by Nisha Singh
‘But sir’ he protested gently. ‘Why do you need to follow a routine investigation? I am sure you have a fair idea about the identity of the culprit already.’
‘No, I have not.’ Bhrigu replied, a little cross. ‘And I don’t believe in ideas. They only distract you and nothing else.’
‘But…’
‘Bhaktiji, I know people think that I can read minds; someone who can see what a person truly is, and yes, my skills have done me credit but I base my deductions on cold reason and years of research and not just on a hunch or a foresight. But as long as I don’t have physical proofs to support my deductions, I treat them very lightly indeed.’
‘But why is that?’
‘Because a court of law does not recognize theories or ideas, neither does it accept the prophecies of a mind reader. Only hard evidence, corroborated by witnesses, is an absolute truth and until and unless we have that, my analysis will be as good as garbage.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to give me a list of names of those people who came in contact with Savita, in any way. I already have that of Chiranjeev and Premkala so you need not supply me with that.’
We were sitting under the old, paternal branches of a big Peepul tree, situated at a corner of a mustard field, along with a tube-well and, for reasons unexplained, a wooden ladder. A family of farmers was hard at work in the fields, oblivious to anyone or anything around them. The area around the tree was leveled with a thick plaster of mud and cow dung and I knew it to be the handiwork of the farmer family. The huge Peepul tree must serve as their resting and eating joint after a hard day’s work at their field. Bhrigu wanted to talk to Nataraj Bhakti at a place away from all the prying eyes and ears and after much deliberation, he had made up his mind about this place. ‘It’s very peaceful there.’ he had said. ‘All shade and fields.’ I had, at first, protested, remembering that in all the folk tales I had read as a child, the tree of Peepul had been the permanent residence of ghosts but Nataraj Bhakti had convinced me that all the ghouls of the village had taken shelter in his house, as they now liked modern comforts over uncomfortable traditions. And so here we were, talking peacefully under the magnificent shade offered by the Peepul tree and the music supplied by a variety of beautiful sparrows.
‘Savita was not very much involved with the villagers.’ said Nataraj Bhakti. He was comfortably sitting cross legged on the ground. ‘I sometimes thought she was even apprehensive about them. Well, she had a couple of girlfriends; mothers of a few of the children she used to teach in the shed. Madhu and Yojna were her good friends. Both of them, as far as I know, are simple village women, peacefully going about their domestic duties and that sort of thing. Next, she had also become a friend of Manju.’
‘You mean, Manjunath, your friend?’ I asked.
‘Yes, who else? They never spoke to each other much and…’ he stopped here. ‘A misunderstanding had finished them off for good but when she came back to the village after her husband, well, died, Manju proved that he was, after all, a good friend and well wisher of our family. He counseled Savita for hours and treated her like a true gentleman.’
‘But how can this be?’ I cried. ‘Manjunath told us in the train that…’ I stopped as my friend had raised an eye. I knew that it was my cue to stop.
‘What sir? What did he say?’
‘That Savita was his good friend.’ said Bhrigu. ‘And anyone else she was close to?’
‘No, sir. I am afraid…wait a minute!’
‘What?’ we asked at once.
‘How can I forget her? She was the closest to Savita. Her friend in need.’
‘Who?’
‘Her name is…let me recall…she had a simple name…what was it? Lakhiya? No. Leela? Nah. Let me see. Yes! Lakshmi. Her name was Lakshmi. She too, used to send her daughter to the shed. In the last couple of months, Savita and Lakshmi had become inseparable. I saw Lakshmi visiting Savita in her room many a time.’
‘Lakshmi?’ I said as I was assailed with a sense of Déjà vu. I had a feeling that I had heard the name before and as I sprawled a little more comfortably under the Peepul tree, it suddenly occurred to me. That man in the mini-bus had mentioned her while talking to Bulla Ram Prakash, the pradhan. Lakshmi was the quarrelsome woman whose aim had hurt the poor man’s child and, fed up with the endless fights, he had decided to change his residence. I told as much to Bhrigu and Nataraj Bhakti.
