by Nisha Singh
A light of hope cleared some of the misery and helplessness that convulsed the stricken man’s face. ‘Yes. That’s true.’ he replied, hopefully. ‘Jeetu is now my own child and I will look after him as well as I can. That is a promise I make to my dead sister.’
I could see that he looked a better man after making that resolution.
CHAPTER 26
A Bereaved Room
‘I feel as if we are intruding.’ I said ‘Is this so necessary?’
‘Yes, Sutte, it is.’ replied my friend. ‘If we search thoroughly, I firmly believe that we will find something that would help us in our investigation. And besides, it’s S.I.P’
‘Standard investigation practice. Yes, yes, I know. But still, I feel as if I am betraying her. I don’t like it at all.’
‘Then you can wait for me in our room while I do this on my own.’
‘No, no.’ I cried ‘I…I will get over my inhibition. Don’t you worry.’
‘Good. Now stop complaining and let’s start.’
Savita’s room hadn’t been disturbed since her death and everything was exactly in the way that she had left it. A thick layer of dust had already settled everywhere but the state of the room was order itself. Everything was arranged perfectly and one could clearly say from the state of the room that its owner knew organization. It still looked as if the room was ready in waiting for its owner, unaware that it would never be looked after this well again.
There was a double-bed in the centre of the room and a beautiful green cover with Jaipuri print was spread over it. There was a utilitarian dressing table by its side and on it was kept a small sized, colorful set of plastic drawers. I pulled each one and found that they were home to her rubber-bands, hair-pins, safety-pins and a couple of cuff-links, probably belonging to her son. Also, on the dressing table was neatly arranged a bottle of herbal moisturizer, a hair serum, four lipsticks, and two red color nail-polishes. In a small bowl kept at a corner, I could find two combs; one large and the other small along with a packet of bindis, a nail-cutter and a big, black ribbon. When I opened the drawer of the dressing table, I could spot some accessories, mostly earrings and a beautiful, artificial pearl necklace that had been laid out beautifully. The dressing-table was proof enough that the person whom it catered to liked to take care of herself. I, though, could not find anything suspicious that the drawer may be hiding.
My friend was busy searching the simple, wooden wardrobe where Savita had kept her clothes neatly. There were several saris, laundered and ready to be used arranged on the top two racks and a few salwar-suits were hung on hangars. In the last two rows were arranged the shirts and trousers of Jeetu and they all looked quite new.
‘These are a lot of beautiful clothes.’ I remarked.
‘Savita was a well-to-do woman.’ said my friend.
‘She still worked so hard, taking tuitions, making lunches, tolerating her obnoxious relatives when she could have easily taken a room somewhere in the city and lived comfortably with her son.’
‘Just because one is rich does not mean that he or she should not work. No self-respecting person can find satisfaction, living off the riches of his fathers. Savita was broken and hence she came here for her wounds to heal but she was still a hard-working, intelligent woman who could not eat in peace without ensuring that she had earned it.’
‘Yes, you are right. You are so right. That’s the reason I so loved her but now…’
‘Well, did you find anything in the drawers?’ he asked, cutting me off.
‘Nothing suspicious.’ I said. ‘Only her artifacts and accessories. Say, B, can I take a safety-pin or a band or something. Something to remember her by?’
He did not say anything and I took it as a yes. A beautiful hair-pin, set in black, artificial pearls, reminded me of her beautiful, shining eyes and I pocketed it quickly.
‘Did you find a cell-phone anywhere?’ he asked.
‘No, I did not.’ I replied.
‘I think we will have to forget about it then.’ said he. ‘She was trying to cut herself off from the world outside and I feel as if she did away with the tool of connection. Never mind. We have other sources for information too. Let’s carry on.’
We looked under the covers of the bed and under the bed itself, emptied the water-cooler and searched its depths but came up with nothing. Finally, all that was still left to be searched was a open cupboard where Savita had displayed a Rajasthani doll, dressed like a bride and holding a fan her hand, a couple of Rajasthani puppets, a couple of beaded boxes, many small decoration pieces made of clay, including a beautiful set of tea-cups, her books and a basuri that no doubt, belonged to her son. I could see that she had made every effort to make this small, dilapidated room look bright and happy. My friend looked at the cup-board and then his hand went to a plastic bag that was shoved at the back of the doll. He took it out elegantly, without disturbing anything and shook the dust off. He then emptied the contents of the plastic on to the bed. There was a file inside and as we looked into it, we found that it contained the academic records of Savita and also the report cards of Jeetu. There were also some prize certificates that she had won, mostly in creative writing, which were also kept there. And in the midst, lay a solitary card and this was what arrested the attention of my friend.
It was a beautiful card with a vase of orchids on the cover and written over it, “Happy Teacher’s day!” in red, deeply etched letters. It was signed in colorful pens by four small hands- Vivek, Asha, Chetna and Priya, followed by several smilies and a few roughly sketched hearts and roses. There must have been an artist in the group for the flourish of the pencil was bold and artistic.
‘A teacher’s day card’ I said. ‘Nice.’
