More Bodies Will Fall

by Ankush Saikia

  ‘Mr Arora?’ the fair one inquired and, when Arjun nodded, extended a hand. ‘I am Oyum Tagu, president of NESAD. This is my colleague, Naorem Singh, vice president.’

  Arjun shook their hands. He had been correct. The two looked to be in their late twenties: if they were still studying, then they would be doing their doctorates or something like that.

  They decided to sit and talk at the nearby first-floor outlet of a fast-food chain. Once there, he insisted on getting three coffees and asked them to find a table. He collected the three cups on a tray and walked over to the window-side table. As they added sugar to the coffee and stirred, Arjun studied them. There was something almost too polished about them. Tagu received a message on his phone and appeared to reply to it.

  ‘Two of our Naga brothers will be joining us,’ he informed Arjun.

  ‘They will be able to give you some information as well,’ Singh added.

  Arjun nodded, and took a sip of the coffee. It tasted terrible.

  ‘So you’re gathering information on Amenla’s death?’ Tagu asked him.

  ‘Yes, I’m looking into it. As a family friend. I grew up in the North-east.’

  He watched them looking at one another, a slight change coming over their expressions. Now they knew he wasn’t exactly a mainlander clueless about the North-east.

  ‘What do you think happened to her?’ he asked.

  ‘Her ex-boyfriend was shouting at her the day before she was killed,’ Tagu said.

  ‘But the Delhi Police let him go,’ Singh said. ‘Even her father suspected him.’

  ‘They said he was with his friends,’ Tagu said. ‘It’s always our word against theirs.’

  ‘Is there any way of proving that?’ Arjun asked gently.

  Singh laughed. ‘How can we prove anything against them? Right from the police to everyone else, they are all biased against us, people from the North-east.’

  Arjun looked out of the windows at the cars circling the centre of CP, where a park had come up. He asked, ‘Did you know her personally? Or her former roommates?’

  ‘No, we didn’t,’ Tagu said. ‘But we had common friends.’

  ‘It was like our own sister had been killed,’ Singh suddenly said.

  ‘Our people face so many problems here in Delhi,’ Tagu said to him.

  Singh nodded. ‘The police let him go. The police should catch the killer.’

  ‘I’m trying to have a look at their files,’ Arjun said. ‘Tell me something, do you know anything about people from the North-east involved in drugs here in Delhi?’

  The two student leaders looked at one another, then Tagu spoke. ‘There may be one or two black sheep. But it is not something widespread.’

  Singh, looking hard at him, nodded.

  Two more boys approached their table, tribal, definitely Naga-looking, and dressed in formals as well, only with short-sleeved shirts. Tagu introduced them to Arjun.

  ‘This is Nilo, and this is Kevi. They’re from the Naga Students’ Association of Delhi. And this is Mr Arora, a family friend of Amenla Longkumer’s.’

  Arjun stood and shook their hands. Tagu and Singh stood up as well.

  ‘I’m guessing Nilo might be a Sema,’ Arjun said, pointing at the shorter of the two, ‘and you’re an Angami,’ pointing at the taller youth, who looked older as well.

  Yes, he was correct, they said, to much laughter all around.

  ‘Mr Arora grew up in the North-east, okay? He knows everything,’ Tagu said, ‘so better watch out, ha ha! Okay, Mr Arora, you sit with them, we need to go now.’

  Tagu and Singh indicated that the two Naga boys should take their seats.

  ‘We have some work,’ Tagu explained. ‘We have to meet an MP from Arunachal.’

  ‘I see,’ Arjun said, shaking his hand. ‘I’ll call you if I have anything else to discuss.’

  He watched the two of them walk down the steps of the restaurant quickly, talking to one another. Then he sat down and turned to the two Naga boys.

  ‘Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Burgers?’

  ‘We’re good,’ Kevi, the taller of the two, said with a smile. ‘We had lunch at Nagaland House just a while ago.’

  Arjun had a brief image of a plate of steaming rice covered with a pork stew coloured red with raja mircha, the fat on the chunks of meat glistening. He shook it away.

  ‘So you’re students at Delhi University?’ he asked them.

