by Salil Desai
Motkar gaped at his boss, even as Rangdev Baba cowered, bushwhacked by Saralkar’s unexpected assault. Speech, which had been knocked out of him by the force of Saralkar’s words earlier, seemed to make a comeback now, rushing forth in a torrent of words. “No, no, Saralkar sahib! That’s not true. I didn’t help anyone kill anyone. Not Sanjay Doshi, and I didn’t even know his wife. I didn’t arrange for any contract killer, I swear. Yes, I knew Sanjay Doshi was a criminal and . . . and I did use him for illegal activities to multiply the ashram’s money. Yes, he asked me to help him in getting rid of his wife but I . . . I just played along, without doing anything! When he asked me again, I said what I could do was try some black magic, that’s all. I don’t know who killed the Doshis. Sanjay Doshi and I agreed to part after a dispute about the share he wanted of the money generated from betting and my other activities. We both knew we had each other’s secrets so it would be a folly to try and create trouble for each other. After that there was no further contact.”
Rangdev Baba stopped, now reduced to the state of a common criminal, bracing himself wretchedly for more blows that might follow. Motkar was shocked as Saralkar obliged with another resounding slap. “That’s another bloody lie. You made Akhandanath call up Sanjay Doshi a few days before he was killed. What did you discuss? That you’d found a contract killer for him?”
“No, no!” Rangdev Baba spoke, almost on the verge of tears, shivering uncontrollably, his voice a whine. “Please believe me, I had nothing to do with their deaths. I made Akhandanath call Doshi to persuade him to come back and work for me. I just dangled a carrot . . . that I might know someone who could help with his problem. It was just to lure him back.”
“How did Sanjay Doshi react?”
“He was drunk, said he’d think about it. Then said he had to get her, his wife, before she got him. Then he started sobbing. He was a . . . complete mess! He said he’d be grateful to me for life, but I didn’t actually do anything, sir . . . please believe me, I’ve told you the whole truth,” Rangdev Baba looked ready to grovel, his body tense and twitching in anticipation of being hit again.
Saralkar gave him a long glare, then wagged a finger at him. “If you are hiding anything, Rangdev, I’ll personally come back and set to work upon you. You won’t be able to stand on your two feet again.”
In response Rangdev Baba simply burst into tears. His humiliation and surrender was complete. Yet another human being had tasted spirit-destroying indignity, Motkar reflected. Not that Rangdev Baba didn’t deserve the treatment for a life spent taking advantage of gullible human beings, but Motkar almost always felt sorry when it happened. Physical intimidation always seemed to work, but he wished there was a better way of getting people to reveal the truth than stripping them of dignity. It was soul destroying for policemen too, brutalizing their outlook, hardening their consciences, regarding all human beings as fair game for ill-treatment in the quest for answers.
As he followed Saralkar out of the cell, Motkar’s thoughts remained unspoken. But perhaps his face was full of question marks, for no sooner had Saralkar glanced at him, the senior inspector scowled. “Had to be sure it’s not him, Motkar. Wipe that god-damned accusing look off your face. It’s time to start eliminating all other theories and find the truth.”
Dr. Dhingra poured himself another large peg of whisky. His hand shook, as if even the weight of the nearly empty bottle was too much for his fingers. There was no more ice and there was no more soda. He would have to make do with water, but his legs were unsure of getting up and making the short journey to the refrigerator across his consulting room. He toyed with the idea of sipping it neat, then decided to wait for a bit. Maybe in a few minutes his body would gather the resolve to fetch the water. He shut his eyes and tried to make himself more comfortable on the sofa.
He hadn’t gone home. He doubted he would be able to go home now, unless someone came over to pick him up. But what was he going to tell his wife or his sons? Why was he still in his clinic at all, that too drunk like that? He had kept his nerve all day—through two surgeries, scheduled consultation appointments, and his evening rounds of patients in his hospital. But in the evening, the deep anxiety was back to haunt him like some ghostly creature of the dark.
