THE BUTCHER OF BENARES

by MAHENDRA JAKHAR

  Hawa Singh removed his shoes before he entered the temple. Ruby followed suit. There was a large idol of Lord Krishna inside. The statue bore a benign face, its lips stretched in welcome, its merry eyes all-knowing.

  At the idols’ feet was a large brass plate with slightly curved sides, as in a thali, brimming with blood. In the centre of the tray was a severed human head.

  Its head faced the idol, as if in supplication. Shoulder-length hair fell to the scarlet pool in which it stood, its ends soaked. Ruby almost collapsed to her knees, but Hawa Singh caught her in time, and firmly held her up till she calmed down. She fought to regain her equilibrium, ashamed that she’d acted like a non-professional instead of a seasoned FBI agent.

  They began a thorough examination of the precincts. The first thing Ruby encountered was a long sword with a bloodied blade, the probable instrument of murder. It was unusually shaped, rather like an elongated Cross.

  The floor bore bloodied footprints, too, and Hawa Singh summoned Gaya and the forensics to take copies.

  ‘Who discovered the body, Sharma?’ Hawa Singh asked.

  ‘Sir, the control room received an anonymous call. I was patrolling so I was relayed the information, and got here at 4.25 am. Later, a few Doms collected here, but I cleared the ghat of them, and all other devotees and visitors.’

  The forensics were about to wrap the head and remove it from the thali, when Hawa Singh stopped them with a gesture. He hadn’t looked at it sufficiently closely. One of the forensic experts nudged the large brass plate towards them, to directly face Hawa Singh and Ruby. They well knew that person. They had met him and had spoken to him. They had heard many stories about him.

  It was the head of the very man they were chasing. The Butcher, Manvendra Singh.

  The cannibal had been sacrificed at the altar of God.

  *

  The newspapers were filled with front page articles about the finding of the ancient manuscript of the Bhrigu-Samhita, the reports dwelling extensively on Maharishi Bhrigu’s drawings of the solar system, the horoscope chart of Krishna, and the consequent establishment of Benares’ unrivalled antiquity the world over. Some of the reporters had drawn their own conclusions: the Vatican never wanted this to come out and had sent its own assassins to kill the Kashi Naresh and steal the manuscript from his keeping. They didn’t care to go into why the Vatican’s hired assassins got killed mysteriously themselves.

  There were reports that spoke about Christ’s teachings related to karma and rebirth, deemed unacceptable by the Church. One Hindu reporter went on to write that Christianity in fact emerged from Hinduism, and that Hinduism was the mother of all religions.

  The people of Benares rejoiced while the TV channels went wild, broadcasting debates between representatives of the Christian community nationwide and Hindu scholars.

  There was no official word from the Vatican. The historians argued on the authenticity of the original Bhrigu-Samhita. Hindu evangelists proudly asserted that Maharishi Bhrigu came up with the drawings of the solar system much before the West knew of its existence. Suddenly, the world was big on Hinduism.

  SSP Neeraj Thakur may have garnered all the media spaces he had desired, but he wasn’t exactly overjoyed. In his office, there were no exultations. ‘I told you from the start that you were chasing the wrong man,’ he shouted, his face purple.

  Hawa Singh looked around at the other police officers in the room, who weren’t daring to speak. He too, had nothing to say, but he forced himself to speak coherently. ‘All the evidence pointed at Manvendra Singh,’ he managed through taut lips and a dry mouth. ‘The method of killing, the fingerprints, the traces of marijuana, the history of mental deterioration and the turning to cannibalism. Everything fitted so perfectly.’

  ‘You have nothing to work on,’ retorted the SSP. ‘The one and only suspect you were chasing is slaughtered himself. We have reached a dead end.’

  ‘Sir,’ ventured ACP Shishir Jha, ‘maybe you were right—that the killer could be a Christian. He used a Cross to kill on sacred Hindu sites.’

  The SSP nodded, pleased. ‘Yes, we need to check on all the Christians in Benares. They are a small population here and it won’t be difficult to round them up. Maybe we’ll come up with something—for a change.’

  ‘It is unlikely a Christian would have drawn horoscope charts, or would have knowledge of Vedic astrology,’ argued Hawa Singh.

