Ira’s walk was interrupted by a diffident knock on the main door. ‘Argh, just for that, you will enjoy the full benefit of my morning breath,’ she muttered, balefully. She gave the bathroom a miss and continued on to the main door.
Mrs Bhattacharjee stood outside looking upset and more harassed than usual. Her eyes were puffy, a product of a sleepless night worrying about ‘their stand’, Ira thought with a pang.
‘Come in, come in,’ she murmured, her irritation towards the older woman forgotten for the time being.
‘Did you read it?’ Her landlady looked near tears.
‘I did.’
Ira lifted the letter off the table, where it had spent the night weighed down by the brass vase.
She handed it to the lady and said, ‘They have never liked me. Even if I had tried my utmost to be likable, rolled over and let them scratch my tummy, they would have found reasons to dislike me. And because they are helpless in their dislike they have now turned their attention to you.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Mrs Bhattacharjee muttered as she ran her eyes over the letter again, ‘I have unleashed something or the other apparently, like I’m the Eye of Sauron!’
Ira laughed out loud. ‘I’m glad you saw the humour of it, I couldn’t help laughing about it myself.’
Mrs Bhattacharjee’s wan smile broke into a loud guffaw. ‘And a haven for respectable families! If some of the gossip that our neighbours tell me are true, I have material for a hundred anonymous letters!’
‘Could you just hang on?’ Ira walked towards the bathroom. If Mrs Bhattacharjee was about to show some fighting spirit, the least she deserved was a minty fresh Ira.
*****
After Mrs Bhattacharjee left forty-five minutes later, Ira lay back down in bed and idly checked her phone. It had been a comforting conversation, full of sensible things proposed, and Ira was confident that if they could put up a united front and say the things they had decided; the Association would have nothing more to say. The two women planned to ask ‘all concerned parties’ to meet in the Association room the next day at 8 am. Take the battle to them. It was the 21st century after all. She had her rights.
Ayan had sent her a WhatsApp message at 7.30 am. ‘Good morning, Ira! I know you must be fast asleep right now; but wondering if you would consider lunch?’
‘I’m not asleep. How does breakfast sound instead?’
‘Even better.’
An hour later, much better turned out than she ever was at ten in the morning, Ira sat across Ayan at her favourite aloo-paratha-cum-south-Indian breakfast joint. The press outside the Panorama Apartment gates had dwindled to half today morning, and even they had taken half-hearted shots of them and let them continue unaccosted.
Ira wondered how old Ayan was. His youthful enthusiasm seemed to indicate the opposite end of the decade she was in. But time would tell.
‘So,’ Ayan frowned earnestly. ‘Have you heard anything new about the murder?’
Ira tensed. This was just another way of ambushing her, not a date after all….
‘Okay. Let me tell you in all honesty that I knew your name as one of those who found the body. From what my flatmate told me and some newspaper reports. Even before we began talking.’
Ira felt deflated, insulted even. It was not flirtation at all. He was just another morbidly curious neighbour. ‘Uh huh.’
‘But I didn’t know it was you,’ Ayan hastened to add. ‘My flatmate had told me that a girl called Ira Dutta and an older woman called Nandana Roy found the body. When we exchanged names and numbers yesterday I realised you were her. I put two and two together.’
‘Uh huh.’ And made ten, indubitably.
Ira was a journalist. She knew how ambushing worked. It was not pleasant to be on the receiving end, she conceded.
‘Have I said something wrong? I realise it must have been terribly traumatic for you…you don’t want me to bring this up over breakfast and all.’
‘Oh I would love for you to talk to me about it, after all everyone else has, why should I deprive you of the chance?’ Ira crossed her arms across her chest.
‘Er….’
‘Are you going to give me a newsflash about how I was summoned to the Association room and threatened with the police, or that there have been anonymous letters calling me an agent of all things chhee?’
‘What, really?’
