THE BUTCHER OF BENARES

by MAHENDRA JAKHAR

  Their lifestyle had confounded the greatest of spiritual gurus. The Nagas tried to emulate the life of Lord Shiva—a mystic figure most often misunderstood.

  They moved through the fumes of marijuana, and Hawa Singh found himself standing in front of Baba Ramtirath.

  Baba took a long drag from his chillum and threw out a dense cloud of smoke. ‘So, what are you looking for, officer?’ asked Baba Ramtirath in what was clearly an American accent.

  Hawa Singh felt awkward in the mass of naked men and mumbled, ‘I wanted to talk to you regarding the murder of an American woman.’

  Baba gave him a look and then nodded, saying, ‘Why don’t you sit down and be comfortable?’

  The local papers had covered the murder of the white girl and everyone knew about it. However, the findings of the autopsy were not yet made public. Many a time, the herd of inquisitive journalists had tried to charge on Hawa Singh, but he had so far escaped unscathed.

  Hawa Singh sat on the ground facing the blue-eyed American, introduced himself and then updated him on events surrounding the murder. They both stared at each other as the smoke-filled air hung between them.

  Finally, Baba Ramtirath spoke. ‘Do you know why we smoke so much?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘We want to keep a curtain of smoke between ourselves and the world. There are times when people desperately try to break our order.’ He smiled to himself.

  ‘Did Eva meet you personally to get that autograph on the picture?’

  ‘Oh yes, she did come around ten days back, when we had just come into Benares. Everyone wanted to come for my darshan and she took an appointment to meet me personally. She was interested in Hindu astrology, especially the Bhrigu-Samhita, and wanted me to explain it all to her.’

  Hawa Singh looked dumbfounded. ‘Bhrigu-Samhita?’

  Baba Ramtirath took off his spectacles and carefully polished them with a soft cloth. He then looked at Hawa Singh and explained, ‘The Bhrigu-Samhita is an astrological classic attributed to Maharishi Bhrigu. It was written in pre-Vedic times. It is said to contain predictions on current and future lives, as well as information on past ones. Maharishi Bhrigu had given a system of calculation, alongside planetary positions, with which one could make accurate predictions.’

  ‘So this Eva, an astronomy researcher, wanted to learn astrology?’

  Baba Ramtirath laughed out loud. ‘That’s what India is all about. Everyone gets attracted to this land because of its mysteries. I took Eva to be just another of those foreigners who are here on a trip. Most of them enjoy all this and then get back to their lives in the West.’

  ‘She didn’t go back to her life,’ said Hawa Singh.

  Baba Ramtirath nodded, looking around at the throng of sadhus. He turned to Hawa Singh and said, ‘I knew that she wouldn’t live long.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘While I was explaining astrology to her, I drew out her horoscope and could see clearly that soon she would be dead. Her time was up.’

  Hawa Singh was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke. ‘A few pieces of paper were found inside Eva’s stomach with some drawings and chants on them.’

  ‘Ah, it must be the mrityunjay-yantra that I had given her. I had asked her to keep it close to her. It was meant to protect her.’

  ‘She seemed to have taken things so literally that she ate it. It was close to her all right, but it didn’t protect her,’ said Hawa Singh.

  ‘When one’s time is up, nothing can stop it. Death finds its way.’

  Baba Ramtirath took a long drag on his chillum and exhaled heavily. He then offered the chillum to Hawa Singh.

  The chillum was filled with the best marijuana from the fields in Himachal. As he took a long drag, Hawa Singh could feel weightlessness taking him over—he was floating in the air sitting cross-legged.

  The trance was broken by Baba Ramtirath. ‘So what are you looking for?’

  Hawa Singh looked at him under eyelids that felt paradoxically heavy. ‘I suspect that some Hindu fanatic was involved in the murder.’

  ‘To me it looks like the work of some orthodox Christian who planted the Holy Cross in her heart.’

  Hawa Singh looked around and realized that most of the Naga sadhus didn’t understand a word of English, so he continued, ‘Just to tell you she worked with the Vatican directly under the Pope.’

  ‘Then you should ask the Pope. He seems to have all the answers.’

