by Nisha Singh
‘No. We will stay here and try to find out something that has kept troubling me all this while.’
‘And which is?’
‘We now know how Pundit Parichay Mishra manipulates his victims but the why is still in shadows. To completely understand the motivation behind his manipulation, we will have to dig deeper. The picture will only clear once we find that out. I will try to talk to his coterie and other close companions; try to get some hints about what this man is up to.’
‘And what should I do?’
‘What you do the best.’
‘What?’
‘Observe me, my scribe!’ said my friend with an impish smile.
Again I was holed up in Bhakti Niwas with very little to entertain me. I admire the immense wealth of beauty in villages and that feeling of connection to your roots is always gratifying but you have got to admit that without the occasional dose of entertainment on the good old T.V set, little luxuries like a good coffee made on my wonderful machine, leisurely traveling in my comfortable car and frequent trips to the city library where I had the honor of a permanent membership, you could start to feel slightly under the weather. I love to travel with my dear friend and the quaint wonders of village life never fail to delight me but you have got to again admit that sometimes this robust lifestyle can prove a little too much for a delicate city dweller who is accustomed to all the comforts of modern world. If my friend did not carry such an exciting world within him which I had only just begun to explore, I confess I would not have battled the difficult conditions with the obstinacy of a bull.
The two weeks went by seeing little action from me but my friend was full of activity as he kept making quick rounds to the temple dressed like a non-descript laborer. Twice, I accompanied him on his sojourns but he just would not take the risk of admitting me anywhere near the temple and I was under strict orders to remain under the branches of the tree where the police jeep had been parked before. As I could not see what he was doing and also that it had become uncomfortable just standing on that lonely spot with only a man or two trickling down the road to watch as the temples had been closed off for restoration, I just gave up and preferred to stay in my room. Sometimes, Jeetu would come up to me and I would listen with joy as he talked about his mother and her little adorable habits and I would always end up giving something or the other to the motherless boy. I did not even think twice in untying my watch and handing it down to him. I knew he could easily afford it but I just wanted to gift him something and that watch was the only thing left on me. He was a major source of comfort to me during the long days and I would endeavor to keep him entertained lest I lost this valuable company too by telling him of my simple day-to-day adventures in the city. He would enjoy my stories immensely and soon I found him confessing to me that he would love to live in the city too and that he was quite done with the village life. I laughed but also assured him that he could always count on me for any guidance or help in the matter and he just hugged me with sheer joy.
Nataraj Bhakti spent most his time either in his room or in the porch outside where he would become busy with the new flowerbed and the array of fresh pots sporting young, tender leaves. He and Jeetu would water them tediously and I would often find them busy, squatting bare feet in the flowerbed with their Khuppi making way for yet another plant. Chiranjeev mostly loafed in the village bazaar and once or twice that his head poked in, I would just turn my back so that he would not be encouraged to enter the room in any way. I saw his wife sometimes when she would bring us the food and stand there as if a thousand questions were going through her mind which, for some reason, she would not ask. After the death of Savita, I had noticed that a change was coming over her in small degrees. She wasn’t the noisy, annoying woman whose only passion in life was to pry into the homes of her neighbors and steal some colorful moments from their lives to make her own exciting. Yes, she still retained some of that bloodhound look and the accompanying energy but there was now this dullness about her face, which was suggestive of a certain defeat that she had now accepted. Was it that she was slowly coming to terms with her current life? Or was there any other reason, I could not tell. But of one thing I was certain. She had changed from the woman I had first met. I do not know whether such a person was capable of introspection but I knew that she had, in some way that she resented, accidentally looked into her own life, instead of that of the others, and what she saw had scared her to hopelessness and defeat.
On the thirteenth day when I was taking a walk on the muddy, half-baked road under the extensive inter-connected Gold Mohur trees outside the old but imperious gates of the Bhakti Niwas, I saw Bhrigu almost running towards me. He looked greatly agitated and I could clearly tell that something was amiss.
‘What…what happened?’ I asked, as he stood near me, almost panting. ‘You look terrible!’
‘I got a call from the operator at the city’s forensic lab. They said that they would send a technician tomorrow.’
‘That’s good news. What’s the problem then?’
‘I would have to ask them to cancel everything.’
‘Cancel?’ I asked, surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Because they would not get what they are coming for.’ he said as a shadow crept under his eyes. ‘Pundit Parichay Mishra has disappeared!’
CHAPTER 48
A Solution
‘Disappeared?’ I asked, confused. ‘What do you mean “disappeared”?’
‘He is no where to be found.’ said my friend, deeply worried. ‘Today, the temples were to be opened to the tourists as the restoration work was now complete. The Pundit was to return today but without any information he just absented himself. When his assistant called him, his mobile came switched off. He kept calling the Pundit till noon but his mobile remained switched off. Today is the big Puja day, when they organize the Langar and Parichay Mishra’s presence was very important. They were surprised as to how he could have forgotten it as he usually comes even before time. The assistant left with a couple of men to call him at his home but his wife informed them that he had gone out the evening before and never returned home. She was much worried during the night and was on her way to the temple to find out whether he was there when she was approached. Its evening now and there is still no sign of the man. No one saw him in the village too. It’s as if he has disappeared from the face of this earth!’
