THE GREAT ESCAPE

Ganesha stirred in the darkness. He had lost track of time, but he knew that many hours had passed since he had been imprisoned in the concrete room. He had attempted to charge the door but although he had made some impressive dents, the grim portal would not yield.

Finally, exhausted and emotionally spent, he had slumped into a corner, curled his trunk under his face, and fallen into a troubled sleep.

But now a noise had brought him up from the well of slumber.

He listened intently as the rusted steel bolt scraped back. The door swung open, and then a dark shape slipped inside. Ganesha stumbled to his feet, his every muscle tensed.

‘Shhh, don’t make any noise or he will hear us.’

Ganesha’s ears flapped happily and then he raised his trunk and held it up to Irfan’s face, a gust of affection for his friend washing over him. His delight was apparent.

Irfan patted Ganesha on the head. ‘You shouldn’t have come, boy.’

The tip of Ganesha’s trunk froze as it reached the fresh bruise that had swollen Irfan’s right eye. His ears stopped flapping.

‘It’s OK, boy,’ mumbled Irfan. ‘It’s OK. I am sorry I had to leave you, but I had no choice. If I had stayed, that evil man might have hurt Poppy and Chopra. I know him too well. He would have stopped at nothing. I couldn’t take the chance that they would be hurt because of me. You understand, don’t you?’

For a brief moment they stood together in silence, and then Irfan stirred. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

With Irfan leading the way, they left the room and headed stealthily for the concrete steps to the floor below.

They had made it halfway there when a tall shape stepped out from behind a column on the very edge of the open expanse. The man held a flaming torch, the sulphurous yellow light throwing a spectral halo over his grizzled features.

Mukhthar Lodi looked down at the fugitives. And then a cold smile spread over the shadows that made up his face.

Behind him the night was dark, punctuated by strange noises. The clicking of cicadas. The whoop of a hyena. A solitary scream from the nearby slum, cut off at its zenith. A bat flew past, chittering in the moonlight.

‘It seems that you have not learned your lesson, Irfan. Perhaps this time I must teach you properly.’

Ganesha snorted angrily and moved in front of the boy.

Lodi reached into the sash around his black kurta. The light from the torch now reflected from the burnished barrel of an antique revolver. ‘Perhaps your friend needs to learn a lesson too.’

Ganesha did not hesitate. He lowered his head and charged.

Lodi’s eyes widened. He had not been expecting this. For a second he stood there, frozen, and then his finger tightened on the trigger.

The bang of the revolver was abnormally loud inside the abandoned building.

Ganesha ploughed into Lodi, sending him careening backwards and over the side, the torch flying from his hand.

The little elephant’s momentum carried him forward until he bundled headlong into the column Lodi had hidden behind. He bounced off the concrete pillar, spun backwards and then collapsed onto the floor.

‘Ganesha!’

Irfan rushed to the stricken elephant and knelt down beside him.

For a moment Ganesha did not respond.

‘Come on, boy!’ sobbed Irfan, his face dissolving into tears.

And then Ganesha shook his head from side to side. He reached up with his trunk to pat either side of his skull. Then he flapped his ears forward. At the bottom of his right ear, where the membrane was thinnest, a small round hole was rimmed with blood. Ganesha touched the hole with the tip of his trunk. A shudder passed through him.

Irfan placed his arms around the elephant’s neck. ‘You could have been killed, boy.’

A piercing shout drew them both from their huddle.

Groggily, Ganesha got to his feet. Then, together, they moved to the edge of the floor.

Below them, clinging on with one hand, was Mukhthar Lodi.

He was dangling some two floors above the ground. Directly below his feet was a moving river of sludge, a six-foot-wide stream of cancerous sewage that flowed from nearby industrial plants all the way to the Mithi River at Krishna Nagar.

As they watched, Lodi tried to reach up and grasp the edge with his other hand, but his shoulder was unnaturally twisted, and as he rotated the dislocated joint a scream of pain escaped him. The arm fell limply by his side.

‘Help me!’

Irfan stared down with round eyes at the man who had controlled his life since the day he had been born.

‘I am your father, boy! Now help me!’

Slowly, as if walking in a dream, Irfan advanced to the very edge.

‘That’s it, boy! Reach out and pull me up!’

Irfan extended a tentative arm… and then stopped, his hand frozen mid-reach.

‘What are you waiting for? Pull me up!’

Irfan stepped back.

Ganesha looked up at the boy, at the fear and uncertainty passing like storm clouds over his bruised and battered face.

Then the elephant moved forward.

He reached out with his trunk. He would pull the man up, and then they would leave. Lodi was in no shape to stop them now.

Ganesha turned at the sound of bare feet slapping on concrete.

Behind him were ranged a dozen young boys of Irfan’s age. They all wore ragged shorts and vests or T-shirts. Some were bare-chested. All displayed bruises, cigarette burns and razor cuts, testaments to Lodi’s brutality.

There was a moment of breathless silence in which only the wind could be heard howling between the columns of the concrete floor.

And then, acting as one, the boys swarmed forward.

For thousands of years Indians have believed that justice is a universal constant of nature, shaped by the concept of dharma – the principle of right conduct. The obligation of each individual to behave in a moral and righteous manner towards his fellow man. Thus when a man betrays the code of dharma he brings his own fate down upon his head.

Before Ganesha could move, the urchins had clawed Lodi’s fingers from the edge of the floor.

Lodi fell swiftly, a scream rising from his throat. With a loud spludge he struck the ooze and immediately sank in up to his waist.

The arch thief began to thrash around but was hampered by his dislocated arm. The harder he struggled the further he sank into the sewage, which sucked at him greedily like quicksand. Soon only his shoulders were visible.

As he sank Lodi hurled curses up at the watching boys, interspersed with pitiable entreaties to come to his aid. But the boys may as well have been a succession of statues arrayed on the lip of the concrete floor.

Finally, only his head was visible.

Irfan drew closer to Ganesha. He shivered as he watched the slime creep up his father’s neck. Ganesha reached out his trunk and entwined it around the boy’s hand.

Lodi spluttered as the ooze found his mouth. ‘The devil take you all!’ he cursed and then the sludge entered his mouth and he could say no more.

The sound of choking gradually died away as the sewage rose to engulf Lodi’s face.

With a final plop, he vanished completely beneath the river of black.