by Vas, Mahita;
There is no mention of Sayana. Either they kept it from him—for all his smart aleck ways, he was always remarkably righteous—or he refused to be part of it. I can’t be sure. Like Sayana, Lavinia is a good person, the kind who would rather guide a cockroach to finding its way out than kill it with bug spray. Lavinia would probably not want to know her brother killed someone, even if that monster had no compunction abducting innocent Lavinia and trying to get her chopped up and burnt to cinders.
Uday stares at Lavinia for a long time. I don’t know what he is thinking. I stand behind him and put my arms over his chest as I wrap myself around him. He flinches for a moment, and then settles. He leans back against his chair and closes his eyes, breathing deeply. I tighten my arms around his shoulders and tell him that Ashwin and he are doing the right thing. I thank him. He raises his right hand and pats his chest. I think he means to pat my arm. He feels me. He knows I am with him.
“It was Tamara,” whispers Uday. I don’t know if he is talking to me or to Lavinia. Maybe to both of us. It doesn’t surprise me. After everything Lavinia told me about her, I expected an insecure bitch like Tamara to be jealous of Lavinia. “She’s next.”
I take that to mean Tamara will also be killed. No, I shall not have my son kill someone for whom a far more appropriate punishment would be a cell in Changi Prison for life. I watched her from the moment she moved in. Always looking in the mirror. Admiring her reflection every time she passed by a panel of reflective glass, from the picture frames which adorn virtually every wall, to the floor-to-ceiling balcony doors. She was never without make-up except when she was about to slide into bed and when she woke up in the morning. She always rose before Uday, got showered, dressed and dolled up. No wonder he called her his China Doll.
I, on the other hand, never even wore lipstick or mascara, but ever since I met Uday, he made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, like the only woman who ever really mattered to him. I was his English Rose. It’s why he insisted on buying an apartment in Rose Gardens, even though we could not afford it at the time.
Back then, Uday had said, “It’s for you, my English Rose. We’ll just have to drive a modest car, take fewer and shorter overseas holidays, eat at home most of the time … we’ll manage.”
The self-centred tai-tai, as she likes to call herself, is all about comfort. I think she genuinely believes that a life of luxury was her right, and is her right, rather than a privilege. She is shameless, pestering Uday to buy her expensive jewellery and wine and dine her at lavish restaurants. He succumbed to almost every whim of hers, but that’s over now.
I whisper in his ear, and blow my words deep, deep inside. Jail for Tamara. Worse than death. Uday flinches, rubs his ear, as if trying to get rid of an itch inside. I want to say, yes, my love, I am your itch. This Indian Rose has sharpened her thorns but only to protect you.
Uday looks around, puzzled. He stares at Lavinia, his breathing slow and deep. He buries his face in Lavinia’s hand. Poor fellow. It pains me to see him in such a state. “She was the puppet-master. She must be punished severely.” Uday spits out those words.
He just sits and stares at Lavinia. At about six thirty, he gets a message. Ashwin is ready. Uday is unsteady as he stands. He supports himself with the help of the side bar on Lavinia’s bed and leans forward to kiss her. “Lavinia, light of my life. May you wake up soon.”
He hesitates before stroking her face and stammers, “I … I love you, Lavi, light of my life.” Uday finds it hard to say those three words. I love you. He used to say that it was a Western thing. How could a husband and wife not love each other? How could parents not love their children? When I told him that saying “I love you” was merely an affirmation, he said if people were so easily affirmed by words used so freely, then those were cheap words. Uday hardly ever told me he loved me, and never told the children that he loved them. But I know he loved me, and still does, and I know he loves his children with all his heart, his soul, his very being.
It is nearly seven in the evening when Uday finally gets up to make his way home. He runs his fingers through Lavinia’s hair, apologising for having to leave. He has things to do, he says. Things he must do for her and her brothers’ sakes. Uday stands at the window, which faces west. The sky is brilliant shades of blue and pink, rippled with clouds which look like clusters of tiny cotton puffs in row upon random row. I put my arm around his waist and together, we admire the soft colours of the evening sky. He does not flinch, not like he did earlier. He turns towards me, then looks back at Lavinia and smiles.
