‘Ki holo. Tumi oto geeley geley keno?’
‘Aar bolona. Lift ta cholchhey na, shiri diye utthtey holo.’
‘Paakhar tolaay bosho.’
‘Shit!’
By saying the last word out loud, Ajay realised he had reached the summit—all this while talking to himself, indulging in unconnected thoughts, like a factory worker by the conveyor belt. And now, back to being DIG Ajay Biswas, the journey—the expedition—rapidly turned irrelevant. All he could think was: Ban-cho, don’t look shattered and worn out in front of Kharbanda. Act cool.
And so, even though his watery eyes had spotted the door with a handpainted sign that said SP KHARBANDA, he hesitated, looked around, and then walked to the door with a handpainted sign that said MAN. Once inside, with his senses shaken up by the methane clouds from the flush-resistant deposits left behind by man, he rushed to the sink, turned on the plastic tap and splashed some water on his face. Next, he dipped his comb in running water and raked his hair with monkey-like frenzy. He unbelted, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, he straightened his shirt all around and then raised the trousers back on. He pinched the shirt loose from his waist, a little from the left, a little from the right, then polished his shoes on the back of his trouser legs. Finally, he sucked in the foul air and drew out, through sustained gargling, a lump of phlegm that he spat at the sink with angry force.
Once outside the toilet, Ajay walked with large and urgent steps towards SP KHARBANDA, did not knock, barged in and without wasting his breath any further, said hurriedly: ‘Good afternoon, good afternoon, Kharbanda, first things first. Some chai and samosas, anything to make me forget that bloody guest house lunch.’
It worked. Taken by surprise, Kharbanda and Sharma found no time to ponder over the reason behind the slight but noticeable tremor in their superior’s voice.
‘Oh, hello, Ajay sir, hello, a very good afternoon,’ said SP Kharbanda, and then, ‘Arey Sharma, some chai-shai. And tell that Kishore harami to save all that sugar for his daughter’s dowry. And listen—get the samosas fried again if they are soft…Please, Ajay sir, come.’
Ajay rubbed it in. ‘And, Kharbanda, you didn’t tell me the lift wasn’t working. It’s a good thing I spend an hour every day at the gym back in Delhi. Climbing all those hajaar stairs.’
‘Oh, very sorry, sir. Here, please take my chair…’
‘Arey keep sitting, Kharbanda.’
SP Kharbanda got hold of the backrest with both hands and swung the chair in Ajay’s direction as an offering. ‘No no, sir, please, I insist. It is what they call nowadays, sir, ergonomica…’
‘Yes yes, Kharbanda, now don’t you start on some story of yours. We have truckloads to do today.’
‘Of course, sir. Myself and Sharma have been up all night, sir, including this morning.’
Ajay sank into the lush leatherite. ‘Aaahh…this chair sure feels good. Sorry, did you say “Myself and Sharma”?’
SP Kharbanda bit his lip. ‘Er…’
‘I heard you say Sharma, didn’t I?’
‘Sir, please give me a minute to explain…’
Ajay rushed forward and was soon hit on the rear by the backrest that was following close behind. ‘Kharbanda!’
‘Sir, please, just one minute…’
‘Didn’t you hear me say last night, just you and me? Just you and me.’
‘Yes, sir, I did—and I promise on Ganpati Bappa that it is just you, me and Sharma…’
‘Ban-cho, Kharbanda.’
‘Sir, last night, after dropping you and madam, I came straight back to HQ. You can imagine my worry as to where to start with the search…’
‘I don’t bloody care. You defied my orders. This force works on orders.’
‘…Then, sir, I must have, in my anxiety, mumbled about the unsolved-solved files. But it was audible enough for our Sharma.’
‘This is totally unacceptable. This is a direct violation of my orders.’
‘And sir, in hindsight, it was godsend—that my mumbling was audible to Sharma…’
‘You have gone ekdum mad, Kharbanda. And you thought by making all this public you are going to take me down with you? You don’t know me, Kharbanda, not half—not even one-tenth.’