Ira sat back. ‘Look, I’m stuck until my dosa gets here. But really, I don’t feel like a jolly good gossip about this because that corpse has begun to really annoy me. So, let’s just eat and pay up and go our own ways, alright?’
‘Okay. I suspect you’re more of a spit-it-out kinda woman. I’m sorry, I tried to be all subtle about it, okay? Let’s just talk about something else.’ Ayan flashed her his endearing grin, now tinged with apology.
Ira relented. ‘If you like.’
*****
8
Monday, 10th September 2014
Ira walked Mrs Bhattacharjee to her car after the morning’s hastily called meeting in the Association room. ‘I can’t be late every day this week!’ Mrs Bhattacharjee had exclaimed when Ira suggested tea at her place.
They stopped at her tiny, henna green Nano. ‘All in all, a satisfactory, albeit temporary, solution to the matter.’ Mrs Bhattacharjee knocked on her skull with her knuckles and muttered ‘touch wood’. ‘For all their accusations the Association didn’t have a single actual fact to back them up. I am the owner of 201―unless these…these old fogies can prove you have broken even a single Association rule, I doubt they can take any action, except empty threats, juvenile letters and meetings. They do love their meetings, don’t they?’ Mrs Bhattacharjee’s smile was both tired and indulgent.
‘The inspectors had come to me last evening. I was sure it was about the letter! I behaved so suspiciously that I was convinced they would slap handcuffs on me there and then. But it was only another visit to ask further questions. The gentleman―quite a chatty one, isn’t he?―told me that the police can file their own FIR in murder cases, since it’s a cognisable offence.’ Mrs Bhattacharjee cocked her head and added, ‘I don’t know why that even came up.
Oh, and did you hear that we have tampered with evidence? The guards moved the body and cleaned the lift! After the police left, my cook told me that Ranjit and Gopal were taken to the station and beaten black and blue for it. But they kept insisting they were acting on orders from Mr Banik and Mr Talukdar. So when the police got in touch with our lovely gentlemen here, they said, bold as brass, “Indeed they had” and sent the bail money for the guards. My cook Sabita seemed to think they were standup gents for sending the bail money. But I think it’s a shame they got them to do such a thing in the first place. Surely, we didn’t need the lift that badly.
What an utter mess! And you and I are knee deep in it as well. Anyhow, once this case gets cleared up by the police―who this man was, why he was here and, I mean what happened to him’, she lowered her voice delicately, ‘then it’ll all blow over very soon.
We can go back to normal and I can drive out of the gates without worrying about hitting a newsperson.’
Mrs Bhattacharjee patted the younger woman on the shoulder. She angled her body into the driver’s seat of the car and sat down.
‘Mrs Bhattacharjee….’
‘Call me, Mili-di, I think we’re friends now, aren’t we?’ The older woman peeped up at Ira, some of her diffidence creeping back in her question.
‘Okay, Mili-di. Thank you for everything. The way you’ve stood up for me… I mean nobody really does that for anyone without a compelling reason, do they? Thank you for your kindness.’
Mrs Bhattacharjee rested her hand on the wheel. ‘Who says I didn’t have a compelling reason? I was in a unique position to stand up for what’s right. Don’t we always wonder what we would do if put in a difficult position―an easy wrong or a hard right? At least, I have always wondered. If doing the right thing meant standing up to an army tank, on the way back h
ome from the grocery store? What would I do? Or if a neighbour who was being hunted by a mob asked me for refuge would I turn her away and watch her get lynched? I could always assuage my conscience and say later that I was only protecting my family and property. Or would I take her in and risk everything for a person I probably don’t even like much; just to stand up for a hard right?’
Mrs Bhattacharjee paused, mulling over what she would say next, and adjusted her rear-view mirror.
‘These are, of course, very dramatic examples. There are more everyday cases of easy wrongs. Helping someone who has been in a road accident, for example. Do I zoom past in my car? No one would blame me really. Everyone does it!