He knows. He must know I am here.
22
Wednesday Night
Uday walked down the hospital corridor, thinking about the grisly scene awaiting him at the apartment. As he approached the lift, he felt giddy and nauseous. He stretched out his left hand to support himself against the wall. He grimaced as he turned his face against his shoulder.
A nurse walking past Uday stopped and asked, “Sir, are you alright? Sir?” She was petite, and twisted her body and neck to try and look at him. “Oh! You are Miss Lavinia’s father. Please, sir, I think you should take a seat.” She pointed towards a sofa a few metres away.
“Thank you. I think it’s just … low blood pressure.” Uday leant back. He was not ready for the task of dumping garbage bags around the island. He wanted to stay with Lavinia.
The nurse brought him some warm water in a slightly chipped melamine mug. He hated the taste; it needed a slice of lemon to make it drinkable. It would be rude to ask for anything to flavour the water with, and even more rude not to drink at least some of it. Uday drank half, placed the mug on the table and waved his thanks to the nurse. What he really needed was a cold drink, ideally a Scotch on the rocks.
Uday’s phone rang as he waited for the lift. “I’m just leaving. It’s too soon, anyway. Weren’t we going to start at ten?”
“Yes, but these two forgot their luggage so I’m going to drop them off somewhere close by, have them take a taxi to their place, then pick them up later. I just thought we could have dinner together.”
“I … I don’t feel like eating. I could use a stiff drink though. See you at the flat in about half an hour?”
“Dad, meet me at the car park of this block. Everything’s done. I got a suitcase from my place and the two stuffed it with bin liners filled with … what do we call them … remains? Much easier for transporting them. It seemed like a good idea to put those bits and pieces into a suitcase and wheel them to the car, rather than to carry bags that might still smell of curry.”
The image made Uday gag. He took a deep breath. “I’ll call you as I drive in to Rose Gardens.”
Uday looked for his car. It took several seconds before he remembered he had driven to the hospital in a rental car. It had been decades since he’d driven a Japanese model. He had hired a silver Toyota, a common car which would not raise any suspicion, while he drove three men around the island, on their mission to dump garbage bags filled with gory contents. To avoid all suspicion, Uday had asked his chauffeur to send his BMW for servicing that morning and given him the day off.
As he drove away from the hospital, Uday observed the rubbish bins. Ashwin was right; they were identical all over Singapore—tall, green vertical bins for houses and deep, wide bins for buildings, including condominiums. Ashwin had mapped out the seven waste collection zones and the four collection points which served them. Uday braced himself for a long night. The plan was to drop a bag into a waste bin at each of four different zones. A fifth bag would be thrown into the sea, weighed down with stones.
Ashwin buzzed Uday up the lift. “I thought you were going to call, and I would meet you downstairs.”
“I forgot.” A large soft-top suitcase stood by the door. It smelt faintly of cinnamon and curry. Uday tried to lift it. “At least fifty kilos, I’d say. Grossly overweight.”
Ashwin laughed. “Only for checked-in luggage. She was grossly underweight. But very strong.”
Uday walked towards the kitchen. “Just want to make sure the whole flat is perfectly clean, without a trace of what happened.”
“All clean. I checked. Those two did a good job. They were so efficient, even took their clothes off—”
“Naked?”
Ashwin nodded. “Almost. They covered themselves in plastic sheets. At one point, I wondered if they’d done this before. Especially that little one, Babu, whom I found smiling several times as he packed the suitcase. It was disturbing. I wish I hadn’t watched—”
“You watched it? Why?”
“It was grotesque yet also fascinating in a twisted way. But I wouldn’t want to make a sport of it. Besides, I gave up early on. I just couldn’t …”
Uday shook his head as he remembered Ashwin’s childhood obsession with horror movies. Today, Ashwin had unwittingly starred in his very own private production, with visuals which would probably continue to re-surface in his mind.
