by Benyamin
I was relieved that the conversation had taken this turn without my intervention.
‘No clue. Very few cases come to our hospital.’
‘You probably pay special attention to such a case even on a hectic day?’ I said.
‘No other choice. There have been cases of a wife set on fire with diesel, or some stabbing cases,’ Jaya said.
‘Does anyone remember if a man was brought there last month or so after being gunned down?’
Everyone fell silent. The conversation came to a halt. I noticed their faces turning pale. Anita, too, looked at me as if at a stranger.
‘We don’t know. We haven’t heard of any such incident,’ Jaya said hastily.
‘None of you?’ I asked, with the sharpness of an investigative officer, scanning their faces one after another.
‘No.’ Jaya was adamant.
‘Let’s leave,’ Anita said, not willing to prolong the conversation.
‘Sure. Thank you, everyone, for all the stories. When I publish my report, I’ll acknowledge all of you, okay?’
‘Oh, that is fine,’ Melvin said.
We said bye and left.
Anita accompanied me to the jetty. We were silent as if there was nothing in particular to talk about.
‘Thanks for making it possible for me to talk to them,’ I said, getting into the boat.
Her reply was a question. ‘Were you lying to me about being jobless?
‘Job? Me?’ My eyes popped out.
‘Tell me the truth. Aren’t you an investigative officer at the Public Security department?
‘I’m not cunning enough for that, Anita.’ I chuckled. ‘Do you know who was the one who died that day? Our Senthil. The Senthil in our class.’
I revved up the boat as she stood startled.
3
Interpol
I CONVENED THE Thursday Market on Tuesday. Since it was an unusual occurrence, the others could only assume it was about some urgent matter. I’d not told anyone about getting the second segment of Andrapper’s novel. Not even Biju. On hearing about it, everyone got excited. Mashu would believe in its existence only after seeing the copy. And Salim, only after reading it.
‘Let’s do an opinion poll,’ I said after everyone had read it. ‘Should we bother looking for the rest of the manuscript? That’s the first question.’
‘No, we shouldn’t.’ As usual, Nibu started off. We should, unless it affects my writing in any way, said Mashu. Since it is from an unknown geography, we should at least try to know about it, said Anil. Let others decide, but if there has to be a deciding vote, he’d vote to continue the search, said Nattapranthan. Biju said he would decide after getting to know how this would be of use to Benya.
‘If it’s a story that he has only heard of, a writer can use his imagination and make it a novel. But this one has already been written. One can’t add much to it. At best, Benya can play the role of an editor. That’s why we shouldn’t put in too much effort,’ said Salim.
‘Nibu, why do you say no?’ I asked.
‘Look, if he wanted to, he could have pursued the culprit in a more focused manner. But he is fooling around, unsure whether he wants to be a writer or if he wants to follow up on Senthil’s death. What’ll we gain by tracking the meaningless life of such a person?’
‘He was trying to find out something, and life has taken him on such an unanticipated detour. That’s what is drawing me to his story,’ I said. ‘We should not bother about whether Senthil’s murderer is found or not, and whether the writer’s method is appropriate. What’s the route he has taken? Where did he reach? Shouldn’t we only be concerned about that? And don’t fret about my writing. My Nedumbassery is coming along well.’
‘So the majority is for going ahead with this,’ said Anil. ‘Now how do we get hold of the next bit?’
‘Before we get going, we should sort out the facts we’ve got. That’ll make it easy,’ said Mashu.
‘The maths teacher’s shortcut,’ quipped Nattapranthan.
‘The gentleman’s name?’ Biju made a questionnaire.
‘Andrapper,’ Salim said.
‘No, let’s now call him Pachu Andrapper. That was his nickname in school,’ Anil said.
‘OK. Place?’
‘The land of peacocks and langurs, Diego Garcia.’
‘Any other details?’
‘He’s unmarried. Can’t be that old,’ said Nibu.
‘Title of the book he’s writing?’ Nattapranthan reminded us.
