‘All I know,’ Mrs Ghoshal sounded querulous at being patronised, ‘is that Manoj came to see me. And he actually hit me. HIT me! I fell to the ground. I could have got badly hurt. Then he ordered me to make him tea and snacks! Just like that, to humiliate me. A friend of mine, from Kerala as it happens, had told me of “The Suicide Tree” when we were young things, our late teens perhaps. She had told me that it was an open secret in the family that a few relatives down the generations had ingested the seed of the fruit―the fruit’s edible by the way, nature’s little tricks!―and had died; one right in front of her eyes, when she was just a child. This had stuck in my mind and I managed to procure some of it in powdered form after a great deal of discreet investigations about a decade later. The funny things you can get in the little alleys of Calcutta, my dear! My source was alive the last time I went to him, but he must be long dead now. Awful, evil man. Drug dealer too, you know!
Now I have, on very, very rare occasions, used a pinch of this substance to teach people a lesson. They disrespect me, or pose a threat to the welfare of my family, and the next day they are practically inside out; and atoning for their sins. One or two of the smarter ones even saw the connection, they suspected. But all the better…I wanted them to know. The toxin is very hard to trace, you know. Doctors would never know what hit their patients unless someone specifically told them to test for Cerbera odollam. Without proof the end result always was that they gave us a wide berth.
There were some rumours that chased us around for a while; but with the family unit shrinking down to just me and Kedar, people let us be. We moved here, just to make a fresh start. There was this…and other rumours.
I haven’t touched that jar since moving here. I would just take it out occasionally and look at it. It makes me…feel good. The next time a person disrespects you, if you’re able to think, “if it wasn’t for my mercy you would be writhing like an earth-grubbing worm in a few minutes”―the thought gives you power, the strength―to get through so many humiliations.’
Ira cleared her throat. She felt queasy. How did one respond to such confessions as these?
Her guest had fallen silent. She seemed to be ruminating, chewing over the cud of everything she had said. Her eyes had a faraway look and her lips moved wordlessly.
‘Aunty…Mrs Ghoshal. I….’
‘I never poison to kill, I’m not a murderer!’ Mrs Ghoshal burst out, ‘The very thought is ridiculous. A very small dose just makes life…uncomfortable. Makes bad people pay. That’s all.
We came away here, to Panorama Apartments to get away from all of that. All of our pasts, real or imagined.’
‘You called that man…Manoj? You know his name?’
‘Yes, yes. He was my nephew, of sorts. I did a disservice to the world by letting him spread his corruption. So many lives he’s ruined! A blackmailer by profession. What a discredit to his family! He was a demon child, even when he was growing up with Kedar back in the ancestral home. Kedar’s father’s brother’s child, you see. His parents just couldn’t see it. From a young age he was always sniffing around for secrets; eavesdropping, snooping, or creating mischief in a way that the other party could be blamed. Then when the time was ripe, he would hold it over his friends…and yes, sometimes, us. Of course, when he was young, he’d hold it over your head for little things; marbles or candy from his peers, or in my case, the better piece of fish, an extra serving of mishti doi. Little things.
And then when Manoj grew up, he became an utter degenerate. I don’t think he did an honest day’s work in his whole life. Quite unlike my son, who worked himself to the bone supporting his cousin and his nasty habits.
It was a service, a service. I should have done it much earlier.’
Mrs Ghoshal leaned forward, and adjusted the brass vase on Ira’s centre table. ‘A little askew,’ she muttered in explanation. The brass made a heavy ‘thunk’ noise as it was set back down on the glass.
Ira waited, on edge, for Mrs Ghoshal to get back to her account.
‘Still, I am surprised at what I did that day. I was so angry, that I lost my head and took the bottle out. I never should have done that. You should never do such things angry. I added it to his precious fish chops, just a pinch. Not enough to do anything, but remind him, that he could not behave that way with me.