Satisfied that the kitchen was clean, Uday walked to the bedroom. He picked up the lamp from the floor and thrust it at Ashwin. “How could you forget this? Evidence!”
“Sorry, Dad. I didn’t realise it was ours. I don’t remember seeing it at home.”
“It was in Charlie’s room. Used to belong to Sayana.”
“Ha! Whether he liked it or not, a part of him was watching everything! I should tell him that.”
That leap of logic was alien to Uday. “You’ll do no such thing. The poor fellow is probably already traumatised about what we’re doing. There’s no need to torment him any further. I’ll have you know that Sayana hated that lamp. Thought it was too ugly and old-fashioned. He only kept it because he was with your mother when she bought it from a vintage shop.”
Uday helped himself to a Scotch after it was agreed that Ashwin would drive. “Change of plans, Dad. Perumal suggested we only dump the bags in those big bins at hawker centres, markets and restaurants. He said that rubbish collectors in residential zones lift bags out of bins by hand—”
“What? They stop outside every house, lift the bin covers and remove the bags by hand?”
“Yup, and then they hurl them into the rubbish truck. I’ve seen them do this, but never gave it much thought. There can’t be that many bags in the bins, considering they’re cleared every day, even on Sunday.”
“How are the big bins cleared?”
“They’re wheeled out to the truck, then slotted into levers at the bottom of the truck, which then lift the bin and tip all the contents into the truck. Much safer for us to use those bins.”
Uday nodded as he sipped his Scotch. “Still planning to go all over the island?”
“Not quite all over but several places, quite spread out. I didn’t have much time to choose the places, but I know at least six hawker centres that close early and are deserted by 9pm. And, of course, many have markets close by. They’re dead by four in the afternoon. For now, I’m planning on going to Jurong, Bukit Batok, Changi and Beach Road.”
“I’m glad you’re driving!” Uday glanced at his watch. “We have about half an hour before they call, and we’ll need to leave to pick them up. Tell me what happened after I left.”
Ashwin looked away. “It was gruesome. Why would you want to hear about something when just an hour ago you wondered why I watched?”
Uday stared straight ahead. “I don’t know. I wanted this to happen, yet didn’t want to be an active participant. Seeing Lavi today … I don’t know how much longer … I don’t know, Ashwin.” Uday breathed slowly and deeply. He pursed his lips and faced Ashwin. “In some primeval way, I now feel the need to remember that every stage of her ordeal was filled with violence, humiliation and indignity. No matter how much was dished out, nothing can ever make up for what was heaped upon our beloved Lavi. Now, go on, tell me what the men did.”
Ashwin turned to face his father. Eyebrows furrowed, he asked, “Are you sure, Dad?”
Uday took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Yes. I want every detail. Just don’t say her name.”
Ashwin took a deep breath and leant back into his seat. “I’ll never regret what I did. Even if our precious Lavi does get better by some miracle. So, you sure you want me to tell you the details?”
“Yes. Go on.”
“After you left, I knelt in front of her and promised her that her mother will die, too. More slowly, more painfully. But before that, I would throw a banquet for her mother. I squeezed her skinny thigh and said, “we’ll be making some juicy koftas from here.” She was horrified, Dad. She stamped her cuffed feet and tried to scream, but her mouth was taped. I said I’d take some meat from here, mince it, mix it with minced lamb and we’d make special koftas just for her mother. After her mother had eaten a few mouthfuls, we’d tell her what she ate—”
Uday covered his mouth with both hands and inhaled. “Oh, Ashwin! I hope you weren’t serious.”
“Sorry Dad, I know it’s sickening. It was a joke. I have no intention of doing that. Too repugnant even for me!”
“No more of the grisly details. Just tell me one more thing—how did her life end? Was there pain?”
“There was some pain, Dad, but nothing like what Lavi must have suffered. Remember, the doctor said Lavi’s gash was so deep that he could see her cheekbone, and the slash went right through her cheek, into her mouth? They took ages to stitch up Lavi’s face. I wanted to do the same to this monster but all I could manage was a small cut with a fruit knife on one side of her face. She barely flinched.”
