The Miss India Murders

by Gauri Sinh

  ‘In front of you just now,’ came Parvati’s low voice. ‘Tara did have an argument with Nuzhat, which got heated because Nuzhat wouldn’t stop troubling her and she was to be on stage in five minutes. She wanted mental peace before going on. In frustration, she hit Nuzhat, who fell down and pushed her head. Nuzhat appeared groggy after the blow. But she was sitting up when she left her, Tara said …’

  Before she could tell me more however, there was an announcement over the mic to the waiting media outside.

  ‘We have in custody a suspect for the murder today. There will be an official statement this evening.’

  I turned to face Parvati, meeting her sombre eyes. There was no doubt about it—innocent or not, Tara was going to be branded a murderer. The graver question loomed before us now—murderer for how many murders?

  15

  Akruti

  ‘Meet me in my room now!’ Parvati mouthed, even as our chaperones arrived to escort us back to our rooms. I nodded briefly to let her know to expect me soon, before heading upstairs.

  One more sub-event had ended in tragedy. Would this be the end of the pageant, the final death blow? Everyone around us looked grim-faced and sombre. That there might indeed be a serial killer loose at the pageant was uppermost in people’s minds.

  I arrived in Parvati’s room to find her alone. ‘Tania’s gone to Nina’s room,’ she told me. ‘So we’re free to talk.’

  She had her diary open, and had already scribbled down some notes.

  ‘What have you written?’ I asked her curiously.

  ‘A list of possible suspects, all the ones we’ve discussed so far. Till Doreen’s murder, this only included our mysterious Laddo. Now there’s yet another murder, and Tara’s been thrown into the mix,’ Parvati said, her voice grave. She did not mention Nuzhat on her list. There was no need.

  No more did this entire scenario seem unreal. From the beginning we had felt this aura of unreality about all that was happening, and had allowed ourselves to be swept along, as events transpired. But now, even though Parvati and I, we had wanted to help the investigation, we were overcome by a very real sense of foreboding. It had existed before, but now it was sharp, a sense of clear and present danger.

  The first murder had shocked us, me in particular, because it came out of the blue, and I was the one who caught Lajjo falling. The second had surprised and terrified us. Parvati had been particularly affected, because she discovered the body of Doreen. This third had simply knocked us sideways—even if the earlier two were not linked, three murders at the same pageant meant something extremely sinister and dark at play.

  I could tell that not for a moment did Parvati believe that Tara was the murderer. Did I? Frankly, it was very confusing to me. If Tara indeed was a killer? Why did the police not hit upon it before? Why were the police not able to stop her committing her third crime right under their very eyes? How had she pulled it off?

  These thoughts swirled in my head as I stared at Parvati scribbling in her diary.

  ‘Do you know what else Tara told me in those few seconds she was near me?’ she said finally lifting her head from the pages. ‘She said she was told they believed she’d killed all three women. She said she was innocent. And I believe her.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked Parvati. ‘Why do you believe anything she says?’

  ‘Because there is no motive. Tara has no reason for killing Lajjo. She didn’t know her well and she wasn’t such a hot contender for this crown so as to be considered competition for Lajjo. She didn’t leave the stage at all, she just shifted the formation when Smriti and Vanessa returned that night. And from the video recording, it appears that Lajjo was stabbed before she began to walk the ramp that night. In fact, Tara was standing almost at midpoint after the formation was shuffled. Lajjo had already been stabbed, before she reached Tara …’

  Parvati showed me the pages in her diary. She had written ‘Lajjo’ in red. Under which there was the word ‘suspects’. Next to that, the word ‘police’ with a dash, and ‘Tara’. Next to Tara’s name in bold was written ‘Motive’ and a question mark.

  ‘Tara had no motive for killing Doreen either,’ Parvati continued. ‘She only met Doreen at this pageant. She couldn’t be the one who Doreen said had bent the rules because she could not be Laddo. Why do I say so? She had finished hair and make-up long before the rest, and did not enter the green room after.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ I asked softly.

