The food kept ready on the counters was passed around. Soft drinks made the rounds. Those with families and plans left half-heartedly. The others stayed on to party.
Suddenly, I was staring at a blank screen. The recording had ended, just as abruptly as Piyush’s life had.
Chapter 8
Pandurang Tikre, our chief operating officer, called that afternoon. A body resembling Piyush’s had swept up onto a beach near Alibag, a town 140 km from Pune. The police wanted someone to come and identify it. Even the thought of identifying a dead body that could confirm Piyush’s death had made the sweet, docile Pakhi a nervous wreck.
Her mental state didn’t surprise me. She had been so anxious that she had called me ten times on Chirag’s first day at work. This situation was far more devastating. I couldn’t imagine her being able to walk into a morgue to see if some corpse was that of her husband.
Piyush’s father-in-law was at the resort where the search was still on, so she had requested Pandurang, who was one of Piyush’s closest friends, to go instead.
He informed me that he was leaving and paused. I could gauge that he wanted to take me along but wasn’t sure if I wanted to go. I spared him the trouble and told him I would join him.
Sitting in his car while he drove, doubt gripped me. Was I doing the right thing? Was I prepared to see a dead body, least of all Piyush’s dead body? But somewhere deep inside, a voice reminded me that this was the only chance I would get to say a private goodbye to him.
Piyush, the man I loved—had loved since I understood love—was dead. He was no longer mine. He belonged to his family. I would have to pay my respects to him like any other well-wisher or acquaintance once his family claimed his body. This small window of a few stolen seconds alone with him was all I would ever get to bid farewell.
I was disgusted with myself for thinking ahead and being so practical. Assuming that he was dead ended any hope of other outcomes. I did not know if I hated the situation more or myself.
◆◆◆
This was my first visit to a government hospital. All around I saw broken people and illness—patients on foot, stretchers, and wheelchairs being carried into filthy buildings under appalling conditions. I felt sick just being there, and these people came here to get well.
My stomach churned and heaved, but I knew I had to go through with this. Pandurang asked for directions, and we made our way into the maze that was the town’s general hospital. The police checked our identification and allowed us to pass.
My knowledge of mortuaries was limited to what I had seen on TV shows; I was unprepared for the reality. The police led us into an airy room with wide-open windows. Three corpses lay on separate wooden tables, unattended, wrapped in filthy linen. A revolting stench hit us as soon as we entered.
Two steps in, overcome with nausea, I rushed out to empty my stomach onto a muddy patch outside the building. After bringing forth every morsel I had eaten for lunch, the bout of queasiness eased. I stood there for a few minutes, inhaling the stale air around the building—the closest substitute to fresh air in that area—and then returned to the horror of the morgue. I had to. Pandurang and the policeman were leaving the room.
Pandurang nodded to me and pointed at a body. ‘It’s him,’ he said.
I walked in the general direction he was indicating. ‘You don’t have to...’ he began, trying to spare me the pain, but I remembered in time that this was my window of opportunity to say goodbye to Piyush privately. Every other opportunity would be a public affair.
I waved him off. ‘I’ll be okay. You go on.’
‘I can wait,’ he offered.
‘No,’ I almost shouted. I wanted to say, ‘Leave me alone for a bit, will you?’ Instead, I said rather lamely, ‘I need to do this. You go. I will join you soon.’
We had kept our affair secret from Pandurang too. He knew us to be very good friends. Piyush always told everyone that I was his best friend, and Pandurang also knew me that way. Perhaps respecting that, he left the room, leaving me alone.
I stood beside the body for a few seconds, controlling my urge to run out and scream, and gathered the courage to peek underneath the repulsive blood-stained cloth. ‘Bell the cat,’ Piyush would have said. I took his advice. In one swift move, I swept off the covering and took a good look at the body lying there.
It resembled him, but the differences were undeniable. Bloated out of proportion, all the beauty of his face had disappeared. Lying on a soiled table among old bloodstains, rodent droppings, and cobwebs, the body in its smelly state of decay belonged there. Hygiene-conscious Piyush would have died before he set foot in a place like this. He had died, I reminded myself.
I stood there for a long time. Then I whirled around and walked out, feeling nothing. The person lying there was not the man I had loved. It was just a body.
◆◆◆
Tuesday was here at last.
Yesterday had refused to pass. Once Pandurang had confirmed that the person in the morgue was Piyush Gokhle, founder and CEO of IndeGen Technologies, the news went viral. Bharat Desai returned, all search missions were cancelled, and a post-mortem was ordered.
Everything moved out of my realm into Pakhi’s realm.
I had a whole afternoon and an entire night to ponder over everything that had happened and how the future would pan out. It was a long day and an unending night.
I watched the news with my morning coffee—my first of the day, both the coffee and the news. Yesterday too had been all about coffee and the news. There were no veggies or provisions in the house to make anything else, and I didn’t feel like ordering food either. I dreaded going to the supermarket too. Public places like the supermarket would be easily accessible to the media, and I was not ready for them yet. Instead, I did what I could. I made coffee.
