The Miss India Murders

by Gauri Sinh

Despite the strict vigil kept on us and chaperones round the clock, I had managed to slip away from supervision to speak to someone male (Eye India chaperones decidedly would not be thrilled).

  I had just dialled a boisterous, fun-loving someone with a wicked sense of humour and a wonderful, full-throated laugh. He happened to head the sports section at Bharat 360. Dimples that lit up the room, deeper in the left cheek. An award-winning journalist and a health fanatic, the flamboyant Jehaan Warrior, a.k.a. my perfect, very Parsi boyfriend.

  He was the person I needed to speak to right now. The one the press had not written of, as yet. Possibly because the lifestyle sections had not guessed his connect to me. But more so, I felt, out of courtesy to one of their own.

  ‘Aku?’ Jehaan’s voice came on, sounding worried and tense. ‘What’s going on there? You alright?’

  Quickly, I filled him in on the events of the past twenty-four hours. I had been too tired to speak with him before. But he already knew the drill, being generally familiar with police procedure as most mainline news journalists tend to be. He hadn’t called me, waiting patiently till I could, but clearly, as part of a buzzing newsroom, he already knew of the sinister turn the contest had abruptly taken. And was weary with worry, I could tell.

  ‘I need a favour,’ I continued, once the drama and despair had been conveyed. ‘I need you to do a background check on one of the contestants for me.’

  ‘Aku?’ Jehaan’s voice sounded unsure. ‘This is a contest where two murders just happened. You are still a participant …’

  ‘I don’t consider her competition, you know this,’ I told him. ‘I need to know because she doesn’t seem to be who she says she is.’

  ‘I don’t doubt you,’ Jehaan’s voice was patient, taut. ‘But I can tell you are up to something. And if it is dangerous, if you feel she is a suspect or ought to be—I’d rather you stayed away.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s a suspect, or rather, my instinct tells me she isn’t,’ I spoke slowly, seriously. ‘But she is not who she says she is. You know how much I rely on my inner voice …’

  Jehaan didn’t bother to reply, I heard him sigh.

  ‘I need to know what she isn’t telling me,’ I said. ‘Please, Jehaan? It’s important.’

  ‘Be careful,’ he said curtly. I knew he would do as I asked. Jehaan denied me nothing. He would route his enquiry through his various crime journalist friends and any others I didn’t care to learn of. I would have my information soon enough.

  ‘Who is the person you want me to check out?’ he asked.

  ‘Her name is Parvati,’ I said. ‘Parvati Samant.’

  Call over, I put the receiver down with great care. I was still in the main lobby and I didn’t want anyone to know I’d called Jehaan. Then I went back to the hall where all the contestants had gathered once more to await instructions. We had been sent to our rooms earlier, following the discovery of Doreen’s body. Now we’d been called back down to speak to the police. They were already with Parvati and Tania. I entered the hall discreetly, noting the pall on the faces of my fellow contestants. Everyone looked shell-shocked. There was that silence that descends in a place of grieving, that deafening quietude of white noise when there is nothing to be said and yet the spirit is anxious, restless.

  It was fortunate for Parvati that she had gone to the green room with Tania, or rather, both she and Tania had each other’s stories to corroborate, because they had stumbled upon Doreen together. I hadn’t had a chance to speak with Parvati yet. The morning’s swimsuit round followed by the awful discovery of Doreen had us all running in circles, horror-struck and borderline hysterical in turn, before being summoned to this hall by the police.

  Now, we waited for Addl.CP Mhatre, in what seemed to be a bizarre déjà vu tableau of our wait last night.

  Mhatre stepped into the hall after what seemed like aeons. Following him, Parvati and Tania, both looking pale and tired.

  ‘I will speak with each of you now,’ he announced before disappearing into the room he had emerged from, the one adjoining the hall. We knew his team was in there with him as well.

  Parvati found me immediately after.

  I scrutinized her face. She looked pulled down, dark circles under the eyes. Clearly the Addl.CP had grilled her late into the night, the previous night, about her absence from the ramp formation in the blackout. And now, today, she was the one who found poor Doreen with Tania. No amount of make-up, however skilfully applied could hide the effects of that kind of shock.

