The Crow Chronicles, page 8
Once again, the silence fell like a guillotine.
‘Very well. Let me show you how it is done. You five courageous creatures, you come with me.’
Kaw flew swiftly towards the dogs while the bully-birds followed disconsolately behind. He approached one of the dogs from the rear, dipped down neatly and pecked it hard on its ear. The brute turned in a flash, snarling and snapping, but Kaw side-slipped deftly. Flying just out of the reach of those snapping jaws he led the maddened dog right on top of the second one. Within moments the two animals were at each other’s throats, their bones forgotten.
‘Get those bones!’ Kaw ordered, and the five trembling hoodlums obeyed nervously. They were in such a hurry to get away that one group dropped the bone they were carrying.
Kaw regained his perch, not a feather ruffled.
‘That is the sort of work we will be doing from now on!’ he said. ‘All those who do not feel up to it may kindly tender their resignations to Craven Raven immediately.’
One by one the crows flew across to Craven Raven, and then flitted away over the treetops, never looking back. At last just twenty-five birds remained.
‘All right,’ Kaw said. ‘Tomorrow you will take the oath of allegiance and secrecy, and your training will begin immediately afterwards.’
Early next morning the crows who had volunteered assembled at a secret location somewhere on Malabar Hill. Each bird was first made to look straight into Kaw’s eyes and swear, unblinkingly, to do his bidding for the rest of his life without fear or question. Several of the crows emerged trembling from the experience and a number of them only succeeded after several attempts. Two crows just did not manage to look at the terrible white crow steadfastly and were told to leave. On Kaw’s orders, Craven Raven then lined up the birds on a transmission line for inspection. Kaw flew slowly past the line of shuffling crows, his eyes boring into them like gimlets.
‘You!’ he suddenly snapped. ‘Sixth from the right. Fly down to the empty wire in front of you. On the double.’
The crow in question glanced at his neighbours, shrugged and hopped on to the line indicated.
Kaw flapped slowly and deliberately around him, glaring.
‘You,’ he said bitingly, ‘are disgusting! You are overweight, your beak is filthy, your plumage looks as though you’ve been bathing in sewage. In short, you stink.’
The crow bristled, but dared say nothing.
‘Your parents must have been just as disgusting too!’
‘Sir . . . you have no right . . .’
‘Shut up!’ Kaw yelled, clouting the bird so heavily with his wing that he nearly fell off the wire. ‘I have every God-given right to insult you, your parents and grandparents if I so feel like it! And speak when you are asked to, not otherwise! Do you understand, you mottled caterpillar-dropping?’
Shocked, the crow remained silent, looking at the ground.
‘I said, do you understand?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘Yes, SIR!! You little shit!’
‘Yes, sir!’
One by one, Kaw railed them out. By the end of the morning the flock had been reduced to a sullen, silent and insecure lot, each bird smarting from the withering insults Kaw heaped on them. Five birds sneaked away and fled, unable to take the tormenting.
But not one of them had dared answer Kaw back. Kaw in fact, seemed quite pleased by the outcome of his first morning’s work.
‘They are breaking down already,’ he told Depraven Craven. ‘They’re already quivering with fear. This won’t take long.’
And he was right. Within days the group had been completely shattered psychologically. They were reduced to a shaking mass of feathers who could do nothing without Kaw’s permission. They were as dependent on him as they had been on their parents, immediately after hatching. Many of them had regressed so much that they would open their mouths and beg if Kaw perched anywhere close to them. They obeyed him blindly.
Simultaneously, Kaw put them on a gruelling physical fitness regime. A hundred laps of fast flying morning and evening was followed by stooping and diving exercises. The crows were made to climb high into the sky until they were barely visible specks and then dive down to pick up pieces of rubbish bobbing on the surface of the sea. Some complained they suffered from vertigo, several splashed into the water and two nearly drowned, but under the watchful eye of Craven Raven and the shower of insults from Kaw, they eventually emerged as accurate and deadly divers. They learned to fly at top speed through the densest of thickets, weaving and ducking between the branches so that their wings never touched a leaf, and the sensation exhilarated them no end. They learnt to fight properly and efficiently.