They reported the circumstances of Piyush’s demise and then ran a video about how he had built IndeGen from an obscure company into a cherished brand, portraying him as an inspiring hero. For people who had never known him, his accomplishments would seem unreal.
Watching the video made all his achievements seem larger than life, but life with him had been normal, and he had been a regular person, at least for me. I felt happy that he was getting all this attention. I wondered if he would have received even half the airtime if not for his father-in-law. ‘Of course not,’ Piyush would have been the first to admit. He was always forthright.
Pandurang had informed me that he was taking his wife along for the formal condolence visit. I decided to tag along. We were to meet at 10:00 a.m. A holiday had been declared for IndeGen so that mourners could say their goodbyes. We expected every IndeGener to go.
◆◆◆
In keeping with the local dress code for mourners, I chose a white dress. ‘No need to not dress for the occasion!’ Piyush would have said.
I had never been to the house where he and Pakhi lived but had a vague idea about its location. Today I knew there would be others headed that way to guide me. I was right. About a kilometre before the general area of his residence, the traffic became congested. I joined the flow and eventually reached an empty plot of land where many vehicles were parked. I spotted many familiar faces, all fellow IndeGeners. I parked and then followed them.
Piyush and I had been closest to each other while he was alive. Now that he was dead, we had become the farthest apart. I was following a bunch of trainees who were probably a few weeks old in the company. Surprisingly, I accepted my devaluation from first to last without shock or grief.
Someone called out to me from behind—Pandurang, our CFO Senthil Iyer, and their spouses. I returned their greeting and joined them. Long before we spotted the house, we saw the queue. Without hesitation, we stood at the end of it. I had championed the cause of equality at IndeGen. Both Piyush and I were very proud of this culture. I was determined that his death should not change that.
The queue moved fast. The public viewing was a well-managed event. Pakhi had probably hired an
event manager for this. She would have been expected to do so. I noticed how I was no longer thinking of her as Candy Floss.
I had forgotten to buy flowers. Everyone else appeared to have remembered. Was I the only uncivilised mourner? Piyush was, no doubt, grinning at the display we were putting up on his account.
What I saw next made me want to laugh. For the convenience of those who had forgotten to bring flowers, florists were camped near the gate. As I paid for an overpriced, overly fragrant, and over-colourful wreath, I wondered how these florists made their living—not unlike vultures and crows. For them, death smelt of opportunity. Today must be like the festival of Diwali thanks to the brisk business. Would they ever look at a flower without remembering death?
Properly dressed and holding a gaudy floral offering, I was ready to pay my official respects to the dear departed Mr Piyush Gokhle: my mentor, best friend, and true love.
Finally, we were inside the house—a mammoth structure that went on forever. Thankfully, we only needed to go up to the drawing room, which was near the main door.
The arrangements here were as immaculate as they were outside. The icebox occupied the centre of the room. Mourners walked up to it and deposited their wreaths or garlands in a wide wicker basket at the foot of the box. They then walked along the length of the box, turned, and strode back along its length on the other side. To the right, Pakhi, her two sons aged six and four, Chirag, and Bharat Desai were seated in a straight row with other family members behind them. After offering their condolences to the family, the mourners exited the room through another door.
As I stood watching how this whole arrangement worked, Chirag spotted us and came dashing over, crying. He hugged each of us and dragged us over to Pakhi. There was an awkward moment when both of us did not know how to react. We were, after all, not exactly best friends. But she was Candy Floss, the epitome of sweetness, and I was Nalini, the iron lady capable of overcoming any challenge. We hugged. It was good that Piyush was already dead or that single act would have done the job.
◆◆◆
I stopped at the grocery store on the way back and bought essentials. Once home, I showered, made coffee, and switched on a news channel on TV. I was too exhausted for anything more vigorous than television viewing. The prime minister had ordered a CBI enquiry into Piyush’s death, the anchor announced. Then she analysed what that meant. Was he murdered? If so, how? Why was the post-mortem report a closely guarded secret? Who was behind his killing?
So there was to be more drama, I thought morosely. Piyush would have said that any publicity was good, but then we had always disagreed on that.
◆◆◆
I must have dozed off, but when I woke the doorbell was ringing. The clock showed 9:30. I turned off the TV and examined myself in the mirror. I was a mess. I checked my mobile for the date. Hell, it was Tuesday night and not Wednesday morning, as I had hoped. Who was knocking at my door at this time? Running my fingers through my hair, I straightened it the best I could.
The caller rang the bell again, irritating me. ‘Have patience, you idiot!’ I muttered under my breath and glanced around. The room was a mess too. My coffee binge of the past day and a half was very much in evidence. I hoped I wouldn’t have to invite the irritating caller inside. Anyway, the person at my door was most likely to be the township security guard delivering my mail or something like that.
At the door, I looked through the peephole and found a stranger on the other side.
For a minute, I considered ignoring the buzzer. My visitor could be dangerous. Chiding myself for wayward thoughts, I reassured myself. The guards at the gate maintained a log of every visitor to the complex. Verifying identification and informing the host via intercom before allowing the guest to enter was standard protocol.
