by Benyamin
The British then created a senate merely as a formality. During the first election for the chancellor’s post, everyone had forced Valyapapan to contest. Victory was certain, it seems. But he turned it down, saying he couldn’t abide by Britain’s puppet government. He hadn’t quite wanted anything short of being king. Holding close a crown that he got from the mainland, he has continued to be idle for the past thirty years or so. Can a fallen dream shatter a man so badly, however big the dream?
A Gift
NEXT MORNING, i looked for reports of Senthil’s death in the Diego Daily. To my surprise, nowhere in the paper was there any news of it. The Daily was the only newspaper in Diego. Didn’t it owe the people information about what was happening in the country? Was it because there were no competitors that the paper could get away with its irresponsible policy? I called up their office and shouted at them. But it was as though such an incident had never taken place in Diego Garcia. That was their response. I was ridiculed, asked if I was drunk, and that I should endure my hangover and not take it out on journalists the next morning.
I didn’t feel like giving up. After a shower, feeling fresh, I set off for Port Louis. My plan was to meet Jesintha if possible, and ask her if she’d got more details about the incident. But she was not in any of the coffee shops. I examined the spot where the shooting had taken place. It had all been cleaned up, leaving no trace or hint of such an incident. At the spot where Senthil was shot, a port worker sat having his coffee. I went and sat next to the bench for a closer look. The bench with the blood stains had been taken away. There were no signs on the ground where Senthil had fallen. As if to place an order for a coffee, I went close to the owner and asked in a whisper if he knew anything more about the previous day’s incident. He stared at me suspiciously and turned to take someone’s order like he knew nothing. I asked a waiter the same thing. He, too, walked away. I realized it’d be futile to stay there and so I left for City Hospital. Hoping to get more details from there, I went and met Johnny. ‘Other than what you’ve told me, I haven’t heard anything more from anyone in the hospital,’ he said. ‘You have probably got it wrong.’ He was doubtful, yet he eagerly joined me in checking the documents at the ICU. It was clear that his heart was set more on my family’s recommendation for his promotion. I didn’t bother to heed it.
The ICU yielded a bigger surprise. No one in the name of Senthil had been admitted there. With the help of one of Johnny’s friends, I checked the documents again and again. Not only was Senthil’s name missing in their entries, but also no one with a bullet hit had been brought to the hospital the previous evening. Next, I went through the list of people who had died in the ICU. There were three causes: two cardiac arrests, and one of old age. No corpse identified as Senthil had been brought in. The mortuary had not taken in a single body the previous day. Where had Senthil been taken to? Where did his body go?
I had seen him getting shot with my own eyes. I had seen him being moved to the ambulance-boat. Then I’d seen the dead body being taken out of the ICU and sent to the mortuary. And the Public Security had even questioned me.
‘You must have hallucinated,’ Johnny said, to comfort me.
‘What are you saying, Johnny? Hallucinated! I told you about it yesterday, didn’t I?’
‘That’s true. But what can I say about something that is not in the records. Anyway, why do you bother? If someone has died, his family will take care of it. Come, let’s have tea.’
With all the doubts coiling up in my mind, I accompanied him to the canteen. As we had tea, Johnny kept rattling on about the advantages of getting a promotion. My mind was on Senthil. I only half heard what he said. That if he gets a promotion, he’ll be included in the committee that goes abroad to recruit doctors and nurses. I heard him doubting how much good just a salary can do these days. I heard him smacking his head and railing that for a common man to build a house in Diego, he would need to pay off a loan for forty years at least. I heard him raging that even a dog wouldn’t care for a normal and virtuous life.
He reminded me again while I was leaving that he wouldn’t get a promotion in the next ten years without a senate-level recommendation and that he was better qualified than many of the people there.
As I was walking out of the hospital, I suddenly ran into my erstwhile smart, pretty and energetic classmate, Anita.
It had become a habit for me to match every new face I met with those of my class. For some strange reason, I had failed to do that with Senthil. But in Anita’s case, I made no mistake at all. I recognized her within just three seconds of her passing by. At the same time, I registered one more thing. It was not in Class V that we two got separated, but after another seven years together, in Class XII. By then, everyone had grown much more. But I didn’t remember the mature faces of anyone. My memory was marooned in the photo that I found at home. It is with the faces in that photo that I compare every face I see. But when I saw Anita, I recollected her Class X face. Her face was now more identical to that.
She couldn’t identify me at all. It took a lot of effort. I realized it only then that though I could recognize myself, for someone who was meeting me after a long time, I had changed a lot.
She, too, had changed. Her vigour and smartness seemed to have withered away. The level of energy she had as a child had seemed as though it would last forever. She was exceptionally active. No event took place in school without her participation. She used to sing well, study well, elocute well. She was the school leader. There was no trace of that in the pale version of Anita standing before me. If I had seen her after another ten years, I probably wouldn’t have been so surprised.
