Authors: Manjiri Prabhu
“So I asked myself: If his intentions were good,
what
would be his moment of unbalanced decision which would goad him to commit a crime? Could it be connected with Raujibua’s death? And if yes, how could Sumeet be involved with it? Everyone, including Sumeet himself, claimed that he loved his Guruji to a point of self-effacement. If he loved his teacher so much, why in heaven’s name would he try to do away with the man? The motive eluded me, and for a while I was baffled. Until I realized that the motive in this whole affair was not hate, not jealousy, not money—but love! A vague idea of the whole situation began to form in my head. But I had absolutely no way of knowing whether I was on the right track. So I concocted a story about a cat being hit by a car to gauge the reactions of all three students. Each man’s response to the story revealed his level of emotional tolerance and his view on death. Sumeet predictably confirmed that he wouldn’t hesitate from ending the cat’s suffering. And there lay my answer. Sumeet, who loved his Guruji beyond measure, who had nursed his Guruji selflessly, had mercy-killed his Guruji. The motive was obvious—compassion, duty, and misplaced love. But how had he pulled it off? How could a person provoke a heart attack in another man? And the answer fell straight into my hands in the form of the Hassu Khan story. And then I suddenly remembered seeing a photocopy of the story on Sumeet’s table and I knew for certain he had done it! And how!
“Once I listened to the CD, everything fell in place. While I was listening to the raag, a voice sang a
taan.
The music was electric, piercing my brain and mind like a shock of lightning. Goose bumps prickled all over my body. Within seconds, the other voices had resumed their regular singing, but the effect of that
taan
still held me captive. And finally, in a flash, I knew why Mrs. Dharkar had had her suspicions. She was aware that such a
taan
could have its ill effects. And she was right.
“The CD with the
Kadak Bijlee ki Taan
had indeed killed Raujibua. But how could I prove that? Then I remembered the volume button on the CD player. If I could get Sumeet to rearrange the volume level, it would be enough proof for my theory. So I enlisted Kirit’s aid. I requested him to sit tight-lipped as I flung my accusations. He was shocked, but he cooperated brilliantly. Bishan’s confession of his guilt, followed by my accusation of Kirit, convinced Sumeet that all was over and that he could safely eliminate the only thing that might give him away. Since the room had been continuously locked since Raujibua’s death, he hadn’t had a chance to do so. Or maybe he never thought anyone would connect the CD with the heart attack, so he hadn’t seen the urgency to return the level to normal. Anyway, as justice would have it, we were there to witness him do so!”
“Fantastic!” Mohnish exclaimed. “But had Mrs. Dharkar suspected this?”
“I think she suspected that it had something to do with the jealousies running amongst the students. And her husband’s dying wish being realised must have troubled her as being too much of a coincidence. It was also a little strange that it was while listening to the students’ CD that her husband had passed away. She had, of course, read the Hassu Khan story and wanted me to read the book. But she couldn’t find it. I found it later in Kirit’s room. But she couldn’t make open accusations, specially since she loved all her students and Sumeet had devoted his life to her husband. How could she even mention that any one of them had indulged in foul play? At the same time, she couldn’t ignore her doubts. She had to get her conscience cleared. And I’m glad she did. Killing, whether it is mercy or otherwise, is an unforgivable act!”
“What a peculiar use of music,” Jatin remarked.
Sonia nodded. “Music is beautiful, powerful, and magical. And, most important, it heals. This may be the first time that someone actually used it to kill.”
“But, Boss, what about Vandana and Kirit? What’s going to happen to those two now?”
“I think that’s for Mrs. Dharkar to decide. I would be willing to bet she won’t mind having a son-in-law she loves like a son.”
“And Bishan?”
“He and Kirit will together carry on Raujibua’s name in the world. I believe that they are resolving all their differences.”
“And what about Sumeet? What’s going to happen to him?”
“That’s for Inspector Divekar to decide. It’s a fact that he hasn’t actually been caught in the act of murdering Raujibua and the proof against him is flimsy. But he confessed to us and now it’s up to the police to make a case against him. One thing is for sure, Sumeet will never represent Gwalior Gharana ever again! That in itself is, I believe, his life sentence! The stigma, the humiliation, and a life without his beloved music! I can’t imagine a worse punishment for him!”
“So nothing has happened as Raujibua envisioned. Sumeet, his favourite student, will never represent him again,” Mohnish said.
