The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3

by Smita Bhattacharya

  She adjusted her purse on her shoulder, groaning under her breath at the absurdity of it all, wishing she had never come. She had learned nothing except for the fact that Matangi existed, which she hadn’t really needed to know. She worried though that she had put herself in harm’s way, by exposing to whoever was running this prostitution racket that she was onto them.

  Then several things happened at once.

  She felt damp breath on the exposed skin of her neck.

  Her purse was torn from her hands.

  Rough hands grabbed her from behind.

  Someone tied a large blindfold around her eyes.

  Her world went absolutely black.

  Voices spoke behind her. One male and one female.

  ‘Kaise?’ the male voice hissed.

  ‘She was on the website. She knew the password,’ answered the woman, her words barely audible.

  Thick fingers circled Darya’s throat as the man came closer and whispered in her ear. ‘Hilna nahi. Awaz nahi,’ he said. ‘If you even breathe loudly, you die.’

  Immediately, Darya knew who it was.

  Rajesh!

  She tried to speak, but Rajesh grabbed her right hand with his free one and pulled it back, curving it sharply behind her. Darya’s bones creaked painfully.

  She let out a shriek. Another pair of hands, smaller and elastic, pried her mouth open and stuffed a piece of cloth inside. It was satin and sweat-soaked.

  Darya gagged.

  ‘Make no sound,’ Rajesh growled. He thumped the small of her back, prodding her to move, almost lifting her off the ground in the process. They were moving away from the main floor, the music growing duller as they walked.

  ‘Where are we—?’ The rest of the words stuck in Darya’s throat.

  ‘Shut up,’ Rajesh growled.

  After what seemed like hours of walking in the pitch dark, accompanied by the sounds of distant drumming and chatter, struggling to grab hold of the wall to avoid slipping, they came to a halt.

  Darya had registered three sets of feet. Who did the other two belong to?

  She’d heard a woman speak. Soft, unctuous. Jasmine or Debbie? Darya couldn’t be sure.

  And the third? Darya had heard a third set of feet. Heavier. Dragging on the floor. ‘Be careful she does not see, Raj.’

  As thoughts whirled in her head and her heart thudded painfully in her chest, Darya heard the squawking protest of a heavy metal door as it was opened in front of her. A blast of soggy night air smacked her in the face. This wasn’t the door she had come in through.

  Time froze for a long second.

  She felt a sharp prick on her lower back.

  Then everything went black.

  11 July 2010

  THE MUMBAI HERALD

  21-year-old says sister is his mother, also a goddess

  A week after the Hill Road police arrested Viktor Mascarenhas as a suspect in the murder of Parthiv Goel, an up-and-coming artist and son of Marine Drive businessman Devender Goel, police investigations have now revealed that Viktor Mascarenhas had been a prime suspect in the murder of his father twelve years ago. He was known as Daniel Monteiro at that point.

  In another sensational development, it has come to light that thirty-year-old Deborah Mascarenhas, who was thought to be Viktor’s sister, is actually his mother. Twelve years ago, Deborah claims Daniel killed their father by accident while her father was sexually abusing her. She alleges Daniel is her child with him. During police interrogation, Deborah Mascarenhas, earlier Colleen Monteiro, also confessed that after the accidental death of their father, Daniel started suffering from severe dissociative delusions. This made him believe he had a brother who had killed his father and had died along with him. Deborah claims Daniel, therefore, lacks the mental capacity to carry out the crimes he has been accused of. According to police sources, Viktor’s psychiatric evaluation is in progress and results are awaited.

  ‘Viktor Mascarenhas has been arrested under section 304 (1) (culpable homicide) and 323 (voluntarily causing hurt) of the IPC. On Saturday, he was produced before a court, which sent him to police custody until 30 July,’ a police official said. No criminal proceedings against Deborah Mascarenhas have been initiated yet but police sources tell us the evidence is being gathered.

  Viktor and Deborah are also being considered prime suspects in the abduction of three women at their villa and the murder of Eileen D’Mello, although no charges have been filed yet. Police investigations are ongoing.

