The Miss India Murders

by Gauri Sinh

  ‘So there is someone in the contest who ought not to be here?’ Parvati’s expression was grim.

  ‘Yes if you put it that way,’ Inayat’s expression seemed slightly alarmed now. ‘The organisers want to seem impartial I think. But it’s a silly rule, anyway.’

  ‘Was there anything else you discussed?’ Parvati asked, still smooth-voiced.

  ‘No, there wasn’t any time. There were two or three others waiting for a quick touch up—Pia, Aishwarya. Also, Sanjna was hanging around, waiting for Pia to finish. Doreen finished my hair quickly, I got up and ran to change. I didn’t know it would be our last conversation …’ Inayat, ready to chat so far, now looked stricken at the memory. There was a sudden silence.

  Parvati grabbed the opportunity to pull me off the couch. ‘We have willy-nilly stumbled onto something important,’ she said. ‘A rule was bent—one the organisers take seriously. Poor loose-tongued Doreen knew who had bent that rule and was chatting about it freely to anybody who would listen. Obviously, the contestant in question wanted it to be kept secret, if she was found out, she would be disqualified. And from what Inayat says, being here was a very special dream for this person. So, who was that person? And could she be disturbed enough about Doreen’s gossip to kill her? Did she feel she had that much to lose, really?’

  ‘That’s really scary, Parvati,’ I told her, sombre and troubled. ‘We need to tell the police this.’

  ‘I just remembered!’ Inayat broke into our whispering, as she walked up. ‘Someone else was calling for Doreen too, I heard the voice as I got up from my seat. It came from behind the green room curtain, one of the cubicles there. So there was Pia, Aishwarya, Sanjna and someone else. I couldn’t see the fourth girl, but Doreen even answered her. She said, “There are others before you. So you’ll have to wait, Laddo.”’

  ‘OMG,’ I could barely hold my interjection till Inayat turned away. ‘That’s the name, Parvati. The one Doreen mentioned when she spoke of karma. A pet name—Laddo.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Parvati looked at me searchingly, keen eyes boring into mine.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said, recalling my conversation with Doreen. ‘Absolutely. She said “Laddo”. And she said it in the context of levels of karma … she asked who decided levels of karmic retribution. How wrong was it to gloss over a rule if it hurt no one and would fulfil a long-held ambition … and she mentioned this name, she was going to go further in telling me the story, but I was not interested …’

  ‘You realise that this Laddo might have been listening to Doreen all the while, don’t you?’ Parvati said. ‘As she spoke to Inayat so casually about something so vital to her. And Doreen spoke to you too, only you didn’t bother to go further … which might actually have saved your life.’

  The import of her words dawned on me. If what Parvati was saying was true, Laddo, whoever she was, might indeed be a killer. Sitting there, waiting her turn behind one of the cubicle curtains in the green room, and overhearing Doreen spill an important secret that would spoil her chances at the contest. At her dearest dream, at the event she had wanted to be part of so much, that she had already risked breaking rules to enter. Which meant Inayat could still be in danger herself … suppose she recognized the voice or remembered something else of significance?

  We need to talk to the Addl.CP right now,’ Parvati said grimly, having read my face. ‘But also to Sanjna, Aishwarya and Pia … Who knows what they saw or heard. Do you know who this person might be, with the pet name of Laddo in this contest, by the way?’

  ‘Not a clue,’ I said. ‘But I barely speak to the others. We should try and ask around after we speak to the police.’

  We walked into the room where the Addl.CP had just finished with another contestant. He didn’t seem surprised to see us at all. Or it was just his nature, dour and unruffled, come what may.

  ‘I see,’ he said, once Parvati finished her story, narrated briefly and to the point. ‘This information is timely. We will speak to all these contestants. And provide protection to the girls you named, if necessary.’

  He didn’t ask us how we stumbled on this information, nor did he seek to prevent us from uncovering more. I wondered how much pressure he was under, that it didn’t occur to him to stop two foolhardy young girls, clearly out of their depth, from stepping into a murder investigation way over their heads. I didn’t know at that time what he knew about Parvati then. I would find out soon enough when Jehaan called me later. But I had that night to get through first.

  Before which, we actually managed to speak with all three girls—Pia, Aishwarya and Sanjna.