By now, even Ajay had realised SP Kharbanda’s mouth and ears were connected to entirely independent neural networks. SP Kharbanda continued. ‘…And then he said: “Arey, SP saab, why do you worry? Please take me as yours and DIG saab’s disciple and I’ll bring you all those files before you can say…” Well, I won’t like to tell you what he said after he said “before you can say”, sir, but believe me…’
SP Kharbanda’s perseverance with his screenplay-like account brought unexpected results. Ajay seemed to have calmed down.
‘Believe me, sir, the bastard’s been up whole night. All the files are now at this very table, sir—right in front of you. See it with your very own eyes, sir. They are all there—all seventeen.’
‘I thought you said ten last night.’
‘Three-four here and there, what does it matter, sir.’
Ajay swivelled, slowly, menacingly, like Bond’s adversaries. ‘Well?’
‘Yes, sir, so poor Sharma…’
‘So he has become poor Sharma now.’
‘Poor Sharma has been climbing ladders and balancing himself on one leg to get us all these files. Not only that, sir, he has gone round the city thrice this morning, visited every bookshop, all pavement stalls, too…’
‘For what?’
‘For all those Agatha Christie books, sir. Our set is almost complete except a few that we have been told are now out of print.’
Ajay slapped the armrest. ‘Jesus. So he knows about this Agatha Christie hunch of mine, too. Dammit, Kharbanda.’
‘Arey sir, Sharma is like my younger brother. I have looked after him like a mango sapling all these years. He will gladly shield me with his very own chest in an encounter.’
‘Spare me your bullshit, Kharbanda.’
‘Me and him are like Ram-Lakshman jodi. Our little secret is quite safe between the three of us, sir, believe me. Please sir, please. I beg you. There was no choice. The work was too much, just too much. Since yesterday night, Sharma and I have been at it without any rest. How could I have managed it all on my own, sir? Please don’t be angry now, sir, be happy—it would mean a lot to me.’
‘Hmm…and this Sharma you say is 100 per cent reliable?’
‘His reliability is unquestionable, sir. I trust him more than my wife.’
‘That does put my mind at rest.’
‘Thank you. And believe me, sir, three heads are better than two. You only said so.’
‘When the bloody hell did I say so?’
SP Kharbanda was insistent. ‘You did, sir. God promise. And, sir, there is one more thing.’
‘Now what?’
‘Sharma said he would bring a surprise for you at this meeting.’
‘What? A ban-cho kathal?’
‘He didn’t tell me, sir, but he said he will present it to only you and he said it is big.’
‘So it is a kathal.’
SP Kharbanda risked a laugh. ‘Sir, you na.’
‘…Anyway, Kharbanda, I still would have preferred you calling me last night and asking my permission for including Sharma in this.’
‘I am sorry, sir, but it was too late and…’
‘Yes yes. Now all this Sharma has done. What have you been up to? And don’t tell me you have been busy supervising him.’
SP Kharbanda pulled up his sleeves and got ready for a demonstration. ‘Sir, you won’t believe me but all the joints of my fingers are now refusing to crackle. See? I bend them to breaking point and no sound. Watch this.’
‘What the bloody hell are you…’
‘Who do you think has been making all those tables, sir? First I had to make a table for those seventeen good-for-nothings. Then, since early morning, I have been making this Agatha table. Bastard Sharma just keeps getting
the novels—already it is running to twenty-seven pages, sir. We still have some novels missing but…’
Ajay was genuinely impressed. ‘Bhai wah. I am genuinely impressed, Kharbanda.’
SP Kharbanda decided to milk it. ‘And, sir, you na—scolding your disciples.’
‘Arey arey, sorry, Kharbanda, I didn’t…I was only…Achha bhai, I am sorry. Now cheer up, man.’
‘Arey sir, please, no mention. And now with Sharma also in the team, we will hit bullseye in no time.’
Ajay rolled over to where SP Kharbanda was standing. ‘Well, there is this one last thing. This Sharma—he isn’t expecting any reward, any promotion for all this, is he?’
‘Arey sir, have a large heart. What will the poor fellow want anyway, haan? We will throw something at him later.’
‘Alright, Kharbanda, you have your say here, too. But keep me out of it. I can’t be seen distributing laddoos to every Tom, Dick and Harry. You take care of Sharma.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Ajay looked around the room. ‘Good. Well, where is Sharma, then? We’d better start on this as soon as possible. Where is he?’
