The Eye Surgeon

THE EYE SURGEON

(Dedicated to Dr. Kulin Kothari)


It’s not just the Eye:
It’s a dimension of Life
That adds so greatly to Life,
That the Eye
Surgeon restores.

Eliminating in a stroke
Or two … or three …
All that’s attendant
On the tag
`Handicapped’!

Colour – print – form – beauty –
All that the Eye can see or know!
But what the Heart can see and know
Is beyond even
The Eye Surgeon’s control.

Armin Wandrewala

(Sitting in bed on
Friday, March 26, 2010 at 11.10 am
Exactly a week after the surgery.)

PYTHON HILL

PYTHON HILL


Sinuous
Recumbent in the Sun.

Several footfalls fall
Many mouths mutter;
Profundities profanities inanities;
Truths untruths halftruths;
Some minds attuned to
what the tongue utters
Some distorted with
deliberation.

The Python lies recumbent
Under the sky
Indifferent.
Bears all footfalls
Without discrimination;
Without shrugging.

Much like the Earth that
bears the Python itself.

Atlas dare not shrug.

Armin Wandrewala
Feb 20, 2009

After a walk on Python Hill, near Sahyadri Study Centre,
Krishnamurthy Foundation, India.

Python Hill is a fairly low hillock just outside the boundary of the Sahyadri School and the Study Centre … it is indeed in the shape of a python, along the river …

INERTIA

I N E R T I A

TIME FLIES

And how!
Even a Century!

Thoughts collide into brainbursts;
Words spill over into babel;
Ceaseless motion into unceasing inertia.

Feet flying, unable to fly.

Feet are not wings
and mindless industry
will not avail
to change the nature
Of things.

Destiny charts its own course
In Time chosen.

TIME CRAWLS

Slower than a centipede.
Lumbering on
Tortuously.

Thoughts sputter in tired spurts;
Words chewed on with futile deliberation;
Motion wearies into slowmotion.

Feet drag
as though constrained
by ball and chains
shuffle by tortuous shuffle
Without volition.

Destiny conspires
With Time stolen.

TIME STANDS STILL

Suspended in midmotion.

Trapped amid
opposing options; torn between
conflicting choices;
Dilemma petrifying All.

Suspension of Will;
Silence of Voice;
Cessation of Motion;
Termination of Thought.

Feet standing still.
Stilled …

Destiny awaits
Human volition.

The Ceremony of Innocence - Chapter Fourteen

FOURTEEN

Sam's voice finally died away, to the accompaniment of the steady drizzle.
He looked drained. He let his eyes wander slowly around, taking in the varying expressions on the faces of his audience. And then smiled, a wry, whimsical smile.

They had gathered together in Avan Merchant's bungalow. It had been generally agreed, that that setting couldn't be bettered. Only family and friends. Avan, Zerxes, Scherezade, Banoo Maa, Sam. Sushildutt Tagore was present, but as a friend, not the Additional Commissioner of Police. After all, Mrs. Merchant came within his jurisdiction, as he informed her when he was introduced. And Zerxes had decided that Carlos Menezes deserved to be in on this. Also as a friend, not a reporter.
Tagore would be leaving shortly. Before Avan's other dinner guests landed up. Scherezade's parents, Rashna and Fredun, Katie Eduljee, Gustad Kabraji, Dorab and Tehmie Dhondy, and Akshay Divan. Avan had asked Katie if she'd like to invite him, and Katie had sounded delighted.
Though I don't know if he'll accept, she'd said doubtfully. But Akshay had been delighted, or so he'd said.
"Me pass up the chance of a good Parsee dinner, cooked in a Parsee household? Of course I'll come!"

The occasion, not yet known to all the guests, was Katie Eduljee's birthday, and both Banoo Maa and Avan had been determined to give her a good time. Especially as they were not quite sure if they'd get the chance to greet Katie on her next!
Both Avan and Banoo Maa were also anxious to hear the whole story, which they had not, so far. Sam had returned from England a week ago and had remained incommunicado till now. Zerxes, who felt he had neglected his legal practice long enough, had been tied up with a strongly contested application for bail which had, unusually, lasted a whole week. Scherezade, after some dithering, had finally signed up for a law course in the Government Law College, accepting the half-joking gauntlet thrown by Zerxes that if she indeed decided to take up Law, he'd object if she trained under anyone else, and that he himself would be the very Devil to train under, especially for her!

Sam had judged it was high time he shared the whole story with the rest of them. He told them what had happened in the Library at Hornbeech Hall, recounted part of the conversation he'd had with Paul . . .

"To get back to the beginning . . . as you probably have guessed, I met Nina in Poland, when I was behind the Curtain. She was a devout Catholic. I fell in love with her. Yes, I did! She's a pianist of extraordinary ability, and a woman with a heart. And that does matter to me, more than even you may guess.
"I fell in love with her, but for her it was nothing doing, until we got married. And we did. In Church. The record is probably still available.
"Shortly after marriage, things began to go wrong. I knew it would come to an open rupture, some day. What I didn't know was, that she had conceived a child by then. My child.
"Anyway, one fine day I woke up to find her gone. Without a note, without a word. Maybe if I'd tried to find her, I'd have succeeded. If I'd known she was pregnant, I'd definitely have tried. As it was, I didn't. My pride had received as severe a blow as my heart.
"I was caught and taken captive shortly thereafter. What they did to me almost destroyed me. I managed to escape. But by then, it was too late . . .
"Perhaps that made me even more inhuman, even more remorseless. Not that I'm making any excuse for what I have done subsequently.
"When I came back to England, I found, rather to my surprise, that Leila was still waiting for me. She made no secret of the fact that she wished to continue our relationship. I tried to dissuade her. She wouldn't be dissuaded.
"Anyway, I had no qualms about marrying her. In my social position, a wife is a necessity. And Leila fitted the bill rather well. Besides, she knew what she was letting herself in for."

There was a brief silence and then Paul went on, with a slight but distinct change in his tone.

"Meeting Nina in England was a shock, after so many years. I'd had no idea where she had been, and no idea at all that she had come down to England when the boy was barely a couple of years old, and that they had lived in England since then. My wife and my son. My only son!
"Nina told me Ricky had grown rather wild in his early adolescence, and had got hooked onto drugs. In the result, perhaps, he'd developed Parkinsonism at an unusually young age. Nina was frantic. She consulted doctors. Then she learned about Oaktree, and came here to get the boy treated. She then discovered that I lived rather close by! She tried to find out all she could about Leila and me, she confessed to me later. She used that gossipping bitch, that Harbottle woman, for the purpose. To get details of our lives. And my movements. And then she accosted me one day. Demanding help for Ricky. Of course, she had no choice but to tell me the truth.
"You can imagine my feelings, my dear Sam! When I learned that the one ambition I'd had in life, to ensure succession, to have a son, had been fulfilled all along, unknown to me! It was like being handed the chance of rebirth on a platter! My own life being extended into eternity."
He had thrown back his handsome arrogant head and laughed bitterly.
"Of course, all of us fools tend to think that! Illusions of immortality through our offspring, no matter how unsatisfactory.
"So here I was, rejoicing that I did have flesh and blood to succeed me. To keep the name of the Rankins alive."
The sneer was evident in the voice.
"Only, there was this flaw. Unless he was cured, my son would not survive my own lifetime. A pretty irony!
"I started reading up on Parkinsonism. Then I came to learn that Jules visited Oaktree often. I renewed my friendship with him, using you as the reference. Yes, Sam, I made use of you, too! I could not reveal myself openly, so I instructed Nina to get the celebrated Dr. Jules Desmarest interested in Ricky's case.
“Nina also kept me informed about this new treatment, using aborted foetuses. She told me the major problem was availability of the tissue, especially in England."
Sam: "So you tried other sources?"
Paul: "You mean Sarla! Yes, well, she had kept in touch with me from time to time. One day, it came out in conversation. Her Nursing Home. I casually asked her if they had many abortions. Her response was guarded. Too guarded! I realized immediately that she herself was up to something. It was only when I let on that I was interested in the tissue, rather than in exposing her, that she came out with the truth. I told her that I needed tissue urgently. She told me she'd been supplying to Oaktree in any case.
"Everything seemed to be under control. The doctors finally needed tissue from just one more foetus, to perform the procedure on my son. I started pressurizing Sarla. She promised me she'd do the needful. Till one day I got a call from a colleague of hers - some Dr. Khosla - that there was this problem at Welborne, that the Director had been murdered, and that there were police inquires afoot, and that I should make other arrangements for the tissue. I was furious. I telephoned Sarla and blasted her. She told me she'd still try and do what she could. But of course I realized that if the police were meddling around at Welborne, it would be too dangerous for Sarla to try and smuggle out the tissue."
Sam: "So, enter Margharita Stanley?"
Paul: "Margharita had made a dead set at me since the day she met me. I saw no harm in kidding her along. Till I realized that she was pregnant. And she wasn't too sure whether she wanted the child or not. I realized what that meant. Here was another chance of obtaining foetal tissue! Yes, Sam, my mind was obsessed then, with foetal tissue. I could think of nothing but foetal tissue and how to obtain it. I couldn't see a woman without thinking of her as a source for foetal tissue!"
Sam: "So that's where Perkins was driving Margharita to!"
Paul; "Oh yes, to meet me! But you'd guessed that long ago, hadn't you?"
Sam: "And where is Perkins now?"
Paul. "Somewhere abroad. I've pensioned him off. Leila made it rather easy, didn't she? . . . Oh, don't look like that! I promise you no harm has come to him. Perkins would die for me. I saw no reason why he actually should."
Sam: "What exactly happened with Margharita?"
Paul: "I'm coming to that. I tried convincing her that she should have an abortion. She went on refusing. If only she had agreed . . . Anyway, one day she complained of some pain. I don’t think she knew much about these things, and that cousin's wife was no help to her. Besides, Margharita was rather secretive about her condition. Which suited me fine!
"I knew one of the gynaecs at Oaktree. He owed me a favour. I’d got him the placement in a hospital in the Middle-East, something he had hankered after for long. I had a word with him. He told me to bring her for a test. Said he'd do the needful.
"The needful was done. Perkins took away Margharita from Oaktree while she was still unconscious. I went nowhere near it. I told the gynaec to disappear that night itself."
There was a long silence.
Sam: "Then Perking brought her to you and you took her to the river . . . " His voice trailed away.
After a while he asked hesitantly, “This gynaec . . . is he still in the Middle East? Or anywhere at all? Alive?"
A longer silence.