  As we left Addl.CP Mhatre in his corner room, we bumped into the trio—or rather Pia and Sanjna walking past, Aishwarya was seated on a chair quite close by.

  ‘Hey girls, how’s it going?’ Parvati called out to them. They stopped and greeted her immediately. It occurred to me that competitive and intent on winning as I was, I may not have really bothered to speak to the rest of the contestants during the first few weeks of our time together. But Parvati, down-to-earth and unassuming, had a lot of goodwill going for her.

  ‘We might have been the last to see her,’ Pia confided mournfully, straight to the heart of what each of us was feeling. She was from an army background, an intelligent, articulate girl, well-travelled and worldly. No wonder she and Sanjna, a techie with an American accent (Sanjna had schooled abroad from a young age) got along well.

  ‘Yes, we had our hair touched-up last, I think,’ Sanjna chimed in. ‘Us and Ashu.’ She pointed to Aishwarya sitting nearby, who got up and walked over to us slowly. Aishwarya was an enigma, a girl, who like me, kept to herself. But solace in numbers was better now, rather than flying solo, we needed each other for security and comfort in this uncertain time.

  I remembered suddenly how Sanjna hadn’t been anywhere near her place in the formation on ramp last night either. But Parvati pre-empted me.

  ‘Sanjna, how come you weren’t in your place on ramp last night?’ Parvati’s direct query was perhaps the best way to address this. ‘I came back to find my place had shifted. You had taken it!’

  Sanjna looked uncomfortable. For a moment I doubted her intensely, then she blurted, ‘I wanted to be as far away as possible from Nuzhat. She was bothering me. I saw your place empty during that blackout, I took the chance, I really needed to, Parvati, I’m so sorry …’

  Nuzhat again. All of us understood immediately. In every walk of life, there are always the ‘mean girls’. Sometimes, just the one. That trouble maker, the person who taunts and teases and bullies those weaker, unanimously disliked, barely tolerated.

  Nuzhat was most certainly emerging as the bad apple in this lot of girls. Let me describe her in detail so you get a picture: an unpleasant person, rake-thin and wizened-looking, like a dried prune. No doubt some circles thought her lovely, her body all sharp angles, her eyebrows in thin lines, pout perfected with lip pencil to appear as sourly exacting as herself. She was quick to seek out weakness and play on it, sharp-tongued, simpering-malicious, in fact, often downright nasty.

  All of us handled her in our own ways. She hadn’t dared to trouble me to my face, but I had heard enough during this contest to recognise all the jealous rumour-mongering and its source. The softer girls suffered. Sanjna, one of the youngest in this contest, among them.

  Yesterday’s gruelling rehearsal had frayed nerves, Sanjna might have really had enough, didn’t want to endure Nuzhat a second longer, even if it meant inciting Avi’s temper. So, seeing a chance, she seized it and shifted her place further away just this once. An incongruous act during a regular rehearsal, but because of Lajjo’s stabbing, rendered full of meaning.

  ‘Nuzhat was two girls away, always trying to get the girls behind and in front of me to trip me up, whispering things about my Western accent as well. I had had enough,’ Sanjna was saying. ‘Really, yesterday was so long and tiring, I thought it’s just one time, some relief …’

  Parvati hugged her spontaneously. I w
as a tad taken aback by Parvati’s artless show of affection, her impulsive kindness towards Sanjna. Such camaraderie with others never came easy to me and my supermodel status was the barrier I often hid behind. ‘How was I to know what would happen to Lajjo?’ Sanjna added.

  ‘Or to Doreen,’ Pia said. ‘How could we ever imagine being involved in such a mess?’

  ‘Who was last to get their hair done?’ Parvati asked Pia, deceptively casual, her tone silky as before.

  ‘Ashu,’ Pia said. ‘We were getting it done superfast, for once Doreen wasn’t talking much, it was so close to the round and only three of us left to touch-up.’

  ‘Yes, touch-ups were super quick,’ Sanjna added.

  ‘So you guys didn’t chat?’ I asked, entering the conversation for the first time.

  ‘Yes, about our hair, we did. Pia’s stubborn locks, my wispy fringe,’ Sanjna replied, turning to me curiously. I think it suddenly occurred to them that sensible Parvati and showy me made for an unlikely duo.

