EPILOGUE
After the manuscript of this novel was completed by the Author, the Supreme Court of India (Mr. Justice Kuldip Singh and Mr. Justice R.M. Sahai) handed down a landmark Judgement, on May 10, 1995, holding that the second marriage of a Hindu husband after his conversion to Islam is a void marriage in terms of section 494 of the Indian Penal Code (which prohibits bigamy).
To put it in the words of Their Lordships, ". . . the doctrine of indissolubility of marriage, under the traditional Hindu law, did not recognize that conversion would have the effect of dissolving a Hindu marriage. Conversion to another religion by one or both the Hindu spouses did not dissolve the marriage." Their Lordships then go on to state, " . . . It is obvious from the provisions of the (Hindu Marriage) Act, (1955), that the modern Hindu Law strictly enforces monogamy. . . In that situation parties who have solemnized the marriage under the Act remain married even when the husband embraces Islam in pursuit of other wife. A second marriage by an apostate under the shelter of conversion to Islam would nevertheless be a marriage in violation of the provisions of the Act by which he would be continuing to be governed so far as his first marriage under that Act is concerned despite his conversion to Islam. The second marriage of an apostate would therefore be illegal marriage qua his wife who continues to be Hindu.. .
" . . . Since it is not the object of Islam nor is (it) the intention of the enlightened Muslim community that the Hindu husbands should be encouraged to become Muslims merely for the sake of marrying again, the Courts can be persuaded to adopt a construction of the laws resulting in denying the Hindu husband converted to Islam the right to marry again without having his existing marriage dissolved in accordance with law."
In their Judgement, Their Lordships have once more highlighted the crying need for a Uniform Civil Code . . .
******
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The Turning - Chapter Twenty-two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
After they had dropped Kuntabai home, Scherezade turned to Zerxes. "Did you think I was at all in any danger?"
"No way!" was the emphatic reply. "While he was in the room with you, I had the door of the bathroom slightly open, my revolver trained on him. It was only when I saw him coming towards the loo that I got into the bathtub and pulled the curtain across. I gathered he had come there to put on the gloves. Then the minute he left the bathroom, I was right behind him. Not to mention Patil and Rodricks. Think I'd take any chances with your neck?" He glinted down at her glowing face.
"I've sometimes wondered." she answered, her expressive eyes veiled by her lashes . . .
* * * *
The telephone bell was ringing when they reached his flat. Zerxes hurried over and picked up the receiver. It was Patil, speaking from the Police Station. Vinod Shahane had broken down completely and confessed to killing both Dina Sattar and Nivedita Shahane.
"Only, he refused to acknowledge Dina's death as murder," Patil said. "He insisted that it was justice, for trying to rob him of his inheritance. That she had brought it upon himself, the day she married his father!"
"Yes, Inspector. Dina brought a lot upon herself and upon others around her, the day and the way she married Prakash Shahane," murmured Zerxes, gently putting down the receiver.
******
After they had dropped Kuntabai home, Scherezade turned to Zerxes. "Did you think I was at all in any danger?"
"No way!" was the emphatic reply. "While he was in the room with you, I had the door of the bathroom slightly open, my revolver trained on him. It was only when I saw him coming towards the loo that I got into the bathtub and pulled the curtain across. I gathered he had come there to put on the gloves. Then the minute he left the bathroom, I was right behind him. Not to mention Patil and Rodricks. Think I'd take any chances with your neck?" He glinted down at her glowing face.
"I've sometimes wondered." she answered, her expressive eyes veiled by her lashes . . .
* * * *
The telephone bell was ringing when they reached his flat. Zerxes hurried over and picked up the receiver. It was Patil, speaking from the Police Station. Vinod Shahane had broken down completely and confessed to killing both Dina Sattar and Nivedita Shahane.
"Only, he refused to acknowledge Dina's death as murder," Patil said. "He insisted that it was justice, for trying to rob him of his inheritance. That she had brought it upon himself, the day she married his father!"
"Yes, Inspector. Dina brought a lot upon herself and upon others around her, the day and the way she married Prakash Shahane," murmured Zerxes, gently putting down the receiver.
******
The Turning - Chapter Twenty-one
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"What made me suspect Vinod Shahane at all?" Zerxes repeated the query, staring at the glowing tip of his cigarette.
They were in Banoo Maa's large comfortable drawing room. Zerxes and Scherezade, Fredun and Rashna, Jamshed and Shirin, Tagore and Irani, Banoo Maa herself, and surprisingly, Kuntabai Shahane. Patil and Rodricks were not present. They were busy questioning Vinod at the Police Station. And Sam Avari had already divined the whole story.
Zerxes let his eyes wander deliberately over each of the occupants of the room, except Scherezade, and ultimately brought them to rest on Kuntabai Shahane.
"This is going to be painful for you." he said.
"You needn't worry about that." The old lady sat straight and rigid in her chair. "1 want to know what really happened. I must know . . . " she trailed off, almost in a whisper to herself.
"Vinod, I think, has always been rather mediocre academically, with an ambition that outstripped his mental capacity." Zerxes still addressed Kuntabai.
She nodded. "Prakash bought him a seat in the medical college," she supplied. "He would never have got in, otherwise."
"Are you suggesting, Zerxes, that a mediocre intelligence could have planned and committed a near-perfect murder?" asked Fredun incredulously. "After all, had Dina not Willed her body to a teaching hospital, the fact that she had been poisoned would never have come to light."
"True, but then Dina's was not a really a planned murder at all! It was almost a chance taken on the spur of the moment, when an unexpected opportunity presented itself suddenly. Such murder cases, as you Sushil, will agree, are the most difficult to solve. They leave barely any trails, hardly any clues."
Tagore frowned thoughtfully. Fredun seemed disgusted with the whole affair. Shirin listened avidly, drinking in Zerxes' every word. "He's so handsome," she sighed to her frowning spouse.
"So Vinod was ambitious beyond his capacity." went on Zerxes. "He too was annoyed and disturbed by Prakash Sattar's conversion and second marriage. But for reasons of his own. Purely mercenary reasons. However, he thought it prudent to remain in touch with his father. I suspect he was in touch with Dina too! Possibly he had visited them at their house occasionally. Anyway, it was Vinod who accepted the monthly cheques from Prakash for their maintenance. And probably other monetary help as well. And he knew the one thing pertaining to Prakash Sattar that almost no one else in his family did. That Prakash Sattar was terminally ill.
"It was the certainty of his father's death in the near future that made Vinod worry more and more about his inheritance. He seemed to have made some inquiries concerning the effect of conversion on the question of succession. He evidently had realized that he could not inherit from his Muslim father and certainly not as long as Prakash's Muslim wife lived. If Prakash predeceased Dina, Vinod could kiss good-bye to Prakash's crores!"
"Was no one else aware of Sattar's terminal illness?" asked Jamshed.
"Prakash's lady friend, Sonali Roy certainly knew. She's a Doctor herself. Her son Abhijeet also knew. Abhijeet is a close friend of Vinod, which is something Sonali knew but Prakash did not. I'm inclined to believe that Abhijeet must have confirmed to Vinod what Prakash may well have hinted to his son."
A spasm crossed Kuntabai's features, but she said nothing.
"So Vinod realized that he stood in danger of losing the chance of inheriting his father's money," went on Zerxes. "Especially the fortune Sattar seemed to have amassed in the last ten years or so, after his conversion and remarriage."
"what exactly is the law on this point?" the question came from Rashna, unexpectedly.
Zerxes smiled. "The interpretation of the law is not so exact as you seem to imagine. But this much was clear, even to Vinod. That if Prakash predeceased Dina Sattar, she being the sole Muslim heir would inherit to the exclusion of everyone else, even his non-Muslim children.
"1 do not think that Vinod had actively considered murdering Dina straightaway. But the benefits of her predeceasing Prakash must have certainly teased his mind a good deal. It would make all the difference in the world to him! Prakash was worth well over ten crores, by then. Vinod would be able to do what I suspect he always wanted to do. Set up his own consultancy, his own clinic, and invest enough to yield him returns to be able to live as lavishly as he always wanted to, whether his medical practice flourished or not!
"Fate seemed to play into his hands. Karuma Shahane, unless I'm much mistaken, had a strain of mental imbalance in her genes," he suddenly veered off, looking again at Kuntabai.
