The Cosmic Clues (8 page)

Sonia's gaze swept across the room, resting fleetingly on each of the family members. Mr. Tupay—dignified and composed; Medha—nervous and anxious; Revati—excited and restless; and Gaurav—alert and sharp. For a moment, Sonia felt a deep wave of sympathy for each of them.

“Sushil and Revati grew up together,” Sonia began. “Sushil was in love with Revati, but she was unaware of it. When she decided to marry Gaurav, Sushil almost lost his mind in sorrow. Rejection gave rise to ungovernable jealousy. One day, in his distraught state, Sushil met his real father, a man who fed him a lot of poisonous crap about the mother he'd never known, without disclosing her name. The two decided to join forces. His father stayed on as a gardener. Under his father's criminal influence, Sushil sent the threatening notes to bust up the engagement. Together they planned this evening, which would be a sort of poetic conclusion to his rejected love for Revati. Revati was totally unaware that her life was hanging on a thread of decision. She had to either quit marrying Gaurav or face Sushil's bullet. Yes, I'm quite sure, that was his intention.” Sonia faced Revati, who stared at her with wide, frightened eyes. The young girl's face was very pale. Gaurav immediately grasped her hand in a comforting grip.

Sonia continued. “When Astrology forced some startling revelations, Sushil discovered his real mother. Remember how the mug slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor when Pradnya admitted that Sushil was her son? Her revelation stunned him. His hate for her was stronger than his love for Revati, so instead of using the gun on Revati, as he'd intended from the beginning, he fired at Pradnya, the mother who had abandoned him.”

“I don't believe all this,” Medha muttered, incredulously. “Sushil would never do something like that. Apart from the fact that he cannot!”

“Hmm . . . interesting,” Inspector Divekar remarked. “But I foresee some major problems. The first one being that Sushil
couldn't
have been in two places at the same time, since you and Kaki saw him in his seat. Kaki can bear witness to that,” he reminded her.

“We both saw
a figure
sitting in the dark, at the table. Our eyes were only recollecting what the brain had already stored in it. We both
thought
it was Sushil, on the assumption that he'd been seated there all evening. Neither of us went close enough to really vouch for the identity of the person sitting there.”

“But how—” Mr. Tupay began.

“Let me explain,” Sonia interrupted. “Whenever I glanced towards Sushil, he was sitting with his napkin on his lap. When the lights went out and my eyes gradually grew accustomed to the dark, I noticed that his hands as well as the napkin were
on the table
! And when the hall was illuminated once again, his hands and the napkin were
back in their original position
! Why should the napkin change positions unless it was deliberately moved to unveil something—a pistol, for example? And who would change the position of the napkin without being conspicuous? Sushil, of course. But Sushil had sat like a statue, right under my nose. He hadn't even moved! Then how could the whole drama have been enacted? Something must have transpired in those few confusing minutes immediately after the lights were switched off. What had transpired? Then quite out of the blue, the roar of confusion ceased and the answer streaked across my mind.” Sonia paused to inhale a deep breath. “The man Kaki and I saw was
not
Sushil!”

“What exactly do you mean?” Jatin exclaimed, clearly bewildered.

“This is ridiculous!” Medha complained querulously, glancing at her husband for support. But Mr. Tupay was studying Sonia intently. Gaurav and Revati stared at her curiously.

“I think you need to explain yourself,” Mr. Tupay told Sonia firmly.

“Let me complete my story. According to plan, the gardener entered the kitchen on the pretext of wanting some coffee. When Kaki left the room, he switched off the lights, then moved swiftly to Sushil's table. There, under the cover of darkness, the two men quickly exchanged places, because it was Sushil who was supposed to pull the trigger. But if anyone checked, it was very important that he be found seated in his place. So the gardener took his position at the table, pretending to be his son. Sushil took the pistol from under his napkin and in the dark banged into me. He shot at Pradnya, hastened to his seat again, and his father slipped out through the kitchen door. That's when I felt the cold gush of wind. When the hall was again illuminated, it was as if Sushil had never budged an inch. The deed had been done, but Sushil, for all appearances, had all along remained in his chair. A most infallible and perfect alibi!”

