The Miss India Murders

by Gauri Sinh

  ‘All the girls are a bit nervy today,’ Doreen continued. ‘You know how it is. But they’re being matter-of-fact about going through with these rounds. What can you do?’

  ‘Yes,’ I murmured. ‘What can you do?’

  Doreen looked at me, her eyes narrowed in thought, her face almost fox-like in inquisitiveness. ‘Who do you think did it? Y’know Aku, I have my guesses, though I hate to say so. I’ve been around every girl so much, doing their hair, talking closely to each one. You know people talk to me. But so much is different about this contest.’

  I glanced at her, speculative and troubled. When Doreen looked like that, she often knew more than she was saying. It would come out eventually, I did not want to push her right then.

  She spoke without me prompting her. ‘Rules … so many rules, but they can be bent, na? In life, in contests … it’s how much you can get away with.’

  I wasn’t sure I was following her. It was unlike Doreen to speak in riddles, and I wanted to get my hair done fast.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Karma tends to catch up.’

  ‘Does it?’ Doreen’s eyes were crafty, as if she knew something unsavoury and secret. ‘Does karma choose, I wonder? Between levels of wrongness? Who to correct first?’

  She had me completely flummoxed. ‘Whatever do you mean, Doreen?’ I asked astonished. Doreen never struck me as philosophical, she was a giggly, gossipy creature, happy-go-lucky, and rather frivolous. Something had disturbed her.

  ‘I mean who decides the level of wrongness? Is it as bad to smooth over an inconsequential rule that hurts no-one in order to fulfil a long-held ambition, as say, to do … well, whatever was done to Lajjo?’ Doreen prattled. ‘Take Laddo for instance …’

  I was wrong, I decided. Doreen wasn’t disturbed, this wasn’t her being philosophical. It was her being chatty, obviously to share some silly gossip. I decided I wasn’t interested right then, I had to concentrate on the swim-suit round.

  ‘How’s your husband?’ I asked, changing the topic swiftly. This was not mere politeness. Gokul and Doreen were a team—he did make-up, she did hair. Both had formidable reputations in the industry and despite Doreen’s loose tongue and oftover-familiar air, I genuinely liked them both. Gokul’s taciturn efficiency was a perfect foil for Doreen’s voluble vivacity. This contest was one of the few jobs where both husband-wife were not working together. Gokul had accepted an overseas commitment over the pageant this year.

  ‘He’s well,’ Doreen’s face lit up at the mention of her husband. ‘He’s sad to have missed the contest this year, but what to do? The Dubai job was double the money. He knows some of the girls here, he’s worked with three of you before. But you Aku, are his favourite, he said so!’

  I was only half listening. The clock hanging on the green room wall behind me had caught my attention in the mirror. It was nearing the time for the swimsuit round now. ‘Tell him I said thank you for the support,’ I murmured distractedly. ‘Doreen, I’m going to run now, I’ll do my own make-up, please tell the make-up man?’

  ‘He’s not here, he’s already out, touching up the faces of the girls ready to go on stage.’ Doreen said, fingers furiously at work, giving my hair the final finishing touches as she spoke.

  ‘Fine. And thank you, Doreen!’ I said, jumping up, off my chair, impulsively pecking her cheek as I dashed away, making contact for real this time, not air-kissing. ‘You’re just f-a-b!’

  ‘Go on, hurry, and good luck Aku!’ Doreen had smiled good-naturedly, her dimples transforming that plain, portly face to incredible beauty suddenly. This was my final memory of her.

  Less than four hours later, Doreen was discovered in the green room, her throat slit by her own haircutting scissors. It was Parvati, in fact, who found her. Once again, as just the night before—all hell broke loose.

  7

  Akruti

  Let me break my narrative here for a bit.

  Considering the fact that Parvati was my comrade-in-arms on this quest, I think it’s vital to include at-least a little bit of her viewpoint in my telling of the gruesome events that took place at the Miss India pageant of 1995. She was, after all, the reason I’d agreed to this ambitious plan of trying to aid the police in the hunt for Lajjo’s killer. And she shared every bit of the horror and ugliness of what I was going through then. In fact—she was the one who found Doreen so viciously slain.