"That's true," she confirmed. "Karuna's maternal grandmother was prone to severe depression. Possibly that was what. . .." she broke off, then went on. "My husband and I had opposed the match initially, but Prakash was besotted with her. She was very lovely in those days. And when not depressed, she sparkled with gaiety. But it hardly lasted long." The old lady lapsed into momentary silence before proceeding. "I've often felt that the strain was passed on to Nivedita also. The child was tiresomely volatile. And she grew distinctly worse after Prakash left to marry. . ." she broke off, unable to go on. Her own hatred of Dina had died with her death. But she still could not bring herself to mention her name with equanimity.
"Karuma decided to kill herself on the tenth Anniversary of her husband's second marriage." resumed Zerxes. He looked at Tagore. "It definitely was suicide. But why she waited for ten years, only she or perhaps a psychiatrist could tell! Whatever the reason, her death brought Prakash Sattar back into his old home. In contact with his children and mother.
"His daughter's rejection of him on the day of his first wife's funeral caught him on the raw. Aggravated his sense of guilt which had been gnawing at him for the past so many years. He decided, with subtle encouragement from his son, to go back there for Karuna's twelfth day ceremonies. And there, Vinod was confronted by an unexpected and, for him, irresistible opportunity to get rid of Dina.
"For it was Dina's birthday, the very day after Karuna's twelfth day. Prakash had taken the precaution of buying her present in advance; in fact, a day before Karuna's twelfth day. A bottle of 'Joy' perfume. The police were able to track down the supplier, and the date of purchase was confirmed. Prakash's peon got the bottle before Prakash left his office. And he had left earlier than usual, that day. His secretary has confirmed that. She also confirmed that she had gift-wrapped the bottle, on that day itself.
"It was, fortunately for Vinod, a bottle with a screw-on top, not an atomizer. Prakash had had it gift-wrapped in silver paper, tied with gold thread. Again, simple to substitute. Silver paper is silver paper. No botheration of getting the exact match of a designed gift-wrapping paper. The greeting had been written on the card, which was stuck onto the package. All well in advance. Remember, Prakash had told Dina that he was going on a business trip - the maid has testified to that. He went down to his old home, instead of out of town, straight from his office. The gift-wrapped perfume bottle was in his overnight bag.
"At his old home, he shared a room with his son. Vinod must have noticed the package. Seen the card. Realized it was for Dina. The possibility of murder then struck him. His father had left the house for quite some time. Vinod had enough time to open the package, see what it contained, realize it could be tampered with, and prepare a poisoned substitute."
"But where did he get the poison from?" the query, from Shirin, was accompanied by a bird-like glance of wonder. "I mean, nitro . . . whatever. . . such an outlandish name!"
"I'm coming to that," said Zerxes. "Vinod's cousin Sunil has a factory for making hair-dye. Vinod himself used to dabble in the business a bit. Apparently, he showed interest in anything that made money! The staff recall seeing him at the factory off and on. Aniline, a product of Nitrobenzene, the poison used to murder Dina Sattar, is also used in the manufacture of hair dyes. Among other thigns. Vinod must have known that there was a stock of Nitrobenzene in the factory. He chose Nitrobenzene for its peculiar properties.
"For one, its colour: it is a pale, lemon coloured liquid, soluble in alcohol. Ideal to blend in with a bottle full of perfume. It does have a smell rather like bitter almonds, but then 'Joy' has a rather strong smell of its own. The poison is extremely lethal. A few drops in the bottle would do the trick. And it is more efficacious when inhaled, or absorbed through the skin, rather than ingested by way of mouth.
"The ideal opportunity, the ideal medium, the ideal poison had presented themselves, all at once, to Vinod. Moreover, he was reasonably sure no one would think of him in connection with the murder of Dina Sattar, when there were other more credible suspects with such glaring motives."
"Didn't he realize one such suspect would be his own father?" queried Jamshed.
"He couldn't have failed to!" replied Zerxes dryly. "But he is a singularly cold-blooded young man, with a curious moral vacuum. I don't think the thought of fastening a murder committed by him onto his father would worry him much. Besides, he knew full well that his father didn't have long to live!"
"He was not Prakash's real son." The words rang out with the cold distinctiveness of a death knell. Astonished eyes turned towards Kuntabai. No one had expected this!
"Vinod was not Prakash's real son," she repeated in a flat tone. "He was adopted by Prakash and Karuna when he was about ten years old. They had been childless for so long . . . Then, two years after they adopted Vinod, a baby girl was born to them. Nivedita."
"So he was well aware that Prakash wasn't his real father. And that Nivedita was not his real sister," mused Zerxes. "No wonder he was able to kill her off without a qualm!"
"But didn't the PM report say that Nivedita had committed suicide?" asked Fredun.
"The PM report stated that hers wasn't a 'post-mortem' hanging," corrected Zerxes. "That doesn't mean it wasn't murder. I'm convinced it was. Evidently, Nivedita had stumbled on some evidence, some clue, with regard to Dina's murder, linking Vinod to it . . ."
He broke off for a moment and looked quizzically at Tagore. "The new, poison-free bottle of 'Joy' perfume that was found at the Shahane residence . . . in that rock garden where Nivedita stored the wax figurines for her particular brand of voodoo . . . Patil told us that it was Vinod Shahane who led them to it. That's why they were even more convinced that it was Nivedita who had switched the bottle of perfume for the poisoned one!"
"Yes, that's right," said Tagore, gleaming appreciation at Zerxes.
"Wrong conclusion," drawled Zerxes. "It was that one single factor which made me centre my suspicions on Vinod, in the first instance. Obviously, Nivedita found that bottle somewhere in Vinod's possession, or in his room. I think," he cast a deprecating glance at Kuntabai. "I think you were aware that there was something going on between them."
The old lady bowed her head without speaking. Those nocturnal sounds . . . those thumps . . . just the night before Nivedita was found dead, she thought to herself. Hey Ram!
"With the result, Nivedita was completely in Vinod's power," went on Zerxes. "Totally dependent on him. Mentally, emotionally, sexually. And I suspect even financially. It was Vinod who disbursed the money sent by Prakash. Once Nivedita discovered the bottle of 'Joy' in his possession, Vinod realized he'd have to silence her. He had been careless about that bottle. He could not then take any chances. Could not be sure that Nivedita would not blurt out the wrong thing at the wrong moment to the wrong person! And it was he who later put the bottle in the rock garden."
"Wasn't the boy worried about waking someone in the house while he was doing all this?" Kuntabai asked, roused to indignation, at last. "Prakash was sleeping there, in his room with him. What if he got up and found Vinod missing, and set out to hunt for him? He could have wandered into his daughter's bedroom!"
"Prakash had had three pegs of whisky just before retiring to bed. And Vinod had mixed them," was the dry response. Pausing a moment, Zerxes continued, "However, you are right, in a way. Prakash, apparently, did get up to go to the loo, sometime early in the morning. But by then Vinod had finished whatever he had to do, and returned to his own bedroom. He knew that Prakash had left the room for a short while. Prakash himself confirmed that. But Vinod deliberately lied to the police about that. That too made me wonder. . .
"Now Nivedita wouldn't think it odd, Vinod coming into her room at night. After all, he must have done so, often. He knew well how to play on her emotions. That note was probably written at his dictation. And what does it really convey? An indication of guilt? For Dina Sattar's murder? But then, Nivedita did in fact think that she was, to some extent at least, responsible for Dina's death. That her voodoo had worked! And Vinod, I'm sure, preyed on that. Remember, she writes 'I love you', to Prakash. Not 'I loved you' as she would have, if she had had suicide in her mind. And if Vinod had in fact dictated that note, he would not have dared to give her any indication of what was coming."
"Then how did he manage to. . . to hang her alive?" asked Fredun, almost mesmerized in spite of himself.
"I'm coming to that," said Zerxes grimly. "The old sex angle again. That was why he used the sheet as the ligature. Nobody who wanted to commit suicide would use a bedsheet as a ligature. A bedsheet is a damn unsatisfactory ligature. Unlike a belt or a cord; or even a saree or a dupatta, in the case of a woman. But my guess is that he got Nivedita involved in some sexual game with the bedsheet. And then literally conned her. to her death. But he was careful not to actually have intercourse with her, that night. No sperm was found when the post-mortem was done."
"Wicked," expostulated Nivedita's grandmother. "Absolutely wicked." Shaking her head ruefully, the old lady lapsed into silence again.
