Vish Puri 02; The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing

by Tarquin Hall

  Small chat ensued. Where are the kids? Off at school. Is that Doll in the picture? Yes, she’s already nine and very bright; recently she came in at the top of her class in English. How is the rest of the family? Everyone is well. And work? Ticking along.

  But Uma was not her normal relaxed, chatty self. Clients never came to visit her at home. It had to be serious for one of them to suddenly turn up like this.

  “Madam, I was very surprised to receive your call this morning,” she said in Hindi with a nervous giggle, replenishing their cups.

  “The reason I came is because I believe you might be able to help us,” replied Rumpi.

  “Of course, if there’s anything I can do…”

  “We need some information,” said Mummy in Hindi. “It’s about one of your clients.”

  “Uma, before we ask, I want you to understand that anything you tell us will remain” – here she used the English – “top secret,” added Rumpi. “We would never reveal you as our source of information. Please understand we don’t want to get you into trouble. You can trust us.”

  “Our lips will remain totally sealed,” added Mummy in English.

  By now, the beautician was looking extremely worried. “Did someone make a complaint about me?”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” said Mummy with a reassuring smile. “Everyone is very satisfied with your work.”

  Uma’s eyes widened as a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Then it must be about her I” she declared. “Now I understand. Well, I don’t mind telling you that everyone’s been saying the same thing. That she was behind it. You are talking about the kitty robbery, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but – ”

  “Arti said that it seemed strange she had all that money in her handbag. Big wads of notes and all five hundreds.”

  “Who?” asked Rumpi.

  Before Uma could answer, there was a loud knock on the door and a man’s gruff voice said: “Open up! I’m hungry!”

  “My husband,” Uma said apologetically, getting up from her stool. “He’s working as an overnight security guard. His shift finished at seven.”

  The beautician opened the door a crack, explaining to him in a whisper that she had guests and telling him to go and have breakfast at the dhaba.

  Rumpi caught a fleeting glimpse of his unshaven face and bleary eyes and then the door was closed.

  “So sorry,” said Uma.

  “There was really no need to send him away,” said Rumpi. “The poor man must be tired and needs his sleep.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about him,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure he got plenty last night.” Uma offered them the biscuits. “Now where were we?”

  “You were saying you thought you knew who was behind the robbery,” said Mummy.

  “Oh yes, Bansal Madam. So what’s going to happen to her? Are you going to call the police?”

  “Uma, Mrs. Bansal was not behind the robbery.”

  “You’re sure, madam?”

  “Quite sure,” said Mummy in English.

  The beautician looked disappointed. “Then what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Your share dealing,” answered Rumpi. “I think one of the ladies has been giving you stock market tips. Or perhaps you’ve overheard her talking on her portable device. Either way, you have done extremely well out of it. And who can blame you? Believe me, I would have done the same. But while you have been sensible and not gambled all your winnings, greed has got the better of your client. She owned stock in InfoSoft – must have been a considerable amount – and as you told me during my last treatment, the company recently crashed.”

  Rumpi took a sip of tea. Uma could not decide where to look.

  “The lady in question is married to a senior accountant – he audits a number of big corporations, including InfoSoft, as I confirmed earlier this morning,” continued Puri’s wife. “So, she’s getting her insider information from him – possibly without him realizing. Perhaps he leaves his papers lying around or talks in his sleep. Who knows? The point is that after this lady lost so much, she could not go to him and confess. She had to find a way to cover her losses but without letting anyone know.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “Now, Uma, I’m going to say this lady’s name, and if I’m right and she is the one who has been giving you tips, I would like you to nod your head.”

  Rumpi named the woman in question, but the beautician neither confirmed nor denied her theory. She sat staring at the wall in stunned silence, as if something terrible had just occurred to her.

  ∨ The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing ∧

  Twenty-Two

  Puri reached the DIRE bungalow in Nizamuddin West at ten o’clock. It was the earliest he could expect Ms. Ruchi to come to work under the circumstances.

  She answered his knock with a tear-stained face and a red nose.

  Unlike her remarkable performance last Wednesday, her grief today was genuine.

  “They’ve come?” asked the detective, who had broken the terrible news to her last night over the phone.

  “Everyone is present,” she said in a sad, quiet voice.

  It took the detective’s eyes a minute to adjust to the dimly lit interior.

  In the reception area of the front room, he was pleased to find the three young men he had asked to be present waiting for him.

  All in their early twenties, thin, gangly, plainly dressed and palpably earnest, they, too, bore the shock of their mentor’s murder in their eyes and the stains of their anguish on their cheeks.

  The tallest of the trio was the first to speak. His name was Rupin, a philosophy student at Jawaharlal Nehru University.

  “It was you who played the part of Kali, is it?” guessed Puri.

  “Yes, sir, it was my honor,” he answered with obvious pride, standing respectfully with hands held in front of him.

  “And one of you played the ice cream wallah?”

  “That was my duty,” said the youngest, introducing himself as Peter. “Our colleague Samir was the backup person. He waited at a distance in case something went wrong.”

