A Necessary Evil

by Abir Mukherjee

  The purdah car.

  The driver lay dead, his head smashed against the wheel. Glass from the windows of the rear compartment crunched under my feet. Its curtains were torn down: blood was spattered on the leather seat and smeared against the inside door handle. More blood mottled the ground, a streak of it running away from the car. Someone had been dragged out.

  I forced my way to the front of the crowd and stopped, dumbstruck by the horror of what was unfolding, illuminated by the flames from a dozen torches.

  Two men, their faces wretched and bloodied, hands bound behind their backs, were being pushed towards a place where the road widened to form an open space. In front of them stood two short wooden stumps.

  I recognised the men instantly. One was our prisoner, his head slumped forwards. The other – despite the blood and the bruising, there was no mistaking his tall, slender frame — was Sayeed Ali, the head of the zenana.

  And then I saw Arora. He was standing next to the red Alfa, his face like a storm on a mountaintop. He snarled a command and soldiers forced the two men to kneel, then placed their heads on the stumps. They affixed each to the wooden blocks with what looked like strips of leather attached to hooks.

  I shouted out to the colonel. He looked over at me and seemed momentarily to falter. Then his composure returned and he nodded with that glacial stare I’d seen the first time we met.

  I fought my way over as the mob bayed for blood. Sayeed Ali seemed to be uttering a prayer. The other man knelt there without moving, almost as though he was in a trance.

  ‘Captain Wyndham,’ said the colonel, his gaze fixed on the prisoners, ‘I was hoping to avoid your presence here.’

  ‘What’s going on, Arora?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s out of my hands,’ he replied.

  ‘Are you going to flog these men?’

  He turned and looked at me curiously.

  ‘Flog them?’ he said. ‘These men aren’t being flogged. They’re being executed.’

  I stared at him. Was this why he had hesitated in apprehending the assassin earlier in the day? He wasn’t in league with the man -he was just deciding whether or not to kill him on the spot?

  ‘You don’t have the authority to execute them,’ I shouted.

  He turned back to the scene before us. ‘I have my orders.’

  ‘From whom?’

  ‘Punit.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When I telephoned him from the garage. I told him your suspicions.’

  ‘But the death penalty is expressly forbidden in the princely states.’

  ‘He’s decreed them to be traitors.’

  ‘But we don’t know that for sure.’

  This time he looked genuinely confused. ‘It was your suggestion, Captain. You made the link between the eunuch, the purdah car and the Maharani Devika. You’re the one who has sealed their fates.’

  ‘But that was just a theory,’ I protested, ‘something that came to me in the heat of the moment.’

  ‘It appears your theory was enough to convince Punit. And if it helps to salve your conscience, you are probably correct.’ He gestured to the assassin lying prone on the ground. ‘We both know that’s the man who shot at you and His Highness earlier today.’

  ‘We have to question him.’

  ‘There’ ‘s no time.’

  He turned to one of his men and issued a command. The man saluted, then took a conch shell from his pocket, raised it to his lips and blew a long, sustained blast. A hush fell over the crowd, and soon only the crackle of their torches could be heard.

  From behind a building, a bull elephant appeared. It was larger than the ones we’d ridden earlier in the day. On its neck sat a mahout, but there was no howdah on its back. Instead, it wore golden cuffs around its ankles, each studded with three short blades.

  The colour must have drained from my face as I realised what was about to happen. The colonel looked at me closely.

  ‘You may find it distasteful, but execution by elephant has been a traditional punishment here for millennia.’

  The elephant approached the two prone bodies. The assassin was now kicking wildly and the mahout decided to deal with him first. He led the beast behind the man and the animal raised one of its huge front legs. Instead of bringing its great weight down on its victim, though, with an almost delicate flick of its foot, it severed the man’s legs from his body. His screams were drowned out by the roar of the crowd. I closed my eyes.

  ‘You can’t kill the eunuch,’ I insisted.

