The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3

by Smita Bhattacharya

  Her father stared at her for several seconds as if trying to make up his mind whether she was telling the truth. Finally, decided in her favour, much to her relief.

  There was silence as they absorbed the rise and fall of the waves in the distance, a cluster of flying herons, two faraway fishing boats.

  Then her father spoke.

  ‘Did you know that the Halogen group is constructing a five-star resort nearby?’ he said.

  Darya looked at him. ‘Do you mean the global hotel chain—the one run by the Delhi based billionaire Arjun Chaddha?’ she asked.

  He nodded, sitting on the chair facing her. ‘He announced it last week. He has partnered with Manhattan builders.’

  Darya rubbed her palms together to shake off the numbness. ‘Which beach?’ she asked.

  ‘Palolem to begin with,’ he said softly, then fell silent as if expecting Darya to figure the rest out.

  She tried... then gave up.

  Her mind was preoccupied with other things.

  So many questions unanswered. So many loose ends.

  Darya knew that the residents of Heliconia Lane always covered up for each other; Ruksana had hinted at this and she'd herself known for a while. This... along with that mention of the accident in the letter she'd read in her uncle's bedroom... an idea was growing in her head.

  She needed to check something.

  But she was tired. She wished she could go inside and curl into bed, rest until she was ready to face the world again.

  ‘Darya?’ her father was looking at her earnestly.

  ‘Yes, Pa?’ she asked, alert again, returning his look with the same earnestness.

  ‘I talked to Filip and he said we should consider this.’

  ‘What do you mean, Pa?’ she asked, confused. ‘Consider what?’

  ‘He wants to sell his house and move to a flat or... to Zabel’s ancestral village. A smaller place will be easier to manage, he says. The deaths in this lane also have unsettled him. And I am...’ He hesitated, then continued, ‘... inclined to agree with him.’

  ‘Who will you sell it to?’ Darya asked, puzzled.

  ‘The Halogen group,’ he replied.

  So, that was what he was setting her up for. He wanted to tell her he was selling and do it as gently as possible. That's why he was being diffident and had brought out the apologetic tone. Was he expecting Darya to protest the sale? After what she'd seen, and after the events of the past few days, it did not matter to her anymore.

  ‘So, the Halogen group is going to build on Valsolem too?’ Darya asked.

  Her father nodded, looking relieved at her lack of reaction.

  ‘They're planning to build a mini township in South Goa. An assortment of chalets, flats and hotels. There is huge potential in the development of this area. Every inch of North Goa, as you know, is filled with hotels and the like.’

  Darya did not respond.

  ‘It'll be good for us,’ he said.

  She fidgeted on her seat.

  She thought she could smell the thunderstorm now; a sweet-musty-mud smell. She looked up at the sky; grey with promise.

  How would they hold the carnival if it rained?

  The carnival... purple salt... another idea brewed in her head.

  ‘Darya?’ her father prompted, his voice soft and urgent at the same time.

  She glanced at him. ‘You want to sell Sea Swept?’ she asked. And despite herself, tears came to her eyes.

  Her rather nodded, looking regretful now.

  ‘So, the next time I come to Valsolem, I'll need to book a Halogen suite,’ she murmured. It was sinking in slowly.

  ‘Probably,’ her father said. ‘I'm sorry, D. I knew it would upset you.’

  ‘It's not that,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘It's the bloody heat,’ she muttered.

  ‘I know how much you love Sea Swept,’ he said. ‘I know it hurts you to sell it off.’

  A snort came out of her. ‘No more, no longer,’ she said, more sharply than she'd intended.

  Her father was taken aback. ‘Darya...’ he started.

  She interrupted him. ‘It doesn't matter anymore.’ Then a thought struck her. ‘Has Vidisha agreed to it? I guess since she's the only one now that Gaurav is no longer in the picture.’

  ‘Has he died?’ he asked in alarm.

  ‘Not yet,’ she replied. But will soon; his condition had only deteriorated in the past few days.