The sun had set while Sam had been narrating the story, and the sky was bathed in the rosy hues of twilight.
Avan Merchant was the first to rise. And to speak.
"Poor chap," she said in a deliberately flat, matter-of-fact voice. She had seen the tears gathering in Scherezade's eyes. "Tried to play God, and ruined some lives in the process!"
Sam stared at her. "You've got that absolutely right, Avan!" he said. "That's the quintessential Paul. Not only wanting to play God, but convincing himself that he was God!"
"And the whole thing came to light because that Boman Cohyaji was obsessed with the need to kill this poor doctor," observed Banoo.
"And even Cohyaji may have got away with it," observed Tagore, "if he'd not had the brainwave of trying to stage that robbery. That was what put Zerxes on the track, vindicating our friend Carlos, here."
"All you men have suspicious minds, I think," said Banoo dryly. "I am sure, Sam," she shot an accusing look at him, "that you too had suspected all along that this woman was indeed murdered!"
Sam shrugged. "The Coroner's verdict was accidental death. I had no reason to doubt that. Possibly, if subsequent events hadn't unfolded quite the way they did, Paul may well have got away with it."
"And perhaps, he may not have," interposed Zerxes with dry significance.
His father raised a hand in slight acknowledgement, nodding at him in agreement.
"I think you’re right," said Sam. "He perhaps may not have. I think he'd have came to the same end, whether I'd confronted him or not. It was only a question of time."
There was a brief silence.
"How did Leila take it?" asked Scherezade, breaking the silence.
"Better than I'd expected," answered Sam. "Strangely, she and Nina have become good friends, now!" He shook his head at Scherezade with a slight smile. "I'll never be able to figure out you women!"
Scherezade looked back at him gravely. "I can understand that very well indeed," she said. "I think now perhaps Nina can help Leila heal." She smiled, a slow, pensive smile. "There's a stronger bond, perhaps, between women who have loved the same man, than you men have any notion of!"
Sam looked at Zerxes quizzically. "It's like I said . . . "
"On no!" laughed Scherezade. "Men who have loved the same woman share as strong a bond. Probably even stronger!”
She turned to Tagore abruptly. "Rather a neat end, don't you think, Sushil? All accused accounted for. No arrests, no trials, no convictions, no sentences. All tied up quite neatly!"
"Not really! We still have to clean up the mess at Shirona," the Additional Commissioner reminded her with a slight smile. "No doubt we'll find it's part of an international racket."
Carlos glanced at Zerxes expressively.
"So you were right, Man! The murders at Welborne were incidental indeed! And they played their part in exposing a dirtier racket. That Cohyaji must be feeling more justified than ever, wherever his spirit is lurking."
Banoo frowned at him admonitorily. Before she could say anything, however, the first of Avan's other guests arrived. Katie Eduljee.
Banoo rose, saying resolutely, "Now, no talk at all of deaths and murders and abortions, mind! We have to give Katie a good time on her birthday, and I don't want anything to mar the party."
Sushildutt Tagore beat a discreet retreat, leaving the others to their dinner, firmly declining Avan's invitation to stay on.

As usual, Avan and Sunanda had surpassed themselves. Fried Bombil, Sali-chicken with plenty of dried apricots, rice pulao with dal to die for, and curd seasoned with mustard, saffron and rock salt. And to round it all off, Zerxes' favourite lagan-nu-custard made by Avan herself, from the recipe handed down by Avan's great grand-mother.
After dinner, after dessert, after coffee and liqueurs, Zerxes was the first to stir. "Sorry, but have to leave now. I have a brief to study."
He glanced at Scherezade and lifted an eyebrow, something not quite a smile softening his mouth.
She smiled back. A slow, tentative smile, and accompanied him out into the garden.
He closed the garden gate, and got into his car. Without touching her. A sudden gust of wind ruffled Scherezade's hair, and caused a magnolia bloom to fall gently onto her head from the branch overhanging the gate.
"I'll telephone you tomorrow," said Zerxes, as he put the key into the ignition and drove off.
She raised her hand in acknowledgement, the magnolia still nestling in her hair.



THE END

The Ceremony of Innocence - Chapter Thirteen

THIRTEEN

I

"Would it have been Leila, next?"

Paul Rankin avoided the steady gaze of his inquisitor, across the expanse of his table in the library of Hornbeech Hall. He did not seem surprised by the question.
"You seem to know a lot. But you still don't know everything, my dear Sam," he replied in a low, weary tone.
"Stevens informed me that Leila has gone to attend some funeral . . . " Sam broke off on a query.
"She has. I should have gone, but she has." Paul at last raised his eyes to his old friend's. Sam suffered a shock. He'd not seen so much naked, helpless grief in any human eyes. "She's gone to attend Ricky's funeral." The words came out with an effort, through stiff, disobliging lips.
"He was your son." It was a statement.
Paul did not react. But Sam had caught the look in his eyes. That was affirmation enough.
"The operation did not prove successful?" asked Sam.
"That, we had no chance to gauge. He died because of an overdose of drugs. Not Parkinsonism."
There was a constrained silence. The kind of silence that never should intrude, between friends.
Sam wondered if they were indeed still friends. Then he saw the old mockery creep back into those pale blue eyes - in retrospect, so much like Ricky Baldwin's - and was reassured, in some measure. Yes, they were friends still. No matter what!
It was Paul who broke the silence, even as Sam searched for the right words, the least offensive question.
"How did you know?"
"I found your private number on Sarla Dalal's telephone bills. Too many calls, of fairly long duration. That set the gears in motion."
"And they haven't stopped turning since, I suppose!"
"Well, a lot of things did start clicking into place," admitted Sam. "Ricky had a distinct look of you, you know! It's surprising how none of us tumbled on to that."
"That girl did. Only, I think she confused the likeness with Zerxes. Oh, these women in love! I do hope all's well, on that front?"
Sam ignored the diversion.
"Didn't Leila, ever?" he asked, rather brutally.
"She'd never acknowledge, even to herself, that I could have made it with any other woman when I could not, with her," Paul responded with a candour equally brutal.
A hint of sympathy flickered in Sam's grey eyes. "That's what they did to you behind the Curtain?"
Not a muscle moved in Paul's face. "I escaped with everything but what mattered possibly the most."
"Why didn't you try to find Nina? I assume she is Ricky's mother?"
"I had no idea that Nina was pregnant when she left me. Yes," he gave a sardonic grin at Sam's expression. "I can acknowledge it now. It was Nina who left me, not the other way round. I had no idea at all that she was pregnant. If I had, I'd have moved heaven and earth to find her. She is my wife, you know!"
Sam didn't. The news rather stunned him. As he'd started piecing the jigsaw together in his mind, he had rather expected that Ricky was Paul's illegitimate son, and was wondering what plans Paul had, to get him to succeed to his title, assuming he could get him to live. By providing for him tissue from that woman whose child he had first murdered, before murdering the woman herself.
Sam needed no further confirmation. His calculated guess had proved right. Paul Rankin had murdered Margharita Stanley. After causing the abortion of her unborn child, so he could use the foetal cells to cure his son! And Sam had hoped so much to have been proved wrong! Though he'd known all along that there was little chance of that.
Paul walked over to the bar and poured out two stiff measures of single malt and handed one to Sam. "I know this is hardly the time - taken chronologically or circumstantially - however, since it has come to this, let us do it in a civilized fashion".

They did it in a civilized fashion. Paul told his story fully, without embellishment or excuse or whitewashing, for most part uninterrupted by his old friend. At the end of it all, Sam, the hardened, seasoned veteran, felt the need to visit the bathroom.

"You still haven't answered my question - if the operation had been successful, if Ricky had lived - what next?"
Paul shrugged. "Frankly, I hadn't thought that far ahead. It was a bit of a shock, being confronted by Nina one day. She had escaped from Poland long back, and had been living in England with the boy. Incidentally, she had not married again. `Baldwin' was an invention. The boy's birth certificate shows him as being my son. Richard Lladislas Rankin. When his illness was diagnosed, she hunted me out. She didn't have either the money or the means for his cure." He shrugged. "There was no question of `legitimization'. He was my legitimate son. He automatically succeeded to my title and Estate. As far as Leila was concerned, I suppose we'd have worked something out."
Sam felt a return of the sickness. Paul was speaking of his wife as though she were a pawn on a chessboard. Paul, no self-deceiver, was well aware what was passing through Sam's mind. He smiled, a wry smile of self-disgust. Fate had dealt him a dirty blow, the final straw, after a series of hard knocks. Rarely had human machinations been shown up to be so utterly futile!