  ‘There was someone whose hair Doreen did, after mine,’ Aishwarya spoke up quietly, addressing Parvati. ‘She did mine very quickly. There was a girl sitting behind the green room curtain. Doreen told her told her to wait till we finished.’

  ‘Who was she?’ Parvati asked Aishwarya, her voice soft and low. I got the sense these two would be able to understand each other without words, the way discreet, introspective people all over the world sometimes do.

  ‘I don’t know, she was behind the curtain,’ Aishwarya said. ‘Doreen addressed her as Laddo. We were all so preoccupied with our looks and hair and getting costumes on. We weren’t paying attention.’

  ‘We don’t know who that could be,’ Pia said, Sanjna nodding her ignorance.

  Just then Aishwarya was called in to meet the Addl.CP and Pia and Sanjna too walked away from us. Our conversation might have been casual on the surface. But we had another vital confirmation—apart from Inayat’s narration, we were now told by more witnesses that there had been a fourth girl waiting to get her hair done. Who might have had reason to wish Doreen dead. We needed to find out who in the contest was called Laddo.

  Parvati was busy scribbling all we had found out so far in her diary. ‘Let’s formulate a plan to find out who Laddo is,’ Parvati said. ‘Now, if possible.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘We had to attend that speech class by Lubaina Pervez post this meet with the Addl.CP, right? But when are they scheduling it for, now that this is taking so long?’

  ‘It’s been pushed to tomorrow,’ Parvati said. ‘They announced it earlier. Maybe we can ask the girls then. We can divide it among ourselves. We’ll do that.’

  We were suddenly aware that someone was behind us.

  ‘Let me pass, girls,’ Nuzhat said, her expression unpleasant as she moved between us.

  ‘You think she heard us?’ I asked Parvati.

  ‘Doesn’t matter if she did,’ Parvati retorted. ‘She wasn’t in the green room, she was on stage—first performer for the swimsuit round, we catwalked for it in random order, remember? Whatever might have happened with Lajjo, Doreen couldn’t have been Nuzhat’s doing. She was too busy trying to look her best, she was first up after all. And as she was nowhere near the green room, she couldn’t be the Laddo we need to find.’

  ‘Would be too easy, otherwise, wouldn’t it?’ I said lightly, though my thoughts were filled with foreboding. Were the two murders linked? They didn’t seem to be. But what if there really was a serial killer on the loose? How on earth could we join the dots and find this person?

  We parted, and since we’d met the Addl.CP already, were allowed to go to our rooms. It was nearing 10 p.m. now, and it had been a long day. I ordered room service, realised my roomie Roxanne hadn’t come in yet, and retired to bed. The talent round of the pageant was on for the next day. Despite all that had happened, the contest was never too far from my thoughts.

  I must have drifted off to sleep, because suddenly, I was dreaming. A faceless, formless being, draped in a veil from head to toe was hovering over me. In one hand it clutched haircutting scissors, shiny and clean. I gazed at it, wordless, terrified. As it moved towards me, its reflection emerged, multiple images, so the place seemed a mirrored room. So many images of that one ghoul, they all appeared to be surrounding me. Oddly, as it came closer, the veil slipped slightly, revealed a gown, red and sweat-stained. Its face remained veiled, like a bride. The scissors in its hand turned into a knife, dripping scarlet. ‘You asked for Laddo?’ it whispered, sepulchral, close to my face and holding a gilded crown in its other hand. Cold, clammy fingers reached for me, its veil flying off revealing …? At this point I awoke, screaming. It was morning already and the phone in the room was ringing off the hook.

  Two days to the finale ...

  10

  Akruti

  ‘Aku?’ Jehaan’s dear, soothing voice filtered through, over the receiver as I picked up the phone, half-panicked still from that awful nightmare. ‘Did I wake you? It’s almost 9 a.m.’

  For once, phone calls were being allowed, worried families had insisted that Eye India lift the embargo on calls at least, so as to keep a check on the girls’ safety. We had been briefed by the Addl.CP the previous day, about speaking only to family members and not entertaining the press. This also had a legal angle, as we were all still suspects.

