TIT FOR TAT

There is a reason for everything...

                                                               TIT FOR TAT

“How would you like to be our Regional Sales Manager?”

“Me…I will be honoured, sir!” exclaimed Vipul Malhotra.

Vipul Malhotra was an ugly man of thirty-two. He was thin, not well toned up thin but just thin with a small paunch. Only thing he knew about exercise was its spelling. He was dark with a dropping face and a double chin. After his graduation, he did a diploma in quality control from a not so famous institute. When he was selected for the job in Rajasthani Accessories as a quality control supervisor, he stopped looking for better avenues. He married a beautiful girl Mohini, who was born to a conservative set of parents. Parents who would have given their daughter to the first employed man from the same caste they came across. Vipul came across. Sadly, the couple still was childless after four years of marriage. Many felt that it was not due to some fault in Mohini’s anatomy.

He had been working for Rajasthani Accessories since the last six years on the same post now. It was not that that he was not ambitious but somehow all his energies to grow exhausted quite early. He grew jealous of all the seniors who were his juniors when they joined. Hatred for his boss, Digvijay Singh Rathore, grew as the time passed. He knew that whatever he did to appease his boss- from clearing the best product as per quality, to doing chores for him- he would be ignored. Some wise a*s would get the nod whenever any opening arose. So, he decided to apply unfair means for his growth. He would steal latest designs from the office and pass them to the competitors.

Rajasthani accessories dealt in manufacturing latest Rajasthani apparels with the brand name of “sand dunes”. Their domain reached out to many retailers who would in turn, sell the products to millions of tourists all over India. They were the top brand. Vipul was sure that his time would never come. Not that he needed it. He was earning more than he deserved as a modest quality control supervisor.

But everything in his life changed that night when his wife Mohini suggested that brilliant idea.

“Why don’t you invite your boss to dinner here?”

“Where…at our home?” Vipul answered with a question.

“Why not?” Mohini answered him with another.

“Well…I don’t know…I have never….will he come?” said Vipul finally.

“There is no harm in asking. I have seen people inviting their bosses to dinner and suddenly everything changes at the work place. Look at Sharmaji; he got a raise within a week.”

“That’s OK…but what if he says that why didn’t I invite him earlier? You know, it’s been six years,” said Vipul.

“He won’t say anything like that. I am sure. At the most, he will decline it. Still, it will keep you in good stead,” said Mohini.

“All right then, I will ask him first thing in the morning,” said Vipul now smiling.

He did ask Digvijay first thing in the morning who quite surprisingly, accepted the invitation promptly that too for that very night. Vipul called Mohini, told her the good news and asked her to make the most of tonight. He left the office one hour early and bought two bottles of the best red wine available with the local vendor on his way back. Digvijay arrived alone, as he was a bachelor, at eight o’clock sharp and left at eleven-thirty. He was most courteous during the dinner. He even thanked Mohini for a wonderful meal as he left. Mohini really outdid herself as a chef that night, thought Vipul as he went into sleep.

When Digvijay threw the offer to Vipul that afternoon, he caught it as a specialist first-slip fielder. He thought of Mohini- how right she was- it was so simple- why didn’t he think of it earlier. He rushed to home after office. She was elated after hearing the news. She felt proud of herself- after all, it was her idea. She was also proud of her husband.

As regional sales manager, Vipul was head of the Jaipur emporium. Its owner, Mange Lal Mehta was an elderly man of about sixty, as the name might suggest. He was a close friend of Digvijay’s father, Rajvijay Singh Rathore. After induction of Digvijay, the Rajasthani Accessories grew from strength to strength. After the demise of Digvijay’s father, the company had an exemplary growth rate as Digvijay’s modern ideas blended beautifully with the orthodox Rajasthani culture. It showed on the final product. Mange Lal Mehta acknowledged Digvijay’s business acumen, which complimented with his degree in Fashion Designing.