And always, Kaw led from the front, which was why, despite the shouts, insults and blows, they came to gradually respect him. He first demonstrated what he wanted and then poured scorn and contempt all over the trainees till they had attained a level of expertise acceptable to him.
Next Kaw began instilling in them an insatiable greed for the bright, sparking jewels that had so bewitched himself. He made them gaze into the fiery depths of his diamond, and one by one they succumbed to its blinding lights and frozen fire. At last he pronounced them ready for action. Each bird was now a clone of himself: tough, uncompromising, disciplined and keen—with one major difference. They were followers. Not leaders. On the day they were finally commissioned into the new mafia, they lined up at attention on the same transmission line where they had first gathered as recruits.
‘Congratulations, gentlemen!’ These were the first words of praise that Kaw had uttered, and it was a credit to his training that not a single crow blushed or flicked a feather. Stony faced they listened to him.
‘Today you can be proud of being crows—for the first time in your lives. Real crows. The most intelligent, strongest, richest and most superior species of bird on this planet.’
Not a bird amongst them blinked or moved a feather.
‘I have good news for you. Tomorrow we go into action. Our first job. Not a terribly dangerous one, but exciting enough. All of you will take part, though some birds will have a riskier role to play than others. Those birds will be chosen by lots. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir!’ the crows cawed as one crow.
‘Depraven Craven Raven will now reveal to you the details of his plan. If you have any suggestions, feel free to make them after the briefing. Thank you.’
The jungle crow flapped forwards and cleared his throat.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘This is what we propose to do . . .’
4
Poolside Plunder
The target that Craven Raven had selected, after careful scrutiny, was the swimming pool area of the elite Willingdon Sports Club, located at Mahalaxmi. Here, rich and ancient Parsi lords and ladies gathered for gossip and wafers, the diamonds in their brooches and tiepins sparkling brightly. Here, natty punters and racehorse owners animatedly discussed the day’s card before making off for the race-course next door. Here, stressed out executives (only the bluest of the blue chip) would sun their pale hairy limbs and swim, after corporate rounds of golf and tennis. Children (in their allotted hours) would scream and scamper about everywhere, spilling ice creams and jumping into the water, much to the disgust of the blue-blooded, who had never been children themselves.
For the elite of Bombay this was getting as close to nature as was ethically and socially acceptable. Certainly, the pool was surrounded by greenery. At the diving-board end, several enormous trees screened the poolside from proletariat eyes. At the far end, a small fountain played a soothing splashy refrain. The sharp tang of chlorinated water filled the air and the pool itself was blue as the wings of a roller jay. Large colourful beach umbrellas rippled in the breeze, and under their shade, chairs and tables were arranged for those (criminally) not sunbathing. Waiters trotted to and fro, obedient to the tinkle of the little brass bells members waved, laden down with trays of golden melba toast and waffles.
The local club crows (belonging to the Willingdon Club Crows Association) had grown fat and glossy on this largesse. Tables just vacated were stripped of leftovers within seconds, and well before you could wave your little bell and summon the hamal whose job it was to evict them. Some of these crows would even dare pinch a piece of toast from under your nose, especially if your attention was diverted by the arrival of a scantily clad socialite and her new sugar daddy.
All these—the redolent piles of waffles, the dripping ice creams, the socialites, the waiters, the lords and ladies, even the crows, Craven Raven had ignored. They did not interest him in the least. He had assessed their potential for causing trouble in his scheme of things and they bothered him not at all. He had hidden himself in one of the huge trees at the diving-board end and observed the proceedings over one entire Sunday morning.
He noted how most of the swimmers would divest themselves of their watches, bracelets, chains and other trinkets, before they entered the water. Often, these would be carelessly left on the tables, looked after, no doubt, by a non-swimming companion or family member. Many of the women would stuff their trinkets into little silken pouches. Hairy young men would sprawl in loungers, displaying their muscles and the effeminate gold chains they wore around their necks. All the while, the local crows argued and fought noisily over pieces of toast and spilt ice cream.
