The Case of the Missing Servant avpm-1

by Tarquin Hall

  Dr. Ghosh leaned forward on his desk, picked up a Parker pen and started doodling on his blotting paper.

  Puri switched to Hindi. "I've been studying his habits and they are extremely suggestive," he said. "At school he was a misfit, never had many friends and was prone to depression. Since then he has become extremely successful professionally, but he remains a private person in a way that very few Indians are. At the golf club, for example, he never uses the men's changing rooms, but comes home to shower. He never consumes alcohol, either, presumably because he needs to maintain control at all times."

  Puri paused for a moment to finish his tea and reached for another biscuit, the last in the packet.

  "You've been prescribing him testosterone," he continued. "I'm guessing he's been taking it since his mid-teens. Given your specialization, I would say that he has…well, let us call it a 'special problem' and it is something he has been keeping secret all his life."

  Puri chose his next words carefully.

  "The irony is that he has nothing to hide, and that is precisely the problem," he said.

  The faintest of smiles played across Dr. Ghosh's lips.

  "Chubby, might I ask why you need to know?" he asked.

  "I've been retained by his fiancee's family. Now that I have discovered this man's secret, I'm concerned for her future. If she's not aware of the truth, then she is being deceived and I'm obligated to tell her."

  The doctor nodded and, wetting the end of his finger, dipped it into the cluster of crumbs left in the packet and licked them off.

  "It's certainly a private matter," he said. "All I can suggest is that you go and talk with the girl."

  "Fine. In that case I'll arrange an interview," said the detective.

  "Try to remember one thing, old pal," said Dr. Ghosh. "Love can move in mysterious ways."

  The doctor stretched and looked at his watch.

  "I've no more patients today. Shall we go to the Gym for a peg or two and a game of chess?"

  "Think you can take me on, is it?" said Puri.

  "As I recall, I won last time we played, Chubby."

  "You had me at a disadvantage."

  "How's that?"

  "I was completely piss drunk."

  Later that evening, Mary and Monica returned from their evening walk to find that Sahib had come home early.

  Much to their frustration, he had parked himself in front of the TV and was watching the news; the prospect of being able to watch Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki now seemed remote. But Puri assured them he was only planning to watch the headlines and that afterward, the TV was all theirs.

  Shyly, the two servant girls filed into the room and sat down on the floor at the foot of the couch, gazing up at the set in silence.

  Five minutes later, the channel appeared to change (in fact Puri had pressed play on the VCR remote control) and a Hindi news report began about the Ajay Kasliwal case in Jaipur.

  The pictures showed the High Court lawyer being led into court and Inspector Shekhawat telling the reporters that he could prove conclusively that the accused was guilty of killing his maidservant. The report, which was actually a number of reports Flush had edited together, cut to shots of the front of Raj Kasliwal Bhavan, then to a reporter saying that the maidservant, Mary, had been taken away in Kasliwal's Sumo and dumped on the Ajmer Road. There followed more scenes from outside the court taken on the first day of the trial, including a few shots of Mrs. Kasliwal. The report ended with a clip of Bobby addressing the cameras, insisting on his father's innocence.

  Mary watched in wide-eyed disbelief, with her hand over her mouth as if she was suppressing a scream. When Bobby appeared, she pointed at the TV and let out a startled cry. Then her head flopped forward onto her chest and she fainted.

  Mary awoke to find herself lying on the blue leather couch with a cold hand towel on her forehead. Rumpi was sitting next to her; Mummy was nearby in an armchair doing some knitting.

  "Are you all right, child?" asked Rumpi in a gentle, caring voice. "Try to rest; you've had a fright."

  Mary stared up at her with dozy eyes and then took a sharp, frightened breath and sat bolt upright.

  "Madam!" she exclaimed. "I saw him!"

  "You saw who?" asked Mummy.

  "Him!" she said, turning away from her and burying her face in one of the purple silk cushions.

  Rumpi put a gentle hand on her shoulder, saying, "Please don't cry. Nothing is going to happen. Ask Mummy-ji, she will tell you."

