The life of a hit man -- a short story

By Shevlin Sebastian

It was a sleepy Sunday afternoon. The television sets in the various apartments nearby were silent. It seemed everybody was having an afternoon siesta.

A man stood at the door of a ground-floor apartment in Kolkata. He was wearing a T-shirt hanging outside his trousers. His name was Raju ‘Pehelwan’ Das. The door was closed, and he was in the bedroom. He took off his T-shirt and placed it on the clothes stand. He then changed into white shorts.

He has thick biceps and triceps. A smooth brown body. Entering the kitchen, he opened the fridge, took out Tropicana juice, and filled a glass with it. He sipped from it as he moved to the living room and switched on the TV. Aware that there was silence all around, he kept the volume on low and watched an English film on Netflix.

Pehelwan was a hit man for an underworld gang. He lived alone in Kolkata. His family lived in a village in Midnapore, 128 kms away. Every month, he sent money through Google Pay. Pehelwan has a wife, two sons and a daughter. They were all in college. Once a month, he took a train and headed back home.

The family lived comfortably. Nobody knew what he actually did. He has told the village that he was doing business. And he did not clarify what business it was. Because of his body, people were intimidated. They didn’t ask questions.

Since he was quiet and well behaved, nobody suspected anything.

In his job, he can be violent, slapping opposing gang members with ferocious slaps. He was a mean boxer and could trade jabs with the pick of them.

Pehelwan did not drink, smoke or take drugs. But like all men, he had one vice. He kept a mistress in a flat and made love often. He paid her bills and kept her happy. She was in her late twenties, a widow who did not have any children. At the moment, she was happy with the arrangement. Pehelwan has interacted with many women. So, he is not sure when she will insist on getting married and having a child with him.

He was sure he would ignore these suggestions. If she insisted he would get rid of her and get a new woman. He did not have any emotional attachment to this woman. She was a competent lover; he knew that, but there were many women who were capable lovers. Pehelwan wanted an uncomplicated relationship.

He understood her apprehensions. What if he got tired of her body and told her to go? What would she do then? He had several lovers before. Most were struggling and needed money. They used their bodies to pay household bills. But it was a fact that after a while, Pehelwan got tired.

He has explored every nook and cranny of a woman’s body and ravished her. There was nothing new to discover. A sense of staleness can creep in. And since Pehelwan had the money to get a new piece of flesh, he did. But to his credit, he gave enough money to the woman when he left her. They could survive for a year with no financial worries.

He was keen that they did not hurl curses at him. He was always scared of a woman’s anger and abuse.

Pehelwan knew that in his high-risk career, somebody could shoot him dead. There were enemies lurking everywhere. Which was why he had put fixed deposits in the name of his wife and children to the tune of a few lakhs in a few banks. If he died, they should not have any financial problems.

When Pehelwan was a teenager, he started lifting weights. Soon, he had a bulky body: a muscular chest, thick biceps and calves. It did not take long for the local people in his area to call him Pehelwan, the Hindi word for wrestler. He knew enough Hindi to know that was the wrong word, since he was a weightlifter. But the name stuck. And he liked it.

After he finished Class 12 in a Bengali-medium school, Pehelwan came to Kolkata in search of a job.

One evening, he was sitting in a street-side restaurant, having tea and samosas. A man observed him. He was none other than Malik Babu, who had established his gang in Kidderpore. Malik Babu was 20 years older than Pehelwan. He invited Pehelwan to join his gang by offering a monthly salary of Rs 10,000. That was difficult to resist.

Pehelwan began his career as a pickpocket and was very successful. Malik Babu allowed him to keep 20 percent of whatever he filched. Malik Babu told him that if he wanted to do well, he should be honest. He took it to heart and never cheated Malik Babu. Over the years, Malik Babu trusted him.

From the beginning, Pehalwan was careful with money. Instead of spending lavishly, as any young man would do, he opened a bank account. He began saving money every month. After a year, he had a tidy sum. After five years, he bought some land in Midnapore and built a small house. This was so that his parents could live in a house of their own, instead of being at the mercy of landlords.

As the gang did well, Pehelwan moved from being a pickpocket to being an enforcer. At some point, when he was in his mid-twenties, Malik Babu sent him to a shooting school. He learned how to use pistols and revolvers. Only in extreme cases would Malik Babu ask him to kill somebody.

It was only the first time that his body trembled as he took the shot. He saw the bullet enter his skull from the back and saw a streak of blood come out.

This happened on the outskirts of Calcutta. Pehalwan had followed the man who was heading towards Digha. When he stopped his car at a petrol station and walked to the toilet, Pehalwan followed. He shot him as he was urinating. Since he had a silencer, there was a low ‘phut phut’ sound. The man slumped against the wall and slid to the ground.

He was in his late fifties.

He was a building construction magnate. He had borrowed money from Malik Babu, but his business went bust and he could not repay. There was no alternative but to kill him. The aim was to send a message to the other business people they were dealing with. Pay up or else… It was the standard Mafia message, which criminal gangs used all over the world.

A message soaked in blood.

That night, Pehelwan had a difficult time sleeping. Images of blood spurting out kept recurring. He twisted and turned from side to side. Since he was a teetotaler, he couldn’t drink alcohol.

