The Turning - Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

On the day of Prakash Sattar's death, the sun rose languorously, reluctantly, as though unwilling to face yet one more death in the 'Sattar' family. Created by Prakash. And ending with him!

The monsoon clouds hung suspended in the gray sky, unwilling to let go of their burden. And so it remained throughout. An overcast sky, with not even a drizzle.

With no one to water her plants, and the rains playing truant oftener than not, Nivedita's garden was beginning to dry out. But the cacti in her rock garden flourished. It had completely destroyed the delicate Krishna Kamal creeper.

Vinod was delayed going to the hospital by the arrival of the Police. Irani himself stood at the door, accompanied by both Patil and Rodricks. A tottering Prakash joined them in the drawing room.

Kuntabai, on learning of the arrival of the Police, had retired into the kitchen. The Khannas were still in the room allotted to them.

"Now what is it, Inspector?" asked Vinod in an annoyed tone. "Why this intrusion so early?"
Ignoring Vinod and his irritation, Irani looked at Prakash and said, "We have your daughter's post-mortem report, Mr. Sattar. We thought you'd be interested in knowing the results."

Prakash nodded, unable to speak. His face had an ashen, unhealthy pallor. His eyes were dull and listless. Irani went on in a gentler tone. "The doctors are of the opinion that she committed suicide. Hers was not a case of post-mortem hanging."

Prakash gazed at them blankly, as though he hadn't heard. Vinod found his voice. "And that note you took for testing? Was that written by her?"

"Yes," answered Irani. He looked at Prakash again. "The handwriting on that note was definitely Miss Shahane's."

"So she did murder Dina!" Vinod blurted out before he could stop himself. He then tried to cover up, adding hastily, "But she was not responsible for her actions, Inspector!"

"That may well be academic, now. She herself is dead," the Inspector reminded him rather austerely. He looked at Vinod narrowly. "May I ask why you're so very sure that Nivedita killed Dina?" he asked.

Vinod shrugged. "As you say, Nivedita is dead. Nothing can hurt her now. Come with me, Inspector."

He led them all to the terrace. To the rock garden. And lifted a few of the rocks. Among the rubble, among a misshapen lump of wax covered with pins, a fairly new-looking wax figurine depicting a female figure stuck with just one pin, and a lace-edged lady's handkerchief, lay a new, full bottle of 'Joy' perfume.

"When did you dis . . ." began Irani sharply, when a thud behind them made them all turn.
Prakash had followed them out. And had fallen on seeing what the rock garden contained.
Patil hurried over to him and felt for his pulse. Vinod raced to his room for his medical bag. Rodricks rushed to the telephone. Patil, his hand on the pulse, shook his head at Irani. There was no need for a Doctor. Prakash Shahane Sattar was dead.

Irani felt there was no sense in revealing to the bereaved family what else had been stated in the PM report: especially, that Nivedita Shahane was not virgo intacta.

* * * *

Insisting that his father had reconverted to Hinduism, Vinod arranged for Hindu funeral rites for his father. In this he was supported by Kuntabai. They had their way.

Vinod lit his father's funeral pyre on that dull gray evening, and watched the flames leaping towards the laden clouds.

The Home Secretary, after condoling with Kuntabai and Vinod, could not hide his relief as he shook hands with Tagore. Sensible chap, Sattar. To quietly pop it, himself! Even that dame. . . committing suicide like that! No prosecution necessary, thought the Minister to himself, thankfully. No need to drag up all that conversion business, where Sattar was concerned. The case could be wound up neatly. And the file buried in bureaucratic oblivion.

A little distance away, Zerxes Avari, dragged to the funeral by Scherezade, watching the Minister's mobile face, divined the thoughts going on in his mind, and smiled grimly to himself.

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