  As Rupin went on to explain, they were DIRE volunteers and, during the past few years, had often traveled with Dr. Jha to towns and villages in rural India to participate in ‘awareness workshops’ aimed at educating the public about how so-called miracles were done. This had involved mastering a repertoire of magic tricks.

  “I know how to eat lightbulbs and put my hands in boiling oil,” explained Peter.

  “And I could show you how to drive a skewer through your cheek,” volunteered Samir.

  Puri could see why Dr. Jha had chosen these idealistic young men to help perform the Kali illusion. They were bright, confident and fervently dedicated to the cause. Rationalism had become something of a religion to them. It provided purpose, structure and philosophy without all the bells and incense or blood turned to wine.

  The detective asked them to resume their seats and pulled up a chair.

  “We will have to save skewering cheeks for another time,” he said. “For now, it is vital you tell me everything that occurred that day, including how the miracle was performed. Some clue might be there that would help find the murderer.”

  “Sir, we are ready to cooperate in any way,” Rupin said ardently.

  “We would give our lives three times over to see the killer brought to justice!” added Peter.

  “Very good,” said Puri. “Now first thing I want to know. When Dr. Jha was planning to let all and sundry know he was alive and well?”

  “Today, only,” answered Rupin.

  “Why he waited almost one week?”

  “To maximize the media coverage.”

  “It was then you planned to release the video footage, is it?”

  The trio exchanged surprised looks.

  “Video footage, sir?” responded Rupin with a frown.

  “Come, let us not waste time, no,” scolded the detective. “From
my investigation I came to know you recorded video footage of the entire illusion.”

  There was a brief, awkward silence and then Peter said: “How could you know? Only sir” – he was referring to Dr. Jha – “and the four of us present in this room were involved.”

  “I am a detective of many long years’ standing – that is how,” replied Puri pompously.

  This did not satisfy the DIRE team as an explanation and Puri had to elaborate.

  “Firstly, some holes were drilled into one tree adjacent to the murder scene,” he said. “Obviously some bracket had been attached. For what? Yesterday afternoon, only, when I did two and two and came to understand Dr. Jha had faked his own death, I concluded a video camera had been secured to the bracket for purposes of recording the event. Later on, one individual was present at Dr. Jha’s CNG funeral for purposes of video recording, also. That individual was you, Samir.”

  He continued: “Dr. Jha’s intention was to show this video footage on TV to the entire world and appear very much alive as proof that his murder was a fraud. Thus he hoped to create awareness of his cause.”

  Rupin, Peter and Samir said nothing; their eyes appealed to Ms. Ruchi for help.

  She was hovering beside them, clutching a damp handkerchief with which she kept dabbing her tears.

  “Mr. Puri, sir, please understand one thing,” she said. “The video material is under lock and key. Dr. Jha gave strict instructions for the tapes not to be touched in case they got lost or damaged. I cannot release them to you.”

  “Where did he keep them?”

  She hesitated. “They are locked away.”

  “Where exactly?” he pressed her.

  “Please understand, sir. He trusted me to guard them and I must honor his wishes.”

  “You intend for the tapes to remain unseen, is it?”

  “Sir, we have not yet had the opportunity to discuss how to proceed. I would need to ask Mrs. Jha for her wishes and she is totally indisposed at the present time.”

  “Come now, Ms. Ruchi,” said Puri gently but firmly. “There can be no doubt Dr. Jha would want the tapes released to media persons as intended. It is my suggestion you should carry out his plan in the coming days. Meantime, allow me to view the footage. I assure you with hand on heart, and on my mummy-ji’s life also, I will keep their existence and whereabouts top secret. Not another soul will come to know.”

  The DIRE team went into a huddle to discuss his proposal.

  Ten minutes later Puri found himself seated in Dr. Jha’s office in front of a TV and VCR.

  “Sir, planning for the operation began one year back,” explained Rupin before playing the first tape. “It took months of preparation and rehearsal to get it right. Like magicians or Godmen, we had to practice the illusion over and over again to ensure it was believable and worked faultlessly. Everyone had to be fooled into believing they had seen a real apparition.”

  “You see, sir,” added Ms. Ruchi, who was standing with the others behind Puri, “Dr. Jha was planning to retire next month. But before withdrawing from public life, he wanted to stage a spectacular event, something that would gain the attention of the whole of India. His idea was to make the TV channels work for our cause for a change, instead of those of Godmen and other so-called miracle workers.”

  The first sequence showed Rupin donning a Kali outfit: black cloak, hideous wig surmounted by a crown, garland of skulls, and a frightening mask complete with long red tongue. The volunteer also strapped on an extra pair of arms, which worked mechanically, seemingly of their own accord. One of the fake hands gripped a latex head complete with bloody neck and popping-out eyes.

  Dr. Jha appeared in the frame, smiling and chatting, as he timed Rupin taking off all the regalia.

  The sight of him caused everyone to fall silent. Ms. Ruchi started sobbing again.

  “You’ll have twenty seconds to get the arms off,” the Guru Buster could be heard saying.

  In the next sequence, Rupin fastened a voice distorter with a mini amplifier around his neck.

  The picture abruptly cut to Peter standing next to an ice cream cart. The camera revealed that it had been customized. The sides came off and there were two compartments inside.