A loaded silence ensued. The Tupays seemed stunned and even Mrs. Tupay, who had vehemently repudiated all accusations against Sushil, was at a loss for words. Gaurav was regarding Sonia with a new look of respect on his face.

Inspector Divekar frowned deeply into his reflections, staring hard at Sonia.

“The pistol?” he finally asked.

“Once again under the napkin,” Sonia replied.

“And the fact that he is claimed insane by a good many people?”

Sonia smiled and held up Sushil's horoscope. “Moon—the controlling planet of the mind—and Mercury—the planet related to brains and memory—both are in excellent and auspicious conjunction with Jupiter. You wouldn't find a clearer, more logical person with total control over mind and body!”

Inspector Divekar stood up, taking in Sonia's confident stance. Then his eyes flashed his admiration and he gave a nod of acceptance. He wheeled around and, with Jatin and the others in tow, marched out into the hall.

With a sense of immense satisfaction, Sonia relaxed into the study armchair.

The case had been solved.

College boys whizzed past on motorbikes, shouting, “Happy Independence Day!”

Sonia, driving along in her van, waved back at the beaming, youthful faces. Patriotic songs were booming on the loudspeakers all around the city, adding to the heightened national sentiments in everyone's heart.

The morning sun filtered through a light drizzle, spreading a heavenly glow on the city. What a beautiful day it was! Sonia breathed in the air deeply. It felt fresh and clean and smelt of wet soil. She smiled with satisfaction. She loved peaceful Pune!

At her office gate, Sonia halted, as a group of teachers, attired in creaseless white saris, walked past. Uniformed school boys and girls trailed obediently behind them, chattering noisily. Each one of them carried a miniature paper flag of India.
These children are the future of our country,
she thought idly.
Do they really understand what freedom means and what it cost us?
As the crowd disappeared, Sonia maneuvered the van into the parking. She took a minute to examine the rosebuds in the garden, listened to the Cuckoo sing melodiously, then climbed the three steps to her office. Television sounds emerged loud and clear from the inside. Jatin had begun the morning well! Sonia let herself in and stared at her assistant. He was dressed in a ceremonious spotless white
khadi
kurta and pajama, and even matching footwear of Kolhapuri
chappal
s.

“Happy Independence Day, Boss!” Jatin greeted Sonia cheerfully, handing her a plastic saffron-white-green flag.

“Thank you, Jatin! You look different today.” Sonia smiled, accepting the tricolour flag which was pasted on a stick.

He glanced down at his clothes with pleasure. “The occasion deserved special effort—It's Independence Day after all. I even attended flag hoisting in our housing colony.”

“Good. I'm going to place this flag on my almanac shelf!”

“And I'm going to put this one on my Tele, so as to remind me that I owe my present democratic existence to freedom fighters who lost their lives for a free country!” Jatin announced, raising the other flag in his hand.

“Good idea. Watching the celebrations?” she asked, glancing at the TV.

“Yes, the 15th August Independence Day celebrations at the Red Fort, in Delhi.”

Sonia stood beside Jatin and viewed the stiff, alert figures of the Navy, Army, and Air Force battalions standing in attention, awaiting the arrival of the Prime Minister. He arrived soon enough, responding to the Guard of Honor with a salute. Then, amidst a reverent silence, he hoisted the flag. The tricolor fluttered gracefully in the wind as the crowd began the national anthem—
Jana Gana Mana.
Then the Prime Minister took his place behind a bulletproof dais and began his speech.

Celebrations were in full swing all over the country amidst tight security which had been spiked, because of suspected terrorist attacks. Going by the enthusiastic thousands that had gathered to watch the flag hoisting at the Red Fort—terrorists or no terrorists—it was clear that nothing dampened the patriotism of the Indians.

“Isn't it wonderful? I experience such immense thrill to watch all this—look, I have goose bumps on my arms.” Jatin showed her his prickly skin. “I never miss the Red Fort flag hoisting. It reminds me—”

“I know,” Sonia interrupted. “Free spirit; duty; what you owe to this country—”

“You got it!” Jatin nodded. “And that's exactly why I also attend office on 15th August, when the whole of India has a holiday!”

