Site for Amusement Park (Plot No. 260A/261), Master Developer–M/S Kaleshwari & Sons. Expected time for completion–5 years. Trespassers to be prosecuted.
Burn the Old Papers
“Done. Only this one is left. I will read this one at home tonight.” The officer cleared his table, got up and stretched his tired limbs. He had been reading those old mellowing police reports, checking if they were of any relevance to merit escaping the “burn-the-old-papers” drive. Later at night, he sank into bed and under the steady night lamp overhead began attending to the day’s leftover business. He put on his glasses and started reading.
~~~
Sanjaynagar Police Station
Case Number: KP 08/03/97/3462
Incident: Murder
Reporting Officer: Sub Inspector Sabareesh
Date of Report: 8 March 1997
Notary/Law Enforcement Office:
On 1 February 1997 at 2010 hrs, I was dispatched to House No. 60, 1st Main, 3rd Cross, N.G.E.F Layout, Sanjaynagar, Bangalore to investigate the murder of Adv. Maniganddhan D.O.B 23/01/1943, senior advocate in the High Court. The scene of the crime had not been disturbed and I was able to note precise observations. The victim lay in a pool of blood, death having occurred due to bleeding from a slit throat. I instructed Havaldar Appaiah to search the house thoroughly. The body was in the victim’s personal room on the second floor of his bungalow in which he lived alone, with a fulltime servant cum cook. The victim’s younger brother, Mr. Bhaskar Rao D.O.B 04/05/1947, Assistant Manager, State Bank of Mysore was with him at the time of the murder. He is the prime suspect in this case but is unavailable for questioning at this stage as he was taken to hospital due to a seizure.
The first witness in this case is Sushila, the fulltime housekeeper. I recorded her statement which I am reproducing here verbatim.
“Witness 1-All this started the day we had the party. It was Mani Appa’s birthday and the house was full of high profile guests. The party went on till morning and finally everyone requested Mani Appa to give a small speech. He was speaking of his friends and other things, when suddenly he stopped talking. It appeared that he had seen someone in the crowd which had terrified him. There was a look of horror on his face, something which I cannot explain. To everyone’s astonishment, he fainted. Since that day, Sir, something went horribly wrong with him. He became very lonely, stopped meeting even close friends. I was not allowed in his room which he kept locked from inside all the time. Then after a week or so he started saying strange things. At first I did not pay attention to his shouts and yells, but when they would not stop I got scared.
Me - What was he yelling?
Witness 1-He used to shout about a girl coming to get him. She is behind the curtain; she is knocking on the door; don’t answer the phone, it is her.
Me-Did he say who this girl was?
Witness 1-No, I never heard anything more about her.
Me–Ok, go on…
Witness 1–One morning, some days ago, he emerged from his room and looked very grave. I enquired about his well being but he did not reply. He said he wanted to go out and would only return late at night.
Me – Did he mention where he was going?
Witness 1–No, but when he returned later that night, he was in an absolutely terrible state. Without a word he locked himself up again, shut off the lights. It was then that I got very worried and called his brother Bhaskar Anna to check on him. This morning Bhaskar Anna arrived and I told him everything that was happening. He was with Mani Appa and when evening came and I did not hear from either of them, I asked our gardener to break the door. That’s when we saw Mani Appa’s dead body lying in a pool of blood and Bhaskar Anna lying unconscious by the door. I immediately called the police and the ambulance.
Based on the first witness’ statement, Havaldar Appaiah was dispatched to make inquiries on the whereabouts of the victim’s trip prior to his death. It was found that he had visited a small village called Goregandi, some 200 kms west of Bangalore to meet someone—apparently a childhood friend. It is rather strange that this friend was also murdered a few days back, in the same gruesome manner. It can be reasonably inferred that the victim was unaware of his friend’s death and this must have been a complete shock to him. I present below the statement of the driver of the hired cab which the victim took on his trip. The driver is the second witness in the case.
