Could it be that? Were Pimputkar and R.K. going to claim that Tiger, owing him a heavy debt, had given him a much inflated assessment? Surely not. Tiger had praised him, certainly but not overmuch. And, damn it, his time at Vigatpore had brought out all his capabilities to the front. He had done well. He had. And Tiger’s report did no more than acknowledge as much, with at the same time mentioning such faults as he had. And even there it had perhaps been harsh. In those words about failing to reprimand with sufficient force. They meant, surely, not being as fierily fierce as Tiger himself would have been. Well, there were two ways of looking at that. Would old Nadkarni have been as sharply furious with one and all as Tiger if he had been sent in his day as in-charge at Vigatpore?
No. No, he would not have been, of course. He would have confronted each offender with his fault, have pointed it out to him, exactly, quietly. And, by the very steadiness he showed, he would have brought about reform. Why, he might even have got Desai to behave slightly more sensibly. Certainly, no amount of shouting, no display of fury, had done much in that way.
Perhaps if he himself, instead of trying to act as Tiger would have done and shouting at Desai when he had caught him sending Shinde out to buy that famous cigarette, had behaved in Nadkarni’s way the fellow would not have made such a mess of delivering the F.I.R. book to Tiger. Perhaps the inkpot would never have got spilt, if the whole business had been conducted quietly yet forcefully. And then the inkpot would not have been hurled in rage and Desai at this moment would be alive and well and hopelessly foolish.
Yes, Tiger’s anger had often enough achieved results, better results than he himself would have got, but it had had its other side, too. When Tiger had thrown that inkpot it had not been out of any cleansing rage. It had been out of uncontrolled, dangerous anger. Just that.
S.M. Motabhoy, his reading at an end, gave another of his warning coughs.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘that seems to give Inspector Ghote a good chit on the whole. What, Mr Sankar, is the relevance of it, if you please?’
‘Sir, I think that will become obvious when we hear from Inspector Pimputkar.’
‘Very good. Let us have the inspector up.’
The orderly left the room.
Ghote sat there, all thought frozen. He had speculated and speculated but had no more idea now of what this was all about than when R.K. had produced his bombshell.
The minutes passed.
Then footsteps became audible outside. The orderly’s heavy tread in his solid chappals, and a lighter, sharper tap-tap-tap of Inspector Pimputkar’s shoes.
The door opened and they came in. Pimputkar, a small plastic documents wallet under his arm, the tiniest of smiles playing on his mouth, went straight to the witness table.
‘With your permission, Mr Presiding Officer,’ R.K. said.
‘Certainly, Mr Sankar.’
R.K. took a long look round the room, his gaze coming at last to rest on Ghote himself. Outside, a tail of dark cloud came and went across the sun sending the room into momentary gloom.
‘Inspector Pimputkar,’ R.K. began at last, ‘will you tell us how it comes about that you have evidence to produce at this late stage of the Inquiry?’
‘Yes, sir. Certainly. The evidence I have thought it vital to put before the Inquiry is in the form of a First Information Report. This was made out more than a year ago, and it may be that I shall be blamed for failing to see its significance during my early investigations.’
‘And how did that come about, Inspector?’ R.K. said, giving to the question a strong touch of artificial censure.
‘Sir, I am thinking that when the officers of the Board are examining the said F.I.R., which is the fourth and last carbon copy only, they will see that I may not be too much at fault in failing to spot out the one important thing in the same.’
‘Perhaps, Inspector, it would assist us all if you were to produce this First Information Report? I take it you have it with you.’
‘Yes, sir, I have. Here it is.’
Pimputkar unzipped the documents wallet he had carried in and drew out from it with great care the F.I.R. book which from the black ink-stain on it Ghote at once recognized as indeed the very one Desai had taken in to Tiger. But how could it cast light on what had happened in the office then? Had it got a minute trace of blood on it? No, it could not have. It had stayed on the desk all the while and Desai had bled within a foot or two of the door. And in any case how could blood or even ink on an F.I.R. be a clue to what had actually happened?
The sunlight that had been streaming in again through the windows faded abruptly as another cloud was blown across the sun’s face.
This time Ghote was certain, however irrational he knew he was being, that here was an omen.
