LET THE DEAD STAY DEAD

                                       

“LET THE DEAD STAY DEAD”

       

CHAPTER 1

PART 1: ALPANA’S STORY

“There's a story behind every person. There's a reason why they're the way they are. Think about that before you judge someone.” Anonymous. 

DECEMBER 2008

Kundah: The Nilgiris, South India

The strange noises set her teeth on edge. Alone at home, Sneha jumped from her chair and rushed to the window. There it was again, a tinny clattering that stood out above the sound of the rain and the howling winds. She next recognized the jingle of the long chains. Someone was using the swing on the verandah. “Heck! Is Mummy here again?” she asked herself. This had happened the day before too.

“I would wish I could flee,” thought Sneha, “but there is no place to hide.” She was used to such a feeling. Taking a deep breath she forced herself to peer outside. The noisy clatter was from an old beer can lifted in the air by the wind which set it down again and again on the concreted road. The swing on the verandah stood still, unoccupied. This calmed her pounding heart. She was getting uptight about nothing. She had to relax.

The winds this evening were exceptionally strong. She saw the tall eucalyptus trees bend and sway. Streams of rain water fell off the roof’s eaves like many small waterfalls. She shivered as the chill crept into the house through small crevices and gaps in the windows.

To keep warm, Sneha tugged the sweater more tightly around her and walked briskly from room to room swinging her arms. The cold could not diminish the brightness in her brown eyes. They sparkled under the round framed spectacles she cleaned carefully and put on again. Tall and slender, she moved with a swimmer’s grace. Her dark hair caught up in a pony tail danced saucily behind her. At 23, she was in perfect health, or so it would seem on looking at her.

Her husband Sridhar had reluctantly gone for the groceries after lunch and a nap. Unlike in a city where you called for home delivery or went to the nearest departmental store, things were different in the hills. If you didn’t stock all that you needed, you had to drive 25 kilometers to Ooty, the nearest town, taking almost an hour each way.

Sneha remembered her grandfather’s old trunk in the garage which she had seen on reaching Kundah two days ago. Her aunt, Asha, had told her, “As per your grandma's will an old trunk of Papa’s has been left for you in the garage at ‘Nathu La.’ Have a look sometime. I have no idea what it contains. Mummy used to say it would be given to you after her death.”

Sneha watched the red tail lights of the Jeep fade into the afternoon fog when Sridhar drove off. The Voice in her mind was back, whispering, “This is something you have always yearned to see. Wouldn’t you like to know who you really are?” She had been curious for years to find out what the trunk contained but the last few days had been hectic. This was as good a time as any to find out. She had time to kill till Sridhar returned from Ooty.

Opening the garage door from the dining area, she switched on the light. The garage had space enough to park two cars. Sridhar had taken the estate Jeep leaving their car outside in the rain. Her grandpa’s ancient blue Fiat with the peeling paint stood forlorn in a corner. “No one could get rid of this car. Grandma would never allow us to sell it while she was alive even if it was a piece of junk,” thought Sneha. But it had meant so much to her grandparents. They and their children had used it, her mom had learnt driving in it and Sneha herself had ridden in it many times over the years.

She knew she was being uncharitable. You couldn’t always measure the value of things by money alone. Like memories for instance. The trunk, brought down from some attic, now lay near the Fiat surrounded by piles of old books and furniture. A large table lamp, handsome in its prime now stood twisted with one broken leg. Two wires still poked out of the rusted bulb holder which last held a bulb many years ago. A faint smell of fuel lingered in the garage as Sridhar had started the Jeep before easing it out.

She knelt down to open the trunk. Grandfather Pillai had served in the Infantry in the Indian Army. This was a typical Army trunk of those times, a part and parcel of a Service Officer’s life. Black and sturdy, and so typically “fauji” it had “Major N. J. Pillai,” stenciled on the front and top. The white precisely spaced letters were now a dirty brown with age.

Sneha was eager to see what was inside, intrigued by its unknown contents. After all, this was her legacy - left behind by her mother now dead for six years.

The padlock looked relatively new for such an old trunk, which squeaked as she opened it. The progressively louder series of squeaks as she lifted open the trunk made her wince. Rain water must have rusted the hinges long ago.