Witness 2–It was around 10:00 AM that I picked up the guest from his house. I noticed that he was in no mood to talk and appeared disturbed. It was only when we reached Chikmagalur that he spoke and gave directions to where he wanted to go. It was a small village off the State Highway. Upon reaching the destination, I was instructed to wait until he returned. As it was lunchtime, I got out and found a roadside place to eat. There were local villagers curious to know of the visitor from the city and I told them from where we had come. From them I learnt that the person whom my guest had come to visit had died a few days back. They seemed scared and suddenly suspicious of my intentions. Sensing their discomfort, I quickly had my lunch and returned to my car. In some time the guest returned and he was in a state of complete shock. I almost thought he was going to faint, such were his shaky steps. I assumed that the news must have been terrible for him to bear. Soon we were speeding our way back to Bangalore and I dropped him at about half past 7 at his house.
Three days after my first visit to Mr. Maniganddhan’s house, I finally received a call from the hospital informing me that the patient had regained consciousness and that he was fit for questioning. When I met him at the hospital, I could see that he was in a very bad state. He is the third and final witness in this case and presented below is his recorded statement.
Witness 3-I received a phone call from Sushila, my brother’s housekeeper. My head is really spinning and I am sorry I cannot remember what day or time she had called, maybe she can tell you. On the phone, she informed me of my brother’s behavior from the past couple of days and requested me to come at once. I was very puzzled. I left immediately after informing my wife. When I got to the house, at first, he refused to let me into his room. I knew there was something wrong and got worried as he had never behaved like this before. Finally after repeated requests, offers to help and promises of secrecy he let me in. He was in a terrible shape. He had lost weight, had not cleaned himself for days, his eyes were red and he was extremely touchy; nervous about something. His voice was hushed as if afraid that someone would hear him. He wore a shawl over his head trying to shield his face. I tried to get him to relax and spoke soothingly to him asking him what it was that was troubling him. He kept blabbering about something.
Me–Sorry to interrupt, but can you tell me what he was blabbering? Did he mention anything about a girl?
Witness 3–Well, he was saying, “She has killed him, she has killed him, she won’t spare me either.” (Silence)
M –Ok, please continue.
Witness 3– (Long pause) Look, what I am going to tell you now, I doubt whether you or anyone else will ever believe. Trust me, even I would not have if it had not happened before my own eyes. I know you suspect me of having killed my brother. That is not true.
Me–Mr Bhaskar, we must have your statement, however unbelievable it may be. And as far as suspecting you is concerned, the law shall take its own course.
Witness 3– Well, fine. This is what happened. I was with my brother in his room trying to get him to speak and share his troubles with me when suddenly he screamed, “Forgive me, please forgive me.” Suddenly, it became very cold and I started shivering. Then the walls started peeling off to reveal something different below. The entire room began to change before my eyes and to my utter astonishment I found myself standing in a room where we grew up when we were kids! It was like we had been transported decades back into the past. I saw two young boys in their late teens. One of them was my brother! There was a young girl whose hands and feet had been tied with a rope. The boys got up and began raping the girl, who w
as crying for help. It was horrific. The scene kept replaying and then there was a white blinding flash and it was all gone. It was back to the present and I saw my brother crouching on the ground trying to move away from something. And then it happened.
Me–What happened?
Witness 3–The room became eerily dark and a gust of wind began to blow. My brother jerked violently and then, in a swift move his body was lifted in the air and he lay suspended above the ground, his arms and legs flailing helplessly. I darted to help him but was thrown back violently. I could not move a single muscle; it felt as if some invisible force had clamped me down. I tried to cry for help but the voice was drowned in my throat. There was nothing I could do except watch helplessly. I saw his throat slit open and blood spurt out. He remained suspended in air, bleeding profusely and then his lifeless form fell to the ground with a huge thud. The next moment, everything was normal. The coldness disappeared, the darkness vanished and the wind stopped. It was then that I blacked out.