"What was also wicked was the way he tried to fasten the murder of Dina Sattar on to Nivedita," said Zerxes. That was what drove Prakash to an earlier death. The thought that his own daughter was capable of so coldblooded a murder! He knew that she had every opportunity. He hadn't realized, so had Vinod!
"Vinod had seen the gift-wrapped bottle. He knew that Prakash was going to be out of the house for dinner. He had enough time. He went out himself, bought a bottle of 'Joy', took it to his cousin's workshop quite close by, put Nitrobenzene in it, gift-wrapped it afresh in silver paper, tied it with gold thread, wearing his medical gloves all the while. Then he detached the card written out by Prakash and affixed it to the poisoned package, and substituted the packages. The mistake he made was in leaving the substituted bottle of perfume about, I probably somewhere in his own room. Where Nivedita saw it. Thus he was forced into a second murder."
"I don't know on what basis you chaps say this guy is mediocre," said Fredun. "I think he's been damned clever! Diabolically clever! It was Dina's Will which upset probably one of the cleverest murders of the decade."
"Yes," acknowledged Zerxes, not bothering to point out the difference between academic brilliance and native, animal cunning. "That was a blow for Shahane. No one knew that Dina had done that, except for Banoo. And perhaps Fatima?" he looked interrogatively at Banoo Maa.
"No. Fatima had not been allowed to read the Will. She had merely signed where Dina asked her to. I alone knew the contents."
"The second accident, from Vinod's point of view," went on Zerxes, "was you mistakenly walking off with the poisoned perfume bottle, Shirin," looking straight at Shirin and winning Jamshed's amused respect for ever. "Both Scherezade's and your bouts of illnesses indicated that the perfume bottle contained something noxious. That was the common factor; and in both your cases, the symptoms were almost identical.
"I think Shahane perhaps hoped to be able to destroy the bottle before it was discovered. And even if it was discovered on Dina's dressing table, the first person the police were likely to suspect was Prakash. He had bought the perfume, he had presented it to Dina. Vinod was well aware of his liaison with Sonali Roy. That, among other things, would supply the necessary motive. And the medium of the poison, by its very nature, would render Prakash's alibi of being away on the day of her death, useless!"
"Was money his only motive?" asked Jamshed.
"Lucre, pure and simple," affirmed Zerxes. "Prakash's wealth would have ensured for him both the life-style he craved, and the security he needed. Otherwise, once Prakash died, he would be in dire straits for money. At least the kind of money he was getting used to.And he didn't fancy having to go to Dina with a begging bowL"
"But how would Dina's murder have helped him to succeed to Prakash's Estate?" asked Tagore. "Isn't there some law about nonMuslims not being able to inherit from Muslims?"
"Yes, if there is any Muslim heir alive. Otherwise, it's a bit of a gray area. And Shahane decided to take the chance. Possibly, he hoped to spread the word around that Prakash had converted back to Hinduism after Dina's death. He had not anticipated Prakash himself dying quite so soon. But after he did die, he made sure that he was given a Hindu funeral. I think old Faiz-ud-din, his lawyer, put him up to that. That's why the sudden, unexpected emergence of a "third wife' of Prakash Sattar gave him such a jolt. He knew that it was possible. Sattar had a yen for women. And he used to travel regulartly to the Gulf countries. Vinod just had to get rid of the third wife, soon, or his killing Dina Sattar, and resultantly Nivedita, would be in vain! The Estate would go to the third Muslim wife!"
"That was extremely brave of you, Scherezade," smiled Tagore. "In fact, without your and Faiz-ud-din's co-operation, we'd have had a hell of a time proving anything at all!"
"How could you have made her take such a risk?" asked Fredun angrily, glaring at Zerxes.
"There was no risk involved," answered Zerxes quietly. "I was right there in the bathroom, behind the shower curtain. Patil was hidden inside the wardrobe, and Rodricks was out on the balcony, behind the curtain. None of us would have let any harm come to Scherezade." He looked at Fredun a trifle grimly. "The whole plan, in fact, was your daughter's idea! You should be proud of her.
And now," he turned to Kuntabai Shahane, "if you are ready to leave, Madame, may we drop you home?"
"Thank you Mr. Avari" she answered gravely. She swept a dismissive glance around, nodded graciously to Banoo who nodded back equally regally, then walked out towards the dark staircase, leaving her son's second wife's relatives to take their leave of each other without her constraining presence.
*
"What made me suspect Vinod Shahane at all?" Zerxes repeated the query, staring at the glowing tip of his cigarette.
They were in Banoo Maa's large comfortable drawing room. Zerxes and Scherezade, Fredun and Rashna, Jamshed and Shirin, Tagore and Irani, Banoo Maa herself, and surprisingly, Kuntabai Shahane. Patil and Rodricks were not present. They were busy questioning Vinod at the Police Station. And Sam Avari had already divined the whole story.
Zerxes let his eyes wander deliberately over each of the occupants of the room, except Scherezade, and ultimately brought them to rest on Kuntabai Shahane.
"This is going to be painful for you." he said.
"You needn't worry about that." The old lady sat straight and rigid in her chair. "1 want to know what really happened. I must know . . . " she trailed off, almost in a whisper to herself.
"Vinod, I think, has always been rather mediocre academically, with an ambition that outstripped his mental capacity." Zerxes still addressed Kuntabai.
She nodded. "Prakash bought him a seat in the medical college," she supplied. "He would never have got in, otherwise."
"Are you suggesting, Zerxes, that a mediocre intelligence could have planned and committed a near-perfect murder?" asked Fredun incredulously. "After all, had Dina not Willed her body to a teaching hospital, the fact that she had been poisoned would never have come to light."
"True, but then Dina's was not a really a planned murder at all! It was almost a chance taken on the spur of the moment, when an unexpected opportunity presented itself suddenly. Such murder cases, as you Sushil, will agree, are the most difficult to solve. They leave barely any trails, hardly any clues."
Tagore frowned thoughtfully. Fredun seemed disgusted with the whole affair. Shirin listened avidly, drinking in Zerxes' every word. "He's so handsome," she sighed to her frowning spouse.
"So Vinod was ambitious beyond his capacity." went on Zerxes. "He too was annoyed and disturbed by Prakash Sattar's conversion and second marriage. But for reasons of his own. Purely mercenary reasons. However, he thought it prudent to remain in touch with his father. I suspect he was in touch with Dina too! Possibly he had visited them at their house occasionally. Anyway, it was Vinod who accepted the monthly cheques from Prakash for their maintenance. And probably other monetary help as well. And he knew the one thing pertaining to Prakash Sattar that almost no one else in his family did. That Prakash Sattar was terminally ill.
"It was the certainty of his father's death in the near future that made Vinod worry more and more about his inheritance. He seemed to have made some inquiries concerning the effect of conversion on the question of succession. He evidently had realized that he could not inherit from his Muslim father and certainly not as long as Prakash's Muslim wife lived. If Prakash predeceased Dina, Vinod could kiss good-bye to Prakash's crores!"
"Was no one else aware of Sattar's terminal illness?" asked Jamshed.
"Prakash's lady friend, Sonali Roy certainly knew. She's a Doctor herself. Her son Abhijeet also knew. Abhijeet is a close friend of Vinod, which is something Sonali knew but Prakash did not. I'm inclined to believe that Abhijeet must have confirmed to Vinod what Prakash may well have hinted to his son."
A spasm crossed Kuntabai's features, but she said nothing.
"So Vinod realized that he stood in danger of losing the chance of inheriting his father's money," went on Zerxes. "Especially the fortune Sattar seemed to have amassed in the last ten years or so, after his conversion and remarriage."
"what exactly is the law on this point?" the question came from Rashna, unexpectedly.
Zerxes smiled. "The interpretation of the law is not so exact as you seem to imagine. But this much was clear, even to Vinod. That if Prakash predeceased Dina Sattar, she being the sole Muslim heir would inherit to the exclusion of everyone else, even his non-Muslim children.
"1 do not think that Vinod had actively considered murdering Dina straightaway. But the benefits of her predeceasing Prakash must have certainly teased his mind a good deal. It would make all the difference in the world to him! Prakash was worth well over ten crores, by then. Vinod would be able to do what I suspect he always wanted to do. Set up his own consultancy, his own clinic, and invest enough to yield him returns to be able to live as lavishly as he always wanted to, whether his medical practice flourished or not!
