Reshma and Balwant-A Tale of Passion, Betrayal and Redemption
Part 1-Sally came to the jungle
“These are my guys.” Balwant was at the head of the table, holding forth. Curran nodded and sipped his Stella. “I am impressed, Balwant. Really great team here. Always a pleasure to meet talent.” “I hope you will take the next steps soon.” Curran looked into bloodshot eyes and picked up a glass of water for his next sip. A sip of this and then a sip of that. He hated looking at those red eyes. “My secretary will be in touch”. He got up and shrugged on his jacket. “Early exit?” Balwant extended a hand in question. Always leave when you are on top. Curran shook it. “Morning flight to Sydney, I am afraid. See you soon.” He emerged out into the sunlight. Damn the dim atmosphere inside. The man always chose these dives where you couldn’t see the other guys properly. He gave good exits, you had to grant him that. The last one had been a 215% return at Series A. Shame that one crashed and burnt after that. But Curran had made his money. Balwant, too, had exited in glory, the afterglow of his disaster becoming a halo. The failed enterprise gave him confidence and public license to set up another one. One of the many influencers in town had proclaimed that “Balwantji” would be the next Musk. With his rockstar status of a big post-Series A failure, he could write his terms for any term sheet. With Curran in his corner, the term sheet was a fait accompli. Well, thought Curran, fair is what fair does. Balwant and Curran. What a pair we make.
“Mr Curran.” It was Reshma, Balwant’s consigliere. Still as sharp as a stiletto knife at forty-five. Curran liked to maintain a file on everyone at the places he invested in. He had also invested in Reshma. He knew Balwant knew and hated him for it. That was fine. In this jungle, the two of them were among a small bunch of lions. Reshma was a lioness, albeit a junior one. She played along and she played both sides. They all took care of the meat. Lionesses grew to be real killers unlike lions who only ate. He wasn’t sure if Balwant realized that. He had no illusions. He smiled at her. “Well, R. How are things?” “Everything is fine, sir. Mr B suggested I take you through some details this evening.” He frowned. “My secretary will arrange a meeting. I told him.” She was unruffled. “Yes. But he forgot some details that need to be discussed privately. I have those details with me.” Curran cursed himself silently. He had forgotten, really, how Balwant liked the game to move. “Oh. Of course. Would you like to join me for a bite to eat?” She smiled for the first time. “The pleasure will be ours, entirely. Sally!” The girl who emerged from the pub had been part of the team, one of the silent juniors focused on eating and drinking at the far end of the long table. He had noticed her briefly, like he did all women. “Sally. We just met inside then. How are you?” She smiled and for a moment, he felt a sharp pang before quickly dismissing it. Balwant was a real bastard, even by his own low standards. “I am good, sir. Sorry for taking up your time.” She was holding a thick file in one hand. “Well, Sally…” He extended a hand politely towards his car, waiting across the street. Sally looked back at the pub, hesitated and then followed them.
Curran’s apartment was sumptuous. Reshma had been here many times and to his other places. He had grown in many ways, she reflected while taking off her Prada heels in the lobby, including taste. When she first met Curran, he had been a handsome young man, fresh off the plane from Brisbane. They had spent almost a decade together now. His hair had thinned out, his waist had thickened and he was considerably wealthy now. But since then, till now, three evenings a week were kept aside only for her. Come rain or shine, Christmas or New Year.
For Reshma, the early days with Curran had been almost magical, a relief from the clutches of her boss. Balwant paid her well and kept his promises. But he had been clear almost from the start about his intentions. Reshma had no illusions. She could not go back where she had come from. Her immigrant status was precarious. Whoever she sought advice from, was either cautious or barely sympathetic. No-one offered a place to stay, a job or another city or country to fly out to. So she dug deep into her reservoir and resilience and hoped she would luck out. Then she met Curran.
She thought things would turn. For a while, it was ok. But she had not taken into consideration how much control Balwant had over the city and it’s network of informants. Nor had she accounted for the essential venality of Curran and how he would do anything to not have to go back to Brisbane. When she realized the two needed each other, she had only one option. Reshma decided to be the glue that made them stick. That, she was determined, would be her arbitrage and the foundations of an eventual future without them.