When she finally figured out who I was, she grasped my hands. ‘Where have you been all this time?’
‘Where were you?’ I responded to her with a similar question.
‘I’ve been here, in this City Hospital, for the past five years.’
‘Are you a doctor?’
‘Me? No, no, I wanted to, but my father couldn’t afford it. So, after Class XII, I went to Mangalore to do pharmacy.’
‘It is really sad that education in our country so expensive that going abroad to study is cheaper. How bad is the state of our country!’ I sympathized with her.
‘What is your state?’ she asked.
‘College in Thiruvananthapuram. Now, with the excuse of writing a novel, I’m doing nothing and sitting at home, like the Keralites.’
Anita introduced me to the person with her. ‘This is my husband, Wilson. He works at the lab here. Did you recognize him?’ She turned to her husband.
‘Looks very familiar,’ Wilson said while shaking hands.
‘The one I talk about . . . the Andrapper kid who was in my class . . . this is him!’
‘Oh, he is the one? I’ve heard of you. Pleased to meet you. Okay, you guys talk, I have to rush.’
I asked Anita about our other classmates. I told her about the photo I’d found in my house after all these years. She knew only about Bilal who had been studying medicine in Mangalore when she was there. He was in Australia now. For some reason, I purposefully stayed tight-lipped about Senthil and Jesintha.
We kept on talking for the sake of talking. Her excitement lasted even until we were about to take leave. She grabbed my hands again. She panicked at having nothing to give me even though this encounter was sudden. Then she dug into her purse and gave me two photographs.
‘They are my kids. What else can I give you?’
Then she left. I stood there for a while holding those photos. I stood there as if I was puzzled as to what to do.
Other than meeting Jesintha a few days ago, since we had left school, I hadn’t met any of my classmates, even by chance. But after the desire struck me, how fast it was happening! One by one, I’m running into them. . . Is it because we don’t yearn for them strongly enough that we don’t get most things?
There was a reason for thinking so after meeting Anita. She was a girl whom I’d liked in school
to the extent of wanting to go to her house and asking for permission to marry her after I had grown up and was capable of making a good living. That never worked out. Somehow, I never had enough confidence to consider myself good enough to lay claim to her. While in class, she never talked more than a word or two to me. On the few occasions I tried to express my love, she avoided me tactfully. Some friends who used to tease her about me were silenced with warnings. I did not get even a slight indication of friendship or love from Anita. We were two strangers in the same class. And now? What could have been the cause of such a show of affection?
How many thoughts must pass through the minds of others of which we are unaware! If I were not to ask Anita, how different would be her response! I put her children’s photos in my pocket. They lay close to my heartbeats.
Promise
AFTER REACHING HOME, I was in a hangover called Anita. Everything she’d ever done at school started flashing before my eyes. Anita singing, Anita delivering a speech, Anita taking the pledge in the assembly, Anita jumping up with answers in class even before the teacher completed the questions, Anita coming first in all the exams, being praised by teachers, me looking at her in awe, Anita walking up to the stage to collect prizes and returning proudly, Anita sitting with an open book in the boat after school, I ogling at her tiny breasts and chubby cheeks, doubting if there could be such a beauty anywhere else in the world . . . a lagoon of memories. I sailed through it for a long while. All that time, a nameless agony filled me. She had not flown that far and high; then why did I fail to make her mine? That was the reason for the pain.
But the agony lasted only for a short while. By then, the Senthil puzzle resurfaced and enwrapped me again. Isn’t a lost friend more serious than a failed dream? And not just simply lost, but murdered, creating in its wake a plethora of mysteries.
I quickly stepped into the nooks and crannies of the case. But how do I get to know what exactly had happened? I’m not crazy enough to think that it was all an illusion. I’ve never experienced psychotic delusions. Even if I have, it is yet to be proven. I couldn’t sit still. I left home, ignoring Momma’s query of where I was off to first thing in the morning. In fact, I didn’t know where I was heading. I had to go somewhere. Somewhere where I could find the truth: that was all I had in mind. I considered the various options. It was when the boat almost reached Pentasia that a face appeared in my mind. I redirected the boat to Seleucia.
I went directly to the North Seleucia Public Security Office. The investigation director, Stephen Pereira Andrapper, was a distant cousin of Papa, and an officer known for his honesty. He had played a pivotal role in solving many major cases in Diego. He had come home last month to visit Valyapapan. We had briefly chatted about Martin, his youngest son, now in Canada.
There was no one better than Stephen uncle to tell me what had actually happened. My plan was to meet him and explain the previous day’s incident. I had to wait in front of the office for a long time. There was a big crowd, including weeping, wailing, raging and shouting women of all ages. When I asked someone in the crowd what was happening, his explanation was shocking. Most of the people were relatives of youth who had been forcibly taken into custody. Most of them didn’t know why the arrests had been made or where they had been taken. I couldn’t quite figure out what could be the crime that got so many young people arrested. But the government would always have its own justifications.