"Fate seemed to play into his hands. Karuma Shahane, unless I'm much mistaken, had a strain of mental imbalance in her genes," he suddenly veered off, looking again at Kuntabai.
"That's true," she confirmed. "Karuna's maternal grandmother was prone to severe depression. Possibly that was what. . .." she broke off, then went on. "My husband and I had opposed the match initially, but Prakash was besotted with her. She was very lovely in those days. And when not depressed, she sparkled with gaiety. But it hardly lasted long." The old lady lapsed into momentary silence before proceeding. "I've often felt that the strain was passed on to Nivedita also. The child was tiresomely volatile. And she grew distinctly worse after Prakash left to marry. . ." she broke off, unable to go on. Her own hatred of Dina had died with her death. But she still could not bring herself to mention her name with equanimity.
"Karuma decided to kill herself on the tenth Anniversary of her husband's second marriage." resumed Zerxes. He looked at Tagore. "It definitely was suicide. But why she waited for ten years, only she or perhaps a psychiatrist could tell! Whatever the reason, her death brought Prakash Sattar back into his old home. In contact with his children and mother.
"His daughter's rejection of him on the day of his first wife's funeral caught him on the raw. Aggravated his sense of guilt which had been gnawing at him for the past so many years. He decided, with subtle encouragement from his son, to go back there for Karuna's twelfth day ceremonies. And there, Vinod was confronted by an unexpected and, for him, irresistible opportunity to get rid of Dina.
"For it was Dina's birthday, the very day after Karuna's twelfth day. Prakash had taken the precaution of buying her present in advance; in fact, a day before Karuna's twelfth day. A bottle of 'Joy' perfume. The police were able to track down the supplier, and the date of purchase was confirmed. Prakash's peon got the bottle before Prakash left his office. And he had left earlier than usual, that day. His secretary has confirmed that. She also confirmed that she had gift-wrapped the bottle, on that day itself.
"It was, fortunately for Vinod, a bottle with a screw-on top, not an atomizer. Prakash had had it gift-wrapped in silver paper, tied with gold thread. Again, simple to substitute. Silver paper is silver paper. No botheration of getting the exact match of a designed gift-wrapping paper. The greeting had been written on the card, which was stuck onto the package. All well in advance. Remember, Prakash had told Dina that he was going on a business trip - the maid has testified to that. He went down to his old home, instead of out of town, straight from his office. The gift-wrapped perfume bottle was in his overnight bag.
"At his old home, he shared a room with his son. Vinod must have noticed the package. Seen the card. Realized it was for Dina. The possibility of murder then struck him. His father had left the house for quite some time. Vinod had enough time to open the package, see what it contained, realize it could be tampered with, and prepare a poisoned substitute."
"But where did he get the poison from?" the query, from Shirin, was accompanied by a bird-like glance of wonder. "I mean, nitro . . . whatever. . . such an outlandish name!"
"I'm coming to that," said Zerxes. "Vinod's cousin Sunil has a factory for making hair-dye. Vinod himself used to dabble in the business a bit. Apparently, he showed interest in anything that made money! The staff recall seeing him at the factory off and on. Aniline, a product of Nitrobenzene, the poison used to murder Dina Sattar, is also used in the manufacture of hair dyes. Among other thigns. Vinod must have known that there was a stock of Nitrobenzene in the factory. He chose Nitrobenzene for its peculiar properties.
"For one, its colour: it is a pale, lemon coloured liquid, soluble in alcohol. Ideal to blend in with a bottle full of perfume. It does have a smell rather like bitter almonds, but then 'Joy' has a rather strong smell of its own. The poison is extremely lethal. A few drops in the bottle would do the trick. And it is more efficacious when inhaled, or absorbed through the skin, rather than ingested by way of mouth.
"The ideal opportunity, the ideal medium, the ideal poison had presented themselves, all at once, to Vinod. Moreover, he was reasonably sure no one would think of him in connection with the murder of Dina Sattar, when there were other more credible suspects with such glaring motives."
"Didn't he realize one such suspect would be his own father?" queried Jamshed.
"He couldn't have failed to!" replied Zerxes dryly. "But he is a singularly cold-blooded young man, with a curious moral vacuum. I don't think the thought of fastening a murder committed by him onto his father would worry him much. Besides, he knew full well that his father didn't have long to live!"
"He was not Prakash's real son." The words rang out with the cold distinctiveness of a death knell. Astonished eyes turned towards Kuntabai. No one had expected this!
"Vinod was not Prakash's real son," she repeated in a flat tone. "He was adopted by Prakash and Karuna when he was about ten years old. They had been childless for so long . . . Then, two years after they adopted Vinod, a baby girl was born to them. Nivedita."
"So he was well aware that Prakash wasn't his real father. And that Nivedita was not his real sister," mused Zerxes. "No wonder he was able to kill her off without a qualm!"
"But didn't the PM report say that Nivedita had committed suicide?" asked Fredun.
"The PM report stated that hers wasn't a 'post-mortem' hanging," corrected Zerxes. "That doesn't mean it wasn't murder. I'm convinced it was. Evidently, Nivedita had stumbled on some evidence, some clue, with regard to Dina's murder, linking Vinod to it . . ."
He broke off for a moment and looked quizzically at Tagore. "The new, poison-free bottle of 'Joy' perfume that was found at the Shahane residence . . . in that rock garden where Nivedita stored the wax figurines for her particular brand of voodoo . . . Patil told us that it was Vinod Shahane who led them to it. That's why they were even more convinced that it was Nivedita who had switched the bottle of perfume for the poisoned one!"
"Yes, that's right," said Tagore, gleaming appreciation at Zerxes.
"Wrong conclusion," drawled Zerxes. "It was that one single factor which made me centre my suspicions on Vinod, in the first instance. Obviously, Nivedita found that bottle somewhere in Vinod's possession, or in his room. I think," he cast a deprecating glance at Kuntabai. "I think you were aware that there was something going on between them."
The old lady bowed her head without speaking. Those nocturnal sounds . . . those thumps . . . just the night before Nivedita was found dead, she thought to herself. Hey Ram!
"With the result, Nivedita was completely in Vinod's power," went on Zerxes. "Totally dependent on him. Mentally, emotionally, sexually. And I suspect even financially. It was Vinod who disbursed the money sent by Prakash. Once Nivedita discovered the bottle of 'Joy' in his possession, Vinod realized he'd have to silence her. He had been careless about that bottle. He could not then take any chances. Could not be sure that Nivedita would not blurt out the wrong thing at the wrong moment to the wrong person! And it was he who later put the bottle in the rock garden."
"Wasn't the boy worried about waking someone in the house while he was doing all this?" Kuntabai asked, roused to indignation, at last. "Prakash was sleeping there, in his room with him. What if he got up and found Vinod missing, and set out to hunt for him? He could have wandered into his daughter's bedroom!"
"Prakash had had three pegs of whisky just before retiring to bed. And Vinod had mixed them," was the dry response. Pausing a moment, Zerxes continued, "However, you are right, in a way. Prakash, apparently, did get up to go to the loo, sometime early in the morning. But by then Vinod had finished whatever he had to do, and returned to his own bedroom. He knew that Prakash had left the room for a short while. Prakash himself confirmed that. But Vinod deliberately lied to the police about that. That too made me wonder. . .
"Now Nivedita wouldn't think it odd, Vinod coming into her room at night. After all, he must have done so, often. He knew well how to play on her emotions. That note was probably written at his dictation. And what does it really convey? An indication of guilt? For Dina Sattar's murder? But then, Nivedita did in fact think that she was, to some extent at least, responsible for Dina's death. That her voodoo had worked! And Vinod, I'm sure, preyed on that. Remember, she writes 'I love you', to Prakash. Not 'I loved you' as she would have, if she had had suicide in her mind. And if Vinod had in fact dictated that note, he would not have dared to give her any indication of what was coming."
"Then how did he manage to. . . to hang her alive?" asked Fredun, almost mesmerized in spite of himself.
"I'm coming to that," said Zerxes grimly. "The old sex angle again. That was why he used the sheet as the ligature. Nobody who wanted to commit suicide would use a bedsheet as a ligature. A bedsheet is a damn unsatisfactory ligature. Unlike a belt or a cord; or even a saree or a dupatta, in the case of a woman. But my guess is that he got Nivedita involved in some sexual game with the bedsheet. And then literally conned her. to her death. But he was careful not to actually have intercourse with her, that night. No sperm was found when the post-mortem was done."
