The day I took charge as the
Branch Manager at the MN branch, my predecessor, Babu Lal Hirani*, introduced me
to one Surender Pal Dabbas* as the most important client of the branch. He was
dark-complexioned and had a stocky build. Moreover, his ego appeared to be
bigger than his hideous paunch.
After Dabbas left the office,
Hirani shared more details about him, including how he had risen from the ranks
of a lowly clerk in the government to amass questionable wealth through dubious
means and started the Export House.
As this was the only export unit
in that otherwise personal segment business-oriented branch, he had acquired
the importance of being a VIP client.
After a couple of days, Dabbas
dropped in at my office, settled in the chair and placed a large key in the
centre of my office table.
“What is it? A car key?” I
asked.
“Yes, I bought this car today
only. It is a BMW, and it is parked outside. Come and have a look.” I stepped
out to see his new acquisition and congratulated him.
“Let us go for a ride and have
coffee somewhere,” he suggested promptly.
I had no intentions of going
anywhere with him, especially after I had noticed the lewd looks on his
face.
"Sorry, I cannot leave the
branch and go anywhere during business hours.”
The next day was Saturday, and
Dabbas turned up soon after business hours, “The business hours are over now.
Let us go for lunch today?”
I did not want to go and quickly
fabricated another story to wriggle out of the situation.
With each passing day, his
attempts to coax me into private outings were met with polite deflections on my
part. Soon, the demeanour of Dabbas changed from gentle to aggressive.
A few weeks later, I received
instructions from the Reserve Bank of India to recover a substantial amount
from his business account for certain irregularities in dealing with his
overseas buyers. As soon as I informed him of the demand, he exploded, “Try
deducting the amount from my account, and you will face the consequences. You
do not know what I am capable of, you xxxxx!”
The volley of abuses in his
high-pitched voice was audible across the entire branch. After yelling and
screaming at me for a long time, Dabbas stomped out of the Bank premises,
seething in anger.
I looked out of the partition
window of my cabin. The staff members in the banking hall sat with their heads
bent down on the account books. They never appeared so busy. I could not
decipher whether they were actually engrossed in work or pretended to be
busy.
The next day, Dabbas came again
and enacted the same drama. With his face contorted with anger, he shouted,
“The day you execute this order, I will have you kidnapped along with your
children. I know where you reside. You come to the Bank in that blue car only.
No?” He pointed towards my car parked outside the office. I was shocked to hear
this blatant threat.
After he left, I got up to
see where my staff was. I had a team of thirteen. I asked the Assistant, who
sat just outside my cabin, “Where were you when Dabbas threatened me?”
“Oh! Did he threaten you? I did
not hear anything as I had stepped out for a cup of tea as someone from my
village had come.” His reply was unacceptable. I had seen him on his desk when
Dabbas was shouting at me.
I walked up to the table of the
Accountant, my second in command. His desk touched the wooden wall of my cabin,
and he was usually all ears. But he was absent from his desk. I had seen him
from the glass window partition, arguing with a customer, a few minutes ago
when Dabbas had stepped into the branch. I walked up to the cash section. The
Cash Officer was also missing. Both were huddled in the Cash Room sorting out
old currency notes, a job they would not do despite my repeated reminders. I
was surprised they decided to do it at the peak of business hours. They had
roped in the only male cashier also to assist them. The sole messenger was busy
arranging old vouchers in the record room.
Could I expect any help from
these colleagues in case of a need? Their elusive attitude made me insecure. I
recalled how many years ago, the officer colleagues in a branch in Kanpur had
refused to give any evidence against the clerks when the Branch Manager was
gheraoed. Will history repeat itself?
I was alarmed at the malicious
intentions of Dabbas. Was he capable of executing his threat? No guard was
posted at the branch, and I often sat there alone late in the evening. I
immediately stopped that practice despite knowing that the curtailed timings
might affect my efficiency adversely.
The next day, Dabbas came again
and reiterated his threat in the same tone.
At this juncture, I decided to
go to Head Office to apprise my immediate bosses of what had transpired and
seek their permission to report the matter to the police. The Regional Manager
listened to me patiently but did not comment. He asked me to accompany him to
the Chief Regional Manager. Hearing my tale of woes, the CRM was amused and
laughed loudly. Dismissing my fears as baseless, he sermonised, “You are
unnecessarily agitated. He will not do any such thing.”
“You do not know him, Sir. He is
a wicked fellow, capable of doing anything. What will I do if he actually gets
me kidnapped?” I shared my worst fears with my seniors.
“This is the problem with you
women. You react too much and without reason. Look at Kiran Bedi. I am so
impressed with her. She has the nerves of steel,” he drew a parallel between me
and a senior police officer. Was he trying to motivate me?
Laughing loudly at my
discomfort, he tossed a spoonful of paan masala in his mouth.
“Sir, Kiran Bedi has the backing
of the police force, and she carries her revolver with her. If I were in the
police, I would have had even stronger nerves than her,” I said in
exasperation.
“Please permit me to close his
account or report the matter to the police. I assure you I will bring in much
more business than what he is giving us now,” I pleaded again, but my request
fell on deaf ears.
“Expel these baseless fears out
of your mind. Go back and do your work, and do not waste your or our
time.”
The dismissive response from my
superiors at the head office only added to my sense of insecurity. I came out
upset, frustrated and scared. Their casual disregard for the gravity of the
situation left me grappling with the reality of being a vulnerable woman facing
the wrath of a rogue with nefarious intent.
