The Astral Alibi

by Manjiri Prabhu

  “Yes, I guess you’re right,” Sonia admitted. “But that was very smart of you.” She smiled at Mohnish.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Although, I haven’t finished yet.” Mohnish took a long satisfied sip from his cup. “The gap between each note and the visits of the ghost to the office has been approximately a month to two months. Which means that his scheduled visit to deliver another threatening note ought to be around this time.”

  Sonia nodded. “I’d love to catch hold of this guy and find out what he has against us!”

  “Exactly what I had in mind. I have a plan. Beginning tomorrow, we take turns and stay on guard here during the night. Sooner or later, he’ll prowl around and then we can nab him!”

  “Excellent idea! I’ll take the first turn tomorrow night!” Jatin enthused.

  “And Nidhi and I’ll take the next!” Sonia added.

  “I think we’ll do it together,” Mohnish suggested mildly.

  “Why? I’m perfectly capable of taking on a make-believe ghost!” Sonia turned a stern eye on him.

  “Absolutely! But I’m not!” Mohnish replied gravely.

  “I don’t believe you!”

  “Let me admit it: I’m scared of the dark! I can’t sit alone for two minutes before the palpitations begin.”

  Sonia scrutinised his face. “You’re not making this up?”

  Mohnish shook his head, his expression serious.

  “All right!” Sonia shrugged. “We’ll keep watch together.”

  “Good, that’s resolved!” Jatin sounded relieved. He was aware that the slightest suggestion of her incapacity would not have gone down well with his Boss.

  He rubbed his hands gleefully. “I can’t wait to give that ghost a rap on his bottom with my hockey stick!”

  “It may happen sooner than you think.” Mohnish rose. “That’s settled, then. I’ve got to go. See you later!”

  Sonia stared at the email. After Mohnish had left, she and Jatin had a delicious early lunch of Pav Bhaji. Now, well satiated, she was checking her email. She was not in the least surprised when she read The Owl’s one-liner.

  “Sonia, I need to meet with you!”

  Brief, and yet it sent the blood in her veins zinging! Varun Thakur had sent two mails last week, each with the same note of urgency, but she had ignored them completely. She didn’t wish to be enmeshed in a web of attraction she had no power to extract herself from. Because she had finally come to terms with the fact that she was far from indifferent to Varun. The Owl drifted in and out of her life like a welcome breeze on a hot day. Her brief encounter with him at Lonavala Station had only proved that she was in grave danger of falling for an international crook. And that would certainly be her worst crime. If she had an iota of sense—and she claimed she had oodles of sense—she would steer clear of the remotest shadow of The Owl. Sever all ties with him. And that was exactly what she had in mind.

  She hit the reply icon and quickly wrote an answer. Brief and concise.

  “I don’t wish to see you. Consider yourself lucky that I have as yet not revealed your emails to the police!”

  She read and reread the response several times. Then, satisfied that the message conveyed her feelings well, she dispatched it and returned to her surfing.

  Jatin was in front of the TV, watching the One Day International Cricket match being played in Chennai. He yelled in joy as someone hit a sixer, and smiled gleefully as the crowd cheered wildly in the stadium. Like all cricket lovers, he was as involved with the match as if he were playing it himself. Sonia was glad that he was gradually getting over the Naina experience. He had the resilience of youth on his side, and very soon Naina would be a hazy memory, Sonia was positive of it. On an impulse, she shut down the computer and joined him.

  “Boss, did you see that hit? It was superb! India just needs fifty runs to win from thirty-five balls! This is going to get more and more exciting!”