Sam hesitated. But the question had to be asked. Yet again.
"What would you have done if Ricky had lived . . . and if I had not turned up?"
"The same thing that I plan to do now, I suppose, that I'd have done eventually, even had Ricky lived! I'm not too sure I'd have been able to live for long with the knowledge of what I had done!"
He laughed at the expression on Sam's face.
"Oh yes, I know, my dear Sam! What I did was dastardly. And in cold blood. It wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing! Not cricket at all! Not something you learn on the playing fields of Eton! But I'd have ensured the succession."
"You always could mock at yourself," smiled Sam sadly.
"What would you have me do?" Paul asked haughtily. "Cringe and grovel for mercy?"
"No, replied Sam gently. "No, Paul, I would not have you do that. You know full well what you have done." There was a significant pause. "And now what you have to do."
Lord Paul Rankin glanced out of the open French windows. "A fine spring day, isn't it, Sam?" There was just a trace of wistfulness in the bitter voice. "England at her best!"
He glanced at the library clock. It was just on nine in the morning. Leila had still not emerged from her bedroom.
He held out his hand. "Give me the night, Sam."
Sam gripped the outstretched hand. "It's yours," he replied formally.
Then he turned away and walked out.
Out of the room he would never step into, ever again.
Out of Hornbeech Hall.
It was characteristic of the man, mused Sam to himself, that he had made no final request, cast no last obligation on his friend . . . either to look after his women or to ensure that his memory was not besmirched.
He took it for granted that his old friend would do what he had to do.
As he had, all along.

*

II

After a disturbed day and a restless night, Sam had an early breakfast at Brandon's and then went for a long walk in the forest. He had a lot of time to kill and he felt as restless as hell!
Shortly after noon he made his way to Waltham Abbey and entered the Police Station. Sergeant Lock Holmes was on duty. Yes, Inspector Roger Weldon was in. He'd just check if he was free. Yes, he was, and would be delighted to see Mr. Avari.

About an hour and a half later, having learned what he had wanted to know, Sam stepped out onto Sun Street again, leaving behind at the Police Station a less-than-delighted Inspector Weldon, and looked around for a decent place for a spot of lunch. He'd not had much appetite for breakfast, but was rather hungry now.

He dawdled over lunch, and then strolled on again. He thought he knew what Paul would have done. He thought he knew where he would find him. Or again, he may not! Human beings were incalculable enough and Paul, more incalculable than most.
He remembered what Scherezade had said about the Dragonfly Sanctuary and made his way there. It was now nearing four in the afternoon. He made himself look searchingly at the river, resolutely, from time to time. Nothing yet. Nothing!
Ten past four.
Fifteen.
Half past four.
He grew depressed. And doubted and questioned his own actions. Why the hell couldn't he just sit quietly at Brandon's and let things take their course? Why this determination that he, and he alone, must discover him? What if he was mistaken? What if he'd taken some other way out?
No that couldn't be, Sam reasoned. His thought process was still logical, though his emotions were flayed raw. Weldon had told him that Lady Rankin had called him, complaining that Lord Rankin was missing, that he seemed not to have slept in his bed last night. So he'd not blown his brains out, nor had he taken an overdose, at least not in his own home. Sam walked on, irritated with himself and the world.
And then he stopped. He thought he saw . . . yes, that was it!
The body of Lord Paul Rankin, floating down the River Lea.
He was wearing his old army jacket.
With the stripes of Rank torn out from it.
His sense of irony had not deserted him even at the very end.

*

III

He reached Hornbeech Hall, dishevelled, footsore, and weary. The door opened before he could ring the bell and a middle-aged woman rushed out, sniffing loudly. Stevens bowed him in and ushered him into Leila's private boudoir. A very feminine room, where a man felt out of place.
Designedly so!
He stopped short at the entrance. Seated next to Leila on the sofa was the woman he knew as Nina Baldwin!
Leila advanced towards him, and into his arms. She trembled briefly in his hold, then disengaged herself gently, looking up at him mistily.
"I know," she whispered tremulously. "My dear friend, I know! Shhh . . . " she covered his lips with her hand, "you don't have to say anything."
She drew him gently to a settee and made him sit down, then resumed her seat next to Nina on the sofa.
She tried to smile. A travesty. She seemed to have aged overnight. And mellowed. But was strangely composed and at peace.
"I know, partly thanks to that Harbottle woman's penchant for nosing out gossip," --- So that's whom he saw rushing out, thought Sam to himself --- "she came to tell me she'd seen Paul walking with Nina by the river," continued Leila in a low voice, "and partly thanks to Nina herself. She's told me all."
"Except that I had no idea he'd murdered that woman, or caused her abortion without her consent," said Nina in her low, husky voice. "Please believe me, Mr. Avari, I'd have tried to stop him, if I'd known."
"I believe you," replied Sam, "but you wouldn't have been able to stop him, believe me!"
He turned to Leila.
"So, you know everything?!" he asked.
"As much as I wish to know."
"Is there anything I can . . . ?"
"Shhh . . . " she shushed him again. "Nothing. There's nothing anyone can do. Just leave now. Please Sam, go! Maybe later . . . " She trailed away uncertainly and looked at Nina, their eyes meeting in strange kinship.
"You see," Leila went on, still holding Nina's gaze with hers, "We both are mourning together. Mourning both of them. Paul . . . and his son."


****

The Ceremony of Innocence - Chapter Twelve

TWELVE

I

Zerxes was awakened by a drum-like roll of thunder reverberating through the heavens. He opened his eyes to find the sky aflame with lightning. And then came the rain. Lashings of it, in great angry spears.
He rose, to close the window near Scherezade's side of the bed. She would be drenched, otherwise. In her sleep, she had thrown off her sheet. He gently covered her, tucking it round her neck and shoulders, the way she always did. Scherezade slept wrapped in a cocoon!
The movement awakened her. "Mmmnn . . . " she murmured, reaching out for him in half slumber.
After some minutes, sitting up in bed she yawned, "What a downpour!" glancing at her watch on the bedside table. "Four in the morning!"
"Would you care for a cup of tea?" he asked. Auntie had given her an electric kettle in the room.
"Love one," she smiled lazily, stretching like a cat and then snuggling down under the sheet again.
"Zerxes . . . "
"Hmmnnn . . . ?
"What are you going to do today? How . . . how are you going to handle it?"

They had chalked out a sketchy strategy last night, together with Tagore and Sam. They had met on the beach and Zerxes had conveyed to them the contents of Vaithy's report and the conversation Scherezade had had with Cohyaji.
"And now that our most effective detective has supplied the missing link," he'd ducked as Scherezade aimed a punch at him, "that gives you the motive you were looking for, Sushil," Zerxes had told Tagore. "Gulrukh Panthaky, whose life Palkar seems to have messed up, at least the child-bearing part, is Cohyaji’s dearly beloved sister. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to find that it was Cohyaji who was behind the complaint as well!"
"Yes, there's enough of a motive all right," Tagore had conceded thoughtfully. "But the `how' still remains! Though it would not have been too difficult, I suppose. Cohyaji's a strong, beefy chap. But one thing bothers me. Why Panja? Why this elaborate drama? Cohyaji doesn't strike me as being so subtle that he'd have schemed all this up, to throw suspicion on another man. Who was also killed!”
“Any possibility at all that Panja’s death could have been an accident?” Sam had inquired.
"The PM report is unclear on that one," Tagore had admitted. "Panja died of a broken neck, due to the fall down the spiral staircase. Whether the fall was an accident, or whether he was pushed, is anyone's guess."
"Well, the truth will have to be got out from him," Zerxes had said briskly. "My guess is that Cohyaji had not intended Panja to be a victim initially. Something seems to have happened, for Panja to have been dragged into this. And I don't think Cohyaji is unintelligent. He's a fanatic, and a bit of a butt all right, but he's also meticulous, and probably scheming."
"I think he has quite a cunning mind," Scherezade had said, wrinkling her brow. "And I think he'd be quite ruthless to someone he didn't approve of. He was very vindictive about his other sister, and especially her husband."
In the end, it had been decided that the next morning Zerxes would collar Boman Cohyaji alone and confront him and try and get the truth out of him.
As events turned out, no confrontation had been necessary.

*

II

He'd had an inkling, when there was no answer to his knock on the door. Zerxes stood outside for a minute, gazing at the legend on the door with his twisted smile.

"BOMAN COHYAJI
MANAGER - ADMINISTRATION."

He opened the door and walked in.
He was sitting at his desk. Very proper indeed! Fully dressed, in jacket and tie. Feet neatly shod, as always. His spectacles on his nose. The glassy eyes were wide open. The expression, if any, was obscured by the thick lenses. His right hand lay on a sheaf of papers, covered with his small neat handwriting, the pen still between the fingers. In his left had was an empty glass, slightly cracked by the pressure of the clenched grip.
Zerxes closed the door and went to call Tagore and his men.
No, no confrontation had been necessary.

*

III

It was Sam who broke the silence after Scherezade's voice faded away.
“A remarkable document," he said.

It had been agreed that Scherezade would read out aloud from the statement Cohyaji had left behind, to all of them. She had the most musical voice!
It was indeed a remarkable document.

"I, Boman Shapurji Cohyaji, write this of my own free will. Nobody has coerced me into writing this. Neither am I writing this to shield anybody. What I am writing is the Truth.
"I have taken my own life as I do not care to be judged by my fellow men. Indeed, I have often found them wanting, and I do not care for their justice, or their mercy. Or even their opinion, you see. I have suffered ridicule quite often, in my life. People may have thought I did not realize. Let them now know, that I did. But I have had certain principles, you see, and I have tried to live by them, without sparing others or myself. Even those close to me. In the process I have suffered. If I have also made others suffer, I am ready to answer to my Maker, for His, you see, is the only justice I have faith in. And so I have delivered myself up to it, you see, with my own hands.
"Also, I felt that the truth regarding the deaths of Hitesh Palkar and Nandu Panja must now come out. And so I have decided to tell the truth, you see, as only I know it. Unfortunately, because of my actions, which I think were righteous and just, it appears that my gracious patroness and employer, Dr. Mrs. Sarla Dalal, is being harassed by the police. She has been locked up in the kind of place no decent woman should step foot in, least of all her! Wrong and malicious allegations are being made against her. I have come to learn that there is every likelihood that she may be wrongfully punished for the murders of Hitesh Palkar and Nandu Panja.
"Well, I hereby say and declare, in sound mind and knowing what I am saying and writing, that I, Boman Shapurji Cohyaji, have executed both Hitesh Palkar and Nandu Panja, for the reasons and in the manner I have set out herein."