  If it was shock and not fear that was giving her dark circles. Could Parvati be hiding her real nature? Could she indeed be a killer?

  So much seemed inexplicable about her. Hard facts battled against my instinct which stupidly was in denial. Meanwhile, if she was tired, she wasn’t showing it in her behaviour.

  ‘Akruti,’ she hissed, gesturing for me to come away from the others to a corner. ‘We have work to do.’

  I went towards her, as discreetly as possible.

  ‘The Addl.CP will soon have the time of death of Doreen,’ Parvati said, matter of fact. ‘We need to find out who could’ve been with her while we were busy on stage at the swimsuit round. Also—we need to find out why anyone would want her dead at all.’

  I tried to recall my own hurried entry and exit of the green room just a few hours earlier. Why, I too was in the running for suspect number one again—after all, I was possibly the last person to have got my hair done with Doreen, I had been so late in coming down.

  ‘Doreen knew something,’ I said slowly trying to remember our conversation. ‘She was talking about … karma of all things. Doreen!’

  ‘Akruti,’ Parvati held my shoulders and gazed into my eyes, her voice commanding. ‘You need to recall everything Doreen said. Everything. Because once again, like on ramp when you were facing us like a camera yesterday—here too, you may have been in a position to know something. Without realizing you knew it, y’know?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’m trying to think. She mentioned someone in our talk on karma, I forget the name. It was a pet name perhaps, not any of the girls, I don’t think, at least we haven’t used it … but I was only half paying attention, I wanted to concentrate on the swimsuit round.’

  Disappointment surged through me as I said this. It was the second time I was in a position to observe things others couldn’t and I had been intent on acing the contest, not paying attention.

  ‘It will come to you,’ Parvati said. ‘Keep thinking. Meanwhile, who do you think was with her last?’

  ‘Me,’ I said. ‘Or I was one of the last. But that means nothing. Anyone could’ve popped into the green room even during the swimsuit judging. To touch up their hair and Imtiaz was near the ramp outside but Doreen wasn’t.’

  ‘Yes,’ Parvati frowned. ‘We need to go over which girls were not on ramp when Doreen was hurt. But for that again … we need to know the time of death from the Addl.CP.’

  ‘Did you know Lajjo and Nuzhat had a catfight in the washroom yesterday?’ Anuradha strolled up to us, interrupting the conversation. Her eyes looked huge, her voice a whisper, as if sharing something illicit.

  Nuzhat wasn’t a popular contestant. For the past couple of weeks, she had managed to cause trouble between girls, summarily slinking away after fanning flames of discontent. I had observed this from a distance often enough, made a mental note to keep away from her.

  Nuzhat’s last fight had been with Tara, a girl I believe Parvati felt distinctly motherly towards. Tara had left the room in tears at the time. Parvati had quietly spoken to Nuzhat. She had looked decidedly put out after, though she said nothing.

  ‘Lajjo claimed Nuzhat stole her eyeliner, Nuzhat said she’d only borrowed it and flung it back at her from her purse,’ Anuradha confided. ‘Lajjo threatened to brand her a thief, go to the contest organizers, Nuzhat told her “I’ll kill you for this, I will!” Do you think she actually did?’

  ‘How do you know about the incident?’ Parvati aske
d Anuradha, her eyes narrow.

  ‘A bunch of us were present—Mayuri, Tara, myself,’ said Anuradha. ‘And just now when the police asked us about Doreen’s enemies, it suddenly came up. The shock had made us forgetful yesterday. All of us told the Addl.CP what we’d seen. The extra bit about the fight with Lajjo, though nothing about Doreen. But even if Nuzhat knifed Lajjo in a fit of anger, why would Doreen be murdered? And like this, so awfully?’

  ‘Nuzhat was way up front, on ramp, almost next to me. And she didn’t move, remember? Lajjo was walking oddly much before she even reached her,’ I told Parvati quietly once Anuradha had wandered off, still dazed-looking.

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ Parvati’s face was grim. ‘But she’s definitely a suspect on the police list if they know about the catfight. And we need to keep an eye on her, she’s a bit of a fire starter, you must know that. Look at how she targets Tara again and again. You know, a girl like her … it’s possible she might not have held the knife. But Akruti, knowing her temperament—who is to say she didn’t incite someone else into doing that? If she did, she’s also culpable. Possibly—a mastermind.’