Then everything was quiet. I expected some word to reach me from a neighbour or a guard that a man had fallen down or become violently ill somewhere. In sufficient doses it’s a fast-acting poison, you see.’ Mrs Ghoshal pushed her glasses up her nose in an eager, bird-like gesture.
‘Then I thought, perhaps the years of poisoning his own system with god-knows-what-all had rendered him immune to mine. And that jar had been lying unused for decades! Perhaps even poison has an expiry date? He had then walked away and got off with some minor discomfort in the evening. Such was his luck. He always had ridiculously good luck, where the rest of us, with souls as clean as the days we were born, are struck continually by some tragedy or the other. “Born under a lucky star,” I remember saying to myself that evening. Yes, I was a trifle disappointed but mostly relieved…I regretted doing it. Because one does not poison family. However much they deserve it.’
Ira found herself nodding. It almost made sense.
‘Then I went to sleep after watching my shows. I take sleeping pills for my insomnia, but something that sounded like a far-off scream worked its way into my dreams. Then I heard our own door slamming, none too gently. This was unusual because Kedar is preternaturally quiet. Like a cat. By then I had almost put away all thoughts of the afternoon. I went out to the top of the stairs following all the sounds of the hoi-choi, and saw Kedar running up the stairs, his eyes starting out from his sockets, calling out to me “go in, go in”. I knew then.
He didn’t want me to call the lift and see what I’d done.
Kedar refused to talk of it. He is so bottled up. No emotion, nothing. But even he looked distraught, it had been a shock to him; perhaps I should have told him that his rotten cousin had come by and what I had done. We spent a wretched night, expecting a knock on our door any time. But we found out early in the morning that Manoj’s pockets were picked clean. Somebody had robbed the corpse, you see, because he had my jewellery and cash. And I couldn’t say anything without letting on that we were connected.’
‘But Mrs Ghoshal,’ Ira said, helplessly, ‘that man was bludgeoned to death.’
‘Perhaps he fell down and hit his head. Or perhaps someone knew of my riches in his pockets, saw that he was helplessly unwell and killed him.’
‘Who would do such a thing? In our building?’
‘There are needy people everywhere. Even though we don’t register their presence at all, has it ever occurred to you that there are as many external staff serving us as there are residents?
If it meant they don’t have to worry about feeding their wretched children for a year, would they think twice about bludgeoning an unconscious man to death if they knew they would get away clean? They do their work for us quietly enough, but don’t you see the murder in their eyes?’
Ira was appalled. The things this woman said! She opened her mouth and poison fell out.
‘It’s a pity the jars got mixed up…poor Kedar…,’ she sighed, lugubriously. ‘Anyhow, he’s getting better and the police have gone and taken it. It’s best that way.’
*****
If the dead could talk: The dead man’s account of the day of the murder.
(5th September 2014)
I glanced at my watch. 3.30 pm. Absolutely perfect. I always enjoyed disturbing the afternoon siesta of my sweet little jyethi. That pest of a Kedar wouldn’t be around either, and she would be a little off balance because she’d still be in a daze from her nap. Couldn’t have timed it better if I’d planned it.
Speaking of which, I should start planning my life better from tomorrow. Things did seem to fall in place for me most of the time, but everyone knows that luck has a habit of running ou
t if overused.
I rang the bell hard―3–4 times, the better to startle the old crone. I pictured her waking up with a jolt, her tiny hand fluttering to her heart; and smiled with satisfaction. I settled down to wait. She was slow a decade ago, God only knows what kind of snail’s pace she moved around in now. Uff, old people, only good for one thing, that’s money. I scratched my chin and mused on what she was worth to me dead.
Perhaps I could threaten her until she promised to leave me some of her property. Not much of it left though. Besides, it was too long term…and too many things could go wrong. Best to take the money while she was alive and write her off as a loss when she died.
Oh God, how long does the biddy take! I leaned on the bell this time. It resulted in a satisfactory clamour inside the flat.
‘I’m coming, I’m coming!’ The reedy voice from inside sounded hassled and breathless.
The door opened a crack. Stupid woman never learnt to be careful. All the better for me! I gathered my strength and gave the door a push.