"Seems to have had some legal training," Tagore had chipped in for light relief, at this point. Zerxes had smiled slightly, his eyes fixed on Scherezade's expressive face. She had a singer's voice, and an actress' play of emotions. She'd make a rather good advocate, he'd thought to himself dispassionately, if trained well.

"First, the reasons.
"Hitesh Palkar, that butcher, has ruined the life of a woman I hold very dear, a relation of mine. I shall not name her, as I do not want her to be dragged into this, you see. She has had nothing to do with my actions, she does not even know about them.
"Suffice it to say, that because of criminal negligence and conduct on the part of Dr. Hitesh Palkar, this woman was forced to undergo an abortion she did not wish to have, you see, to take the life of her own unborn child, her very own flesh and blood, her first-born! As though that was not bad enough, after the dastardly deed was done by Palkar's own bloody hands, we discovered that there was no need for the abortion! That the baby had been perfectly healthy, you see, and it was all due to a mistake by that butcher, Palkar. Mistake!? It was murder, I say! Murder that had to be avenged!
"As though that was not bad enough, this butcher, who should never have been allowed near any pregnant woman, made another `mistake', so that you see, this poor woman was never able to bear another child! She and her husband, who yearned for children, who wanted to have a large family, were deprived forever of the chance of having children.
"We tried to take recourse to Law. Yes, we were foolish enough to hope for justice from our fellow men, you see! A complaint was filed in the Consumer Court against this butcher Palkar but it was thrown out. Since then, I have lost faith in the justice of men.
"This Palkar, instead of withering, flourished. I kept track of his career. He went off to the Middle East. I thought he had gone beyond my reach. But no, the Mills of God were still grinding, you see! He came back. I came to know, how, I need not trouble you, that he had been appointed the Director of a Nursing Home! That butcher, heading a Nursing Home! My blood boiled, you see. I made inquires. I tracked him down. As luck would have it, there was shortly a vacancy there, for the post I presently have the honour to hold.
"I applied. I was interviewed by no less a personage than the Proprietress herself! She was graciously pleased to find me suitable. And that's how I came to be at Welborne, you see. I worked under that man, hating him every minute of the day. But I was careful not to let him know, you see. I could have ruined him! I could have told Mrs. Dalal about his past. But I did not. I was waiting for a chance to deal with him myself, in my own way.
"And he made it easy for me. He was still as arrogant as ever. Thinking himself too clever for words! He took a dislike to me from day one, you see, for no reason whatsoever. He would interfere with my disciplining the staff. He would counter my orders, tell the staff he was the Director, and that his orders had to be obeyed, not mine! He tried to run me down, lower my authority in the eyes of persons who were, really speaking, you see, my under- colleagues. Almost my servants!
"Like this Panja fellow. The most insolent, no-good rascal I have come across. If I had my way, I'd have fired him long ago. But Palkar protected him! Encouraged him to be insolent to me! Reinstated him, you see, behind my back, after I had justly sacked him for insolence and shirking his work. Also, I had reason to believe Panja was pilfering. From the patients and the staff. But for some reason, Palkar would not hear a word against him. I often wondered why! Then I thought I knew. Maybe Panja had some hold over Palkar. Who knows? The man had a bloodied past. Maybe he had made other mistakes. I was quite sure Panja was blackmailing Palkar, and that was why Palkar had to side with Panja, even going against my authority!"

"Shades of megalomania," had murmured Tagore in distaste.
Zerxes had nodded. "That, warring with an acute inferiority complex. Probably brought about by a lifetime of rejection. Made him always want to be bigger than he was. Interesting character! Go on, Schaz."

"I had long since made up my mind that Palkar should die. Before he condemned more unborn babies to death! Even at Welborne, you see, he continued with his old tricks. We would not have had so many abortions, if Palkar had not been at the helm of things.
"I bided my time. But things were getting from bad to worse, and I knew I had to strike soon. I felt God had led my footsteps to Welborne, to rid the world of this menace. But I waited! Waited till I felt I had developed a kind a rapport, you see, with Mrs. Dalal. In the meanwhile, more and more abortions were performed under this butcher's Directorship.
"Then I knew I had to strike!
"I was always interested in medicine. I read up on forensics. And quite by chance I came across this unusual method of killing people. Providnece alone, you see, could have led me to it!
"I decided that that was the way I would execute Palkar! By pithing.
"I knew his habits, you see. I knew he worked late at night sometimes, in his cabin. I had already chosen a nice, long, thin needle for the purpose. I knew it had to be in one shot. I could not afford to fail!
"At the right time, I struck. Went to his room late at night while he was working, on the pretext of some emergency. I knocked on the door. He called out to come in. I think he was expecting somebody else, perhaps. He seemed surprised to see me. And no wonder! He had the safe open, and was counting out some cash. Ill-gotten gains, no doubt! When he saw me walk in, he hurriedly closed the safe, and shut the door of the cupboard.
"I told him I had some urgent work with him. He sat down at his desk, and asked me to `get on with it', in a very rough, rude kind of tone. Whilst advancing towards his desk, I knocked against a pot on the window-sill, you see, and trying to balance myself, shoved my hand into the mud. That was a Godsend! I got the chance to go to his bathroom, which is just behind his desk, to wash my hands. I had a pair of surgical gloves in my pocket. I put them on, inside the bathroom.
"When I came out, Palkar was stooped over his desk, peering into some papers. Just the chance I needed! I plunged the needle into his neck. He was dead within a minute or two. So I think. The passage of time can be confusing, sometimes.
"I pulled the needle out, and was wondering what to do with it, you see, when the door opened again, and Panja peered in. His manner can only be described as furtive. He came sneaking by like the thief he was. I think Palkar had been expecting him. Maybe some nefarious dealings, between those two.
"He saw me. He came in and shut the door. And advanced towards the desk. I realized that he had realized, you see, that Palkar was dead. I had to do something. Panja, after all, was a puny chap. Weak and frail in body, as he was in mind and character!
"I opened the balcony door, and caught hold of Panja and pushed him down the spiral staircase. God was with me! He died of the fall.
"Then I got a brilliant idea! The cupboard containing the safe was not locked. That is, the key was still on the door. Inside Palkar's bathroom, I had seen a long-handled mop, the kind Panja used to mop floors, the lazy lout, instead of getting down on his hands and knees and scrubbing the floor properly!
"I took the mop, still wearing the gloves, you see, then I swung it on Palkar's head, so that his skull was smashed in. Then I went to the balcony, hurriedly pushed the needle inside one of the pots, and closed Panja's fingers over the handle of the mop, to get his finger pints there. Oh yes, knew all about police procedure!
"Then I went to the safe, took out a bundle of notes, again put Panja's prints on them, and shoved the notes into the filthy cloth bag the rascal was carrying, scattering some of the notes on his body as well.
"Then I went back to bed.
"The rest is known.
"I am not ashamed of what I have done. Palkar robbed my (then the word `my' is scored out) this woman I knew and loved, of her womb. I robbed him of his life. The scores are now settled. Panja? He was a man of no account. He deserved to die.
"I might have got away with it! But maybe it's better this way. Dr. Mrs.Sarla Dalal is innocent. She should be released forthwith. My respectful regards to her. Along with apologies for any inconvenience I may have caused to her.
(signed)
Boman Shapurji Cohyaji.”

"Remarkable is not the word," Tagore told Sam, a pained look on his face. "And our Scherezade looks drained."
"I could do with some tea, I think," said Scherezade faintly, looking at the papers in her hand as though they were likely to catch fire any moment. "My mouth is dry from reading!"


*

IV

There was silence while they sipped the tea brought in by Marium.
"What now?" Scherezade wondered aloud, her tawny eyes fixed gravely on Sushildutt Tagore. "I mean . . . what happens now to Sarla Dalal and the others?"
"We still have charges against them," replied Tagore, equally grave. "Attempting to kill an unborn foetus, without proper medical authorization, or without the mother's consent, is a serious offence. Right, Zerxes?"
Zerxes nodded.
"So is trafficking in foetuses. However," Tagore rose, "We still have a lot of loose ends to tie up. Where's Ferreira?" he suddenly demanded of Rodricks.
"It seems his sister was taken unwell, Sir," answered Rodricks. "I think Ferreria and his wife have gone to visit her, at the Nursing Home."
"Well, make sure they take good care of her," Tagore ordered briskly. "She's one of our prime witnesses. And you, young lady," he turned to Scherezade with mock-severity, "are another!"
"See what comes of having lent a sympathetic ear to Cohyaji's outpourings?" teased Zerxes lazily.
"Now what?" demanded Scherezade again, looking questioningly at Sam.
"Now what indeed, as the child asks," said Sam. "Now, I suggest we have a look at Mrs. Dalal's private papers." He glanced at Rodricks. "You have the warrant?"
"Yessir," answered Rodricks.
As they were leaving to proceed to Sarla Dalal's private office, Ferreira walked in, his face haggard. Tagore asked him gently how his sister was.
"The strain's been too much for her, Sir," responded Ferreria woodenly. "She's lost the baby."
"We're sorry to hear that. How is she? Ms. Ferreira, I mean?" asked Tagore.
"She's fine, now, Sir. Perhaps this was for the best. And at least it's no sin!" he seemed to recollect himself, and essayed a weak smile. "My wife is with her. She'll be all right. What's the programme, now?"
They told him what the programme was. And proceeded to Sarla Dalal's private office.
Tagore took the easy way out, sweeping most of the papers and documents into a huge folder and giving it into Rodricks' charge. "Study all this as soon as possible and let me have the analysis," he rapped out. "I think you may find the details about the movement of the foetuses, etc. Maybe even dealings with JayGee. Hul-lo! What are you gazing at so intently, Sam?"
Zerxes too had his eyes fixed on his father's face, which suddenly seemed a shade paler. Sam was not easily moved! But he seemed rather shaken, now! He had in his hand what looked like a telephone bill.
"What's that, Dad?" asked Zerxes, slight concern in his voice.
Sam looked at him, his eyes veiled. "A telephone bill. Sarla Dalal's telephone bill. I was wondering why she'd kept it separately, in her drawer, which she kept locked. Now I know. I think!"
"Mind letting us into the secret, Sam?" asked Tagore quietly.
Sam shook his head. "After I find out what I have to. Trust me, Sushil, this is something I have to do myself. Alone."
He looked at Scherezade and smiled a sweet, tired smile. "Will you do me a favour, my child?"
"Anything," answered Scherezade promptly, smiling back.
"You have the number of Brandon's B&B on you, here?"
Scherezade nodded. She always kept her diary in her handbag.
"Book me a room there for a couple of days will you? From tomorrow. I’m phoning my travel agent to get me a ticket on the flight to London, tonight. Any airline. It doesn't matter, but I must get to London by tomorrow." He glanced at Tagore and smiled. "No, I'm not absconding. I'll be back shortly."
He put the telephone bill into his pocket without so much as by-your-leave and left the room. Of all the persons in the room, perhaps only Scherezade had a faint, a very faint inkling, of whose telephone number Sam had recognized in Sarla Dalal's telephone bill, and just why it had disturbed him so!


