Free Mumbaistan by Piyush Jha

that they could afford, since their jobs involved working through the nights as support staff to the various prostitutes housed on every floor.
    Now, as he stood panting outside the two-room suite' that Rabia shared with Zohra, his heart beat fast, not so much because of the run up the stairs, but because the semi-open front door signalled something ominous inside. Tanvir took a deep breath and pushed the door open a little further. There was an eerie silence. A faint blue light from the inner room that Zohra inhabited fell on the cheap vinyl-tiled floor, giving it the familiar otherworldly feel. The dark sky outside didn't help matters much. Tanvir tiptoed inside, trying his best to leave everything undisturbed.
    Yet he need not have taken so much care, because Zohra's room was in shambles. A large steel trunk that usually functioned as a makeshift 'diwan lay open and empty at the corner of the room. Zohra herself was lying on the floor in another corner of the small room. A dark pool of blood around her indicated why she had chosen the floor as a resting place. Tanvir rushed up to her and in the meagre light of the bedside lamp, he could make out that she had been stabbed in the stomach, not very long ago. Although Zohra had been left for dead, there still seemed to be some life left in her. She stirred at Tanvir's touch; her lips parted and tried to form words. Tanvir noticed that her right hand was clutching a wooden sindoor box tightly. She shoved the sindoor box into Tanvir's hands. Tanvir was a little nonplussed at receiving a wedding gift from a dying person. But then, Zohra pulled at his collar and using all her strength, brought his ear next to her mouth. She whispered for a couple of seconds. Tanvir strained to hear what Zohra was saying, but 'Zaveri Bazaar' were the only two words he could decipher as she died with a sigh.
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    The Phiroze Jeejeebhoy Towers, popularly known as the Bombay Stock Exchange Building, is a twenty-nine-storey iconic structure in South Mumbai. It stands proud at the intersection of the famous Dalai Street, the Bombay Samachar Marg and Hammam Street in Mumbai's Fort area. Historically an open-outcry floor trading exchange, the Bombay Stock Exchange switched to an electronic trading system in 1995. Since then, the number of people going in and out of the building has significantly reduced. However, the symbolic significance of the building has not reduced one bit. It is the single landmark that immediately communicates Mumbai's status as India's financial capital to all.
    At pre-dawn, the tower had never seen this kind of activity in and around it. Mumbai police had surrounded the building, while the bomb squad was conducting a painstaking search, floor by floor. By now, every senior police officer had seen the footage on the camera chip and had rushed their men to the Stock Exchange, each hoping to grab a piece of credit for saving the day. ACP Hani did not welcome the unnecessary help from the other departments. Despite the pressure from the local police bosses, the NSG and even the army, he was not ready to step aside and give up the chase so easily. For the past two hours, he had helped conduct the search, combing through each and every room in the building, along with his chosen men.
    While poking about in a toilet on the eleventh floor, the ACP received Tanvir's phone call. Casting an irritated glance at the caller ID, he nevertheless took the call. However, Tanvir's opening line got his undivided attention.
    'We have been tricked again by Aalamzeb.'
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    The small Chikal Wadi street was still clutching the last slivers of sleep as the sky looked ready to welcome the morning. An exhausted Tanvir trudged up the stairs of his building. As he stood outside the door of his tenement, he noticed that the door (which he had locked) was bereft of the lock. In fact, it was ajar. Tanvir shook off a sense of déjà vu as he kicked the door in and saw three smiling men, dressed in grey