“You're a good boy, Jatin,” Sonia conceded. “But I thought it was more the fear of losing a likely case than your spirit of vacationing that made you refuse to stay away from this office even on Sundays! And it was your choice to come here today, not mine.”

“I know, Boss.” Jatin grinned sheepishly.

Sonia smiled back at him. “And that's why I shall allow you to continue viewing the celebrations for a while.”

“Thank you,” Jatin acknowledged. “You're a good boss. And I'm not the only one who thinks so. There is a special bouquet and a newspaper write-up on your table.” His impish grin spoke volumes.

Sonia raised an eyebrow inquiringly, then stepped into the inner office. Immediately Nidhi demanded attention with welcoming meows and Sonia had to put her curiosity on hold, until the cat was fondled and was sufficiently satisfied. Then she turned to the bunch of roses placed on the table in a vase. The card said—
“Happy Independence Day! From Mohnish.”
A newspaper lay beside the bouquet and Sonia quickly scanned through the article circled on it. With every word, her amazement increased. It was a glowing report on Sonia Samarth's excellent investigative capacities. Courtesy Mohnish Rai.

Sonia perched on her chair thoughtfully. Her eyes inadvertently swept over the article again. She didn't know what to make of this approach. What did Mohnish have in mind? It was a kind gesture, of course, and she had to appreciate it, without any doubt. The report on the Patkar and Tupay cases was pretty accurate. She had to give Mohnish his due. Besides, the article was a ray of hope amidst the recent spate of news write-ups on Stellar Investigations. No names had been mentioned in those, but the jokes on Astrology and disrespectful comments on how people treat Criminology rankled. The remarks were most unfair, biased, and unjustified. At least Mohnish had tried to represent her side of the story. He had given an unprejudiced view of her technique in the cases. Sonia touched the beautiful peach-coloured roses and, rising, placed the vase near the window. Nidhi meowed, rolling lazily on her pillow. Sonia sat down beside her and fondled her.

“Yes, my lucky charm. What next?” she whispered to the cat, adjusting the little leather collar around her neck.

Nidhi stared unblinkingly up at her mistress, held out her paw, and drew Sonia's hand to her face. Sonia laughed. “I get it! You want me to take a break so that I can give you some attention, don't you? But can I afford breaks?”

In response, the cat licked her hand lovingly.

The intercom buzzed and Sonia pressed the button on the instrument. “Yes, Jatin?”

“Mr. Mohnish Rai to see you” came Jatin's crisp reply.

Sonia straightened with a start and then blushed at her own uneasiness. Now what? She ought to see Mohnish and thank him for the article, she told herself sensibly. However, she wouldn't let him cajole her into an interview if he behaved as high-handedly as he had the last time, her stubborn side decided. Her feminine side quickly set into action, passing a comb through her already immaculate hair, adding a touch of pink lipstick, and glancing critically but not without satisfaction at her reflection in her little mirror. The ice-cream pink
salwar kameez
—delicate but not impractical—sat well on her trim, fit body. She looked efficient and professional. The only thing she wasn't pleased about was the eager, anticipatory look in her honey-brown eyes.

Sitting in her chair, she took a deep steadying breath, then asked Jatin to send Mr. Rai in. The door opened and Mohnish strode in.

“Happy Independence Day!” the journalist greeted brightly. “I'm glad you're working today and consented to meet me.” The dimple in his cheek was already on exhibit as he took a chair.

“Well, I had to thank you for . . . for . . . this.” Sonia waved her hand at the roses and the newspaper article. “Though, why you went to all that trouble . . .”

“No trouble whatsoever!” Mohnish brushed her words away. “It's my duty to report anything exceptional—whether it's an individual, an event, or both! And I specifically wanted that article to be published today because I think it goes with the basic concept of independence—a unique representation of the real free and emancipated woman of India.”

“And the flowers?”

“That is my instinctive response to someone beautiful and intelligent!”

She could do nothing to prevent a blush from stealing over her face! “Thank you,” she responded with a smile.