****

The Ceremony of Innocence - Chapter Eleven

ELEVEN

I

Morning brought the Additional Police Commissioner (Northwestern Region) to Shirona.
Sushildutt Tagore arrived in style, lights flashing, sirens screaming, preceded by the usual pilot car and followed by two cars full of reinforcements, experts in the various fields of crime detection and apprehension.

The controlled chaos of the previous evening had paved the way for Operation Clean-Up. Curious villagers peeped out from behind their curtains as the police cars screamed through the narrow roads. But after last evening, nothing seemed unusual. It had been an evening of shocking news, wild rumours, hurried conferences, neighbour button-holing neighbour with Have-you-heard's; the telephone lines a-buzz with Do-you-know's.
It had been the evening when Sarla Dalal, that patrician Proprietress of Welborne, had been taken into custody by the Police together with that snitch, Parimal Khosla. For Parimal Khosla, seeing the walls close in upon him, had lost no time in implicating Sarla Dalal as well. And at Zerxes' insistence, Len DaCosta, the Chief Instructor of JayGee Flying School, was also held and an urgent call made to the Malabar Hill Police Station on the mainland, to pull in the owner of the Flying School, Jay Gilada, who lived at Malabar Hill. Sarla Dalal, Parimal Khosla, and Len DaCosta, had all been taken into police custody, to be produced before the Magistrate when the Court convened in the morning.
Yes, Shirona had whispered late into the night. And the main centre of gossip, information and speculation had been, of course, good old Auntie Teresa's Crab Claw. Marium and Marian worked overtime, while Terence hobnobbed with the guests over several tankards, adding to the spice of the moment. And for once, Teresa herself was still up though it was close to midnight, presiding benignly at the Family Table. Perhaps owing to Teresa's formidable presence, Scherezade and Zerxes, having a late dinner at a secluded table, were left alone by the other guests who thronged the The Crab Claw that night.

Teresa had accepted Zerxes as well, graciously permitting him to share Scehrezade's lodging under her roof. She still had a spare room left, which Zerxes had booked for Tagore in case he needed to spend the night in Shirona, instead of wasting time travelling back and forth over the pot-holed road. That would depend on how fast they could wrap up matters in Shirona.
Over dinner he gave Scherezade a telegraphic account of what had happened.
"So what do you think is really going on?" she asked, furrowing her brow as he came to the end of his terse, pithy narrative.
He gave his characteristic shrug. "It seems rather fantastic. Almost bizarre, in fact! But that's the only explanation I can think of." He gave her his twisted grin. "I haven't voiced my suspicions to anyone as yet. I think I'll sound out Sushil, when he gets here in the morning."
Scherezade's eyes flashed impatiently. He was deliberately tantalizing. "You think they're using the tissue from aborted foetuses for research?" she shot at him. "Is that what's going on? Some racket involving abortions?"
"I don't think they themselves are making any use of the foetal tissue," he answered slowly. "I rather think they're trafficking in it."
Scherezade's tawny eyes widened. "You mean . . . exporting it somewhere?"
Zerxes eyed her narrowly, his `cross-examining' look as she privately called it. "Why do you say `exporting'?" he countered.
She was taken aback. "Well, I don't imagine any foetal tissue transfers are being done in India, as yet, are they?" she reasoned.
"I’m not too sure. But you're right. I do think this tissue is being sent out of the country. In fact, I'd had an inkling when Banoo . . . "
"What about Gran? How does she come into this?" Scherezade's tone was sharper than she realized.
"Nothing. It's just something she'd mentioned when her friend Katie Eduljee was planning to go abroad for this transplant procedure."
"Aunt Katie is suffering from Parkinsonism, isn't she?"
"So the doctors believe," replied Zerxes. "And foetal tissue is being used to cure Parkinsonism, among other diseases. She was scheduled to go abroad for treatment, but it didn't work out." It wasn't that Zerxes was protectionist in any way at all; but at this juncture, he preferred to avoid the mention of Oaktree Centre to Scherezade, unless it was absolutely essential.
Scherezade was silent for a while. Something, somewhere, rang a bell, but she couldn't quite fathom what or why. From what Zerxes had disclosed so far - rather grudgingly, she thought to herself acidly - it was obvious that someone in Welborne was using the aborted babies - possibly even carrying out abortions against the wishes of the mother, horrible thought! - to sell the foetal tissue. Probably sending it somewhere abroad, clandestinely. Evidently, JayGee Flying School was the courier. Zerxes may not have mentioned Oaktree, but Scherezade needed no mention to make that possible connection in her mind. Talk about co-incidences, she thought to herself with a shiver.
"So that's why you've had that Instructor arrested? From JayGee?" She tried to keep her voice neutral.
"I've not had him arrested," he clarified gently. "The police have held him for questioning."
She brushed aside this fine distinction impatiently. "And the other two? Sarla Dalal and that Dr. Khosla?"
"They have been arrested. Terminating a pregnancy without the mother's written consent is a serious offence. Khosla was caught red-handed in the attempt. If ever a cliche was proved true, this was it!" he said derisively. "And he implicated Mrs. Dalal. Doctor Mrs. Dalal, really! In any event, as the owner of the Nursing Home, she would be held responsible."
"Do you think they could have been responsible for those deaths as well?" she asked tentatively.
"And just what do you know about `those deaths'?" asked Zerxes mockingly. He was well aware of her source of information. She confirmed it nonchalantly.
"Carlos has told me All," she grinned impishly.
Zerxes remained unamused. "On the way here, I suppose." His tone was grim. He'd not yet quite forgiven Carlos for having dragged Scherezade into this.
"I suppose he thought I'd be able to snoop around the place more easily than him," she defended Carlos. "He could hardly ask for a pregnancy test for himself! And he wasn't to know something like this would happen, and break the case wide open."
Zerxes made a non-committal sound, waving Carlos aside for the moment.
"So tell," coaxed Scherezade. "Do you think Sarla Dalal and Parimal Khosla could have had anything to do with the deaths of Hitesh Palkar and Nandu Panja? Maybe they'd figured out what was happening, and these two bumped them off to shut them up?"
"Rodricks seems to think so," admitted Zerxes. "He's called for reinforcements and has had Welborne sealed off, so no one can get out. Or in, for that matter! Detailed investigations will start from tomorrow. Sushil's coming down himself. And of course, Ferreira's sister will have to be interrogated, once she's fit enough to answer questions."

Darryl Ferreira's wife had sensed her husband's mood and temper when he'd returned home well past midnight and gone straight into the bedroom.
For a long time Darryl had lain silent, anger warring with anguish inside him. And then, finally, came the deluge of words, something rare – very rare! – for Darryl Fernandes. Agnes had let him get it all out of his system. She had not said a word. Offered no sympathy, no advice, no suggestion.
Not then. Not that night.
But the next morning, even as Sudhildutt Tagore was getting into his car to reach Shirona, Agnes served her husband an even earlier breakfast than usual, and decided it was high time she had a word with him about poor Flavia.
Flavia was still in the hospital. She had been fully sedated by the time they had got to her, Darryl had told her. She'd have come out of the anaesthesia by now, and the Police were sure to question her. Agnes tried to imagine what her proud, inflexible husband would feel, in his role as a Police Inspector, questioning his own estranged sister about something he'd normally have considered unspeakable, and failed. She must have a talk with Darryl about Flavia, before he saw her. At least try and persuade him to go easy on her right now, in her condition, and with all the trauma she'd been through.
To her surprise, not much persuasion was needed, because Darryl by now was writhing under the lash of his own conscience.

Fleurette gave her statement.
She had recovered consciousness in the small hours of the morning, and had received a garbled account of what had transpired the previous evening from the night nurse, all agog with suppressed excitement just waiting for a vent. And what better vent than Fleurette herself, who had precipitated the whole drama?
"Just in time, I tell you, all those johnnies barged in," Nurse Pinto had related with great gusto to the still half-dopey Fleurette. "Man, was there some commotion! and then the police swooping down on that Parimal Khosla! good riddance, I tell you! and then would you believe it? even Queen Dee was taken away! some scene that was, I tell you! Cohyaji blustered and protested, but no one paid any heed to him, poor chap! not even Queen Dee! what a night we had! but there! here you are, just about coming out, and there's me chattering away! my tongue always did run on wheels, it did, me old Ma used to say . . . there now, dearie! I'll just tuck you up again, nice and snug, and we'll try and get some shut-eye, shall we?"
With a finger to her lips, Nurse Pinto had tiptoed away with exaggerated stealth after having ensured for her patient a sleepless night, her artless revelations having effectively banished the last lingering effects of the anaesthesia.