21
At the Board table S.M. Motabhoy’s plumpish, pale face took on an expression of deep gravity as he read the First Information Report which Inspector Pimputkar had produced.
‘Mr Sankar,’ he said at last, ‘kindly correct me if I am in error, but I see the significance of this F.I.R. as being that it is an account, I suppose probably the sole remaining one since it is a fourth copy, of a serious crime that took place shortly after Inspector Ghote became the in-charge at Vigatpore P.S. This appears to involve the same Shivram Patel who gave false evidence to this Inquiry. It concerns an attack by hired goondas on the chairman of the dairy co-operative, the setting up of which deprived Shivram Patel of a very considerable income. Am I correct in my assumption?’
‘Yes, sir,’ R.K. said. ‘Will you care now to hear Inspector Pimputkar’s further evidence?’
Ghote was mystified.
The F.I.R. appeared indeed to be the very one that Desai had taken in for Tiger, with his own note attached to it. But they had got its date wrong. The incident, which it looked as if an attempt had been made to hush up, had taken place before he had arrived at Vigatpore. It must have done, or he would not have attached that note, now missing. So how had it come about that S.M. Motabhoy had stated, and R.K. had confirmed that the date was during his own time as in-charge? Was this some other, similar incident? But, no, there had been nothing, certainly nothing repeating the pattern of that attack, evidence of which it was quite possible that Inspector Khan, Shivram Patel’s friend, might have tried to hide.
‘Inspector,’ R.K. was now asking Pimputkar, ‘would you tell the Inquiry exactly how this important evidence came not to be put before us earlier?’
‘Sir, I much regret but it was only last night, in filing away such documents I had possessed myself of in the course of my investigation and had finally decided were not relevant, that I was noticing the date on the F.I.R. in question. You will see it is altogether faint.’
‘Yes,’ said S.M. Motabhoy, peering at the F.I.R., ‘I can confirm that the whole sheet is very faint. It is a matter I have had occasion to complain of many times. Officers making out First Information Reports will persist in using carbon sheets that are too old for the purpose.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Pimputkar. ‘But you will see that the date is such that it comes within Inspector Ghote’s time as in-charge at Vigatpore.’
‘Yes, yes. We are aware of that. Please proceed, Mr Sankar.’
‘Certainly, Mr Presiding Officer.’
R.K. gave a little hem.
‘Now, Inspector, will you tell us what you understood from this extremely faint fourth copy of an otherwise missing document, which I may say it was indeed perspicacious of you to recognize the significance of.’
‘Yes, sir. As soon as I realized what was the date on this copy, which being in its book was not able to be destroyed, I saw that it indicated that Inspector Ghote had been guilty of a most serious suppression. I also considered that a senior officer of A.D.I.G. Kelkar’s experience and determination could not have failed to spot out such.’
‘Yes, Inspector, a plain deduction. And you went on from this to infer what?’
‘Sir, that the late A.D.I.G. Kelkar must have withhel
d any mention concerning this lapse from his Report, and instead he awarded to Inspector Ghote top marks.’
‘Yes, Inspector, we have heard A.D.I.G. Kelkar’s words of praise for Inspector Ghote, remarkable for their fulsomeness in the light of what you have just told us. Now, what further inference were you able to make from all this?’
‘Sir, I think it is one hundred per cent clear that the late Mr Kelkar must have been under some considerable debt to Inspector Ghote to have done this, and, sir, taking that with all the other evidence I have been able to obtain, setting aside that not all of it proved cent per cent bonafide, it leads me to the inevitable conclusion that Inspector Ghote did indeed assist Mr Kelkar in every step of his illegal proceedings on the night of the 24th and the early hours of 25th of June last year.’
‘Thank you, Inspector.’
Pimputkar turned to leave the witness table. S.M. Motabhoy coughed loudly.
‘One moment, Inspector. I do not believe but that Inspector Ghote’s counsel will wish to put questions to you about a matter that appears to tell so heavily against her client.’
He looked across at Mrs Ahmed.
Ghote turned and whispered furiously to her.
‘Madam, it is lies, lies, lies. Madam, I am believing the fellow must have altered the date on that F.I.R. It was made out while Inspector Khan was in charge still at Vigatpore. It was. I am sure it was.’