She had never been allowed to touch it, even as a curious child. Before she passed on, her grandma had at last decided the time had come for Sneha to know who she was. Her will (drafted by a verbose local lawyer) had specifically said, “All material in my possession, here and elsewhere, which belonged to my pre-deceased daughter Alpana will pass on to her daughter Sneha Sridhar.” Grandma had left a note in her thin spindly handwriting, “Darling child, I fervently pray that you will understand why I did not give this to you in my lifetime. I had my own reasons. You may agree or disagree, but I want you to know that your  Grandma always had your best interests at heart. You have a right to know about your past, so when I know that I shall not live much longer, I leave behind Alpana’s things for you. I don’t want them lost forever. They are now yours, for you to decide what you will do with them. I hope you will forgive me, but I cannot carry all this to my grave.”

A cold blast of air hit her as she opened the trunk making her skin crawl. This was strange as the garage door was closed. The trunk’s contents were arranged in military precision. There were a few rows of medical records now faded with age. On a thick, Army brown paper cover her grandfather had scrawled in a bold hand with black marker pen, “Alpana; Old Photographs.” A musty smell made her wrinkle her nose as she opened the cover. Some of the dust entered her nostrils making the sneezes that followed echo like gunshots in the closed garage.

Here was her mother standing in front of a Fiat car. God, but she was amazingly pretty. Something caught in Sneha’s throat as she gazed at the picture in her hand. She realized with a start that it was the same old Fiat that now stood near her. The girl looked boldly at the camera, her face and body radiating the vitality of youth. She looked so self-confident, almost arrogant. Someone had written “Alpana, June 1980” at the back of the photo. Her mother would then have been 17, calculated Sneha. She had to admit her mother looked far more beautiful than she did. From the past, she remembered Mrs. Pillai say, “Sneha is growing up to be lovely. It’s sad though that Thampi’s long nose prevents her from being as beautiful as Alpana.”

Her eyes fell upon a big bunch of letters, tied together by a faded ribbon which had been red at one time. She held the bunch in her hand, and hesitated. It seemed so wrong to read someone else’s letters, even if they were her mother’s. But they could answer many unanswered questions from her childhood. Overcome with curiosity, she opened the ribbon with fingers that shook. The first letter she picked up was addressed to her grandmother. Alpana had written, “For Papa and you ‘duty’ preceded happiness. I paid the price for this. The ‘right’ thing to do and the ‘right’ marriage was more important to you than my happiness.”

Tears pricked her eyes. Sneha didn’t feel like reading any more. The Voice encouraged her saying softly, “You must know what it was like. Go ahead. Read those letters.” She went through letter after letter, all written in the same handwriting. She wiped away the tears that now flowed freely, plucked up courage and read on.

“You didn’t care if I was miserable for the rest of my life as long as I was married according to your defined social norms. When this will end is anybody’s guess. You did what you thought was right. Being older now, I understand things better than when you forced me to marry Thampi. You wanted Ashok to be happy. I was the bait, thrown in exchange for his wife. You have heard my sob stories for years. I won’t bore you any more. I only pray that my children have a better life than I had.…”

The letter was written in April 2002. Sneha broke out in loud gut- wrenching sobs. This had to be the last letter Alpana had written. It was dated a couple of weeks before her mother died in that awful car crash that took away her father and brother as well, leaving Sneha the sole survivor of this family.

She spotted a diary it’s once blue cover now dull and faded. It was stuffed with scraps of paper and had page after page of Alpana’s writing. It wasn’t a diary in the conventional “what I did today” sense, though there was a bit of that too. A quick glance showed entries like, “The happiest day of my life. P. said he couldn’t find words to describe me. He is the most handsome man in the whole world.”  Another said, “Crowned Miss Army Teen Princess. The happiest day of my life!!!!! Mummy was proud of me as I wore the crown but even on my day of joy, I felt Papa was disapproving. He sulked seeing me get all that attention. He acts as if I am a bitch in heat chased by all kinds of men.”

The hours slipped by with Sneha engrossed in the letters. Her watch showed it was almost 5.30 and it was getting dark outside. The sky was still full of heavy rain-bearing clouds. Flashes of lightning lit up the skies followed by drum rolls of thunder. It was fast becoming claustrophobic for her. She wanted to get out of there. Shutting the trunk, she hurried towards the door connecting the garage to the rest of the house. As she pushed open the door yearning for the warmth of the foyer, someone grabbed her from behind.