  ‘No connect to Doreen though,’ I said, partially horrified at the word picture Parvati had just painted. Such evil chilled me to the bone and I was already nervy, as were we all.

  ‘Yes, that’s true,’ Parvati’ acquiesced. ‘No connect to Doreen. We really need to know Doreen’s time of death to decide how to proceed next. But looks like the police do have a concrete possible suspect for Lajjo’s murder …’

  9

  Akruti

  Doreen was murdered between 10 and 11 a.m. that morning, the closest the post mortem (conducted very fast as such cases go) could decide, as to time of death. The swimsuit round was to begin at 9.30 a.m., and didn’t begin before 10.15 a.m., when all the judges had arrived. It went on for almost two hours. Around 12.30 p.m. or so, Parvati and Tania had approached the green room together, seeking a hairbrush, and instead endured yet another awful brush with death, for the second time in 24 hours.

  So, between 10 a.m. and 10.15 a.m. when all the girls were required to be onstage—anyone could’ve had the opportunity to slip into the green room and stab Doreen. In all probability, she had been stabbed then, and stabbed with her haircutting scissors, the police were quite certain (Forensics would confirm later). This was Addl.CP Mhatre’s understanding of the murder and we were privy to it so as to recount our individual actions in that timeframe.

  Eye India could not hush up any of this. The first murder had been shocking enough, now there were two. There were not as many news channels in 1995 then as there are today, else there would’ve been mayhem on the airwaves.

  But Bharat 360 had made sure Lajjo’s death the night before was front page news that following day, even as Eye India publications sought to downplay the attention. The next day’s papers would be a riot, there could be no more possibility of downplaying anything.

  There was a series of meetings at the highest levels, between the Eye India bosses and the police. Eye India did not want to cancel or postpone the contest. Their sponsors were eager to continue. The pressure on the police to catch the killer, or come up with a possible suspect was tremendous. And it trickled down to the Addl.CP who looked grimmer with each passing hour.

  There was more to fuel his woes. Our families had been contacted, and many were up in arms, wanting to take their daughters out of the contest. My own parents, always trusting of my decisions uptil now, were beside themselves with worry. As was Jehaan.

  ‘Aku, do you have to continue with this?’ my worried mother asked, even as my father, normally cool with my most hair-raising exploits, practically shouted into the receiver to stop with this foolhardiness and come home.

  It took all my patience to convince them that I needed to stay on. I had not let on that I, as all the others were also suspects, now in both murders, so would possibly not have been allowed to leave the premises anyways, without police permission.

  I doubt many of the girls had underlined this in their conversation with their families. It was a strange time indeed—our fairy-tale dreams were becoming increasingly difficult to sustain in the face of the morbid reality we were now part of. And there was pressure on many levels—parental as well as police, not to mention the actual pressure of wanting to place well at the contest.

  As of now though, no one was pulling out. Despite worried entreaties from those back home, all twenty girls stayed put. We all wanted our shot at the crown if the contest was to continue. And no doubt the police wanted us all at one place so they could finish their job.

  All of us, that is, with the exception of Avi. He had been given special permission to leave the premises later that day and all of the following as well, to confer with Eye India’s national head honchos who had flown in from the capital to join the regional CEO.

  It was he and not the overall event coordinator Anjali Rodrigues who had to meet the bosses, because he was the one present, directing the finale rehearsal when Lajjo was stabbed. He also had some explaining to do, I guessed, as to why he had dialled the Mumbai police himself, leaving his aide to inform his paymasters, right after Lajjo’s murder. The police no doubt trusted his credentials enough for him to leave and return, he had been the one to call them first, after all. Or perhaps strings had been pulled so he might leave for a while, to brief the bosses. Whichever it was, Avi was gone for the next two days, at least.

  ‘So, Akruti,’ Parvati caught hold of me again. ‘Any leads?’

