allow him to make contact with the gang and put his proposal before them. Once the job was accepted and money changed hands, Hoshiyar Khan, along with his men, would move in swiftly and arrest them. Everything was going according to plan. Taneja had placed the ad in
Shiraznama
about the 1965 edition of
Arabian Nights
, and a couple of weeks later had also received the appropriate query, to which he had replied fittingly. Unknown to him, the crime branch boys were up to speed with all his movements; so it appeared that nothing could go wrong. But then somehow, Commissioner T.L. Ghankar got wind of the crime branch’s secret operation and became enraged for not being included or consulted, which bruised his ego considerably, prompting him to react in his usual ham-handed way. In other words, before anyone could figure out what was going on, Ghankar, along with his squad, had raided the hotel where Taneja was staying, and arrested him just the day before he was to meet in person with the gang, causing the crime branch’s meticulously planned operation to fall apart completely. The aftermath of this debacle saw the Iranians disappearing without a trace, while Ghankar had to let Taneja go for lack of evidence, causing the Mumbai Police to end up with egg on their face, courtesy the press which tore into the men in khaki for their high-handedness and vulgar abuse of power. But before Taneja was released, he did squeal one name to the police, that of the leader of the gang, who, like a whisper, was sometimes heard, but never seen. Ali Baba was that name. Ali Baba, the king of thieves. Taneja, however, did not live long enough to enjoy his freedom. Two days after his release, his body was left outside the police headquarters’ main gate a little before dawn, packed neatly in a large wooden crate, infested with the carcasses of a hundred dead rats, as if to say he was one among them for revealing a forbidden name. And on Taneja’s battered corpse lay a solitary storybook, the one called
Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves
. A week after this incident, Hoshiyar Khan received a blue envelope, delicately scented with Arabian oudh, and inside it was a sheet of writing paper, light blue in colour, containing words from Khalil Gibran’s
Sand and Foam
, which read, ‘remembrance is a form of meeting’, below which was signed, Ali Baba, a clear indication that the game between the master thief and the man who exposed his existence had well and truly begun. Ever since that day, a handwritten note from Ali Baba would mysteriously appear at Hoshiyar’s desk, always in Farsi and always quoting Gibran, in a manner which indicated that the crossing of their paths was an inevitability which neither could escape. Hoshiyar studied the latest letter for a few moments, then smiled quietly to himself and put it away in the drawer of his desk. As he glanced at his watch, he realized that the time was exactly nine o’clock and the SCS headquarters was beginning to fill up steadily. A few minutes later, eleven of the twelve officers were in attendance, with the exception of Inspector Pindi Das. However, it is important to note that Inspector Pindi Das, who was an amateur theatre actor by hobby and the unit’s master of disguise, did try to enter the headquarters along with everyone else, disguised as a coughing old man, complete with a blanket, a stoop and a limp, but the moment he set foot on the premises, everyone from the officers in the building to the passport renewal guys arriving for work, even Chotu the tea delivery boy, greeted him with the words, ‘Good morning, Pindi Das saheb’, which demoralized him completely, prompting him to turn away in a huff and head for the nearby paan shop for a smoke.
At around 9.30, ACP Meeta Kashyap arrived and everyone stood up in attention as she made her way past their desks and entered her office. A few minutes later, she sent for Hoshiyar and told him that the home ministry was seriously considering her
Shiraznama
about the 1965 edition of
Arabian Nights
, and a couple of weeks later had also received the appropriate query, to which he had replied fittingly. Unknown to him, the crime branch boys were up to speed with all his movements; so it appeared that nothing could go wrong. But then somehow, Commissioner T.L. Ghankar got wind of the crime branch’s secret operation and became enraged for not being included or consulted, which bruised his ego considerably, prompting him to react in his usual ham-handed way. In other words, before anyone could figure out what was going on, Ghankar, along with his squad, had raided the hotel where Taneja was staying, and arrested him just the day before he was to meet in person with the gang, causing the crime branch’s meticulously planned operation to fall apart completely. The aftermath of this debacle saw the Iranians disappearing without a trace, while Ghankar had to let Taneja go for lack of evidence, causing the Mumbai Police to end up with egg on their face, courtesy the press which tore into the men in khaki for their high-handedness and vulgar abuse of power. But before Taneja was released, he did squeal one name to the police, that of the leader of the gang, who, like a whisper, was sometimes heard, but never seen. Ali Baba was that name. Ali Baba, the king of thieves. Taneja, however, did not live long enough to enjoy his freedom. Two days after his release, his body was left outside the police headquarters’ main gate a little before dawn, packed neatly in a large wooden crate, infested with the carcasses of a hundred dead rats, as if to say he was one among them for revealing a forbidden name. And on Taneja’s battered corpse lay a solitary storybook, the one called
Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves
. A week after this incident, Hoshiyar Khan received a blue envelope, delicately scented with Arabian oudh, and inside it was a sheet of writing paper, light blue in colour, containing words from Khalil Gibran’s
Sand and Foam
, which read, ‘remembrance is a form of meeting’, below which was signed, Ali Baba, a clear indication that the game between the master thief and the man who exposed his existence had well and truly begun. Ever since that day, a handwritten note from Ali Baba would mysteriously appear at Hoshiyar’s desk, always in Farsi and always quoting Gibran, in a manner which indicated that the crossing of their paths was an inevitability which neither could escape. Hoshiyar studied the latest letter for a few moments, then smiled quietly to himself and put it away in the drawer of his desk. As he glanced at his watch, he realized that the time was exactly nine o’clock and the SCS headquarters was beginning to fill up steadily. A few minutes later, eleven of the twelve officers were in attendance, with the exception of Inspector Pindi Das. However, it is important to note that Inspector Pindi Das, who was an amateur theatre actor by hobby and the unit’s master of disguise, did try to enter the headquarters along with everyone else, disguised as a coughing old man, complete with a blanket, a stoop and a limp, but the moment he set foot on the premises, everyone from the officers in the building to the passport renewal guys arriving for work, even Chotu the tea delivery boy, greeted him with the words, ‘Good morning, Pindi Das saheb’, which demoralized him completely, prompting him to turn away in a huff and head for the nearby paan shop for a smoke.
At around 9.30, ACP Meeta Kashyap arrived and everyone stood up in attention as she made her way past their desks and entered her office. A few minutes later, she sent for Hoshiyar and told him that the home ministry was seriously considering her
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