  For the next half hour, the atmosphere in the office was electric. Despite her lukewarm interest in the game of cricket, Sonia found herself catching her breath every time the batsman hit the ball, and clapping hard with Jatin as the score rose. Finally, with two balls to go and five runs to make, their eyes were glued to the TV set, as millions of eyes all over India would be. The captain of the opposite team rearranged the players on the field and the baller took his own time, rubbing the ball against his trousers, taking a head start. The batsman took a swipe at the ball, hitting it straight into the audience. A six! And India had won the match! Jatin jumped wildly and Sonia joined him, amazed at the sense of patriotism and pride that swelled in her heart. The stadium was roaring as the game ended and all the players were congratulating one another. Crackers began bursting on F.C.Road, celebrating the success of the Indian team.

  “What a classic win!” Devika declared as she walked in. In jeans and a flamboyant orange woollen top, she looked slick.

  “Fantastic!” Jatin agreed.

  “Only, I wish they wouldn’t spoil the win by creating sound and air pollution,” Sonia remarked. “I wonder where they produce these crackers from, at the drop of a ball?”

  “Boss,” her assistant explained with forced patience, “they keep a stock ready, specially for the matches.”

  “Really? What foresight!” his Boss replied, with a grimace.

  Devika laughed. “Cricket and Hindi films are the twin hearts of our country!”

  “You said it!” Jatin agreed heartily.

  “Are you terribly busy right now?” Devika asked Sonia, on a more serious note.

  “The match is over, the emails are gone, and Nidhi is sleeping.” Sonia smiled.

  “Good. Because I want to ask you to do me a favour,” Devika said.

  “Sure! Let’s go into my office.”

  Devika followed her into the inner office. There, she delved into her handbag and extracted an ornate wooden box with a tiny latch on it. The detective eyed it curiously, but kept silent.

  “About a year ago my grandmother expired. She lived alone here, in Pune. She was a very grand lady, strong and courageous. She raised my mother and her brother single-handedly because my grandfather expired very early in her life. Anyway, I was cleaning up the attic some months ago and discovered this box.” Devika thrust forward the carved box. “Go ahead, open it.”

  Sonia did as she was told. The box was of good wood, the polish gone but the carving still ornate and excellent. She raised the lid. A sheaf of papers, rolled up and held securely by a faded, red satin ribbon, lay inside.

  “They are letters written by my grandmother to a friend. Letters which apparently she never posted, for some private reason. I read them. They are all addressed to a very close male friend and I feel it’s my duty to hand him his property. When you read them, you’ll understand what I mean.”

  “You want me to read these?”

  Devika nodded. “Not only do I want you to read them, I’d be grateful if you could locate this man for me, because I’d feel so much better when I hand those letters over to him.”

  Sonia glanced at the box and touched the letters. She was reluctant to read someone’s private thoughts, especially those of an old lady. It was like invading someone’s sacred space and polluting it.

  “Are you sure you want me to go through them? Can’t you just tell me what’s in them? And we’ll try to find this man?”

  “It’s not that simple. I know it’s a little awkward reading private mail. I felt some qualms, too. But I brushed them aside and I’m glad I did. My grandmother is no more, but she has left behind a task for me to complete. If I hadn’t read these papers, I would never have known why it was so important that they reach her friend.”

  “If you’re so sure…”

  “Oh yes, I’m positive this is the only way. And that you’re the only one who can do this for me. I would never have allowed a stranger to read those letters. It’s you I trust.”

  “Thank you,” Sonia replied simply. “I’ll go through them tonight and let you k
now what will be my course of action.”

  “Great!”

  Sonia spread the letters, each written on a different letter pad, almost all of them fancy. There were five letters, all beautifully written, in different shades of blue ink. They spanned a period of almost twenty years, and despite herself, Sonia experienced a tingling of anticipation.

  The night was cold and she wrapped herself in a warm woollen blanket and picked up the first letter.

  1968, Pune

  Dear Asit,

  I had to write you this letter, specially after what happened last night. I have been a fool!

