The Astral Alibi

by Manjiri Prabhu

  “Take a look at this.” Jatin interrupted Mohnish’s observations. “Boss doesn’t seem to think it the right time to react to this nonsense!” He passed the journalist the slip of paper as he munched on his corncob.

  “Relax, Jatin. There’s really nothing to get panicky about,” Sonia admonished as Mohnish took the slip of paper and read it.

  “And there was another one before this. It categorically said, ‘Get lost with your Astrology!’ ” Jatin informed Mohnish indignantly. “Now, tell me what you think of it.”

  “I don’t think this should be taken lightly,” Mohnish agreed instantly.

  “I can’t believe you guys!” Sonia exclaimed. “What’s so terrible about two trashy notes sent by some demented mind?”

  “The demented mind could be trouble if you’re not careful,” Mohnish remarked.

  “But don’t you know that barking dogs don’t bite?”

  “Sure, but this is a human being—an unpredictable human mind which belongs to someone callous enough to send two crude threats to a noted detective. Doesn’t that say something to you?”

  “Sure. I’m not saying I’m not going to act on it. I will, but there’s no urgency about it,” Sonia conceded.

  “Boss, do you want that person to attack you before you take action?”

  “Now, Jatin, don’t let your imagination run away with you,” Sonia scolded lightly. She took a last bite of the corn from the cob and sighed. “Okay, I’ll think about it. Period.”

  Mohnish shrugged and returned the note to Sonia, who dropped it into her drawer. Jatin shook his head and collected the remains of the cobs.

  “I’m going to keep these for the cows,” he announced, and walked out of the room. But he returned immediately. “Boss, your dad’s here with a friend! They’re outside talking!”

  “My dad!” Sonia couldn’t be more amazed. “Send them in.”

  She rose, smacking her bhutta-eating lips. The tangy, spicy taste lingered deliciously in her mouth. Jatin led Mr. Samarth in, the cornless bhuttas now discreetly hidden behind his back. Sonia’s father, a tall, athletically fit figure in a crisp white shirt and blue trousers, strode in. A single lock of grey streaked through his thick black hair.

  “Hello, Sonia dear!” He smiled. “Thought I’d give you a surprise!”

  “Sure, Dad.” Sonia returned the smile, but her gaze travelled to the man who had followed her father inside with slow, tentative steps.

  “Hello, Mohnish, good to see you again.” Mr. Samarth shook hands with the Journalist. “Meet a friend of mine, Sonia. This is Dr. Bhatti—a noted scientist. He’s retired now.”

  Both Sonia and Mohnish smiled in acknowledgement at the imposing guest. Dr. Bhatti had a serious, square face with a prominent jawline and a straight, sharp nose. His head was swathed in a bottle-green turban. Intelligence radiated from his face, as deep black eyes smiled at Sonia, from behind square steel-rimmed glasses.

  “I’ve been hearing so much about you from your father and so many others, I simply wanted to meet with you and see your setup. Crime and Astrology. Very interesting indeed!” Dr. Bhatti swept curious eyes over the room.

  He reminded Sonia of the first time Mohnish had walked into the office, an apprising, almost arrogant look on his face. Of course, that had been a year ago. Mohnish was a different person now.

  “Do sit down. Can I offer you something?”

  “Oh no, dear, we were just passing by and thought we’d stop to satiate Bhatti’s curiosity. He wanted to see it to believe it. He’s a scientist after all!” Mr. Samarth chuckled.

  “I’m glad we did,” Bhatti accepted. “But one day, I’d like to come and discuss the scientific viewpoint to your crime-solving solution.”

  Sonia’s heart sank. She really wasn’t into trying to prove the worth of Astrology, certainly not to scientists.

  But she needn’t have worried, because Dr. Bhatti added immediately, “Don’t think I’m a disbeliever of Astrology. It’s only the angles that differ.”

  “Maybe one day, we will.” Sonia smiled.

  “You are going for the wedding, to Mumbai, tomorrow, aren’t you, dear?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Good. We’ll talk at home. Goodbye, Mohnish. And Jatin.”

  Mr. Samarth led his friend out of the office and Sonia expelled a soft sigh of relief. Mohnish glanced at her.