‘The Book of Forefathers.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Who are the main characters in the second segment?’ Mashu asked and proceeded to answer the question: ‘Anpu, Appa, Jyoti, Salu, da Vinci Vinod, Anita, Melvin, Rahim, Bilal and some nurses.’
‘All right, now comes the difficult part. Who among these people will have the third segment? How will it come to us?’ asked Biju.
‘Through the same source: St. Joseph’s, Seleucia.’ Nibu Achachan gave us the easy way out.
‘We might get twice lucky, but there won’t be a mail,’ said Salim.
‘How about a third time?’ Nattapranthan came up with the idea: ‘There is a pervert among them. What was his name? Yes, Rahim. Let’s email him, posing as a woman. He’ll fall for it.’
There was a round of clapping.
‘Fine, let’s find his address.’
We gathered around the computer and did a quick search for a Rahim from St. Joseph’s, Seleucia. We drafted a letter and were about to send it to him when Mashu came up with another idea. ‘Let’s send it in Anpu’s name. He’ll be more responsive if it’s from her. Let’s write that it’s about Senthil’s death, and ask him if he has the number or email ID of his classmate, Pachu.’
We all agreed to that. Soon an email ID was created in Anpu’s name: [email protected].
‘What’s the “dg” for?’ I was confused.
‘Diego Garcia,’ said Nattapranthan.
‘Oh, Baldy, your intelligence is awesome,’ Nibu planted a kiss on Nattapranthan’s bare head.
‘We are committing a cybercrime using my computer. If I get caught, I’ll tell on all of you,’ I threatened.
‘See how scared the novelist is!’ Biju said. ‘And he is the one out to catch a criminal!’
‘I’ve already made it clear that I’ve no interest in finding the criminal,’ I said, raising my hand.
‘No? Now be truthful. How many of us don’t care about finding him? Raise your hands,’ Biju said.
I was the only one to raise my hand.
‘You guys want Andrapper to find Senthil’s murderer?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ said Nibu. ‘What’s the point of shadowing his path otherwise? I believe that Andrapper will find out in the end.’
‘Let’s hope he does,’ Mashu said.
After sending the mail to Rahim, the assembly wrapped up that meeting.
As if he was addicted to the computer and spent the whole day at it, Rahim’s reply came within half an hour. It was filled with the sorrow of losing Senthil. And concerns about Anpu. Just a few lines towards the end: ‘Was Pachu asking about Senthil? If so, I’ve no clue at all. Never trust him in any way. He has bad-mouthed you in the past. He was always good at seducing girls.’ And more such advice.
I burst into laughter. Anyway, I decided not to let him be. I sent another provocative and flirty mail. ‘I know Bilal is in Australia. Is there a way of getting his contact details?’ I added as a postscript. His reply came in ten minutes. His tone had changed. There was visible desperation in his queries about Anpu. ‘Please give me your mobile number. Let’s chat more often. Let’s make sure we meet’, etc. He’d however included some details that I needed: Bilal had left Australia some time back. Rahim had no clue where he was now, but he sent me his email ID.
I emailed Bilal the same night, before going to sleep: ‘I’m a publisher and am trying to find out about a novel written by Pachu Andrapper. If he is currently in Australia, please
let me know how to get in touch with him.’
Next morning, as soon as I woke up, I ran to the computer. There were at least ten emails from Rahim. His queries ranged from what’s for breakfast to what colour nightie I had worn last night! But there was no email from Bilal. After two days, I sent a reminder. That got me a reply. Bilal said he had left Australia for France. Till recently, he had been in touch with Andrapper, who had even decided on the date he’d reach Paris. But there was no news after that. Emails to him bounced back.
This was crucial information. But when I sent him a few more emails with the hope of getting to know more, there was no reply. I told him that I was supposed to collect the portion of the novel Andrapper had given him. He didn’t respond to that either. That door seemed shut.
The Thursday Market convened twice. Many discussions took place, many ideas came up, many possibilities were debated, but we were unable to reach a conclusion. The only thing we agreed on was to try the St. Joseph’s route again, and I did, but to no result.