Mrs Ahmed leant forward across her table until her face was only inches from Ghote’s.
‘Inspector,’ she whispered back, ‘do you still tell me what you told yesterday, that in fact you did assist Mr Kelkar?’
Ghote felt himself go pale.
But he had spoken the truth to her then, and would not now deny it.
‘Yes, madam, I do.’
‘Then I still cannot help you. You must do what you can for yourself when you come to make your Statement.’
She rose to her feet.
‘Mr Presiding Officer,’ she said. ‘No questions.’
A frown appeared on S.M. Motabhoy’s face.
‘No questions, Mrs Ahmed?’ he asked.
‘No, sir.’
S.M. Motabhoy gave a long sigh. He looked all round the big room, from Mrs Ahmed to R.K. Sankar, from Inspector Pimputkar, standing behind the witness table with the faintest of smiles at the corners of his thin lips, to, at last, Ghote, rigid and facing the front now, on his hard chair.
‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘Then there remains nothing of our business but the Defendant’s Statement, followed by the Board’s decision, after which I shall, if necessary, insert whatever punishment I consider appropriate on the Show Cause notice and thus conclude our deliberations.’
He looked round again, letting his gaze rest for one extra moment on Mrs Ahmed, as if he hoped that even at this moment she would rise and request the right to question Inspector Pimputkar.
But Mrs Ahmed was as unmoving as a stone-carved goddess in her drab sari.
‘Very well,’ S.M. Motabhoy repeated. ‘Inspector Ghote will you kindly rise and make your Defendant’s Statement.’
Ghote pushed himself to his feet. He felt as if merely doing so was forcing his way under some downward-plunging weight and that he had energy left for nothing more.
‘Yes, Inspector?’
He extracted from himself one final effort, and found issuing from dry mouth, dry lips, dry brain the words he had rehearsed and memorized the night before.
‘Sir, gentlemen. I beg to state in my defence as follows: On the night of June the 24th last year when I was in-charge at Vigatpore Police Station and when also an Inspection was taking place under A.D.I.G. Kelkar, he was at about the hour of 11.30 pip emma still engaged in examining station records. I myself, knowing there was no further assistance I would be able to give him, placed myself off duty and returned per foot to the temporary quarter I had been allotted in the house of one Shivram Patel at a distance of approximately one kilometre from the said police station. I did not therefore witness any of the proceedings described by the late A.D.I.G. Kelkar in the note he was setting forth immediately prior to his suicide by shooting.’
He paused.
This, allowing for a lapse or two, was exactly what he had decided he would say the night before. He had not intended to add anything at all about the earlier accusations made against him. But that had been before Pimputkar had produced his new evidence with its faint carbon-copy date surely falsified.
‘Sir, gentlemen,’ he began again. ‘I must also, however, deal with the newest evidence which Inspector Pimputkar …’
He trailed off, not knowing what to say or how to say it.
‘Yes, Inspector?’ S.M. Motabhoy prompted.
He looked up then, for the first time, directly at S.M. Motabhoy, his judge. And there poured out from him all the burning sense of injustice he had felt ever since Pimputkar had begun giving evidence, culminating in this last cunning move of his.
‘It is lies, sir. Lies. That man wants nothing more than to pin me down in an illegal act. Yesterday, sir, I was telling him that you, sir, seemed to believe and accept my account, and so – So, sir, he was inventing this malicious falsehood. It is the F.I.R. you are having in front of you, sir: it was filled in and dated in Inspector Khan’s time at Vigatpore. It was then also that the three top copies must have been disposed off, leaving only that faint one. And, sir, on that it would be easy-easy to alter the date by means of a superimposed sheet of carbon of the same blue colour. Sir, that is what must have been done, and, sir –’
‘One moment, Inspector.’
S.M. Motabhoy spoke quietly but with authority.
‘Inspector, what you are alleging is a most serious matter. But it is one that perhaps can be put to the test, possibly even here and now.’
He took up the F.I.R. book and held it in front of him, peering hard.
‘Hm,’ he said doubtfully.
He handed the ink-stained book to the officer sitting on his right. Again it was held up to the light, peered at and pondered over – and passed on.