  I know that I admitted it to you! Admitted that I loved you. Against all my resolve and good sense! How could I? Love is not for the likes of me. And specially not for us. I am writing this to you because I know that I shall never have the courage to say it to your face. This is wrong. Nothing can come out of this. I have two children and they have only me. I know that you’ll say you’ll help me raise them. But you are little more than a kid yourself! There, I said it! I spoke about the huge age difference between us—twenty years! God, you are young enough to be my son! I feel awful ever encouraging you! I can hear you say age makes no difference in love, but it does. And even though my kids love you, society would never accept a relationship like ours. I have faced too much in life and behaved very rashly—rebelled against a stifling lifestyle, eloped, and went against every tradition set down by my “great family”! But I can’t do this. For a while, swept away in fairy-tale love, I really thought that I could. But I forgot one important thing. I am a mother now. I can’t do anything that would put my children to shame.

  That is why I must ask you to leave. I know this is awful and that you have been wonderful to me. You’ve been a good paying guest and I shall have to begin hunting for another tenant. But this can go no further.

  Please go away and never come back, if you really and truly do love me!

  Tara.

  Sonia paused, replacing the letter on the table. Such strong emotions, riddled with guilt. But the letter had never been posted. Why? Did Tara’s courage ultimately fail her? Did her love for this man prove stronger than the laws of attraction laid out by Indian society in the sixties and seventies?

  She picked up another letter and settled against the pillow.

  1970, Pune

  Dear Asit,

  I’m so proud of you! You finally did it! You’re an Engineer! Despite all the upheavals in your life (and mine), you passed your examinations with flying colours. Yes, I’ve been keeping tabs on you, though you never knew it. I mean, not only on a professional front—I am your professor after all—but on a personal front, too. I know you’re out of my life and I know that I managed to convince you to move out. But I can’t help remembering the lovely warm times we all spent in my house for two years.

  My new tenant is a nice girl. She would’ve made you a good friend—certainly better than that fancy doll you’re dating now. But then, it’s none of my business, is it? I wish it was, but it isn’t….

  All the best for you. I hope you do well, in whatever you do. Whether we ever meet again or not. Amrita and Venky send hugs and kisses.

  All my love,

  Tara.

  The next letter was dated several years later. Sonia poured herself a glass of water and drank it before she read the letter.

  Pune, 1980

  Dear Asit,

  Look at the way the years have flown since you returned into my life after your graduation. We started off like old friends and I thought that’s all it would remain. But it didn’t, did it? You proposed to me—a proposal filled with love and sincerity! But I think you’re crazy! I am fifty-five!

  Why did you return? Why did you take up a job in Pune? Why do we have to go through this all over again? Why did I allow you to step back into my life? Now it will be harder to let you go! I know that you’re no longer my student nor my tenant and that you don’t care a damn what society thinks, but I do! For the sake of my children. Please help me to be strong. I love you so much, but I love my children, too! They are adults now and understand a lot of things. They are good souls and would never grudge me happiness, but I don’t wish to put them through the acid test. They are just beginning to enjoy their life, college, friends, and I don’t want to embarrass them. So help me! Go away—go back to your home in Mumbai, pursue your career, do well, marry a nice beautiful girl and settle down. God knows, it’s already too late! But you have to try!

  I shall live the rest of my life with our wonderful memories.

  God bless you,

  Tara.

  A feeling of sadness swept over Sonia. So much agonising over what is right and wrong, what is approved and not. This letter revealed the internal strife of a woman at war with her own feelings and with the trappings of societal behaviour. So much love had burned within her. A love that could have resuscitated and flourished, had the answering call of love been accepted. With a sigh, Sonia picked up another letter. The ink was darker blue and the paper fresher than the others.

  Pune, 1990

  Dear Asit,

  You will be surprised to receive this letter. It’s been ages, hasn’t it? Almost a decade since we last spoke or communicated! I hope you’re doing fine. Are you married? Do you have kids? Are you just as handsome as ever? Are you doing well in your career? How’s the photography going?

