Deja Karma

by Vish Dhamija

  ‘I didn’t kill her.’ Kumar wasn’t willing to give an inch. He was confident, edging on cocky.

  That, or it would prove to be the biggest lie in the game.

  ‘Let’s go through this again, Vinay. For my sake please indulge me.’ Jay laid out the bare-bones case, all the circumstantial evidence the police had, and the possible motive for Vinay Kumar to bump off his mistress, Gina. ‘Do you have any idea how the prosecution would attack you and, in turn, me? They’ll shred us like confetti. If I was prosecuting this, it would be the easiest case in my career.’

  ‘What do you want me to say, Jay?’ Kumar looked up, like he was requesting God to back him up, but his voice lacked the confidence he had displayed on earlier occasions. ‘This is a set-up to destroy me, my family, my career. I think—’

  ‘I don’t give a rat’s arse what you think, Vinay. The time for you to think has run out. It’s my turn now, and as your advocate it is for me to devise a strategy to get your acquittal.’

  Kumar frowned at being chastised like a schoolboy but jerked his head in agreement as Jay confirmed he was still looking at exoneration.

  ‘Just remember one thing, Vinay. They say crime pays but it only pays till a certain point; in my opinion crime costs, and when it sends you the bill it demands payment in hard cash. It doesn’t take kindly to delays, doesn’t accept cards. The justice will be then and there in the court.’

  Both men held each other’s gaze. Neither spoke for a full minute.

  ‘I don’t think I shall need to meet you for a couple of months, unless something comes to light that has the potential to change the case. I shall be putting forth a motion that you loved Gina, you wanted the child with her and that this has to be some kind of a set-up, and that you are innocent. Once I’m finished strategizing we should have a session to go through the whole thing. In case you come across something that can substantiate this motion, please get in touch immediately. Otherwise, we proceed as discussed today. Is that okay with you?’

  ‘I get it, and I’m glad I hired you and no one else. When can we discuss your fees, Jay?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t let you off free.’ Jay let out a phony chuckle. ‘I’ll ask Julie to send the bill across to your office by the end of the week.’

  Jay pondered about Kumar till long after his client had left the building. If Kumar was honest, something had to give. If Kumar was lying, something still had to give. Unlike whatever anyone has ever told you, there are many grey areas in the law. Exceptions One and Four of Indian Penal Code Section 300 are both founded upon the same principle: absence of premeditation. However, while Exception One protects those accused when they are totally out of self-control, Exception Four covers the acts committed in a sudden brawl; obviously — and it is spelt out for any ignoramus who does not find it apparent — the brawl or scuffle must have occurred with the person killed. Nevertheless, to establish that an incident wasn’t a cold-blooded murder the defence had to prove beyond any doubt that there was no premeditation or planning, and that the quarrel — with or without weapons — started impromptu, following some verbal altercation or threats that led the two parties concerned into uncontrollable rage. All Jay needed to do was prepare Vinay Kumar according to the script: that there had been a fight. Gina’s murder would then be classified as “Culpable Homicide” rather than a cold-blooded murder. But that could cost Kumar up to ten years in the cell. However, when Kumar wasn’t willing to plead guilty in self-defence, what were the odds he’d agree to culpable homicide? Jay deliberated on it but he reckoned that this hearing required some serious work, and he was tired now; it was like exhaustion was cutting off the blood supply to the lungs or heart or whatever.

  ***

  The second date was as good if not better than the first one. They left on an overnight after work on Friday. Jay, using his contacts, had reserved the Ramji Mahal in Neemrana Fort-Palace Hotel. Bhīma refused to let Jay travel alone with Manavi. Conscious of the situation, and as a consolation, he had privacy glass installed in the car to separate the two compartments and provide space to the love-birds. The jaunt was successful. At no point did Manavi refer to Jay’s sessions or even asked about Cooper’s surreptitious visit the other night. The age gap, which Cooper had vehemently argued against, did not hamper the relationship, but then again, this was just the beginning. Manavi did request to meet Yuvraj though, and Jay decided he would certainly introduce her to him when he was back for vacation in December.