After all the alibi checks and cross verifications of witness’ statements, I have to conclude there is absolutely no evidence of any wrongdoing by them. No weapon was ever found. Due to lack of any further leads, I have no choice but to close this case with the seal “Unsolved Mystery”
~~~
“What rubbish!” the officer exclaimed. He gave a wide yawn, crumpled the papers he was reading and threw it into the waste paper basket. “It’s quite late already, need to wake up early tomorrow.” He switched off the lamp and went to sleep.
The Greatest Dare of All Time
“Dhondya bhadavyaa…tond ughad! (Bastard, open your mouth!),” snapped Rambhau Mamasaheb Tavre. His lips parted only slightly as he struggled to confine the betel juice’s sloshing inside the vast expanse of his pale mouth. Dhondu obeyed, as was behooved upon his caste. He opened his mouth wide and raised his chin at the required angle. Tavre carefully flushed his mouth clean into his human spittoon. He also cleared his throat of mucus. Satisfied, he then proceeded to wipe his mouth on Dhondu’s turban; a white turban which had been indulgently smeared on with crimson saliva—repeatedly. It no longer was the totem for human dignity and self respect that it was meant to represent.
Turning to the two young British officers who were his guests he remarked, “Lucky bastard, he got to eat benarasi paan. I treat my people well, har…har…har.” It was that booming ‘har…har…har’ guffaw which had been ringing its hypocrisy all through the past 20 years in the village of Bahmti. Tavre was a wealthy, influential aristocrat who called himself a humble servant of Her Majesty, The Queen of England. The British Raj had engendered such tyrants; oppressive zamindars who owned land and forced the low caste masses into inhumane labor. Rebellion was unheard of, even quasi-dissidence was crushed. Here, in his fiefdom, Rambhau Tavre ruled and reigned supreme. He was god. In fact, god was in his name.
The door opened and a young girl in her late teens meekly walked across the gathering of men. She entered a room, tidied the bed and sat down by its side, waiting. Tavre said to Hadley, “Sir, for your service.” Taken aback, Major Hadley blushed, “Oh, no…no, not at all; I am a family man.”
“So am I, sir,” Tavre smiled affectedly at his guests. “Didn’t you see my grandson playing in the porch?” He leered at the girl sitting meekly in the inner room and shifted in his chair. His guests exchanged discomfit glances.
The discussion then veered towards English habits and tastes. Tavre at length described how impeccable he was with etiquette and punctility. He used knives and forks, wore hat and gloves at British regalia and also bowed to English women. As a clinching testimony to his adherence to western mores, he declared even his stool habits to be reformed. “I don’t use my hands, I use Dhondu,” he grinned. “Dhondu is better than any toilet paper, gentlemen.” Then followed that ‘har…har…har’.
It was late evening when the guests bade farewell. Visiting Tavre was worse than a walk through an abattoir. Concealing their relief, they thanked their host for his gracious hospitality and rode off into the approaching night. Dhondu finally saw his chance and beseeched with folded hands, “Malak, my daughter is dying. Please, I need money. I will do anything for you.” The interruption of his lascivious thoughts by such an impertinent entreaty was infuriating and Tavre slapped Dhondu hard across the face. “What kind of a whore was that who gave birth to you? Haramkhor, you don’t work and you want money? I wish I could lay my hands on the Major’s horse whip. You deserve a whipping.”
Dhondu was now prostate, clutching his master’s legs and imploring with an earnestness and pitiable humility that would have melted even a heart of stone. However, Tavre’s was cast in metal and he kicked Dhondu aside. His turban went tumbling a few feet and between his sobs he heard his master shut the inner room door for the night. He lay there outside, weeping. In that closed room, someone else also lay, weeping oppressed tears.
~~~
Bahmti was known around the countryside for two reasons. First was Rambhau, of course. Everyone knew of his deeds and knavery and all feared him. The second reason was the well.
