Son of Bhrigu

by CHRISTOPHER C. DOYLE

‘Saini.’ Gupta’s forehead furrowed. ‘Oh, yes, of course. He was suffering from delusions.’

  ‘That’s what the police report said,’ Kapoor agreed. ‘Is that common, doctor? I mean do you get a lot of cases like that?’

  ‘Not many. But that doesn’t mean anything. Depression, itself, is a huge problem in India. It is estimated that one in five Indians suffers from it. Yet, very few people who are affected actually visit a psychiatrist for treatment. It is a condition that can be managed, but the social stigma of undergoing psychiatric treatment holds back many young people from seeking professional help. It is unfortunate.’

  ‘Yes, it is. So, this guy, Saini,’ Kapoor tried to bring the conversation back to the reason he was there. ‘Can I please see him?’

  ‘I’ll need to check with the psychiatrist in charge of the case.’ Gupta picked up the intercom receiver lying on a small side table next to the sofa and dialled a two-digit number. ‘Dr. Kumar, can you come to my office please. It is urgent. A police case.’

  He put the receiver down and looked at Kapoor. ‘Is there any progress in the case? I mean, any clues to the identity of the murderer?’

  ‘That’s the reason I’m here. I want to know exactly what happened. I’m hoping Saini can give us some clue. The investigating officer tells me that they haven’t made much headway in the case.’

  Gupta nodded sympathetically. ‘We’ll see if Saini is in a condition to give you information.’

  There was a knock on the door. ‘Come in!’ Gupta called out.

  The door opened and a young man wearing a white lab coat entered.

  ‘SP Kapoor, meet Dr. Kumar,’ Gupta introduced the two men. ‘SP Kapoor wants to meet Rakesh Saini,’ he told Kumar, ‘and I thought I’d check with you if that would be possible.’

  Kumar shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. Mr. Saini’s condition has not changed despite our treatment.’ He frowned. ‘It really is an unusual case. The delusion is so strong that it appears to have taken hold of his mind in a remarkable manner, unlike anything I have ever seen before.’ He looked at Kapoor. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot allow him to meet you. Seeing a police officer may agitate him and it could possibly lead to a deterioration of his condition.’

  ‘You mean,’ Kapoor said, ‘that he has not changed his belief about what he saw that day? He still believes that his delusion is reality?’

  Kumar nodded. ‘Correct. I am only hoping that there has not been a permanent change in his brain that will preserve the delusion as a real memory for the rest of his life.’

  ‘I understand,’ Kapoor said, trying to hide his disappointment. ‘In that case, I don’t think he would be able to add to what there is in the police report anyway. Thank you both for your time.’

  As Kapoor left Gupta’s office and made his way down the stairs to the lobby, he mused that it may not be long before he might require Dr. Gupta’s services. The way this case was proceeding — or, to be accurate, not moving forward at all — was feeding a feeling of frustration and anxiety that was building up within him. He had been searching for that elusive clue that would help him crack the case, for a while now. But even this route had reached a dead end. The specialists here seemed to be helpless in the face of Saini’s stubbornness in clinging on to a belief that seemed preposterous to anyone else except Saini.

  The police report on this case was one of the two that he had chanced upon last night from the pile he had diligently been going through. Both reports pertained to mysterious murders which were almost identical to each other, and to a third murder.

  The death of Dhananjay Trivedi.

  All three murders involved the death of a school or college teacher. In all three cases, the victim’s insides had been subjected to fifth degree burns, while their skin and clothes had been untouched by fire.

  Kapoor’s hopes had lifted when he read that one of the murders had an eye witness. Rakesh Saini. He was also a teacher and a close friend of the victim. Both men had been together when the victim had died.

  Saini’s testimony had supported the cause of death as described in the preliminary autopsy report. But it had gone beyond that.

  Saini had claimed that he had seen his friend burst into flames without warning. One moment, the two men were talking; the next, the victim was on fire. Saini had claimed that he had not only seen the fire but also felt its heat. He had also stated that there was, amazingly, no smoke emanating from the fire.