One day, we were going to a movie in Anil’s 1980s’ Ambassador which we called Cultural Ambulance. It ferried ailing culture vultures every day, as Anil often said, so what else could its name be? An idea suddenly struck Nattapranthan’s bald head. ‘Turn the car back! I’ve a hunch about Operation Diego Garcia. If I’m right, then the person I’ve identified will have the next segment of the novel.’ In response to our flurry of questions, he wanted us to turn around and go to my house to look up the printout of the second part of the novel. ‘If you don’t get it right, then we’ll tattoo your head and march you on the street,’ threatened Nibu. So we ditched our movie plan and went to my house. On the way, we tried to identify the one who would have the rest of the manuscript. Nattapranthan rejected each and every choice of ours.
At my place, while riffling through the printout, he asked, ‘Did any of you see a Salu in this story?’
‘I remember a Salu,’ Salim said. ‘He was the one helping Andrapper find his classmate, Jyoti.’
‘Isn’t that his role in this story?’ Nattapranthan asked emphatically. When we nodded in agreement, he asked, ‘Then why has Andrapper mentioned his phone number? What’s the purpose of that number?’
That question stumped us. It’s true. If that was not a clear clue, nothing else could be. We celebrated the breakthrough and called that number immediately.
It was a house in Alappuzha. An old lady who picked up the phone said Salu was not home yet. We asked her for his mobile number. ‘Ayyo dear, there is no electricity here, please call later,’ she said and hung up. We couldn’t bear to wait till the next morning, as Salu was the only option left. The next day, early morning, I called him and introduced myself as a publisher. I had to sweat a lot to make him understand whom I was talking about. It was only when I said Diego Garcia that Salu finally figured it out.
‘Oh, Chuang Tzu! We were friends, thanks to Orkut,’ he said.
‘Why Chuang Tzu?’
‘That’s what I used to call him!’
His replies to my questions were evasive and vague. When I asked if Chuang Tzu had sent anything to him, he pleaded ignorance and disconnected the call.
I wasn’t convinced. It felt like he was trying to hide something. I called Salim and gave him an update. Let’s go to his house and meet him, he suggested. If he doesn’t answer the phone, how will we find the place, I said in hesitation. ‘We’ll go to every house in Alappuzha and see if there is a Salu,’ he said. The enthusiasm to get things done even if it meant any corner of the world—that’s what I liked about Salim.
So, without taking others from the Thursday Market, we left for Alappuzha soon after. At that point of time, I had no clue how to find Salu or to find out if he had the third portion of the novel. When we were close to town, Salim called Salu’s house and got his mobile number. Then Salim called Salu and told him that Jyoti who worked in the railways gave us the number and that we had a packet to be delivered to her house. Was it possible to come to town and collect it, Salim asked. The ruse worked. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour, in front of the bus stand,’ Salu said.
‘We’ll be in a silver Innova, this is its number . . .’ Salim told him. ‘How will we find you?’
‘I’ve a black Splendour bike. I’ll call if I can’t find you.’
We had to wait for only about ten minutes for Salu to find our car.
‘I’m Salim, and this is Priyanandan, my friend,’ Salim introduced us.
‘The film guy Priyanandan?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I smiled.
‘Get in, we’ll be back in a jiffy,’ Salim invited him to the car.
‘My bike.’ Salu hesitated.
‘Leave it here, we’ll drop you back.’ Then Salim addressed Salu with theatrical seriousness. ‘Salu, we are from the Interpol office in Thiruvananthapuram. You are in our custody now. I need clear answers from you to our questions.’
‘Oh, I see, okay, ask me your questions,’ he said calmly, without any panic. I figured it would be difficult to dupe him.
‘Who is this Chuang Tzu?’ Salim asked.
‘A Chinese philosopher. Why do you ask?’
‘What’s his connection to Andrapper?
‘Which Andrapper, sir?’
‘The one at Diego Garcia.’
‘I also got a call last week asking about this guy. Was it you, sir? It’s his Orkut profile name. Chuang Tzu.’
‘How did you meet him?’
‘He first called me to ask about the Jyoti you mentioned. Then we became friends on Orkut. He called me regularly after that. And we had met once.’