Ghote, withdrawing his attention from the decision-making process in the half-expressed hope that by doing so he would somehow gain from the officer at the end of the row the verdict he needed, caught sight of Inspector Pimputkar standing at the witness table and concentrating such a beam of will on the pondering officer that it was almost visible.
Pimputkar wants me convicted above everything, he thought with a plunge of black dismay. It means everything to him to have me found guilty. And can his sheer willpower make that man there twisting and turning the F.I.R. book believe that there has been no forgery?
Then, damn it, he would try counter-willpower.
He turned back to the Board table and willed and hoped and willed.
And at last he seemed to have achieved at least a partial victory. The officer at the end of the row shook his head and handed the book back.
Tingling to bursting point with anxiety, Ghote watched as the book went along the line again to be inspected by the two officers on S.M. Motabhoy’s left. They brought their heads together over it and murmured inaudibly to each other.
Was the one at the far end more optimistic than his colleague? For a moment or two Ghote believed so. But at last with gravely shaken heads they returned the book to S.M. Motabhoy.
He took it, held it up in front of himself once again and peered intently at the disputed page.
‘Unfortunately the light –’ he began to pronounce.
But then, at that exact moment, the cloud which had been obscuring the sun was swept away and a full flood of light came in through the tall windows.
‘Yes,’ said S.M. Motabhoy. ‘Yes, I think I can indeed clearly distinguish that there are two dates written in the appropriate space here. Yes, two clearly, one on top of the other.’
He handed the F.I.R. to the officer beside him.
‘Orderly,’ he said, ‘you will escort Inspector Pimputkar to the duty havildar and request the latter to
hold him in his custody until we have time to take further action.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the orderly.
As Pimputkar, glinting with fury, was led away, Ghote felt as if a true miracle had intervened to save him. No doubt it might have been possible to detect the alteration of the date in the laboratory, and perhaps S.M. Motabhoy would have consented to a postponement of the final part of the Inquiry until a proper examination had been made. But equally Pimputkar’s forgery might never have come to light. It could not have consisted of more than two or three superimposed carbon strokes after all, and Pimputkar must have counted on the fact that, knowing he was indeed guilty, he would not succeed in challenging something that only underlined his guilt.
Because guilty he was. He had done what Pimputkar had worked out that he had done. If Pimputkar had lied flagrantly only really at the last gasp, he himself had lied and lied and lied again from start to finish.
As the door closed behind Pimputkar and the orderly, S.M. Motabhoy gave a little tap with the end of a pencil on the table in front of him.
‘Inspector,’ he said, looking directly at Ghote, ‘I take it that you have now brought your Defendant’s Statement to a close?’
Ghote was on the point of replying simply ‘Yes, sir’. But what he actually said he could not, looking back afterwards, wholly account for.
For a moment he had hung poised. Then, casting everything aside, he had plunged. Words he had for so long debarred himself from saying now at last came tumbling and cascading from him.
‘Sir, yes. Something more. Yes. Sir, I must inform the Inquiry that – that despite this last item of manufactured evidence, nevertheless – nevertheless everything Inspector Pimputkar has all along been alleging is one hundred and one per cent true. Sir, I did on the night of June the 24th last year at Vigatpore assist the late A.D.I.G. Kelkar in everything he was doing. Sir, at that time I was proud to do it. Sir, Mr Kelkar killed Sergeant Desai by accident only, by the uttermost mischance. It was as he was stating in his dying confession, sir. Sergeant Desai had acted in a most stupid manner, and Mr Kelkar, sir, was most naturally highly enraged. He threw that inkpot, sir. I was there and I saw it happen. But it was a great misfortune that it was striking Desai at all and a yet more great that it was killing him. Sir, Mr Kelkar was an officer I was feeling the strongest admiration for. It was his way of driving himself and every officer and man under him by his fierce anger, sir. I admired – I was at the time admiring him for just only that. And so in consequence, sir, I became determined that, if at all possible, what had happened should appear not to have happened by one bit. For that reason I was acting as I did, sir. And only because A.D.I.G. Kelkar was not mentioning my share in our activities I had felt obliged to carry on in the manner he was, as it were, instructing me to.’
Under a Monsoon Cloud: an Inspector Ghote Mystery Page 20