by Salil Desai
Saralkar decided it was time to leave for office and start a microscopic scrutiny of all the material gathered by him and Motkar to identify dots waiting to be connected. They just had to put their heads together.
Of the many field tasks still pending with him, Constable Shewale had set out to complete the one related to checking the current status of various property transactions of the Doshi couple. Computerized registration of all land and property transactions had of course made it much easier to track mutations, but all the properties concerned were spread over a radius of about thirty to forty kilometres around Pune. So while centralized checking of updated records at Pune Land Revenue Office was possible in theory, practically speaking, it was far quicker to go to the relevant registration office in the vicinity of the property, check the records and simultaneously make a quick physical verification.
It soon became evident to Constable Shewale that almost each of the properties about which Somnath Gawli had shared information—most of them in the name of Sodhi—had been sold off within a month before the murders, as if in a planned manner. All the impersonators who had earlier appeared in lieu of Sodhi as buyers had again appeared as him at the time of the sale of the respective properties. In fact, from the dates of the sale transactions of various properties, Shewale could make out a pattern.
The sales of those properties, which had the same person as a Sodhi impersonator, were registered on consecutive days, one after the other and the same modus operandi was repeated in the case of other impersonators as well. As if each of the different impersonators was hired for a period of two or three days, during which all transactions in which that particular impersonator figured were disposed off, followed by the next person on another set of days.
Mobin Ghatwai had been the only impersonator they had been able to identify so far, although he had not been tracked down yet, despite activating the informer network. Neither had any identities of the other impersonators been established.
And then an idea struck Shewale. Could it be that the other impersonators of Sodhi were petty criminals from other states, brought over just to execute the registrations? It was perfectly plausible, with the additional benefit of having minimal traceability, because the individuals concerned would have had no prior criminal record in Maharashtra. Constable Shewale decided it was worth sounding out PSI Motkar about such a possibility, when he got back to office.
“Where the hell have you been, Motkar?” Saralkar demanded with a scowl as soon as Motkar walked into the office at four p.m.
No pleasantries, no greetings, even though they were meeting after nearly a week. How typically brusque of his boss!
“I’d been to question Kunika Ahuja, sir; the lady who sent the anonymous letter,” Motkar replied. “We managed to trace her.”
Saralkar glared at him, still not appeased. “What, you met her for lunch and stayed back for tea, is it?” he asked, looking far from impressed.
PSI Motkar could’ve laughed. It was such a typical Saralkar remark—funny, although garnished with sarcasm.
Motkar knew that briefing his boss about what Kunika Ahuja had said was the best way to blunt his sharp tongue and immediately proceeded to do that.
“But what could Anushka Doshi have gained by trying to harm Kunika Ahuja?” Saralkar asked sceptically once Motkar had finished the narration. “Money? Property? What?”
“Still trying to figure that out, sir,” Motkar replied. “We know from what Somnath Gawli, Surekhabai, and Hrithik Dhond have told us that Anushka Doshi was a pretty vicious woman. Plus this thing about past life regression is quite suspicious. I am thinking of meeting all her other clients to check whether anyone has had an experience like Kunika Ahuja’s and hasn’t reported it.”
Saralkar nodded, his irritability having more or less passed. “Okay. Now tell me all that you’ve put together since I left and I’ll brief you on what I gathered in Bangalore.”
For the next hour or more, the two policemen exchanged notes and discussed all the leads and information, threadbare.
“It’s all so bloody tangled still,” Saralkar finally grunted. “We really need to get on with it, Motkar. Set up that interrogation with Rangdev Baba right away. I’ll speak to the boss to check on sensitivities.”
“Should I arrange for more men in case we have trouble at the ashram from his devotees and disciples?” PSI Motkar asked.
“Yes, but plain-clothes guys and keep them on standby near the ashram. Only if we require them, we’ll signal. Otherwise only you, I, and two constables are going there with Dulange in tow,” Saralkar replied.
