Bhrigu Mahesh, Phd

by Nisha Singh

  ‘No.’ he replied, somberly. ‘It was from the medical examiner. He just sent over some of the pictures of Savita’s dead body and the injuries that she succumbed to. This investigation got derailed only because the M.E had put his personal obligation over professional. Had he done his duty, we would not have lost so much time.’

  ‘But tell me’ I asked as I was conscious of a sharp pain in my chest. ‘What did you see in those photos?’

  He completely ignored me and straightening his Kurta, got ready to leave the room.

  ‘Wait a minute!’ I cried, trying to somehow throw a shirt over my vest. ‘I am coming too!’

  Nataraj Bhakti was standing there like a statue. He was listening to our exchange like a man paralyzed but as soon as we made our way towards the door, he broke down.

  ‘Manju?!’ he cried. ‘Did Manju kill my sister? You…you are mistaken, sir. Manju is my best friend. He is almost a family member. He can never hurt anyone let alone my sister. He cared about her deeply. Oh! You are mistaken! That lecherous police inspector has deceived you. Please…’ He was now following us down the stairs. ‘Please, listen to me! Manju is innocent!’

  ‘Bhakti ji’ said my friend over his shoulder. ‘We are not accusing anyone. Please, relax. Everything is part of a routine investigation.’

  ‘So…so…Manju is not being blamed?’ he cried, trying to keep in step with us.

  Bhrigu stopped abruptly when we were almost at the outer door of the house and faced the wretched man squarely. ‘What is more important to you?’ he said with visible irritation. ‘Getting justice for your sister or protecting a friend? Tell me, now. If you prefer the latter, I am ready to drop your case this moment.’

  The retired clerk looked at the verge of protest but then he swallowed whatever was on the tip of his tongue and said in a defeated voice. ‘I want my sister to rest in peace.’

  ‘So stop making things difficult for us.’ Bhrigu admonished him like a teacher does a troublemaker. ‘Stay here and try to relax. We will be back in a couple of hours.’

  ‘What a coincidence.’ said Manjunth. ‘I was just thinking of calling you, sir.’

  ‘Really?’ Bhrigu said. ‘Anything important?’

  ‘I…I just wanted to know how far the investigation has progressed. That’s all.’ he said with a strained look on his face. ‘Nataraj ji is losing weight so quickly that it sometimes frightens me. Have you seen him lately? He is now just a shadow of the man he once was. I thought that if Savita’s k…killer…’ he gulped uncomfortably and resumed. ‘Was…was found, it would give him some respite, you know.’

  ‘Its good that you are so concerned about your friend.’ said Bhrigu, as I shifted uncomfortably on the couch. ‘And let me tell you, sir, your feeling is well reciprocated.’

  Manjunth Gupta smiled nervously at my friend’s comment but said nothing.

  There was an awkward silence for a few minutes where I could distinctly hear the ticking of the wall clock. It was 4’o clock in the evening and the pendulum slowly moved to and fro without making a sound. Somehow, I felt as if it was mimicking the rhythm of my own heart beat.

  ‘Manjunth ji.’ Bhrigu began. ‘If you won’t mind, can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Yes, sir, anything.’ he replied, quickly.

  ‘You are still in love with Savita, aren’t you? Please reply truthfully. We are all friends here.’

  Manjunath recoiled at Bhrigu’s question almost as if he had flung a particularly dangerous snake at him. ‘Wh…what…why do you…’ he stammered.

  ‘Yes, don’t you?’ Bhrigu persisted.

  Manjunath was clearly struggling with his emotions and I could see evidence of sweat forming on his forehead. He sat there paralyzed for a full minute and no word seemed to escape his lips. He kept staring at us as if we were aliens sitting in his living room and when I was starting to get worried about his condition, he let out a loud sigh and then his whole body sagged as if his own emotions had defeated and conquered him.

  ‘Yes.’ he replied in a small voice. ‘But please don’t mention any of this to my wife. She is a very good person and doesn’t deserve to hear any of this.’

  Ignoring his plea, Bhrigu continued his interview. ‘She has haunted you in your dreams, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Y…yes.’