  ‘Vidisha has agreed too,’ her father replied. Leaning back in his chair, he absently surveyed the garden in front of him. ‘Honestly, I didn't know anything at all until I got here. I was updated on a lot of things only yesterday,’ he told her. ‘Did you know that Constellation was done up as a prototype for the Halogen group? An architect did up the place as a demo for what the chalets would look like and she—’

  ‘Bobby,’ Darya whispered, understanding now.

  ‘Yes—Bobyleen Gowarikar—she is Halogen’s architect. Very famous too. How do you know her?’ her father asked, surprised.

  Slowly, very slowly, the pieces were coming together.

  ‘I met her once,’ she replied. ‘So, Vidisha was in this all along. Why didn't she tell me earlier? Or tell you? Why didn't Filip Uncle say anything?’

  ‘That's what I asked Filip yesterday. He said he wanted to be sure before bringing it up. The group had shown some initial interest and he did not want to involve us before he had something concrete to talk about.’ He paused. ‘The money they're offering is phenomenal.’

  ‘How much?’ Darya asked.

  ‘Twelve crore rupees for Heliconia Lane,’ he said. Held his breath.

  Darya's eyebrows shot up. ‘Seriously?’ she said. ‘That much.’

  ‘Yes,’ her father said, pleased he had finally managed to give her some good news. ‘And the houses will be paid for separately based on salvage value. Sea Swept can fetch a crore. What do you think?’

  She nodded slowly, absorbing this. Then—‘What about the property papers? I never found them. Did you?’ she asked.

  ‘That's another thing I got to know after talking to Filip.’ He gave her a tired smile. ‘The three families have a joint property agreement. In principle, the land belongs to Filip, but he can only sell if the three families or their designated heirs agree to sell together.’

  Darya looked up surprised. ‘You mean we won't get any money from the sale?’ she asked.

  ‘Not from sale of the land, though Filip has promised to compensate us,’ he said. She heard the doubt in his voice and wondered if he heard it himself.

  ‘We get the full salvage value of the house though,’ he added.

  ‘Have you talked to Ma about this?’ Darya asked.

  ‘She understands.’

  ‘Have you already committed to sell?’

  ‘Yes, I have. Yesterday. I was trying to reach you, but your phone was out of service. Where were you? An inspector Gawde stopped by but wouldn't tell me anything. What have you been doing?’ Then seeing the distress on her face, he softened. ‘Sorry, Darya. I felt this was the right thing to do. I cannot be bothered to run this place. I know how much you loved Paritosh and Farideh... this house... the memories. I know what it means to you.’

  A tear fell from her eye.

  ‘You don't know anything, Pa,’ she said. Then finally let go.

  Hiding her face in her hands, she began to weep.

  ‘Darya,’ her father said, sounding troubled. He tried to pry her hands away from her face. ‘What's the matter girl? It's not so bad.’

  ‘I don't know whom to believe anymore,’ she wept. ‘Everybody lies. I can't trust anyone anymore.’

  ‘What's the matter?’ her father asked. ‘Is it just the selling of the house or something else? You can tell me.’

  She looked at him, struggling for breath.

  ‘What's the matter?’

  She blurted out—

  ‘Farideh was alive. She hadn't died.’

  Deep, deafening silence.

  �
��What?’ her father spluttered, face blackening like the overcast sky. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘Farideh was alive,’ Darya said, feeling calmer now. She had said it. It was out of the way. ‘She had not died that night in Goa... twenty years ago.’

  ‘Is this some wild theory you've worked up in your free time in Goa?’

  ‘Pa...’

  ‘No seriously, why don't you stop? This nonsense... your obsession with the other woman... the wild theories... and now this.’

  Darya interrupted him. ‘I met her daughter yesterday. In Manali.’

  She realized then she should've broken the news to him more gently, but she was calling on every last ounce of resolve to even talk right now.

  ‘Daughter? Manali,’ Vikas repeated mechanically. His mouth slackened; his eyes grew dim. He was too shocked to make sense of the words.

  ‘I'm sorry, I didn't tell you sooner,’ Darya said.

  And now she wanted to tell him as quickly as she could.