  ‘Then we have nothing to work on,’ the SSP interrupted rudely. ‘I’m going to lose my job, do you understand? The Chief Minister is right on my back. I’ll have to report this new murder to him.’

  ‘Both Kashi Naresh Maharaja Abhay Narayan Singh and his brother have been brutally murdered,’ observed ACP Shishir Jha. ‘The killer seems to be targeting the royal family, in addition to white Christians.’

  ‘Why did he take away the hearts from the victims’ bodies?’ Sub-Inspector Gaya Prasad Sharma uttered the question on everyone’s mind.

  Hawa Singh had an answer. ‘The hearts are his trophies,’ he said plainly. ‘You remember the story of the ancient dacoit-turned-Buddhist monk Angulimaal, who used to collect the fingers of his victims? There have been many other killers who collected body parts as souvenirs. We saw that in the collection of Suryadev Singh and his father B.P. Singh, too.’

  ‘We seem to know everything that the killer has done, but not who he is. We are still nowhere close to finding him,’ said the SSP, glumly.

  What have we missed? Hawa Singh tried desperately to sort through the facts at hand. Surely, those matching fingerprints should have been by themselves conclusive?

  There was something hidden in those fingerprints. Then, he remembered the handprint on the wall.

  Hawa Singh rushed out, calling back to Ruby, ‘I’ve got it. Come with me.’

  *

  They were inside Saraswati Bhawan at Ramnagar Fort.

  ‘Last time we were here I saw you looking at the preserved handprints of the royal family. That should also have the handprint of Manvendra Singh,’ said Hawa Singh.

  Ruby hurried to the wall behind the shelves of artefacts. ‘Here they are, Singh.’

  They looked at the handprints and the names under them. They traced them to those of Maharaja Vibhuti Narayan Singh, and then as they moved further along the wall, to the handprints of Abhay Narayan Singh and his brother, Manvendra Singh.

  The shape of the latter’s suggested that the owner had been an artistic person, with long, slender fingers. It was close to the thumb area that they got the clearest image.

  ‘You mean to say that someone faked his prints on the knife, axe and in the file?’ asked Ruby agitatedly.

  Hawa Singh was calm. ‘Well, it seems like it now. If I am wrong, it will all have truly come to nothing.’

  Ruby took the print from the wall on a transparent tape that she pasted over it and carefully removed. She then compared it in detail with the prints taken from the knife, the axe and the file at Sparrow Mental Institute.

  ‘They don’t match at all!’ she cried.

  ‘I knew it,’ Hawa Singh said through gritted teeth, his colour heightening.

  ‘What does it mean?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘That the person locked up at Sparrow’s mental institute was not Manvendra Singh. His face was deliberately cut up so no one would recognize him. He was kept on drugs and maybe even mentally brainwashed into believing that he was Manvendra Singh, brother to the king of Benares. Slowly, over time, he may have even been taught to believe he was the Butcher.’

  ‘So someone locked up that person, with his fingerprints recorded in the file, under the identity of Manvendra Singh,’ Ruby sounded almost incredulous. ‘Then where is the real one?’

  ‘Manvendra was the one who’d gain most by faking his own identity. It’s known all over Benares that Manvendra lost his mental balance and was admitted to the Sparrow Mental Institute. It seems he somehow contrived to lock up another person in his place. While he roamed around and killed freely,’
said Hawa Singh.

  ‘Does that mean Manvendra is in fact the Butcher?’

  ‘Manvendra Singh is also one of the greatest exponents of Vedic astrology as well as of Marma-Adi,’ said Hawa Singh slowly. ‘The drawing of horoscope charts suggests knowledge of the first. The killings, the wrenching out hearts and beheadings without a single sign of struggle are clear indication that someone used Marma-Adi to paralyze the victims.’

  ‘He is part of the royal family,’ Ruby countered. ‘The people of Benares know him and recognize him by face. So he couldn’t just walk around the city freely.’

  ‘Well, we know by now that he used to resort to various disguises. He could be anywhere. Maybe that’s why he killed in darkness and anonymity,’ said Hawa Singh.

  ‘However will we find him?’ asked Ruby.

  Hawa Singh looked at the handprint on the wall and said, ‘Just as a criminal is drawn back to the scene of the crime, that maniac will also return to his home.’