‘A teacher is the voice of God teaching us things that we need to know and become good people. We love you, dear teacher.’ He read the lines written inside and then turned it over. On the back was scribbled carelessly in pencil, the words-
“It is a lesson which was long pending and I do not feel any guilt now. I have almost started to enjoy it. I sha…”
‘What is this?’ I cried. ‘I don’t get it.’
There had come a glint in my friend’s eye. He read the lines several times with his sharp eyes and then said almost in a whisper, ‘So, I was right after all.’
CHAPTER 27
A Police Chowki
‘I don’t know why you are poking your nose into our business.’ said Inspector Chandu Srivastava of Krishna Dwar Police Chowki, contentedly chewing the betel nut. ‘You say Nataraj Bhakti wants you to help in the case but sir, he cannot order us about anything. We don’t require your services as our police force is quite capable. You are free to investigate on your own but you will not receive any information from us. The law only recognizes our work and not yours.’
‘And that’s why it’s in such a deplorable state.’ my friend said turning a shade red.
‘What did you just say?’ barked Chandu Srivastava.
‘Listen here, inspector, I have a proposal for you.’
‘Proposal? What proposal?’
‘The proposal to get rich.’
Chandu Srivastava sat a little straighter in his chair and I could see that he had stopped chewing his betel-nut. ‘I am afraid I did not understand you, sir.’
‘The victim, Savita, was a very rich woman and she died without making any will. The money is now her child’s and as the child is still under eighteen; his guardian controls his inheritance for him. That guardian is my client, Nataraj Bhakti.’
Chandu Srivastava was now sitting in his seat as straight as an arrow. He had spit the half worked betel-nut in the nearby dust bin.
‘He has announced a fat prize for whoever finds the culprit.’ said Bhrigu easily, now relaxing in his chair. ‘I should inform you that I was here even before the incident and had all along suspected some such tragedy.
I have already gathered vital information by studying the then potential suspects and the only thing that holds me from the killer are the clues you lifted from the crime scene. Neither of us will ever finish the investigation without one supplying the other with what they have. Here is what I propose. We become partners, share our information, solve the case and divide the money.’
Chandu Srivastava’s eyes were positively gleaming after the last of the offer was over. ‘Birju!’ he cried and a pudgy hawaldar ran to his table. ‘Why you dolt! Can’t you see we have such distinguished guests? Go and get three steaming cups of tea with added cream.’
We were sitting in the small, claustrophobic chowki of Krishna Dwar. There was a small table set for the inspector, a couple of rotting wooden chairs, a surahi for cold water and an air cooler that only circulated the warm air and did nothing to provide respite from the cruel, hot weather. A stray dog always looked in, hoping for entry and as the hawaldar pounded his stick, he would withdraw making a piteous noise that did nothing to melt the heart of the man. The station was situated near a small, dirty pond and a slight breeze would arrive in small gusts but the heat wave that followed would not let us enjoy it for long. There were a couple of other small government offices around the compound, but they were hidden behind a thick group of neem trees that grew around that area in abundance.
‘Here you are.’ said the inspector as the hawaldar brought in three cups of tea and some biscuits to go with it. As I looked at the dirty, discolored cups, I quickly made the excuse of being a ‘tea’totaler, if you know what I mean.
‘So’ again said Chandu Srivastava as he took a huge, noisy sip of the Indian brew and devoured a biscuit whole. ‘How can I help you?’
‘As I told you before.’ said my friend ‘I want the data you have.’
‘That’s all very well, sir’ he replied, with a false, toothy smile. ‘But we are still processing the data. I assure you that whatever comes out of it, I’ll tell you.’
‘Where are you handling the forensics?’
‘Fo-ren what now?’ he asked, confused.
‘Your data processing.’ replied my friend as he involuntarily reached towards his cup of tea.
‘Oh’ he replied, happy again. ‘We have sent it to the district hospital. There’s a lab there. Whatever they tell us, we are happy.’
‘As I can see you are. Do you at least have the medical report? My client told me that you have received it.’
‘Yes.’ The inspector smiled. ‘But the report is still under review.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The doctor said that he wanted to revise the report. Add some details he had overlooked, remove some that he had unnecessarily added and that sort of thing, you know.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘Now, sir, you have asked plenty of questions yourself’ continued Chandu Srivastava, now going for another biscuit. ‘Now answer some of mine.’
‘What?’
‘What did you mean when you said and I quote ‘potential suspects’? How can there be suspects even before a murder?’
I looked at the man in surprise. I did not know he had the intelligence required to analyze what he had heard. As far as I could see, he was just the sort of fellow who had given his senses an indefinite leave and was just happy to receive his salary at the end of every month. I think the mention of money had motivated him enough to call them back from their holidays.
‘That’s how I work.’ replied Bhrigu. He was looking uneasy by the minute.
‘Now I don’t understand. Can you not elaborate?’
‘When a tragedy occurs, it does not happen overnight. It is in the making for months, may be years.’ my friend replied grudgingly. ‘When I observe something is not right, it’s in my line of work to recognize it and then try to dissolve the tension before any harm is done. It sometimes helps in averting the worst.’
‘And how is that?’