When your thing happened…it would have been easy to just take the stronger side against you and no one would have blamed me for it. But I would have blamed me for it. Because I pride myself on knowing what’s right and what’s wrong. What is the point of that knowledge if I just go with the mob when the chips are down?’
She looked down at her watch, possibly to cover up her embarrassment at such a grand speech.
‘Enough speechifying, I’ll be off.’ She shut her door, strapped herself in and turned the key in the ignition. ‘Just pray that the murderer of that man is caught, then we can all get to work on time from next week. Bye!’ Mrs Bhattacharjee backed out of her parking slot and drove off with a parting wave.
Pray? Ira could do better than that.
*****
‘Mrs Roy, I must ask you to tell me how you ended up on that floor that night.’ Ira had gone directly from the parking lot to flat 401 in her own wing. She now stood in the middle of the living room peppering the woman with questions.
Nandana’s eyes flashed in accusation. ‘Have you discussed this with a lot of people?’
‘Mrs Roy, as you well know, all people can talk about was this man visiting me that night. I was probably one of the first people the police visited, my picture was splashed across Friday’s paper. I have been summoned by the Association twice, an anonymous letter writer is making mischief linking me with this murdered fellow, and have been nearly made to evict this flat, but for Mili-di’s kindness. So, yes. I suppose I have discussed this with a lot of people, but not of my own volition entirely, I can assure you.’
Nandana looked chastened. ‘Er…yes, I heard about that.’
She doesn’t ask me if the man really had some connection to me. Either she knows there isn’t, or she’s a decent person, for a change, Ira thought as Nandana continued.
‘Yes, people say hurtful things about other people. Nasty piece of goods all of us are.’
‘Yes, Mrs Roy, I’m glad you understand.’
‘But here you are trying to cast aspersions on me, I think,’ Nandana said, mildly.
‘NO. No aspersions. All I’m saying is, you live on the fourth floor, yet you were on the second floor at 2 am on a weekday night. Just checking, Mrs Roy, what the explanation is. Perhaps there is something you can tell me which will help explain things, which has not struck you as important.’
Mrs Roy looked conflicted. ‘I’ve already told the police what happened. The designated authority is in possession of the full facts. They will act on it when the time comes―I believe they follow a procedure in such cases.’
‘Yes, and while they decide on whether or not to act on it, the Association here will make all sorts of assumptions by themselves and chuck me out on my ear.’
There was a pause.
Ira burst out, ‘It’s obvious you know something, just tell me!’
‘Your interview skills leave much to be desired, Ira,’ Nandana smiled, wryly. ‘Besides, it’s not a simple explanation and idle gossip about this might affect many lives, especially innocent children.’
There was a soft thump and a metallic rattle. Nandana’s husband let himself back into the house, startling both women. Ira realised that Nandana had started and paled, and now held a hand to her heart.
‘Sorry to startle you, ladies,’ he said, eyeing Ira warily.
He addressed himself to his wife, ‘Do you know where I’ve put my keys? I can’t see them anywhere…’ He began to pat himself down vigorously, as if to demonstrate the absence of the object in question.
Nandana got up with an air of finality. ‘Ira, knowing Kushal, this will take a while. Besides, I already told you…but I would like us to be friends otherwise, I know everyone here has been unfair to you….’
She left the words hanging in the air, but it was obvious that their conversation was done. Ira had no other option but to nod, sling her bag on her shoulder, and say, ‘Alright, thank you, Mrs Roy…Mr Roy.’
‘Please, call me Nandana.’
Ira smiled in response and walked off no wiser than she had been to start with.
*****
After that abortive meeting, Ira decided to make a circuit of the housing estate. It would be difficult to go back to sleep at this hour, and she didn’t feel like going back home yet―the sky looked so blue and there was a delicious nip in the air from an early morning shower. Two pretty young women were pushing perambulators and chatting. One kept breaking into belly laughs at what the other was saying and rocking forward, much to the latter’s obvious gratification.