  Both residents of Chapel Road and the Monteiros’ old apartment complex at Kamothe claim they were unaware that Deborah was Viktor’s mother. The Monteiros a.k.a. the Mascarenhas are recent residents of Chapel Road, having come into possession of their bungalow after the parents of Linda Sharma—the seventeen-year-old state hockey champion who disappeared in 2006—sold their property. The police are also investigating if the Mascarenhas had something to do with Linda’s disappearance.

  While being produced in court, Viktor was heard telling the media,

  ‘Debbie is a goddess. She can change your life.’

  Coloured Deep

  Darya woke up alone.

  She couldn’t move; her hands and feet were bound tightly together with what felt like wires. She couldn’t lick her parched lips; the rag was still in her mouth. She was lying to one side, her leg splayed at an odd angle, her hair loose and covering half her face. There was something sticky on it. Darya hoped it was sweat.

  The darkness around her was overwhelming. Through crusty eyes, she discerned the looming walls; heavy pieces of furniture piled over one another; thick curtains on windows. The pain in her head was agonizing. It throbbed with a low, rhythmic pulse, scattering pinpricks all over her face. The muscles of her body seemed to warp and twist, no longer in her control. Her throat was desperate for a drink of water.

  She had no idea where she was. What time it was. How long she had been unconscious.

  She wanted to sob aloud.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  She could barely see; she could hardly move. She felt like she was trapped inside a windowless dungeon. Her laboured breathing sounded unnaturally loud to her ears. The darkness pressed in on her hard.

  They’d caught her but they’d spared her life. At least for the moment.

  Why?

  Who had brought her here? Where was she?

  And what was going to happen to her now?

  She tried to prop herself up by using her elbows. She fell once but managed the second time. She was planning to drag herself to the wall and try to find a door. Even in the darkness, she thought she could make out the outlines of one. But her limbs were stiff and her head heavy. Her body wouldn’t obey her mind.

  And her heart continued to pound like a drum.

  Breathe in. Be calm.

  She tried to twist her fingers around, to bring life into them, but they stayed numb. Her thoughts kept tumbling over each other; her body wouldn’t stop quaking.

  She was going to try and move again. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. Pulled her hands together. Pressed into her watch.

  Then… a streak of light appeared, underneath the crack of the door.

  Someone had put a tube light on.

  She tried to cough out the cloth in her mouth.

  Help.

  She heard then. Footsteps outside. Coming closer.

  Her heart began to race. The pit of her stomach clenched.

  A key in the lock. The sound of a click.

  The door opened.

  Someone came in.

  But it was not who Darya had expected to see.

  ‘Hello, Darya,’ Jasmine said quietly and turned on the light. ‘You’re in my house.’

  She appraised Darya for a few minutes, then sat down on the floor next to her. ‘You tried to get up,’ she observed. ‘They weren’t going to keep you here for long. It was only until we arrived. Until you woke up.’

  Lying awkwardly, Darya gestured with her eyes.
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  ‘Yes,’ Jasmine said, understanding. ‘Let me take them off.’ She pointed at Darya’s hands. ‘But those need to stay.’ She had brought a pair of plyers with her and used them niftily to cut through the wires on Darya’s feet. ‘Rajesh likes to be thorough, especially when he knows someone could be a danger to him.’

  Next, going down on her knees, Jasmine reached forward, adjusted Darya’s body over her shoulders and yanked her up roughly. ‘Steady now,’ she muttered. ‘You need to walk with me.’

  Darya stumbled, trying to find flat ground beneath her feet. Her head reeled. She had been injected with something to make her pass out and she was feeling the after-effects of it.

  Jasmine took the cloth off Darya’s mouth.

  ‘Please…’ Darya croaked. ‘I need some water.’

  ‘Out in the hall,’ Jasmine said. ‘We are late already.’

  ‘Late for what?’

  Jasmine didn’t reply. She walked on ahead, dragging Darya along with her for a few steps until Darya had found her balance, then let her go. Scarcely recovered and unable to see clearly even now, Darya stumbled forward on her wobbly legs.

  ‘Careful,’ Jasmine murmured.

  An ugly chortle emerged out of Darya. Jasmine didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘What did Rajesh inject me with?’ asked Darya, gritting her teeth.