‘I’ll be damned!’ he cursed. ‘I did not know that a woman as sweet as Lakshmi could hurt a fly let alone do things that you have just told me. But if the man said as much to Bulla Ram Prakash, he must not be lying. But…how can that be?’ After a pause, he said ‘Well, it only goes to prove that you never really know anyone. They could be very different from what they appear.’
‘True.’ said Bhrigu. ‘Do you think you might have overlooked someone else?’
‘No.’ he replied with confidence. ‘Well, as far as my knowledge goes, that is to say.’
‘You keep saying that.’ said my friend. ‘I sense there is something which is bothering you. Please let us know all. Don’t hide anything.’
‘Well, sir…’ he began and stopped as the farmer from the fields came to draw water from the tube well. He looked at us curiously and said ‘Nataraj bhaiya, what are you doing here? I hope all is well?’
‘Everything is fine, Tulsi.’ he replied, smiling genially at the man. ‘Just relaxing here with my friends. It’s a good spot you have here.’
Tulsi smiled sweetly and went on with his work. After he had left, we resumed from where we had left off.
‘I have a hunch, sir.’
‘A hunch? About what?’
‘A feeling that Savita was leading a life that she kept secret from everyone.’ he said. A cloud of confusion and guilt overshadowed his features. ‘I don’t want to speak any slanders against her. God curse me if do. I am not judging her in the least. She suffered through a lot and if she found someone to alleviate that pain, it was but natural for her to hold on to it with dear life.’
‘What do you mean she found someone?’ I asked and felt the heat rising in my face. I knew that the man was overprotective of his late sister and the ‘feeling’ he was nurturing had sprouted from the seed of paranoia and distrust that he had planted in his mind. Even though he loved her, I knew that the scandalous stories circulating in the village against his sister had taken him in its powerful grip; weak as the man was, and however hard he tried to break free from it, the hold only got tighter. He said that he cared for her deeply but how was that possible without trust? Trust is to a relationship what oxygen is to life. Only a slight dip is enough to asphyxiate any bond, however strong it had once been.
‘I am so ashamed that I don’t know how to say it.’ The man went on and I found myself liking him lesser and lesser by the minute. ‘I feel so because I have no real facts to support whatever I say. As I said before, it’s just a feeling; a hunch, that’s what it is.’
‘Can we have that feeling?’ my friend asked and he sounded a little impatient.
Nervously, Bhakti looked around himself and at the Peepul tree, half expecting it to be listening in on the conversation. He then gulped uncomfortably and said ‘I…I think Savita was having an affair.’
‘What?’ I cried. ‘Please think before you speak Nataraj ji. Especially when she is not here to defend herself.’
‘Oh! Why did I even talk about this?’ he cried. ‘But…but her secretive ways could only point in that direction. She had become distant and cold. She never once tried to talk with me and she could barely notice Chiranjeev and Premkala around her. What did that say? Sometimes, she looked lost herself as if day dreaming. Premkala once told me that one day, when she was on Savita’s floor, she had heard her laughing. The door to her room was ajar and this was enough temptation for someone like Premkala. Eagerly, she tiptoed to
the door and glanced inside. You know what she saw? She saw Savita sitting by the window, her hair open, and signaling someone standing below. She ran to the nearest room to see who the person was but she could find no one. She noticed, though, a movement in the trees and then everything was silent.’
‘So you believe Premkala over your own sister?’ I almost shouted with anger. ‘And you are surprised why she went cold on you.’
‘No, sir, oh! Please believe me!’ The man looked close to tears. ‘When Premkala told me what she had seen, I scolded her thoroughly. I told her that if she had no life of her own, she had no right to interfere in others. I told her off so soundly that she did not speak to me for a week! Not that I cared, that is to say. But…but there was something going on in Savita’s life and of that I am quite sure. What? I don’t know. But she had a private life that no one knew about. I did not care about it because my sister was looking a little better than she did before. She was no longer a lifeless doll of flesh and bones but a human being once again. I was secretly glad that a positive change had come in her life.’