She stood transfixed not able to take a step forward. Her scream reverberated in the high roofed bungalow as she pulled with all her strength. Her kurta tore as one edge of it had got stuck in the closed garage door. She looked back in horror. There was nothing but the door which had slammed shut.

It was much warmer in the house. Stumbling into the kitchen, she made herself some hot tea which calmed her nerves. As it had stopped raining, she went out onto the verandah. During the day, it was a nice place to view the surrounding green country side. “I wrote many of my poems here,” said The Voice. Sneha visualized her mother sitting in the very chair she now occupied.

A loud crash from the garage made her wince, spilling tea into the saucer. It sounded like the shuttered garage door had rolled down. But surely that would happen only if it was open in the first place! She distinctly remembered the shutter was down when she had gone into the garage from the kitchen. All alone in the sprawling bungalow, she felt scared though she knew it intimately from childhood. The fear came from what she had seen and read.

“What was taking Sridhar so long? He had left around 3.00; he ought to have been back by now,” she thought. Reading a book didn’t help. She couldn’t concentrate. She paced up and down, waiting for him to be back. Dreadful thoughts crowded Sneha’s head as the winds howled with greater intensity. Had he met with an accident? This was not uncommon during the rains. A bus brushing against a smaller vehicle on the narrow roads could send it plunging into the valleys below. She regretted not having accompanied him. “You will be safe here but don’t let your imagination take you where you shouldn’t go,” he had said.

Seeing Grandma Pillai sitting in her favourite chair reading the newspaper she asked, “Shall I make some tea for you, Grandma? It’s cold”, but she didn’t get any reply. There was no one else, apart from her, in the house.

Her grandma’s death recently had shocked Sneha who had been deeply attached to her. The old lady had lived here alone since her husband, Colonel Pillai, died a few years earlier. Their children knew it was only a matter of time before she followed her husband, as she had unquestioningly done when he was alive. Mrs. Pillai found it difficult to live without her husband, cantankerous and irritable though he was, having been married for over 40 years.

Their eldest child Ashok, in the US for over two decades now, pleaded, “Mummy, come stay with us. All of us, especially the kids, would love to have you and it would be a good change for you.” The old lady had been adamant, “Thanks, Ashok, but I’ll stay here till I die.” Asha, her younger daughter in Mumbai, too had invited her mother to stay with them but Mrs. Pillai never left Kundah. She detested the crowds and the noise in Mumbai after the quiet of these beautiful hills.

Now that Mrs. Pillai too was no more, Sneha and her husband Sridhar were asked to manage the estate. Being in Chennai they were closer to Kundah than Ashok and Asha who had gone back to their respective homes after the funeral. In any case, neither of them would ever live here.

The late evening sun came out with a brief flourish before it set for the day. Sridhar came with the sunshine, bags of groceries in hand as he struggled to open the front door. Sneha rushed to help him. The flush on her face made him ask, “You look flustered. Are you ok?” “Oh, I am fine. I should have come with you, though,” she replied. His eyes narrowed, “Why? What happened?” The fear showed in her voice. “I felt scared. It was kind of spooky here.”

Her hand sought his. Sensing her need he held her close. She felt protected and basked in his embrace though lines of worry appeared on her forehead. After reading all those letters how could she tell him what she feared now more then ever before?

CHAPTER 2

The desolate area far beyond Ladakh was not the best place to be in the winter of 1962 but Capt. Pillai and his battalion had a job to do. Some ass in the Army HQ had ordered them to probe the Chinese border with “aggressive patrolling.” He didn’t show his cynicism in front of his men. That was simply not done. In the privacy of his dug out, however, he muttered to his best friend in the battalion, “Sounds great but with such shoddy, outdated equipment and poor clothing what aggressive patrolling do they expect us to do? Only our patriotism and proud spirits keep us going.”