  But it was the final statement in his testimony that bordered on the ludicrous. It had clearly been a delusion.

  Saini had refused to believe that his friend’s body had been untouched by the flames. He had insisted that the flames had been so strong that his friend’s body had been reduced to a pile of ashes. Even when the victim’s corpse was being removed from the murder site, all Saini could see were the ashes being carried away.

  Kapoor sighed. He had hoped his meeting with Saini would shed some light on the case and perhaps even his bizarre statement to the police. Alas, he had discovered nothing that could alter what Saini said he had seen with his own eyes.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Tracks and Tricks

  Day 6

  SP Kapoor’s Office

  New Delhi

  Raman Kapoor’s face fell as he listened to the report from Panna. The police team from Gwalior had duly arrived yesterday at the national park and, with the cooperation of the park rangers, had spent two entire days combing the area where Harish had, purportedly, undergone his supernatural experiences.

  Naturally, Kapoor had not briefed the search party on the exact nature of Harish’s report; and Harish himself had no reason to be forthcoming about the terror he had experienced. In fact, he was beginning to feel a bit sheepish now, doubting himself as he walked through the forest with the other men in the daytime. Had he been seeing things? Hallucinating?

  He had had a long, tiring drive from Delhi, constantly on tenterhooks, uncertain about when he would get his next meal or the next toilet break. A policeman’s job is never easy and this particular assignment had been especially taxing. Was it possible that the exhaustion from the drive and tension had caused his mind to see things that were not really there? After all, nothing had happened to him. He was safe and sound, if a bit traumatized by the whole experience.

  Meanwhile, the search party was going in blind. They really didn’t know what they were looking for. All that they had been told was that three fugitives from Delhi had entered the park in the dead of night and had not come back out. Harish had, quite truthfully, sworn to that. He had spent the rest of the night camped outside the park in his Gypsy, shivering and terrified. He would not set foot inside the park, but he would not abandon his post either.

  The befuddled search party found nothing of consequence. They had gone down the trail where Harish had encountered the spirits and had turned back to flee the park. It was difficult to follow tracks because, by the time the team from Gwalior reached Panna, countless tourists had driven down the forest path in their hired jeeps, seeking encounters with wildlife, especially the famed tigers of Panna. It was impossible to distinguish one set of tracks from the other now.

  Still, the party had fanned out across the jungle, trying to cover as much ground as possible on both days before it grew too dark to see anything. Harish, especially, was keen to leave the park before the sun went down. Whatever it may have been, he did not want a repeat of that night.

  Kapoor put the phone down and sat, staring into space for a while. His brain was whirring with thoughts and ideas, trying to work out his next step. It didn’t take him too long, though, to reach a decision.

  He rose from his desk, picked up his cap and settled it on his head. ‘Ready my car,’ he told a constable. ‘And call Suresh. Yes, the forensics guy. I want him to meet me at Upadhyay’s house in half an hour. Tell him to be there on time.’

  Exactly thirty minutes later, Kapoor arrived at Maya’s house. The sun had set by now and the street lamps cast a dismal
glow on the deserted street. There was no sign of Suresh yet.

  Kapoor shook his head. Bloody forensics. They were never on time.

  ‘Keys.’

  The constable accompanying Kapoor handed him the keys to the house. Kapoor walked up to the front door and unlocked it.

  The door opened with a slight creak. The sitting room was a cavern of darkness.

  Undeterred, Kapoor strode into the house. He knew where the light switches were.

  The house had been untouched since Upadhyay’s death. As the lights flickered on, the first thing he noticed were the bloodstains on the walls, the sofas and the carpet.

  He quickly walked past the living room. This was not what he had come for. He entered the study. There was dust everywhere. On the books, on the desk, on the books that lay on the desk.

  Kapoor smirked. This was Delhi. The dust capital of the world. Heat and dust. Just a couple of days without dusting and even the space vacated by the three missing books from the shelf was covered in a fine layer of dust. A few weeks and no one would be able to guess that three books had recently been taken off the shelf. It would have almost seemed like they had never been there.