Fleurette had been visited by Tagore, Rodricks and Zerxes. And the unobtrusive police stenographer in plain clothes, bespectacled and stooped, who had the useful knack of blending in with his surroundings.
Before Darryl Ferreira could even decide whether or not he should request to be excused from questioning his sister, Tagore himself had ordered him to go and attend the Court when Sarla Dalal, Parimal Khosla and Len DaCosta were produced before the Magistrate, to instruct the Public Prosecutor properly, and to report back on what transpired, while they went over to Welborne.
"Try and get them remanded," he'd ordered. "We need to question them thoroughly."

So Fleurette gave her statement. To Sushildutt Tagore. And to Andrew Rodricks. And Zerxes Avari. Also to the bespectacled, stooping stenographer. It was a jumbled, incoherent narrative, with quantum leaps in space and time, till Zerxes quietly suggested that she begin with the time she had first met this `Maruti' who had figured so largely in her outpourings, and then go on from there in sequence, as far as possible. By the way, Inspector Ferreira, he added casually, was busy at the Court and would be unable to get away from there for quite some time.
"Take your time," he told the distraught woman, "there's no hurry. Tell us where and how and when - approximately - you met this Maruti, and then take it from there."
The quiet, precise order seemed to calm Fleurette. Her eyes stopped wandering to the door of her room. The knowledge that her brother was not likely to burst in upon her dispelled the need for a rushed narrative. She seemed to breathe easier, speak more coherently.
About that fateful rave party, and how Maruti had approached her. His bizarre proposition.
"But he never said anything about abortion, honest!" she burst out. "He said I'd deliver the baby and then the baby would be taken away by this couple that wanted it. He didn't so much as hint at abortion!"
"And you first realized that he was trying to get you to abort the baby when he showed you the sonogram?" Rodricks turned his question almost into a statement.
Fleurette nodded. Yes, that was when she suspected something fishy, she said. So she got a sonography done elsewhere. Which showed no defect in the foetus. And then she made the mistake of confronting Maruti with that, she said.
"He told me he'd get another sonography done here. Instead, he had something else planned." She couldn't quite keep the bitterness from out of her voice.
"Can you pinpoint what exactly got you worried, when you made that telephone call to your sister-in-law, Ms. Ferreira?" asked Rodricks. "Any particular snatch of conversation you overheard, any particular look on this Maruti's face, when he asked you to wait while he arranged for the sonography test to be fixed up, anything at all …?" he prompted.
"Even if it's something which appears irrelevant to you, Madam," put in Tagore softly, with a slight smile.
"It was the nurse, Commissioner," Fleurette said. "Nurse Kutty. She came rushing out from somewhere, and shouted to the ayah to get something or the other which was needed for the abortion. She said they were getting the theatre ready for an abortion in the next few minutes and to hurry, Dr. Khosla was getting impatient. It was that," went on Fleurette hesitantly, "Dr. Khosla's name mentioned, together with the word `abortion', that suddenly got me worried . . . that something was going on which maybe I didn't know about . . . though even then, I could not be quite sure. But . . . "
"Yes, go on," said Tagore soothingly.
"You see, Maruti had acted so funny when I told him I'd taken a second opinion on the sonography, he'd been so insistent that I needed to get the baby aborted, that I was scared he'd do something … y'know, something awful, to force me to get the abortion done! When he suddenly acted very nice about it, I sort of wondered. And then he told me he'd arrange to get another sonography done, here at Welborne, by another gynaec . . . "
Her voice trailed off.
"Why were you worried at the mention of Dr. Khosla?" the question came from Zerxes.
"Because I'd learnt that he had disappeared, ever since the Director here died," responded Fleurette. "I heard the nurses and other staff talk about it.” She smiled suddenly, a bitterly cynical smile. "These doctors and nurses sometimes think we patients are deaf and dumb and even moronic, the way they talk among themselves in our presence, ignoring us altogether!"
Zerxes smiled inwardly in rueful acknowledgement. The almost unconscious, unintended contempt of the professional for the layman! Doctors and nurses alone were not guilty of that!
"So they would wonder about this Dr. Parimal Khosla," went on Fleurette. "I knew he had disappeared, and they - that is, the folk at Welborne - had no clue why he wasn't coming here any more. And then, out of the blue, he suddenly reappears!
"And then there was that nurse, talking about someone going in for abortion," she ended lamely. "I suddenly got the jitters, if you know what I mean," she said confidingly. "Like felt, maybe it was for me that they were getting the theatre ready! Maybe Maruti was doublecrossing me, telling me he'd have a sonography done, when all the time he was arranging for an abortion, the bloody swine! So I telephoned Agnes."
There was a slight constraint in her voice. "I'd no one else to turn to. And Agnes had stood my friend, all these years. I hope," she went on awkwardly, "I hope my brother won't be too mad at her!"
"Don't worry about that, Ms. Ferreira," answered Rodricks. "He is not, nor will he be. You have been very helpful to us. Your brother is well aware of that."

*

II

"And don't you go upsetting that poor sister of yours," Rodricks had half jocularly commanded Darryl Ferreira when they were back at the Police Station, and Ferreira had been filled in on what had happened, by his immediate Superior.
"What happened in Court?" asked Tagore, entering Rodricks' room with Zerxes.
"Sir! Sarla Dalal and Dr. Parimal Khosla have been remanded to police custody for fourteen days, Sir; Len DaCosta, remanded for seven days to police custody," reported Ferreira smartly.
"Good. Any problems?" asked Tagore.
"Not concerning Sarla Dalal and Dr. Khosla. About Len DaCosta, the Magistrate seemed to have some reservations about remanding him, but the Prosecutor was able to convince her ultimately that DaCosta should be held in custody till Jay Gilada was arrested. Hence the shorter remand for DaCosta."
"Fair enough," nodded Tagore, satisfied.
"I must get acquaintanted with this Magistrate," observed Zerxes, amused. "She seems to be a woman of some discernment. Not often that you get a Magistrate applying his or her mind to the niceties of a remand application with such particularity!"
Rodricks grinned at the lawyer. "Thinking of changing sides, Zerxes?"
"Well, I don't see you chaps offering me the brief for the prosecution," retorted Zerxes.
"We can't afford you," returned Tagore dryly. He turned back to Ferreira. "Do these three have any lawyer representing them?"
"They'd got young Anup Diwakar for Mrs. Dalal and Khosla. The fellow is barely a couple of years out of Law College! And for DaCosta, old Paolo Fernando appeared. He's almost on his last legs. They made a strange couple. And there then was Cohyaji, running around like a hen that had lost its head!"
"So he was around, was he?" said Zerxes musingly.
"Very much so," affirmed Ferreira. "In fact," he went on, "I shouldn't be surprised if he's on the telephone to the mainland by now, trying to get some hot-shot criminal lawyers from Bombay to rush down here."
Tagore nodded absently. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something. "I think it's best if you and Ferreira question these three, right now. Do it in turns, and keep up the barrage. Alternate your subjects. Don't give them any break. Do you have another officer who can make a bit of a nuisance of himself? Yes? Good! Take him along, and keep on at it. Rotate the three between the three of you in turn. The good old carrot and stick approach. See if someone breaks. But nothing physical, mind!" Tagore was one of the few officers who not only disapproved of the third degree, but actively prevented abuse of suspects and undertrials, to the extent possible.
"What's bothering you?" he presently asked Zerxes, who was frowning moodily into the distance.
"You think Dalal and Khosla are responsible for the murders of Palkar and Panja?" Zerxes asked abruptly.
"Looks like it, doesn't it?" reasoned Tagore. "Possibly Palkar got wind of some racket being run by Dalal and Khosla. They had to shut him up, before he spilled the beans. Makes sense! Panja seems to have got caught in some cross-fire. I’d say we need to have a nice long chat with those three, before we can come to any definite conclusion.”
Zerxes pulled the telephone towards him abruptly and dialled a number. "Yes, this is Zerxes here. Any luck? . . . oh good! You can fax it at . . . " he took the slip Rodricks pushed towards him, with the fax number written on it, and gave it to the person at the other end. "By tonight? . . . Thanks."
Even as he disconnected, a young constable knocked diffidently and poked his head in.
"Yes, what is it?' asked Rodricks.
"Telephone call for Commissioner Tagore, Sir,"
"Switch it in through here," said Tagore, picking up the receiver Zerxes had replaced. "Yes? Tagore here . . . who? Hel-lo, Sir! . . . No, no surprise, really! . . . yes, he's here," flickering a glance at Zerxes. "Do! Please! Honestly, Sam, just get into your car and drive down here. It'll not take you more than a couple of hours. And your son is standing us all dinner tonight . . . so you're leaving shortly? . . . Good! . . . what? He rang you up? . . . on her instructions? . . . I see . . . may I ask what was your response? . . . Quite. I see . . . of course not! . . . I'll still be delighted to see you here . . . Fine! Hello? . . . just a second, I think Zerxes wants to have a word with you."
"Hi Dad . . . where are you? . . . will you be there for another half hour? Vaithy is faxing me a report, but if you're coming down yourself . . . yes, I'll ask him to deliver it at your place in about half an hour’s time. Thanks. See you!"
He then telephoned Sagar Vaithy again and gave him the necessary instructions and his father's address.
Tagore, who had followed this interchange with mild curiosity, said thoughtfully to Zerxes, "It seems Cohyaji telephoned Sam, on Mrs. Dalal's instructions, to ask for his advice. Which he declined to give, saying he wasn't a lawyer, nor could he undertake to advise Sarla Dalal in any manner, as he was not sure there might not be a possible conflict of interest."
Zerxes was amused. "And that ass will repeat all this to Sarla Dalal!"
"So?" inquired Tagore nonchalantly.
Zerxes shrugged. "Nothing really, except that that will be something of a blow for the poor dame. She must have thought Dad would remain neutral at least, if not actively on her side!"
"Well," went on Tagore, "It seems that this Cohyaji, again on Sarla Dalal's instructions, requested Sam to suggest some good criminal lawyer. That Sam did, in the interest of justice, he said."
Zerxes grinned. "That's typical Dad," he said ruefully. "He sees no harm in the sop after the slap!"
"Hmmn . . . and the son's following suit, it seems," Tagore murmured dryly.