  CHAPTER 40

  The gravel crunched under their feet as they hurried to the Institute. Inside all was quiet, despite the previous night’s fiasco. They moved up the stairs and gently knocked at the door of Dr Sudha Krishnamurthy, CMO, Sparrow Mental Institute. There was no reply.

  Hawa Singh pushed open the door of the office. There was no one inside. The place had been tidied up, although there were still a few glass pieces lying in a corner. The files had been stacked neatly back in place. The framed picture of Sudha’s family had a cracked glass. One of the edges of the table had traces of blood.

  They had not received any information about Sudha’s condition. They didn’t even know whether she had survived or not. However, they were there because Hawa Singh was sure that was the place to look for the missing link he so desperately wanted.

  As they stood there blankly, Dr Shruti Srivastava walked in. Seeing them, she looked at first amazed, then quickly regained her composure to ask, ‘How is it that you are here?’

  ‘We’re sorry to bother you, but we need to meet Dr Sudha,’ said Hawa Singh. ‘I hope she is well?’

  Dr Shruti gave a slight nod. ‘Yes, she somehow survived. She is in her quarters. I’ll take you there.’

  They followed her through the long-winding corridors and across the lawns towards the staff quarters. At the residence of the CMO, Dr Shruti asked them to wait while she went in to see if Dr Sudha would like to meet them. Ten minutes later, she returned and invited them in.

  They went in to see a pale and weakened Sudha up on a couch, a quilt wrapped around her. There was an improvised table across her lap, on which she was busy signing documents.

  ‘It’s so good to see you back at work,’ said Ruby, cheerfully.

  Sudha smiled back. ‘Good to see you too. I have to sign these salary cheques and daily reports of patients. I’m not allowed to die.’

  They all smiled. Dr Shruti asked to leave, telling them, ‘I have to administer medicines to all the patients. I can’t keep them waiting—or Dr Sudha won’t sign my cheque!’

  ‘You’d better not keep them waiting,’ said Sudha sternly. Shruti almost ran out.

  Hawa Singh sat down on a proffered chair and rested his back against it. ‘There’s one thing I want to understand,’ he said, getting straight to the point. ‘Why did Manvendra attack you?’

  ‘It seems he held me responsible for his condition,’ said a serenely smiling Sudha. ‘He was locked up and chained. In a sense, the institute had become a prison for him and he desperately wanted to escape. Finally, he succeeded.’

  Hawa Singh let the answer sink in. It was still short of what he wanted.

  Ruby quickly picked up the slack. ‘When was he admitted to the institute?’ she asked.

  ‘It was almost two-and-a-half years ago.’

  ‘That was the time you had just joined the Sparrow Research Institute,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Yes, around that time.’

  Ruby chewed on her lower lip, then asked, ‘When exactly was his face disfigured?’

  Sudha paused to recollect. ‘I think it was within the first month itself.’

  Hawa Singh took it from there. ‘Did Dr Binod Pradhan attend to Manvendra right from the start?’

  ‘Dr Pradhan was an expert on schizophrenia and had done research on cannibalism. He was the perfect man for the job.’

  Hawa Singh and Ruby were in perfect sync as one took over from other smoothly.

  ‘Dr Pradhan told us that he gave marijuana to Manvendra Singh to calm his nerves. Is that a usual practice?’ asked Ruby.

  Dr Sudha looked stunned. ‘I was never informed about it!’

  ‘Did you ever meet a local tourist guide called Kanhaiya?’ persisted Hawa Singh. ‘He supplied people with marijuana and opium.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that I’m a drug addict?’ shouted Dr Sudha.

  ‘I never said that,’ said Hawa Singh calmly.

  Ruby took out her phone and showed Sudha a picture of Kanhaiya on it. ‘This is Kanhaiya. Did you ever see him around this place?’

  Dr Sudha looked at the picture carefully. ‘Yes, I think I saw him once with Dr Pradhan. There seemed no reason to suspect him of anything.’

  ‘Okay, that clears up one thing. This Kanhaiya did come here to supply marijuana to Dr Pradhan,’ said Hawa Singh.

  ‘Are you charging me with smuggling drugs?’ Sudha flared up again.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Hawa Singh.

  They had deliberately hidden the information about the murder of the man who supposedly went by the name of Manvendra Singh.