  She told him everything—starting from her idea of placing the obituary in the newspaper knowing full well that her father no longer read the Times, the phone calls she'd received in response to it, and finally receiving the one that mattered. She described her journey to Manali and played back the entire conversation with Ruksana.

  Then finally, reached into her pocket, she drew out the gold chain and handed it over to him.

  He took it without a word but did not look at it.

  A gloomy pall was on them by the time she finished. She looked up at the sky. The clouds had grown denser... darker.

  She glanced at her father. His eyes were lowered, his lips pursed in a horrifying thin line. The hand that held the locket was unsteady. Darya waited for him to compose himself.

  His heart condition. Dammit.

  At long last, he sighed, placed the locket next to him and took a deep breath.

  ‘I suspected for the longest time that she was alive... that she hadn't been kidnapped. We never found the body, the kidnapping appeared staged, and it was all too convenient. Paritosh suspected too but never said so aloud. We never discussed it. I knew about the drinking and the beating. We were guilty, me, your Ma, those who lived here... of letting that go on.’

  Darya kept quiet, waiting for him to continue.

  ‘I wanted for us to get over it. Let it go. We tried to find her as much as we could. I told Paritosh to forget her, but he couldn't. Sometimes, I think, he really loved her. Drinking made him crazy, but he loved her.’

  ‘He was a mean, cruel man,’ Darya said bitterly. ‘We lived our lives in the shadow of her disappearance, of his mourning, of that bloody tragedy.’

  ‘It eased over the years.’

  ‘Not for me.’

  He held out a hand to Darya and she took it.

  ‘We can move past this, Darya,’ he said. ‘Let's sell the house and leave Heliconia Lane behind us.’

  ‘What will you do with the mural?’ she muttered. It was a trivial question in the face of things that were happening, but practicality was going to keep her sane.

  ‘I'll get someone to take it out before the sale,’ her father said. ‘We can put it up in your room at the Nagpur house or take it for your house in Mumbai.’

  She barely heard him. She slipped in and out of sleep.

  Through the fog, she asked, ‘Did you meet Inspector Nourahno?’

  He averted his eyes and muttered, ‘Paritosh is dead. We're selling off the house. We... he suffered enough over the years. Filip also said it was going to be difficult to prove anything.’ He looked at her. ‘I want this story to end, Darya. Let's leave this behind and move on with our lives.’

  ‘He was your brother, Pa,’ she said, accusation in her voice

  He looked at her with an expression she couldn't read. Then—

  ‘I did not treat your mother that way, you know that, right? He was my brother and I loved him, but we didn't approve of what he did.’ He gave a grimace. ‘In those days, we kept out of such things... a husband and wife's internal matter it was. I had talked to him about it, once or twice... but...’

  Not good enough. But what could she do? What could she do anymore?

  Then it struck her, like a punch to her face.

  The men she'd loved... Spandan, for one... was like her uncle. She couldn't deny it... rather like her rather too... no matter what he said now.

  Damn!

  ‘You don't look well, D,’ her father murmured, a look of concern on his face. Holding her elbow, he nudged her to get up. ‘Let me make you some tea and then you can take a nap. We can talk more later.’

  Too much... too tired...

  She allowed herself to be led.

  Ten minutes later her father handed over a cup of tea.

  ‘This is all I found in the kitchen,’ he said and gave her the cracked trellis mug.

  She took a sip and felt the welcome warmth course through her body.

  ‘Not bad,’ she murmured, feeling grateful.

  ‘You cleaned up the place good,’ her father said, taking a look around. ‘I put ginger in the tea. Your Ma packed the mix for me. I know you would've preferred coffee, but your old Pa cannot make that.’ He turned to her and looked as if debating whether to leave her alone or stay with her. Then seeming to make up his mind, ‘Take a nap,’ he said.

  ‘Pa, what about Ruksana... and Farideh....’

  Unease clouded his face. Then clearing his throat, he said, ‘I'll take care of it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ he said evenly. ‘The chain's on the table. I'll take her things from you later.’ A pause. ‘You rest now, Darya. I've some chores to do. We can talk more tonight. By the way, both you and I leave on the twentieth. After the sale formalities are completed.’