Zerxes had a reputation in Court for blowing hot and cold, for being alternatively scathing as shrapnel and soothing as silk, confounding the witness till he (or she) was confused into blurting out the truth. The most hardened liars were known to have broken down under Zerxes Avari's cross-examination, as Tagore was well aware. Quite a few cops had, as well!
He grinned affectionately at his ex-pupil and then asked him curiously, "Just how well does this Sarla Dalal know your father?" He somehow could not imagine the Sam Avari he knew being very friendly with the Sarla Dalal he'd come to know about.
Zerxes shrugged. "You'd better ask him that yourself," he told Tagore dryly.


*


III

Sam Avari, however, remained elusively non-committal about his `friendship' with Sarla Dalal.

He had reached Shirona by early evening and remained closeted at the Police Station with Tagore, who brought him up to date with what had been happening in Shirona. Zerxes had disappeared somewhere, probably with Scherezade, Tagore thought to himself with a slight smile. He was well aware of the turbulence of their relationship, especially right now.
Rodricks and Ferreira turned up at around seven from the lock-up, after having interviewed Dalal, Khosla and DaCosta, when Zerxes telephoned Tagore, to ask them all to come over to The Crab Claw.
"Scherezade insists on hearing what's been happening," he drawled, "and she wants to meet Sam too. But she doesn't want to come to the dreary Police Station . . . " Tagore grinned as he heard Scherezade's indignant exclamation in the background . . . “and Auntie's kindly offered the use of her private dining hall to the wicked police so that they can talk freely, undisturbed by the plebs. So do come down, Sushil, with your merry men and of course, my father as well. By the way, will the two of you be able to bear each other's company through the night? Auntie doesn't have another room to spare, but she doesn't mind Dad sharing your room, if you and he don't. The twin bed should do!"
Thanking him acidly for his offer, Tagore rang off, promising they'd all be at The Crab Claw shortly.

Over feni and beer at The Crab Claw, Zerxes quizzed Tagore whether he'd grilled Sam about his relationship with one of the prime accused in the case. Tagore, with a gesture, referred the query to Sam, who replied non-commitally, "We'd known each other many years ago, when we were in college together, at Oxford. Besides, she was more friendly with another friend of ours. You do whatever you have to do," he went on, addressing Tagore, "but there's one bit of information I must share with you which may have some bearing on this case, in the light of what you have told me. But before that, let's hear what these gentlemen," gesturing to Rodricks and Ferreira and the third man in the investigating team, Constable Varde, "have discovered from their investigation. And oh, by the way, this is for you, Zerxes", handing over a sealed envelope to Zerxes, which he accepted with a murmur of thanks and passed over to Scherezade to keep in her handbag.

"Sarla Dalal refuses to open her mouth until she can consult the lawyer of her choice. Apparently Cohyaji rang up some hot shot criminal lawyer in Bombay, who says he can't come down to Shirona till tomorrow. We tried a lot, in turn, but the lady's shut up like the proverbial clam," reported Rodricks.
Tagore nodded, as though he'd expected this.
"Len DaCosta too refuses to talk. But he flew into a rage, threatened the police with dire consequences if he was kept shut up like a rat, he said, and that just wait till Jay Gilada gets here! Ultimately I got fed up," said Rodricks apologetically, "so I told him Jay Gilada would land up soon enough, in handcuffs!"
"Quite right" nodded Tagore. "Take the wind out of his sails".
"Well, it did, somewhat," said Rodricks with a grin. "Parimal Khosla, Doctor Parimal Khosla, on the other hand," went on Rodricks, "sang like the proverbial canary!"
"Expected," said Tagore, lighting a rare cigarette.
"And cooked Sarla Dalal's goose, in the bargain!" Rodricks sounded quite triumphant, mixing metaphors with a grim chuckle. "We got the whole caboodle from him." He nodded to Zerxes. "You were right all the time! They've been running a racket from Welborne, carrying out abortions, sometimes even by cooking up reports. That's why the fire! They couldn't let those reports of all those abortions see the light of day. Sarla Dalal's up to her statuesque neck in all this. Khosla wasn't too sure what they do with the foetuses, but he guesses they were selling the tissue, probably abroad. Not ascertained yet, but I think that's where JayGee comes in."
"It does." The confident pronouncement came from Sam. "Something happened while I was in Bangaram, which confirms this." He glanced at Tagore mockingly. "You may need me as the witness for the prosecution, Sushil! But go on, Mr. Rodricks, I'm interrupting you."
"Not at all, Sir. That's about the gist of it. Khosla admitted to being part of this abortion racket. But he swears he knows nothing about the murders. He feels it's possible Palkar got wind of what was happening, and either Palkar tried to threaten Sarla Dalal, or blackmail her - Khosla feels either could have been possible - and that Queen Dee – that’s what they call her, at Welborne - conspired with Panja to kill him, and then probably pushed Panja down the spiral staircase herself. He says she's enough of a tigress to have done it!"
Tagore grimaced at Zerxes. "There you are! This Khosla fellow's solved the case for us neatly, while cooling his heels in the cooler. We'd better recruit him when he gets out, Rodricks."
Rodricks grinned. "You bet, Sir! He's given a highly colourful statement. Explaining how he was vicitmized. Forced to do things he didn't want to do! Hinted darkly at an affair between Sarla Dalal and Jay Gilada. Maybe even Len DaCosta. He says there’s definitely some connection between the Flying School and Welborne." He waved sheets of paper covered with spidery handwriting. "I have it ready here for you, Sir. I'll get it typed and have copies made, shall I?"
"Get photocopies made right away. You can have it fed in the computer tomorrow morning. I'd like to glance through the statement as soon as possible. And now, shall we request Mr. Sam Avari to tell us just what happened in Bangaram? He's been whetting our curiosity quite effectively, from time to time. What did happen, Sam? What did you find?"
"Remains of human embryo mixed up with prawns and polypes, in the lagoon at Bangaram.”
Sam let his gaze flicker round the small group and went on, "Fits in with what you chaps have got out of Khosla. It's clear that they were using JayGee to get the tissue out of the country. And the route was through Bangaram, apparently."
He took a sip of the feni and went on, "the day I landed in Bangaram from Goa, there was an air crash. A 16-seater private plane - yes, from the JayGee school - going to England to fetch a charter party from there. You all are aware, no doubt, that like Goa, now there are direct chartered flights between Bangaram and England as well. And they sometimes also carry cargo. Very convenient for Welborne! The foetuses - I think probably cryo-frozen, but there Jules, or maybe even Zerxes can tell us more - are probably mixed up with the prawns, or the fish, or the flowers, whatever it is that gets exported. Being private chartered flights, that too on an off-beat route, probably not much checking is done. It's the perfect cover.
"Well, as I was saying, there was this plane crash just off Bangaram. The plane was carrying a cargo of frozen prawns from Shirona, and a group of tourists from Bangaram to England, from where it was to pick up another party of British tourists bound for Bangaram. The pilot and the co-pilot both were killed, unfortunately. Only one of the crew survived, and he didn’t know much. On the next day, when one of our team harvested some polypes for tests, during microscopic testing, our scientists found the remains of human embryo mixed up in them. Together with a lot of frozen prawns. Now it figures!"
"It does indeed," muttered Rodricks, awed.
"Has this been documented, Sam?" asked Tagore.
"Oh yes, it'll figure in the report. Besides, we all were witness to it. Quite frankly, none of us connected the embryo with the crashed plane. We all assumed that some woman had got rid of an unwanted foetus, and then dumped it into the lagoon. As I said, it seems to now link up, in hindsight, with what you chaps have discovered here".
The door of the dining hall was suddenly flung open and Teresa Valladares sailed in, bringing in with her the aroma of frying fish. Sam rose to his feet and all the other men followed suit. Only Scherezade remained seated, looking rather small and lost in the massive, old-fashioned chair.
"Dinner's ready! You all can carry on with your conference-fonference after you've eaten." She glanced around challengingly, daring anyone to contradict her, Police Commissioner or his grandfather! On her home turf, Teresa Valladares was supreme. No one challenged that supremacy. Besides, they'd just discovered that they were quite hungry!

"I've ordered some nice big tandoori crabs, fried lady-fish, prawn masala, mussels, and paella. With lots of salad," Auntie beamed at Scherezade. "That do?"
"That sounds splendid," Sam offered his hand. "I'm Sam Avari, Ma'am, and I think you're spoiling us!"
Auntie shook hands vigorously.
"Dinner will be served in five minutes," she announced and sailed away.
It was Sam who summed up the general feeling. "Well," he remarked with a mock-heavy sigh, "Looks like we have enough to chew over, for dinner!"


*

IV

The wind, which had started rising while they were at dinner, had dropped down to a gentle breeze. Sam announced that he wished to take a walk on the beach after that heavy dinner. Tagore promptly offered to accompany him. Zerxes told them he and Scherezade would join them later, after he'd glanced through the report Sam had brought down, from Sagar Vaithy.
"I'd asked him to dig up something for me," he explained to Tagore. "Let's see if he has succeeded."
"Shall we wait for you?" asked Tagore.
"No, you and Dad carry on. We'll catch up with you later."
"No problem, even if you can't," retorted Tagore.