  Hawa Singh chuckled. ‘You, along with these sadhus, were the only ones present in the Ganges when her body was found.’

  ‘Are you saying that I’m a suspect?’ asked Baba Ramtirath.

  ‘I’m trying to make a list.’

  Baba Ramtirath smiled, ‘You’re an interesting man. Do you know these Nagas can cut you into pieces at the slightest flick of my finger?’

  ‘I just love to jump into the lion’s den,’ smiled Hawa Singh.

  Baba looked at him with his crystal-blue eyes, ‘Finally, I have met a true man. You seem to have already tasted death.’

  ‘I’m half-dead. They call me the Ghost,’ laughed Hawa Singh.

  ‘So tell me, dear Ghost, what makes you think I could have killed her?’ asked Baba Ramtirath.

  Hawa Singh was quiet for a moment before speaking. ‘It looks like your sadhus may have carried the body in that dark hour to leave it in the Ganges. It looked like a sacrificial killing, a ritual in which her heart was removed.’

  Baba spoke softly, ‘Your simple mind came up with a simple calculation—strange men perform strange rituals. Let me tell you, the Naga sadhus might portray themselves to be fiery but they are the most peace-loving men. The Nagas were organized into a sect by Adi Shankara in the fifth century BC. We are the ultimate protectors of the Sanatan Dharma, or what some call the Hindu religion. The killing of a fellow human being is totally against Hinduism and we would never commit such an act.’

  Hawa Singh nodded, but added, ‘I have seen many loving fathers, brothers and relatives commit the most heinous crimes. There are times when the human mind goes out of control when it is filled with rage, and there are times when the human mind coolly calculates and plans. Then there are those individuals whose minds are shadowed by the veil of religion, traditions and rituals. They prove to be the most dangerous.’

  ‘There is a whole world of difference between what is and what seems,’ countered Baba. ‘It’s all an illusion. You are trying to use your logic and reasoning, but it won’t work. Don’t forget, that day was also one of the most auspicious days in the Hindu calendar.’

  Hawa Singh looked puzzled.

  Baba spoke with a smile and twinkling eyes, ‘The fourteenth day of January, or Makar Sankranti, apart from being a harvest festival, is also regarded as the beginning of an auspicious phase. It marks the end of an inauspicious period which, according to the Hindu calendar, begins around mid-December. It is believed that any auspicious and sacred ritual can be sanctified this day onwards.’

  ‘Sankranti is the Sanskrit word in Hindu astrology which refers to the transmigration of the Sun from one Rashi—or sign of the zodiac—to another. Hence, there are twelve such Sankrantis in all. However, the Sankranti festival usually refers to Makar Sankranti or the transition of the Sun from Dhanu Rashi, or Sagittarius, to Makar Rashi, or Capricorn.’

  ‘The winter solstice marks the beginning of the gradual increase in the length of days. Scientifically, the shortest day of the year is around the twenty-first or twenty-second day of December, after which the days begin to get longer and the winter solstice begins. Hence, the Uttarayana, northern movement of the Sun, is actually 21 December, which was originally the day of Makar Sankranti too. But because of the Earth’s tilt of 23.45 degrees and sliding of equinoxes, Ayanamsa, longitudinal change, occurs. This has caused Makar Sankranti to slide further down the ages. A thousand years ago, Makar Sankranti was on 31 December and is now on 14 January. Five thousand years later, it shall be by the end of February, while in 9,000 years it shall come in June. The dates may change
but its importance will not. A Hindu would not kill on such an auspicious day.’

  ‘A fanatic Hindu might kill just to mark the auspicious day and to show its might to the Holy Cross,’ argued Hawa Singh.

  Baba nodded thoughtfully, saying, ‘You will have to move beyond the borders of knowledge and science and step into the world of faith and God, to get this one. Religion and reasoning don’t go together.’

  ‘Whatever might be, I want to request that you and your followers don’t leave Benares till the case is solved.’

  ‘Well, that might take an eternity—and I don’t have the luxury of all that time.’

  Hawa Singh got up saying, ‘I won’t keep you waiting.’