  ‘How do I know this?’ Parvati’s brown eyes fixed on mine solemnly. ‘I was in the green room myself when Tara was getting ready, one of the first to do so, in fact. And she was next to me during the beginning of the swimsuit round, all through the first half, in fact. So I know she didn’t leave during that window of time the police say Doreen was killed.’

  I was amazed. It was lucky that Parvati was so observant of others, especially during the contest itself. Lucky for Tara that Parvati had noticed her movements during the swimsuit round and knew she wasn’t Laddo. But how lucky was Tara, would her luck hold if the police named her culprit for all three killings?

  ‘The reason Tara lunged at Nuzhat was self-defence,’ said Parvati, writing this down, as she spoke to me. ‘Remember, Nuzhat was constantly mean, maliciously bullying people, especially Tara. Today, Tara wanted peace before her stage appearance and Nuzhat wouldn’t shut up. So Tara most probably lost control and went for her. More importantly, she said Nuzhat was alive after she hit her. So, whoever killed Nuzhat reached the scene after Tara left …’

  ‘Anyone could’ve killed Nuzhat,’ I said slowly. ‘She had made many enemies.’

  ‘True,’ Parvati said. ‘But Akruti—think of each of us. Do any of us seem like we would murder someone to get back at them? If so, which of us seems the most vulnerable, the most likely to do so … in effect, impulsive and likely to commit a crime of passion?’

  I knew exactly what she meant. If the police needed a scapegoat, they could not have found a better fall guy, a better victim than Tara. She was fragile, we all could see this. Emotionally fragile, not physically so.

  She was the one, who had declared she had entered this contest to find love if she won. Not career success as the rest of us wanted, or to please boyfriends or seek stardom and fame. She needed to be loved. As a person, she seemed glaringly needy, obvious to anyone who came into contact with her, even briefly. And not strong-minded enough to deal with the likes of malicious Nuzhat. But could such a person, however fragile, be goaded into turning this violent?

  ‘I honestly don’t think it was her,’ Parvati said to me. ‘We really need to find this Laddo. And because I announced it to everybody today—she knows we’re looking for her. Rather … I’m looking for her.’

  The full import of Parvati’s words hit me, chilling me to the bone. What she was saying was that if this elusive Laddo had indeed killed Doreen, she now knew Parvati knew of her existence. And she now also knew Parvati was looking for her.

  If she had killed once or possibly repeatedly, what was to stop her from killing again? From killing those who she felt might know what she’s done? Suddenly, it occurred to me—Parvati might be the murderer’s next target. And by virtue or assumption of closeness—so could I.

  One day to the finale …

  16

  Akruti

  The Miss India Pageant 1995 would be continuing to its finale. Despite three murders, media frenzy, parents and loved ones up in arms, and a general air of unease and horror pervading everything, the show would go on. This was announced on the news the following day.

  How the Eye India bosses managed to pull it off, swaying public opinion so, towards continuing with the contest, is anyone’s guess. But today, three days after the first murder, the media stories were sympathetic to the pageant. I wondered if Avi, back on the premises now, after having spent two days with the Eye India bosses, had something to do with this turnaround in the press. His gift for reading nuances and turning them to one’s advantage could only be
nefit the company, I thought wryly.

  The broadcast media, while expressing horror and revulsion at the senselessness of ‘young lives put out so terribly’, had turned the idea of continuing the pageant into an issue of national pride. The newspapers too followed suit. ‘Can we let this evil sabotage the way we live and work?’ one headline screamed, while another echoed the line Eye India had been repeating all this time: ‘Despite everything, the show must go on.’

  The previous day had ended on a quiet note after our interlude in Parvati’s room. As we discussed Tara and the grave importance of finding Laddo, Parvati’s roomie Tania had returned. She expressed both interest and curiosity at Parvati scribbling so furiously in her diary. Taking this as our cue to end the discussion, I had excused myself and gone back to my room. No doubt Parvati had managed to fob off Tania’s eager curiosity concerning her diary.

  In my room, I called Jehaan.