  ‘He was helping the criminal to escape. He was in the purdah car with the assassin.’

  ‘Have you questioned him?’

  ‘He admitted it all. Adhir was killed and his brother targeted, just so that the infant prince could be placed on the throne;

  ‘He confessed?’

  The colonel nodded. ‘Ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Where is the Maharani now?’ I shouted.

  ‘Word has been sent to the palace. Punit is having her dealt with as we speak.’

  ‘What will happen to her?’

  ‘That is not for me to say.’

  I turned back to the macabre scene. The elephant was still toying with its first victim, slicing the remaining limbs but avoiding the torso.

  ‘End it,’ I said.

  ‘Very well.’

  The colonel barked something at the mahout. The elephant moved to face the prisoners and lifted one leg above the assassin’s head. I could have sworn the beast looked over at the colonel, as though awaiting the final order. Arora nodded, and the animal brought down its full weight, crushing the man’s skull as if it were no more than the shell of an egg.

  The mob cheered.

  I turned and began to walk back through the crowd, as the elephant moved on to Ali. I felt nothing, save for a gnawing hollowness. From behind me came another great roar as the eunuch was dispatched. I didn’t turn round, just kept walking, all the way back to the Beaumont Hotel.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Wednesday 23 June 1920

  Thirty hours after the last hit, my head was still clear. No fog, no runny nose, no ache in my limbs. No symptoms of any kind. At least not yet. Maybe Arora was right. Maybe candū was a gift from the gods. Somehow I doubted I’d be that lucky. Deep down I knew this was no miracle and that the after-effects, though delayed, would still come. I just hoped they wouldn’t arrive with a vengeance.

  I’d returned to the Beaumont where Katherine Pemberley was waiting in her room, and I’d summarised for her what had transpired, She’d sat on the corner of her bed and tried to comprehend it all, and I wasn’t much help, mainly because I wasn’t entirely sure myself.

  I’d left her shortly after one in the morning and returned to our office in the Rose Building to find Surrender-not gone and a scribbled note left on the desk. He’d reviewed both reports and returned them to Davé’s safe. He had no doubt that one was a replica of the other, only with the numbers changed; his conclusion was that the document with the lower valuation was Golding’s genuine report. It was good, solid police work: the detailed, methodical analysis that formed the backbone of most inquiries. But after what I’d just witnessed, Golding’s report seemed suddenly irrelevant.

  I’d trudged back to the guest lodge and considered waking the sergeant to tell him what I’d witnessed, but there was no point. Two men were dead because I’d voiced a theory that I still couldn’t quite believe, even if it was the only one that seemed to make sense. No, it was better to let the boy sleep. That sort of news could wait.

  The grey morning clouds hung heavy as I walked down the steps of the villa and headed for the back of the Rose Building. The palace grounds were peaceful, as though the events of the previous night had never occurred. Somewhere nearby, a peacock called forlornly.

  There was little activity in the garage. An oil stain marked the spot where the purdah car had sat. The old Mercedes Simplex was there, though, and I quickly cranked her up. The engine hummed to life and I set off, mak
ing for the bridge over the Mahanadi.

  As I’d hoped, a car was parked outside the temple to Lord Jagannath. From the size and the shine, it was obviously one of the royal fleet.

  I parked the Mercedes beside it, got out and walked into the compound. The temple doors were closed and from inside came the rhythmic chanting of scriptures. I sat on the steps and waited, watching a family of monkeys as they scrabbled down from the branches of a tree and entered the temple through an open window, reappearing moments later with pilfered fruits and devotional offerings in their small, black hands.

  Eventually the doors opened, and, as on the previous morning, out stepped Shubhadra, the First Maharani. She was followed by Davé, a priest and the smell of incense. She looked tired.

  I stood up to greet her.

  ‘Captain Wyndham,’ she said. ‘If I had known you had such a fondness for our temples, I would have invited you to accompany the Dewan sahib and me this morning.’

