Chapter 4: Art and Escape

4

Everyone lunged at once. Prakash and I tried to bolt, but we were pinned. Keshav swaggered over, picked up the scissors, and tapped my fingers. “Kaunsi kaatun? Decide kiya?”

The stink of whisky on his breath, the rough hands of the goons holding me down. My arms twisted behind me, cheek scraping the cold, gritty floor—I could taste dust and fear. Old Prakash was pinned too, pleading, “Keshav Bhai, chhod do yaar, baccha hai. College student hai, future kharab ho jayega!”

His voice broke. My heart hammered as I heard laughter outside, like this was all a joke.

“College student? Hahaha…” Keshav mocked. “Bahut darr lag raha hai mujhe, college student se… Chalo, kaunsi ungli? Pinky kaat deta hoon, pen toh chala lega. Kitna bada dil hai mera.”

He straightened my pinky, pressing the scissors to it. I felt stabbing pain even before he started. In desperation, I blurted, “Keshav Bhai, tattoo galat hai!”

The room froze.

Keshav paused. “Kya?”

He stared, scissors hovering. The others waited, silent.

“Woh Hanuman ka tattoo—Raja Ravi Varma ki painting se hai, ‘Hanuman Bringing Sanjeevani’. Hanuman ko mountain pakadna chahiye, gada nahi.”

I spoke fast, hoping to buy time. Keshav looked at his tattoo. “Tu bol raha hai galat hai?”

He twisted his arm, doubt flickering. “Bittu, check kar online. Raja Ravi Varma ki… kya painting?”

I replied, “Hanuman Bringing Sanjeevani.”

“Jaldi dekh, warna pinky gaya.”

Bittu searched. “Keshav Bhai, yeh dekh—bilkul aisa hi hai. Arre, mountain pakda hua hai!”

Everyone crowded the old monitor. I finally dared to breathe. Prakash and I were let go. My knees shook as we scrambled up, sweat running down my back.

Keshav stared at his arm, then slapped the table. “Chutiya tattoo artist. Gada banana asaan tha, mountain nahi bana paya. Ab main sabke saamne joke ban gaya.”

The others laughed, tension fading. Even in that chaos, I felt a strange relief—my art degree had saved my skin.

I said, “Keshav Bhai, agar aap chup rahenge toh kaun jaane?”

He eyed me, suspicion giving way to reluctant respect.

“Kaise jaanta hai?”

“Main fine arts ka student hoon.”

Prakash thumped my back, relief written all over his face.

“Oh, sach mein college student hai.” Keshav spat, lips curling in a grudging smile.

Prakash grinned, swagger returning. “Kaha tha na, Keshav Bhai, apna ladka talented hai.”

The room jeered, but the mood had shifted.

“Scholar mil gaya. Chhod diya aaj. Bittu, ja dekh peeche, koi wallet-locket pada hai toh le aa.”

Bittu disappeared into the dark. Keshav lit another cigarette. I finally exhaled.