  ‘Nilo is doing his MPhil from JNU,’ Kevi said. ‘I’m preparing for the civils.’

  ‘How do you know Mr Bendangtoshi?’ Nilo wanted to know.

  ‘Through a friend in the army.’

  ‘What about you? Are you in the army?’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m looking into Amenla’s death. What do you think happened?’

  ‘The police are not interested in solving this case,’ Nilo said, wagging a finger at Arjun as if he were the Delhi Police. ‘Do you think we Nagas will get justice in this Indian system?’

  Arjun didn’t know what to say. First the Arunachali and the Manipuri, now the Naga; they didn’t seem to be able to view the case objectively. Kevi was folding and refolding a napkin, a half-smile on his lips. Where had Arjun heard that name before? But, of course . . .

  ‘Did the two of you know Amenla Longkumer?’

  ‘He did,’ Nilo said, glancing at the elder youth. Kevi looked up.

  ‘I knew her well. But around the time of her death I wasn’t in touch with her. I think it must have been done by someone who knew her. It wasn’t a robbery or a . . . rape.’

  ‘Someone wanted to silence her,’ Arjun thought aloud, and Kevi nodded.

  ‘The police arrested a boy, a Delhiite, and then let him go,’ Nilo said. ‘We heard his father was some big shot and was seen at the police station.’

  Arjun scratched his nose; he realized he needed to talk to Kevi alone.

  ‘Did Amenla mix around with the other Naga students? Or those working here?’

  Nilo took a while to reply. He said, ‘She was a private person. She didn’t have too many friends.’

  Kevi, looking at Arjun, said, ‘She had a small circle. Her ex-roommates mostly.’

  Arjun nodded, and leant back in his chair.

  ‘Well, thanks for meeting me, guys. Can I have your numbers? In case I have any more questions.’

  After they had given him their numbers, Nilo asked, ‘What is your plan of action going to be? Are you going to pressurize the police? We can get NESAD to hold a demonstration if needed. I can organize it.’

  ‘I’ll let you know about that,’ Arjun said. ‘So where are both of you headed now?’

  Nilo said, ‘I’m going back to North Campus.’

  ‘I have to go meet a friend in Munirka,’ Kevi said.

  Arjun got to his feet. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift. I’m going to CR Park.’

  They parted ways outside the restaurant, with Nilo going towards the A Block metro station. Arjun had parked his Scorpio nearby, in one of the lanes between the inner and outer circles, and as he got in he took out a Gold Flake.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind if I smoke?’ he asked the Naga youth.

  ‘Not at all,’ Kevi said. ‘In fact I wanted to have a smoke as well.’

  Arjun eased the car through traffic towards the outer circle. ‘Always good to meet a smoker,’ he said. ‘Nilo didn’t strike me as a smoker though.’

  Kevi chuckled. ‘No, he isn’t. Sorry if he was a bit too . . . enthusiastic. He brought me along only because I knew Amenla personally.’

  ‘Amenla’s cousin Nancy mentioned a Kevi. Are you the same person?’

  ‘You got me. We were going around for a while. Early last year.’

  ‘And then?’

  Kevi shrugged, and flicked some ash out of the window. ‘We grew apart. It was my fault. I had gone home, met an old girlfriend, some things happened.’

  ‘What sort of a person was Amenla?’

  ‘She was . . . she had a mind of her own. So
me people didn’t like her for that. We’re still a very traditional society in some ways.’

  ‘I found out that someone from Churachandpur had called her a couple of times before she was . . . killed. Any idea who it might have been?’

  ‘Churachandpur? No idea. I don’t think she knew anyone from there. A colleague from work maybe?’

  ‘That is a possibility. Did she ever tell you about Anthony, her first boyfriend?’

  ‘Yes, she did. That Kuki guy. Her father didn’t like him seeing her. It was during the time of the Kuki–Naga clashes in the mid-1990s. I don’t know if you’ve heard . . .’

  ‘I know about that, yes.’

  ‘If I remember correctly, I think Anthony later joined one of the Kuki defence groups. His father was killed by one of our groups.’