"Wicked," expostulated Nivedita's grandmother. "Absolutely wicked." Shaking her head ruefully, the old lady lapsed into silence again.
"What was also wicked was the way he tried to fasten the murder of Dina Sattar on to Nivedita," said Zerxes. That was what drove Prakash to an earlier death. The thought that his own daughter was capable of so coldblooded a murder! He knew that she had every opportunity. He hadn't realized, so had Vinod!
"Vinod had seen the gift-wrapped bottle. He knew that Prakash was going to be out of the house for dinner. He had enough time. He went out himself, bought a bottle of 'Joy', took it to his cousin's workshop quite close by, put Nitrobenzene in it, gift-wrapped it afresh in silver paper, tied it with gold thread, wearing his medical gloves all the while. Then he detached the card written out by Prakash and affixed it to the poisoned package, and substituted the packages. The mistake he made was in leaving the substituted bottle of perfume about, I probably somewhere in his own room. Where Nivedita saw it. Thus he was forced into a second murder."
"I don't know on what basis you chaps say this guy is mediocre," said Fredun. "I think he's been damned clever! Diabolically clever! It was Dina's Will which upset probably one of the cleverest murders of the decade."
"Yes," acknowledged Zerxes, not bothering to point out the difference between academic brilliance and native, animal cunning. "That was a blow for Shahane. No one knew that Dina had done that, except for Banoo. And perhaps Fatima?" he looked interrogatively at Banoo Maa.
"No. Fatima had not been allowed to read the Will. She had merely signed where Dina asked her to. I alone knew the contents."
"The second accident, from Vinod's point of view," went on Zerxes, "was you mistakenly walking off with the poisoned perfume bottle, Shirin," looking straight at Shirin and winning Jamshed's amused respect for ever. "Both Scherezade's and your bouts of illnesses indicated that the perfume bottle contained something noxious. That was the common factor; and in both your cases, the symptoms were almost identical.
"I think Shahane perhaps hoped to be able to destroy the bottle before it was discovered. And even if it was discovered on Dina's dressing table, the first person the police were likely to suspect was Prakash. He had bought the perfume, he had presented it to Dina. Vinod was well aware of his liaison with Sonali Roy. That, among other things, would supply the necessary motive. And the medium of the poison, by its very nature, would render Prakash's alibi of being away on the day of her death, useless!"
"Was money his only motive?" asked Jamshed.
"Lucre, pure and simple," affirmed Zerxes. "Prakash's wealth would have ensured for him both the life-style he craved, and the security he needed. Otherwise, once Prakash died, he would be in dire straits for money. At least the kind of money he was getting used to.And he didn't fancy having to go to Dina with a begging bowL"
"But how would Dina's murder have helped him to succeed to Prakash's Estate?" asked Tagore. "Isn't there some law about nonMuslims not being able to inherit from Muslims?"
"Yes, if there is any Muslim heir alive. Otherwise, it's a bit of a gray area. And Shahane decided to take the chance. Possibly, he hoped to spread the word around that Prakash had converted back to Hinduism after Dina's death. He had not anticipated Prakash himself dying quite so soon. But after he did die, he made sure that he was given a Hindu funeral. I think old Faiz-ud-din, his lawyer, put him up to that. That's why the sudden, unexpected emergence of a "third wife' of Prakash Sattar gave him such a jolt. He knew that it was possible. Sattar had a yen for women. And he used to travel regulartly to the Gulf countries. Vinod just had to get rid of the third wife, soon, or his killing Dina Sattar, and resultantly Nivedita, would be in vain! The Estate would go to the third Muslim wife!"
"That was extremely brave of you, Scherezade," smiled Tagore. "In fact, without your and Faiz-ud-din's co-operation, we'd have had a hell of a time proving anything at all!"
"How could you have made her take such a risk?" asked Fredun angrily, glaring at Zerxes.
"There was no risk involved," answered Zerxes quietly. "I was right there in the bathroom, behind the shower curtain. Patil was hidden inside the wardrobe, and Rodricks was out on the balcony, behind the curtain. None of us would have let any harm come to Scherezade." He looked at Fredun a trifle grimly. "The whole plan, in fact, was your daughter's idea! You should be proud of her.
And now," he turned to Kuntabai Shahane, "if you are ready to leave, Madame, may we drop you home?"
"Thank you Mr. Avari" she answered gravely. She swept a dismissive glance around, nodded graciously to Banoo who nodded back equally regally, then walked out towards the dark staircase, leaving her son's second wife's relatives to take their leave of each other without her constraining presence.
*
Friday, February 27, 2009
The Turning - Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
Vinod stared at the Bank Manager in frustration. "But surely a lawyer's letter should be proof enough that I am the sole heir?" he rasped.
The Manager's prim mouth folded in further. He looked with distaste at the young man almost bending over his desk in desperation.
"No control, these young people," he thought to himself disapprovingly. "No control at all! Just out for what they can get!" The Manager was old-fashioned. And Vinod had rubbed him up the wrong way. "I'm sorry Mr. Shahane, but this letter won't Do. Won't Do at all!" he pronounced ponderously. "The Bank will require Letters of Administration or a Succession Certificate from a Court of Law declaring you to be the sole heir of Mr. Prakash Sattar, before we can permit you to operate his accounts." He looked Vinod over with an air of having settled his hash to his satisfaction. His son, indeed! Even the surnames differed!
"Damn," muttered Vinod to himself, narrowly escaping an errant cyclist as he sped back to the hospital. Damn! He'd have to call up his lawyer and try to get an appointment for the next day again. "Hope the old bugger gives it," he said to himself. "I've got to get the dough in the next couple of weeks." Else he'd lose the premises. And the earnest money he had already paid.
* * * *
Mr. Alif Faiz-ud-din (he insisted on two hyphen marks) was a cadaverous old man with a lined, scholarly face. He was indeed a great scholar, an acknowledged authority on Mohammedan law. It was he who had advised Prakash Shahane. As he now advised his son, Vinod.
He had hemmed and hawed. Vinod had had an hour of his time just a day back! He had ultimately succumbed to his client's insistence and had given Vinod an appointment for 5.30 pm the next day. Then he had made another call from his direct line, not routing it through the operator.
Vinod kept his appointment punctually. The old bugger was a stickler for time, and he had no wish to irritate him unnecessarily, by being late. On the contrary he was prepared to expend both tact and flattery to get him to move as fast as possible and get those damn letters, whatever the hell they were!
He was ushered into Faiz-ud-din's cabin at the stroke of 5.30 by a clerk as ancient as Faiz-ud-din himself. Vinod took a step into the cabin and halted, his smile freezing on his lips, his outstretched arm faltering, his antennae warning him that something was wrong somewhere.
With her back to the door and consequently to Vinod, stood a tall figure clad in a black burqa.
Vinod was disturbed. Faiz-ud-din never overlapped his clients' timings. In fact, he scrupulously kept a proper gap between appointments! Then who the hell was this dame and what was she doing in the old man's cabin at the time allotted to him?
The old lawyer himself was on his feet. "Come in, Vinod, come in, boy," in a genial tone that immediately struck Vinod as being all wrong.
Faiz-ud-din had neVer been genial. Never called him 'boy'! It appeared he was trying to tell him something. To warn him.
"You are just in time to meet your step-mother," announced Faiz-ud-din.
Vinod's face was frozen expressionless. The old lawyer droned on. Vinod's numbed mind heard his next words through a kind of haze.
". . . married her in the U.A.E. on one of his visits there. . . she'd been staying there all this time . . . Mrs. Merunissa Prakash Sattar . . . your step-son, Madame: Vinod Shahane."
The sound of his name cut through the haze enveloping Vinod's dazed senses. And then another voice impinged. Her voice. She had lovely voice. Low, husky, distinct. Rather a young voice, his subconscious registered. Surely too young to have been his father's wife? Now his widow?
Vinod quelled the urge to break out into hysterical laughter. His old man seemed to have been a pretty rum fellow! Three wives, and God knows how many mistresses!
She was tall, and that was all he could tell about her. The thick heavy veil hung down almost to her waist. The slit for the eyes was extremely slight, and netted, into the bargain. He could make out neither the shape nor the colour of her eyes, through it.
She would be staying on in Bombay for some time, till she sorted out everything regarding her husband's Estate, Faiz-ud-din informed him.
