Free Show Business by Shashi Tharoor

it’s hopeless: he would hit Abha. Godambo breaks into a run. Ashok follows. “After him!” shouts Pranay, waving on the disarmed commandos in hot pursuit. Maya, alone and neglected, cowers near the doorway, her hands to her mouth. “ Bhaiya!” she screams in warning. Ashok looks briefly behind him and pauses to release a burst of semiautomatic fire at his pursuers. One of the commandos falls.
    Ashok resumes his chase. Godambo is running into his cavernous throne room. This time the pillars are unprotected, but the fountains still play and the pool gleams dully in the neon light. Godambo drags Abha toward his throne. Ashok enters the room and runs across the marbled floor. Pranay and the surviving commando are hot on his heels.
    Godambo reaches his throne and stretches a hand toward the armrest.
    Abha screams, “Ashok! The floor!”
    Godambo jabs a finger on the button. Ashok is still running when the floor opens up beneath him.
    He jumps.
    In a glorious, fluid leap, immortalized by the camera in poetic slow motion — a leap that would comfortably have won India its first Olympic gold medal in athletics were it reproducible without special effects — Ashok flies over the yawning chasm under his feet, as his weapons fall discarded into the abyss. Ashok’s pursuers are not so fortunate. Pranay and the Black Cheetah, with despairing yells, make their fatal splash. The shark fin dives, and as finale the subsidiary villain is accorded only a few glugs of farewell.
    Ashok lands on his feet on the other side of the pool. Godambo presses another button, and a loud siren wails through the complex. Red lights flash and blink along the walls. Doors open, corridors fill with the scudding feet of Black Cheetahs.
    â€œYou’re finished now, Inspector Ashok,” Godambo declares emphatically.
    As soon as she hears the siren, Maya presses the switch on the control panel. The red indicator on the panel turns to green, and the door slides open. There is the clatter of booted feet from the outside.
    â€œShabash” says a deep voice. Yes, it is the stern and slim Iftikhar, complete with pencil-line mustache! As a truckload of khaki-uniformed policemen trot into the cavern, assault rifles at the ready, he has a brief word of explanation for Maya. “Your Amma called me,” he says. “We followed Ashok’s motorcycle tracks here, but were unable to get in.”
    The policemen take positions and a shoot-out follows, five minutes of meticulously choreographed anarchy. Black Cheetahs emerge on high walkways, spray bullets from their submachine guns, and plunge gorily to their deaths. The celluloid policemen, using weaponry unknown in the armories of their real-life counterparts, shoot indiscriminately, shattering flashing red lights and blasting rock off the rough-hewn walls, but miraculously bring their enemies tumbling down. Grenades are thrown, and little bursts of flame add color to the occasion. The bloodthirsty rural cinemagoers get their twenty-five paise’s worth.
    Meanwhile, inside the throne room Godambo curses as his henchmen are clearly getting the worst of the raging battle. Ashok stands poised to attack, but he is weaponless now and Godambo holds Abha tightly.
    â€œThis is all your doing, Inspector Ashok,” he snarls.
    â€œI thought you said you could crush me with one hand tied behind your back, Godambo,” Ashok retorts. “But I see you still prefer to shelter behind a woman.”
    Godambo’s pride is stung. Uttering an oath, he viciously flings Abha aside. She falls to the floor with a stifled cry. “Abha!” Ashok shouts.
    â€œDon’t worry about me,” the heroine breathes. “Get him.”
    Ashok has no time to express concern as Godambo, eyes horribly wide and teeth horrifyingly bared, leaps on him with both hands. They fall to the floor. Godambo’s powerful fingers are at Ashok’s throat. Ashok brings his knee up