  ‘You’ll have to ask him that yourself,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Where’s Veda?’ Darya called after her.

  ‘Come with me,’ Jasmine said, motioning. ‘And I’ll explain everything.’

  Shakily, Darya followed. She entered the hallway behind Jasmine and made her way to the sofa. The cushions were still warm from another human presence before her.

  The damp old smell of the room hadn’t disappeared, but the house looked like it had been cleaned recently. The empty cartons were gone, the dust was swabbed, and the grandfather clock was working again. The wheelchair and the dining chairs had been arranged neatly against the wall. The footstool had been moved away from the window and placed next to the sofa.

  The house was being primed, and Darya knew what for.

  Then another realization dawned on her.

  She hadn’t noticed at first, because it had been dark, and she had been overwrought, but now she did.

  Every part of Jasmine was covered in black. Loose black pants, a black silk shirt, black earrings, black nail polish, black kohl around her eyes. Her hair was worn loose over her shoulders, the bangs on her forehead clipped up to reveal a tiny crescent moon tattoo.

  Darya took a long, shuddering breath.

  It was happening now. The unravelling of everything. The beginning of the end.

  ‘We want you to hear us,’ Jasmine announced.

  ‘Hear what?’ demanded Darya. ‘And who is us?’ A terrible pain rose in her chest. She willed it to subside with great effort. ‘Is Veda in trouble?’

  ‘No.’ Then after a pause, she said, ‘In fact, she is very well. She has found her true calling.’

  ‘Please don’t play games with me. Tell me what’s going on. Why am I here? What do you want with me? Where’s Veda? Is she here?’

  The flicking of her eyes was momentary and stealthy, but Darya saw it. She remembered it also from the last time they’d been together in this room.

  They were being watched. Through hidden cameras.

  Jasmine had claimed the CCTV cameras were for her mother the last time, but Darya now realized it was a lie. There were probably other cameras in the house too, but Darya couldn’t spot them.

  Darya waited for Jasmine to speak. She knew she couldn’t hurry this—whatever it was—along.

  So, she waited, her muscles tense, her heart beating double time.

  Her eyes unblinking, Jasmine said quietly, ‘We want you to join us.’

  Darya stared at her. ‘Join what?’ Although she knew.

  ‘Veda’s with us,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘With us.’

  ‘Who’s us?’

  ‘Matangi.’

  Jasmine sat back on her chair, unclasped her hands, and waited.

  In the unnerving silence that followed, Darya heard the clock’s tick-tock, noted the precise shape of the crescent on Jasmine’s forehead and the careful application of kajal around her eyes.

  But when she opened her mouth to speak, someone else beat her to it.

  ‘You know what it is, don’t you, Darya?’

  Almost falling over her seat with the sudden shock of hearing that voice, Darya turned.

  ‘Veda!’ she cried.

  ‘Hello, Dee,’ Veda replied, unsmiling.

  ‘You’re okay!’ Darya got to her feet. ‘I was so worried.’

  But Veda was looking back at her strangely. She didn’t move.

  Then Darya noticed her clothes, her make-up, her hair.

  All black. Like Jasmine.

  There was no crescent moon on her forehead though, no hair flicks to cover it either, but the rest was the same.

  She had almost become one of them.

  The temperature seemed to dip in the room. Darya felt cold dread nestle inside her chest.

  ‘Veda,’ Darya whispered. ‘Are you okay? What has happened?’

  She didn’t respond.

  ‘We’ve been so worried. Your mum’s sick. She’s in the hospital.’

  A slight tremble of her lips. Yet, she said nothing.

  Darya took a step forward. Jasmine followed closely behind, like a shadow.

  Veda hadn’t moved. She looked tense. Her eyes were fixed on the passage behind Darya.

  ‘Veda,’ Darya asked urgently, ‘what’s going on? Why haven’t you picked up my calls? Are you okay? Talk to me.’

  Veda turned a soft gaze towards her.

  ‘They take our phones away,’ she said.

  ‘I could keep one though,’ Jasmine added mildly. ‘I use hers.’

  Darya flashed a brief glance at Jasmine, then at the CCTV camera. Then back at Veda.