  He turned to leave and saw long, sharp swords in the hands of the assembled sadhus. It would take one strike to separate the head from the rest of the body with one of those. Hawa Singh would disappear forever. The Nagas were waiting for a word from their leader.

  ‘There will be time to kill. Time to fight and time to sacrifice,’ declared Baba Ramtirath.

  CHAPTER 4

  Hawa Singh walked towards the SSP’s office, adjusting his retrieved Colt at his back with some relief, and covering it with his jacket. He could hear a cacophony of laughter, clapping, people shouting at the top of their voices in Hindi and English. He had heard this kind of commotion too often and knew it was going to be a scene typical of any press conference. The herd had arrived.

  He opened the door to see an army of mouths munching on sweets and slurping colas. In between, they threw questions at the police team sitting in front. Hawa Singh saw Neeraj Thakur, the SSP, sitting alongside the Deputy Superintendent of Police, and another five junior officers. Between them sat a young girl, dressed sharply in a grey suit and white shirt.

  She wore fiery red lipstick and her hair was finely cut. She was pretty, with big dark eyes, a shapely nose and high cheekbones. It was clear that she worked out regularly—unlike Hawa Singh, who sought nothing more for his body than survival.

  It was an impromptu press conference called by the SSP to introduce this FBI agent to the press. Ruby Malik was half-Pakistani and half-American, the closest the FBI could find to an Indian. Back in the US, they didn’t differentiate between Indians and ‘Pakis’, anyway.

  Her very introduction had caused a furore among the herd. They were trying their best to shake up and stir the unknown fear and mania that they were so good at creating. Many frivolous questions were being flung at the woman from across the room.

  Q. Do you think, being as you are a Pakistani, you will be able to do justice to the investigation?

  A. Yes, I do.

  Q. Have you ever been to India before?

  A. No.

  Q. Do you understand India and its culture?

  A. No.

  Q. Where do your loyalties lie, with Pakistan or with the US?

  A. With my work.

  Q. Do you think the Indian police are not capable of handling the investigation?

  A. I’m here only to assist.

  Q. What do you know about Benares?

  A. Nothing.

  Q. Do you like Indian food or American food?

  A. I eat to live!

  Q. What did you learn at the FBI?

  A. A lot!

  Q. Would you prefer to shoot the killer or arrest him?

  A. I abide by the laws.

  Q. You are so beautiful… were you a fashion model before joining the FBI?

  A. No.

  Q. Are you interested in modelling, or in Bollywood?

  A. No.

  Q. How do you keep yourself so fit? Would you like to give us any tips on dieting and exercise?

  A. Run.

  Q. Have you seen any Hindi films?

  A. No.

  Q. Who are your favourite actors and actresses?

  A. We better get working.

  Hawa Singh loved her simple, straightforward answers. It showed that she was not here on a tourist visa or to while away the time. She meant business.

  The SSP felt the cold vibes between the journos and Ruby. The moment he saw Hawa Singh, he got up and called out, ‘Look, we have Hawa Singh here. Come, Hawa Singh.’

  Hawa Singh felt awkward, hating to stand in front of the pen-pushers, and more so to answer their inappropriate questions. He looked at Ruby and she smiled at him. He was too taken aback to smile back.

  ‘Let me introduce you both. Ruby, this is Hawa Singh, and this is Ruby,’ said the SSP with a big smile.

  Ruby got up to shake hands with Hawa Singh. He saw that she looked about five feet and eleven inches tall. She had a firm grip. After a very long time, he felt a sense of security and comfort as she held his hand.

  The SSP was declaring to the media persons, ‘Hawa Singh from the Delhi Crime Branch and Ruby Malik from the FBI will be assisting us in the full investigation. However, let me make it very clear that it is our team that will lead, as this is our territory.’

  Hawa Singh knew the SSP was playing his cards smartly. He was putting Ruby and him right in the dock, while ensuring his chair was safe. If the investigation failed, it would be Hawa Singh and Ruby who would be questioned.

  ‘We will keep updating you all, from time to time, as the investigation proceeds. I’m sure that we’ll be able to catch the killer very soon,’ the SSP smoothly assured the press.