The veiled lady nodded confirmation. She would be visiting Prakash's flat at Cuffe Parade shortly; but right now she was putting up at a hotel and getting her bearings. This was her first visit to Bombay, to India. And she had so many things to do . . . lawyers to see, business matters to clear up . . . her husband had died so suddenly . . . her voice broke.
Vinod asked her which hotel she was staying at. She told him, adding shyly that as he was Prakash's son, her step-son in fact, would he drop in and see her at her hotel sometime later that evening? She was totally alone, and she would so much appreciate the help of Prakash's son! Vinod pulled himself together, and promised to visit her that evening at around 7.30 . . . 8. She then took her leave.
No sooner had she left than Vinod almost rounded on Faiz-ud-din.
"Who the devil is she?"
"Exactly who she says she is! Your father's third wife," replied the old lawyer coldly. His demeanour underwent a lightning change.
Vinod flopped into a chair, ran his hand over his face in a gesture of despair. Then he asked Faiz-ud-din, "Where do I stand now?"
"Nowhere," was the unambiguous answer. "Merunissa Sattar is the sole heir."
"But don't I get anything as his son? Surely a son is entitled to inherit, along with the widow?"
"If your father had not converted, yes," replied the lawyer. "Or conversely, if you had converted along with him. As it is, he died a Muslim. And you are a Hindu."
"But I performed his last rites as per the Hindu religion, as you advised! He was born a Hindu. Doesn't that mean anything?"
Faiz-ud-din gave a wintry smile. "If this Muslim widow of his hadn't turned up, yes, you might have succeeded in inheriting his Estate. There would have been no one to challenge you then. Now there is! From what I have seen of the latest Mrs. Sattar, she'll put up a hell of a fight if you drive her to it. And she has the law on her side."
Vinod asked Faiz-ud-din suspiciously, "How did this woman come to you in the first place?"
Faiz-ud-din looked at him with deep reproach. "You shouldn't really be asking me such a question! You know quite well that your father was one of my clients. Who else would his widow turn to after his death, if not to me?"
"Did you know about his third marriage, then?" asked Vinod sceptically.
Faiz-ud-din looked reproachful again. "Of course not," he told Vinod. "But this woman must surely have known about me! That I was handling her husband's affairs!"
"Strange coincidence that she should have landed up just at the time of my appointment," murmured Vinod resentfully, still suspicious.
"Now there you are mistaken," said the old lawyer deliberately.
"Merunissa Sattar came to me a couple of days ago. I made a few inquiries with my contacts in the Gulf; ensured that she had indeed been married to your father. Then I deliberately called her today at this time, so that you could meet her in my office, in my presence."
"Damn the woman," Vinod muttered savagely. "How could. . .
how could Father have done this to me?" Just when everything was going so well, he thought to himself bitterly. Faiz-ud-din could at least have warned him! But he said nothing. He did not wish to offend the old lawyer. He still had need of him. Now, perhaps more than ever!
* * * *
While Vinod's world was collapsing about his ears, the veiled lady had taken a cab to one of the modest, inconspicuous three-star hotels at Juhu and gone up to the room she had booked the previous night. She showered, changed, had a snack, made two telephone calls, got into the burqa again, and waited.
At around 8.45 in the evening there was a knock on the door. She opened it to admit Vinod Shahane.
"Please come in," she said in her low, rather seductive voice.
Vinod felt a familiar stirring in his loins. He ruthlessly suppressed it. There was no time for anything but the business at hand. However, it was a pity! His warped mind regretted that he had to pass up a chance of enjoying sex with his 'step-mother'. Some instinct told him she'd be a bombshell, in bed!
His eyes followed her veiled figure as she went to the telephone and picking up the receiver asked him, "What will you have? Coffee? Tea? Cold drink? . . ."
He moved quickly and disconnected the telephone. "No nothing, thank you," he said, smiling down into her veiled face. He only had a few minutes, he explained, and then he had to leave. He had an important dinner engagement he just couldn't miss.
He quickly took in the layout of the room. The bed was at the far end. Close to the bathroom were the mandatory two chairs and a coffee table. He led her there and compelled her to occupy the chair closer to the bathroom, by the simple expedient of himself occupying the other.
"Pardon my asking," he began smoothly, "But when did you . . . er . . . marry my father?
"You see," he went on, as she remained silent, "it was quite sho . . . quite a surprise to me. Father had never said anything about you."
"How could he?" asked that low musical voice, a hint of pathos in it. "He felt it would upset Dina. And she had sacrificed so much for him."
"You knew about Dina?" "Of course!" The voice was a trifle impatient now. "I knew everything there was to know about your father." Was it his imagination, or was there a hint of contempt in her tone?
Vinod became restless. He had not wanted to get into an involved conversation with the lady. Might as well finish what he had come to do, and be done with it! No sense in wasting time with chit-chat. Her voice was really too sexy! But sex, right now, would be a dangerous indulgence! The sperm would be tested and from that the blood group determined and . . . no, he couldn't risk all that.
Also, the shorter the time he was in the hotel, the safer for him. He looked into the netted slit and asked, just the right amount of embarrassment in his voice, if he could use the bathroom.
"Certainly." slight surprise showed itself in her voice at that request. It had hardly been ten minutes since he had entered her room!
He stepped into the bathroom and locked the door. The bath-tub was curtained off. From his pockets Vinod pulled out a pair of fine, transparent surgeon's gloves and a thin cord about two feet long. He then sat down on the commode, drew on the gloves, flushed the toilet, concealed the cord in one of his gloved hands and softly opening the door, stepped out.
Stealthily stepping up to her chair, Vinod whipped the veil off her face from behind, slipped the cord round the slender neck and pulled.
*
Vinod stared at the Bank Manager in frustration. "But surely a lawyer's letter should be proof enough that I am the sole heir?" he rasped.
The Manager's prim mouth folded in further. He looked with distaste at the young man almost bending over his desk in desperation.
"No control, these young people," he thought to himself disapprovingly. "No control at all! Just out for what they can get!" The Manager was old-fashioned. And Vinod had rubbed him up the wrong way. "I'm sorry Mr. Shahane, but this letter won't Do. Won't Do at all!" he pronounced ponderously. "The Bank will require Letters of Administration or a Succession Certificate from a Court of Law declaring you to be the sole heir of Mr. Prakash Sattar, before we can permit you to operate his accounts." He looked Vinod over with an air of having settled his hash to his satisfaction. His son, indeed! Even the surnames differed!
"Damn," muttered Vinod to himself, narrowly escaping an errant cyclist as he sped back to the hospital. Damn! He'd have to call up his lawyer and try to get an appointment for the next day again. "Hope the old bugger gives it," he said to himself. "I've got to get the dough in the next couple of weeks." Else he'd lose the premises. And the earnest money he had already paid.
* * * *
Mr. Alif Faiz-ud-din (he insisted on two hyphen marks) was a cadaverous old man with a lined, scholarly face. He was indeed a great scholar, an acknowledged authority on Mohammedan law. It was he who had advised Prakash Shahane. As he now advised his son, Vinod.
He had hemmed and hawed. Vinod had had an hour of his time just a day back! He had ultimately succumbed to his client's insistence and had given Vinod an appointment for 5.30 pm the next day. Then he had made another call from his direct line, not routing it through the operator.
Vinod kept his appointment punctually. The old bugger was a stickler for time, and he had no wish to irritate him unnecessarily, by being late. On the contrary he was prepared to expend both tact and flattery to get him to move as fast as possible and get those damn letters, whatever the hell they were!
He was ushered into Faiz-ud-din's cabin at the stroke of 5.30 by a clerk as ancient as Faiz-ud-din himself. Vinod took a step into the cabin and halted, his smile freezing on his lips, his outstretched arm faltering, his antennae warning him that something was wrong somewhere.
With her back to the door and consequently to Vinod, stood a tall figure clad in a black burqa.
Vinod was disturbed. Faiz-ud-din never overlapped his clients' timings. In fact, he scrupulously kept a proper gap between appointments! Then who the hell was this dame and what was she doing in the old man's cabin at the time allotted to him?
The old lawyer himself was on his feet. "Come in, Vinod, come in, boy," in a genial tone that immediately struck Vinod as being all wrong.
Faiz-ud-din had neVer been genial. Never called him 'boy'! It appeared he was trying to tell him something. To warn him.
"You are just in time to meet your step-mother," announced Faiz-ud-din.