Just then, I remembered that when we had first met Savita, Bhrigu had said that although the woman looked sad, she was moving towards a happy state. Could this be the reason for her newfound joy? Nataraj Bhakti had just corroborated what my friend had observed before. However I disliked it, I knew that there never could be a smoke without fire.
‘I would have kept this in my womb.’ went on Bhakti, looking at Bhrigu for understanding and support. ‘But sir, I knew you wanted to know everything. Of that, I am not ashamed.’
‘And you shouldn’t be.’ said Bhrigu. ‘Nataraj ji, I know your intentions were always good but sometimes even good people come under fire because the circumstances are against them. I appreciate the fact that you took the risk of compromising your integrity in the face of absolute truth. I respect you for that.’
Nataraj Bhakti’s face glowed after hearing the words of praise from a man whom he held in so much respect. He said brightly ‘Thank you, sir. You are very kind, indeed. I…’
His tribute was cut off when Bhrigu’s phone vibrated in the pocket of his Kurta. He took it out and looked at the screen. ‘Inspector Chandu Srivastava calling’ appeared and disappeared, as if impatient and bursting with news.
CHAPTER 29
A Curious Report
‘Hello inspector.’ said Bhrigu.
‘Sir, you wanted me to call you once I had some news.’ he said and I could hear him clearly as Bhrigu had put the phone on loudspeaker for our benefit.
‘So you have news for me.’ my friend said with a smile. ‘Excellent. Please proceed.’
‘The medical report is with me now and it reveals pretty much the same. The interesting part is the result of the data processing.’
‘Yes? What do you have?’ after a thought he added. ‘I want to meet you at the police station. Are you available now?’
‘Any time for you, sir.’ he said.
‘Good. I will be coming over in five minutes.’ said my friend and disconnected the phone.
‘I will also come with you.’ I said, getting up at once.
‘I have no intention to refuse you.’ he said with a half smile.
‘Can I come to?’ said Nataraj Bhakti. He was looking at us expectantly. ‘I can breathe easily when I am occupied. Please take me along.’
‘I am sorry, Bhakti ji’ replied Bhrigu. ‘In the eyes of the law, you are a suspect and we do not take our suspects along in an investigation. The inspector would never agree to it and besides, you can still keep yourself occupied.’
‘How?’
‘I have an errand for you to run. Go back to the house and examine your late wife’s room thoroughly. See if the comb has been misplaced again. I would then want you to make as much noise as possible. Just make sure that everyone knows you have gone to Damyanti ji’s room. And then you have to come out, lock the door as usual.’
‘This tragedy had made me forget all about my recent troubles.’ The man said with a pang of pain in his voice. ‘The g…ghost of Damyanti did not trouble me after you left. Or did it get distracted by Savita’s death too? I guess I won’t mind its pranks much now. This grief has so paralyzed me that any other trouble is just a pleasant distraction and nothing else.’ He then paused for breath and said. ‘But, sir, that’s a strange order. Why on earth do you want me to…’
‘Everything will be clear once I hold one end of this tangled mess. Bhakti ji, do as I tell you. I somehow feel that your dead wife has gone back to her grave but we have to make sure of that. Please, do as I tell you.’
‘All right, sir. Anything you wish is my command.’
‘And make sure that Premakala and Chiranjeev hear you loud and clear.’
‘Very well, sir.’ said Bhakti and he was soon on his way.
‘What was all that about?’ I asked as soon as he had disappeared from our view.
‘Now don’t you start, Sutte.’ he cried and I smothered the throat of my curiosity. Together, we set off for the Krishna Dwar Police Chowki.
A sweeper was busy mopping the floor when we arrived at the police station. He retreated soon after we arrived, singing a gay Bhojpuri tune. The neem trees rustled with the touch of the wind and the sparse, white clouds in the sky played hide and seek with the sun. As we went inside, we observed that the hawaldar was snoring contentedly on his stool, his mouth open like a cave of Amarnath. Everything in the room was in a state of suspended motion and I felt as if I had walked into a 3-D picture. Only a pile of papers kept near the window caught the wind and flapped drowsily but the paper weight ensured that their sleep was not much disturbed by the wind; that their comfortable position on the table was maintained.