  Back from the trip, Jay delved into Kumar’s case. His office had a small en-suite annexe that accommodated a couch and wardrobe and his bar and CD player with concealed speakers in the ceiling. He was known to spend nights there, when he was in the thick of some important case. Between preparing for Kumar’s trial, the thoughts of his own mother flashed through his mind. If she knew she hadn’t killed his dad, did she know who had? If she had known then, why hadn’t she spoken for so many years? Why did she break her silence just before her death? The advocate in him was looking for her motive to reveal the truth so late in life; the son in him was arguing she wouldn’t have lied facing her death. Someone had murdered his father, accused his mother and taken his childhood away.

  ***

  Commander Kawas Manekshaw Nanavati, an officer in the Indian Navy, was frequently away on duty for extended periods of time. His English wife — Sylvia — fell in love with his close pal, Prem Ahuja. Sylvia decided to divorce Nanavati and marry Ahuja, but he changed his mind at the eleventh hour. When Nanavati returned and found out, he, naturally, went ballistic. As already planned, he dropped his family for a film, excused himself and left to deal with Ahuja. En route, he dropped by at his naval base, picked up his pistol and cartridges under some vague pretext and then drove to Ahuja’s home. As expected, an argument ensued and Nanavati shot the Romeo point blank. Three times. Then he drove back to the naval base and confessed to his supervisor, who made him surrender to the police.

  Any respectable man would have done the same. A Naval officer would obviously be outraged when his own friend stabbed him in the back by having an affair with his wife. To cut a long story short, when the case reached the court the Jury acquitted him. What else were the men and women of a young and free India supposed to do in the 1950s?

  Nanavati’s exoneration by the Jury was dismissed and Bombay High Court re-tried him. The powers that be decidedly abolished Juries. That, dear friends, was the day the Jury died in India. No one saw the irony that the world’s largest democracy did not trust in Juries any more. What do the grassroots — who simply elected governments — know about justice in any event? In countries where Juries are prevalent, the Jury, which is sworn in for a particular case, determines the guilt, or lack thereof, in any crime; the Judge is merely a referee. However, in India where Juries have been abolished the Judge has absolute powers.

  Justice Alok Nair gloated in this.

  Justice Nair almost wore a tiara of peacock feathers. And, since both advocates in Kumar’s case were high profile, he did not want them to be under any illusion. He called for a pre-trial meeting with them in his chamber. Neither advocate knew the reason, as this was something that didn’t occur regularly, but it wasn’t worth disappointing the judge by asking or by not turning up for the appointment. Talwar was waiting outside Nair’s office when Jay arrived. Jay walked up to him with his hand out: professional courtesy, and the fact that Talwar was fairly senior to him and he deserved the respect. As they say, if you don’t respect your seniors what would happen when your juniors come along? Talwar stood up to shake hands. This was going to be interesting; a voice inside Jay told him. A wry smile appeared on his face as both waited for another fifteen minutes before the assistant ushered them in.

  ‘You’ve never been in my court Mr Singh,’ Nair began. He was a tall, dark complexioned man in his late fifties, balding and sported the thick untrimmed moustache that most men from his part of the country — Kerala — usually carried. ‘Nevertheless, I’ve heard about you. Pl
ease remember no frivolity or showmanship will be tolerated in my court. I do not make any concessions for personalities or celebrities or politicians. In my court there is only one hero: the truth. And as a judge I only need one thing: the evidence. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Your Honour.’

  ‘And Mr Talwar,’ Nair looked over his rimless glasses, ‘I expect no distasteful language in my court. If I catch you even one time using unbecoming words, I’ll hold you in contempt of court. Is that understood?

  ‘Yes, Janaab.’

  ‘And to both of you, I request you to please avoid extracurricular lines of arguments. If it isn’t relevant to the case, don’t waste the court’s time and mine. Don’t play with cards you don’t have — I want no unnecessary allegations if you do not have evidence to back your claims. Likewise, don’t withhold any evidence you have relating to the case either — that’s a crime and I will not accept that in my courtroom. If I catch either one of you doing that, I can assure you that this will be your last case. I will get you debarred, and that will only be the beginning. At all times, do not forget you’re in my courtroom and not in a theatre. I will dismiss any references to the media on the case. Don’t make this a media trial. And for your own good, do not antagonise me by unnecessarily obliging the press with impudent interviews. Am I clearly understood?’