The village had spawned over the years alongside the bank of the river Bhisa, whose annual flooding nourished the farms for bearing crops throughout the year. Two miles upstream, was an island covered with dense jackfruit groves. For many years now, this island was being used as a natural dumping ground for all things undesirable to human life – carrion, dead bodies and lepers. The latter were left on this island to die their slow, sorrowful death. Now, this island had one landmark which had gained widespread notoriety thanks to the nature of its spine-chilling past. To the island’s north was a quaint stone-walled well. It was probably built for the lepers to draw fresh water from. However some of the more desperate ones had put it to a very different use. Many had ended their lives by jumping into that well. The spirits of these dead men, women and children were never liberated and continued to haunt the island, rising up from the well on full moon nights. Fishermen venturing out at night had seen and heard such ghastly ‘forms’. The canard of hauntings slowly got established as gospel in the deep-rooted orthodox Hindu psyche. However, this was not the real claim of the well’s scary notoriety.
Legend had it that centuries ago lived a beautiful princess. She and her secret lover had arranged a rendezvous on the island. The king’s spies had however sniffed out the plan and the royal guards had waited in ambush. When the young lovers met, they brutally massacred the man. The princess, unable to bear this tragedy, had jumped into the well. Her body was never retrieved as the King preferred to disown his daughter. He tried to quell the news. However, love in its melancholy has a will of its own to persist. Age after age, the story of the princess in the well was passed on. But what brought it lasting fame was her priceless diamond necklace which had gone down with her. The most valuable jewel in India lay down that well but not one dared to even step on the island. That was the frightful legend behind ‘Leelavati cha haar’ (Leelavati’s necklace).
It was night when Dhondu reached his hut, if we may call it that. It used to be a thatched roof cattle-shed. The cows were relocated to a more hygienic, comfortable accommodation and Dhondu had found a home for his family. They did not mind the stench of cow dung or the constant irritation of blood-sucking wasps. Four walls, one roof and a door was enough for Dhondu, Savitribai and their seven-year-old daughter.
Savitribai saw the fresh damp imprints of thick lips on the turban as she pulled her sari over her head. There was no need for any talk between them as both figured the answers to their unasked questions. Dhondu knew his daughter was worse. Savitribai knew her husband had not gotten the money. Both sat in their corners, silent, each parading their own woes in front of a speechless mind. The stillness was disturbed only by the groans of the little girl, quite rightfully.
The man of the house got up and went to his daughter’s side. As he spoke soothingly to the child, he touched her forehead. The fever was getting worse every day. His wife had managed to sneak he
r daughter into the health centre run by a nearby convent for a consult. She was informed only an injection could cure the fever and that needed to be fetched from the city. Moreover, it would cost money. Dhondu did not know what an ‘injection’ meant but he knew the price of his daughter’s life. For a person in his position, there were only three alternatives–steal, borrow or beg. But even the poorest of men in that society had more conscience than the aristocrat, and the first option was not even worth contemplation. There was no way he could convince the money lenders to part with that much money. That left him with just one recourse: he tried begging again the next day.
Makar Sankranti, the festival of harvest, was around the corner and the air was convivial. Everyone was eagerly waiting to know what prize Tavresheth would institute this time. Every year, he announced an entertaining show and constituted a competition of sorts. The bounty was plenty as once a year Tavre decided to vaunt his power and riches to the adjoining fiefs. In the past year, the event was a bullock cart race, the year before that it was ‘catch the longest cobra’. Three years ago, he had dared someone to ‘shoot the apple off your child’s head’. This event had turned out to be rave, as everyone loves to see violence and the gossip in its wake as long as it’s not in their backyards. The people of Bahmti were agog and excited for this year. What would it be this time? As we will see, this time would be the last time. Indeed.
~~~
Next morning, Tavre was in an exceptionally good mood. It appeared his night had passed satisfactorily. He went around his haveli inspecting the festive decorations even lending a helping hand. When he came around to the stables where Dhondu stood bathing the horses, he called out, “Dhondu, come here.”
In the blink of an eye, the man was standing next to him—head bent, eyes towards the ground, hands folded.
The Disappearance of Tejas Sharma... and Other Hauntings Page 6