  There was a sudden draught of wind through the open window. The pile of cheques on the table flew about and Sudha hurriedly picked up a heavy paperweight to keep them in place. Some escaped to the floor, and Hawa Singh swiftly picked them, pinning them under a book.

  In that sudden movement, Hawa Singh noticed Dr Sudha’s feet barely visible below the quilt. A toe on one foot was missing.

  Sudha caught him looking at it and said, ‘I was a child in a small village in Tamil Nadu, when, while playing one day, I accidentally burnt my toe. The nearest hospital was more than 100 kilometres away, and hardly any public transport available. So by the time we reached the hospital, my toe was beyond repair and the doctor had to amputate it. That was the time I decided to become a doctor, to cure others. Destiny had slightly different plans for me, so I landed up a psychotherapist.’

  ‘You are still a doctor, treating the mentally ill,’ said Ruby, appeasingly.

  Dr Sudha nodded. ‘I try my best, but the likes of Manvendra make me feel like a failure.’

  ‘Where would he go?’ asked Hawa Singh, returning to matters at hand.

  ‘I really have no idea. He was not close to his brother, the Kashi Naresh. He loved to spend time with Aghoris, tantriks or reading up texts on Vedic astrology and occult sciences.’

  ‘Could he be biding his time, planning other killings?’ asked Ruby.

  Ruby noticed that this sudden question had jolted Sudha. Her eyebrow twitched and there was a slight movement under the skin on her cheek, indicating hidden fury. Then it all subsided, and she was back in control.

  ‘I have no idea what he is up to,’ she said impassively.

  ‘Did you interact with him often?’ asked Hawa Singh.

  Ruby fired another question almost immediately after. ‘You must have had therapy sessions with him. What did you notice in him?’

  For a moment Sudha sat quietly collecting her thoughts, and then said, ‘There are very few cases when a doctor gives up. This was one such case. With my sessions I realized Manvendra would never heal. He reacted like a man-eater who had tasted blood. One would have to kill him to stop him. No amount of medication would help. He started attacking the staff, cut his face and became more and more violent. Finally, we had to chain him and maybe that’s one reason Dr Pradhan resorted to using marijuana or opium on him—even if it was illegal.’

  ‘You think Abhay Narayan Singh will ever accept him back in the family?’ a
sked Hawa Singh.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘One of the things we noticed was that he had disturbed all the files in your office. What could he have been looking for?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘I think he was looking for his own file. He wanted to destroy all his records and then disappear. He didn’t want to be known as a lunatic and preferred to be remembered as a part of the royal family.’

  Hawa Singh looked directly at Sudha. ‘Do you think Manvendra could be the Butcher, the serial-killer we are looking for?’

  Sudha didn’t show any reaction and there was nothing for Ruby to read.

  ‘I can’t even imagine such a thing.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Like I said, he was chained and locked shut. It would be impossible for him to go out kill someone and then sneak back in.’

  ‘Is it possible that Dr Pradhan was helping him?’ asked Hawa Singh.

  This time Sudha looked truly shocked. ‘Dr Pradhan was trying to help him, turn the cannibal into a human being. He would never do that,’ replied Dr Sudha.

  ‘Would it be possible for Manvendra Singh to go out and kill the king?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Is this some sort of interrogation?’ Dr Sudha was visibly annoyed. ‘What kind of questions are you asking? I can’t start to assume things. He is mentally ill and is capable of doing anything. He might do nothing, or he might just kill himself. There could be umpteen choices.’

  They sat there for a while quietly.

  Finally, Sudha broke the silence. ‘Any more questions? I have a lot of pending work to finish.’

  Hawa Singh and Ruby looked at each other. ‘No, none.’ They got up to leave. ‘Thank you for your time, Doctor,’ said Ruby.

  Sudha kept sitting there, her smile returning.

  *

  At the forensic lab, Hawa Singh handed Ruby the paperweight that he had pocketed from Sudha’s room. ‘I saw her clearly holding it at the top. It’ll have her prints.’

  Ruby started taking the prints from the paperweight with her handy fingerprint kit. While Hawa Singh checked on the footprint they had taken from the inner sanctorum of Adi Keshwa temple, where they’d found the Butchered head.