Instead, he lifted weights.

After several months, his mind calmed down, and he finally had a peaceful sleep.

He was glad that Malik Babu did not make too many calls to kill anybody. The gang leader used it as a last resort. Pehelwan knew Malik Babu was smart. A murder drew the ire of the police, the media and society. They would feel a sudden heat. Malik Babu had to pay a lot of money to the cops so that the spotlight moved away and the case remained unresolved.

‘Thank God for corrupt cops,’ thought Pehelwan. ‘Without them, our gang would have been busted a long time ago.’

In the past twenty years, Pehelwan had killed six more people. He knew nothing about their families. Pehelwan did not know how they survived following the death of the breadwinner. He hoped the wives would step forward and assume responsibility for the business. And he hoped they did not curse the unknown killer.

All the cases were unsolved.

Pehelwan kept a low profile all the time. He was a loner. So far, he has not appeared on any police record. He reported to Malik Babu. The Don gave him assignments. He did it efficiently. Sometimes, he wore a mask, especially because there were so many cameras everywhere. And he continued to save money and invest in land in remote areas of Midnapore, where it was cheaper.

He was sure that, after 20 years, these remote areas would become part of the town because of the burgeoning population. Then he could sell the land at an exorbitant price. His son and daughter were in Plus Two. Soon, they would graduate and get jobs of their own.

Everything was working fine. He prayed that there would no longer be any more murders. He was preparing to tell Malik Babu to get a younger hitman. At 48, the stress was too much to bear. And he feared a reaction. Like most people, he believed in the law of karma.

Pehelwan switched off the TV and lay down for a nap.

In the evening, he got up and walked to the kitchen. He made a cup of tea. As he sipped his tea and dipped Parle G biscuits in it, at the dining table, the front doorbell rang. He frowned. None of his gang members visited the house. He was not expecting any visitors, except Ganesh, a distant relative, who wanted to borrow some money. Pehelwan put on his T-shirt and walked to the door.

Two young men stood there. He did not recognise them. He had never seen them before.

His sixth sense said danger.

One of them took out a revolver. With swift reflexes, Pehelwan tried to shut the door and dived to one side. But he heard shots ring out, with the familiar ‘phut phut’ sound of the silencer. He felt something touch his lower back. And then he lost consciousness.

It was Ganesh who found him, with a pool of blood next to him, on the floor. There was the strange odour of rusted iron. Ganesh called for an ambulance and took him to a government hospital.

Two weeks later, Pehelwan received the prognosis. The doctors told him he was paralysed from the waist down. The bullet hit his spinal cord in the lower half. Pehelwan could not feel any sensation in his legs. He knew that his career in Malik Babu’s gang was over.

Overnight, he had become a useless member.

One week later, Malik Babu came for a visit. He had the look of a man who had come to view a dead body.

“You were my best man,” he told Pehelwan.

Of course, Pehelwan was smart enough to realise that Malik Babu had used the past tense. Pehelwan stared at Malik Babu, with his handlebar moustache and his jutting out eyes. He looked freakish, but Pehelwan respected the man’s intelligence. Malik Babu had always resorted to violence and murder as a last resort. He preferred psychological methods to intimidate people. That was one reason he lasted so long.

But Pehelwan had to accept the grim news that he would have to go back home. He thanked God that he had saved so much over the years.

Malik Babu said, “We still do not know who planned the hit. Or was it a warning? I am not sure if it was a gangland hit. It seemed to be somebody from outside, but who? There are no leads so far. Nobody informed the police. Thank God for that, because nobody knew.”

Pehelwan nodded. He was sure Malik Babu would solve the mystery. But it would take time. Pehelwan was no longer interested in revenge. Whatever happened, it would not restore his ability to move. He didn’t care, since he no longer belonged to the gang.

He wondered what he would do now. How was he going to live the rest of his life? What work could he do? He realised the roles would be reversed for his wife, Deepa. In the past, she always stayed at home. Now, he would have to stay at home while she went out for work, so that they could pay their bills.

He wondered whether he could be active. Would he be able to get an erection? He was not sure. One night, at the hospital, he held his penis, and it seemed to become stiff. ‘Maybe’, he thought, ‘it can be done if Deepa gets on top of me.’

He did not worry about his children. They were smart. He was sure they would graduate and get well-paying jobs.

The day before the hospital discharged him, Malik Babu gave him a packet covered in brown paper. Deepa had been present. She placed it under his clothes in a bag next to the bed. This was the first time Deepa had met Malik Babu.

Pehelwan said, “Malik Babu lives near my house.”

When he returned home two days later, he checked the brown packet.

It contained Rs 10 lakh in cash.

It was a parting gift from Malik Babu.

It was a generous amount.

Pehelwan was grateful.

And so his new life began. He sat in a wheelchair and stared out of the windows. He read newspapers, watched TV, and lifted weights for his upper body. Every morning, he watched his wife getting ready to go to work. She worked as a secretary in a small trading firm. His parents lived with them. His mother provided his meals.

He learned how to invest in the stock market on his laptop and earned money.

So life carried on.

He knew that by the time he died, he would clean up all the negative karma he had gained by killing seven people.

He also hoped to achieve a peaceful death.