A Silent Betrayal

Shivering, Roshan parked his bike and walked over to the tea stall which happened to also sell cigarettes. Novembers were not that cold in Delhi, but when one rode a bike during the night it almost felt like a thousand tiny needles entering their body, no matter how many layers of clothes they were wearing. He bought a pack of cigarettes and ordered tea. He then climbed up the staircase that led to the foot over bridge and stood in the middle of the bridge with a view of the broad street underneath. This was his favorite spot in the entire city, and also the favorite part of his day. Him alone with his thoughts and a city that was relatively quiet at this hour. There were only trucks passing through the city that occupied the roads past midnight, other than the occasional high-speed biker or the sportscar driver out for a late-night drive with their expensive vehicles.

On both sides of the road, was South Ex, one of the premier shopping destinations of Delhi, but that was during the day. At this hour, it was also a shopping destination, but pretty dresses and tuxedos were not among the products offered. Instead, a crystalline white powder, a powder people died to get their hands on, or died after getting their hands on, was offered. The strongest and most expensive drug to ever enter the city which, at least according to Roshan, was till now nameless. This drug was spreading fast and it was causing problems all across the city, but that night, he was not there for that.

After smoking a couple of cigarettes, he walked back down to the stall to get his tea. The warm tea felt good as it made its way down his throat. He was not cold anymore, and it was time to begin doing his job. He walked along the road and then entered one of the lanes on the left which led into the dense market. A L-shaped building complex lay in front of him, with more shops than there was space for, basically like any typical Delhi shopping complex. During the day there would be no space to step foot here, now there was nothing but dusty corridors and shops with their shutters down. He made his way to the back of this building to find three men sitting around a small bonfire with shawls wrapped around their bodies. This sight of security guards gathered around a fire in silence to battle the cold could be found in every corner of the city, and it was safe to say that Roshan was bound to recognize at least one of these guards wherever he went. He had been in this city for way too long, and he knew people, in fact he knew too many people, especially the night dwellers. Being a cop in this city was no easy job, but Roshan felt lucky that he was mostly assigned night duty. For it was his adventures at night that had made him fall in love with this city.

‘Roshan sir, what brings you here?’ said one of the guards as he looked up and noticed him.

‘Chowdhary, it’s been a while’ said Roshan as they shook their glove covered hands, ‘I’m just on one of my routine visits’

‘I see, I see. Do sit down sir, Raj’s bringing tea too’ Chowdhary said as he offered him a seat beside him.

‘Oh no that’s alright, I just had some, I’ll be on my way actually’ he said and Chowdhary nodded.

‘Suit yourself sir’

Roshan then walked past them and climbed one the staircases that led to the first floor of the building. There he found a plastic chair and seated himself at a place with a clear view of the back street. He loved this city for its silences, which were mostly found during the night. Mornings bought upon loud noises, heavy traffic and the usual hustle-bustle of any metro city, but most importantly, it brought out the people of Delhi, who he hated the most, at least most of them.

On the street that he was looking down upon, a protest was to take place the following morning. It was being called a protest, but he very well knew that was just an excuse to instigate unnecessary violence, just like most of the “protests” that happened in the city. The protest was against the “Redevelopment of South Ex” project initiated by the government, and the real issue of protesting, which was the displacement of people from their age-old houses in the area, was being used as an excuse by the local mafia leaders to cause violence as they did not want their major drug racket in the area to get busted.

Roshan’s job was to observe if there was any suspicious activity during the night before the protest and to prevent any violence that might occur during the protest. People would start gathering there around 6am so he had to see if all of them were calm and unarmed and did not cause any ruckus. It seemed like a lot for a single cop to handle, and it was, but the others who had been assigned there with him that night knew better than to be in any way associated with a protest in this city, so they were probably soundly sleeping at home. He was a good cop, plus he had no one to go home to, and he knew that if he didn’t show up, there would be no one else to oversee this which could be very dangerous.

Suddenly, he started to feel a little drowsy, and not before long he fell into a deep sleep. Upon waking up he realized the sun had come up and it was almost 8 a.m. Why did I suddenly fall asleep? This never happens, he wondered, but there was no time to think about that now. On the street, the protest was in full motion and there were hundreds of people gathered shouting at the top of their voices. He rushed to the ground floor when he realized many cops were already called upon the scene and were trying to keep things in control. He felt a little relieved as he found some familiar cops amidst the huge crowd.

‘Everything under control?’ he asked one of the cops.

‘Up till now, yes’ said the cop,

‘Good’

Then Roshan walked to the front of the crowd where he spotted that the Quick Response Team was ready to roll in case things went sideways. Out of the corner of his eye, in one of the alleyways he spotted the tea seller who had served him tea the previous night. The man had a hand over the jacket he was wearing as if he was trying to hide something. Roshan, who was suspicious now, started walking towards him. Just as he approached him, the man locked eyes with him for a second, panicked and broke into a run.

‘Hey!’ Roshan shouted and started chasing him.

The man ran into a narrow lane and Roshan followed him. He entered the lane and saw the man chuck a gun he took out from under his jacket down a manhole. He was about to continue running when Roshan pointed his gun at him and yelled

’STOP OR I WILL SHOOT!’

He stopped and put his hands up in the air. Roshan slowly and cautiously approached him just in case he was hiding another weapon. Many protestors started to gather behind them. As he arrested and handcuffed the man, he saw many pull out their phones and start recording. Obviously, none of them had seen the man chuck the gun down the hole. For them the narrative was a cop arresting just another innocent protestor. Roshan did not have time to think about such things. In his line of work there was no time to think about morality and earning recognition from the public as he was just there to perform his duty. No matter what he did, due to the reputations established by the actual bad cops in the city, he would also inevitably be the bad guy in any situation.

As he escorted the tea seller to the police vehicle, he realized the tea he had been served the night before had contained some drug that had made him fall asleep, but luckily, he wasn’t harmed in any way and had woken up on time. The city that he had a glimmer of hope for, had betrayed him even in its silence, the very silence for which he loved it.