When Balwant had come to know about her and Curran, he had been very violent. She had, even then, turned up in office the next day. Before the close of work, he sent her a message. “Come home.” She followed silently and came back to work every morning, no scratch on her face. This went on for a week. Finally , one day, he called her to his cabin at lunchtime. “What do you think you are doing?” She kept her eyes down and remained silent. He had this chilly air about him in close quarters like the certainty of a hunter who was timing when to go for the throat. If he was not, it was because he held all the cards. “Reshma, look at me.” He had to repeat himself before she dared to turn up her glance to his face. He stroked her cheek. “You know, when we first met, I saw that thing in you. That drive to be big. I will make you big. I promised you that and I will keep that promise. But there is a commitment to be kept”. He cracked his knuckles. “I spent some time in jail when I was in college. They had this special unit called Crowbar. Even the most radical guy couldn’t stand what they dished out. I learnt from them that taking pain is the ultimate sign of fealty. I had sworn silence and I kept silent.” They looked at one another. He stood up. “The time to commit is now.”
At the end, as she smoothened down her Dior dress, he went back to reading one of the many paperback novels he kept in his cabin. “Now Curran can have you”, he murmured, as she walked out.
As her relationship with Curran deepened, Balwant increased her pay and privileges. He gave her an interest-free loan from his family business to buy a large three-bedroom apartment. She upgraded from the MRT to an Alfa Romeo. Her stake in Balwant’s ventures swelled. “Curran can only have you”, he reminded her over an intimate dinner “because I let him.” So it went on. Curran invested into Balwant’s companies, some of them tech start-ups and others mailbox entities in Europe. He got his returns. Balwant got funding. He spread it around a bit because he came from old money and could afford to. Reshma remained their common bond, Balwant’s mistress and advisor, and Curran’s lover. She found other means to feed their appetites as she grew older. She was detail-oriented, very good with numbers, a mother hen to the below-thirties who worked for Balwant and a buddy to Curran’s fund management team. Her accounts overseas saw hefty transactions as the money worked it’s way between entities. Both men become needy of her and she hid her loathing behind loyalty.
The manservant offered them drinks. Sally whispered and asked her if it was alright to have alcohol. Reshma told her in their common language-which Curran did not understand-that it was appropriate to have a drink but it was safer not to get drunk. They went through the contents of the file for around half an hour. It contained details about the company’s planned purchases of software and increase in payroll. Curran was focused and Reshma knew from experience that he would look at everything himself. He asked questions of her while Sally silently took notes. Finally, the manservant came back and whispered in his ears. He looked at Reshma and nodded. She excused herself to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror for a long time. When she came back, she saw it had been five minutes. Sally was chatting with Curran, telling him about the latest K-pop hits. She looked at the two of them and waited for the moment to pass. “Sally”, she said finally, “Come with me.” The walk-in wardrobe was at the upper level of the duplex and gleaming with brands. Sally gasped at the watches, belts, shoes and ties, stacked neatly with the snow-white shirts taking pride of place under yellow lights. Then she asked, “Ma’m, why are we here?” The girl was a kid. She had to be brutal and quick before the crying started. She turned around. “You have two choices and one will make you very wealthy. The other will bury you alive this night.”
Silently and quickly, the taxi bore the women home. Reshma had spoken to Sally in a firm and quiet voice as they had waited for their ride. First, the boss-Balwant-knew. So she should not go and talk to HR. It was pointless. She would lose her job and no-one would give her one in the city. No one questioned Balwant. She would receive a lot of money for this. A lot. Straight into her account the next morning. Just keep quiet and keep turning up for meetings. Sally nodded in a numb kind of way but was not weeping, like some did the first time. There were the indiscreet ones too, whom Reshma had to quickly get rid of. She hoped Sally wouldn’t be one of those. Curran had liked her. More to the point, Reshma had liked her. The taxi finally came to a halt outside the cluster of government flats where Sally lived with her grandmother, a bedridden, retired school-teacher. Sally turned towards her. “I had a really nice time”. She hugged Reshma and got out. As she waved to her, Reshma was surprised. This was not expected. In the jungle where she was a lioness, was this a new player?
*********To be continued in Part 2*******
Author’s disclaimer-The names, characters, places, countries and incidents in this story are completely imaginary and not based directly or indirectly on any person, living or dead, or any incident, real or fictitious or a specific country or city. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person is coincidental and not deliberate and sincerely regretted. This has been previously published under my Substack.