I had received no intimation regarding a guest. This man standing outside my door had to have come to the wrong house. He chose that moment to ring the bell again. This time he kept his finger on the buzzer. The insistent sound did funny things to my head.
I threw open the door and shouted, ‘What do you think you are doing?’
He let go of the switch. I continued, ‘It’s 9:30 at night. Whoever you are looking for does not live here. Go to the gate, get the right directions, and go to the right house and ring the bell decently.’ Having said my bit, I turned to shut the door, but he beat me to it and stuck his foot in.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ I demanded.
‘Ms Nalini Bose?’ He asked the question as though he were requesting directions from a stranger on a crowded street during the day.
‘Who else did you expect when you kept ringing the bell of the house with that name on the door?’
‘I am Inspector Avinash Choudhary from the Central Bureau of Investigation,’ he replied, flashing an ID card.
‘CBI? Okay, is that supposed to mean something to me?’ I retorted, peering at his ID.
‘Please, can I step in for a moment?’ he asked politely.
I moved aside and let him in, leaving the door ajar in case he was untrustworthy.
‘Ms Nalini Bose, I am sure you know that the CBI is now pursuing the enquiry into Mr Piyush Gokhle’s death,’ he explained as he sauntered into my shabby living room.
Realisation dawned. The CBI, of course! He was here about Piyush. He was here about Piyush!
Chapter 9
How much did he know? Did he suspect something? I felt nervous. Exposed!
‘It was mentioned on TV.’
‘What else did you learn from the TV?’
‘Why are you here, officer?’ My voice came out sharper than I’d intended.
‘Hmmm.’ He noted my reaction, and I kicked myself for revealing my anxiety. I tried again.
‘I would ask you to sit, but, as you can see, I have not been able to clean up yet.’
‘I am not here to sit.’
‘How can I help you then?’ I asked, exasperated.
‘I need you to come with me to our office to answer questions.’
‘Sure, I will come by at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow.’
‘Now.’
‘You want me to come now? It's 9:30 at night.’
‘Madam, you are wasting time. Please note that every delay you cause will only make this process longer.’
‘What is the urgency?’
A woman walked into the room. ‘See, a lady officer is also here. You can come without fear now.’
‘Am I being arrested for something?’
‘Have you done anything for which I should arrest you?’
‘I will change and come,’ I replied stiffly, mentally trashing myself for playing into his hands again. I needed to get my act together before this man dumped more crap on me.
‘What you are wearing is fine.’
‘Do you have a warrant?’
‘We are inviting you to come for questioning. Would you like me to get a warrant for that?’
Hell, this man was infuriating. Was a warrant needed? I ought to hire a lawyer. Normally I would buzz Piyush but... ‘I’ll get my keys.’
‘Our car is waiting. When we are done, we will drop you back.’
‘My house keys!’ I replied sarcastically. ‘Or do you plan to leave one of your guys here to guard my house while I am away?’
‘You can lock the house,’ he replied, unperturbed.
We maintained a stony silence during the journey. I spent the ride worrying about an assortment of things: Was I making a mistake going along without a lawyer? What did this man know already? Did he have anything on me? What was the urgency? Why was I being questioned? The list was
◆◆◆
The CBI’s office was better than most government buildings. Multi-storeyed with lifts and centralised air-conditioning, it could have served as the corporate office of a mid-sized company. My vision of government offices involved shabby buildings: paan-stained walls and stairways, desks covered with dusty files, cobwebs and rickety fans, cement floors and lethargic occupants.
This office was the opposite of all that, even at this late hour.
He left me alone in a room for what seemed like hours but at last returned carrying a bunch of papers.
‘Ms Nalini Bose, I have a few questions about the late Mr Piyush Gokhle.’
The word ‘late’ resonated in my ears, and my brain froze. I missed what he said next. I realised this when I saw that he was waiting for my answer.
‘Sorry, I missed that.’
‘You are employee number seven at IndeGen?’
‘Yes.’
‘That makes you the oldest employee there now.’
‘Piyush was the first. With him dead, I suppose our peon who is number five is now the oldest employee.’
‘How are you dealing with his passing?’
‘Well enough, I suppose.’
‘Where were you this evening, Ms Bose?’
‘At home.’
‘We called you. You did not answer the phone.’
‘I dozed off. My mobile... I don’t know, maybe the battery drained. I think I forgot to charge it this morning.’
‘No problem. You did some shopping today.’
What was he implying? Since when was buying food a crime, I wondered. ‘Groceries, yes.’
‘Four flavours of ice cream, cornflakes, instant noodles, processed salmon, mayonnaise, gingerbread, and frozen fish. Am I right?’
‘Yes, I suppose.’
‘Are you planning to entertain some guests soon, Ms Bose?’
‘No. Why would I? How is this relevant anyway?’
‘I don’t call any of these items “grocery”, madam. Four flavours of ice cream sound like a celebration to me.’
I was furious. My grocery list was none of his concern. ‘Am I not allowed to celebrate? Last I heard, ours was a free country.’
‘You can certainly celebrate. In fact, I would love to know the reason for your bash.’
The Murder Suspect Page 7