  ‘Your Highness,’ I said, ‘I was hoping you might grant me a few moments of your time.’

  ‘Of course.’ She nodded, then turned to the Dewan and whispered a few words. Davé bowed low, before he and the priest retreated inside the temple. The Maharani gently touched my arm.

  ‘Shall we take another walk?’

  We set off down the steps and into the temple courtyard.

  ‘I take it you are here on account of what took place last night,’ she said quietly, looking straight ahead.

  ‘I wanted to enquire whether the Third Maharani was all right.’

  ‘Punit sent his men into the zenana in the middle of the night,’ she said with venom in her voice. ‘They have arrested her. It is an outrage.’

  ‘And Prince Alok?’

  ‘The child is safe, for now. It was all I could do to protect him. Whatever the truth behind what has happened, he is innocent in all this.’

  ‘You protected him?’ I asked.

  ‘Who else would?’

  ‘I thought maybe his father, the Maharaja?’

  She stopped and turned to me. ‘What I am about to tell you must be in the strictest confidence. The Maharaja is gravely ill. When informed of Devika’s arrest, he suffered a seizure. Otherwise I am sure he would have protected both the boy and his mother.’

  ‘You don’t believe the Maharani Devika to be behind the plot to murder Adhir and Punit?’

  She paused before answering.

  ‘I cannot believe it. I fear that Punit is seeing conspiracies where none exist. Or worse, that he may be party to them himself.’

  ‘You think Devika is innocent and Punit is behind this?’

  ‘Isn’t Punit the more likely culprit? I tell you, Captain, I fear for the future. With the Maharaja incapacitated, Punit is already pushing to be announced as Prince regent instead of simply Yuvraj at his investiture at the Jagannath ceremony tomorrow. The people would no doubt see the timing as a sign that he has Lord Jagannath’s blessing. With such divine backing, I’ve little doubt that he will become Maharaja in short order and then . . . who knows . . . ?’

  ‘What will you do?’ I asked.

  ‘What can I do? I am merely the wife of a dying man. I am not even Punit’s mother. My influence is limited and diminishing by the day.’

  I felt as though I’d been punched in the gut. The manner with which everything had unravelled overnight was stupefying. And all of it set in train by my actions. Suddenly I found myself clinging to the old Maharani’s suggestion that maybe Punit had staged the whole thing. Had he somehow engineered the prisoner’s escape? But if so, why would the eunuch help him? And why would he give up his life for the prince? It made no sense.

  ‘What about Miss Bidika?’ I asked finally. ‘Will she be freed now that the Maharani Devika has been arrested?’

  ‘I cannot say.’

  ‘But she had nothing to do with it.’

  The Maharani sighed. ‘If Punit has his way, and it is accepted that the Maharani Devika is behind the plot, then I should think he will have little to gain from Miss Bidika’s incarceration.’

  ‘Were you aware that he sought to make her his wife?’ I asked.

  She nodded. ‘There are few such matters that are not known inside the zenana. Punit may wish to continue punishing her for her rejection of his marriage proposal, nevertheless I shall see what I can do to obtain her release, though it may require time and subtlety. If Punit realises that I am agitating for it, he may decide to hold her indefinitely.’

  The Maharani paused, then turned and took my hand. ‘May I make an observation, Captain?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘India is home to many faiths and they agree on very little, but one thing they all possess is a belief that the soul is the true essence of our being.’ She paused, adjusting the border of her sari before continuing. ‘Everyone’s soul is unique, and different souls are driven by different passions, but certain souls, we believe, are driven by a higher calling, which they must follow no matter what the consequences. I believe your soul is that of a satyanveshi, a seeker of truth. Why else would you come to Sambalpore in the first place? As I understand it, you had tracked down the criminal who assassinated Adhir. Another officer would have closed the case there and then, but not you. Your soul would not let you rest. The urge to seek the truth was irrepressible, unstoppable as the chariot of Lord Jagannath. You had no choice but to come here. And I think you will also find a way to remain. That is why you are here this morning. To find the truth.’