  Twentieth of May. Enough time for... the plan that was beginning to form in her head.

  She gave him a wan smile. ‘Yes, Pa.’

  He stared out of the window. ‘It looks like it might rain.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Darya murmured and lowered her head to the cup of tea. Then, ‘Pa, another thing.’

  He stopped.

  ‘Was Uncle Paritosh ever involved in an accident?’ He seemed bewildered by the question. ‘What sort... what do you mean?’

  ‘With the Djinn.’

  He thought for a few seconds. Then, ‘Not that I recall. He never told me at least. Why?’ he looked at her. Curious. Afraid. ‘Why do you ask?’

  So, he didn't know. She could see he wasn't pretending.

  She threw in half-a-sentence as explanation. ‘Some scratches on the car. Also...’

  He waited, wary now.

  ‘Does anyone else have the keys to Sea Swept?’ she asked.

  ‘Filip has duplicates to both houses.’

  Darya nodded. Bringing her eyes back to the cup, she took a sip, but her lips quivered, and her heart raced.

  A couple of minutes later, she watched as her father walked out of the gate and drove away in the jeep. Then quickly, her tiredness temporarily forgotten, she pushed herself out of bed, placed the cup of tea on the table, dropped under and retrieved the pile of newspapers.

  This one bunch had never made sense to her. She had scourged from end to end for news on Farideh but had found nothing.

  But she had been looking for the wrong thing. She had been looking for the wrong piece of news.

  She turned the old pages. The edges snipped under her eager fingers.

  Then she found what she was looking for.

  An article in The Goa Times dated 23rd August 1993:

  A 45 years old man and his 43-year-old wife died after a two-vehicle crash on the Mumbai Goa highway. The deceased have been identified as Mr. Tashi Dorji and his wife, Nancy.

  It happened at about 15:55 when the Dorjis' Maruti Zen was rammed by a speeding Mahindra Classic jeep. The driver was said to be drunk. He has been taken to hospital, but his injuries were not thought to be life-threatening.

  The driver was later
arrested and held for questioning.

  The next one appeared two months later. At the bottom of page 13. She read:

  The fatal car crash that occurred on the Mumbai-Goa highway on 23rd August 1993 was ruled as an accident and the accused absolved by the Sessions Court. Lack of evidence was cited as the reason.

  Mr. Tashi Dorji and his wife, Nancy died when their Maruti Zen was hit by a speeding Mahindra Classic jeep. The sole eye-witness of the incident had earlier claimed that the driver was drunk and the lost control of the jeep. He later recanted his statement, leading to the dismissal of the case.

  The Dorjis are survived by a son.

  Darya sat on the bed and held the papers close to her chest. Her fingers were trembling. The room swirled around her.

  It can't be... it wasn't possible.

  Does Aaron know?

  The Djinn had killed Aaron's parents. It was her uncle's jeep that had caused the accident that killed his parents. Turned his life upside down.

  But did he know?

  The articles didn't mention any details. She read through them again. Nowhere was there a mention of the colour of the jeep or the name or whereabouts of the owner. She couldn't have guessed her uncle was involved if she hadn't found these papers in the house. And there were countless Mahindra Classic jeeps in Goa. Also, Francis had told her that Aaron left Goa soon after his parents died. Was it possible he didn't know?

  Because nothing in the way he'd behaved towards her indicated he knew, or even suspected. Now and then, she'd felt a certain coolness, a certain aloofness about him, but surely, an incident that serious warranted more?

  But again, it seemed too much of a coincidence that he had come to live at Constellation, right next to her. But... then again... she found it hard to believe he knew of her uncle's involvement and kept up an appearance of geniality. She'd never felt threatened in his presence. Yes, his occasional unfriendliness was off-putting, but they'd also had pleasant chats. Even on the day he'd caught her snooping in the kitchen, he'd only been mildly upset.

  Moreover, she'd gotten the signs that he was actually interested in her—romantically—and she'd thought his aloofness was a sign of nervousness rather than anything else. Was it possible then, she'd read him wrong?