“Good! What a cold-hearted decision that was, deliberately ending his Guru’s life and justifying it with a good cause!” Jatin remarked. “I can’t imagine doing something like that to my Guru, Boss, however much I love you or care for you!”
“Thank you, I’m most relieved to hear that!” Sonia raised her eyes heavenwards.
“You can enjoy a peaceful night now.” Mohnish grinned.
Sonia laughed. “Thanks to my loyal assistant!”
8
The Letters
The rays of a weak December sun slanted in through the window. Wrapped in a warm Kashmiri red shawl, Sonia held her hands over the room heater in the outer office. Nidhi lay tucked on a chair, occasionally licking a paw. Jatin was busy at the computer.
“What a cozy scene! Mind if I join you?” Without awaiting an invitation, Mohnish strode in and settled down beside the heater.
He wore a soft, guava-green sweater over black trousers. An unusual colour for a man, Sonia noticed, but it looked good on his tall, handsome frame.
“What brings you here so early in the morning?” she asked.
“The guarantee of a cup of
chai
on a very cold day!”
Jatin looked up from the computer and grinned. “I heard you!”
“And also to share with you a discovery I have made!” Mohnish added, and was pleased to see the quickened interest on Sonia’s face. She looked extremely appealing in the red shawl, her face flushed and rosy with the warmth of the heater.
“Breaking news!” Her liquid brown eyes glinted.
“Absolutely. Tell me, when did you first receive a threatening note?”
Sonia frowned. “I think it was in May.”
“And when did Devika see ‘the ghost’ for the first time?”
“In May.”
“Right. And when did the second note appear?”
“July,” Jatin spoke up, shutting down his computer. “I remember Boss was to attend a wedding in Mumbai and that same day there was a report in the newspaper about the ghost being spotted around our office.”
“I’m surprised at your wonderful memory!”
“I’m not. I introduced Naina to Boss that day,” Jatin replied dolefully.
“And the third note appeared around the end of October. Devika found it tucked into the nameplate!” Sonia exclaimed.
“And I saw the ghost with my own eyes the night before!” Jatin declared.
“See what I mean? The notes always seem to be linked with the appearance of your ghost!” Mohnish raised an eyebrow.
“Of course! Why didn’t I make the connection?” Sonia seemed amazed.
“Because, Boss, you never took the notes seriously enough to apply your mind categorically to them!” her assistant reprimanded as he handed out cups of
chai.
“Yes, I guess you’re right,” Sonia admitted. “But that was very smart of you.” She smiled at Mohnish.
“Thank you, ma’am. Although, I haven’t finished yet.” Mohnish took a long satisfied sip from his cup. “The gap between each note and the visits of the ghost to the office has been approximately a month to two months. Which means that his scheduled visit to deliver another threatening note ought to be around this time.”
Sonia nodded. “I’d love to catch hold of this guy and find out what he has against us!”
“Exactly what I had in mind. I have a plan. Beginning tomorrow, we take turns and stay on guard here during the night. Sooner or later, he’ll prowl around and then we can nab him!”
“Excellent idea! I’ll take the first turn tomorrow night!” Jatin enthused.
“And Nidhi and I’ll take the next!” Sonia added.
“I think we’ll do it together,” Mohnish suggested mildly.
“Why? I’m perfectly capable of taking on a make-believe ghost!” Sonia turned a stern eye on him.
“Absolutely! But
I’m
not!” Mohnish replied gravely.
“I don’t believe you!”
“Let me admit it:
I’m scared of the dark!
I can’t sit alone for two minutes before the palpitations begin.”
Sonia scrutinised his face. “You’re not making this up?”
Mohnish shook his head, his expression serious.
“All right!” Sonia shrugged. “We’ll keep watch together.”
“Good, that’s resolved!” Jatin sounded relieved. He was aware that the slightest suggestion of her incapacity would not have gone down well with his Boss.
He rubbed his hands gleefully. “I can’t wait to give that ghost a rap on his bottom with my hockey stick!”
“It may happen sooner than you think.” Mohnish rose. “That’s settled, then. I’ve got to go. See you later!”
Sonia stared at the email. After Mohnish had left, she and Jatin had a delicious early lunch of
Pav Bhaji.
Now, well satiated, she was checking her email. She was not in the least surprised when she read The Owl’s one-liner.