Vinod's face was frozen expressionless. The old lawyer droned on. Vinod's numbed mind heard his next words through a kind of haze.
". . . married her in the U.A.E. on one of his visits there. . . she'd been staying there all this time . . . Mrs. Merunissa Prakash Sattar . . . your step-son, Madame: Vinod Shahane."
The sound of his name cut through the haze enveloping Vinod's dazed senses. And then another voice impinged. Her voice. She had lovely voice. Low, husky, distinct. Rather a young voice, his subconscious registered. Surely too young to have been his father's wife? Now his widow?
Vinod quelled the urge to break out into hysterical laughter. His old man seemed to have been a pretty rum fellow! Three wives, and God knows how many mistresses!
She was tall, and that was all he could tell about her. The thick heavy veil hung down almost to her waist. The slit for the eyes was extremely slight, and netted, into the bargain. He could make out neither the shape nor the colour of her eyes, through it.
She would be staying on in Bombay for some time, till she sorted out everything regarding her husband's Estate, Faiz-ud-din informed him.
The veiled lady nodded confirmation. She would be visiting Prakash's flat at Cuffe Parade shortly; but right now she was putting up at a hotel and getting her bearings. This was her first visit to Bombay, to India. And she had so many things to do . . . lawyers to see, business matters to clear up . . . her husband had died so suddenly . . . her voice broke.
Vinod asked her which hotel she was staying at. She told him, adding shyly that as he was Prakash's son, her step-son in fact, would he drop in and see her at her hotel sometime later that evening? She was totally alone, and she would so much appreciate the help of Prakash's son! Vinod pulled himself together, and promised to visit her that evening at around 7.30 . . . 8. She then took her leave.
No sooner had she left than Vinod almost rounded on Faiz-ud-din.
"Who the devil is she?"
"Exactly who she says she is! Your father's third wife," replied the old lawyer coldly. His demeanour underwent a lightning change.
Vinod flopped into a chair, ran his hand over his face in a gesture of despair. Then he asked Faiz-ud-din, "Where do I stand now?"
"Nowhere," was the unambiguous answer. "Merunissa Sattar is the sole heir."
"But don't I get anything as his son? Surely a son is entitled to inherit, along with the widow?"
"If your father had not converted, yes," replied the lawyer. "Or conversely, if you had converted along with him. As it is, he died a Muslim. And you are a Hindu."
"But I performed his last rites as per the Hindu religion, as you advised! He was born a Hindu. Doesn't that mean anything?"
Faiz-ud-din gave a wintry smile. "If this Muslim widow of his hadn't turned up, yes, you might have succeeded in inheriting his Estate. There would have been no one to challenge you then. Now there is! From what I have seen of the latest Mrs. Sattar, she'll put up a hell of a fight if you drive her to it. And she has the law on her side."
Vinod asked Faiz-ud-din suspiciously, "How did this woman come to you in the first place?"
Faiz-ud-din looked at him with deep reproach. "You shouldn't really be asking me such a question! You know quite well that your father was one of my clients. Who else would his widow turn to after his death, if not to me?"
"Did you know about his third marriage, then?" asked Vinod sceptically.
Faiz-ud-din looked reproachful again. "Of course not," he told Vinod. "But this woman must surely have known about me! That I was handling her husband's affairs!"
"Strange coincidence that she should have landed up just at the time of my appointment," murmured Vinod resentfully, still suspicious.
"Now there you are mistaken," said the old lawyer deliberately.
"Merunissa Sattar came to me a couple of days ago. I made a few inquiries with my contacts in the Gulf; ensured that she had indeed been married to your father. Then I deliberately called her today at this time, so that you could meet her in my office, in my presence."
"Damn the woman," Vinod muttered savagely. "How could. . .
how could Father have done this to me?" Just when everything was going so well, he thought to himself bitterly. Faiz-ud-din could at least have warned him! But he said nothing. He did not wish to offend the old lawyer. He still had need of him. Now, perhaps more than ever!
* * * *
While Vinod's world was collapsing about his ears, the veiled lady had taken a cab to one of the modest, inconspicuous three-star hotels at Juhu and gone up to the room she had booked the previous night. She showered, changed, had a snack, made two telephone calls, got into the burqa again, and waited.
At around 8.45 in the evening there was a knock on the door. She opened it to admit Vinod Shahane.
"Please come in," she said in her low, rather seductive voice.
Vinod felt a familiar stirring in his loins. He ruthlessly suppressed it. There was no time for anything but the business at hand. However, it was a pity! His warped mind regretted that he had to pass up a chance of enjoying sex with his 'step-mother'. Some instinct told him she'd be a bombshell, in bed!
His eyes followed her veiled figure as she went to the telephone and picking up the receiver asked him, "What will you have? Coffee? Tea? Cold drink? . . ."
He moved quickly and disconnected the telephone. "No nothing, thank you," he said, smiling down into her veiled face. He only had a few minutes, he explained, and then he had to leave. He had an important dinner engagement he just couldn't miss.
He quickly took in the layout of the room. The bed was at the far end. Close to the bathroom were the mandatory two chairs and a coffee table. He led her there and compelled her to occupy the chair closer to the bathroom, by the simple expedient of himself occupying the other.
"Pardon my asking," he began smoothly, "But when did you . . . er . . . marry my father?
"You see," he went on, as she remained silent, "it was quite sho . . . quite a surprise to me. Father had never said anything about you."
"How could he?" asked that low musical voice, a hint of pathos in it. "He felt it would upset Dina. And she had sacrificed so much for him."
"You knew about Dina?" "Of course!" The voice was a trifle impatient now. "I knew everything there was to know about your father." Was it his imagination, or was there a hint of contempt in her tone?
Vinod became restless. He had not wanted to get into an involved conversation with the lady. Might as well finish what he had come to do, and be done with it! No sense in wasting time with chit-chat. Her voice was really too sexy! But sex, right now, would be a dangerous indulgence! The sperm would be tested and from that the blood group determined and . . . no, he couldn't risk all that.
Also, the shorter the time he was in the hotel, the safer for him. He looked into the netted slit and asked, just the right amount of embarrassment in his voice, if he could use the bathroom.
"Certainly." slight surprise showed itself in her voice at that request. It had hardly been ten minutes since he had entered her room!
He stepped into the bathroom and locked the door. The bath-tub was curtained off. From his pockets Vinod pulled out a pair of fine, transparent surgeon's gloves and a thin cord about two feet long. He then sat down on the commode, drew on the gloves, flushed the toilet, concealed the cord in one of his gloved hands and softly opening the door, stepped out.
Stealthily stepping up to her chair, Vinod whipped the veil off her face from behind, slipped the cord round the slender neck and pulled.
*
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Turning - Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She crumpled the umpteenth sheet of paper and flung it vaguely in the direction of the waste-paper basket beside Zerxes' chair. They were in his study in his flat. It was Sunday. The ball of paper fell onto his lap instead, for the umpteenth time. He rose and advanced towards her purposefully.
Abandoning any pretense of working, Scherezade surrendered. The couch was comfortable enough. And big enough. And they were acrobatic enough.
There was a discreet knock on the door just as they lay in each other arms, exhausted and replete. Zerxes frowned. Normally, Krishna knew better than to disturb him on a Sunday when he was working in his study. Especially if Scherezade too was there. Working with him.
"What is it?" he called out.
"Sorry to disturb you Sir, but Tagore Sahib is here and insists on meeting you and Madam," was the apologetic response.
Zerxes reluctantly let go of Scherezade, got off the couch and pulled on his clothes. Tagore here on a Sunday afternoon meant something urgent. Then he remembered. Sushil had been away for a week. He must have just about returned that morning. Zerxes wondered if he had managed to get any information. Seeing that Scherezade too had buttoned up her coat-dress, he opened the door and called out to Sushil to join them in the study.
"I think you're quite right," were Tagore's first words as soon as he walked into the study. "As you know, I've been away for a week. Just returned this morning. I've had a talk with Irani and Patil. The boys have information that he's just signed an agreement for some rather posh premises for a clinic on Pedder Road. Worth at least a couple of crores. Now he himself certainly doesn't have that kind of money!"
Zerxes said, "Then, Sushil, I don't see what further proof you need. I think you should detain him straightaway and question him."