‘He’ll be here in a minute, sir, with chai and samosas.’
‘What’s taking him so long? Call him…that reminds me. You might get a call from Aparajita. She demanded that I give her your number after that Elephanta thing had to be cancelled. If she calls, just tell her sir is in a meeting with some crime branch harami or something.’
‘Er, so you managed to cancel Elephanta, sir? And you have told madam about the ten-day extension?’
‘Arey one thing at a time, Kharbanda. She nearly mauled me when I told her I cannot make it this afternoon. The other news I’ll have to be more tactful while breaking it to her.’
‘Where is madam now—guest house?’
‘She said she might go over to this, some social institute in Kandivali.’
SP Kharbanda knew his city, something rare for a policeman. ‘Yes sir—National Social Sciences Institute.’
‘Yes, whatever. Now where the hell is Sharma?’
‘Yes, sir…Arey Sharma? Sharma.’
DSP Sharma could be heard a good minute before he actually took shape. ‘Ji, ji, yes, sir, coming, coming…Sorry, sir. The re-frying of samosas took time.’
DSP Sharma unloaded the feast on to the exquisitely gilded baroque teak table shrouded unfortunately with the gaudiest Sunmica one could find east of Thane. The Martian-producible run of letters, numbers, dashes and slashes that vandalised the ledge would have set Gödel rethinking his Incompleteness Theorem.
‘Here, sir, please have some. They are nice and hot. And some tea. Sugar is separate, sir.’
Ajay reached for a samosa. ‘Arey Sharma, come closer to the table, bhai. Why are you hiding behind that curtain, hain? Come, come. Kharbanda has been singing love duets in your glory. Man, these samosas are good. Kharbanda, I take two sugars.’
SP Kharbanda jolted into action. ‘Er, yes sir, of course.’
Ajay mumbled when he could. ‘So, Sharma. You are in the loop now, aren’t you?’
‘Er, yes, sir.’
‘And you do know what being in the loop means?’
‘Of course, sir, he does.’
‘Let him speak, Kharbanda.’
‘Of course, sir, I do. On my dead body, sir, if that’s what you mean.’
‘That is exactly what I mean.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Ajay received the tea with both hands. ‘Because, you see, Sharma, once all this is over, we are going to be, well, how shall I put it…’
SP Kharbanda interjected. ‘Allow me, sir. All of us are going to kick Khandala in the and take a cruise to Switzerland.’
‘Yes, Kharbanda, spot on. Something along those lines, anyway. There’s no cruise to Switzerland.’
‘There isn’t? That bastard Trilochan.’
Ajay took a sip and immediately felt ill. ‘Well, you get the point. And especially you, Sharma. Once you are promoted—and of course, you would skip a rung or two along the way, we’ll make sure of that.’
‘Well, a heartfelt thank you, sir.’
‘Yes yes, save all your thank yous for later. But what I mean to say is this: not one bloody word of all this—to any person living or dead. You understand? Kharbanda? Sharma?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Good. Now, can we clear up this samosa and all these cup-shup?’
DSP Sharma rushed forward. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. So, let us begin.’
SP Kharbanda put his reading glasses on, last used when he was studying for his SSLC. ‘Sir, both tables are ready. Here is the unsolved table, if we can…’
‘And one more thing: all these table-shaybles are to be burnt once we are done.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Good. Haan, Kharbanda…’
‘Yes, sir, this table here is the unsolved table. You can see all seventeen entries.’
Ajay tried dislodging a dhania seed with his tongue. ‘Hmm…go on, go on.’
‘And this one here is the Agatha table. As I had told you, sir, some information is missing here.’
‘Which novels couldn’t you get, Sharma?’
‘Sir, six.’
‘Names.’
‘Sir, By the Pricking of My Thumbs, Nemesis, Sleeping Murder, The Clocks, A Caribbean Mystery and Dead Man’s Folly. Sorry sir, but I looked all over the…’
‘Yes, well, let’s carry on. So six entries cannot be made. Actually make that five, hahah. I have read Sleeping Murder. Miss Marple’s last case, I think.’
‘You have, sir? Great.’
