The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3

by Smita Bhattacharya

  ‘Leaving what? Him?’

  ‘No, stupid. Leaving the villa. They were speaking in whispers and I heard only snatches. Somehow, I got the feeling Debbie knew Rajesh already. She called him Raj a couple of times. He could be one of the villa regulars, as the broker had told us.’

  A bottle of red wine arrived at their table.

  Veda glanced at Darya. ‘Did you order this?’

  Darya returned her gaze, unflinching. ‘Aaron did.’

  She hoped Veda hadn’t and wouldn’t reveal to Aaron Darya’s history with alcohol and antidepressants. She had experimented with both for most of her adult life but had fallen into it totally and irrevocably after her break-up with Spandan, almost ending her life in the process. The doctor had told her she was genetically predisposed to addiction; both her father and her uncle had had issues, but with Veda and Rishabh’s help, she had fought against it. The last year had hardly seen a recurrence, and while Aaron knew a good deal about her morbid past, he did not know the full extent of it.

  But Veda looked preoccupied. Her eyes darted furtively to her phone every now and then. She appeared only half present with them.

  Darya surveyed the tables around her—all occupied now—with a mix of locals and foreigners. Café Mondegar was, after all, an expat favourite.

  As they poured wine into their glasses, Veda told them she’d heard Parthiv sobbing in his room. Darya’s eyes widened.

  ‘Really?’ she muttered. ‘He hardly looks the kind.’

  ‘Oh, it most definitely was him,’ Veda said. ‘And later, when I stepped out to leave, he crept out from the shadows. I got the shock of my life! But I think he was only trying to introduce himself… I don’t know, maybe… then Debbie came up the stairs and he slunk back to his room.’ The waiter had brought crackers and peanuts to their table. Eagerly, Veda grabbed a few. ‘Thanks. I was starving.’

  ‘That’s odd,’ Darya commented.

  ‘What? I haven’t eaten!’

  ‘I meant about Parthiv.’

  ‘No, it was okay,’ Veda said. ‘I think he was trying to be friendly. Maybe he needed to borrow something.’

  ‘Well, I have to tell you what happened to me earlier,’ Darya said and narrated the incident with Viktor. When she finished, Aaron looked puzzled and Veda was frowning. ‘The oddest thing was…’ Darya said slowly, thinking back to the moment, ‘I could swear there was someone else in the room with them. When I tried to look in, there was a flash of movement. Or I think… I think there was.’

  ‘About Viktor…,’ Veda said. ‘Now do you believe me?’

  The vehemence in her words threw Darya. ‘I do believe you… just that…’

  Veda cut in hotly, ‘It’s hard to believe. Yeah, exactly that.’

  ‘What’s hard to believe?’ Aaron asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Darya ignored the question. Leaning forward, she spoke urgently, ‘What I wanted to say…’ She paused, wondering for a moment if she should say it aloud. ‘Viktor… he seems… not to be’—she cleared her throat—‘himself sometimes. And you may have seen him at such a time… when he wasn’t himself.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Veda asked, more curious than angry now.

  Darya told them about the cap and the glasses, how different he seemed when he wore them, adding a chortle in the end to dilute the seriousness of what she’d said. It did sound ridiculous said out aloud.

  ‘So, the cap gives him confidence?’ Veda asked, looking perplexed.

  Darya leaned back and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t know how to explain it to them. ‘It just felt like…’ She swallowed a gulp of wine while the other two waited, looking at her intently. ‘Like the man I met today… like he was not Viktor at all.’

  Darya noticed Veda had gone completely quiet. She rolled her empty wine glass between her thumb and forefinger and stared at the dregs absently.

  ‘Veda,’ she prodded.

  ‘Who is he then?’ she asked dully.

  ‘It’s him, of course,’ Darya murmured, feeling foolish now, ‘but so unlike him. I mean can you imagine the fumbling man who signed us in shouting at or hitting his sister?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s the third person you think you saw who did it,’ Aaron suggested.

  Darya nodded slowly. ‘I’m not sure there was anyone else. I didn’t see anyone exactly. It’s just a feeling.’