  ‘Never seen a woman more beautiful…’

  ‘Or more intelligent and caring, for that matter.’ he now supplied eagerly. ‘She was just perfect. Who can help but fall in love with such a woman? Surely, you can’t blame me. I have done nothing wrong. Whatever my feelings, I haven’t acted against my virtues.’

  ‘Do you love your wife?’

  He stared at the ground for a full moment and then replied. ‘I can do anything for her.’

  ‘That’s not what I asked, sir.’ Bhrigu persisted. ‘Do you love her?’

  ‘Yes…God! Yes.’ he replied. ‘She…she is the mother of my children, how couldn’t I?’

  ‘Being the mother of your children does not automatically qualify her for your love.’ replied my friend. ‘You can marry and have children even without love if you so wish. It’s just like the possession of materials. When you acquire something, it does not mean that you will love it too, right?’

  ‘I…you…’ he stammered. ‘Neelu is a very good woman.’

  ‘But not good enough for you to fall in love with.’ he then added in an undertone. ‘After all, she is good and all but she is not Savita, is she?’

  ‘I…I don’t understand you.’ he said almost to himself. The man had turned a deep shade of red due to his guilt and embarrassment and he kept rubbing his palms nervously.

  ‘Does your wife know about your feelings for Savita?’

  ‘I…I have not said a word to her.’

  ‘Women have a sixth sense when it comes to such matters. You think she does not know but she does. Trust me on that.’

  ‘H…how are you so sure?’ Manjunath cried in alarm. ‘She only knows that Savita was one of my childhood friends and nothing else. Also, that she was my best friend’s sister. She has never shown any sign of suspicion neither has she asked any uncomfortable questions. My wife trusts me with all her heart. She has no reason to complain.’

  ‘Your inability to know about her condition is proof enough that she is as important to you as this chair on which you are now sitting. It is giving your knees rest but you don’t care if it’s straining under your weight until and unless it actually gives way.’

  ‘What are you trying to say, sir?’ said Manjunath out of breath. ‘I told you my inmost secret only because I think of you as my friend. But you are hell bent on torturing me!’

  ‘I am torturing you?!’ My friend had turned slightly red around the ears. This was a clear signal that Manjunath Gupta had touched a raw nerve somewhere in him.

  ‘Yes, sir, you are.’ he replied, confused and alarmed. ‘You are unnecessarily dragging my wife into this conversation, when all I did was to ask how the investigation was progressing.’

  ‘The investigation is complete, Mr. Gupta, and that’s why I can’t talk anything about it without dragging your wife into the conversation. You see, she is the one where everything comes to an end.’

  ‘What do you mean? What has my wife got to do with anything?’

  ‘Everything.’ replied my friend. ‘You see, she is the one who badgered your sweetheart to death.’

  CHAPTER 38

  As Sweet as

  Revenge

  ‘Have you lost your mind?!’ cried the man. ‘My wife? A murderer? The very idea!’

  ‘Yes.’ Bhrigu replied calmly. ‘But you are in no way less guilty than she is.’

  Manjunath’s face was drained off all color. For a moment, I thought that he had turned to stone. ‘Sir, I am telling you for a fact. My wife is the gentlest being on this planet. You don’t believe me? Fi
ne. You can have any number of testimonials from our neighbors. They will all tell the exact same story. There is not a single family in the neighborhood who has not received help from her in some way or another. Only a week ago, she helped Jai Prakash Thakur’s wife in completing her pickle orders. If it was not for her, the woman wouldn’t have received the money on time to pay their daughter’s school fees.’

  ‘Where is your wife now?’ asked Bhrigu.

  ‘She is at the sweet shop.’ he replied. ‘I was feeling a little under the weather, so I sent her instead.’

  ‘So she helps you run the shop too?’

  ‘Almost all the time. She has never refused me anything.’

  ‘And that’s how you repay her?’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Manjunath cried indignantly. ‘I have done all my duties of a loving husband. We have a strong relationship. You…why are you trying to prove otherwise? Are you annoyed with me for some reason and is this a wicked way to get back at me?’