When I finally managed to get in, he received me warmly. He asked about Valyapapan and Papa and Momma. He called for coffee and inquired why I had come.
I narrated the whole sequence of events that had taken place so far. After listening to me, he confirmed that if such an incident had occurred in Diego, he would definitely be one of the people informed about it. He called two of his junior officers right then and asked if there had been any shooting reported in Port Louis recently. They were also in the dark. He also checked the secret files of the Investigation Directorate. There, too, nothing was to be found. He shrugged helplessly. ‘What can I say about an incident not recorded in the case diary of a disciplined and efficient public security department?’
However, he assured me that he was now as interested in the case as I was and that he’d look into what had actually taken place. I trusted him. Because it was not the usual promise of a police officer to a common man. It was a promise one Andrapper was making to another. It was a promise that would be kept.
Missing Person
I WAITED FOR three days expecting a call from Stephen Pereira Andrapper. But nothing happened. On all three days, I went to Port Louis, in the hope of meeting Jesintha. That too didn’t happen. I stuck around the coffee shop for a while in the hope of some clue, some hint of suspicion. Nothing. Everyone was content with their own concerns. But what more can you expect from those who’ve forgotten a murder soon after it happened?
I felt my life was like a grounded boat, tied to the stake. Either I should write the novel so that I could believe that I was living through my self-expression; unfortunately, that wasn’t going anywhere. Else, I should get a solid clue about the missing Senthil. Then I could find some relief in thinking that I was living for a cause. That too wasn’t happening. I felt contempt for myself.
But I was not willing to give up. Determined to meet Stephen Pereira, I went to Seleucia’s North Public Security Office again. It was crowded like the previous time. Superiors and juniors hurrying from one room to another with files and papers. No one even had the time to respond to my question whether Investigation Director Stephen Pereira was present.
Wasn’t all that commotion taking place to ensure the efficiency of the Public Security? We ought not disturb it. So, I had to wait there for a long time. At last, my turn came. Seeing me, Stephen uncle scratched his head. ‘Che, the matter you mentioned that day, I forgot about that completely in this mess. Now what shall we do . . .?’
I was sad, angry, and fuming. Last time, I had the feeling that I was taken seriously. By now, he ought to have gathered some information. I had thought he might have forgotten to call me because of his busy schedule. Now, after I had reported such an important issue . . .
‘So, you were saying . . . who is it that’s missing . . .?’
‘A friend of mine. He didn’t go missing, he was murdered.’
He understood the change of tone in my voice.
‘Yes, yes. But that is something we have to prove.’
‘We should prove. If you look into it, it’ll be done.’
‘I’ll do one thing. I’ll introduce one of my officers to you. You talk to him in detail. I’ll follow it up then.’ He rang for a peon. He mentioned some officer’s name and told him to accompany me to his cabin. My only option was to follow the peon.
He took me to the office of Chief Investigator Vijay Mullikratnam. A rough guy. He looked as if he was angry at the world. He behaved as if I was a suspect. I somehow managed to explain the situation to him.
‘Dude, it is very strange! First of its kind ever in Diego. By the way, how was the missing person connected to you?
‘He was one of my friends.’
‘How long had you known him?
‘We studied together till high school.’
‘What was your relationship with him in recent times?’
‘We had none. We’d not met in more than a decade.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Senthil.’
‘House?’
‘Don’t know. Somewhere in Peruntheruvu.’
‘Occupation?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Address?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Don’t know his house. Don’t know his job. Don’t know his address. Was not in touch with him for ten years. And you have come to complain that the guy is missing . . . Dude, do you know that someone going missing means he is not available at his address? So, if you don’t know his address, on what basis are you saying that he is missing?’
‘I tol
d you, sir. He didn’t go missing, he was killed.’
‘Look, whether he was killed or is alive is not to be decided by you, but by the Public Security. The main issue in your story is that a person went missing after being admitted to a hospital . . . I’ll ask you one thing. When someone is missing, normally who should be filing a complaint? You say you had no recent relationship with him, or his relatives?’
I had no answer. That was something I hadn’t considered at all. So, it meant his family had not filed a complaint . . . Or was it not Senthil who was killed? Was Jesintha wrong in assuming the man was Senthil?
Mullikratnam seemed to understand my confusion.
‘Since when is he missing according to you?’
‘Sir, he didn’t go missing . . .’
‘Ssh . . . I told you . . . don’t try to teach law to an investigating officer. Dude, your relation with the director is limited to the home. Okay. Tell me . . .’
‘The incident happened four days ago . . .’
‘Listen, the Public Security at Diego Garcia has not yet received any complaint about a missing person.’
‘Sir, maybe it wasn’t Senthil, maybe it was someone else.’
‘Dude, are you making fun of me? First you said it was Senthil. Now you are saying it may not be Senthil. Do you have any mental illness?’
‘Not that, sir. Someone has been killed. And his body gone missing. My complaint is about him.’