  Driving down the wide, tree-lined road towards south Delhi, Arjun had a sudden flashback: a hillside village, the burnt huts smouldering in the rain, a couple of headless bodies lying in the mud. He shuddered involuntarily. Old memories again.

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Late 1990s maybe? After the clashes. But Amenla hadn’t had any contact with him since then.’

  ‘I see. You mentioned her ex-roommates. Are you in touch with them?’

  ‘Not really. I see them once in a while at get-togethers. You’ve met them?’

  ‘Yes. The party-going types, aren’t they?’

  ‘You could say so. People like them, they ultimately end up going back home.’

  ‘What about you? Do you want to go back?’

  ‘Yes, but hopefully as an IAS.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘To do something for my people.’

  ‘Amenla’s father wanted her to sit for the civils too, didn’t he?’

  ‘She would have passed the exam, but I think after working in a company it wouldn’t have suited her.’

  ‘Do you think she was into . . . drugs?’

  Kevi laughed. ‘Are you kidding? She was clean as a whistle.’

  ‘I got that impression too,’ Arjun said, even as he wondered whom the meth tablet belonged to.

  They were going down Aurobindo Marg now, approaching the turning towards Munirka. Arjun asked Kevi about the Hungry Rabbit, but he had no clue about it.

  ‘How long have you been in Delhi?’

  ‘More than a decade. I came here from Kohima for college.’

  ‘How are things back home now? Is the settlement any nearer?’

  ‘Nah. A lot of people are just keeping the issue alive for their own ends.’

  Arjun found himself warming to the young man. There was directness and honesty in him, humour too, something that reminded him of the people from those hills. Kevi said he would get down at Ber Sarai, as he had to look for some books, so Arjun took a left past IIT on to the JNU road and stopped before the crowded bookshops specializing in civil services material.

  ‘What do you plan to do?’ he asked Arjun just before he got off.

  ‘Find out who killed her.’

  As he drove away he glanced at the rear-view mirror. Kevi stood there looking in his direction. He found himself wishing that the young man would be able to make a difference back home among his people. Kuknalim, Arjun said to him silently, the farewell used in the Naga hills.

  17

  BACK AT THE OFFICE, ARJUN spent the rest of the afternoon making phone calls. Mrs Sodhi. Cooper Grant. Nancy Jamir. Mrs Sodhi confirmed that her son had arrived from Singapore, and reluctantly agreed to Arjun’s request for a meeting the next morning. Mr Grant told Arjun that he was busy, and would get back to him. Arjun decided to give him one more day. And Nancy said she would message him Amenla’s profile names on Facebook and other social media sites.

  He didn’t have Inspector Sharma’s number with him, so he looked up the Safdarjung thana number on the Internet before dialling it and asking for the inspector. Sharma was in, but seemed evasive: he told Arjun that he had referred the matter to his seniors and would let him know soon.

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ Arjun muttered as he hung up.

  If the inspector failed to deliver, Arjun might have to approach JCP Surender Jha to call in a favour, one he would have ideally liked to keep on hold for something really dire.

  Ujjwal Negi was getting ready to go out, to do some research on Rohit Chaudhry’s father’s transport business.

  ‘Where is the office?’ Arjun asked him.

  ‘The head office is in Kamla Market. Two more offices in Noida and Sabzi Mandi.’

  Arjun was glad there was another person to do the legwork.

  ‘Go to Kamla Market,’ he told Negi. ‘There are several transport offices there. Do a round of them first. Pretend to be a customer, then ask about the Chaudhrys’ company. This is India, people like to talk. Go to their office last. What’s your cover going to be?’

  ‘Government employee who’s been transferred and wants to move his furniture.’

  ‘Then why shouldn’t you just call a packers and movers company? Do one thing, say you have a furniture factory somewhere in Noida and want to send stuff to the North-east.’

  ‘Then shouldn’t I go to the office in Noida itself?’

  ‘Say you had come to Chawri Bazar to meet a supplier, and came from there.’

  ‘And if they ask for a visiting card?’

  ‘Say you’ve run out of them, and have given some to be printed.’

