'Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to reveal question number twelve, the final question, for one billion rupees, the biggest prize ever offered in the history of the planet. And remember, we are still in Play or Pay mode, so it is win all or lose all. OK, without any further ado, here is the last question for you, Mr Thomas, and this is from . . . the pages of history! We all know that Mumtaz Mahal was the wife of Emperor Shahjahan and that he built the world-famous Taj Mahal in her memory, but what was the name of Mumtaz Mahal's father? This is the billion-rupee question. Your choices, Mr Thomas, are a) Mirza Ali Kuli Beg, b) Sirajuddaulah, c) Asaf Jah, or d) Abdur Rahim Khan Khanan.
'Think about the answer carefully, Mr Thomas. Remember, you are at a historic crossroads. I know you need time to reflect on your answer, and to allow you just that, we will now take another quick commercial break. Ladies and gentlemen, please don't even think of going anywhere.'
The studio sign changes to 'Applause'. The signature tune plays again.
Prem Kumar grins widely at me. 'Got you, didn't I? Unless you have an MA in Medieval History, there is no way you will be able to answer this. So bid goodbye to the hundred million you have just won and prepare to resume your career as a waiter. Who knows, perhaps I may come by Jimmy's Bar tomorrow. What will you serve me? Butter chicken and lamb vindaloo?' He laughs.
I laugh back. 'Ha! I've got no MA in history, but I do know the answer to this question.'
'What? You must be joking, surely?'
'I am not joking. The answer is Asaf Jah.'
Prem Kumar looks aghast. 'How . . . how do you know this?'
'I know it because I worked as a guide for two years at the Taj Mahal.'
Prem Kumar's face turns ashen. For the first time he looks at me with a trace of fear. 'You . . . you are casting some kind of magic, I am sure,' he says and runs to the producer. They whisper amongst themselves. Prem Kumar gesticulates several times in my direction. Then someone brings in a fat book and they pore over it. Ten minutes pass. The audience begins to get restless.
Eventually, Prem Kumar comes back to his seat. His expression is neutral, but I am sure he is squirming inside.
The studio sign changes to 'Applause' and the signature music commences.
'Ladies and gentlemen, before we went into the break I asked the question, what was the name of the father of Mumtaz Mahal? I am sure all of you thought that that was the final question, but it was not.'
The audience is astounded. I am stunned. Are they introducing another question? The air becomes thick with tension.
Prem Kumar continues. 'Not only was that not the last question, it was not a question at all. We were simply recording a commercial for Mumtaz Tea, which is one of the sponsors on this show.
For this reason, we had to introduce a dummy question.'
The audience members start whispering among themselves. There is suppressed laughter.
Someone shouts, 'You really fooled us, Mr Kumar!' The tension dissipates. The studio sign changes to 'Applause' again.
I am the only one not smiling. I know now that this is really a show run by crooks.
The studio sign changes to 'Silence' and the signature music commences. Prem Kumar speaks into the camera. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I am now about to reveal question number twelve, the final question, for one billion rupees, the biggest prize ever offered in the history of the planet.
And remember, we are still in Play or Pay mode, so it is win all or lose all. OK, without any further ado, here is the last question for you, Mr Thomas, and this is from the world of . . . Western classical music! Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 29, Opus 106, also known as the 'Hammerklavier Sonata', is in which key? Is it in a) B flat major, b) G minor, c) E flat major, or d) C minor?
'Think about the answer carefully, Mr Thomas. Remember, you are at a historic crossroads. This is the most momentous decision of your life. I know you need time to reflect on your answer, and to allow you just that, we will now take another quick commercial break. Ladies and gentlemen, please don't even think of going anywhere.'
The studio sign changes to 'Applause'. Prem Kumar looks at me with a sly grin. The audience start chattering amongst themselves.
Prem Kumar stands up. 'I am just going round the corner. I will be right back.'
I stand up as well. 'I need to go to the toilet.'
'Then you'd better come with me,' he says. 'The rules stipulate the contestant must be accompanied everywhere.'
* * *
I am in the fluorescent-lit washroom of the studio. It is extremely clean. The tiles are gleaming white. There are huge mirrors. And no graffiti on the walls.
Prem Kumar and I are the only people in the washroom. He whistles as he urinates. Then he notices me looking at him. 'How come you are simply standing? Don't tell me that the last question is so tough that you have even forgotten how to empty your bladder.' He throws his head back and laughs. 'Too bad it had to end this way. But without my help you would have been out a long time ago, on the second question itself. Which means you would have gone home with just one thousand rupees. So how about we make a deal? Tomorrow, when I come to your restaurant, I promise to give you a thousand-rupee tip. And, believe me, this is a promise I will keep.' He smiles patronizingly at me.
'You didn't do me any favour by telling me the answer to question number two, you did yourself a favour,' I say.
Prem Kumar looks at me sharply. 'What do you mean?'
'What I mean, Mr Prem Kumar, is that I did not come on your show to win money. No, far from it.' I shake my head exaggeratedly. 'No, I came on your quiz show to take revenge.'
Prem Kumar's peeing is cut short midstream. He zips up his trousers hastily and looks at me sidelong. 'Revenge? What do you mean? Revenge on whom?'
'On you,' I say defiantly. I step backwards and pull a gun from the waistband of my trousers. It is a small, snub-nosed revolver, very compact, no bigger than my fist. I grip it tightly in my hand and point it at him.
The blood drains from Prem Kumar's face. 'You . . . you have made a mistake, Mr Thomas. We have never met before,' he says, his voice barely a whisper.
'No, you have made a mistake. We did meet once, outside Neelima Kumari's flat. It was early in the morning. You swaggered out in blue jeans and a white shirt, with bloodshot eyes and unwashed hair. You were carrying a sheaf of currency notes which you had forced Neelima to part with, and you were twirling a car key in your fingers. You ruined her. But that was not enough for you. You did the same to my beloved Nita.'
'Nita?' Prem Kumar raises his eyebrows. 'That name means nothing to me.'
'She is the girl who almost died in Agra thanks to you, and now,' I grip the gun tighter, 'it is your turn.'
Prem Kumar looks anxiously at my hand. He stalls for time. 'Did you say Agra? But I haven't been to Agra for months.'
'Let me refresh your memory. Four months ago you stayed at the Palace Hotel. You called a girl to your room. You tied her up. And then you brutally beat her and burned her with a lighted cigarette, just as you did to Neelima.'
I see his lip begins to quiver. Then it begins to curl.
'She was a prostitute, for God's sake. I paid her pimp five thousand rupees. I didn't even know her name.'
'Her name is Nita.' I raise my gun.
Prem holds his palms towards me. 'No . . . No . . .' he cries and steps back. His right foot plunges into the open drain behind him. 'Don't shoot – drop that thing now, please.' He pauses to step out of the drain.
I point the gun directly at his heart. I can see he is trembling. 'I swore I would avenge the person responsible for hurting Nita. But I didn't know how to find you. And then I saw an advertisement in a newspaper in Agra. It showed your face, grinning like a monkey, inviting people to participate in a quiz show in Mumbai. That is why I am here. I would have shot you at the first question I couldn't answer, but miraculously I have been able to answer every single one. So when you helped me on question number two you didn't do me a favour at all, you merely prolonged your life a little bit longer. But now there is no escape.'