He had taken a peg to steady himself, then another and another, but that had not made it go away. What was he going to do now? How was he going to thwart Anushka Doshi from her horrible plan? How was he going to deal with her dangerous delusions? How was he going to be able to save Geeta’s life if he couldn’t persuade Anushka Doshi that it wasn’t surgically and medically possible to reverse the procedures?
He had been scared yet incredulous at first. But there was no doubt now that Anushka Doshi had not been bluffing about having abducted Geeta. A few days ago when Geeta had suddenly cut off communication after reaching Tirupati, he had not known what to make of it. He had wondered and wondered what happened. He’d gone to her house but had founded it locked.
He had kept trying her number, growing more and more anxious when all he heard was the recorded message that it was switched off. He had even briefly contemplated lodging a missing person’s complaint but, of course, he couldn’t do that. It would all be out in the open then that the well-known Dr. Mahendra Dhingra had a paramour who’d gone missing. It would create no end of trouble for him in his personal life. But not doing anything wasn’t an option either. He really did care for Geeta. She was his love, even if illicit. He had set about looking for a discreet private detective agency which could help find her whereabouts.
That’s when Anushka Doshi had come for her appointment and told him where exactly Geeta was and what would happen to her if Dr. Dhingra did not comply with her wishes. She had played out a recording of Geeta, blindfolded and trussed up, pleading in utter terror to help her or these people would kill her. Anushka Doshi had given him forty-eight hours to decide exactly what he was going to do or she had promised, “Geeta is going to die a horrible death and I’ll make sure your whole sordid tale comes out, with you as the prime suspect in her murder.”
The wind had been knocked out of Dhingra when he’d heard that. His mind had almost ceased functioning. What alternative did he have? What was he going to do? His life was about to fall apart. Going to the police would not only mean a threat to Geeta’s life but also to his family life. On the other hand it was just not within his power to satisfy Anushka Doshi and do what she wanted. And failure to satisfy her would again mean the same thing—an end of Geeta and his life as he had known it.
Dr. Dhingra opened his eyes. The whole world seemed to be swimming around him. He reached for the whisky glass, staggered across to the refrigerator, afraid his legs would buckle any moment. Somehow he managed to pour water into the whisky and slumped back into the sofa. He took a long swig, feeling no better than he had so far. In his liquor-addled brain, he had even briefly considered the possibility of suicide, rather than face the consequences of the unfolding scenario. That thought now made a comeback with force. Instead of experiencing the humiliation of his reputation being ruined, the shame and disgust of his family, carrying the sense of helplessness and guilt of being unable to save Geeta whom he loved, would it not simply be better to end it all?
It seemed the only way out—write a note to the police explaining all. Maybe his death would save Geeta’s life once Anushka Doshi realized he was dead and there was nothing to be done about it. Or perhaps once the police got the suicide note they would nab Anushka Doshi before she could harm Geeta. And then even though he would be exposed in front of his adoring family, he at least wouldn’t have to see the scorn, hate, and disrespect in their eyes. Yes, Dr. Dhingra thought as he took another big sip, that was the best course.
And then another idea materialized from the flickering recesses of his brain. What if he told Anushka Doshi he would reverse the procedures, get her on the operating table, and then turn the tables? Threaten to kill Anushka right there itself if she did not immediately release Geeta unh
armed. What choice would Anushka Doshi have then? Vulnerable on the operating table and in imminent danger of being killed by a desperate doctor! Such was the startling audacity of the idea that for a moment his intoxicated senses experienced sudden clarity. Would he really be able to pull it off, Dr. Dhingra asked himself. Threaten to take the life of another human being and really mean it?
And what if Anushka Doshi dared and challenged him? Would he be able to take her life then even if it meant Geeta’s fate would also be sealed? Would there be any point if in the end it would only bring humiliation and fatal consequences? Dr. Dhingra’s mind began swimming again.
“Saralkar,” Hegde’s voice boomed over the line. “We’d activated our informer network to find out what Murgud’s been up to. He’s been going to Dharwad not Mangalore, and has been spotted frequenting a small farmhouse on the outskirts of Dharwad—last week and even yesterday. I’ve requested for a watch on the farmhouse but it might be difficult because of VIP duty.”