  "Yes, nothing bad will happen to you now," Puri's mother assured her, putting aside her knitting and joining Mary on the couch. "We will look after you. Now stop your crying and sit up and have some tea. It is freshly made. Come. Sit up now."

  Mary did as she was told, rubbing her tear-stained face with the tissues that Mummy gave her.

  "That's better, child," said Rumpi, handing her a cup of tea. "You are quite safe here. There's nothing to fear."

  After Mary had drunk half her tea, Mummy asked her again what it was that had caused her to faint.

  "If you tell us, then we can help you," said Rumpi.

  "Madam, I cannot say," whispered Mary, looking frightened.

  "Did it have something to do with what you were watching on television?" asked Mummy.

  Mary bowed her head, staring down into her teacup. A few more tears fell into the brown milky liquid. Rumpi started stroking the back of the girl's head.

  "Child, if you know anything about the case you saw on the TV, then you must tell us," she said. "It is very import ant. The man you saw, Shri Ajay Kasliwal, is accused of murdering a young maid who used to work in his house. She was called Mary-just like you. It is a serious charge. If he is convicted, Shri Kasliwal will spend the rest of his life in prison. There is even a possibility he will face the death penalty."

  But Mary continued to stare down into her teacup.

  "Dear me, child, this will not do," said Mummy, firmly. "Now you must finish your tea and tell us whether you worked for these people."

  Dutifully, Mary drained the cup and Rumpi took it from her.

  "Now, look at me, child," said Mummy.

  Mary's brimming eyes met those of the older lady.

  "Tell me. Did you work for this family?"

  The maidservant's lower lip started to tremble. "Yes, I worked for them," she admitted, and burst into another fit of sobbing.

  When it had passed, Mummy said, "If you are the same servant girl called Mary who worked for this family and you are alive, then Shri Kasliwal is innocent. You will have to go to Jaipur and help clear his name."

  The suggestion engendered a terrified reaction. "No, madam, I cannot go!"

  Rumpi took Mary's hand in her own.

  "Would you want Shri Kasliwal to go to prison for a murder he didn't commit? He is innocent."

  Mary hung her head again. "Madam, I cannot go," she repeated.

  "You must," said Mummy. "It is your duty. You have no choice in the matter. The destiny of this man and his family is in your hands. But you will not have to face this alone. I will be with you."

  Twenty-Six

  Before driving Mary and Mummy to Jaipur, Puri went to the Gymkhana Club to meet Brigadier Kapoor's granddaughter, Tisca.

  Their meeting was set for eleven o'clock in the morning, but the detective arrived a few minutes early to peruse the noticeboard in reception. The lunch menu promised Toad in a Hole and Pinky Pudding. Three more names had been added to the list of membership applicants. And there was a new notification signed by Col. P. V. S. Gill (Ret.), pointing out that hard shoes were to be worn in the building at all times. RUBBER SOULS CAUSE SQUEEKING AND ANNOYANCE, it stated.

  Wearing his nonsqueaking shoes, which he'd changed into before entering the club, Puri made his way to the front lawn. There he ordered tea and cucumber sandwiches and sat down at the most secluded table he could find-a good twelve feet from a gaggle of aunties talking in loud voices about how much money they'd made on the stock market.

  A
t the far end of the lawn, a mali was cutting the grass with a manual mower drawn by a buffalo.

  "Uncle, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't have that much of time," said Tisca Kapoor when she arrived, lowering herself into one of the cane chairs, which was barely wide enough to accommodate her wide girth. "Pappu Uncle asked me to meet you, but he wasn't at all clear about what it's about."

  "Actually, my dear, I have come as a friend to discuss your proposed marriage," said Puri.

  Tisca Kapoor rolled her eyes. "That's what I was afraid of," she said. "You've been asked by Brigadier dada-ji to talk some sense into me, no? Well you might as well save your breath, Uncle. Quite a number of aunties and uncles have tried before you. I love my grandpa very much and he's a national hero and all, but I've made my choice and I have my parents" blessing. That should be enough. Buss ."