He was certainly good-looking and very charming. And his voice was exceptional. He was perfect in the role of Reporter and Television Presenter. But what drew him to this office? she wondered.

“What brings you here today?” she asked. “More curiosity? I can satiate that right away—I love to read, meditate, go for long walks,” she spieled off. “I love listening to music, sometimes I dance all night! I celebrate Christmas and I believe Santa comes on Christmas Eve with gifts!”

“Christmas? You're a Hindu, aren't you?” Mohnish asked instantly, then grinned good-naturedly. “Thank you, I'm highly enlightened. And curiosity
is
a long-lasting reason—I admit I'm very curious about you; in fact, you
intrigue
me. But, I'm afraid, your brief bio-data is not going to easily douse my interest in you. Instead, it has now fanned it. However, I shall tackle my personal issues at a later, more convenient stage—today I am here on business!”

“Really?” Sonia's eyes instantly flared with interest.

“Yes. Recognizing your inherent talent at solving mysteries, I have brought you one myself,” he replied.

Sonia searched his face for sarcasm, but finding none, allowed herself to relax into her natural professionalism. “Do you mean a
personal
case—a problem?”

“Well, yes, but that we shall tackle later, when you're less busy. This is a different mystery.”

“What kind of mystery? Something to do with the Owl?”

“No—though that is definitely something else we may discuss one day. Have you been reading about the Kapoor case in the papers?”

“Yes. And I've heard about it from Inspector Divekar.”

“A most interesting story. You may be aware of the details but I'll just run through them, since it's important to do a little revision. A month ago, Mrs. Kapoor went to the Police Station to report her husband missing. They had had a fight and Mr. Kapoor had walked out in the middle of the night and vanished. He had this habit of walking out on her and returning after several days, so she didn't worry initially. However, after a week had elapsed, Mrs. Kapoor began to fret and thought it wise to report his absence.”

“Unfortunately, the very next day, Mr. Kapoor was found dead on a railway track. An apparent case of suicide. Mrs. Kapoor claimed that he was constantly threatening her that he would one day commit suicide, and for once, he'd actually done it!” Sonia completed the story.

Mohnish nodded. “But that's not all. The widow gave an obituary to the paper with Mr. Kapoor's photograph. Now, this is where I come in. Another woman saw this photograph. She claimed that the man in the photograph was
her
missing husband! Well, what do you make of that?” Mohnish observed Sonia with narrowed eyes.

She tapped her pen reflectively on the table. “How long have you known this second woman?”

“She's a perfect stranger to me! In fact, she's a stranger to this city. When she—her name's Neha Gulati—saw the dead man's photograph, she was at a loss what to do. Apparently, she feels some kind of distrust for the police, so she went instead to the nearest social service, Naari Kendra—you know, that home for homeless women. The lady-in-charge happens to be a friend of mine and I was sitting with her when this woman arrived.”

“I see . . . And you thought this would be a perfect case for me?” Sonia arched a dark eyebrow inquiringly.

“I thought that Neha needed a fair hearing and representation. Will you take her case on my behalf?”

Sonia held Mohnish's penetrating gaze without blinking. “Are you convinced that Neha Gulati was not lying?”

“There isn't the least bit of doubt in my mind. I'm convinced that she was speaking the truth. Poor though she appears, she seems absolutely genuine to me. But, of course, you have to trust my judgement for it.” He shrugged eloquently.

“I think I'll try my hand at that—I mean, trusting your judgement!” Sonia smiled, and he grinned.

“Thanks! Can I call Neha in?”

Neha Gulati was in her early thirties, short, clad in a crumpled cotton
salwar kameez
which had seen better days. Her hair was rolled untidily into a bun; a red
bindi
clung crookedly to her forehead, which already displayed a smear of
sindoor—
red powder married women wear in their hair parting—and she continually fidgeted with her
dupatta,
wrapping it around her head. She carried a small cheap suitcase. But for all the signs of poverty, there was a real dignity about her, which struck Sonia. Mohnish introduced the two women, requesting Neha to sit down and narrate her story again. Jatin settled down with a pen and pad.