Saralkar clicked his tongue. “Sounds just like the kind of place a fugitive might hide.”
“Crossed my mind too that if Murgud has been helping Bhupathi’s killer, then it’s possible the person is hiding in the farmhouse,” Hegde said. “But who exactly would that be is what I am wondering. Shaunak Sodhi?”
Saralkar cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure it was the right time to share the theory that had been growing in his mind with Inspector Hegde. He hadn’t even told Motkar yet. It was too hypothetical and convoluted to explain over the phone any way, apart from possibly provoking incredulity. Instead he decided to share the other alternative theory he had thought of, which although equally full of suppositions at least fell into the bounds of plausibility.
“Ahem . . . look the woman found dead along with Bhupathi in their apartment . . . is not his wife Anushka Doshi, as we’d first thought she was. It’s someone else’s body. So not only is Shaunak Sodhi missing but also Anushka Doshi, Bhupathi’s second wife. That means Murgud is either helping both on the run after they murdered Bhupathi or may be it’s just Anushka Doshi because as yet we’ve found no evidence of Shaunak Sodhi’s involvement,” Saralkar struggled to explain.“It’s possible Anushka Doshi and Murgud have together planned and executed this whole crime. It could also be that Shaunak Sodhi is a phantom, who’s left the country or disappeared on his own long ago.”
There was a ruminative silence at the other end as Inspector Hegde tried to digest what Saralkar had told him. “I see,” he said at long last. “Let me understand correctly. Your assumption is that Bhupathi and Sodhi might have parted ways long ago. Murgud was in touch with both or at least with Bhupathi. So when Anushka Doshi married Bhupathi, Murgud and she decided to get rid of Bhupathi for the money and property he possessed and have liberally sprinkled Sodhi’s name around to mislead us. Right?”
“Yes, it’s possible Shaunak Sodhi is nowhere in the picture and his name has just been used to send us on a wild goose chase,” Saralkar said.
“Hmmm . . . you might have something there, Saralkar. Bloody diabolical if that’s what has happened,” Inspector Hegde conceded. “So this means it’s Anushka Doshi who might be holed up in the farmhouse?”
“Yes,” Saralkar said, much relieved that Hegde was not sceptical.
“Okay. Send a photo of Anushka Doshi to Dharwad Crime Unit. I’ll ask them to start surveillance on the farmhouse as soon as they can,” Hegde said and gave the number of the concerned officer. “Let’s also see what Murgud says during interrogation. Bloody shameful for the Karnataka Police if he’s neck deep into this.”
“Thanks for all the help. PSI Motkar will be there for Murgud’s questioning,” Saralkar said, “By the way, what about Sherly Fernandes? When can you get her to speak to me?”
Inspector Hegde’s tone became a little tentative. “She’s refused to cooperate for any further questioning by you or us. Says that there is no legal obligation for her to comply with our request and that we can go to hell.”
“Come on, Hegde, it’s bloody important. I have to speak to her. Please apply some pressure.”
“I’ve tried that, Saralkar. She’s defiant. She says she will go to the National Human Rights Commission and State Women’s Commission and complain about police harassment. She’s technically right. I can’t force her to answer us because it’s not as if fresh evidence has come up in the case or as if she is a suspect in the Rahul Fernandes murder. Anyway what’s so important? What has she got to do with your case?”
Saralkar hesitated and avoided the question. “Can you just give me her number? Let me try. I just need her to answer one question.”
“If you insist,” Inspector Hegde grumbled, and gave him the number. “But don’t drag my name into it. I don’t want any witness harassment complaints.”
Saralkar thanked him and disconnected. PSI Motkar who’d been seated across listening patiently said, “Sir, what do you need to ask Sherly Fernandes?”
“Just a question that might put at rest a freaky little theory my brain’s been bothering me with.” He scowled at Motkar then. “And all because of that drama performance of yours.”
Motkar’s eyebrows shot up, then dived down to shape into a frown. “I don’t understand, sir.”