  “One of them held the canister of liquid carbon dioxide and a theatrical fog-making machine,” explained Samir.

  “And the other?”

  “We’ll come to that, sir,” said Ms. Ruchi.

  More footage followed of Rupin fire-breathing using paraffin, then a sequence in which he and Dr. Jha practiced the moment of death using a stage sword with a collapsing blade.

  “That was purchased in the USA,” explained Rupin. “Nowadays such props and tricks are available by mail order. We often come across traveling ‘holy men’ using them. Recently we met a fakir who made coins float in the air. He was using a kit sold by an American magician called Kris Nevling.”

  Another tape was inserted into the machine. A static shot of the spot where the illusion had been performed appeared – evidently the view from the camera mounted on the tree. There was no one in the frame – the Laughing Club members were yet to arrive. A couple of crows hopped around in the foreground. A pye-dog sauntered behind, stopped and yawned. Beyond, Rajpath was shrouded in mist. The time code read 05:43.

  “Sir, the camera was disguised inside a bird box and attached to the side of the tree on a bracket,” explained Rupin. “We placed it there the night before. It sent a remote signal to the recorder. That in turn was inside Dr. Jha’s car at India Gate.”

  At 05:55, Professor Pandey appeared, smiling as usual, along with Ved Karat. Mr. Gupta was next. Then Mr. Sharma. Last on the scene was Dr. Jha, who stood in profile to the left of the camera.

  At 06:33 all the members apart from Sharma started to laugh uncontrollably at Pandey’s knock-knock joke.

  The detective asked if laughing gas had been used.

  “No, sir, Professor-ji used the power of suggestion. Over many months, he had conditioned the other members of the club to laugh whenever he laughed. One of the exercises he did was called Knock-Knock Laughter.”

  “And when the fog appeared and both Professor Pandey and Dr. Jha said they couldn’t move their feet…”

  “Same thing, sir. The suggestion made the others think they were rooted to the spot. It worked like post-hypnotic suggestion.”

  “But on Mr. Sharma it had no effect.”

  “It was his first time at the Laughing Club.”

  “You were not expecting him?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Must be you got worried he would ruin everything, no?”

  “Not really, sir. We attracted all the stray dogs and they surrounded the group and that kept everyone from running away. There was always a possibility some newcomer might turn up.”

  “Actually, sir, we were expecting more members to come, maybe another four or five, but it turned out a lot of people were away or busy, so it was a low turnout,” added Peter.

  The tape started again. The fog formed on the ground. There was a bright, blinding flash, the work of a customized fountain firework. Sharma fell back and dropped his glasses. And then Rupin, aka Kali, appeared, floating through the air.

  It was no wonder the other members had been so convinced by the illusion, Puri thought to himself.

  “When questioned by my good self, Professor Pandey denied magnetism was used,” the detective said after asking for the tape to be paused. “But yesterday, only, I probed the ground with my trusty Swiss Army knife and detected some metal hidden under the grass. Now tell me: How all the levitation was done?”

  Puri’s question was met with silence and more anxious looks. Eventually it was Ms. Ruchi who answered.

  “Sir, this is something we cannot reveal at the present time. The levitation was Professor Pandey’s department,” she insisted over Puri’s protests. “The invention he used was his own. The rights now belong to his sister. It will be up to her to decide whether to go public or not. You are
welcome to her number if you like.”

  She wrote it down for him as they watched the last few minutes of the tape – the climactic moment when the sword was ‘plunged’ into Dr. Jha; the second flash in which Kali disappeared; the pandemonium that followed.

  “So while others were distracted, you slipped away,” he said to Rupin.

  “Yes, sir,” answered the volunteer. “I was able to take off the arms, boots and costume in under one minute. Then we wheeled away the ice cream cart, using the tree trunk as cover. Naturally, my face was still black, but it did not attract any undue attention. I easily passed for a rag picker.”

  “You took the bird box and camera, also?”

  “That we retrieved later once the crowd had formed.”

  “Ved Karat told me he felt Dr. Jha’s pulse but could not find one. How was it done?” he asked.

  “Simple, sir.” It was Rupin speaking again. “Dr. Jha had a golf ball taped to his underarm. As he was playing dead, he squeezed it against his chest. The pressure slowed his pulse enough to be undetectable. It’s an old guru trick. They use it during yoga to prove they have reached an elevated state.”

  Puri asked that the tape be rewound.

  “Concerning the ice cream cart – you said two compartments were there. But you failed to tell what all was kept in the second.”

  “It was a small petrol generator,” answered Ms. Ruchi, hesitating. “But – ”

  “What all it was used for is a question for Professor Pan-dey’s sister, is it?” Yes, sir.

  The detective nodded. “Why no one heard it? The generator, that is. Those things make quite a racket, no?”

  “Two reasons, sir,” volunteered Rupin. “One, the ice cream cart was sound insulated. Two, we made all the dogs howl using a high-frequency emitter.”

  “What is that exactly?”

  “A dog whistle, sir. In some of the members it caused headaches.”

  “And the crows? On the tape so many of them can be seen flying overhead.”