  “Looks like a very influential man,” he commented.

  “Wonder what he really came to see.”

  “Perhaps he thought you would have almanacs hanging for decorations and horoscopes as wall pieces?”

  Sonia grimaced. “Can’t argue that. I never seem to be getting over this science versus Astrology issue.”

  “Which is not your concern anyway. Each to his own belief.”

  “Absolutely.” Sonia was glad Mohnish shared her viewpoint. He’d come a long way from the curious disbeliever he had been only a year ago.

  Jatin’s mobile trilled. One look at the number and he blushed. He quickly excused himself and left the room.

  “Naina,” Sonia told Mohnish. “The new love of Jatin’s life.”

  “Oh, you mean the girl of his dreams. Have you met her?”

  “Not yet, but Jatin is most keen on introducing us. I’ve no idea when that lucky day is!”

  “Well, I better get going. Tomorrow’s Sunday. Any special plans?”

  Sonia nodded. “I’m going to Mumbai by train—by the Deccan Queen, to attend a cousin’s wedding. Will return the same evening. So I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Enjoy your trip.”

  “I will. And thanks for the bhuttas.”

  “My pleasure, as always.” He looked at her and smiled warmly. Then he left.

  Sonia realised that feeling Mohnish’s presence even after his absence was growing into a pleasant habit. And she wasn’t sure if she approved of it.

  Sonia stood on platform No. 1 of the Pune Railway Station. The big old wall clock showed the time as six forty-five in the morning. The departure time was ten minutes past seven and she liked to be at the station with plenty of time to spare. Catching trains always made her uneasy. She dreamt constantly of missing them and was relieved only when she arrived well in advance. Normally she would’ve driven down to Mumbai, but her parents had absolutely refused to allow her, all alone in her secondhand van, to risk the wet, water-clogged roads of Mumbai.

  Dressed in jeans and a peach-coloured sleeveless top, she wore a rain jacket draped over her shoulders. The rains continued to flood the city, falling ceaselessly. Passengers rushed to the shelter of the station, their colourful umbrellas dripping and forming pools of water on the platform. Clutching her handbag, and an overnight bag in which she carried the sari and jewellery for the wedding, Sonia approached a stall and bought The Times of India. She paid the vendor and turned, almost barrelling into Jatin!

  “Good morning, Boss!”

  “Jatin! What are you doing here?”

  He smiled, looking a little abashed. His hair was ruffled and his clothes disarranged, as if he had awoken in haste.

  “That’s the latest style, Boss,” he said hastily, as he saw her eyeing his shirt.

  “Half tucked out?”

  “Half tucked in! And anyway, Naina likes it.”

  Before she could open her mouth to comment, Jatin dragged a girl forward.

  “Boss, this is Naina. I wanted you to meet her.”

  “Oh!” Sonia turned to face the newcomer and stared.

  Going by Jatin’s lover-like ramblings of how pretty his girl-friend was, Sonia had mentally braced herself to make allowances. But nothing had prepared her for this. Naina was of medium height with a slightly curvaceous figure. But her face was one of the loveliest Sonia had ever seen. Soft, rosy complexion; pink lips and almond-shaped black eyes; a waist-length, shiny mane of hair; and most important, an enchanting, shy smile. Jatin had not exaggerated. She truly looked like an angel. And this angel loved Jatin?

  Jatin awaited Sonia’s
reaction with bated breath. He looked young and innocent with his tousled, cropped hair, and he was, in his own boyish way, rather attractive. They suited each other quite well, Sonia decided.

  “Hello, Naina!” she greeted brightly. “Why in heavens did Jatin drag you to the station this early?”

  Naina’s smile broadened as she flashed an affectionate glance in Jatin’s direction. “He’s so impulsive.” She spoke in a lovely voice which matched her face. “He insisted that I had to meet you right away.”

  “Actually, I checked my horoscope in the newspaper and the reading said that it was an ideal day to create good impressions,” Jatin added by way of explanation. “So I decided that I wouldn’t waste any more time and get done with it—I mean, get done with the introductions. I would really hate it if you disapproved of Naina, Boss, so I’ve been unfairly postponing the introduction. But not anymore. Boss, your opinion matters immensely to me. You do know that, don’t you?”