Motkar’s eyes almost popped out. “Why Dulange, sir? Won’t it—”
“Just do as I say, Motkar. And don’t ask Rangdev or his aides if we can come. Just say we’re coming in an hour’s time. Tell Dulange also to come here.”
Again Motkar hesitated. “We’re going there just now, sir?”
“Yes. Why?” Saralkar snorted unpleasantly. “Don’t tell me you can’t go because you have drama practice.”
“No, sir, it’s not that,” Motkar replied with a scowl. “It’s just that going there in the late evening might attract undue media attention, which a normal daytime visit won’t.”
Saralkar pinched his chin, creating a non-existent cleft. “You have a point. But from what you said he told Dulange, Rangdev is the one wary of the media spotlight on him. I think he’ll behave. And unless one of us tips off the media, there is little chance reporters will get to know. Let’s get this over with tonight.”
He gestured dismissively and began dialling the number of the Pune Police Commissioner’s office.
Motkar gave a silent sigh. Poor Walimbe was going to hit the ceiling if he didn’t turn up for the drama practice today, with the show scheduled for the day after. But Motkar had no intention of dropping out of the Rangdev Baba interview. He sent Walimbe a text message about being delayed and then began making preparations to set up the meeting, wondering how his boss was so devoid of normal human impulses. Any other person would’ve felt it prudent to go home early and spend time with his wife, since he had just come back to town after several days. He wouldn’t be surprised if someone one day discovered that Saralkar was actually an alien in human form.
Rangdev Baba had shown himself to be a shrewd operator. When Motkar called not only had he immediately agreed to meet Saralkar and him, but had also betrayed no signs of surprise or nervousness when he saw PSI Dulange accompanying them. It either meant Dulange had found some way to give the god-man a forewarning or that he was a man who had long mastered the art of keeping his wits about him—the hallmark of many successful crooks.
His sidekick, Akhandanath, on the other hand, looked quite a wreck, ready to go to pieces any time. Motkar was tempted to ask his boss whether he should interrogate Akhandanath separately, while Saralkar had a go at Rangdev Baba himself. But Motkar knew Saralkar himself would say so if and when he thought it would be a good tactical move. Instead Saralkar instructed Rangdev Baba to send Akhandanath with Constable Shewale to collect details of all the disciples in his ashram. That having been done, Saralkar directed PSI Dulange to leave the room.
Rangdev Baba sat facing them now. Whatever he might have been feeling inside, he continued to look unruffled, regarding both Saralkar and Motkar as if they were erring human beings, who knew not what injustice they were subjecting a saint like him to.
“Tell me, Inspector sahib, how can I help you?” he asked Saralkar, the picture of cooperation.
Saralkar continued studying him silently for a few seconds, and then said, “Do you perform any miracles, Rangdev Baba?”
PSI Motkar recognized his boss’s favourite technique— always begin with an unexpected question. It had the desired effect of disorientation on Rangdev, if only momentarily.
“Miracles? I don’t understand.”
“Miracles,” Saralkar repeated. “You know like producing sacred ash and prasad and other items from thin air.”
R
angdev Baba recovered quickly, giving a restrained, tolerant smile in response. “I don’t have to resort to such cheap tactics, Inspector, to impress my devotees.”
“I see. So what’s your speciality, Baba? What unique brand of spirituality and piety do you offer that your fellow babas don’t?” Saralkar asked, his tone beautifully balancing scepticism and sarcasm.
Baba, yet again showed no inclination to take offence. “I just help people cleanse their hearts and minds, purge them of negative behaviour, thoughts, habits,” he replied evenly. “I try to show all those who come here to make amends for their pasts, make peace with the present, and make way for the future.”
He paused, with the air of a doctoral student who’s given a brilliant summary of his thesis, and expected the panel to instantly award him his PhD.
“Ah,” Saralkar said with exaggerated acknowledgement, “I thought you did far more colourful things, going by your name Rangdev Baba. Are you just being modest?”