  Nods again.

  ‘I have a few weeks scheduled in my diary for this trial. I don’t want any excuses to ask for continuances. If your witness doesn’t show up, deal with it, change the order and advance the case. No wasting time.’ Nair looked at the two advocates daring them to disagree.

  Nada. Their marbles had shrunk.

  ‘I want both of you to exchange witness lists at least one week prior to the trial. I don’t like surprises in my courtroom. No holding back any witness, and if you have an unwilling witness, feel free to request for a court order. I’ll sign.’

  Talwar and Singh looked at each other and nodded: the schoolboys will do their homework on time, sir.

  ‘I like brief opening statements from both sides, not long diatribes. Is there anything you want to discuss, off the record, before the trial?’

  ‘No, Your Honour.’

  ‘No, Janaab.’

  ‘So we meet in February. You may leave now,’ Nair said happily. He had called this little meeting to establish the pecking order for his courtroom. He was the king. The two advocates were mere pawns.

  ***

  December came and went. Yuvraj was back for Christmas break. Though Jay introduced him to Manavi, he didn’t mention what relationship he had with her. He didn’t think introducing her as more than a friend, at this point in time, was required. What was the rush? Let him get comfortable with her before breaking the news. In fairness, they had only been together for just over a month and who knew if they were going to stick together long-term? Manavi didn’t mind either. Yuvraj saw her once at home and on another occasion when he went out for dinner with Jay. Manavi and Jay decided it was best that she did not stay overnight while he was around.

  ***

  Someone always knows someone who knows someone or something. Isn’t it how the whole world worked? Raja — Bhīma’s man Friday — had dug up some gen about some other Swami that existed in the same era, but who had an assistant. According to that other Swami’s assistant, who still resided in Patparganj and owned a tea stall now, both the Swamis had together left for Haridwar in the mid-eighties. He had had no contact with either of them since. However, he had an old sepia picture of his Swami, which was helpful. If the two Swamis had left together, it was a high probability they might have, at the very least, kept in touch. And since they had a picture of one, it came in handy to show around and ask for him in Haridwar. However, all the informants could unearth was that the duo had moved to Varanasi after living in Haridwar for the best part of a decade. The informants were definitely on the right track, which was good news. It was only a matter of time now.

  A week later they found the Swamijee Jay had been looking for. He now resided in the revered holy town, Pushkar: located on the sacred lake, and known for one of the very few existing temples dedicated to Brahma, the creator. The story is that Brahma’s wife, in a fit of rage, cursed him that he would never be worshipped, but then reduced the curse permitting his worship in Pushkar. As such, the town became the king of pilgrimages for Hindus and Swamijee, after having been to all other sacred places, might have ended up there to live around till his end.

  TWENTY-TWO

  It was three weeks until Kumar’s trial. Given his past record, Jay Singh would never have focussed on anything else, let alone setting foot outside town for any reason, but this was different. This was personal. There are times in everyone’s life when all reasoning gets suspended simply because the brain resolves to shut down. Jay didn’t quite have a choice; he didn’t need to think or decide. He reckoned that if he didn’t leave for Pushkar right away, he’d be trapped till the Kumar’s hearing was over and he knew that he couldn’t wait that long. At any rate, with his mind trying to detangle the mystery of his own father’s death, he could hardly concentrate on the case. Ergo, it was best that he put this behind him quickly. He had to meet the Swami.

  They started out from Delhi at five in the morning, but the morning fog did not let them clear the outskirts till eight. There were a million thoughts competing for space and consideration in Jay’s mind all through the 400 km to Pushkar. The Swami had travelled to a few locations before settling in Pushkar, but Bhīma had found him. In fairness, the Swami hadn’t attempted to hide his trail. Jay’s father’s murder had been such a simple open and shut case that perhaps Swamijee hadn’t seen the need to obscure or eradicate his tracks. And now that it was so long ago, he might have stopped looking over his shoulder.

  Once in Pushkar, Bhīma picked up the local guide from Ajmer — the contact who had located the Swami — and drove over the low hills into the sacred city. The sun was retiring for the day and the valley was washed in blushed orange. Jay noted that the place was beautiful, worth visiting for a holiday with Manavi.