  Sonia was speechless. Her assistant amazed her. “Thank you, Jatin,” she managed.

  The blue-and-white train hooted. The Deccan Queen loudly announced its arrival as it entered the platform and its passengers readied to get onto the train.

  “I’m glad we finally met, Naina. I know we can’t talk now, but we will soon.” Sonia flashed both of them a warm smile.

  “There’s something else, Boss. You’ll be able to read it in the Pune supplement of the paper.” He indicated the newspaper in her hands. “There’s a small bit of news about some ghostly figure in white being spotted around our office a couple of days ago. Some of the area residents witnessed this ‘ghost’ when they returned late from a party. The figure ran out of the office premises and straight into their path, almost colliding with their vehicle, and then it vanished.”

  “Are you sure it’s our building?”

  “It definitely says the Stellar Investigations Office. We’re quite famous now, Boss,” he smirked. “Everyone knows our office. But what do you think of it? Is there really a ghost lurking in our building?”

  “Of course not! But we’ll have to look into the matter. We’ll talk about it when I return, okay? I really must go now. Goodbye, Naina.”

  “Bye, Soniaji. It was a pleasure meeting you,” the girl responded with a beautiful smile.

  “Boss, do you want me to find your seat or carry your luggage?” Jatin offered.

  “I want you both to go home and continue your Sunday beauty sleep. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Sonia waved to the happy young couple, scooped up her bag, and moved towards her bogey compartment.

  The wedding had gone off well, she thought, as the train chugged out of Dadar Station and headed out of Mumbai. Except for the rain, which had created relentless hurdles from the moment she had arrived in Mumbai, she’d had a good time, despite the many problems. The train had halted way out of the station, as water had flooded over the tracks and the passengers had to descend prematurely at a relatively dry spot. No taxiwala had agreed to head towards Bandra—a suburb in Mumbai—since even the buses had been swept half underwater. Finally she managed to convince a brave soul to accept her offer of paying double the taxi fare. But halfway to Bandra, water had seeped into the taxi almost up to her waist and she had experienced a moment of extreme panic. At last, drenched and bedraggled, she had landed at her Aunt’s doorstep and had scrubbed herself for an hour in the bath!

  Fortunately, the rest of her visit passed uneventfully. But Sonia felt immense relief when she was safely in the return train to Pune. For all the opportunities in Mumbai, she would never ever leave good old Pune, she decided.

  She settled comfortably in her cushioned seat and watched the high-rise buildings of Mumbai vanish and lush fields replace the backwaters of the creeks. The rain slithered and sizzled, draping the rich green scenery with a glossy sheen. Hills rose gently on one side and rice fields stretched out on the other. Sonia sighed with pleasure. It was breathtaking. Mumbai–Pune travel during the monsoons was always a picturesque affair.

  As the movement of the train lulled her senses, she wondered what Mohnish was doing at that moment. Working on some documentary, most probably. Considering she had associated so closely with him this past year and a half, it was amazing how little she actually knew about his whereabouts and his doings. She really ought to do some background research on him. Before she found herself too deeply linked—at least in thought—to him!

  Automatically, as a sequel to that notion, her imagination conjured a pair of blue-green eyes. The Owl. What must he be doing now? With his propensity for international thefts, he must undoubtedly be hatching a plan to steal more prized jewels in some corner of the world. Idly, she considered when she would meet with him again, if she ever did. Would he ever dare try to contact her? Apart from the birthday card and the email he had sent her, The Owl had made no further attempt to approach her. Which was perfectly fine with her. If she hadn’t had a score to settle, she would have never afforded the crook another thought. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, she admitted hastily. She already had the sneaking suspicion that he had made a substantial, almost impressive dent in her carefully constructed wall of indifference for him.

  Sonia allowed her eye to casually travel over the nearly-empty bogey. On a Sunday evening, she was not surprised there were only six people sitting scattered in the bogey. Her attention was caught by the man seated opposite her, who was candidly observing her with a great deal of interest. He seemed vaguely familiar. Had she met him before? Sonia racked her brain for a hint.