“Sonia, I need to meet with you!”
Brief, and yet it sent the blood in her veins zinging! Varun Thakur had sent two mails last week, each with the same note of urgency, but she had ignored them completely. She didn’t wish to be enmeshed in a web of attraction she had no power to extract herself from. Because she had finally come to terms with the fact that she was far from indifferent to Varun. The Owl drifted in and out of her life like a welcome breeze on a hot day. Her brief encounter with him at Lonavala Station had only proved that she was in grave danger of falling for an international crook. And that would certainly be
her
worst crime. If she had an iota of sense—and she claimed she had oodles of sense—she would steer clear of the remotest shadow of The Owl. Sever all ties with him. And that was exactly what she had in mind.
She hit the reply icon and quickly wrote an answer. Brief and concise.
“I don’t wish to see you. Consider yourself lucky that I have as yet not revealed your emails to the police!”
She read and reread the response several times. Then, satisfied that the message conveyed her feelings well, she dispatched it and returned to her surfing.
Jatin was in front of the TV, watching the One Day International Cricket match being played in Chennai. He yelled in joy as someone hit a sixer, and smiled gleefully as the crowd cheered wildly in the stadium. Like all cricket lovers, he was as involved with the match as if he were playing it himself. Sonia was glad that he was gradually getting over the Naina experience. He had the resilience of youth on his side, and very soon Naina would be a hazy memory, Sonia was positive of it. On an impulse, she shut down the computer and joined him.
“Boss, did you see that hit? It was superb! India just needs fifty runs to win from thirty-five balls! This is going to get more and more exciting!”
For the next half hour, the atmosphere in the office was electric. Despite her lukewarm interest in the game of cricket, Sonia found herself catching her breath every time the batsman hit the ball, and clapping hard with Jatin as the score rose. Finally, with two balls to go and five runs to make, their eyes were glued to the TV set, as millions of eyes all over India would be. The captain of the opposite team rearranged the players on the field and the baller took his own time, rubbing the ball against his trousers, taking a head start. The batsman took a swipe at the ball, hitting it straight into the audience. A six! And India had won the match! Jatin jumped wildly and Sonia joined him, amazed at the sense of patriotism and pride that swelled in her heart. The stadium was roaring as the game ended and all the players were congratulating one another. Crackers began bursting on F.C.Road, celebrating the success of the Indian team.
“What a classic win!” Devika declared as she walked in. In jeans and a flamboyant orange woollen top, she looked slick.
“Fantastic!” Jatin agreed.
“Only, I wish they wouldn’t spoil the win by creating sound and air pollution,” Sonia remarked. “I wonder where they produce these crackers from, at the drop of a ball?”
“Boss,” her assistant explained with forced patience, “they keep a stock ready, specially for the matches.”
“Really? What foresight!” his Boss replied, with a grimace.
Devika laughed. “Cricket and Hindi films are the twin hearts of our country!”
“You said it!” Jatin agreed heartily.
“Are you terribly busy right now?” Devika asked Sonia, on a more serious note.
“The match is over, the emails are gone, and Nidhi is sleeping.” Sonia smiled.
“Good. Because I want to ask you to do me a favour,” Devika said.
“Sure! Let’s go into my office.”
Devika followed her into the inner office. There, she delved into her handbag and extracted an ornate wooden box with a tiny latch on it. The detective eyed it curiously, but kept silent.
“About a year ago my grandmother expired. She lived alone here, in Pune. She was a very grand lady, strong and courageous. She raised my mother and her brother single-handedly because my grandfather expired very early in her life. Anyway, I was cleaning up the attic some months ago and discovered this box.” Devika thrust forward the carved box. “Go ahead, open it.”
Sonia did as she was told. The box was of good wood, the polish gone but the carving still ornate and excellent. She raised the lid. A sheaf of papers, rolled up and held securely by a faded, red satin ribbon, lay inside.
“They are letters written by my grandmother to a friend. Letters which apparently she never posted, for some private reason. I read them. They are all addressed to a very close male friend and I feel it’s my duty to hand him his property. When you read them, you’ll understand what I mean.”
“You want me to read these?”
Devika nodded. “Not only do I want you to read them, I’d be grateful if you could locate this man for me, because I’d feel so much better when I hand those letters over to him.”
Sonia glanced at the box and touched the letters. She was reluctant to read someone’s private thoughts, especially those of an old lady. It was like invading someone’s sacred space and polluting it.