“Never mind, Motkar. I know you often find some of my theories downright crazy, isn’t it?”
Motkar neither agreed nor disagreed. It was one of those questions. In reality he’d always found his boss’s theories brilliant, although he viewed them with extreme circumspection.
“Well,” Saralkar said, observing his reactions, “this time the difference is that even I find the theory being cooked up by my brain so weird that I dare not share it with you first.”
Without another word he began dialling Sherly Fernandes’ number with one hand and gesticulated at Motkar to leave the room with the other.
Geeta Chaudhari strained her ears to try and hear what was being said in the brief conversation going on in the next room. But except for some random word she wasn’t able to pick anything up. She wasn’t sure whether it was the caretaker couple talking to each other or if there was someone else too. She thought she could discern the harsh, hoarse voice of the woman they called ‘Madam’—the woman who had laid out the trap for her in Tirupati, into which she had walked with gullible willingness.
The woman had introduced herself as Meenakshi Rao from Pune. They’d met at the hotel she’d been staying in and got into a casual conversation. Geeta had been drawn to her friendly, compassionate nature. Somehow the subject of past life regression had come up and the woman had talked about how our previous births cast long shadows in our present lives, causing a lot of pain and problems. She’d inquired if Geeta had ever tried past life regression to ease her own pain and resolve her problems. When Geeta Chaudhari said no, Meenakshi Rao had startled her by asking point blank if she was stuck in a relationship with a married man, someone who loved and cared for her but could not marry her.
Her insight and sympathy had broken through Geeta’s initial reserve and she had found herself confiding in Meenakshi Rao the state of her passionate three-year-long affair with Dr. Dhingra, which could not progress to marriage and living happily ever after, since Dr. Dhingra was married. Geeta had told her new confidant about her intense depression arising out of not knowing what was going to happen—whether the relationship had any future. She’d come to Tirupati as she did every year, hoping the deity would resolve her situation, show her the way, calm her emotions, bless her with peace and equanimity to face things as they were.
That’s when the lady she knew as Meenakshi Rao had cast her bait. The deity might do its job but past life regression was a wonderful way to make peace with oneself, to understand who our soulmates were, what relationship we had with them in our previous births. Would she like to try it?
Like an over-eager fish Geeta had taken the bait and the next thing she’d known was waking up in captivity—disorientated, terrified, gagged, bound and trussed up. She’d
quickly lost count of the days. Possibly she’d already been there a week now. Long, long days of intense, pounding fear, of not knowing where she was or what fate awaited her. Days on end of acute mental and physical agony—cramped body, sweat, grime, headaches, hunger, thirst, mosquito bites, and swinging in and out of consciousness.
The designated couple brought her some awful food from time to time and took her to the toilet thrice a day. Geeta had tried to resist and shout a couple of times, only to be immediately slapped or beaten viciously. The man had also threatened rape if she did not behave. Meenakshi Rao had visited just twice. Both the times she had said nothing to Geeta, just given her painful injections, the effects of which she was unable to process although it felt something inexplicable was happening inside her body. Another man had also come and gone, but his face was a blur and Geeta Chaudhari had no idea who Murgud was or why he had come.
The door to her room clicked open now. A torch or the beam of a cell phone shone her way in the dark, blinding her. Geeta could hear the rustle of someone walking across towards her. Her heartbeats quickened, like a car that accelerates to high speed within seconds. Every single time someone came into the room, the pathways of her mind were filled with fear that someone had come to take her, kill her, end her life.
The rustle stopped near her but Geeta’s palpitations continued. Her heart was again in her mouth. She could make out the outline of the figure now. Was it Meenakshi Rao?
A pitiable, wretched mumble escaped Geeta’s gagged mouth. It was an abject plea for mercy—nothing mattered more to human beings than life when it came to the crunch—not love, not pride, no finer principle or lofty emotion. Just life.
Meenakshi Rao’s icy voice cut through the surrounding inkiness. “Soon you’ll know how much Dr. Dhingra really loves you, Geeta.”