  It is important, therefore, to present to you just how she felt at the time, in her own words. So you would know from someone other than me, just how deeply we felt ensnared—day after day, by those continually awful circumstances. And I have the best way to include her version—entries from the diary she had carefully kept at the time.

  I’ve already mentioned how meticulous Parvati was, painstakingly jotting clues and drawings in that diary. She also scribbled her observations on the pageant as she willed, it was after all her private journal as much as a record of our progress in the investigation.

  I will share what she wrote in it at certain intervals in my telling of our story. Beginning, here, with the day of Doreen’s death. On that particular day, Parvati’s diary reflected her innermost state of mind. And I have one word for that state, I myself had been through it the night before: agitated.

  From the pages of Parvati’s diary

  2 p.m.

  Cannot come to terms with it. The sight. The terrible shock. Because it was a shock, even for me. To see her like that on the floor, her eyes wide open and staring … Her limbs too, all askew. And the blood … so much of it. All over her, all over the floor. I noticed though, almost absentmindedly in that initial jolt, how, right next to her on the floor, her haircutting scissors gleamed brightly. Not a spot on them. I need to stay focused on our search, not let the horror of seeing Doreen so brutally killed overwhelm me …

  2.30 p.m.

  Just can’t stop thinking of it. It plays over and over in my mind. Every awful moment. Walking in to the green room, bathrobes hastily pulled over our shiny new swimsuits. The adrenalin rush of the swimsuit round still active, and Tania chattering excitedly about how she had given it her all. I, only half listening, as usual. Tend to zone out when Tania gets animated. Her constant chatter disrupts my thought process.

  And then, seeing Doreen, fallen right near the dressing tables with all their full-length mirrors. Her broken body reflected in all of them, so the effect was one of many fallen Doreens. I couldn’t breathe in that moment. So gut-wrenching—so horribly macabre that sight. On her lifeless face, an expression of such fear that Tania stopped mid-sentence, shocked into silence at the sight. It was I who had exclaimed, badly shaken.

  3.30 p.m.

  Trying to rest as we were instructed to by the chaperones, before the police start calling us for questioning again. I have to get my mind to quieten down. Need to move beyond how it felt to see her fallen so. No good will come of reliving it again and again. What I keep remembering, are Doreen’s haircutting scissors. They lay next to her on the floor, gleaming unsullied. The weapon most probably used to slice her throat. So shiny because it had no doubt been wiped clean by whoever did this.

  4 p.m.

  Keep going over the starkness of the gore we saw today. My mind just won’t let me be. Like when we first saw Doreen, Tania didn’t scream. She just turned from the sight. Almost puppet-like, that movement. And then, she bent over with urgency, her mouth and body tensed, as if to throw up. She spasmed, again and again. It was all dry-retching, there was no food coming up. How could it, this was just post the swimsuit round, no one had eaten that morning to preserve the impression of flat bellies in barely-there bodices. I was the one calling out, first in terror, then for help. And I won’t deny it, we were both tearful immediately—Doreen had been such a favourite.

  Second murder in two days: that thought came unbidden, as I had bent to check Doreen’s pulse. Tania began screaming then, like a raving lunatic. I didn’t try and stop her. The faster help arrived, the better for Doreen, espec
ially if, by some slim chance, there was still life left in her.

  4: 30 p.m.

  I really need to write all this down. Just to get it out of my system. We have the time, the police haven’t called us yet. Doing this might also help me see everything clearer. My brain’s frozen right now with the rawness of it. Fortunate that we had both entered the green room together, Tania and I. She’s forever leaving something behind somewhere and then wants to go to places escorted to retrieve it. That old sexist joke about women wanting to visit restrooms together applies entirely to her, I think. And as her roomie, mostly I’m the chosen one.