He gave the Baba a meaningful look and unease flitted through Baba’s eyes for a moment, as if bothered about how much Saralkar knew. Then with a thin smile, he responded, “Inspector, some of us are genuine, you know. Not everyone is a cad, although I don’t blame you for thinking so.”
“So how come a genuine Baba got associated with a genuine crook like Sanjay Doshi?”
“Look, Inspector, I’ve already told PSI Dulange what—”
“What you’ve told Dulange is at best a half truth,” Saralkar suddenly hardened his voice. “That’s not enough. What I am after is the full truth, with no details left out. So I’d like you to follow your own advice and cleanse your heart and mind and purge them of all facts related to Sanjay Doshi’s links with you, your ashram, and your disciples.”
“But what makes you think I’ve held back anything?” Rangdev Baba protested with an air of injured innocence.
Saralkar smirked. “Let’s just say that like holy men, policemen too are blessed with divine intuition and vision sometimes. In any case, didn’t you refuse to reveal the names of your two disciples with whom Sanjay Doshi was engaged in illegal activities?”
Rangdev Baba frowned and his left hand began stroking his flowing beard.
Motkar felt an irresistible urge to ask him what he’d always wanted to ask all so called god-men—didn’t they ever feel itchy and hot, keeping all those locks of long hair and beards? He cast an eye at Saralkar whose eyes refused to leave Rangdev Baba’s face.
“That I still cannot do, my dear Inspector Saralkar,” Rangdev Baba spoke gravely. “Much as I would like to assist the law, I cannot betray the confidence of my two disciples who have confessed to me. They are like my children. They made a grave error of judgement and yielded to the temptation put in their way by an evil man, but now it is my duty to protect them.”
He paused and looked at the senior inspector with a solemn expression. If it hadn’t been for his ingrained distrust of babas, Motkar might have almost found it possible to believe that some finer principles did indeed move Rangdev Baba.
Saralkar was absorbing the answer. Rangdev Baba was proving more assured than what he had bargained for. He had expected either angry bluster or naked invocation of nuisance value and influence from the baba or otherwise shaky ingratiation and grovelling.
“Do you realize you are obstructing justice by refusing to reveal the names of your disciples who were involved in illegal activities?” Saralkar said with a hint of displeasure.
“But you are not investigating those illegal activities, are you, Inspector? You are investigating the murder of Sanjay Doshi, which is a completely different case and has nothing to do with my disciples!” Rangdev Baba said vigorously.
“How do you know for sure that Sanjay Doshi’s murder wasn’t a fallout of those same illegal activities?” Saralkar countered.
“But, Saralkar sahib, is there any evidence to suggest such a link?” Rangdev Baba lowered his pitch once again, making him sound terribly reasonable and far from defiant. “If you do, I urge you to share it with me and I promise you I won’t stand in your way, believe me.”
Rangdev Baba was really playing it smart, Motkar realized. Instead of hostile rhetoric or in-your-face haughty threats, he was just politely refusing to cooperate, knowing full well that the police would be shy of using force, even against a god-man with limited following or influence like him, until armed with enough evidence. And he’d slyly reckoned that at least so far they didn’t have such evidence.
If it was an ordinary person, Saralkar knew he would’ve been able to ride roughshod by dismissing offhand the need to share any evidence. But this needed delicate handling. To rely on finding something incriminating in the ashram against Rangdev Baba or his cohorts would be taking too much of a risk. And it could boomerang on him and the Homicide squad if he took the baba into custody or ordered a search of the premises without due process. He mulled for a moment as Rangdev Baba watched him like a hawk-eyed goalkeeper awaiting a penalty shot.
Saralkar decided there was no option but to bluff. The question was would it work? It was worth trying though. “Rangdev Baba, I am really not obliged to share any evidence with you. But since you’ve taken a stance, here are the choices you can make. Either you tell us who those two disciples are who were associated with Sanjay Doshi or on the basis of the cell records we posses, of several calls exchanged between your aide Akhandanath and Sanjay Doshi, we will pick him up for questioning right away. I’m sure in twenty-four hours he’ll reveal a lot more information to us than this case requires.”