  ‘Viktor does the odd jobs on the lane,’ Veda was saying, still hung up on him. ‘Electric and plumbing work. That needs brains. He is smart enough.’

  That much was true. Only yesterday had Darya seen Viktor emerge jauntily out of the D’Mello bungalow, a box of tools in his hand. That coupled with what she saw in the afternoon was probably his true self and not what Debbie would have them believe.

  But Veda had stopped listening. She was staring into the distance, lost in thought.

  ‘Veda?’ Aaron said. He waved a hand in front of her face. ‘What’s up?’

  She gave him a watery smile. ‘It just gets worse for some people,’ she muttered. ‘No matter how hard they try.’

  Darya wasn’t sure if Veda was still talking about Viktor. She exchanged glances with Aaron. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘What is it?’ Darya asked again.

  When she spoke, her voice was thick, as if she was trying to keep her emotions in check but they were close to breaking through her restraint.

  ‘I don’t think I’m going to last long at Mumbai Dost,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’ Aaron asked.

  Veda shrugged. ‘I got into a fight with the editor today.’ She stopped and looked like she didn’t want to talk anymore. She glanced at her phone again, but it hadn’t buzzed all evening.

  Darya wasn’t going to give up. ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Tell us.’

  Aaron gave her a warning look. Not now, he mouthed.

  But after a deep breath, Veda told them. ‘I was… well, I was… aggressive. I wanted to do a story my editor asked me not to. I took it to the managing editor who likes me…’ Her composure slipped and she gazed down, lips trembling. ‘But he couldn’t do anything either, especially after she asked him to stop playing favourites or she was going to tell everyone I was his pet… so in conclusion’—she looked up at them, no longer trying to hide her distress—‘it was fuck all.’

  ‘What story?’ Aaron asked.

  ‘About the missing girls.’

  ‘The missing girls of Chapel Road?’ Darya asked.

  Veda shook her head. She shifted on her chair and her eyes focused on Darya. ‘Just missing girls.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Veda’s voice was low and glum when she replied. ‘I saw it on a wall next to Kamala Snack Mart the other day. Plain black letters. A girl running from a pair of hands reaching for her and the words, “Missing Girls”.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Yeah, just that. It’s been painted over now. But what did it mean? How many girls are missing in the city or go missing every day and we don’t even know about it. Special police task forces are created, but no one is ever caught. No one really cares.’

  ‘Who do you think made that graffiti?’ Aaron asked.

  ‘Who knows?’ Veda said, pursing her lips, staring into the distance. ‘It’s something to look into.’

  ‘And why did your editor say it wasn’t worth it?’ Darya asked.

  Veda shrugged. ‘It’s an old story, she said. Commonplace. Do something sensational, she told me. Sansani khez. Cover a Bollywood celebrity.’

  As Darya watched the agitated twitch of Veda’s fingers, she realized this was not all. There was something more Veda wasn’t telling them. A simple everyday work fight couldn’t hassle the Veda she knew.

  ‘Is there more?’ Darya asked.

  Veda shook her head.

  ‘You can tell me, you know,’ Darya said gently. A tiny thought was niggling in her brain. Was Veda dating the managing editor of Mumbai Dost, whom Darya knew to
be a married man with three children? Was that why Veda wasn’t telling her about him? ‘We can solve it together. Whatever you’re going through. I won’t judge,’ Darya added. She didn’t want to guess wrongly. She’d have to wait for Veda to tell her.

  Veda nodded but didn’t reply.

  They were silent for a while until the clock struck ten, and Veda said she had to leave.

  ‘I’m really sleepy with all the wine.’

  Darya hesitated. The wine had all but disappeared from her head, and a strange dreariness had overtaken her. Even the perky songs from the jukebox and Aaron’s presence next to her were failing to cheer her up.

  She felt bad for Veda. She didn’t know why.

  ‘Stay,’ she urged.

  ‘No, I have to go,’ Veda muttered. ‘Also, I’m sure you two want to be on your own.’ She flashed them a forced grin. ‘Bye.’

  They asked the waiter to keep their table and walked Veda outside to a taxi. Darya opened her mouth to say something, but Veda hushed her.

  ‘Later,’ she murmured, getting into the taxi. She waved at them. ‘Bye.’

