’t taken Tara inside the shoe stall. Now he’s beginning to get annoyed.

He stands on the bench and scans the crowd. There are other women with green sarees, but no Gulabo. He climbs on the back-rest of the bench. The bench wobbles. Still, no Gulabo. He steps down, and calls her but her phone is switched off. Where’s his three-year-old daughter, the love of his life? By imperceptible degrees, his irritation grows into full-blown alarm. He bites his lips. Surely they’re not lost? He asks the Khadim shop assistants, customers and by-standers if they’ve seen a woman in a green saree with a girl in a blue dress. Amongst the strangers crowding around are some familiar faces. Being a gynaecologist, he knows the local women better but their family members recognise the doctor who came from Kolkata to set up a clinic in their village. Dozens of Kaatgramis surround their Doctor Babu, eager to be of assistance. Recognizing two of the elderly matrons, he requests them to sit on the bench with Amita and Shaalu while he takes a quick look around.

Where could she have gone? He rushes to the ladies toilet area and asks the attendant whether a woman in a green saree with a child has gone in. Yes, says the woman. One such lady has just gone in with her little boy.

No, no, Rajan says. She’s wearing a bright green saree and she has a girl in a blue dress with her.

Sorry, this boy had on a red shirt.

His heart hammering, Rajan races along the perimeter of the grounds peering into every shop and stall. There’s no sign of Gulabo. Next he searches the inner circle of stalls. The group of tribals abandon their show mid-performance and join Rajan in his search for his daughter. Rajan requests them to spread out and if they find the child they should bring her over to Choudharyji’s haveli. He points to the left of the entrance to the mela, but everyone knows the haveli.

By now, Rajan has searched every stall, but with no success. He rushes over to the Khadim bench where his daughters are waiting for him with the matrons. A large unruly crowd has collected around them. The doctor thanks the matrons and leads his girls away from the inquisitive crowd. Seeing a shop with no customers, he turns into it. The stall-owner tries to interest him in his wall-clocks. Rajan seats his trembling children on the rickety bench and takes a deep breath. There’s a buzz in his ears from the uncoordinated tick-tocking of dozens of plastic clocks. There’s no way he can avoid making this call. Hardly able to breathe, he whips out his phone, hesitates, and then rings up his wife.

First Contact with the Kidnappers

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Damini is in a different world when she paints. Her imagination dances across the canvas with unrestrained ferocity gliding colour over colour, abandoning her brushes, using her bare fingers, her hair-clips and her palette knife. As though by magic, the sap-filled trees of the Jharkhand forest allow their gold-green glory to be captured by the minute deft movements of the unshackled artist. It is only when the top half of her painting is finished and she is studying the lapping, over-lapping, ever-changing shades of the Suvarnarekha that she hears her phone jangling from afar. She hurries towards the sound and finds it in the bathroom, left there in her hurry to start work on her canvas. It’s Rajan. Had she not seen his display photo, she wouldn’t have recognised his voice.

Why weren’t you picking up the phone? Rajan asks. I’ve been calling and calling!

It sounds like his girls have gotten themselves into trouble. Damini curbs her temper. No need to get so frantic. I was painting on the deck. What’s the problem?

The words stick in Rajan’s throat. He gulps. He grunts incoherently.

You okay? Damini asks. Why are you sounding like this?

I-I-I can’t seem to find Gulabo.

Damini can deal with that. Ufff! Bring the children back. It must be that horrible husband of hers, Jumratiya. He had come here two months back. We’ll sort it out later.

No, no, no. You don’t understand. Sh- she’s got Tara with her.

Damini’s blood freezes. She was crossing the bedroom on her way to the sun-deck. She stops mid-step and sinks on the bed. Tara’s not with you?

No. I only have Amita and Shaalu. I told Gulabo to sit on a bench outside the Khadim stall with Tara. She’s not here.

Call her! Damini says.

I tried but her phone is switched off, he says, pacing up and down in the shop. She must’ve forgotten to charge it. Now God knows where she’s gone with our daughter.

This is just too much, Rajan! It’s the height of irresponsibility! How can you separate the children and leave Tara with poor Gulabo? She’s a bit of a featherbrain. You know that. She may have gone to the toilet or the haveli next door or something. This mela is bloody jinxed for us. Inform Pa. Organize a search party. I’m coming just now!

The haveli! Rajan snaps his fingers. That’s where they must be. Rajan curses himself for not thinking of it before. Of course. It’s so obvious. He allows himself a small smile. Maybe Gulabo took Tara to her nanaji’s place