Vipul’s job was to take a trailer full of final product from Delhi’s manufacturing factory to Jaipur with invoice of each product indicated in the invoice book. In Jaipur, he would unload the trailer in the Godown of Rajasthan emporium. He would meet Mr. Mange Lal Mehta on the next day. Where Mange Lal would check the products and match them with the invoice himself. He would make the payment after checking the items, by a cheque, which was never dishonoured. Vipul would then come back with the trailer. Sometimes he would collect the raw materials for the company on his way back. This adventure took three to four days. During his first month, he travelled twice to Jaipur- repeating the same routine. On the day after his arrival in Delhi, he would call in sick at the office and slept for the whole day. After a few months, his sojourns to Jaipur became more frequent. He got a raise in the salary but his overall income dipped. Moreover, he was more exhausted than ever. He thought that he was better off as a quality controller than as a sales manager but he couldn’t help it- it was his damn idea after all. He was bored of this new job. His emotion, which controlled scruples, was now becoming restless. One day while travelling to Jaipur, he let his malign emotion to break free and run wild. He thought of a malicious idea- an idea that could make the whole journey worthwhile. An idea that was risky, only if he was caught. He couldn’t face Mohini, who until now, didn’t know of his misdemeanours as a quality controller. He had stopped her frequent questions simply by telling her that extra earnings were due to commissions he earned on number of pieces he checked. But this idea- he couldn’t get over it. It had only one hitch. He had to open two current bank accounts with two separate banks- one account with the name “Rajasthani Accessories” and the other as “Rajasthan Emporium”.

He couldn’t sleep all the three nights he was in Jaipur. And when he came back to Delhi, he called in sick-but not to sleep. He told Mohini that he had some work at the factory. He rushed to “The Business Bank” that had a branch in the neighbouring Haryana. He took all the pre requisites needed for opening a current account. The letterheads, the business cards, authorized signatory rubber stamp, his voter card, etc. it was so simple, he thought. In one hour at the bank, he became the proud owner and authorized signatory of a fictitious “Rajasthani Accessories”. He then went across the road where stood the building of “Asian Bank”. He opened another account there. This time he owned “Rajasthan Emporium”.

He had done all his groundwork. His real test would be when he travelled to Jaipur with the consignment next time. He had to wait for almost a week before he could execute his brilliant plan. He was nearly earnest when Digvijay called him to hand over the invoice. Vipul checked all the items and took Digvijay’s leave. He went straight to his home where he collected a fresh invoice book- he specially ordered along with the business cards and letterheads- before reaching the factory.

 A trailer, which had his dreams, was fully loaded and waiting for him.

During the whole journey, he was holding tight to his suitcase. This time he added a laptop and a printer to its belongings. He supervised the unloading and ticked the original invoice at the Godown of Rajasthan Emporium. He took a cab to his hotel. After checking in, he started his mischief. He tore three copies of one serial number from his invoice book and put them in the printer. He started his laptop. There was blank invoice software already installed in it. He added rupees ten to each unit of the original price. By the time, he finished his job, at four in the morning, the difference between the price of original invoice and his invoice stood as a whopping “one lakh twenty thousand rupees”. He frowned. What if Mange Lal got suspicious- no, he would not- the difference was nothing as compared to the payments he had been parting with- after all, he owned the most sought after emporium in India. He smiled. Now, it came down to the last act. If he succeeded, there would be no stopping him.

In the morning, he reached the Godown at eleven o’clock as desired by Mange Lal Mehta. He found him waiting when his cab reached there. He greeted him in his usual self though he was far from it. He took out his invoice and handed it to Mange Lal. He thought of snatching it back and giving the original the minute Mange Lal took his invoice. But it was too late. Mange Lal read the invoice, nodded and went inside the Godown where the boxes were kept.

He asked, “You didn’t check the items last night?”

Vipul’s heart sank- how could he do it? He didn’t put the tick marks on the forged invoice.

“Oh, I must have forgotten to put the tick marks. But I checked the items all right,” muttered Vipul.

“Hmm.”