‘By studying the personalities of the persons involved and the relationships they have with each other.’ he replied, crisply. ‘Now, inspector, can you give me your number? I will call you to check up on the results.’
‘Sure, sure’ said the inspector but as he was about to do the needful, he asked on the sly. ‘But the money?’
‘You will get it if you satisfy your end of the bargain.’
And out came the ten numbers charmed by greed.
After this particularly difficult, though, successful meeting with the inspector of Krishna Dwar, we were back at the Bhakti house to find Premkala dozing off on a cot kept outside the house, exactly at the spot where the pandal had been yesterday. Most of the things had been cleared but a coconut shell here, a banana peel there still reminded us of the ceremony. A faint fragrance of incense still hung in the air and the lifeless loudspeaker was yet to be removed.
As I saw Premkala, I realized that during the Puja yesterday, I could spot neither her nor her husband; not that I cared to look around that much. The whole village had made their presence felt except the two. Nataraj Bhakti, sitting alongside a pale faced Jeetu, had been helped in the performance of the Puja by Manjunath Gupta and his wife, Neelu. The poor couple had looked as grief worn as their friend as they worked together as a team, understanding and anticipating the needs of each other. As I drew closer to the vile woman, I couldn’t help but feel a spiking of anger and however hard I tried to control myself, I failed miserably.
‘So, you are sleeping here.’ I said loudly and the woman woke up with a start.
‘Wh…who’s there?’ she barked in a heavy voice. Her eyes were bloodshot with sleep.
‘Sutte, let it go.’ my friend said. ‘We will talk to her at some other moment.’
This time I ignored him. ‘Madam, if it’s not too much to ask, where were you yesterday?’
‘What’s that to you?’ she said, sitting up, rubbing her eyes.
‘Why? Are you the only one to ask questions?’
I thought she almost growled at me. ‘Leave me alone.’ She snarled and got up to go inside the house.
‘Excuse me, Premkala ji.’ Bhrigu said. ‘I apologize for my friend’s conduct. It was just that we thought you would take active participation in the rites ceremony and your absence was very conspicuous.’
She stopped in her tracks and looked at him with pure hate. After a few seconds, though, she came back and sat cross legged on the cot. ‘I and my husband were here. Where can we go? This is our house and we have no place else to go. Had we anywhere else to go, trust me, we would have been long gone.’
‘Then…then where were you yesterday?’
‘I… we…’ she hesitated.
‘Yes. What?’
‘During the Puja we had to go to…um…Chauhan ji’s house. He called my husband, informing him that he had returned from Kolkata, where he had gone to visit his son. He called us to come at once so we did.’
‘Who is Chauhan?’
‘The retired advocate.’
There was an uncomfortable silence as I could feel anger almost burning me from inside out. I thought I had got a fever. ‘Why…you…’
Bhrigu raised an eye and almost warned me to keep quiet.
‘What could we do?’ The woman cried. ‘Savita is gone and she is free of all the problems of this miserable life. But…but…we are unfortunate enough to be still living. When she was alive we never once asked for her money but now that she is no more, we are entitled to at least a portion of it. After all, we were her family who loved her and cared for her. I am sure she would have wanted the same thing. I don’t want her inheritance to be mismanaged and not in the least by that insufferable man, my selfish brother in law, and hence my husband and I went to the advocate’s house to understand better how we are to claim what is rightfully ours.’
‘And what did he tell you?’
She let out a deep sigh o
f frustration and annoyance. ‘He said that the inheritance has passed on to her son, Jeetu. But until eighteen years of age, it will be under the control of a guardian.’
‘So, what are you going to do next?’
‘We love Jeetu much more than our own sons. Those two are good for nothing loafers just like their father. I have always thought of Jeetu like my own child. I will be blessed indeed to take care of him.’
‘And make merry with his money.’ I finished the thought for her.
‘Look here, mister, that is not what I…’
‘I am afraid that won’t be possible anymore.’ Bhrigu said quickly. He had put on his smile. ‘Nataraj Bhakti is his guardian and he has completed all the paperwork necessary for the same.’
‘No!’ she cried hysterically.
‘I am afraid so. But you can still take care of Jeetu. Money needn’t come between love, isn’t it?’
She glared at him for a second, got off the cot and walked angrily inside.
‘Only yesterday you suggested Bhakti to become Jeetu’s guardian.’ I said, after the woman had gone. ‘When did he complete the paperwork in so short a time?’
‘He did not.’ he said with a satisfied smile. ‘But they don’t know that, do they?’
I was so overcome with emotion that I almost embraced him.
CHAPTER 28
A List of Suspects
‘Bhaktiji’ said my friend. ‘Before the police is ready with the reports, it would be better advised to not waste our time and start on with the investigation.’
‘Yes, sir’ replied Bhakti. ‘Anything to distract my mind from this numbing grief is welcome. And besides, I don’t want to leave any stone unturned in finding the devil who took my sister away from me.’
‘The first logical thing, of course, is to draw up the list of suspects. We can then take it from there. You know everyone Savita had a connection to?’
He thought for a while. ‘In this village, well, at least I think I know.’
‘That’s one problem less then.’