  I don’t mind, I rather like Tania actually. She’s chilled out and laid back. Musical too, on account of her Assamese heritage, she says. She insists music is in their blood. That’s one thing the Eye India organizers didn’t take into account. Roommates would certainly figure out each other’s backgrounds—it’s inevitable. Anyway, Tania’s funny on occasion. Not stand-offish, as many of the contestants here. Poor thing, she’s a mess right now. They won’t let her take a sleeping pill, we have to meet Mhatre first.

  5 p.m.

  The police will be calling us shortly, the chaperone phoned to tell us. I’m writing down all I recall of the sequence of events. It’ll be easier that way, for me to narrate to the police when they ask. I can just hear Akruti’s voice in my head: ‘You’re so methodical, Parvati. Always documenting.’ But really—is there any other way to be?

  Anyway, here goes: Tania had wanted a hairbrush, because it was windy on the ramp at the swimsuit round and she didn’t want her hair a mess after. So she asked me to go with her to get it, the round had just finished. We wrapped our bathrobes hastily and walked, to the green room.

  We saw Doreen as we entered. Observing her sweet face so agonized in death, the tears had come without us even noticing. Unimaginable, this situation—another murder not even twenty-four hours since Lajjo’s brutal end.

  At my calling out, followed by Tania’s frantic and hysterical cries, help had arrived. The overall in-charge, event-coordinator Anjali Rodrigues, a large, fiery lady with avant garde electric blue streaks in her short red hair had rushed in. Known to be cool under pressure, which was important now. With her were various personnel who were present at this round.

  Lubaina Pervez, our speech and diction specialist, who was to take a session with us post the swimsuit affair. We had been working with her for the past two and a half weeks, this was to be one of the final sessions, to help firm up the all-important Q&A round on the final day. To me, she always seemed another lady, like Anjali, unflappable and in control in the most manic of times.

  The make-up man, Imtiaz, who was hanging around near the ramp, in case any contestant needed touch-ups, he arrived too. And Avi, who hadn’t choreographed this round, but had been present for moral support.

  Also accompanying them were several of the hotel staff. The swimsuit round judges, had mercifully moved to the interior of the hotel already, they weren’t part of this group who came dashing up, heeding my call and the terror in Tania’s desperate voice. Our chaperones were, though, looking irritated that we had left the poolside without telling them. That was before they saw Doreen.

  We were escorted out immediately, Avi saw to that. Our chaperones took us to the hotel doctor to assess shock symptoms, so we didn’t know what happened once the police got to the green room. So there it is, the sequence of events, as I recall them. I have to add the obvious though—One murder can be looked at as anomaly. But two? Two seem suspiciously veering towards the work of a serial killer. The contest is in real danger of being called off. I think all of us are conscious of it now.

  8 p.m.

  Finally finished yet another meeting with the sunshiny Mr Mhatre. He called for us sometime around 5.30 p.m. and we’ve just got done. Now we’re to join the rest of the girls in the hotel hall to be instructed further by both the police and our organizers. I doubt Lubaina’s speech session will happen today. Mhatre wants to speak to the other girls about Doreen, that itself will take time.

  As with all of today’s events, am writing down everything that transpired in our meeting in detail. Documenting it now might serve us well later, when we collate all the information we have, to help us on this search. Even if in a small way, who knows? Once more, here goes:

  ‘Ms Parvati,’ Mhatre began curtly, even as we entered the room. ‘Yesterday, you helped Ms Akruti with the dead contestant, Lajjo. Today you found the dead hairdresser first. You seem to be everywhere. How is that?’

  ‘Coincidence,’ I met his eyes. ‘Sheer coincidence.’ Next to me Tania, quivered, I could feel her unease at Mhatre’s cold assertiveness.

  Also adding here what happened last night, in case I forget later: I had spoken with the Addl.CP at length post watching the rehearsal recording with Akruti. I had explained my need to ‘stretch’ in the thirty-second blackout when I left formation on ramp. I had ‘severe cramps in my legs from the prolonged rehearsals’, I had told him. I left the ramp area for a few seconds, and returned to formation very near my original place. I had made sure to appear completely confident while speaking with him.

  Mhatre had tried to approach my absence from various angles, but ultimately had left it when I seemed unflappable and stuck to my story. Today he was raring to go again, I could tell.