  They watched her leave, then slowly walked back to their table.

  ‘Will she be okay?’ Aaron asked. His voice was thick, and he sounded tipsy.

  When Darya had met Aaron, he neither drank nor smoked. Now, occasionally, he did both, and though Darya should’ve felt guilty about it, she enjoyed watching him lose control. No longer the prim ascetic he used to be. She’d spoiled him.

  But right now, she was worried. Veda hadn’t been her normal self over the past few months, and things were getting worse rather than better. Added to that her suspicions about Viktor, her possible affair with a married man, her dissonance at work, there were too many things in the mix. Darya had to find a way to lead Veda out of it, find order in the madness.

  But she’d do so tomorrow. At the moment, there was Aaron.

  She took a deep breath and turned to him. ‘I’ll take care of it,’ she said, sounding more confident than she felt.

  He smiled. ‘I know you will.’

  She tapped him on his cheek. ‘And I’m happy we got some time together,’ she said. ‘Alone.’

  A shy grin broke into his face. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too’ Darya replied, then gave him a wry grin. ‘How silly are we? Sounds like I’ve been away a year.’

  ‘When are you back?’

  ‘Another month and a half. You know it. I’ve told you.’

  He nodded. ‘Checking, mademoiselle. The room plan and floor design should be ready by then. For your coffee shop too. We can start planning for the interiors, furniture and equipment.’

  She clapped her hands. ‘So exciting!’

  ‘I have a few drawings on my phone. Want to take a look?’ Aaron said.

  ‘Oh, yeah!’

  They poured over the draft plans, talking, arguing and laughing until it was 2 a.m. and time for Aaron to leave.

  ‘I’ll drop you and then head off,’ Aaron said, as they got up and collected their things.

  They sat in the taxi and murmured to each other, Darya’s head lolling on his chest. When they reached Chapel Road, Aaron showed the driver where to stop, opposite the villa. ‘Jaldi aana sa’ab,’ the driver said, then leaned back on his seat for a quick snooze.

  They crossed the road hand in hand. A few stray dogs scampered around their feet. When they reached the looming green bungalow, Darya stopped, stretched up to him and, flattening herself against his chest, gave him a big wet kiss.

  ‘Someone will see,’ he murmured, returning it.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ she murmured back.

  ‘Hmm…’

  She pulled back from him. ‘You have to go now,’ she said, looking at him, hoping he’d say he didn’t have to. That he’d stay.

  But he didn’t. Giving her a peck on the cheek, he said, ‘Yeah, I’ve got to go.’ Then smiling to himself, he turned and walked away.

  Darya walked back towards the villa. She wondered if she would have to knock to wake Viktor up or ring Veda so she could unlock the front door. Darya had left her keys in the room.

  But she was surprised to see the front door ajar.

  She stepped inside, closing the door behind her quietly. It was dark. the passage lights were off.

  At once she heard a noise—faint, deep breathing—somewhere. Was that Viktor snoring inside the reception room?

  Then… a shuffle of feet. Or was it the judder of the karanj tree? It seemed to be coming from a distance.

  A fly buzzed near Darya’s ear. She heard its annoying croon and flapped a hand to ward it away. Her head was light, and she felt dizzy. She wanted to flee the darkness. Run to her room. Get under the covers.

  Then her breath caught in her throat.

  Leave the villa.

  Someone had spoken.

  Or had she imagined it? It could’ve been the wind. Or the blood that was rushing to her head, making her mind concoct imaginary voices.

  Then she saw.

  That was definitely not her imagination.

  A shadowy figure stood at the end of the ground-floor passage. Unmoving.

  Watching her.

  What…?

  But no sound came out of her mouth. Her body had frozen with fear.

  And before she could force herself to move, the presence stirred.

  A man.

  Rushing forward, he shoved Darya to one side and slipped past her.

  Thump, thump, thump, his feet moved heavily up the stairs. In white kurta pyjamas moving as quickly as he could, hands groping in the dark. He was carrying something in them, but Darya couldn’t see what it was.

  And then he was gone.