  ‘There was a stranger lurking outside in the garden, yesterday,’ I told him, after the initial congratulations on my winning the swimsuit round were out of the way. Jehaan took my premiere placing in anything as a given. It was touching and perhaps even a little stressful to me at times, his absolute faith that I would best any challenge. Despite being at the top in his own line of work, he never failed to make a fuss about my victories, little or big. I loved that about him; loved how he both indulged and grounded me. But now I had other things on my mind.

  ‘Dressed to look nondescript. And then, in the evening, Nuzhat was murdered. The police have taken Tara into custody, they were to make an announcement later,’ I added.

  ‘They did,’ Jehaan brought me up to speed. ‘They said they had a suspect, and that investigations were on. They hinted this person might be behind the other murders as well, they said interrogations were proceeding. They haven’t named any names.’

  So Tara has some time, I mused. How much, though?

  ‘Do you really think it was this Tara girl? Do I tip off the news desk?’ Jehaan was all business now.

  ‘No, please don’t Jehaan,’ I implored. We shared an easy bond, expressing frank opinions on each other’s professions. But choices made in the pursuit of our individual career paths were our own. We were unerringly respectful of space and careful not to overstep there. By asking Jehaan to hold off, it might even appear that I was asking a professional favour of him. But I knew he trusted I had an important reason, trusted I wouldn’t jeopardise his big story to follow my own agenda.

  ‘Why? What else do you know, Aku?’ Jehaan was all ears. ‘Has Parvati told you something?’

  ‘No, just my gut,’ I had said to him. ‘And yes, Parvati’s conviction, that it wasn’t Tara. Tara’s the fragile sort. Easy scapegoat for the police.’

  ‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ Jehaan had said grimly. ‘There’s tremendous pressure on them to find the culprit.’

  Jehaan had no other information to share and presently I had rung off. Like after Doreen’s murder, my sleep had been uneasy, at first. My roomie Roxanne had come up while I was in bed; she had been in another contestant’s room all this while. I heard her come in, my mind restless. But soon the exhaustion took over, and I slept, waking up only the next morning to the day’s headlines, telling us the contest would still be a go.

  ‘Looks like you’ll get your shot at the 1995 crown, after all,’ Roxanne had flung me a cheeky glance listening to the television commentary.

  I was grateful for her ribbing, everything else at the pageant had acquired ghoulish and morbid proportions, affecting our mood and morale both.

  ‘Get ready, Roxanne,’ I told her, almost affectionately. ‘Today we have to meet Mr Joseph for the final time. Hope you’ve worked on your abs!’ Mentor sessions had all but wound up, yesterday was Lubaina Pervez’s final one, today would be the fitness mentor, Josy Joseph’s. Abdominal crunches were Roxanne’s undoing, she really hated them.

  ‘My abs are just fine,’ Roxanne sniffed at me. ‘It’s my mind that needs pampering.’

  I met her eyes, and there was understanding there. It was a strange, tumultuous time, horrific days, restless nights. Candy floss contests and relentless cruelty do not pair well. But we were all in it together, and that counted for something.

  ‘I think Anjali might have a word with us about tomorrow,’ Roxanne said, before moving off to get ready. Anjali Rodrigues was the event head for the entire proceedings. No matter what had transpired up until now, we knew she wanted to ensure that tomorrow worked like clockwork. Just as we did.

  As Roxanne took her time in the bathroom getting ready, there was a brief knock on the door. I opened it, thinking it might be our chaperone, telling us to hurry up. The fitness session was always early, and this one was to be followed by one final rehearsal for tomorrow. Then Anjali would address us. The evening was free, in preparation for the finale tomorrow.

  But it wasn’t the chaperone. It was Parvati, looking troubled.

  ‘Akruti, did you take my diary with you when you left yesterday?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Remember, you were still shutting it when I let myself out? You’d told Tania it was nothing private, but that you didn’t want to show her your lopey handwriting?’

  ‘Did I?’ Parvati looked disturbed. ‘I can’t seem to find it. Maybe the stress is getting to me. I’ll search again. Thanks, Akruti.’

