No Illusions in Xanadu

by Ruby Gupta

  Rajvir was unable to understand what had got into his best friend. Mahesh began spending more and more time with assorted god-men at the Ghats of Varanasi. He began to explore alternative styles of living and even contemplated giving up home and becoming an ascetic.

  Somehow, Mahesh did finish school, albeit with very bad marks. Then whilst in college, he began to experiment with various meditation techniques. Soon he joined the cult of some Aghori baba. This cult carried out weird rituals involving human bones and skeletons in burial grounds after midnight.

  Rajvir tried his best to dissuade him.

  But it seemed that something powerful, some kind of external force had taken Mahesh in its grip. There was no way he was ready to come back to the ordinary path.

  ‘I want to know the truth about human existence. Learn everything there is. And acquire powers – supernatural powers,’ he explained to his best friend.

  Faced with Mahesh’s persistence in following his chosen path, Rajvir had no choice but to give up. As a friend, all he could do was respect his friend’s decision and be there for him.

  Soon they were pushed in different directions, yet they remained best friends over the decades. They did achieve what they had set out to do. Rajvir became a star and Mahesh became a renowned swami with an international following.

  Gradually, Swami Maheshanandaji became a mentor and guru of sorts to Rajvir’s family as well.

  ‘My dear, you don’t worry about anything. I am here to help you,’ Swami Maheshanandaji said to Pallavi.

  ‘Thank you Swamiji,’ Pallavi looked relieved.

  ‘I will stay here till the funeral,’ Maheshanandaji offered.

  ‘Yes, that will be nice. I can use all the support I can get,’ Pallavi said.

  ‘At this time we all are here for you,’ Dr. Singhvi added.

  ‘There will be tremendous media attention and hundreds of people will come to offer their condolences. I will certainly be glad to have you all by my side to help me deal with it all,’ Pallavi spoke gravely.

  Rose entered, followed closely by a maid bearing a tray of refreshments.

  The group settled down and began discussing the modalities of the funeral and the other things that needed to be tackled.

  Inspector Bhogle leaned back upon the comfortable sofa in the cosy sitting-room where Rose had stationed him for carrying out his interrogation.

  He had begun his questioning of the immediate family members of Rajvir Kapoor who were present at Xanadu.

  Admittedly, he did not know what to make of their reactions. Perhaps it was shock, but they all seemed strangely unmoved by the sudden tragedy.

  Barring Pallavi, who did seem somewhat sorrowful – though not much, the rest – his son Amar and daughter-in-law Remanika, seemed peculiarly indifferent, bored rather…

  Really, what kind of family was this? Could it be because they were guilty? Or was one of them guilty? His questions had been routine. When had they seen Rajvir last? Where had they been last night? Their answers were mundane. They had been at the party last night, and none could remember the exact time when they had last seen Rajvir. Maybe it was around midnight, they conjectured. After that, they had retired for the night and Rajvir had disappeared into his study, as was his usual practice.

  He also questioned Swami Maheshanandaji and Dr. Singhvi. They were both upset and saddened by the sudden demise of their friend. But they too had no inkling about the why and how of the death. Predictably they could provide no clues either.

  Inspector Bhogle then graduated to interrogating the house staff, one by one. He had just finished with the last of them. Although he had been careful not to reveal the precise reason for the interrogation, yet it seemed that the servants already had an inkling of what had happened. But knowing their place, they were careful not to let on that they were aware of the unexpected tragedy.

  They went along with the inspector and answered all his questions as best as they could.

  Bhogle flipped through the notes that he had jotted in his case diary. He was always meticulous about entering every little detail of every case he was on, into his case diary. There was not much. His previous three hours had not given him any concrete lead. He did, however, gain tremendous insight into the lifestyle of the more privileged beings on earth.

  When Rose had handed him the list of staff employed in the house, he had been amazed at their sheer number. He knew that the rich and famous had people waiting upon them for every little thing. But this was beyond his imagination.