  ‘I left the green room at 9.20 a.m., maybe,’ I told Parvati. ‘There were still several girls in the room then, and some others were flitting in and out. This looks like an impossible task to pinpoint …’

  ‘Nothing is impossible,’ Parvati said, her pen and diary already posed for notation. ‘Name the girls you saw at 9.20 a.m. …’

  ‘Pia, Sanjna, Inayat … Aishwarya,’ I tried to recall the background during my chat with Doreen that morning. ‘They were almost done. I think Inayat was left to go after me, she was waiting impatiently, I noticed her expression. I think some went to find Imtiaz, so he could retouch their make-up. Also, Roxanne came in once and left again immediately. I still hadn’t finished with Doreen.’

  ‘We need to speak with Inayat,’ Parvati’s voice was decisive. ‘She would’ve been one of the last to see Doreen alive.’

  Inayat was twenty years old, harbouring dreams of wanting to get into interior decoration someday. She had a boyfriend who was from a Bollywood family and she wouldn’t stop gushing about him. Other than her twin obsessions—interior design and her Bollywood boyfriend—she didn’t seem particularly ambitious.

  I suspected her presence in this pageant was more her boyfriend pushing to have an arm-candy beauty queen, than any real desire on Inayat’s part. At present, she was leaning into a couch settee, awaiting her turn with the Addl.CP.

  ‘There she is,’ I pointed out. ‘Let’s do this already.’

  If we thought quizzing Inayat would be a delicate affair, we were pleasantly mistaken. She started talking as soon as we approached her.

  ‘Horrible, no?’ she whispered as we walked up to the couch, making ourselves comfortable on either side of her. ‘I just can’t believe it. Doreen was such a sweetheart. Who would want to do this to her?’

  ‘Who indeed?’ Parvati echoed. ‘Did she seem worried or scared when she did your hair, Inayat?’

  ‘No, not at all!’ Inayat said. ‘She was her usual pleasant self. She was joking with me about Kush, that’s Kushwant my B.F., you know? He’s going to be in a movie soon, and she was talking about how she’s glad he got his break so fast. People struggle for years to get a break in movies. Even though Kush’s parents are filmdom royalty, he’s determined to prove himself on his own. I’m soooo proud of him …’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Parvati showed interest and Inayat continued, eager to recount her boyfriend’s victories. ‘Doreen said she was happy because she’s seen how people struggle to get s
omewhere, sometimes for years. Why, even in this pageant she said there might have been a struggle if rules hadn’t been bent.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I couldn’t keep the sharpness out of my voice. ‘What rules were bent? For whom?’

  ‘There are some really silly rules in the pageant, Akruti,’ Inayat turned her big dark eyes to me, most gratified to have found an audience. With a pang, I realized that I hadn’t really bothered to converse much with other contestants earlier. At least, not in this intimate and gossipy way.

  ‘Doreen said she knew someone at the contest had gotten in by bending the rules,’ Inayat continued. ‘She said it hadn’t hurt anyone, so why not?’

  Parvati’s eyes met mine over Inayat’s head. I remembered suddenly that Doreen had been saying something about bending rules when we were talking of karma too.

  ‘In fact, had these rules not been bent, this contestant would never have been allowed to participate,’ Inayat said. ‘And it was her dearest dream to be in this contest, imagine. Just like Kush’s, to become an actor. That’s why Doreen said she was glad Kush got his chance so easily. Some people can’t, na? Even if they have the potential, there is no luck. Then they have to go around rules, break rules …’

  ‘Who was she talking of, Inayat, can you remember?’ Parvati asked softly.

  ‘She said the name and the music testing for the swimsuit round came on, over the mic outside. There was a sudden crash of sound, so I didn’t hear her properly,’ Inayat said easily, as yet unaware as to what a big almost-revelation she was making right then.

  ‘Do you know what rule was being bent?’ Parvati asked, her voice so silky I was mesmerized. I realized later that this was Parvati’s special voice, the one she seemed to use when on the scent of something potentially big.

  ‘Y’know the rule which says relatives of employees of Eye India or mentors of the contest cannot participate in the pageant? It is such a silly rule,’ said Inayat. ‘Do you mean to tell me if my uncle is working at Eye India, I shouldn’t try for a shot at the crown? What nonsense! It’s such a silly rule, na? But it’s taken so seriously by the organizers.’