  ‘Darya,’ Veda whispered.

  ‘Yes?’ Darya was hanging on her every word.

  ‘You should join us,’ Veda said.

  ‘Join Matangi?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, her eyes fixed on the passage behind Darya. Her voice grew urgent. ‘You know what we are, what we do, right?’

  Part of Darya wanted to shake Veda, make her speak openly, tell her everything, but part of her knew something was unfolding in front of her, a scripted story, where everyone, including her, had a part to play.

  So, Darya waited, her heart drumming, her nerves on fire.

  ‘You saw them,’ Veda said, a tremble in her voice.

  ‘It’s easy money. Good money. And you’re doing a service,’ Jasmine added.

  Unable to help herself any longer, Darya snorted. ‘Do you really believe that?’

  Veda’s head snapped up in surprise. Almost drolly, Jasmine declared, ‘Matangi is a group of tantric goddesses. You should join us. We know you want to.’

  Darya was baffled. ‘What… what the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘You told me,’ Jasmine said firmly. ‘At the bookstore. After I gave you the book to read.’

  ‘I did no such thing.’ Darya turned to Veda. ‘What’s she talking about?’

  ‘You must remember,’ Jasmine said, her voice insistent.

  ‘You did,’ Veda said. ‘You told me what a great idea it was. Just say yes.’ She added something in an undertone, but Darya couldn’t catch it.

  She was baffled. ‘Have they hurt you, Veda? Have they given you something? Like a drug. Is that why you’re… saying all this?’ she asked perplexed.

  Darya saw Jasmine tense next to her as if bracing for a fight. But before she could say or do anything, Veda spoke. ‘Darya, you’ve seen the Matangis.’ Her eyes were filled with warning. Don’t lie.

  ‘I have,’ Darya admitted.

  ‘We’re part of them now,’ she said quietly, but with a fervour that made the back of Darya�
�s neck prickle with fear.

  ‘And we can’t leave… we don’t want to.’

  Darya’s gaze shifted from Veda to Jasmine.

  They stared back, rarely blinking, their faces expressionless.

  ‘What have they done to you both?’ Darya asked in a whisper.

  ‘Everything’s fine, Dee,’ Veda murmured. ‘I’ve discovered my life’s true purpose. Not a doctor, not at Mumbai Dost, but this.’ She made a loose gesture with her hands. ‘I didn’t think it was possible, but Matangi makes me feel powerful.’

  A few nights ago, when they were still at the villa together, Darya had told Veda about her suspicions—not all of it; she hadn’t known everything then—but some. ‘I’m not sure how and why,’ she’d told Veda, ‘but Jasmine and Debbie are connected. As are all the women who’ve disappeared from Chapel Road. They could be part of a prostitution ring, lured into it with blackmail, a threat to leak their secretly taped sex videos to rein them in. So, the good news is, the women who’ve disappeared are still alive. Eileen was probably killed because she had broken away and arranged her own client.’

  Then uneasily, Darya had told Veda she was probably being scouted by the group too. Most likely Jasmine was doing it for them. That was why Jasmine was so curious about Veda, asking questions, following her around, winning her over with propositions. Darya had expected Veda to protest or laugh at the hypothesis, but after a few cursory questions, she’d admitted it made sense.

  Darya now guessed why: they’d had something on Veda already, with her married boss, in Jasmine’s house. They had set Veda up, so she’d be forced to join them. But what had happened since then? Had Veda thought she’d had no choice? Why hadn’t she talked to Darya about it?

  But that hadn’t been the only thing they had spoken of that night. ‘About Debbie,’ Darya had said. ‘Show me the picture on your phone again?’ Veda had. Next, Darya had brought up the shot of the family photograph she’d taken on her phone. ‘See anyone familiar?’ Once presented side by side, it didn’t take long for Veda to figure out. She breathed in sharply. ‘Debbie and her father? So Viktor and Daniel are their sons?’ Though now Darya knew there was only one son. There had always been only one. The whole story had been concocted to throw people off the tracks, the photo clearly a fake, the intent being to pin the blame for Emmanuel’s death on Daniel, if ever such a time came.