  ‘I’m glad you did,’ I said, glancing over at Roxanne, who had turned away from me and pulled the pillow over her head once I silenced the phone’s shrill ring. Clearly, she had had a bad night as well, and was in no hurry to get up.

  ‘I needed to wake up,’ I told Jehaan. ‘We have a session with the speech and diction mentor, Lubaina Pervez at noon today. And the talent round of the contest happens this evening, at 6 p.m.’

  ‘It’s unbelievable they’re still continuing with the show!’ Jehaan sounded incredulous. ‘After two murders and the possibility of a serial killer at large on the premises.’

  ‘The organizers feel that the show must go on,’ I said. ‘In case this turns out to be some sort of attempt by competitors to sabotage the contest name itself. They need to stand strong they feel …’

  ‘Come off it, Aku,’ Jehaan’s voice was impatient. ‘You know you don’t believe that propaganda. This is just about money—junking the contest at this stage would mean loss of several crores to those that matter.’

  Jehaan was right, I wasn’t interested, nor did I really believe Eye India’s propaganda. After all, Jehaan himself was from a rival newsroom and I really didn’t think Bharat 360 would go to such manic lengths to sabotage a rival company’s property, as to take lives of two young women in the attempt.

  But that the contest was still on worked for me. I could still help in any way possible to find out the identity of the person who had murdered Lajjo and Doreen so gruesomely. And I still had a shot at the crown for 1995.

  ‘Whatever their reasons, I’m glad the contest is still on,’ I told Jehaan. ‘And I’m glad you and my parents are pretending to be understanding in letting me stay on and compete despite all that has happened.’

  ‘You wouldn’t listen, even if we wanted you to pull out,’ Jehaan said dryly. ‘So let’s not go there. But it’s dangerous, Aku. I don’t think you realise how much. For you, especially. Because you are the most high-profile contestant this year. And you caught Lajjo as she fell. Seen today’s headlines yet?’

  ‘No,’ I said warily, suddenly worried. ‘Are they very damaging?’

  ‘There’s certainly a lot of publicity, only natural for a crime of this proportion.’ Jehaan was being realistic, I knew the news couldn’t be good. But there were more important things to worry about.

  ‘I’m fine, if that’s why you called,’ I told him.

  ‘Glad to hear that. Also, you wanted to know about a contestant,’ Jehaan cut right to the chase. ‘Parvati Samant?’

  I moved closer to the receiver, hushed my voice. It would not do to have Roxanne listen in on this conversation. She seemed to have
gone back to sleep though.

  ‘An interesting person, this Parvati,’ Jehaan was saying. I held my breath. Would my instinct be wrong this time? Would Jehaan tell me she had a criminal record or a sordid past?

  ‘Her father is chief of RAW.’

  ‘WHAT?!’ I gasped at Jehaan’s words. RAW, India’s formidable Research and Analysis Wing, the external intelligence outfit established with a view to strengthen our nation against foreign terror, espionage and the like. As far as I knew, RAW was accountable singularly and only to the office of the Prime Minister of India. Shadowy, secretive, extremely powerful … a lot like Parvati, it seemed.

  ‘She’s not your average beauty contestant for sure, Aku,’ Jehaan went on. ‘Though with that kind of lineage, I doubt very much that she’s a murderer.’

  Now it all made sense. Parvati’s low key demeanour, her exacting notes, her diary, her comfort in speaking with the police, despite her youth. She had possibly grown up watching her father deal with such stuff. And the Addl.CP’s seeming nonchalance at her repeated intervention into an on-going investigation. I wondered exactly how much he knew about Parvati.

  ‘Aku, it could be that she had ambitions of becoming a beauty queen,’ Jehaan continued. ‘But it also seems a hell of a coincidence that she was contesting at the same pageant where two murders just happened to take place, one after another … It is too much of a coincidence, if you ask me. And that makes everything even more dangerous …’

  ‘You mean she was here on work related to RAW? That’s absurd. She’s 19,’ I said, but even to my ears, I was sounding unconvinced.

  It made sense that Parvati would be here helping her father out for some reason. She had never seemed the glamorous type to me, not from the very start of this pageant. With the right make-up, she was actually rather gorgeous in a healthy, basic kind of way. But if she was here to help her dad in some manner—that would mean the contest was compromised on several levels, possibly to do with national security?