The freezing winds swept over the mountain top. Snow lay spread over the barren ground for miles around. Through his binoculars, Captain Pillai saw the line of trees far below, shorn of all their leaves. His teeth chattered. From his perch in a sighting post he could see across into the Chinese border. Their troops looked very well–equipped, swaggering around as if they owned the place. His men were hardy and determined. They would never give up without scrapping to the very end, but the poor fellows wore canvas PT shoes in this damned snow. Pitch forked into the battle from the desert heat of Jaisalmer in Rajasthan, they struggled to cope with the inhospitable terrain and climate. The frequent shifts in strategy didn’t help either. Initially they were promised support and reinforcements and ordered to advance as far into the Chinese area as possible. Subsequent orders said they were not to provoke the Chinese in any way but to prevent them from advancing.

The next morning was colder than usual. The men stamped their feet and stretched themselves to keep the blood circulating. With a roar that could be miles away hordes of Chinese infantry attacked the forward post. Shelling broke out from two different directions catching the Indians unawares. Bitter hand to hand fighting followed. Capt. Pillai ordered to stay in reserve watched with horror. Looking through the binoculars, he said, “Good Lord! The poor guys at the forward post are being decimated by the Chinese.”

When it was their turn to advance, Pillai’s men sallied out with excitement and edgy nervousness.  They were fired upon and gave back as best as they could but they were not only out numbered but also out gunned. With their heavier artillery and faster reloading guns, the Chinese gave Pillai and his men no respite at all. Their concentrated firepower blew away many of his men in the first murderous wave itself.

Jumping ahead of his men, Capt. Pillai exhorted them to fight on as they advanced to fight the enemy who outnumbered them. Pillai killed a couple of Chinese when bullets from a machine gun tore into his left leg. He stumbled and fell. As he got up to run forward again, another burst got him in the shoulder. He spun around and rolled down a slope, frantically trying to grasp anything to prevent his fall from that height. His hands clasped empty air and he was no longer on the ground. Pillai landed with a thud thinking he had broken all his bones. His wounded left leg was immersed in the snow at an odd angle. He had tumbled down a ravine, coming to rest on a narrow ledge-like projection much below the battle area. He lay there in great pain till a search party found him the next morning. Some days later, the attending doctor told him, “My dear chap, you are lucky to be alive. The frost bite was so bad we had to amputate your left leg from just below the knee to prevent gangrene from spreading to other parts of your body. I am sorry, we did the best we could.” He didn’t add that Pillai, an ace sprinter, would run no more.

Memories of dead bodies lying in the snow, men nursing grievous injuries, others taken prisoner, and his own crippling war wounds in that humiliating defeat transformed the usually cheerful Capt. Pillai into a bitter man. “We were sacrificed like helpless pawns to satisfy the ego of one powerful General and his political masters. Poor leadership wasted our troops in this one sided war,” he grumbled.

Not surprisingly, over time Capt. Pillai with his war wounds, cynicism, and acerbic tongue got side lined in his profession. Setbacks in a career he had passionately looked forward to made him more frustrated. There weren’t too many opportunities for growth in the Indian Army in those times. Promotions were slow, determined by seniority and the rule book. “The horse and the donkey get promoted together," grumbled Pillai, refusing to accept that after the war he had been downgraded from horse to donkey.

His wife, Leela, bore the brunt of the changes in his character. She put up with his grumbling and morose moods and held the family together. They led a regimented existence where he laid down the rules and demanded implicit obedience. When the children were young, there were no problems. They always obeyed him just as they had seen their mother do most of the time. They did it out of fear.

People noticed that Pillai took out his frustrations on his family. His school master father often used that old adage, “Children should be seen and not heard.” Pillai, brought up in that environment, believed that strict discipline made children better people. He demanded instant and unquestioning obedience.  Ashok, their first child born in 1960 was industrious and methodical, seldom giving his father occasion to scold him.

The target for his anger was usually his second child, Alpana, who was born in 1963. He felt hurt and angry that she saw him at his worst with that amputated leg. She never got to see his charming side as he had changed for the worse before she was born. The ’62 war left him with an amputated leg and a crushed spirit. Her innocent curiosity as a child about his leg made things worse. To be fair to Pillai, his suffering was enough to make any ambitious young man bitter with life.

Alpana didn’t seem unduly bothered about his temper. She took punishments stoically. Her mother often secretly helped her but overall the relationship between father and daughter became worse.