  The herd munched on the free chips and nuts, and downed their cokes. Crunch. Slurp. Breaking news.

  Ruby looked at Hawa Singh and said with her American accent, ‘So let’s get working.’

  Hawa Singh nodded.

  For Hawa Singh the press conference was the most idiotic move by the SSP. He had displayed the faces of the investigating team to the killer. Either he’d escape before they laid their hands on him or he’d go out of his way to get them out of the way.

  CHAPTER 5

  It was around five in the evening. The cold wind coming in from the Ganges had chilled everyone to the bone. Women scurried on their errands covered in layers of sweaters and shawls, bargaining for fresh vegetables. The men sat around bonfires on roadsides, smoking bidis and drinking hot tea laced with ginger, cardamom, tulsi and black pepper.

  The water was bitingly cold. It took some courage to wash even your hands in it. In Benares you could nevertheless see the devout take a full dip in the near-freezing Ganges. Religion was their opium, allowing them to do things they wouldn’t dream of without it. God worked in various ways.

  The children had disappeared from the streets, and were now huddling inside their quilts. The light outside grew diffuse as the sun prepared to bow down to the night. The cows, the street dogs, the cats and the rats were all busy scampering for their last meal before settling in groups to sleep. Only ghosts came out on such nights.

  Hawa Singh walked through the narrow street with long strides. Right behind was Ruby Malik, trying to catch up with him.

  ‘It would be better if you went back to your hotel. I need to check on my father,’ said Hawa Singh, without turning around.

  ‘And I need to look around the city. I need to understand it.’

  ‘There is nothing to understand. There is a killer out there and we have to catch him,’ retorted Hawa Singh.

  A few passers-by stopped to look at Ruby, so smartly dressed—not a common sight in the streets of Benares. The men stood gaping as she strode past with Hawa Singh.

  ‘I have been assigned by the SSP to be with you. We are a team,’ said Ruby.

  Hawa Singh stopped and turned to look at her. ‘I don’t take orders from that SSP—or from anyone else. I prefer to work alone. If you want to be with me, work with me, you’ll have to listen to me and do as I say.’

  ‘I should tell you I don’t like taking orders from anyone either,’ Ruby shot back curtly.

  He looked into her deep dark eyes. He could sense in her the same spirit that ran in his veins. They were people with independent minds, who had their own style of functioning. They were not clerks at desks given to writin
g reams of reports to prove their worth. They preferred to act. Accomplish something. They were rushing to reach an end.

  Such people need to be left alone. They are used to the darkness, the silence, the waiting. They belong to the same family. That of leopards.

  ‘Look, I’m going to meet my father. He is a slightly deranged man. It sometimes gets difficult to control him,’ warned Hawa Singh.

  Ruby’s scarlet lips parted in a big smile as she said, with some excitement, ‘I would definitely like to meet him. And you also need to apprise me on the details of the case.’

  He sensed the same headstrong, stubborn bull’s attitude in her. It was useless to argue with his double.

  They moved ahead silently as Ruby got the view of the narrow galis of Benares. She saw open flowing drains, garbage strewn around with pigs having a party on the leftovers, vendors rushing up to her with their incense sticks and flowers, while the pandits clamoured around her, vying to get a puja done for her at the cheapest rates.

  Hawa Singh kept walking ahead, leaving her to deal with them all. Ruby was not at all used to this kind of attention and she fought her way through the growing crowd around her. It all came to a standstill, when a man, his skin painted black, in a flowing black robe, and holding a long sword, blocked her path.

  Such men dressed themselves as various Hindu gods and goddesses and went around collecting alms from the superstitious. The man in black, with a red tongue lolling out, was emulating Kali Mata. He kept leaping about around her, demanding a thousand rupees to let her move ahead.

  If it had been the streets of Washington, she would only have to flash her FBI badge, to bring the matter to an end. Or if the situation demanded it, kicked the man in the groin and laid him out flat on the ground.

  Here, it was a different world. She was not allowed to carry her pistol. She was, like any other tourist, stuck in a jam. There seemed no way out except to pay this toll to walk in the streets of Benares.

  The man moved his sword over her head. A fine strand of hair got sliced off her head and floated up in the air.