  Negi nodded. ‘Anil Shukla, general manager with the Nav Hind furniture factory, Noida, Sector 66. How does that sound?’

  ‘Excellent. Look up the telephone code and make up a landline number.’

  Arjun watched the junior detective leave with a word to Liza and Chandu. The boy had potential, he thought. It would be a shame if he had to leave.

  He wrote down a couple of points in his notebook, including Negi’s cover details. Then he remembered the name of Amenla’s manager that Chon had mentioned: Ronny D’Souza. Arjun looked up the details of the call centre where Amenla had worked, and picked up the landline to call the reception number.

  ‘Star Global. How may I help you?’ a young female voice asked mechanically.

  ‘Could I talk to Ronny D’Souza please?’

  ‘May I know who’s calling?’

  ‘Arjun Arora.’

  ‘Please hold on.’ A pause, followed by, ‘I’m sorry, but he isn’t in yet.’

  ‘Could I have his cell phone number?’

  ‘I’m afraid we’re not allowed to give it.’

  ‘I see. Fact is, Mr D’Souza is the manager of my daughter’s team, and she’s involved in a police case. They wanted to speak to her manager. Could I have his cell number please?’

  ‘Ah . . . hold on a moment please.’

  He felt bad doing it, but it was the only way. In India, no one wanted to get involved with the police if they could help it.

  ‘Please take down the number.’

  Arjun wrote the number, and put the receiver down. Something had occurred to him momentarily, while he had waited, but it had just vanished. What had it been? It had come and gone in a flash. He dialled the number from his mobile phone.

  ‘Hello. Yes?’

  ‘Ronny D’Souza?’

  ‘Who’s calling?’

  It was a relaxed voice. He could hear music in the background. Bryan Adams?

  ‘My name is Arjun Arora. I’m a family friend of Amenla Longkumer’s, the girl who died last year. I believe she was on your team?’

  There was a silence. It was Bryan Adams. An old one: ‘In the Heat of the Night’.

  ‘Yes, she was. Her PF dues have all been cleared with her family, I believe.’

  ‘This isn’t about that. I was wondering if I could come and meet you.’

  ‘I’m driving to work at the moment . . .’

  ‘I could come to your office. Please. It’s about Amenla.’

  D’Souza grudgingly agreed, and gave Arjun directions.

  ‘I’ll be there in an hour or so,’ Arjun said and hung up.

  A
s with Cooper Grant, he hadn’t mentioned what he was after in case the manager declined to meet him straightaway. Liza was on the phone with the pre-mat client as he came out. He waved at her and told Chandu to tell her that he was off to Gurgaon in connection with the Amenla Longkumer case. Chandu came out to see him leave. As he started the car the young boy’s jeans and shirt caught his attention: he seemed to have only a single change of clothes. He made a mental note to tell Liza to pick up a few clothes for him from Nehru Place when she went there to buy the Xerox machine on the weekend. Chandu, Liza, Negi—it seemed to him that they were his family now.

  An hour later he was still a few kilometres short of Gurgaon City Centre, inching ahead with the rest of the evening traffic. It didn’t bother him though; with Kishore Kumar’s voice for company he sifted through the various bits of information he had received about Amenla. The brief insight that had come to him when he had been on the phone still eluded him though.

  The meth tablet was the thing that bothered him. Had it belonged to Rohit Chaudhry? Why had he said that he should have been able to stop the murder? Arjun doubted he would explain what that meant, even if they met again. And further, was the Churachandpur link relevant? Mr Longkumer had told him that the post-mortem report had mentioned strangulation. But what if it were a case of overdose? If a viscera sample had been taken, and if the forensic results had been noted in the police’s case diary, he might be able to find out.

  Tinkuji had given him the name of the tablet—World’s Yours. He now realized that in a twisted way it struck a chord with the encouragement Amenla’s father had given her in his first letter after she had moved to Delhi: The world is yours, my dear daughter.

  That reminded him to call Rhea, and he felt an unaccountable happiness when he heard her voice.

  ‘I have the day off tomorrow,’ she informed him. ‘I thought of coming over, if you’re not too busy.’