In sharp contrast to Alpana’s rebellious ways, Asha, her younger sister born in 1966 followed his every instruction, petrified at being the target of his ire.

Alpana was the closest to her mother, who had a soft corner for her because of the ongoing battle with her father. Many times Leela Pillai told her husband, “You are far too harsh on her. She is a sensitive child. She is not one of your infantrymen.” This angered Pillai who invariably replied, “There you go, spoiling her even more. Why can’t she be like Ashok and Asha? They don’t give me any trouble. She gives me more headaches than both of them put together.”

Alpana greatly enjoyed her childhood from 5 to 15, but was miserable from 15 to 19. Some people mature far in advance of their years; Alpana Pillai was one of them. Both physically and emotionally at 15 she was far more mature than many of her age. When she made up her mind, she could be irrational and obstinate. The more her father tried to tame her wild spirit, the more rebellious she became. It started with small things:  a slump in grades at school following what was obviously a girlish crush on some fellow in a senior class, crumpled amateurish love letters found in her school bag, rumours of quick kisses snatched in quiet corners of the school. A teacher remarked, “A choosy girl, she likes a few subjects which she is good at and ignores the rest. Her grades are falling as she is too distracted by her own beauty. She is becoming flirtatious as she grows more aware of the effect of her beauty on others.” This was a pertinent observation for even then Alpana was conscious of her beauty.

Ashok was sent to a boarding school because of Pillai’s many transfers. Over time, Alpana and Asha followed him there. Both doted on their elder brother. Each child was very different from the other. While Ashok was intrinsically bright, Alpana was a dreamer, seemingly living in a world of her own. She was clearly the best looking of them. Asha, like her mother, was quiet and industrious in all that she did.  Although Pillai and his wife were fair to all three, Alpana felt in their eyes Ashok could do no wrong.

On entering her teens, Alpana led the rebellion, much to her parents’ dismay. She argued with her father and did something unprecedented in their house. She questioned the rules. “Why should we always have to do what you decide?” “Why can’t we wear what we want?” she asked or she grumbled, “None of the other kids in school have to do this.” 

She remembered an evening when she was 15 and had looked forward to her best friend Neelam’s birthday party. She excitedly told her mother, “I’ll wear the new dress Balu Uncle sent me from the US which I have saved for this special day.”

Her mother frowned when Alpana came out of the room. Her skirt was much shorter than the ones she normally wore. She worried what her husband would have to say. Sure enough, Pillai who was horrified ordered Alpana to change before he took her to the party.

Face screwed in disappointment she fought back her tears. She had so wanted to show off her new dress to her friends. Her father flatly refused, “Go in and change. You aren’t going dressed like some damned tramp.” She didn’t understand what he meant other than that it wasn’t flattering to her. A big row followed. Alpana screamed and cried, Pillai yelled and stood firm, while her mother pleaded on her behalf. Finally Pillai relented. Alpana savored the triumph of a rare victory but was not content with that. When her father said, “I must be mad to agree, but just for today you can wear that damned skirt. Let’s leave before it becomes too late,” she replied, “ I don’t feel like going there after such a row. I’ll explain to Neelam tomorrow.”

She was punished by her father many times for some wrong or the other. Often it was a tongue lashing followed by curtailing of “privileges.” “No, you can’t go for the movie!” or “You will not call those children home again!” She willed herself to face punishments without flinching. Pillai thought his discipline was working but a volcano seethed in the mind of the impressionable girl. He couldn’t accept that his methods, effective as they were in dealing with recruits in the Indian Army, were not succeeding with his artistic and dreamy daughter. She looked radiantly beautiful but could be as stubborn as one of his Army mules.

Alpana was always temperamental and highly-strung as a girl. Of a free spirit, she chafed at the constant discipline she and her siblings were subjected to by her father.

After the amputation of his leg on a November evening at the Army Hospital at Agra, life was never the same for Pillai again. He hung on in the Army until he retired years later as a Colonel to settle down in Kundah in the Nilgiris having bought a tiny estate which he renamed “Nathu La” after the ’62 War battle. He wasn’t the typical planter whose families had been there for decades. Apart from being a newcomer, his impetuous behaviour and short temper made them consider him an eccentric, more disliked than liked.