  Illusions. They could change things so dramatically. Alter evidence. Hide tracks. Distract the mind so that it would appear that magic had happened.

  Kapoor didn’t believe in magic. He was here to see if he had missed anything on his earlier visit. At that time, with all those people milling about, it was possible he may have been distracted. Just like in a magic show. He could have missed the real trick. That was what he was here to find out.

  What was that trick?

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Kapoor’s Discovery

  The Upadhyay House

  New Delhi

  Kapoor stared in disbelief. He had come here, fully prepared to accept that he may have missed something on his earlier, and only, visit. Now, he was angry with himself. Apparently, he was not fully prepared to accept that he had made a mistake.

  He had missed something.

  And so had the rest of his team.

  That didn’t bother him much. They were not all that competent and it didn’t surprise him that they had missed something. He would have been more surprised if they had actually found it. But he prided himself on his own perspicacity and powers of observation. It was difficult for him to accept that he had actually overlooked a vital clue.

  For there it was, out of sight, yet in plain sight.

  The desk in the study was an old-fashioned one. It was designed in an antique style, with two sets of drawers on either side of an open space beneath the desktop, which was open from both sides, with carvings decorating the length and breadth of the desk.

  On the carpet of the study, in the narrow sliver of space under the drawers on the left side of the desk, was a single sheet of paper. Kapoor didn’t know yet, if it was important or not, but it didn’t change the fact that it was remiss of him not to have been thorough enough in his examination of the study earlier. It was obvious that it had been there before the murder.

  Could it be important?

  Kapoor sat on his haunches. Slowly, gingerly, he reached out for the sheet of paper.

  ‘Boss?’

  Kapoor jumped and whirled around, an instinctive reaction.

  Damn Suresh. Bloody forensics.

  ‘You asked for me?’ Suresh was oblivious to Kapoor’s reaction.

  ‘I did. You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago, goddamnit!’

  ‘Sorry, boss. Got caught up with a new case.’ Suresh warmed to his subject. ‘A corpse without a head. The body . . .’

  ‘Zip it. Not my case.’

  ‘Sorry, boss.’

  ‘Just wait in the sitting room, will you?’

  ‘Sure, boss.’ Suresh turned around and returned to the sitting room, painfully aware now that Kapoor was upset with him.

  With Suresh gone, Kapoor returned to the task of retrieving the sheet of paper. He picked it up and studied it.

  The first thing to catch his eye was a drawing. A rough impression by someone who was not terribly artistic. But, despite the lack of sketching skills, the object that was represented in the drawing was quite clear.

  It was a sword.

  But not an ordinary sword.

  The shape of the sword was quite clear. But for some reason, the sword was depicted as being engulfed in flames.

  It was a burning sword.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  The Archives

  The Upadhyay House

  New Delhi

  Kapoor stared unbelievingly at the sheet of paper in his hands. Was this a child’s drawing? This was getting farcical now. He had thought he had found a vital clue to the murders and all he had in his hands was a drawing of a flaming sword.

  Kapoor would have dismissed the crude drawing had it not been for the inscriptions below the sketch, which he could not understand. The script was Devanagari, but the language, quite obviously, was not Hindi.

  Far from getting closer to resolving the mystery, it had just deepened further.

  He would have to look at this later. Suresh was here. Time to get cracking on the other stuff.

  He folded the sheet with the drawing of the sword and put it into his pocket. Repressing his instinctive urge to steer clear of the living room, he slowly walked into it.

  Suresh stood there, looking enquiringly at him.

  Kapoor took a deep breath. ‘I want you to reconstruct what happened here.’

  This was the last thing he wanted. He knew Suresh would revel in the graphic details. For him it was akin to torture.

  But he needed this. He needed to know.

  Suresh beamed. He enjoyed this kind of thing. ‘Sure, boss. I had tried to tell you on the day of the murder, but you weren’t interested,’ he said with a cheeky smirk.