“That’s hardly any pain for someone with tattoos all over her body! So, how did her life end?”
“Just as I had promised her. I got a pair of latex gloves and straddled her. I squeezed both my hands around her neck. After twenty seconds, I released my grip. She convulsed throughout. I repeated this cycle five or six times, and then I kept my grip steady for over a minute, until she went still. After two minutes, she still had a very faint pulse. So I clamped her head and—”
“Alright, enough. Now I know how she died. Probably from strangulation, but to be sure, you broke her neck.” Uday bit his knuckles. “What have we done, Ashwin?”
“We’ve just avenged the attack on Lavi, part one. We’re not done yet.”
23
Later That Night
The car park at Rose Gardens was quiet, residents comfortably ensconced in their homes, winding down for the day. All the parking lots were filled with cars, mostly luxury brands in sumptuous colours of 21st century paint, with names like Imperial Metallic Blue and Celestial Black, upholstered in colours like Caramel Nappa. His rented Toyota Vios in silver with black synthetic interiors looked and felt austere in comparison.
From where he stood, a few feet away from the glare of the fluorescent tube light on the ceiling, Uday looked beyond the car park exit towards the shrubbery. A number of foreign domestic workers were chatting while walking their employers’ dogs. It reminded Uday of his last attendance at the condominium’s annual general meeting, where, for the last six years, he had asked for surveillance cameras, to prevent people from allowing their dogs to urinate and defecate near the lift lobby. Clearly, some people lacked civic consciousness and needed to be watched or caught, he regularly implored. Every year, the management committee, with barely suppressed smugness, thanked him for his views, and every year they said they would look into it, a euphemism for focussing on other matters. Tonight, he felt beholden to that smug group of people for being so unwelcoming towards his suggestions, those men who drove their super cars and lived in multi-million-dollar apartments, the same men who pretended to serve residents and care for their condominium while wanting to continue wielding power outside their offices.
Uday jumped, and put his hand to his chest when Ashwin tapped him on his shoulder. “Hey, Dad! Help me with these, please.”
The whiff of freshly roasted cinnamon bark greeted Uday and Ashwin as soon as they opened the boot.
“That’s not her natural smell, for sure,” whispe
red Uday, as he looked around to ensure no one else was in the carpark.
Ashwin whispered back. “Perumal’s idea. He brought several packets, about thirty sticks altogether. Roasted them before throwing a few in each bag. No matter how well the bags are tied and sealed with tape, some smells do escape. Better the fresh aroma of cinnamon than that.” Ashwin pointed to the five bags lying in the suitcase. “There are several other sticks strewn around in here. Must remember to clear them before we return the car.”
Ashwin unzipped the suitcase and handed two of the lightest bags to Uday. “We’ll put them all in the back seat, with Perumal and Babu. Space will be tight, but I can’t see that the men would mind holding them until they’re dumped. Saves us from unloading the suitcase again.”
Uday wasn’t sure if he wanted to know which parts he was carrying. They were all so well-padded with reams of newspapers that it was hard to tell between a quarter of a torso and a few chunks of limbs piled together. All he could think of as he held the bags was how much Sharon deserved to meet such a disgusting end. As he laid the bags on the rubber rugs of the car floor, he felt convinced that imprisonment would be more gruelling for a woman like Tamara Wang. He would torment Tamara by narrating the horrors of Sharon’s last hours by describing them to her in graphic detail. He could neither put Ashwin, nor himself, through yet another killing.
The men were waiting with their luggage—two small suitcases each, containing all their worldly belongings and memories of Singapore—when Ashwin pulled up outside a money remittance shop along Buffalo Road. They wore black clothes and black shoes, as agreed earlier that evening. It made them less visible in dark places. Perumal had joked that it was fortunate that he and Babu had very dark skin, to add to their invisibility. Ashwin didn’t think it was funny but appreciated the reality.