‘Well, this, and another one, I can’t quite remember the title. And then...none...something like that. Arey, it was all over the news sometime last year, wasn’t it? You know, with that message and bottle and Cornwall, bhai. And then nothing came of it.’
SP Kharbanda knew the answer to that one. ‘And Then There Were None. I know all titles now, sir. Please ask me any.’
‘Later, Kharbanda, later. Have you read any, but? And you, Sharma?’
‘Er, no, sir. Where is the time? But sir, about this one, I want to give you a gift, sir…’
Ajay waved his hand. ‘Later, later. We are digressing again. Okay, so how many entries have you got in the Agatha table?’
‘Fifty-seven, sir.’
‘That’s fantastic, Kharbanda. Extraordinary.’
‘Thank you, sir. And that’s not all, sir. With your anticipated permission, I have also made a third column.’
‘You have?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Ajay glided forward. ‘Show.’
SP Kharbanda leaned on the table and pushed his glasses down from the bridge of his nose, impersonating distinguished professors and honourable judges when they want to look like distinguished professors and honourable judges.
‘Here, sir, you see. I thought going over each and every description every time—for every unsolved fellow, I mean—would be just too much trouble. So I have arranged the novel names and descriptions under headings—poison, shooting, stabbing, pushing over hill, hitting on head, coming under car, drowning…You see, sir?’
‘Yes, I do. Great work, Kharbanda. You have started to surprise me more often than I thought you could.’
‘Thank you, sir. Actually, it was Sharma’s idea, I have to admit.’
‘Really. Well, Sharma, good going.’
‘Thank you, sir. Sir—about that gift, sir…’
‘Later, bhai. Good. So now we have both tables in front of us. Well, what are we waiting for, hain? Kharbanda, you take the Agatha table; Sharma, you the unsolved. I will plan out the whole strategy.’
‘Ji, sir.’
‘Achha, before we start on these unsolved fellows, I have this keeda—I just want to make sure about this Saane guy. Kharbanda, have you made a “golf” heading?’
‘I have, sir.’
‘Well, what does it say?’
‘Two n
ovels, sir, under “golf”: Why Didn’t They Ask Evans? and The Murder on the Links.’
Ajay snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it, that’s the one. Just read me the description of The Murder on the Links.’
‘Sure, sir. “The Murder on the Links: The most bamboozlingly possible plot; a neat succession of clues. —New York Herald”.’
‘Uff, Kharbanda, spare me the bloody blurbs, man. Just the description, dammit.’
‘Y-yes sir, sorry. “For God’s sake, come! Unfortunately, by the time Hercule Poirot received Monsieur Renauld’s urgent plea…”
For the sake of literary propriety, Ajay felt obliged to interrupt. ‘And please—slowly, clearly. And he is “Paw-ay-row”, not “Poii-rott”.’
‘Yes, sir. “…urgent plea, the millionaire was already dead, stabbed—lying in a freshly dug grave on the golf course. The police think they’ve found the killer. Poirot has his doubts. A second murder proves him right”.’
‘Hmm…And the other one. What was it? Read that one.’
SP Kharbanda shuffled the loose pages like a bookie. ‘Yes, sir. Why Didn’t They Ask Evans? “During a round of golf, while retrieving the ball, two men find instead a dying man, fallen from a cliff, whose last words are peculiar: Why didn’t they ask Evans? Bobby and Francis would love to know. Unfortunately, asking the wrong people has put the amateur sleuths’ lives in mortal danger.”’
‘Ban-cho. You see now?’
‘What, sir?’
Ajay slapped the table this time. ‘It is the man I thought it was.’
SP Kharbanda was at sixes and sevens. ‘Sir, I don’t understand…’
‘Arey, Kharbanda, the bastard who cleaned up Saane, bhai. He has combined the two novels. Saane was stabbed on a golf course—that’s The Murder on the Links. Saane was found all broken-shoken 30 feet below—that’s Why Didn’t They Ask Evans? You still don’t get it?’
‘Oh. Yes sir, I do. I do now.’
‘We are on the right track, Kharbanda.We have hit a gold mine, what?’
‘We have indeed, sir.’
Ajay punched the air. ‘We have done it, Kharbanda. You see? You see now the power of deduction, the power of investigation—a proper investigation?’
The Rat Eater Page 31