‘Wait for a couple of days.’ I said, trying to soothe him. ‘He might return.’
‘I have a gut feeling, Sutte.’ he replied with a weak smile. ‘I think he has gone forever. Something is not right and I can sense it.’
I pacified him and took him inside the room where he sunk into the creaking chair with his eyes closed. ‘I just hope against hope that he returns back from wherever the hell he has gone.’
‘He will.’ I assured him. ‘Don’t lose heart.’
But he did not. The next day, the temple authorities called everyone who was even remotely related to the Pundit and his family to know about his whereabouts but the answer was the same everywhere. They had not heard from him at all. At the end of the third day, I was almost convinced that something terrible has happened to the man and that he would never return after all.
‘What must have happened to him?’ I asked, as we were returning from the temple after what seemed like a hundredth visit.
‘I don’t know.’ he replied. ‘And there is no way to know. I feel so helpless!’
‘Is he kidnapped?’
‘If he was then the kidnappers must have gotten in touch with us by now. They would have asked something against his release. The total silence is so baffling!’
‘Has…has he been killed?’
‘A man such as him is bound to make many enemies. Anyone of them could have sworn to finish him off for good but we do not know anything yet. The police have begun the investigation. Let’s see what they come up with.’
‘What are the possibilities of him running away on his own?’ I asked, again. ‘You have read his entries, haven’t you? He was very much troubled and annoyed with his wife. May be he decided that he should end his misery once and for all? That he was done living with her?’
‘No, Sutte. I don’t think that’s a possibility. The man was on his own mission; a mission which had turned into his passion. He had many people under his guidance and he was enjoying the thrill it gave him. He would not leave the fun all of sudden and decide to disappear. And besides, in my investigations I have unearthed enough evidence to understand the real motive behind the manipulation and the intense need to understand women. It was a grand plan and he was inching closer to his objective. He would never even dream of leaving his dreams, for which he had worked towards all his life, unfulfilled by running away.’
‘What was his objective then?’ I asked. ‘Why had he turned women into bacteria under his microscope?’
‘I will tell you everything in a proper sequence, Sutte, or else I would leave important pieces of this intricate puzzle.’
‘So you have solved it then?’ I asked, intrigued.
‘Yes. I have.’
‘Won’t you tell me?’
‘I will but let me catch my breath first.’
I bolted the door so that no one would disturb us and then sat cross-legged on the bed to hear what my friend was going to say. I had also opened the window to let the air in and reduce the stuffiness of the room. The sun was on its way down, tinting the sky with a beautiful orange-red color. A sparrow came fluttering and sat on the ledge looking about her with great curiosity. But trust me; she was not half as curious as me.
‘The first chain of this puzzle’ began my friend. ‘Is the return of Damyanti, Nataraj Bhakti’s wife, possibly to haunt him. To understand this fully, listen to these lines first. I did not tell you this before because I was afraid it would be too much for you to take everything all at once.’ He took out his cell-phone, opened a snapshot, zoomed it and read-
‘When a good man takes a wife, he imagines with her a happy new life.
She cooks and cleans and loves him indeed,
He thanks his stars for the newfound order in his hearth.
Soon enough the wife gets old and with that the marriage gets cold.
Now she rests in heaven, the husband sorry for his loss.
He has now time much to ponder how precious she was.
Now tell me, O intelligent one, for your wisdom is supreme,
If the dead be brought back to life,
How would the old man receive his wife?’
‘What is this?’ I cried. ‘Another poem?’
‘Yes. You can guess who the old man and his wife here are, can’t you?’
‘Nataraj Bhakti is the old man and Damyanti, his wife?’ I replied, scratching my head.
‘Yes.’
‘But…but what…how…I…I don’t understand.’ I said at last. ‘How did Pundit Parichay Mishra come to know about them and how does this explain the supernatural occurrence? Wait a minute. Now don’t you go on telling me that Damyanti is alive and she has been to see the Pundit.’
‘She is dead, Sutte. She is gone and has never returned.’
‘Then…then who is bringing her back? Who?!’
‘Savita.’ he replied grimly. ‘She was the one who brought her motherly sister-in-law back into the life of her estranged brother.’
‘You are out of your mind!’ I cried. ‘Why would an intelligent woman, do something like that?’
‘For her beloved sister-in-law who she loved like her own mother.’
‘So are you telling me that a woman like her would have anything to do with a man like the Pundit?’ I asked, enraged.
‘Yes.’ he replied calmly. ‘She was under his guidance but by a different name which he has mentioned in one of his entries. Pratigya, remember?’ He searched the lines on his phone and read- “She reminds me very much of my favorite Shishya, Pratigya.” This Pratigya is no other but Savita herself. She was afraid, just like Manjunath, that the Pundit would drop her name somewhere so she changed it.’ He paused and then continued. ‘You remember when Prem Malik had gone to Savita’s house in the wee hours of the morning to proclaim his love and she was not there? And we had wondered where she could have gone at that ungodly hour? Well, she had gone to see the Pundit who held private sessions very early in the morning. That’s where Neelu and Lakshmi used to go. They said they were going to the Shiv temple, because that’s what the Pundit had told them to say but in reality their morning usually started with such one-on-one sessions which the Pundit scheduled in the morning. I am ready to wager that he had a different arrangement with men like Manjunath.’