The plan Craven Raven outlined to the crownies was simple. Ten of the most promising tables were to be hit, each by a team of two birds. While one would do the actual lifting, the other would provide distracting cover, and, if necessary, any other assistance. Three birds would simply patrol the poolside area and provide help to any team that got into serious trouble. The teams were to completely ignore the local crows, unless they interfered. Kaw was not going to participate in this raid himself—he would simply be an observer.
On the morning of the great raid, they gathered first in a grove of trees in the golf course nearby. Craven Raven did a quick and thorough recce of the poolside and announced that all was well. In tandem pairs, the hit-teams flew into the big trees at the diving-board end. Quickly Craven Raven allocated them their tables, making sure that each team knew exactly where to strike. Finally he turned to them and asked:
‘Well, gentlemen, any questions?’
The hitbird allotted for Table 3 put up his wing.
‘Sir, I was wondering. Why don’t we simply mingle with the local crows, get near our respective targets, and then on a signal suddenly do the snitch and disappear?’
‘Two reasons: one, the local crows here will raise the alarm the moment you try and “mingle” with them. Two, by hanging around waiting for the signal you are likely to be distracted by the waffles and ice-cream and that’s not what we are after. Clear? We will regroup briefly at the grove in the golf course before heading back to headquarters. All right, gentlemen, best of luck. Get ready to scramble.’
They dived out of the trees like darts thrown by the devil. They came down low and mean and fanned out swiftly, arrowing straight for their targeted tables. Many of their victims, sprawled ungainly in their chairs, sun-drugged and beer-drowsy, did not even realize they had been robbed until they got up to leave.
The team targeting Table 1 lifted a chunky gold Rolex and was gone in a trice. Table 2 was neatly divested of a pair of diamond and ruby earrings a nubile young creature had just removed before tripping off for a dip. The team hitting Table 3 was momentarily taken aback to discover that the purse it had targeted had apparently vanished. A swimmer returning to the pool from that table had simply flung his towel over it. The birds perched on the just vacated chair and looked around frantically. To return empty-handed would be unthinkable. The two chatting teenagers, munching wafers and still at the table, did not even notice them.
‘Under that towel!’ the hitbird cawed as realization dawned.
With perfect timing the birds flipped the towel right over the heads of the surprised teenagers. The lifter picked up the purse and they were gone.
At Table 4 the operation was smooth as silk and very profitable. The birds got away with a fat wallet and a diamond bracelet without disturbing the occupants at all.
The team at Table 5 had a problem on their hands: there was nothing on it. (Craven Raven had deliberately chosen it for this reason.) The sports bag that lay on the ground next to the table contained a couple of tennis rackets, and both birds knew it would be impossible to lift.
‘Assess! Adapt! Attack!’ Automatically both birds muttered this, one of the most important maxims of a hitbird’s profession. They did so.
Sprawled in the sun nearby, a handsome bronzed hunk was dozing away the morning, his beer glinting brassily next to him. Around his neck he wore a fine gold chain with a locket at the end of it. A diamond locket. The hitbird struck like a heraldic angel from hell. Hovering inches above that broad, matted chest, it picked the locket and yanked. The fine gold chain snapped without a murmur, the tuft of hair that came with it caused a roar of pain and then a bellow of fright as the young man erupted from his lounger, flailing wildly at his tormentor. Before he could do anything sensible (fifteen minutes and two mugs of beer later) the crows had long gone.
Screams of ‘Waiter! Waiter!’ also erupted from Table 6 where a couple of Parsi dowagers were effortlessly divested of their fabulous heirloom brooches.
The team hitting Table 7 encountered opposition of another kind. Six club crows were already in attendance at the table, snatching greedily at the pieces of toast being offered to them by the little girl left in charge. Perched on the chairs and even the table, they completely blocked access to the gorgeous watch-cum-bracelet that lay glinting on the table. The hitbirds grinned at each other. They were going to enjoy this.