"So one of you clever Johnnies at the Bar can get him off on some technicality later on? For lack of sufficient evidence? Dear boy, this is a murder rap we're talking about! And he's not from the run of the mill criminal classes." Tagore shook his head. "No, Zerxes. Your instinct seems to have been right. No doubt he is our man. But how the devil do we prove anything? And what about the girl's death?"
"I'11 need to think that one out. But he's killed them! He's killed both of them! But you're right. No way we can prove it, absolutely. No concrete evidence."
"Perhaps there is a way, darling. . ."
Both men turned to Scherezade.
*
She crumpled the umpteenth sheet of paper and flung it vaguely in the direction of the waste-paper basket beside Zerxes' chair. They were in his study in his flat. It was Sunday. The ball of paper fell onto his lap instead, for the umpteenth time. He rose and advanced towards her purposefully.
Abandoning any pretense of working, Scherezade surrendered. The couch was comfortable enough. And big enough. And they were acrobatic enough.
There was a discreet knock on the door just as they lay in each other arms, exhausted and replete. Zerxes frowned. Normally, Krishna knew better than to disturb him on a Sunday when he was working in his study. Especially if Scherezade too was there. Working with him.
"What is it?" he called out.
"Sorry to disturb you Sir, but Tagore Sahib is here and insists on meeting you and Madam," was the apologetic response.
Zerxes reluctantly let go of Scherezade, got off the couch and pulled on his clothes. Tagore here on a Sunday afternoon meant something urgent. Then he remembered. Sushil had been away for a week. He must have just about returned that morning. Zerxes wondered if he had managed to get any information. Seeing that Scherezade too had buttoned up her coat-dress, he opened the door and called out to Sushil to join them in the study.
"I think you're quite right," were Tagore's first words as soon as he walked into the study. "As you know, I've been away for a week. Just returned this morning. I've had a talk with Irani and Patil. The boys have information that he's just signed an agreement for some rather posh premises for a clinic on Pedder Road. Worth at least a couple of crores. Now he himself certainly doesn't have that kind of money!"
Zerxes said, "Then, Sushil, I don't see what further proof you need. I think you should detain him straightaway and question him."
"So one of you clever Johnnies at the Bar can get him off on some technicality later on? For lack of sufficient evidence? Dear boy, this is a murder rap we're talking about! And he's not from the run of the mill criminal classes." Tagore shook his head. "No, Zerxes. Your instinct seems to have been right. No doubt he is our man. But how the devil do we prove anything? And what about the girl's death?"
"I'11 need to think that one out. But he's killed them! He's killed both of them! But you're right. No way we can prove it, absolutely. No concrete evidence."
"Perhaps there is a way, darling. . ."
Both men turned to Scherezade.
*
The Turning - Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was one O'clock at night. Zerxes flung down the book he was reading, yawned, stretched, and walked up to the window. It was a full moon night. He gazed unseeingly at the silver-dappled waves below, framed by the rectangular cleft window of his study.
What had he missed? What?
He racked the recesses of his memory. He must look up the treatise by Tyabjee. Could Sattar have been given a Hindu funeral? Why had he been given a Hindu funeral? Had there been any motive for that, apart from sentiment? Vinod Shahane did not appear to be unduly sentimental! What were the consequences of Sattar having been given a Hindu funeral?
His mind went back to his conversation with his father earlier on that night. . .
For once Sam Avari had paid more attention to his visitor than to his fish. And not entirely because the visitor had been his only son. He had heard Zerxes out in silence.
"So the police are inclined to accept that it was Nivedita Shahane who murdered Dina Sattar and then committed suicide," he had mused. "Are you?" he had suddenly shot at his son.
Zerxes had answered with a decisive negative. "It is perhaps the most convenient, almost the ideal solution," he had acknowledged wryly. "But I'm pretty sure it is not the correct one."
"Why do you say that?" Sam had asked his son.
"It's a bit too pat," Zerxes had answered. "Almost stage-managed. Besides, I can't get rid of the nagging feeling that even the police themselves are not quite sure that this is the right solution!"
His father had nodded in agreement. "I know Sushil well enough to realize that he has doubts on this one," he had acknowledged.
Zerxes had drained his coffee cup and placed it deliberately on the low stool next to the sofa, a frown creasing his dark brow.
Zerxes had looked at his father speculatively. "What do you think, Dad? What's your opinion?"
"My opinion my son is that the solution to the puzzle of the Dina Sattar murder may well be within the realm of your expertise. I suggest you brush up your Muslim personal law a bit. Unless I'm much mistaken, it all ties in with this conversion business. And once you have solved the case of Dina Sattar, the cause of Nivedita's death will be clear enough." . . .
And so Zerxes had been reading up his Muslim law. He glanced at the clock, and decided that he had read enough for the night.
Tomorrow, he'd pop over to old Faiz-ud-din and borrow some more tomes from him.
* * * *
Aliff Faiz-ud-din's office was barely a twenty-minute drive from Zerxes' flat. Zerxes drove himself there at about 10 in the morning. The old man hardly ever went to Court nowadays, but better to go early! One could hardly get any parking space in the cramped lane leading to his office.
He parked his car a little away from the decrepit old building housing Faiz-ud-din's office. About to get out of the car, his gaze was suddenly arrested by a figure coming out of the building.
Zerxes remade his plans rapidly, then turned the car around and sped off towards Crawford Market. To the office of DCP Sushildutt Tagore. Instead of going to Faiz-ud-din.
Tagore heard what Zerxes had to say without interrupting and surprised him by saying that Irani too was of that view. "You're probably right! We'll keep a watch on him," Tagore promised. "But we'll need something definite, soon," he warned.
*
It was one O'clock at night. Zerxes flung down the book he was reading, yawned, stretched, and walked up to the window. It was a full moon night. He gazed unseeingly at the silver-dappled waves below, framed by the rectangular cleft window of his study.
What had he missed? What?
He racked the recesses of his memory. He must look up the treatise by Tyabjee. Could Sattar have been given a Hindu funeral? Why had he been given a Hindu funeral? Had there been any motive for that, apart from sentiment? Vinod Shahane did not appear to be unduly sentimental! What were the consequences of Sattar having been given a Hindu funeral?
His mind went back to his conversation with his father earlier on that night. . .
For once Sam Avari had paid more attention to his visitor than to his fish. And not entirely because the visitor had been his only son. He had heard Zerxes out in silence.
"So the police are inclined to accept that it was Nivedita Shahane who murdered Dina Sattar and then committed suicide," he had mused. "Are you?" he had suddenly shot at his son.
Zerxes had answered with a decisive negative. "It is perhaps the most convenient, almost the ideal solution," he had acknowledged wryly. "But I'm pretty sure it is not the correct one."
"Why do you say that?" Sam had asked his son.
"It's a bit too pat," Zerxes had answered. "Almost stage-managed. Besides, I can't get rid of the nagging feeling that even the police themselves are not quite sure that this is the right solution!"
His father had nodded in agreement. "I know Sushil well enough to realize that he has doubts on this one," he had acknowledged.
Zerxes had drained his coffee cup and placed it deliberately on the low stool next to the sofa, a frown creasing his dark brow.
Zerxes had looked at his father speculatively. "What do you think, Dad? What's your opinion?"
"My opinion my son is that the solution to the puzzle of the Dina Sattar murder may well be within the realm of your expertise. I suggest you brush up your Muslim personal law a bit. Unless I'm much mistaken, it all ties in with this conversion business. And once you have solved the case of Dina Sattar, the cause of Nivedita's death will be clear enough." . . .
And so Zerxes had been reading up his Muslim law. He glanced at the clock, and decided that he had read enough for the night.
Tomorrow, he'd pop over to old Faiz-ud-din and borrow some more tomes from him.
* * * *
Aliff Faiz-ud-din's office was barely a twenty-minute drive from Zerxes' flat. Zerxes drove himself there at about 10 in the morning. The old man hardly ever went to Court nowadays, but better to go early! One could hardly get any parking space in the cramped lane leading to his office.
He parked his car a little away from the decrepit old building housing Faiz-ud-din's office. About to get out of the car, his gaze was suddenly arrested by a figure coming out of the building.
Zerxes remade his plans rapidly, then turned the car around and sped off towards Crawford Market. To the office of DCP Sushildutt Tagore. Instead of going to Faiz-ud-din.
Tagore heard what Zerxes had to say without interrupting and surprised him by saying that Irani too was of that view. "You're probably right! We'll keep a watch on him," Tagore promised. "But we'll need something definite, soon," he warned.
*
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.
*
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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