  ‘Manjunath ji.’ my friend replied. ‘Your insinuation is baseless. Truth, in any form, is always objective and I have all the evidence pointing in only one direction. You will have to accept the truth. I am afraid there is no other way.’

  ‘But…but…I think…I think I will go mad! Please let me have a glass of water.’ Manjunath vanished inside the house and came back a full fifteen minutes later. He sat down quietly opposite us and said in a small voice. ‘Are…are you sure of that?’

  ‘I am afraid, yes.’ replied my friend with the dull hint of compassion clear in his eyes. ‘How were the relations of Savita and your wife?’

  ‘They never met much but once or twice that they did; it was always on a friendly foot. My wife is a very quiet person. She does not talk to people much, especially to someone like Savita.’

  ‘What do you mean someone like Savita?’

  Manjunath turned red again and then resumed. ‘Savita was not just beautiful but she was a woman of great culture. She was well read and had a wide range of hobbies. My wife, on the other hand, has had only primary education and the only books she has ever read are those of Panchatantra and Ramayana. She was always a little intimidated around Savita and that I have clearly noticed but…but that doesn’t mean a thing, does it?’

  Bhrigu answered this question by putting one of his own. ‘Have you never mentioned Savita in front of your wife? Please answer truthfully.’

  ‘Never…’ he then corrected himself. ‘I mean never in a significant way. I have just taken her name casually like a mere acquaintance and nothing more.’

  ‘How did your wife react when you took her name?’

  ‘She…she just nodded her head as was her fashion.’ He let out a breath. ‘See here, my wife is not a talker. She just listens or works. That’s all.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Why, yes. After all she is my wife of fifteen years. If anyone knows her the best, it’s me.’

  ‘And what do you know about her?’

  ‘I…’ began Manjunath but then stopped abruptly. ‘Sir, why are you running around in circles? What are you trying to prove?’

  Bhrigu ignored his passionate plea once again. ‘Are you ready to swear that your wife is gentle and mild-mannered?’

  ‘Absolutely. As I said before, you can ask anyone in the neighborhood and they will tell you exactly that.’

  Bhrigu sat brooding for a while and then he asked again. ‘Had you noticed any recent changes in her?’

  ‘No…not that I…well…no…’

  ‘Yes or No?’

  ‘Only a small change and that too was temporary.’

  ‘And what was that change?’ asked Bhrigu with a wry smile. ‘That she had suddenly developed an interest in cosmetics? And that the change was fleeting?’

  Manjunath looked at Bhrigu as if he was a clairvoyant who had just read his mind. ‘H…how did you…?’

  ‘Never mind. Your wife has always loved simplicity so you were naturally amazed when she started drowning her face in colors, is it not?’

  ‘Y…yes.’ stammered Manjunath. ‘But that doesn’t mean anything, does it?’

  ‘Please take us to your shop, Manjunath ji.’ said Bhrigu, ignoring his question yet again. ‘Your wife has to be interviewed.’

  ‘But…please…oh god!’ cried the man. He almost looked at the verge of hysterics.

  ‘Or do you want her to be paraded to the police station by a couple of rough policemen? Trust me, sir; these people have a thing for drama.’

  On hearing this, Manjunath slowly got to his feet and after trembling from head to foot for a couple of minutes, he made his way out of the door, looking as pale as a man who has just been resurrected from the dead.

  The road from Manjunath’s house to the sweet shop was a lonely and desolate one save for a man or two who passed us occasionally, trying in vain to catch our guide’s eye. Manjunath looked like a dead man walking and at two or three points in our journey; he appeared to be at the brink of a major breakdown. We walked on in silence and I could clearly hear the pattering of our out of sync steps on the kaccha road, accounting for the only noise that broke the heavy atmosphere, charged with a thousand unpleasant thoughts that kept disturbing the harmony of the otherwise peaceful surroundings. I let out a sigh of relief when we passed through a thick undergrowth of bushes and Manjunath’s sweet shop appeared faintly on the horizon. Involuntarily, we fell in a queue with Manjunath taking the lead and my friend and I following him quietly, as if respecting his mood and ignoring the cheery salutation of an occasional shop owner who kept appearing to our left and right, trying hard to catch the eye of Manjunath. Soon, we were standing before a big, dirty board knocked to a side on account of one of its two legs missing, sporting the name in faded black- ‘Chabilanath’s Authentic Sweet Shop. Est. 1949, Feb 23.’