‘Hello?’ said Bhrigu tapping gently the right shoulder of the hawaldar.
No answer.
I knew that my gentle friend was not equal to the unpleasant task so I grabbed the man’s shoulder and shook him thoroughly.
‘Wha…what…who’s there?’ he cried, startled. With one hand, he wiped the drool off the right corner of his mouth.
‘We are here to meet Inspector Chandu Srivastava. Where is he?’ I asked boldly.
‘You scared me, sir’ he said, sitting a little straighter on his stool and passing a hand on his forehead. ‘Inspector sahib has gone to meet a friend of his.’
‘What?’ I cried, ignoring my friend’s warning look. ‘First he calls us and then forgets! What does that mean? Does he think we have all the time in the world? Answer me!’
‘Sir, please listen to me.’ The hawaldar protested. ‘His friend is the post master who has his office just across us, behind that neem tree, see.’ He pointed a finger straight ahead of him. ‘He told me to inform him when you arrive. The wind was so relaxing that I dozed off. I will call him in a moment. Please take a seat.’
He practically shot out of the room and disappeared behind one of the offices concealed behind a neem tree. The inspector arrived fifteen minutes after we had taken our seats opposite his desk at the chowki.
‘You are so punctual, sir.’ he said, walking straight to the chair behind his desk. ‘I thought you would at least take an hour but you are here in less than twenty minutes!’
‘Inspector, can I see the results?’ Bhrigu got straight to the point.
‘But of course.’ he said with a grin. ‘But first, tell me what you would have. Tea? Lassi?’
‘Only the report.’
Chandu Srivastava laughed heartily and picked up a file from a set of drawers under his desk. He passed it to my friend and as we looked inside, Chandu Srivastava said ‘As you can see, we could not pick up much from the crime scene. A few strands of hair, a sample of blood, few fabrics of cloth, a toothpick and a lady’s handkerchief.’
‘Yes, I see that here in the report.’ said Bhrigu.
‘They have misspelled handkerchief.
It’s written “hannerchef” and it’s not “tootpic”. It’s toothpick. t-o-o-t-h-p-i-c-k.’
‘Well, the sub-inspector is a fool.’ said the inspector, turning a shade red. ‘He is the one who makes such kind of mistakes. Next time I will cross check him after he makes the report.’
‘The word Circumstantial is written as “Circumstanshal”
‘The sub-inspector.’ growled the Inspector.
‘Sutte, if you have finished your corrections, can we proceed?’ said my friend and I lapsed into total silence. How could I control myself when the English language was being thus rebuked? I was a man of letters and such mistakes were a pain almost too much to endure.
‘The strand of hair,’ continued the inspector with enthusiasm (Was it because I was snubbed?) ‘…the toothpick, the blood sample and the handkerchief, all belonged to the victim. We drew three fabrics of cloth. Two matched with the sari worn by the victim but the third was an outside entry whose source we have yet to determine.’
‘Did you find a purse or anything?’ Inquired my friend.
‘Yes. A small one. We extracted the toothpick and the handkerchief from the purse.’
‘Did you run the purse for fingerprints?’
‘Why? yes.’ replied Chandu Srivastava, beaming. He must be feeling like a student who had aced a difficult question. ‘You will find that on the adjoining page. We found no other fingerprints on it than that of the victim.’
‘Did you find her cell-phone?’
‘No. I doubt if she had one.’
‘She had one. You just could not find it.’ said my friend. ‘Any footmarks around the body?’
‘Well, sir, we found not one but several.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘The villagers.’ said Bhrigu.
The inspector nodded. ‘When we arrived, they had made a small, tight circle around the body. Some of the daring ones even went closer to the body, trying to play the detective, I am sure.’
‘That’s one vital clue gone.’ said my friend. ‘But, wait a minute, what do we have here?’