  ‘I know, I know.’ Kapoor was resigned to the task. He steeled himself for what he knew would inevitably follow.

  The Gurukul

  Panna National Park

  ‘Hey AJ! Got time for a chat?’ On a break from the tomes of homework Jignesh had assigned her, Maya had been searching for Arjun. But she hadn’t been able to find him anywhere. She had finally spotted him returning to the guesthouse and decided to corner him before he disappeared again.

  Arjun looked wearily at her. ‘I don’t know, Maya. I need to shower and change and then go to my dorm.’

  ‘You’ve been assigned a dorm?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How come I haven’t?’

  Arjun looked surprised. ‘You haven’t?’ He shrugged. ‘I have no clue how these people think.’

  ‘I’ll ask Mahamati Jignesh,’ Maya pouted. ‘You look tired, AJ.’

  ‘I’m exhausted,’ Arjun sighed. ‘I’ve never had to practice for more than an hour or so in a day, back home.’ He shook his head, still unable to get over his day. ‘All I’ve done yesterday and today is practice my sword-fighting and work out at the gym. If you don’t count the time I spent in learning mantras for various purposes. And I don’t even know Sanskrit, so that wasn’t the easiest part of my day. And I still have homework to do.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I’ve spent the day drowning in mantras myself and I’ve lots more to cover. Hey, you’d better carry on then. You have to pack and transfer your stuff to the dorm.’

  Arjun nodded and hurried away while Maya made her way to the Gurukul’s archives, which were housed in one of the cottages behind the dormitories. She tried not to be upset that she had not been assigned a dormitory yet. In fact, she could guess the reason. Unlike Arjun, who had demonstrated his qualification for the Gurukul, she was still under evaluation. She would probably have to stay at the guesthouse until Jignesh approved of her admission to the Gurukul. Only then would she be allotted a dormitory. It didn’t matter, she thought. She would wait. But she would get there.

  Maya had been amazed when she entered the cottage that housed the archives for the first time this aftern
oon. Jignesh had assigned her some homework on the mantras for which she had to refer to some books he had suggested. Her jaw had dropped at the fabulous collection within the cottage. The archives were a treasure trove of manuscripts, some of which were patently ancient, written on parchment centuries ago and preserved carefully in glass cases. The most fragile texts were not accessible, but their copies were available for students to read.

  She finished her homework, then sat at one of the laptops in the reading room which provided a listing of all the documents by title, subject and authorship. After seeing the collection of manuscripts earlier today, an idea had crept into her mind, which she wanted to put into action now. She performed a few quick searches of the database and soon found what she was looking for.

  The book she wanted was on the second floor of the cottage, in one of the darkest corners. Clearly, this was not a very sought after text. Locating the book, she returned to the reading room on the ground floor and began studying the text, making notes in a small notebook that had been given to her as part of her student kit.

  ‘We’re closing in five minutes,’ the Keeper of the Archives, an elderly Maharishi named Gurumurthy came up to Maya and intoned softly.

  He glanced at the book that Maya was studying. ‘Interested in ancient languages, are we?’ A friendly smiled crossed his face.

  ‘Yes,’ Maya looked up at him as he stood over the desk where she sat, hesitating as she turned a thought over in her mind. ‘Actually,’ she decided to risk it, ‘I’m looking for references to Brahmabhasha .’

  Gurumurthy pursed his lips thoughtfully. He tapped the book Maya was reading. ‘This book is probably the best one that we have here.’ He looked at her sagely. ‘But you won’t get too much from any book, you know. Brahmabhasha was the mother of Sanskrit. The language of the Devas. Its grammar was defined by Indra, Soma and Mahesha himself, or so they say. It wasn’t meant for us humans. We got Sanskrit — Devabhasha — a sub-dialect, if you will, of Brahmabhasha. No one knew much about it even then. I’m afraid that the knowledge, scant as it was thousands of years ago, has not really survived in our books today.’