  The establishment had a humble façade but I knew that the out of sight kitchen must be large enough to accommodate half the village. The sweet smell of a thousand different concoctions reached my nose and teased my sweet tooth. I have always had a thing for sweets and the smell of pure ghee mixing with burnt milk was enough to get me salivating like a man hungry for a hundred days. I could see the delicacies; the products of excellent culinary workmanship, attracting customers from behind the dusty glass panels where they were proudly displayed with their names written boldly under them. There was a beeline of customers waiting to take their seats on the chairs inside the shop and the ones already inside, looked smug with satisfaction at their good fortune of having secured a table. They were king among the milling line of peasants and the way they savored the sweets with a long draught of the Indian Tea was a clear indication of their feeling on the matter.

  ‘I will take you through the back door.’ said Manjunath mechanically. ‘Nee…Neelu must be in the kitchen, administering the halwais (Sweet-makers)’

  We nodded our approval and followed him to the back of the shop where a single door lay open. As compared to the crowd at the front, the rear was almost empty save for a dog that loitered behind a tree and an overweight man in a soiled dhoti who squatted near a running tap affixed slightly above the ground, devotedly scrubbing a huge vessel and humming a gay tune. The water flowed freely and as soon as he raised his eyes and saw Manjunath he hurriedly closed the tap and looked as guilty as charged. I assumed that in normal circumstances, it was a standard procedure to close the tap when there was no need of water and this man must have been admonished many a time by his master for his wasteful habit. But, today, his master’s mind was a million miles away from the subjects of water and taps; these being things that only take the forefront of the mind when all the rest is happy and peaceful.

  ‘The light is low inside so watch your step.’ he said, taking us through the door.

  We could only see clearly when our pupils had finally adjusted to the dim light inside. I observed that
we were in a short passageway and all I could do was to follow my friend as my pupil was taking more time than usual to adjust and I was as blind as a bat. It was only when we crossed a pedestal and walked into a huge, airy room with big windows streaming in the light that I thankfully recovered my optic faculties.

  It was a sight, that room. Five big utensils were hoisted over stoves and gallons of milk was being churned by men who were fit and healthy enough to pass off as wrestlers. Four of them sat cross legged on the ground, kneading the dough and making small balls out of it as swiftly as a programmed machine. There was this thick smell of ghee and milk and dough and a thousand unidentified ingredients in the air, and all my olfactory lobes could process was-sweet. The air was saturated with as many variations of sweet as possible and whenever I took a fresh breath, I smelled a different smell but the general theme was the same. Sweet.

  The workers seemed to be in sync with their activities and they all performed like a well oiled machine. As we went into the depths of the kitchen, I spotted a feminine figure shrouded in darkness at a corner. When we approached her, I saw that it was Neelu, sitting nervously on a stool and absent-mindedly fingering an assortment of sweets on a plate, freshly prepared. She looked up at us and every fiber in her body froze.

  ‘Y…you?’ she asked, getting up and clumsily pinning her pallu to her head.

  ‘Neelu.’ said Manjunath in his mechanical voice. ‘They have come to meet you.’

  ‘M…meet me? Why?’ she asked nervously and rubbed her palms on her sari.

  ‘Neelu ji, you have to come with us to the police station.’ said Bhrigu somberly.

  We thought that she would appose or ask further questions but to my immense surprise, the woman just looked at us pathetically; almost like a lamb caught in the lion’s den and sure of its own destruction. Her hopelessness clearly shone through her eyes and there was that vacant, hollow look in them that clearly betrayed the feeling that all along she knew what was coming and she was waiting for it, terrified but almost prepared. Now that she knew her fate was sealed, she looked no longer scared, but only a lost, defeated woman with no future ahead of her.