  The stranger was in his fifties, with a receding hairline which was sprinkled abundantly with grey. Round silver-rimmed spectacles rested tidily on his nose. A thin white moustache, on a plump, lined face, seemed vaguely undecided about its future. Dressed in a white, blue-striped cotton kurta, the man had a definite air of superiority.

  “Sonia Samarth?” He leaned forward, catching her eye.

  Sonia turned.

  “I’m Charan Das,” the man said.

  “Charan Das…the Astrologer?” she asked, in surprise.

  “That’s right. I recognised you instantly.” Charan Das smiled, revealing slightly yellowed teeth.

  “Oh!” The detective was a little abashed. “I read your horoscope weekly in the Citizen Magazine. It’s very interesting!”

  “You mean monotonous!” Charan Das grinned. “It’s unavoidable, isn’t it? The planetary positions don’t change day to day, sometimes not even for months. In that case, the overall predictions remain boringly the same. It’s just the language and emphasis on different events that change.”

  “I know.” Sonia nodded sympathetically. “But you’re still very convincing.”

  “Thank you. You are being kind. But it’s difficult to satisfy an ever-curious reader, a person who wants to know everything! No one can predict everything!”

  “I agree. Astrology has its limitations. Or should we say, more time and serious research need to be devoted to the science.”

  “Even then, it’s tough to predict accurately. Also, there is the matter of belief and disbelief. Some believe in Astrology to the extent that everything they do is governed by astrological guidelines. And then there are some who scoff at it. And how can you blame them? Their lives definitely don’t follow the pattern their horoscopes have hinted at.”

  Sonia was silent. She really did not wish to get into an argument over the truth of astrological predictions and the levels of people’s degree of credulity. Like Mohnish had said, each to his own belief. However, she knew from experience that life very rarely strayed away from the birth chart. It merely needed an expert eye to point out exactly how the horoscope had affected a person’s life. And to be very honest, very few were really qualified at such a level. Intuition, research, a non-commercial attitude, and a compassionate mind had a great deal to do with it. But at the moment she had no desire to expound on the qualities of the science and its influence on humans. Specially not to an Astrologer of repute who pract
ised it as his profession!

  The train chugged with a rhythm of its own. A foreigner with a haversack loaded on his back shuffled through the compartment to the next. Was Karjat Station approaching? Sonia loved the batata wadas sold at Karjat Station. Despite the heavy wedding luncheon, her stomach rumbled appreciatively at the thought of a batata wada—mashed, chilied potatoes, moulded and dipped in gram paste and then deep-fried. She glanced out of the window as the train slowed. The rain pelted down as the long ends of the platform slid into view, wet and splashy, and then the main station came into sight. The train slowed and squeaked to a halt.

  Immediately vendors rushed into the compartment, offering an assortment of fast foods.

  “Fried hot Samosas!”

  “Karjat special Batata Wada-a-a-s!”

  “Sandwi-e-e-e-ch!”

  “Garam chai!”

  “Idli, idli, idli!”

  “Coffee-e-e-e!”

  The nasal, elongated, high-pitched tones of the vendors seemed to ring in the compartment, as delicious smells whiffed into the air.

  “Would you like to have wadas?” Sonia asked her companion.

  “Oh yes, Karjat is special for its wadas. Can’t afford to miss them!”

  Sonia smiled. “Same here!”

  She hailed a passing vendor who was carrying his wadas on a tray covered with a white cloth. She ordered four wadas and dug into her handbag for the money.

  “Please, let me pay!” Charan Das protested.

  “No, let me!”

  A minor tussle ensued, as the vendor placed the food on paper plates and waited impatiently for payment. Finally Sonia won. The vendor accepted the money, handed the plates to Sonia, and immediately moved on to cover as much sale as possible.

  Sonia passed two wadas to Charan Das.

  “Oh, thank you! You needn’t have!” the Astrologer exclaimed, a little bashfully.

  The rain lashed on the corrugated sheets which roofed the station. Outside, hawkers stood on the platform, with cane baskets raised on crossed sticks, or frying food in huge black iron kadais—deep-frying utensils—on wheeled carts.