"Shall we go to the room?" asked Scherezade.
He caught the doubt in her voice. It was too glorious a night to spend indoors!
"No, there's sufficient light under that tree. And Auntie's thoughtfully provided a couple of benches as well."
Indeed, it was almost as bright as day, whenever the moon was out. Only the warm colours of daylight were missing. Scherezade watched his face in the lamplight, as he glanced through the closely typed sheets.
"The . . . Devil!" Zerxes swore after he'd read through, folding up the sheets slowly.
"What's it?" asked Scherezade. "Something in someone's past?"
"More than I had imagined," was the grim response.
"Anything to do with Boman Cohyaji?" she asked tentatively.
He looked down at her speculatively, his eyes glinting an eerie green in the moonlight.
"What are you up to, Schaz?"
"Why nothing," she said innocently. "Except that I rather think Cohyaji's personality had got warped to some extent because of what happened to his sister. I rather think he had a down on doctors, especially gynaecologists, because of that."
"You witch!" the lazy voice held a laughing caress; and a hint of danger as well. He held her by the shoulders and shook her slightly. "Have you been flirting with Cohyaji behind my back?" he mocked.
"Not flirting," she answered, making her mouth prim. "Sympathizing with the poor chap, whilst hearing the story of his blighted life." She gave a gurgle of laughter, then sobered up. "Actually, he's quite pathetic, really, poor chap!"
"How have you come to know him so well?'
"He would come hovering around, whenever I went to Welborne. I had some tests done . . . " there was a touch of constraint in her voice. Then she faced him defiantly, noting the hardening of his features, "Are you going to get nasty about that?" she demanded.
"Don't you get belligerent," he cautioned mildly. "I'm not getting `nasty'. But I certainly am bugged with Carlos. And with you! You had no business to go traipsing around getting pregnancy tests done under an assumed name. I hope you realize that now that particular gaffe is blown quite wide?" he asked sarcastically. "You can't go around asking Tagore and Rodricks and everyone else to call you `Shernaz Valeja'!
She grinned, unrepentant. "You must admit it's pretty close!" There was that coaxing note in her tone, which most men of her acquaintance found difficult to resist.
"Besides," she continued, as Zerxes seemed unmoved, "I had to have some excuse to snoop around at Welborne!"
"That is a matter of opinion. But never mind that now," he snapped peremptorily. "Come to the point. About Cohyaji."
She flushed and drew herself away haughtily. "I am not some witness you are cross-examining, Mr. Avari, and I will not be badgered like one." She made as if to get up off the bench when he, abandoning finesse, caught her roughly by the arm, pulled her across his knees, and held her pinioned in his arms.
"Would you like to place a small wager on that?" he asked silkily.
"Let go, Zerxes," she cried through clenched teeth. She was really mad now.
"You look beautiful when you're mad. No doubt you've been told that before!" There was a light caress in the voice.
She stopped struggling in his arms and gazed up at him through half closed lids.
Damn, she thought to herself. This moonlight is disastrous! The smell and the sound of the sea are disastrous! The wind whistling through the trees is disastrous! The fragrance of the magnolia and the jasmine is disastrous! This whole ambience is disastrous!
His touch is disastrous!
In a quicksilver change of mood, she became warm and soft and yielding and melted into his embrace.

After a while, lying snuggled in his arms under the spreading raintree in the garden of the Crab Claw, she told him the sad story of Boman Cohyaji's blighted life.
About his father's demise while he was still in his teens. About his mother's struggle to bring up three children, two daughters and a son.
About the undutiful Dilnaz and her `Family Planner' husband, Fakir Pavri, and how they refused to have children.
About his favourite sister Gulrukh, how Cohyaji rescued her from that `saala parjaat', and who'd found happiness with a Parsee husband chosen for her by Cohyaji himself. And then the tragedy that struck Gulrukh and Kobad Panthaky, which was the main blight of Cohyaji's life!
"I think he really got obsessed about what happened to this sister of his," said Scherezade seriously.
"What was the sister's name, you said?" Zerxes asked, his gaze as searching as a lancet.
"Gulrukh. Gulrukh Kobad Panthaky."
His arms tightened round her.
"What did happen to her?' he asked quietly.
"He says she got pregnant shortly after marriage. Both she and her husband were apparently keen on a large family. Cohyaji approved. He has this fixation," she flashed a grin. "Kept telling me I should get married to a `nice Parsee boy' and have a large family."
"Hmmnn . . . "
"Anyway," went on Scherezade, "When this Gulrukh was in her second or third month of pregnancy, it seems her gynaec told her that the sonogram showed that she was carrying a defective foetus, and that she should abort it. Naturally, the family was shaken. Gulrukh followed the doctor's advice and, much against Cohyaji's wishes and advice, terminated the pregnancy medically. It was discovered afterwards that there had been some mistake - possibly the reports had got mixed up, but Cohyaji wasn't too clear on that - it was found that the foetus was perfectly healthy, and the abortion had been totally unnecessary . . . "
"Go on," urged Zerxes, as she seemed to trail away.
"Sad, isn't it? Well, they made the mistake of telling Gulrukh that, even before she was out of the trauma of abortion. It seems Cohyaji himself went and made a song and dance about it to his sister! The pompous fool! That precipitated a sort of a breakdown in Gulrukh. Also, the abortion had been a messy business. The long and the short of it was, that another gynaec whom they consulted, opined that Gulrukh had been rendered incapable of conceiving, due to some mistake made by the other gynaec during the abortion."
"Did Cohyaji mention the name of the gynaecologist? The one who had performed the abortion? Made the mistake?" asked Zerxes.
"No," replied Scherezade uncertainly. "But he seemed to have terrific venom against him. I think he'd have liked to kill the fellow!" She stopped short, realizing what she had just said, and looked up at Zerxes, her tawny eyes widening into glowing pools in the moonlight. "Zerxes . . . do you think? Could he be . . . ?" she asked in a horrified whisper.
"Shhh . . . " Zerxes covered her mouth with his hand for a moment. "Go on. What then?"
"Then nothing," she said, her tone strangely flat. "He went on raging about that doctor. I never asked him for the name, and he never told me. That's all," she said, looking up into his face uncertainly. Then her glance wandered to his shirt pocket, where he had stuffed the report.
"What does that thing say? Is it about Cohyaji?"
He smiled to himself. For someone who had a talent with words, Scherezade had a rather quaint turn of phrase sometimes.
"No, it's not about Cohyaji," he answered.
He then put her away from him, rose, stretched himself, and then took her hand and pulled her up. "Let's walk," he said abruptly. "I think it's time we hunted out Sushil and Sam."
Then he suddenly caught her to him and kissed her. "You've provided the missing link I'd been racking my brains how to go about finding," he told her.
"And that was my reward?" she asked sarcastically.
He was astounded. Enough to deal her a stinging slap across her cheek. And then was immediately annoyed with himself, because his instinctive reaction got him on the defensive.
"I'm sorry about that," he told her coldly. "Unlike yourself. No doubt you've got what you wanted. Provoked a reaction which gives you a handle."
There was a glimmer of tears in her eyes. Which had nothing to do with the slap, though her cheek smarted like hell. The fragile rapprochement seemed to be in danger! Could they never be together without tearing each other apart?
"You just don't seem to understand," she said in a choking voice.
"Apparently not," was the helpful response.
She shook her head helplessly, her vision blurred by tears. He would never understand. How could he, when she couldn't quite figure out her reactions and emotions herself?
He seemed to sense her confusion, however. Her very vulnerability was almost a physical affront to him. The anger drained from his face. He took her hand again and held it. "Come," he said calmly. "Surely we can discuss this matter like two reasonable adults for about half an hour, without emotional storms?" he said lightly.
She nodded, awkwardly rubbing her eyes with her left hand.
"I'm sorry too," she said huskily.
"Now that we've both apologized to each other," he said gently, "Let's resume where we left off. What's this `thing' say!? "
She smiled tremulously. They were now on the beach. It was high tide, and the surf crashed up a symphonic cacophony, from time to time stinging their faces with arrow-sharp droplets.
"This is the report from the private detective I'd hired to dig up some dope on certain people, Hitesh Palkar included. Also, of course, Sarla Dalal. And other staff of Welborne, including Cohyaji. In the short time at his disposal, Sagar Vaithy - the 'tec - has managed to do an in-depth dig-up on Palkar, concentrating on him first."
"And the results are interesting?" she asked.
"Are they in-deed!"
Then he went on crisply, "Around seven - eight years ago, Palkar was attached to a Parsee lying-in home. Inter alia! It seems due to somebody's error, maybe not Palkar's himself, the sonography reports of a couple of patients got mixed up and as a result, on the basis of the wrong sonogram, Palkar advised abortion. It appears that this woman did undergo abortion, performed by Palkar. After the abortion, the mistake over the sonograms was discovered, and the woman went into shock when she learned that she had aborted a perfectly healthy foetus. Then, at the instance of her relatives, she took a second opinion. She was told by the other gynaec who examined her that due to the previous gynaec's mistake, she would not be able to conceive again, ever.
"The patient's health suffered considerably as a result of these twin shocks. Sagar Vaithy got all this dope quite easily because the patient and her husband had filed a complaint against Palkar in the Consumer Forum, alleging medical negligence, which sets all this out."
"What happened to the complaint?" asked Scherezade.
"Dismissed," answered Zerxes.
"And the patient's name . . . ? she whispered. Though she knew. Of course she knew!
"Gulrukh Kobad Panthaky" confirmed Zerxes, pity warring with bitterness in his own voice.


****