  I shook my head. I had the odd feeling that the old woman was somehow toying with me. Mysticism made me uncomfortable and Indian mysticism was the worst of all. Indians had finessed it to such a degree that, even as you dismissed their nonsense, the look of serene superiority on their faces meant that a part of you always felt that maybe their mumbo-jumbo was right all along.

  ‘Even if there were more to it,’ I said, ‘I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Ultimately I have no jurisdiction here, and even if I did, I doubt the powers that be in Delhi would be much inclined to let me use it.’

  The corners of her mouth rose in a slight smile. ‘Come,’ she said, leading me towards the temple gates. In front of us, the Mahanadi River rushed past, engorged by monsoon rains that had fallen upcountry and which now passed through this parched land. She pointed to a large boulder that sat in the middle of the onrushing torrent.

  ‘You see that rock?’ she said. ‘One day, a thousand years from now, the waters of the river will have reduced that stone to nothing more than sand. It is hard to believe, but it will happen. You may not live to see it, still you know it to be true.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow,’ I said.

  ‘The truth and its consequences are two different things, Captain. Truth does not entail justice any more than high birth entails wisdom. I know that your soul hankers for the truth. If you live to see justice, all well and good, but if you do not, so be it. In any case, justice can take many forms. You may not even recognise it when you see it.’

  She turned back towards the temple. Davé and the priest stood watching us from its steps. ‘And now,’ she said, ‘I am afraid I must return to the palace. It would be inadvisable for me to remain here for too long on this of all mornings.’

  I thanked her for her time.

  ‘And remember, Captain,’ she said as she turned to go, ‘at all times seek the truth, and do not concern yourself with its consequences.’

  FORTY

  I returned to the lodge to find Surrender-not in the dining room, finishing off an omelette. His eyes widened on seeing me and he almost toppled his chair in his hurry to stand.

  ‘Have you heard the news, sir?’ he said breathlessly. ‘They’re saying the Maharani Devika’s been arrested.’

  ‘It’s true,’ I replied.

  He stared at me with incomprehension. ‘But why?’

  ‘Because Punit believes she was behind the plot to assassinate him and Adhir in order to place her son on the throne.’

  �
�But she’s only a girl.’

  ‘The chief eunuch was helping her. He was caught aiding our prisoner to escape. Both he and the assassin were executed last night.’ ‘But how do you know all this?’

  ‘I was there,’ I said, gesturing for him to sit back down and finish his breakfast.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Down in the town. I watched as they were killed. Who told you about Devika?’

  ‘One of the maidservants. She speaks Hindi.’

  ‘So you can speak to women now, can you?’

  He looked perplexed. ‘I’ve never felt uncomfortable talking to servants.’

  I sat down opposite him as a maid appeared to take my order. It was probably the same one who’d chronicled last night’s events to Surrender-not.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ I said, and it wasn’t one I felt like recounting. However, the look on Surrender-not’s face suggested he wasn’t keen on waiting.

  Leaving out my own involvement, I threw him a scrap. ‘All you need to know for now is that Punit is in control. And it seems our friend Colonel Arora wasn’t in league with the plotters after all,’ I said. ‘He just felt that rather than giving them prison sentences, the interests of justice were better served by an elephant crushing their skulls.’

  ‘An elephant?’

  I nodded. ‘Well trained too. Seemed to know its way around a human body.’

  ‘That’s novel,’ he said.

  ‘Apparently not. If the colonel’s to be believed, they’ve been doing it here for centuries. How’s the omelette?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The omelette,’ I repeated. Any good?’

  He stared at me as though I was mad.

  ‘Not enough chillies.’

  I turned to the maid and asked for an omelette and a pot of black coffee.

  ‘Any sign of Miss Grant this morning?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her, sir. I expect she’s at the Beaumont.’ He checked his watch.