They flew swiftly around the table once and then struck. Heads low, beaks outstretched, they raced straight into the clamorous crowd. The leading crownie knocked two club crows right off the chairs and startled the others into panic-stricken flight. The lifter, following close behind, picked up the bracelet and they were gone. The little girl had no choice but to burst into tears.
But the alarm had been sounded. The dispossessed club crows realized they had unwelcome strangers in their midst and cawed hoarsely for reinforcements. Four club crows set off in swift pursuit, calling upon all patriotic crows to join the chase. But they were no match for the crownies. One by one, the watchers in the sky dived silently at them out of the sun and picked them off. After that, all pursuit ceased.
However, tragedy of a sort nearly did hit the Table 9 team. In the few seconds between the selection of that table as a target, and the signal for attack, the people sitting there had collected their belongings and left. The table was absolutely bare. The lifter looked around desperately. Suddenly he saw his reflection in the little brass bell lying on the table. It would have to do. The crow grasped it in his claws and lumbered off. The bell tinkled protestingly, drawing attention. It was heavier than the bird had anticipated and awkward to hold. Aerodynamics completely upset, the crow lost height and headed straight for the pool, as his escort watched helplessly. And then, Kawa Kaw Kaw, watching the proceedings from the topmost diving board, barked a single order that would have shamed and disgraced Nero, Attila, Caligula, Hitler, Idi Amin, Saddam Hussein, Ronald Reagan, and all those others he has since been compared to.
‘Pull out!’ he ordered. ‘Abort!’ The crow, who had just belly-landed in the water, released the bell and it sank noiselessly to the bottom. He flapped hard, spraying water around him, and lifted off, much to the relief of his partner. In the meanwhile, Table 10 was neatly and efficiently robbed of a small leather pouch containing eleven golden Sovereigns.
Apart from that one incident, the raid was deemed a complete success, both by Craven Raven and Kaw. More than the booty itself (five rings, two brooches, four chains, six pairs of earrings, three watches, the Sovereigns and Rs 250,000 in cash scattered over the sea at Haji Ali), it had given the crownies valuable experience and confidence. They were now ready for anything.
And so, Kaw now turned his attention to the phalanx of skyscrapers that towered over Malabar Hill. Each one, he knew, was a virtual treasure-trove. The Mafia of Malabar Hill went to work. A building would be targeted after careful scrutiny of access and escape routes. People, the crows discovered, especially those living on the higher floors, were incredibly careless. Windows were often left open, verandahs and balconies unguarded, and jewellery left scattered about as though worth nothing. The pickings were rich and easy.
Inevitably, Sunday mornings were the most profitable. People returning home late on Saturday nights would dump their jewellery carelessly around, and late the next morning would stagger straight to the television set and stare stupidly at it all morning. It was surprisingly easy to nip in through an open bathroom or bedroom window, help oneself, and disappear.
So far, there had been only one crisis and the team involved had emerged with flying colours. They had entered a bedroom through an open window. While one bird kept a lookout from the sill, the other scouted around inside. Suddenly the door burst open and a servant entered, making straight for the open window. He shooed the surprised lookout off the sill, bolted the window and switched on the air conditioner. Then he simply turned and left, shutting the door as he went. Crouched near the bedside table, the lifter remained still until he was sure the room was empty.
Or so he thought. For crouched on the top of a beautiful roll-top desk was a Siamese cat, staring down at him out of icy china-blue eyes, its tail lashing with excitement. The lifter saw it, and for a moment fear flooded him—an ancient fear, primaeval and terrible. Then, the training took over once again.
‘Attack when the enemy least expects it.’
The crow leapt up at the cat before the animal completed its crouch. Accustomed to the cushy life of the twenty-fifth floor and the stupid, gurgling blue rock pigeons that nested on the air conditioner, the cat yowled and fled under the bed.