  So much time has passed. The memories seem to be fading too fast to hold on to. But I haven’t forgotten anything at all. I do remember you every dawn on 15th August—your birthday. Born on Independence Day—what a great year to be born in and what a great person you are. But I have missed you so much and sometimes the pain of missing was so strong, it left me aching for you!

  I still remember those parties thrown by your friend and the way we danced all night. I remember every detail of those precious moments of the years spent with you, and I thank God for them. As I sit at my window, watching the world race by, my kids all grown and gone on their own paths, doing so well that they have no time to look back, and my grandchildren flourishing—well, I think of you, I think of me—old and haggard, and I wonder if it was worth it. Giving it all up. Our love. Should I have listened to you? Wouldn’t it have been better now? I would have still had you, to talk to, to share my thoughts with, my emotions and pain. A shoulder to lean on, to feel less lonely. I don’t even know where to post this letter to you. I’d like to meet you and have a tête à tête with you—for old times’ sake.

  I wonder if I can without allowing my feelings for you to scare you!

  All my love,

  Tara.

  Sonia’s eyes were moist as she picked up the last letter. It was past midnight, but she felt wide awake. Poor Tara. Lonely, filled with regrets and doubt.

  Pune, 2002

  Dear Asit,

  This may be my last letter to you. I don’t feel too well. I’m seventy-seven, but feel as if I’m a hundred. I still don’t have your address, and perhaps now it’s too late. I can barely hold a pen in my hand. Arthritis is very painful. I wonder what you would think of me today? A lonely old woman, I guess…

  But I will complete this letter. I don’t know what you feel towards me anymore, but I will say this. I always loved you, despite the differences. Though I shall cherish every memory till my last moment, I can’t help wishing that it had been very different for us….

  I have a great family. My grandchildren are wonderful. They deserve the best. And I would like to return to them what I took from my family years ago: my love! Please help me. I trust you implicitly.

  You will always remain in my heart,

  Only yours,

  Tara.

  Sonia brushed away her tears, feeling tremendously disturbed. She gathered the letters and replaced them in the carved wooden box. An all-consuming love, one Tara had given up for her family. Time had run out and the sacrifice had lost its glory. Her own memories were precious to her, but soon they, too, would be dust bunnies, swept away for good
…. With a deep sadness in her heart, Sonia switched off the light and settled against her pillow for a restive night.

  “You were right! We have to hand these letters over to the rightful owner,” Sonia told Devika.

  Her friend looked relieved. “So you read them?”

  The detective nodded. “Such soulful letters! So poignant. Why do women make so many sacrifices for their children?”

  “Indian women are raised with the power of the sacrifice in their hearts.”

  “True. It is rooted deep into their psyche,” Sonia agreed. “But your grandmother was a very strong woman. I can’t imagine giving up such a powerful attraction and genuine love! Motherhood must be a great force.”

  “What do you plan to do now?”

  “First I shall chart out Asit’s horoscope. There is enough information in the letters for me to chart one.”

  “Oh good!”

  “Do you know which engineering college your grandmother taught at?”

  “Pune’s College of Engineering.”

  “Since we don’t have a second name for this Asit, we shall have to dig into the college records and find out how many Asits studied there during those years and who graduated in that particular year. And after that will begin our Herculean task!”

  “But you think you can do it, right?” Devika asked anxiously.

  “I’m going to give it my best shot,” Sonia assured her. “Nothing would make me happier than seeing those wonderful letters reach the hands of the right person.”

  “Thank you, you have no idea what this means to me!” Impulsively, the other girl clasped Sonia’s hands.

  “I know that if my grandmother—who is the naughtiest old woman I have ever met—were ever to have fallen in love again, I would’ve moved heaven and earth to see her united with her new love. I think love is the most positive emotion and it must always be applauded and rewarded. However much it may seem ridiculous or misfit to others.”

  Devika nodded. Appreciation glowed in her eyes.

  “And even though we cannot unite these two people now, we can at least unite their memories!” Sonia completed, with grim determination.