  There were a total of sixty-seven staff members. These consisted of chefs, tech experts, cooking assistants, fitness-trainers, beauty experts, waiters, drivers, gardeners, handymen, electricians, plumbers, cleaners, liftmen, guards and several others with assorted job descriptions. So many people to take care of only one family comprising Rajvir, his wife Pallavi, their son Amar and his wife Remanika!

  There were the occasional houseguests and the infrequent parties; but on a regular basis, there was just the family of four, which too was not always present.

  Most of the time the four, all of whom had busy careers, were away on their individual film shoots, advertising campaigns, or some other assignments.

  Xanadu seemed very much a home for the staff, manned by the staff. Rajvir and Pallavi were generous employers and the staff was happy to be working for them. The pay and perks were great and there was not much work – at least not on a regular basis.

  They certainly did not bear any grudge against their employer and so could not be involved in Rajvir’s murder – at least this seemed to be the conclusion as of now, the inspector reflected.

  Looking through his notes, Bhogle realized that he did not have any immediate leads as to who could have murdered Rajvir. The servants did not really know about anyone who had any enmity with their master. Perhaps they would be more forthcoming only after they were told about the exact circumstances of their master’s death.

  Currently, all they could tell him was that everything had been routine the day before. For a week prior to it, they had been busy with preparations for the grand party. And it had all paid off – the party was a great success.

  The food, the ambience, and the entertainment – everything had been perfect and all the guests had left happy.

  No doubt, their hard work would translate into a good bonus this Diwali, was the unanimous belief of the staff.

  None of them could recall anything out of the ordinary occurring either during or after the party. Everything had been just the way it always was, at all of Rajvir’s parties.

  Rose had left to bring the two houseguests who were still staying in the two-storey guest wing of Xanadu. A couple of professors, she had said.

  Why in the world were two professors staying here in the house? the inspector wondered. Rajvir and his life seemed as far removed from the world of academics as was possible. Well, he would soon find out.

  After that, he would interrogate the temporary staff that had been brought in yesterday for the party.

  Then it would be the turn of the VIP guest list. He would have to be cautious about interrogating the guests who had been at the party. He had better be careful not to upset the bigwigs who were bound to be on the guest list. This was going to be more challenging than the normal murders he was used to taking up.

  Since this was such a high-profile case, Bhogle had decided to have a preliminary talk with everyone who was present on the night of the murder. He wanted to take no chances and nor overlook anything.

  He also needed to look at the security footage. The head of security had informed him about the closed-circuit camera system that criss-crossed across Xanadu. Bhogle too had noted the cameras in the parking floor, the main entrance and at various locations. The recordings of all the cameras last night would be very helpful, Inspector Bhogle realized. He instructed the security head to give him a complete copy of all the footage that was there from the night before.

  Bhogle had also asked for the floor p
lans of Xanadu to understand the entry and exit points to the house; particularly the entry and exit from Rajvir’s fatal 30th floor study.

  Once the post-mortem was performed and the time of death was narrowed down, only then he could begin his actual investigation and interrogation in right earnest. He would focus on the people who had a motive for committing the murder and were also present at Xanadu within the time window of the death.

  The fashion photographer sucked in his breath as he rapidly clicked a bikini-clad Natalie posing on the sandy beach. He was used to photographing gorgeous women, and yet, in his twelve-year career he had never shot anyone as alluring as Natalie. There was something about her – something indefinable, not visible to the naked eye so much as it was to the camera. The camera loved her, or maybe she loved the camera, for it brought out the sparkle in her eyes, and the charm of her personality. The best thing about her was her figure – athletic and yet feminine, enhanced further by her languorous body language.

  ‘Are we done?’ Natalie called out.

  ‘Yes, enough in the sand. Now I want you to step into the water,’ he instructed.