Jyethi flew backwards, hit the wall and slid to the floor.
‘You!’ Jyethi looked terrified.
‘Yes, Jyethimoni,’ I stepped in quickly and closed the door behind me. ‘I’m back!’
‘But…but Manoj, I asked Kedar to deposit your amount in the bank account as usual, didn’t you get it?’ She still sat at my feet, crumpled against the wall.
I made no gesture of helping her. This position of me standing over her as she grovelled was rather enjoyable.
‘Yes, of course, or I would have come sooner. But see, I have begun to feel it’s not enough. With inflation being what it is…and I’m thinking of starting a new endeavour. I have a few friends who have great contacts, you know… I will need much more money to float the business―import-export. So, I thought I’ll swing by and pay my darling aunt a visit!’
I finally realised that the biddy’s position was not conducive to an efficient conversation and hauled her up, perhaps a little roughly, because she cried out.
‘Show me where you keep your cash, I need to take it with me.’ My eyes fell on a thick gold bangle she never used to wear before, when I lived with her. And diamond earrings! Well, the lady was living it up quite a bit in my absence, eh? With the family’s money too.
‘And while you’re at it,’ I said, averting my eyes at the little frisson of shame I felt at the words, ‘take off the jewellery you’re wearing and hand it over.’
Jyethi looked shocked. She sank down onto the sofa that I remembered well. Ah so many larks my friends and I had on that sofa. The hours we’d spent high as kites!
It shone now, like it had been recently polished. She definitely wouldn’t miss the money I was going to take off her.
I didn’t have time for this.
I raised my voice and said, ‘Get the eff up and bring me the things I asked for. And don’t you even think of calling out from the window.’
I wasn’t a fool. I saw her eyeing the window which looked onto the kitchen window of the next-door neighbour. That flat had lain empty, like most at Panorama Apartments, when I used to live here. But this building looked packed to the rafters now and undoubtedly held busybodies who would come to her aid if she called out.
The thought of the neighbours made me realise I should lower my voice, take the money and valuables and get the hell out of there.
‘Come on!’ I hissed.
The old biddy looked at me too long I felt. Was she contemplating refusing? I’d show her if she tried. I thrust my jaw out in response.
I suppose she understood there was no arguing with me. I was stronger than her in every way.
She got up and walked down her corridor to the furthest bedroom. It used to be mine, the master bedroom. She used to give me the best things until, well, until we came to a mutual agreement that I should leave. Things had got a bit hot here. The memory brought bitter bile to my throat, and made me angrier.
Do I stay here or follow her into the room? What if she pulls some stunt? Jyethi in her heyday was fully capable. Nah, she won’t, she’s shitting bricks already. Let me just relax for a bit. My adrenaline had been pumping so high that in this lull of a few minutes I realised I was a little dizzy. That or the few pegs of whiskey I’d downed on an empty stomach in the morning had suddenly decided to act up.
My aunt came tottering back with some cash. It looked like quite a bit, but the basic rule was not to be satisfied, to keep them on their toes. ‘How much is there?’ I barked, making her jump.
‘I… I didn’t count. But it’s the money I keep for the month’s expenses… I haven’t paid the salaries yet…so it should be at least 15,000.’
I riffle through the notes, feeling too lazy to count it. It was enough.
‘Your bangle and your earrings please.’ That twinge of guilt again, in spite of me, and despite the anger the old memories had brought me. Money after all, was something I was owed, because she was living off my family’s money. Getting a woman to take her jewellery off was…well…I hadn’t done this before. But desperate measures, eh?
‘Manoj,’ she said, a bit of the old tone creeping in. I vividly remembered that tone from my childhood, when the bitch reprimanded me for some transgression.
She wasn’t going to ‘Manoj’ me. I barked, ‘I don’t have all day, woman!’
When the jewellery was safely stowed away in my trouser pocket; I felt like delivering a final humiliation. I was in an unrelenting mood today. Life was hard with so many debtors bellowing for money.