Ira grinned at them as their paths were about to cross; their mood was infectious. To her surprise, the laugher drew abreast of her and stopped. The other woman continued a few steps onward to show a disinclination but stopped too. It was obvious who the stronger personality in this pair was.
‘Hello!’ The laugher called out.
‘Hi!’ Ira smiled again.
‘It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?’ Her friend had fallen silent but seemed friendly enough.
‘Yes, I don’t see the morning usually so I can see what I am missing.’
‘Why so, ya?’
‘I work at night.’
‘Ah…call centre?’
Aha! These two had not recognised her yet. Must be the tied-up hair and the glasses. And the fact that the babies took up most of their attention.
The three women fell into step and began walking shoulder to shoulder.
‘Not really.’ Ira hoped she didn’t sound too cagey.
Ira decided it was now or never. She’d never seen these ladies before; there was a high chance she wouldn’t again. She took the plunge directly, hoping their openness and good moods wouldn’t make them shy like nervous horses. One horse had already bolted that morning.
‘So…all sorts of strange stuff happening in this building, eh?’
‘Oh, you mean the dead body?’ The laughing woman’s expression changed from laughter to an appropriate sadness. The quieter woman shook her head sadly and tsk-ed. One of the babies coo-ed and waved its fists.
They walked in contemplative silence for a few steps before the previously laughing woman brightened again: ‘Our housing estate has always had its share of spooky happenings. Don’t you know we live in a haunted house?’
Ira was sure by now that they hadn’t guessed at her ‘connection’ to the murder. She cocked an enquiring look at them, and the quiet lady answered.
‘Yeah, yeah. It was only a matter of time before a dead body appeared. We’ve been here roughly three years. Aditi’s been here for a little longer,’ she added, parenthetically, indicating her friend with an open palm, ‘and I tell you it’s enough to fill the average anthology of ghost stories.’
Ira laughed a little more than required, and the young women looked pleased. ‘Like what?’
‘For one, there’s that Vedika’s story. She lives in 304 of Wing 3. So scary. Gives me goosebumps every time I tell it.’ She looked at her friend for affirmation, who nodded dutifully.
Ira said nothing but waited with an expectant air.
‘She’d been living in her flat for about a year. Both flats above and below her were empty for some reason.’
The quieter one, Aditi, broke in, ‘The above one…have you forgotten why?’
‘I’m getting to th
at, don’t spoil the climax of the story, re!’
‘Oops! Sorry, Jayashree.’ They turned identical expressions of complicity towards Ira. Their faces shone with the contentment that comes from being in on a story others weren’t. It was a pack mentality, a needing-to-belong thing that Ira saw often but felt very little of.
‘So, Vedika―she had a quieter time than most,’ Jayashree continued. ‘The rest of us, such awful sounds we have to listen to sometimes. Yuck.’
Aditi rolled her eyes and giggled, ‘I swear!’
‘So anyway, one day she and her husband were unceremoniously woken up by the sound of someone grinding spices on the floor above her, at 5 am. Then another day, it sounded like they were breaking open coconuts, she told us. Every day she would come down for our chat in the evening, complaining bitterly of the new noisy neighbours upstairs.
Apparently, they had been doing some hammering till eleven the previous evening when I said to her, why don’t you just speak to them? For all her aggravation, she seemed reluctant. No one wants to fall foul of neighbours…that can often lead to all sorts of socially awkward situations; or even a boycott.’
Ira wished they’d hurry up. They’d already completed one circumnavigation of the entire estate; one of their children would be sure to go off like a siren any moment and leave her with a half-told story.
‘But I persisted, I said, “see, you don’t have to walk right up to their door and tell them off. One should always be diplomatic about these things. Get someone else to do it.”
So that night when the hammering started again, she called the main gate and demanded that the security guards go to the floor above hers to tell them they were breaking estate rules by doing carpentry work outside permitted hours.
The security came by to her apartment instead half an hour later. “Ma’am, as we knew, no one lives in the apartment above you. It’s empty.”
A Killer Among Us Page 6