‘But…but how can a woman like her…’ my voice trailed off.
‘Do you remember that when we were searching her room, I found a small card with some unfinished lines written behind it, the meaning of which I could not understand as the context was missing? Once I had all the pieces of this puzzle together, that one fit itself perfectly.’
‘But those lines meant nothing.’ I cried. ‘They were written so carelessly! On an old card!’
‘And so they would mean nothing?’ he said, irritated. ‘Sometimes the most passionate of our feelings are mere scribbles which we write when we are in the heat of the moment and then forget about it when the moment passes. She too, wanted to vent her feelings when she was under the grip of such an emotion. She wrote them on the first thing that she could find. The battered, old card.’
‘But why would Savita do such a thing? It’s preposterous!’
‘Remember the lines that she wrote, Sutte, and you would understand. I have the card with me. Shall I read it to you?’
I did not reply and he took it as a yes. He rummaged in his brown duffel bag and when he returned he had the card in his hand, the same that we had found in the plastic. He turned it over and read- ‘It is a lesson which was long pending and I do not feel any guilt now.’ read he. ‘I have almost started to enjoy it. I sha…’
‘Somebody must have come into the room and hence she stopped abruptly.’ my friend said, tossing the card on the table.
‘The question still stands, Bhrigu, that why would she enjoy playing pranks on her own brother.’
‘Why indeed.’ he said under his breath. ‘The answer is evident if you care to look closely at the relationship between Nataraj Bhakti, his wife and Savita. Nataraj Bhakti was close to her cousin whom he loved like her own sister and would do nothing to hurt her. She respected and loved him too. But, when she returned, the relationship, as Bhakti himself told us, had become strained. He thought that this was a sensitive matter and her sister must want some privacy and hence he stayed away from her lest she took offence. He called her in-laws instead and their answer plus his trip to their residence must have made it clear to him that Savita’s husband was still alive. She had lied that her husband had died and so it must have occurred to a caring, sensitive brother that she was not yet ready to disclose her condition and her decision he respected and kept quiet. He thought this the best course of action and also that his sister would not feel burdened by the uncomfortable questions but Savita took his reticence as a feeling of distrust towards her. She was already reeling under the shock of her parent’s lack of trust in her and so she easily extended that feeling towards her brother too. With every passing day that he did not inquire about her life, she took it as a sort of disownment and started resenting her brother. In her moment of privation, the only shoulder that she received to cry upon was in the form of her affectionate sister-in-law, Damyanti, in whom she found a mother figure. Nataraj Bhakti also told us how the two had grown so close together and always kept worrying that his annoyed wife was turning her already aloof sister totally against him. Damyanti had always been an uncomplaining wife who went about her duties si
lently and without making any fuss but in her old age, she had started to assess her life and eventually, she found out how shabbily her husband had always treated her. It pained her to know that her position in the Bhakti household was no more than that of a glorified maid. She was aggrieved to know that her husband did not love her for her qualities but only cherished her for keeping his house in order. It was then that she began her passive aggressive behavior towards her husband as it was her way to show him how much she resented him now. Such were the feelings of these two women towards Nataraj Bhakti when they met and bonded. They found strength in each other and as Manjunath Gupta has also corroborated that Savita, in her days of intense grief, found solace in only one person. Damyanti. As Savita poured out her grief to Damyanti, who caressed her wounds with her loving words, Damyanti too, poured out what was boiling in her heart for so long. She told Savita how wretched her life has always been. How she had been exploited by the one man who cared for her as long as she looked after his house and his needs. Savita, sensitive and gentle that she was, was heart broken to hear the sad story of her sister-in-law and the resentment that she felt towards her brother only grew. During the course of their friendship, Damyanti’s health steadily deteriorated and she died leaving Savita even more wretched than before. She was sad that her sister-in-law should depart from this world after living such a miserable and love-less life, thanks to her brother. In her moments of grief, she must have pondered over how her brother was so much like her own husband; who had shunned her because of his own weaknesses and infirmities. During that time, she must have somehow gotten into contact with the Pundit. I am ready to wager that it was through her best friend, Lakshmi, who was seeing the man on a regular basis to free herself from her suffocating life and she must have forced Savita to meet him as he helped every troubled soul. Savita met him for her friend’s sake and while talking to him, she must have outpoured her and Damyanti’s condition. The mad man, paranoid about his poems and the tools that they were to understand women, must have quickly observed the connection between Damyanti’s life and the lines I have read to you just now. He could not wait to manipulate the circumstances to match that which was outlined in the poem to get an answer. It was his idea to bring Damyanti back from the grave to teach her husband a lesson. Savita must have been wary of the plan but then her own bitter feelings for men like her husband surfaced and she agreed that it was high time that they were taught a lesson. She finally agreed.’