  ‘Sure. I hope you find it,’ I told her, shutting the door again. There was no time for small talk. By now, we understood each other well; knew when to be brief and business-like.

  Parvati had left to go search her room again. Though she was ready, I knew she wouldn’t be going downstairs immediately. Not unless she found her diary. I could tell she was upset. After all, her diary contained all our queries, guesstimates and surmises on the murders till now. Also—our suspicions about the elusive Laddo.

  While our efforts would seem amateurish to more experienced investigators, in the wrong hands, especially those of an unhinged serial killer, the diary would be dynamite. Not so much because of the conclusions or guesses Parvati had jotted so far, but for the fact that it showed clearly and without doubt that we—both Parvati and I—were intent on finding out the killer’s identity. That itself would put us in grave danger, perhaps enough to make us both targets ourselves.

  Now, writing this with the hindsight and maturity that comes with age, I wonder how we were not absolutely panicked at this development. But so much had happened by then that losing a diary, even an important one, seemed tame by comparison. There was already enough darkness around. I think we simply thought that the diary would turn up, sooner or later.

  We met just a little while after, in Josy Joseph’s final fitness session. All of us in shorts or tights or tracks, equipped for demonstrations if he needed.

  ‘Hydrate yourself well,’ Joseph bellowed; a small man with a big presence. ‘Remember—your mind is already under pressure on the big day. No need to add pressure to your body as well. Stay in the zone!’

  This line was his favourite, and spontaneously, we all broke into cheers as he spoke. This was after all, his final session with us, and his presence, basic, sunshiny and strong, brought us all back to why we were actually here. He suddenly made us believe in the reality of the competition, rather than the reality of terror and death that had gripped us these past days.

  ‘This is your moment, ladies,’ he was saying. ‘The moment you all have been intensely training for, all these days and weeks past. Give it everything!’

  As we all sat, attentive and adoring, listening to Joseph’s fitness tips for the big day following this one, my eyes sought Parvati. They wandered to her face but she seemed distracted and did not look at me even once, throughout the session.

  ‘Use your muscles!’ Joseph was saying, then to giggles, ‘Not just the ones in your head!’ He flexed his own, taut and ropey, and I suddenly had a random thought. Joseph was so strong—and Nuzhat’s killer had bashed her head in, with immense strength. Even the blade that k
illed Lajjo had been driven in with great force. What if it wasn’t a contestant, but a mentor who had killed both?

  Joseph was both popular and efficient at his work, besides his vibe was sunny and forward looking, there was no doubt about it. But who said a killer needed to appear sulky and dour-faced? By that logic, the Addl.CP with his taciturn expression and exacting nature would be the first in line for the title, only he was a policeman, not a murderer!

  Joseph’s was a short, snappy, lively session, just like the man, and it ended quickly to thunderous applause. If Joseph had succeeded in one thing, it was to reawaken in us all, competitive fire for the finale. His bright, just-do-it demeanour had also lifted a little, the all-pervasive cloud of gloom we had been struggling under.

  There was a quick break before our final stage rehearsal and I rose from my seat, determined to speak to Parvati about my sudden epiphany. To my chagrin, she wasn’t in the room. I couldn’t locate her in the restrooms nearby either.

  I was just about to give up, when I saw her enter the rehearsal hall where we were to begin our final sequence.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I hissed at her as the music commenced and we all scurried up to ramp, making a quick dash to wear our high heels before final run through. No more dress rehearsals—this was to be a fairly fast affair, just to have us prepared and ready for the finale the next day.

  ‘Trying to find my diary,’ Parvati mouthed. ‘It was definitely taken, Akruti.’ And then, as the chill ran up my spine, she added, ‘Someone read it.’

  17

  Akruti

  The whole rehearsal passed in a blur. I couldn’t wait for it to get over fast enough so I could reach Parvati and ask her about what she said to me.

  Finally it was done, and we broke for lunch before Anjali, the event head, could have a final word with everyone.