‘You met Andrapper?’ I abruptly broke my silence. Andrapper had been just a name so far, and here, next to me, was someone who had actually met him. Andrapper, my dear anonymous writer. I felt a strange sense of joy. I touched him casually. It was like touching Andrapper.
‘Where did you meet him? Salim asked.
‘One night he came to Alappuzha, without any notice,’ Salu said. ‘He said he was returning from a relative’s place. We went to Jyoti-chechi’s house the same night. From there he took a bus to Ernakulam.’
‘Who was he going to meet?’
‘He didn’t tell me.’
‘You’ve not been in touch after that?’
‘No. There was no reply to my messages on Orkut. Then I moved from Orkut to Facebook, and that relationship ended.’
‘Everything you’ve said is true?’
‘Yes, sir, absolutely true. Sir, what’s the issue?’
‘We suspect that he is an international criminal. We are trying to locate where he is now. Can you help us with that?’
‘Sure. What can I do for you?’
‘Let’s go to your house now. We’ll stay in the car. You go inside and get us the stuff he left with you. Can you do that?’
‘Stuff? What is that, sir?’
‘His notes. He titled it The Book of Forefathers. We’ve got the rest of the content, that’s how we came to know about the portion that’s with you.’
There was no defiance in his tone when he said, ‘Okay, I’ll give it to you.’
I was overjoyed. ‘You actually have it with you?’
‘Yeah. Must have been with me for around six months. Came by post,’ he said.
Around the same time I got the first part, I calculated. So, everyone was sent their portion at the same time. Some got it by email and some by post.
‘Why didn’t you give it to anyone till now?’
‘He had specially instructed that I should give it only to someone responsible. I guess you guys fit the bill.’
He directed us to his house. When we reached, he pointed out Jyoti-chechi’s house. I wanted to meet her and ask about Andrapper, but Salu said she was in Ernakulam for some medical treatment. ‘Now that we know the house, we can come later,’ Salim said. Meanwhile, Salu went inside his house and came out with the envelope. I grabbed it from him eagerly.
Salu M. Philip
Vettikkoott
athil Veedu
Alappuzha
I wanted to open it and read it right then. But I resisted till we dropped Salu back at the bus stand for his bike.
‘Okay, if we need any more help, we’ll call you,’ Salim said with a straight face when we reached the bus stand.
‘Interpol’s Thiruvananthapuram office, right?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘When did Benyamin sir join Interpol?’ his question came as a jolt.
‘Benyamin? Who is that?’ I tried to salvage the mission.
‘Huh, don’t try to fool me, sir. I recognized you the moment we met. I’ve seen a photograph of you. I was waiting to see how long this Interpol game would go on for. When you’re playing a prank, I felt I should return the favour. It was Chuang Tzu who told me about your book. We discussed it quite a lot. Both of us liked the book. In his covering letter sent with this packet, Chuang Tzu wrote that he bought your book from a stall in Ernakulam, and that someday, you’ll end up buying his book from Ernakulam. And that I shouldn’t give these papers to anyone other than you. I suspected the last call was also from you. But then I was guarded just so that I could make sure it was you.’
I was left speechless. My head stooped in shame. But Salim was more embarrassed.
Salu bid us goodbye, requesting us to tell him if we happened to meet Andrapper. The two of us were so mortified that we kept quiet throughout the drive. After a while, I opened the envelope and started reading—the third part of Chuang Tzu Andrapper’s life story.
A Rainy Morning
DAWN REVEALED A rainy day. Diego had no distinct seasons. It could be warm or cold or stormy or wet at any time of the year. Things could change any time. Tropical depressions made the weather unpredictable. Diego’s sky could gift a shower any month of the year. This was one such unexpected shower.
Though I felt like writing something in the comfort of the rain, the body was too lazy to get up. Only someone who can tame the needs of the body to the aims of the mind can become a good writer—true not just for a writer, but to achieve success in any profession. I tried to make myself get up. I scolded myself. But I failed. My body rejected all the demands of my mind. A lazy body is like a curled-up old dog. When I say I loafed around till noon, you’ll get the idea—how demanding my body was.
