CHAPTER -3

AN ACQUAINTANCE TURNS INTO A STRONG BOND

The enigmatic elder, who seemed to materialize out of thin air last time, reappeared just when things had taken a turn for the worse. He had once shared a crucial piece of information about my mother, completely unaware of our connection. As he emerged again, this time amid a challenging situation for me, I couldn't predict whether his presence would prove beneficial. Nonetheless, I found myself secretly hoping that he might rescue me from this awkward predicament.

The elderly gentleman was impeccably dressed in a crisp, white kurta paired with blue denims. His lean and fit stature was evident as he stood there. His authoritative presence overshadowed even the new manager. With a commanding voice, he directed, "Let him go; he’s, my neighbour. I know him." The manager promptly acquiesced. The elderly man turned to me and casually said, "Beta, you can leave. Settle the bill tomorrow." I was left bewildered, thinking, "Who is this guy?" As he strolled away, my initial confusion transformed into a realization—I couldn't miss this chance to express my gratitude. If I owed anything, it was a heartfelt thanks to him for consistently being a rescuer in my life.

So, I went after him, mustering the courage to accost him, "Excuse me, sir." He turned to acknowledge me, and I continued, "Sir, I really want to thank you for your act of kindness last time. If it wasn’t for you, my mother wouldn’t have been alive, and this time also you came at the right time."

He grinned at me and spoke, "Well, I accept your thanks, but nothing would have happened to your mother because it was mere coincidence that she was your mother; otherwise, I would have taken her to the hospital." His words, steeped in the spirit of human service, prompted a moment of self-reflection for me. Despite a twinge of guilt, my curiosity prevailed, and I wanted to learn more about him. So, I threw another question at him, "Sir, are you a regular at this place, or maybe you are a big shot because that manager is quite tough to crack, but he couldn’t refuse you? How? Moreover, I have never seen you here before?"

A warm grin appeared on his face as he replied, "I seldom come here, and as far as the manager is concerned, he couldn’t refuse me because I am the owner of this liquor house." Under the spell of alcohol, my brain seemed to be running on a time delay, struggling to catch up with the words that had just graced my ears. Politely, he asked me to leave as it was late at night, and the bar was about to close. Dumbstruck, I found myself unable to refuse his polite request started walking towards my building, but hey, wait a minute! I forgot to ask his name, and in this world of uncertainty, I don’t want to take a chance. I lunged back and accosted him yet again: 'Sir, can I have your name?' He turned to me and replied, 'Brihannla Yadav.' 'Brihannla?' What an unusual name. Never mind. I was happy that even in that intoxicated frame of mind, before leaving, I managed to ask him his name, and with that, I simply left."

"Brihannla" – his name echoed in my mind as I woke up, the alcohol from the night before pushing my dopamine levels to their peak. Unaware of the passing time, I managed to stumble back to my place with wobbling legs. My head throbbed mercilessly, a clear sign of the dreaded hangover. "Argh!" I groaned.

Against my every desire, I forced myself to sit up, hoping to snooze away the entire day. However, my body had other plans – it seemed to have a magnetic connection with the bed, pulling me back with an irresistible force. Frustrated, I muttered a half-hearted "NO" as I succumbed to the gravitational pull and flopped back onto the mattress.

Summoning the last ounce of willpower, I resisted the seduction of sleep, driven by the nagging reminder to settle the bill. The owner, who also happened to be my neighbour, had graciously approved my plea for credit on goodwill, and I must settle the bill like a true gentleman. With a reluctant sigh, I dragged myself out of bed. Suddenly, a thought occurred: I had recently activated G-pay on my phone. Why didn't I pay through my phone in the first place? Damn me. But then, if not for the unpaid bill, I wouldn't have met Brihanla... what a weird name.

The bar typically doesn't open early in the morning, with usual operating hours starting from 12 p.m. So, I arrived at the bar precisely at noon and guess who I encountered? Ajit Das, my sole fan from the previous night's alcohol-fueled adventure. We greeted each other like long-lost brothers, with him exclaiming, "Bro, God couldn’t have been kinder. I was thinking about you only!" We exchanged handshakes and hugs. Curious, I asked, "What brings you here?" He explained that he had misplaced his PAN card at the bar last night and then he inquired, "Did you leave anything behind?" I filled him in on the bill settlement and the ensuing drama after bidding our goodbyes.

Upon learning about the bill, he promptly suggested, "Yes, I forgot to settle my bill, so let’s split it." I declined, stating, "I've already decided to cover the bill, which includes yours. You can settle it next time to square things up." Despite my refusal, he persisted. I deflected by asking, "By the way, how are you feeling? I'm still nursing a hangover." Without missing a beat, he replied, "Same here, so let’s grab an Utara beer." "Utara," a term commonly used by Maharashtra's imbibers, implies that if you've overindulged in drinks the night before and are now battling a hangover, the remedy is to balance it out with a beer. It doesn't make much sense, I know; let's leave it at that. Drunkards always find excuses to consume alcohol.

I outright rejected the idea, citing my workload and a looming deadline as an excuse. However, he insisted, saying, "You're covering last night's bill, and since it's Sunday and we're both bachelors, why not share an Utara beer? I'll foot today's bill." His warmth and persistent charm got the best of me, and I reluctantly gave in to his proposal.

As we all know, it often begins with just one beer, but rarely does it stop there. As we find ourselves on the third beer, heading towards the fourth, I couldn't help but appreciate the commonalities in our upbringing – Ajit's father being in the police force and mine, a retired paramilitary officer. These shared experiences made it easy for us to connect, fostering a smooth exchange of ideas. Ajit, a reporter with a broad spectrum of interests, made me thankful that in a world driven by personal gains and transactions, I had encountered someone with whom I could openly and genuinely discuss a wide range of subjects without mincing words. Engrossed in our discussion about geopolitics and India's stance in the current situation, we were suddenly interrupted by a commotion.

Amidst our engrossing discussion on geopolitics and India's current stance, a brawl erupted at the adjacent table. The group occupying it began misbehaving with the restaurant staff, hurling abuses and curses as dissatisfaction with the service became apparent. The customers grew increasingly aggressive, while the waiter stood his ground. As the argument escalated, Ajit and I, mere spectators, hoped for a peaceful resolution. However, chaos ensued when one customer started physically assaulting the waiter, who retaliated and sought refuge in the kitchen.

I felt uneasy because they were drunk. A mad dog and a drunk person can be very dangerous., my worries were justified. A guy pulled out a gun, demanding to see the waiter, Even though his fellow associates tried to calm him down the drunk guy, who didn't seem local, shoved them away. Staff members gathered, and a group of eight customers started attacking them. Ajit and I were stuck, hoping things would settle down quickly.

In a crucial moment, Brihnnala emerged from the kitchen. He confronted the gunman, urging him to reconsider and avoid regrettable actions. The gunman, undeterred, threatened Brihnnala with profanity. Unfazed, Brihnnala grabbed the gunman's hand, knelt down, and challenged him to shoot, placing the gun between his eyes. The stunned gunman hesitated, as did everyone witnessing the surreal scene. There was no fear in Brihnnala's eyes; instead, he goaded the gunman, shouting, "Shoot!"

I found myself wondering, "Who is this guy?"

To be continued.