  There weren’t many choices to stay in mid-town Pushkar. Jay checked into RTDC’s Hotel Sarover on the banks of the lake. A quick wash and the three set out on foot to walk to the Swami’s abode. The guide showed them the little hut from a distance and Bhīma took him aside to pay for the job. There was no reason for the guide to listen to any of the conversation, or to stick around: the fewer ears that hear the story, the fewer the tongues that wag.

  ‘How can I help you, child?’ asked the Swami when Jay knocked on the hut’s jamb; there was no door.

  Memories came flooding back when Jay looked at the Swami. The man looked exactly as he had looked eons ago. Not one additional wrinkle, no weight gained or lost. The hair had grown a bit longer and gone a bit whiter and now hung in dreadlocks. He had a saffron robe wrapped around his upper torso to cover his furry chest. Jay was aware it would be difficult, if not impossible, for the Swami to recognise him. Besides his mother’s details that he knew, Jay had carried her picture to jog the sage’s memory. Just in case…

  ‘I’ve come looking for you from Delhi.’

  ‘It must be really important then. Sit down.’ The Swami retreated to let Jay enter. The room was sparsely furnished and the smell of incense sticks permeated the place just as it did when Jay visited him in childhood. It was like Jay had time travelled: same Swami, same smell, and an all too familiar sparsely filled hut.

  Bhīma waited outside.

  ‘Can I get you something to drink, child?’

  There was something soothing about the Swami that melted Jay’s rush of rage as he sat down on a rickety wooden stool.

  ‘Do you remember Mrs Rani Singh?’

  The Swami looked up like he was trying to recollect. ‘Could you be a little more specific please, child? Can I call you child?’

  ‘Yes, you can. You’ve called me that before.’

  ‘Oh really? I didn’t realise that we’ve me
t before. Please remind me, child.’

  ‘I used to visit you in Patparganj with my mother, Mrs Rani Singh.’ Not keen to waste time Jay pulled out the picture from his pocket and showed it to the Swami.

  Swamijee barely looked at the picture, looked up at Jay, and then closed his eyes like he was attempting to recollect. Then he opened them and carried on looking at the picture for a while. ‘I remember her well. Where is she now?’

  ‘She passed away.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that. When did that happen?’

  ‘That does not matter, that is not what I am here for. Can you tell me why she visited you with me tagging along?’ The words dried in Jay’s mouth. Asking about your own mother’s intentions, being distrustful of the man she visited regularly wasn’t easy.

  ‘Is that what brought you here all the way from Delhi?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been looking for some more answers, but let’s begin with this one.’

  ‘Jayakumar, isn’t that your name, my child?’

  Jay resentfully nodded. He was getting a bit exasperated with the Swami’s calmness. Nothing in the Swami’s demeanour had changed at the mention of his mother’s name. Had he been an idiot travelling all the way from Delhi?

  ‘What else do you know about your mother?’

  ‘What do you mean what do I know about my mother?’

  ‘I meant, for instance, do you know you’re not her real son?’

  The blow hit Jay hard. His face turned crimson with indignation that this lowlife knew Jay’s familial descendancy or illegitimacy. For a moment he felt like throttling the Swami, but he controlled the urge. He needed the whole truth.

  ‘How the… I mean how do you know that?’

  ‘That’s a naïve question, child. That is the only reason she used to visit me.’

  ‘I don’t think I understand your reasoning. Do you know my real mother?’

  ‘I can see you are very angry, child. Rage kills all reasoning, so calm down. And no, I do not know who your real mother is or was, and even if I knew that, I wouldn’t tell you. Familial relationships are more important than any biological one. Nature is powerful, I agree, but we underestimate the powers of nurture and love. You knew this before you came here and heard it from me that your mother wasn’t your birth mother, didn’t you? You don’t have to answer this question, just ask yourself: why did you bother? You see, Devaki might have given birth to Lord Krishna, but he always regarded Yashoda as his mother, didn’t he? Even Balarama wasn’t his real brother. We, humans, give undue importance to biological relationships. Yes, your mother wasn’t your biological parent. Could I ask you what does it change for you? She loved you immensely. Did you ever feel you were an orphan?’