  "I'm asking for a few minutes of your time only," said the detective. "You are quite correct. Your grandfather asked me to look into this matter and, during my investigation, I've come across certain information. This information is of a most highly delicate nature, to say the least. I'm in no doubt-no doubt at all, actually-that if your grandfather came to know what I'm now knowing, the wedding would be most certainly getting over in a jiffy. That is why I have come to you first. So, please do me the courtesy of answering a few questions. I have your best interests at heart, actually."

  "You're a private detective, is it-a kind of Indian Sherlock Holmes?" asked Tisca Kapoor.

  "Sherlock Holmes was fictitious, but I am very much real," answered Puri. "Yes, I am a private detective. The best in India, actually, as many important personages will attest. They'll also tell you I am a man of great discretion."

  He poured them both some tea.

  "Now, tell me how came you to know Mr. Mahinder Gupta?"

  Tisca Kapoor hesitated and then said with a sigh, "We studied together-him and me."

  "At Delhi University, correct?"

  "I see you've done your homework, Uncle."

  "You were sweethearts, is it?"

  "Just friends, actually."

  "And then?"

  "I stayed in Delhi; he went to Dubai. But we kept in touch. Last year he moved back to Delhi and we started spending time together. In August, we decided why not go the marriage way."

  "You've not considered marrying before?"

  "There've not been a lot of takers-not with my weight and all," she admitted.

  "Why him all of a sudden?"

  Tisca Kapoor smiled. "We've always got along, actually."

  "So it's a love marriage, is it?"

  "Certainly I love him, yes."

  "And he loves you, my dear?"

  Tisca Kapoor hesitated again. "I believe so," she answered. "Certainly he's very devoted and kind."

  Puri drank half a cup of tea, stuffed a cucumber sandwich into his mouth and chewed.

  "So I take it you won't be wanting a family," he said, his mouth half full.

  "Why do you say that, Uncle?" she asked, sounding more cautious.

  "You must be knowing about his problem."

  "Problem? What problem? I don't know of any problem."

  "It will do you little good to pretend, my dear," he said. "My investigation has been most thorough. I know everything . My only concern is you are not being deceived. If Mahinder Gupta has been one hundred percent honest, then that is your business. Certainly, I would keep his secret safe from your grandfather."

  She said nothing in response. Her expression betrayed both alarm and helplessness.

  "It's my guess you've known what he is for many years. Perhaps he confided to you at university. Or you discovered it by chance," prompted Puri.

  There was a long silence and then Tisca Kapoor said in a quiet voice, "It was at university. Everyone else teased me about my weight. None of the other boys gave me a second look. But Mahinder was always kind to me. We used to talk for hours and hours. About everything under the sun. I suppose I fell in love with him. One day I told him how I felt, but he ran from my room and after that he didn't talk to me for two weeks. Then, one day, he came to see me and told me that we could never be together. That was when he revealed his secret." She lowered her voice. "That was when he told me he was born a eunuch."

  Tisca Kapoor's throat had gone dry and so Puri poured her a glass of water.

  "You mustn't be embarrassed, my dear," he said. "In my profession I'm often called upon to put aside the detective and become the psychologist. There is little I have not heard."

  Tisca Kapoor sipped the water gratefully and nodded.

  "Understand, Uncle, this is something I've never told another living soul. Mahinder made me promise. He said his parents had hidden the truth from the world at his birth. Otherwise the hijras would have come and claimed him."

  "They were right to do so," interjected Puri. "They would most certainly have taken him."

  "That is why all through his childhood they kept it a secret. But also, had anyone at school ever found out, he would have been the laughingstock. That is why Mahinder has always been an extremely private person. He's kept himself to himself. But he's very sweet, I can assure you."

  "So now all these years later you're getting married. Is it only for convenience sake?" asked Puri.

  "I've always loved Mahinder," she said. "But, yes, partly it is for convenience. There's so much pressure to marry, Uncle. My mother has been after me for so long! Now at least she'll be off my back!"