“Are you sure you want me to go through them? Can’t you just tell me what’s in them? And we’ll try to find this man?”
“It’s not that simple. I know it’s a little awkward reading private mail. I felt some qualms, too. But I brushed them aside and I’m glad I did. My grandmother is no more, but she has left behind a task for me to complete. If I hadn’t read these papers, I would never have known why it was so important that they reach her friend.”
“If you’re so sure…”
“Oh yes, I’m positive this is the only way. And that you’re the only one who can do this for me. I would never have allowed a stranger to read those letters. It’s you I trust.”
“Thank you,” Sonia replied simply. “I’ll go through them tonight and let you know what will be my course of action.”
“Great!”
Sonia spread the letters, each written on a different letter pad, almost all of them fancy. There were five letters, all beautifully written, in different shades of blue ink. They spanned a period of almost twenty years, and despite herself, Sonia experienced a tingling of anticipation.
The night was cold and she wrapped herself in a warm woollen blanket and picked up the first letter.
1968, Pune
Dear Asit,
I had to write you this letter, specially after what happened last night. I have been a fool!
I know that I admitted it to you! Admitted that I loved you. Against all my resolve and good sense! How could I? Love is not for the likes of me. And specially not for us. I am writing this to you because I know that I shall never have the courage to say it to your face. This is wrong. Nothing can come out of this. I have two children and they have only me. I know that you’ll say you’ll help me raise them. But you are little more than a kid yourself! There, I said it! I spoke about the huge age difference between us—twenty years! God, you are young enough to be my son! I feel awful ever encouraging
you! I can hear you say age makes no difference in love, but it does. And even though my kids love you, society would never accept a relationship like ours. I have faced too much in life and behaved very rashly—rebelled against a stifling lifestyle, eloped, and went against every tradition set down by my “great family”! But I can’t do this. For a while, swept away in fairy-tale love, I really thought that I could. But I forgot one important thing. I am a mother now. I can’t do anything that would put my children to shame.
That is why I must ask you to leave. I know this is awful and that you have been wonderful to me. You’ve been a good paying guest and I shall have to begin hunting for another tenant. But this can go no further.
Please go away and never come back, if you really and truly do love me!
Tara.
Sonia paused, replacing the letter on the table. Such strong emotions, riddled with guilt. But the letter had never been posted. Why? Did Tara’s courage ultimately fail her? Did her love for this man prove stronger than the laws of attraction laid out by Indian society in the sixties and seventies?
She picked up another letter and settled against the pillow.
1970, Pune
Dear Asit,
I’m so proud of you! You finally did it! You’re an Engineer! Despite all the upheavals in your life
(and mine), you passed your examinations with flying colours. Yes, I’ve been keeping tabs on you, though you never knew it. I mean, not only on a professional front—I am your professor after all—but on a personal front, too. I know you’re out of my life and I know that I managed to convince you to move out. But I can’t help remembering the lovely warm times we all spent in my house for two years.
My new tenant is a nice girl. She would’ve made you a good friend—certainly better than that fancy doll you’re dating now. But then, it’s none of my business, is it? I wish it was, but it isn’t….
All the best for you. I hope you do well, in whatever you do. Whether we ever meet again or not. Amrita and Venky send hugs and kisses.
All my love,
Tara.
The next letter was dated several years later. Sonia poured herself a glass of water and drank it before she read the letter.
Pune, 1980
Dear Asit,
Look at the way the years have flown since you returned into my life after your graduation. We started off like old friends and I thought that’s all it would remain. But it didn’t, did it? You proposed to me—a proposal filled with love and sincerity! But I think you’re crazy! I am fifty-five!
Why did you return? Why did you take up a job in Pune? Why do we have to go through this all over again? Why did I allow you to step back into my
life? Now it will be harder to let you go! I know that you’re no longer my student nor my tenant and that you don’t care a damn what society thinks, but I do! For the sake of my children. Please help me to be strong. I love you so much, but I love my children, too! They are adults now and understand a lot of things. They are good souls and would never grudge me happiness, but I don’t wish to put them through the acid test. They are just beginning to enjoy their life, college, friends, and I don’t want to embarrass them. So help me! Go away—go back to your home in Mumbai, pursue your career, do well, marry a nice beautiful girl and settle down. God knows, it’s already too late! But you have to try!