  ‘Tania, isn’t it?’ He turned to her. ‘Ms Tania, you were with Ms Parvati when you saw the hairdresser?’

  ‘Yee-es’ Tania’s nerves over the Addl.CP’s attitude made her seem unsure, though of course we were together that morning when we found Doreen.

  ‘You seem uncertain?’ Mhatre fixated on Tania.

  ‘Yes, I mean, no,’ Tania stammered. ‘We were together. Parvati was with me. We entered the green room together. We saw Doreen … poor, poor Doreen, so much blood, all over, all over, everywhere …’

  ‘Everywhere?’ Mhatre raised an eyebrow. ‘On the floor, near the body you mean.’

  ‘No, everywhere,’ wailed Tania, sobbing openly. ‘So many Doreens, so much blood!’

  Mhatre looked perplexed, and I could see why. Talking like this, Tania seemed unhinged, most certainly coming apart. But I understood what she hadn’t articulated from the weariness of shock.

  ‘She means the mirrors,’ I spoke up. ‘Doreen fell near the dressing table mirrors. There are so many facing each other, we saw her reflected through the room. And the blood. Hence: everywhere.’

  ‘I see,’ comprehension dawned on Mhatre’s dour face. ‘Why were you there anyway? Where were your chaperones?’

  ‘To get a hairbrush,’ I said. ‘Tania wanted one, her hair was a mess post the swimsuit round because it was windy and she’d left it loose. She’s my roomie, she asked me to go with her to collect the brush from the green room. We were only to go for a minute or so. We didn’t think chaperones were needed just to fetch a hairbrush.’

  ‘And what did you see?’ Mhatre asked. I described our ordeal in detail. Also, taking care to let him know about the scissors lying on the floor next to Doreen, their shiny avatar disconcertingly at odds with the blood all over the place.

  ‘Very well,’ Mhatre said, adding curtly, ‘The scissors were the murder weapon in all probability. Forensics should confirm our initial report.’ He was watching my face closely as he said this. Maybe he was suspicious of me because of my absence from ramp during the blackout last night. But he couldn’t fault my story. Nor Tania’s emphatic, if tearful assertion, that we were together when we found Doreen. He had, it seemed, already taken care to enquire about any swimsuit round recording. It was there, of course, and he would, no doubt, find me in it. In full view throughout the two hour round. There was no way I could’ve gotten to Doreen before the time I found her. Mhatre might be suspicious of me but he had nothing to go upon. Yet.

  ‘Were any of you in the green room earlier?’ Mhatre persisted.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Tania stammered. ‘Before the round. To get our hair done. And make-up, by Imtiaz, the mak
e-up man.’

  ‘And how long was the round?’ Mhatre asked.

  ‘Around two hours? Before which we were waiting for the judges to arrive,’ I said.

  ‘We will know the exact time of death from the post mortem,’ Mhatre looked at us. ‘Then we will meet again. To find out which of you girls were with her last. That will be all for now.’

  We followed Mhatre out of the room to go join the rest in the hall outside. But my mind was restless. It’s still ticking furiously now.

  8.30 p.m.

  Thing is—the police are doing their job. But we too can try to figure out who was with Doreen last. Or who could’ve possibly wanted her dead. And why.

  8

  Akruti

  Two murders, less than twenty-four hours apart. Both at an iconic, national beauty pageant. The mind boggled, if one actually put this in perspective. I could not help but feel two things. The first: a sense of hollowness, as I had felt when Lajjo was killed the night before. Because even though Doreen wasn’t close, I had liked her a lot and I missed her bright effervescence. And the second: a conviction that somehow this spate of horror needed resolution and I must help bring it in.

  Before that, I needed to get one thing done.

  I dialled the ever-familiar number hurriedly. Furtively, I might add, after all, this was Eye India’s rival—The Bharat 360, second largest newspaper in the country.

  ‘I’d like the sports desk,’ I spoke rapidly into the receiver. ‘Jehaan Warrior, please. This is Akruti Rai.’