Rangdev Baba went pale and Motkar could’ve sworn that panic rippled across his face for a few seconds. Just as Motkar thought he was about to throw in the towel, Baba surprised him by showing extraordinary spunk. “Why don’t you arrest me instead of picking on my disciples?” he said with shaky aplomb, sounding martyr-like. “I am prepared to accompany you even just now.”
Saralkar cursed the man’s gall. Motkar wondered if Rangdev Baba had stumped his boss now or whether Saralkar would take him up on his offer. The senior inspector was still trying to articulate a suitable response. What kind of a democracy was this that touching leaders, politicians, babas, and rabble-rousers was fraught with apprehension of violence and law and order problems created by their irrational supporters?
How had the state allowed itself to become so weak that it had emboldened even charlatans with a small following like Rangdev Baba to possess disproportionate nuisance value? The commissioner had already warned Saralkar earlier to be cautious and that he didn’t want any ugliness.
“Thank you for the offer, Rangdev Baba,” Saralkar said dangerously. “I am tempted to take it . . .” he let the sentence dangle, fixing Rangdev Baba with a long, hard look as if turning the matter over in his mind.
Motkar could sense Rangdev Baba getting uneasy and fidgety, trying his best to appear calm. Suddenly Saralkar turned towards Motkar and beckoned him to come closer. Then deliberately he whispered into his ears, “Just nod and go out of the room as if on an errand, send Dulange in here, and while I engage Rangdev and Dulange, whisk Akhandanath away to the squad office as unobtrusively as possible. Give me a buzz once you leave the ashram with Akhandanath.”
Motkar nodded as instructed, shot a glance at Rangdev Baba, who had been watching them anxiously, and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Are you making arrangements to arrest me?” Rangdev Baba asked with hoarse belligerence.
Saralkar merely shook his head. Before Rangdev Baba could ask any further questions, the door opened and PSI Dulange stepped into the room. Rangdev Baba directed an unfriendly glance at him, as he walked over and stood next to Saralkar. Saralkar looked at Dulange briefly. With two pairs of eyes blazing at him, Dulange’s face clearly showed he would rather be elsewhere.
“Rangdev Baba, now please repeat all that you told Dulange,” Saralkar said, turning to the god-man.
Rangdev Baba took a deep breath of relief and began speaking. Ten min
utes into his narrative, Saralkar’s mobile pinged with a text message from Motkar. Saralkar clicked it open, expecting to find Motkar’s confirmation of having nabbed and whisked Akhandanath away from the ashram.
Instead a minor shock awaited him. Akhandanath, Motkar reported with great dismay, had bolted away just as he was being led out of the ashram, giving him and two constables a slip!
Not even the nasty looking bruises Motkar had received on his temple and shoulders in his scuffle with the absconding Akhandanath could save him from Saralkar’s severe dressing down. Akhandanath had meekly accompanied Motkar and two constables towards their vehicle. Then, when one of the two constables holding him had detached himself to open the door and drive, Akhandanath had suddenly twisted the other constable’s arm and wrenched free from his grip.
Motkar, who had been alert, had immediately stepped into Akhandanath’s way. But he had been no match to the burly build and strength of Rangdev Baba’s aide. Akhandanath had violently shoved him against the vehicle and Motkar had banged into the half open door of the car, losing his footing altogether, and clumsily falling to the ground. Worse still, in trying to scramble up and raise himself, he’d inadvertently hurt his shoulder against the sharp bottom corner of the open vehicle door. That had been disproportionately painful and slowed him down by which time Akhandanath had put enough distance between him and the cops.
The two constables had given chase but Akhandanath had slipped away, diving and disappearing into a narrow lane, a short distance away from the ashram. The plain-clothes policemen scattered nearby had also been just a tad late in reacting.