‘Now, go, make me a snack to eat. I’m hungry. How about that maachher chop you used to make all the time? I’m sure you’ve got something ready to fry up for guests. Well then? Your guest is here.’
Her mouth fell open in dismay. She wasn’t getting rid of me that easily.
‘And some tea while I wait.’ I jerked my head towards the kitchen, as if to say, get to it.
Jyethi stood there motionlessly for a while longer. So slow in her old age. I admit I was enjoying this quite a bit. This was the woman who hadn’t hesitated to lay about us with a rolling pin when she thought we’d gone too far. More me than Kedar, of course; until the day he told us the truth about himself and his friend, Khoka. That day she broke the rolling pin on him. I would have felt bad for him, if he hadn’t been such an insufferable ‘good boy’. I nearly bust my gut laughing that day. Life was so strange. But oddly sweet.
Ma-Baba, damn them, were always too weak to stand up to her. There was something righteous about her, like an avenging angel, which made you feel you’re on the wrong side if you didn’t agree with her. Baba, in fact, had wielded the rolling pin himself when I slipped the dead lizard in her tea as revenge for some punishment―I don’t remember. And don’t even ask what transgression the punishment was for. It was a vicious circle, which still continued.
Or perhaps the circle had stopped turning now, and I was finally on top. The steel had gone out of her totally. Soft living and senility. That servant of a son of hers probably did everything for her. If Jyetha could only see her now, with her stooped skeletal frame and spotty hands; not the doe-eyed woman who fluttered her eyelashes and cooed at him, and then turned around and lashed out at all of us cousins, secure in the knowledge she was the patriarch’s wife, even when we were too young to know what we’d done wrong.
And then, when Ma-Baba both died and the family broke up and drifted away to different parts of the city after selling the house, I realised I could be homeless if I didn’t play my cards right. That’s when I found my current vocation. It’s easy to get leverage on people. People are vile but they never want other people to think so. I have no such compunctions, which has always been my power.
Jyethi and Kedar-da admittedly were easy to blackmail, with their stewing hotpot of secrets. I moved in with them and enjoyed the good life, living off their savings and my cousin’s earnings. It was a sweet deal until that other little matter made living here well-nigh impossible.
As I though
t these things, Jyethi looked back at me thinking her own thoughts.
Finally, she seemed to arrive at a conclusion. I didn’t like the look that came over her face though. It reminded me strangely of the day she found the dead lizard in the tea. Or perhaps it was because I had just been thinking of it?
She turned on her heel and marched off to the kitchen. Her old-woman demeanour seemed to have fallen off her significantly.
I shouted out to her, ‘And don’t put all that damn spice in it, I have a dodgy stomach today!’ That should refresh her memory as to who the boss was in the equation.
There was no sound from the kitchen. Only a slow, rather surreptitious rolling out of a drawer.
******
Part 3
16
Tuesday, 18th September 2014
Mrs Ghoshal sat in her usual place and stared sightlessly ahead of her. In fact, she looked at the TV screen out of force of habit, but she’d forgotten to switch it on. What she saw played in her mind, in any case. She clasped and unclasped her quivering hands, as she went through the same memories over and over again.
It had always been madness to allow Manoj to join them here, once his parents had passed away, followed by her husband in quick succession; and they had decided for a variety of reasons to sell the poitrik house and settle in a small flat far away from that life. By then Manoj had shown only a bit of the potential of the full-blown monster he became later; so both Kedar and she, caught between family loyalty and fear of what he would say out there if they turned him loose, decided to give in and let him stay.
Manoj was malignant, only bent on causing hurt. He refused to understand that they had come here to make a fresh start, far away from the rumours; both about her poisoning history and about Kedar.
Having Manoj around was like keeping a ticking bomb in a knot in your anchal. You were always taking it out and prodding at it. Finally, he crossed the line as only Manoj could; and for once they all agreed that it would be best that he left. Not before she had to part with a small fortune, so his standard of living was not compromised.
A Killer Among Us Page 14