The deadline for executing the
orders of the Reserve Bank was approaching fast, and I had already received a
couple of reminders from the central bank. Despite the explicit threats from
the borrower, I mustered enough courage to execute the instructions to recover
money from his account. I gave the debit voucher to the counter clerk for
posting it in the business account of Dabbas. I was sure the ledger keeper
would inform Dabbas before raising the debit in his account.
That evening, I could sense that
the staff members were in a hurry to leave. I was keeping my ears to the ground
and eyes fixed outside. I had removed the curtain from the partition window of
my cabin for a better view of the banking hall. Or was it to make myself more
visible from the outside? I am not sure. As the last employee left the branch,
I also made it a point to mark an exit. My sixth sense warned me against
sitting in the office alone. I hurriedly locked the main door of the building.
Locking the wicket gate at the boundary wall, I briskly walked towards my car
parked alongside the building. It was at least an hour before my usual
departure time, but I was too scared to stay there alone. Getting into the car,
as I adjusted the rear-view mirror, I noticed a fully covered Willys Jeep
stopping in front of the gate of the Bank, which I had locked barely two
minutes ago. Two suspicious-looking characters sprang out of the jeep. The hulk
driving the jeep had thick moustaches and wore black headgear. His companion
was another burly fellow in a red collarless T-shirt with grease stains and a
hanky around his neck. He also carried a bag on his shoulder. Surprised at
finding the gate locked, they looked at each other questioningly. Next, they
glanced towards my car.
The suspicious presence of the
unfamiliar vehicle signalled the impending danger, and my natural instinct
warned me that all was not well. I had already started the car and quickly took
to the road. I could see in the rear-view mirror that both the fellows had
hopped back into the jeep and moved in my direction. With nerves frayed and
instincts screaming loud, I made a harrowing escape, pursued by the shady
figures whose intentions were suspect.
The distance of about a
kilometre and a half from the branch to the main road was lonely and,
therefore, more vulnerable. I pressed on the accelerator, but the jeep also
speeded up. My heart was racing. Obviously, they were coming after me.
Struggling to remain balanced, I mentally mapped the area. There were usually
no police posts on the way where I could stop for any help. Driving to a police
station without proof also did not appear to be a good idea. Even if I take a
detour and reach a police post, the purpose will not be served, I thought.
These goons may drive away, and the police will dismiss my fears as baseless,
just as my bosses had done the previous day. The faces of my two innocent kids
flashed in front of me, and I wondered whether they were safe. The only thing I
could think of at that time was to somehow reach home and ensure their
security. It was a busy hour, and the traffic on the road was at its peak. I
continued to press the accelerator and drive the car as fast as possible to
keep that suspicious jeep at bay, but it was becoming increasingly
challenging.
Halfway through the reckless
drive, I noticed another vehicle, a black Ambassador car with heavily tinted
glasses, which also appeared to be following me. Noticing that there were two
of them following me, my heart sank. Driving at break-neck speed, I could not
decipher how many persons were seated in that car. But the way they were after
me, I was convinced that this car carried their accomplices in it. I continued
to dodge both vehicles to the best of my driving skills. With the faces of my
two small sons floating constantly in front of my eyes, I knew I had to reach
home at any cost. Praying for their safety, I started chanting Gayatri Mantra,
my anchor in distress.
As I approached my flat, I had
become a nervous wreck. My mind was going numb with fear, my heartbeat had
increased manifold, and I had no idea of what lay ahead of me. Both the
vehicles, the jeep with two obnoxious occupants and the black Ambassador with
tinted glasses, were close on my heels. What will I do if they kidnap me as
soon as I stop the car in front of my flat? Will I get time to run up and bolt
my flat from inside? Will I be able to ring up the police before they break
open the door of my flat? Are my children safe with the young caretaker at
home? My husband might not have reached home; he had a meeting to attend in the
evening. I did not expect my neighbours to risk their lives for me, but someone
may inform the police if they see me being dragged into a jeep. At least, they
will do this much, I hoped.
When I turned towards my colony,
I could not locate the jeep in the rear-view mirror. Probably, they could not
jump the previous traffic light due to the presence of a cop there. I pressed
on the accelerator pedal, determined to reach home before the goons caught up
again.
The sun had already set, and it
was getting dark, but I had managed to reach home.
As I stopped my car, the black
Ambassador screeched behind me. My heart was thudding hard, and I broke into a
cold sweat. From the car stepped out a tall, muscular man. Moving swiftly
towards my car, he opened the door with a jerk: I closed my eyes with fear.
“Ranju Di, you really drive like
a maniac. I have been chasing you for almost five kilometres now, but you would
not let me overtake you.” My cousin in khaki uniform was grinning at me. “Ohhh…
Tammy! You rascal! How come? What are you doing here?” I wiped the sweat from
my brow.
“Chasing you, Di. Ha.. ha.. ha!
I was transferred to Delhi a month ago. I am now in charge of this area. I
wanted to surprise you, but what a Formula One driver you are! Will you quickly
give me a hot cup of tea? I will come up for two minutes only.” He was happy
and oozing with self-confidence.
I saw from the crook of my eyes.
The Willys Jeep had also reached my apartment complex. It had stopped and was
idling. Noticing the man in the khaki I was talking to, they sped away.
Climbing the stairs to my
first-floor flat, I heaved a sigh of relief and quietly wiped my tears, the
tears of relief. I was once again secure in the knowledge that my cousin was
there to take care of me in the wake of any untoward happening.
The timely arrival of my cousin on
the scene saved me from a potentially dangerous situation. Is it not the family
who always stands by us when we reach a dead end in life?
(*All names here have been changed to protect their identities.)
(To be continued...)