  Watching her glide sinuously into the water, the photographer felt himself go hot. ‘Get a grip on yourself old boy,’ he berated himself. He was a professional – not some callow youth easily smitten by a beautiful woman. Forcing himself to do the job at hand, he clicked photographs in quick succession as Natalie cavorted in the shallow water. She was a high-fashion model and knew all about posing and making love to the camera. She gave him all she had.

  Later, whilst drying herself, she began idly checking her phone for all the new messages that had come since morning. A second later she drew in her breath sharply.

  The photographer looked at her quizzically.

  She shook her head, being careful to keep her expression bland. ‘I’ll change and soon be back,’ she said as she walked shakily towards a makeshift tent put up for her on the beach. Once inside, she slumped on the cushions spread on the floor-level sitting arrangement. Once again, she read the sms: ‘Rajvir is dead’, it said. Unconsciously, her hand went to her stomach and she burst into tears.

  ‘Oh God! This is such an awful thing to have happened!’ Professor Dinkar Mishra said, looking distressed.

  ‘Yes. This is unbelievably terrible!’ his friend, Professor Shantanu Bose said, looking perturbed.

  ‘How could Rajvir die? It is not possible. If he could die, then so could we! I mean, all of us are in the same age group after all. There was nothing wrong with him. Or was he hiding some horrible secret? He looked and acted healthy. Maybe, maybe it was an accident,’ Professor Dinkar’s voice grew suddenly hoarse.

  ‘Yes that seems likely,’ Shantanu said.

  ‘I just cannot accept it. Last night we were laughing, and now he is no more? Can this be possible? Can my friend have really passed away?’ The hint of tears appeared in Dinkar’s eyes. He blinked rapidly whilst the tip of his nose reddened.

  ‘To think that we were invited here for the summer and then to have our host die like this…I mean, it’s appalling,’ Professor Shantanu said, pretending not to have noticed how overwrought his friend had become.

  ‘Yes, and now it is such a delicate situation. I don’t know what to do. Whether I should stay back and complete what I had come here for, or…leave after an appropriate interval…I don’t know,’ Professor Mishra tried to gain a semblance of pragmatism.

  ‘Well, I do think you owe it to Rajvir to finish the script as he had wanted. That would be the decent thing to do,’ Professor Shantanu counselled.

  ‘I suppose you are right,’ Professor Mishra spoke gruffly.

  A week ago, Professor Dinkar Mishra had flown in from California at the behest of his long-time friend, Rajvir Kapoor, to work on a script for his next venture. He was a professor of Culture Studies at a University in San Jose and the author of several novels. His last novel had won him the Man Booker Award. Rajvir, having always been fond of reading, had decided that he wanted his next film based upon Dinkar Mishra’s award-winning novel. Thereafter he had moved fast; bought the film rights of the novel and roped in the author himself to finalize the script.

  It was easy, since Rajvir and Dinkar went way back. The two had met when Rajvir had come to Mumbai to make it big and lived at Dinkar’s parents’ home as a paying guest for a couple of years. That was a period of intense struggle for the young Rajvir, and Dinkar’s family had extended great support to him. Never one to forget his friends, Rajvir had stayed in touch with the family over the decades, and especially with Dinkar, who had been his buddy during his lean years.

  Dinkar Mishra had agreed to spend his summer break in Mumbai and work on converting his novel into the script that Rajvir wanted. His family had decided to stay back at San Jose.

  Whilst in Mumbai, Dinkar thought of catching up with all his friends in India and decided to meet up with as many of them as possible.

  He was delighted to learn that his visit providentially coincided with that of his former colleague Shantanu Bose who was coming to the city for a summer school programme at IIT Mumbai. The two had begun their academic careers simultaneously at one of the IIT’s as young lecturers.

  Happy at the prospect of a reunion after five years, they decided to take up Rajvir’s generous offer to stay at Xanadu. They would each have a suite to themselves in one of the two floors of Xanadu that was devoted for guests.

  Professor Shantanu was supposed to stay at IIT Mumbai; but he was all too happy to cancel it in favour of spending as much time with his old friend as possible.