  "She'll be after you for grandchildren next," said Puri. "What will you do?"

  "We'll adopt," she answered. "One girl and one boy."

  "It's all decided, is it?" asked Puri

  "We have it all planned out."

  The detective nodded knowingly. "Well, it's as I suspected. Just I wanted to check you weren't being taken advantage of."

  "So you won't tell anyone?"

  "My dear, you can trust me on that score. Confidentiality is my watchword, actually," said Puri with not a little bravado.

  Tisca Kapoor, soon to be Gupta, sighed with relief. "You're too kind, Uncle. I can't thank you enough."

  The detective beamed with pride. "No need for thank you, my dear. I'm only doing my duty."

  They walked back through reception and Puri saw her to her car. "What will you tell my grandfather?" Tisca Kapoor asked before driving away.

  "I'll tell him you're betrothed to a good man," answered Puri, but it was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

  Twenty-Seven

  Puri's Hindustan Ambassador reached the Jaipur courthouse at a quarter to five the following afternoon.

  It was the first day of the Ajay Kasliwal "Maidservant Murder" trial and the proceedings had been under way for a couple of hours.

  Outside the main entrance, the media had gathered in full force. Six uplink trucks were parked on the pavement, their satellite dishes emblazoned with the logos of the nation's English and Hindi 24-hour news channels. Eager, earnest reporters posed in front of cameras mounted on tripods, relaying live developments to tens of millions of potential viewers spread across the three million square kilometers that separated Kashmir from Kanyakumari. Photographers in sleeveless khaki jackets sat bent over their WiFi-enabled laptops transmitting the images they had captured an hour earlier of Kasliwal being led into court. Meanwhile a clutch of grizzled hacks milled around the chai stand, smoking laboriously, swapping disinformation and falling prey to their own self-deluding rumors.

  Had any of them but known the identity of the shy, frightened young Jharkhandi woman who passed within a few feet of them, they would have surrounded her in much the same way Indian crows will ring and taunt a street cat if they spot it out in the open.

  But the press-wallahs' scoop passed up the steps of the courthouse undetected.

  Once inside, Puri led Mummy, who in turn was holding Mary by the hand, down the busy corridors until they reached the door of Court 6.

  Already a crowd was waiting outside, all of them jostling for positi
on and trying to cajole the peon on the door to let them in despite the sign that stated boldly, HOUSE FULL.

  For once, Puri's powers of persuasion failed. The peon would not budge. "Naat possi-bal," he kept saying.

  Mummy scolded her son for his failure.

  "That's no way to go about things, Chubby," she said after he had been rebuffed for the third time. "How a son of mine ended up with cotton wool in his brain, I ask you? Evidently, a woman's touch is required, na. I will take care of it."

  Puri bristled. He had had grave misgivings about bringing along Mummy. But he had been left with no choice. Mary needed a chaperon and Rumpi needed to be at home to oversee the preparations for Diwali.

  "Mummy-ji, please. I told you, don't do interference. I will sort it out," Puri insisted.

  "Chubby, when you'll accept you don't have power over everything, na? A helping hand is required from time to time."

  Mummy's words echoed those spoken to Puri by Chanakya in the dream he'd had in his office; for once, he was dumbfounded.

  "What did you say, Mummy-ji?" he asked her.

  She tutted impatiently. "It's time to put away your pride, Chubby. I'm your mummy, after all. I've your best intentions at heart. Right now, a woman's touch is required. Now, you two go and sit. Jao!"

  For once, Puri did as he was told and took a seat with Mary on a bench a few feet down the corridor.

  With all the noise created by so many people coming and going from the various courtrooms, Puri was unable to make out what Mummy said to the peon on the door. But gradually the man's demeanor softened and then tears welled up in his eyes.

  Finally he signaled to the detective that he could enter the court after all.

  "What all you said to him?" asked Puri.

  "No time for explanations, na," she answered. "Let us say mummies have their uses after all. Now go quickly. Might be he's changing his mind. So corrupt these people are. We'll wait right here."