What- did he catch him- was he suspicious- will he call Digvijay to enquire about the prices? Many questions emerged in Vipul’s mind. He started perspiring.

“That’s not a big deal, Mr. Vipul. Relax,” said Mange Lal as if reading Vipul’s mind.

“Oh, I am sorry, sir. Next time I will be thorough.”

Mange Lal checked the items and took out his chequebook from his briefcase. He wrote a cheque of rupees fifty-six lakhs and seventy thousand and handed it to Vipul- without blinking an eyelid. Vipul took the cheque and said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Give my regards to Digvijay. Tell him to visit me sometime. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to reach the emporium,” said Mange Lal.

“Good bye, sir,” said Vipul.

His heart started pounding at the mere mention of Digvijay’s name. He shook Mange Lal’s hand with his own shivering right hand and headed outside where his trailer was waiting for a long journey back.

As they reached Gurgaon, he told the driver to drop him and go to the factory. He rushed to his “Business Bank”. He knew the closure time of both the banks was ten pm. He deposited the cheque in his account and went back home. It took two days for the cheque to be cleared. And within two days, his Rajasthani accessories showed the credit balance of rupees fifty-six lakhs and seventy thousand.

He cashed the whole amount and rushed across the road to the “Asian Bank”. There he deposited rupees fifty-five lakhs and fifty thousand. He wrote a cheque for rupees fifty-five lakhs and fifty thousand to Rajasthan accessories and this time he deposited it in the true account of the company.

He came back home rupees one lakh twenty thousand richer. His mission accomplished. He waited for three days for the repercussions to emerge- if ever there were any. There was none. His misdeeds had paid off. No one suspected him. He had won.

By the time six months had passed, Vipul became richer by an amount nearing rupees twenty lakhs and still no one suspected anything. Mange Lal never enquired about the prices. Digvijay was getting his money all right. Only loss Vipul experienced during his misadventures was his wife. Mohini was alone most of the time. And even when he was home, she was lonely. She would make the dinner and retire to their room. She stopped talking to him- perhaps, she made silence her habit, Vipul thought. She would not allow him, even a touch. Indifference grew among them. She slept in the same bed with Vipul but she wasn’t there. She started getting irritating at times. She would not listen to him and was always preoccupied with some thought. She started behaving strangely. It was as though he didn’t exist and even if he did, it didn’t matter to her. Vipul thought that once he did his last, things would again come to normal. One last time, for which he had been preparing for a long time now. Until now, he had just won battles, now the time had come to win the war.

Next week, when he came to know that this time the consignment to Jaipur would be worth more than one crore, he thought to go for the kill. He thought that it would be the last time anyone heard about him and his wife. He was right.

When he reached his office that morning to collect the invoice for Jaipur, he didn’t find it. Instead, there was a termination letter staring cruelly at him from his desk. Digvijay had found out- how- he thought. He was fired that day. Digvijay had not filed charges with the police. He thought that perhaps he wanted him out of his sight. Vipul never saw Digvijay again.

He slowly took his belongings from the office and started for his home. How would he tell Mohini? He felt heavy in his chest.

 

When he reached his home, no one answered the doorbell. He took out his keys from his briefcase and entered. Still, he saw no one. He called Mohini several times before discovering a piece of paper in Mohini’s handwriting. It was lying on the dining table. It read “I am going, Vipul. Forever. I feel so lonely in this house. It is getting nowhere. I want to live, Vipul. I can’t live here. Not with you. Vipul, don’t try to find me. You will not find me. It is better for both- Mohini.”

He dropped on the chair. His life had turned upside down within a few hours. He had lost the war. He started crying with no body to listen to his woes.

After a month, as Digvijay was enjoying the sun at the poolside of a five-star resort in Goa, a lissom figure in a bright red swimsuit emerged from the water, smiling. Seeing Mohini, he thought perhaps twenty lakhs was not the amount his wife was worth. For him, from the moment he had set his eyes on her on that dinner at Vipul’s house, he knew, she was invaluable.