  Anyone looking at them would wonder at their friendship. They looked diametrically different from each other. Professor Dinkar Mishra looked like an avuncular, portly-built, genial, uncle-like person. His friend Shantanu looked youthful, boyish almost, with his side-parted smooth hair perpetually falling over his forehead in almost-contrived disarray, his tall broad-shouldered, lean frame, and warm brown eyes that held unfathomable depths. Dinkar always felt an uncharacteristic jealousy of his friend, fuelled in great measure by their initial years at IIT.

  During those years, Shantanu managed to acquire and build a legendary student fan following, most of it female. Shantanu never consciously did anything to instigate the adulation. It happened automatically. Not only was Shantanu good-looking, but his formidable knowledge and insightful intelligence soon became the stuff of student folklore. Their areas of academic interest were also completely different. Where Shantanu was just diversifying into the exciting world of nano technology, Dinkar was into literature, considered tame and unbelievably boring by IIT students. And yet, over the years, their friendship had grown and strengthened, having been built upon a foundation of deep affection and a healthy respect for each other.

  Rose entered the guest wing where the two professors were housed. ‘Sir, Inspector Bhogle is here and would like to speak to both of you,’ she said respectfully.

  They looked at her in surprise. ‘Inspector? Why?’ Professor Shantanu asked.

  ‘Well, Sir, I really cannot say anything. Inspector Bhogle is speaking to everyone in the house and so I am here to take you both to him,’ Rose was deadpan.

  Recording the flurry of activity outside of Xanadu, Vimal knew he was onto something big. But he could not be unprofessional and announce the news before a formal confirmation.

  The channel head soon devised a way out of this predicament. They began telecasting the comings and goings at Xanadu and periodically hinted that something momentous had happened, without actually referring to what it was. They alternated this with various clippings from the life and films of Rajvir Kapoor.

  Soon enough, phones were ringing everywhere and the public began to get increasingly restive, seeking news of their favourite star.

  Finally, the formal press statement announcing the sudden and untimely demise of Rajvir Kapoor was released. No details were given in the press release.

  Predictably, Vimal’s channel won maximum TRPs for the bre
aking news and the continuous programming they had already lined up.

  Soon the entire media went berserk. All the other television channels vied with each other in giving as much news centring on Rajvir as possible.

  Even though no one had any details, yet speculation was rife that there was something mysterious in the sudden death.

  There was a frantic scramble to get sound bites from the police, Rajvir’s family members and friends. This ploy was unsuccessful. No one agreed to say anything.

  Some of the television channels dug out small-time actors, starlets and character artistes – anybody who had ever shared the same breathing space with Rajvir, and interviewed them about the star. Ecstatic on getting their five minutes of fame, these obscure people were all too ready to relate numerous stories – some real, some heavily embellished and some entirely fictional.

  The channels were happy, as the voyeuristic audience eagerly lapped up whatever they dished out about Rajvir.

  There was breaking news about a remote village pradhan beginning the construction of a temple dedicated to Rajvir.

  Within twenty-four hours it seemed that the entire country was in the grip of mass hysteria. There was no other topic of conversation – it was Rajvir Kapoor who occupied pride of place in the national consciousness.

  Soon enough, pressure mounted on the police to reveal the exact circumstances of the death. There was no getting away. Commissioner of Mumbai Police, Karan Ahuja knew that the moment the news of the murder was released; the pressure to solve it would become acute.

  Would Inspector Bhogle be able to solve the case at the earliest, or should someone else be deployed on it? He wondered what to do. He did not have any doubts about Bhogle’s competence. But the public mood was such that this could escalate into an ugly mess and the police image could take a beating if they did not soon get on top of the situation.

  He wondered how the inspector was doing. Did he have any leads? Or was he still hunting for elusive clues and leads? He had better call the inspector and take his feedback. Then he would decide whether to assign the fast-becoming high-profile case to someone else or let Bhogle continue.