  Darya struggled to steady herself. Blood rushed to her ears. A stale burnt smell hung around her. Her feet wobbled. She breathed heavily.

  She hadn’t seen his face clearly but knew who it was. The gait, the attire, the faint smell of scorched rubber and paint coming off him. There was no mistaking it.

  ‘Parthiv!’ she muttered.

  Whispers In The Dark

  When Darya told Veda about the encounter with Parthiv the night before, she merely stared back, making no comment. She seemed interested only in either fiddling with her phone or talking about the Mascarenhas.

  ‘I want to know what’s up with Viktor,’ she said. ‘And why Debbie lied to us about him.’

  Darya presented her alternate theory. ‘Could be that Debbie meant Viktor was special only some of the time,’ she said, adding an uncertain smile, because it sounded absurd when she said it out aloud.

  Fixing a bright, questioning eye on Darya, Veda asked, ‘Should we find out?’

  ‘What? Do you mean we spy on him?’ Darya asked dubiously. ‘Why bother? We can just ignore them and go on with our lives.’

  Veda looked disappointed.

  They were up earlier than usual, woken by the din of a pre-wedding shoot on the street; they watched the proceedings from the top-floor balcony. The photographer was asking the couple to pose in front of some garish new graffiti of a popular film star. The soft light of the morning sun had turned the skin of the bride-to-be golden; her hair was a radiant auburn. The groom-to-be looked uncomfortable in a blue tuxedo and shuffled his feet constantly.

  ‘Wanna go down and watch?’ Darya asked.

  Veda shook her head. ‘You go.’

  So, Darya traipsed down the stairs and out to take a closer look.

  A crowd had gathered around the couple to watch, despite the fact that it was 6.30 a.m. The photographer was tactfully trying to position the couple to look their best, angling the woman towards the camera, nudging her fiancé away.

  ‘Have you got it?’ the groom-to-be asked the photographer impatiently.

  His fiancée flashed him a pained look.

  ‘Yeah,’ the man replied distractedly, fiddling with his DSLR. ‘A few more and we’re done.’

  ‘Hurry, man.’

  This time the bride pinc
hed him, and he cried out. ‘… taking so bloody long. The jacket is making me sweat.’

  But the photographer was not done. Darya watched as he crossed the street and asked the couple to follow him. The bride hitched her mauve skirt and followed in brisk steps. The groom tailed unenthusiastically.

  With a jolt, Darya realized they were walking towards the villa.

  ‘Your house?’ the photographer asked. ‘Can we take a picture?’

  Before Darya could answer, a shriek cut through, sharp and panicked.

  ‘No!’

  It was the bride-to-be. She came running towards them, her skirt clutched in her hands.

  She was local. Darya had seen the girl on the street before, guessing she lived somewhere close to Quiche Corner. She gave her gawping audience a sheepish smile.

  ‘It’s not lucky…’ she mumbled.

  ‘What’s not?’ Darya asked, puzzled.

  ‘The house,’ said the woman.

  Darya glanced back briefly, then at the woman again. ‘Why not?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s the witch,’ the woman murmured, her expression apologetic and defiant at the same time. She appealed to her fiancé. ‘I don’t want a picture with it,’ she said. ‘It’s creepy. She’s creepy.’

  ‘In any case,’ her fiancé observed, ‘I think we’ve had enough.’

  ‘But…’ Darya started. Who was the witch? What was she talking about?

  The bride-to-be cut in, ‘What about we take a few more in front of my own house?’

  The photographer looked rueful. ‘We could,’ he admitted. ‘I liked the green of the walls on this one. And the shadow of the tree adds a nice artistic touch…’ But the woman had already moved away. The rest of the group followed.

  Later, when Darya told Veda, she didn’t look surprised.

  ‘I know,’ she said, as she tidied up their bed.

  ‘You’re joking, right?’ said Darya. ‘Who’s the witch here? Debbie?’

  ‘That’s the rumour on the road,’ said Veda. She strode over to the cupboard and placed her folded clothes inside.

  ‘Did you know of this when we were taking a room here?’ Darya asked.

  Veda shook her head. Shutting the cupboard, she lowered herself to the floor, unplugged her phone from the charger and started to scroll through her messages.