“Alpana is being troublesome again. This girl will ruin us one day,” was his common refrain. Her father’s temper tantrums only made things worse. At 17, she found her father’s domineering presence too stifling. She sulked and withdrew into herself, which she had never done before. At times, she refused to eat and on one occasion threatened to kill herself. Often she was careless about following his orders. “She is a bad influence on Asha and the other kids,” grumbled Pillai. “Why does she have to annoy me all the time?”

Mrs. Pillai decided to consult the Regimental Medical Officer about Alpana. Her husband was reluctant. “Why spread the word around? People will wonder why we are taking her to the doctor.”

“That’s far better than her suffering, and making us suffer too in the bargain,” said his wife. She persuaded him to fix an appointment with the doctor. He met the parents first. “Does she show any signs of what you might call unusual behaviour?” asked Dr. Sood who knew them well. Husband and wife looked at each other. “Nothing unusual really,” said Pillai, tugging at his moustache, “Maybe moping about and sulking more than usual. I have had to give her a piece of my mind sometimes. She keeps to herself, doesn’t talk as much as she used to, but this is fairly routine stuff, nothing extraordinary!”

Dr. Sood said, “I don’t wish to alarm you. I am only checking to make sure she is not showing signs of prodormal stage of schizophrenia. Sometimes girls in their teens have all kinds of physiological and psychological problems. They stay isolated and avoid others. Have her studies suffered? Have you noticed any strange behaviour?"

“If anything, she doesn’t study as much as she should. Spends too much time in front of the mirror as if she is some bloody film actress! She thinks no end of herself,” said Pillai. This was one of his pet peeves.

“That’s not really true,” said his wife, “She pays a lot of attention to her grooming but that’s natural for a pretty girl of her age.”

The doctor asked them to observe her closely and sent them away with a new cause for anxiety. Pillai came away mumbling, “Asha is so obedient and we had no such problems with Ashok. In any case, Dr. Sood talks utter nonsense. Waste of time seeing him!”

Dr. Sood didn’t say so but noted that while Ashok and Asha had inherited their mother’s quiet ways, Alpana’s obstinacy, determination and combative approach was wholly Pillai’s.

CHAPTER 3

Born on March 2, 1963, Alpana was your archetypical Piscean. Like many girls of her age, she was a huge fan of “What The Stars Foretell” a newspaper column that predicted what was in store for you in the coming week.

She read, “Pisceans are impressionable, nebulous and compassionate. They are ruled by the Twelfth House which governs the unconscious, secret enemies, repressed emotions, dreams and surrendering to a higher cause.” She closed her eyes and dreamt of the future, seeing herself as a famous model, maybe even a film star. This desire resulted in one of her best days in school though it annoyed her father later.

The GOC and his wife visited the school. “What would you like to become when you grow up?” he asked.  Alpana’s was the first hand to shoot up, “I want to become India’s leading movie star.” The General and his wife beamed. He shook her hand and said, “More of you should be like her. Well done, my dear! You have initiative. You know what you want. You are honest. I won’t at all be surprised if you become one of India’s most glamorous beauties.” His words stayed imprinted in her mind for years after. It was the most encouraging thing anyone had ever told her in all her life.

She couldn’t confide in her mother. Mrs. Pillai would support her to a limited extent but only on the sly and never in opposition to her father. She took solace in astrological predictions which were her own secret. Ashok wouldn’t be interested and Asha would most likely sneak to their mother.

She read, “The Piscean personality is the most unworldly one in the zodiac. It is the poet, the dreamer, or the psychic who enjoys being taken away from the mundane reality of everyday life. If Pisceans become trapped by circumstances in any one place, they will seek solace from their own inner world.” This solace came to her from her poems and later in her life, from her drinking.

Alpana by then had developed a habit that stayed with her for the rest of her life. While she spoke out something loud to someone, she said something to herself in the recesses of her mind. This started off with her father. For example, Pillai would bark, “Haven’t you combed your hair today? How are you going out like that?”

She would reply out aloud, “Yes, Papa. I have. I will comb it again if it isn’t ok” but inwardly she would say to herself, “There you go again, you old bore. Always pointing out something or the other that is wrong with me!  Isn’t there some good in me?”

Her mother, as usual, joined in. “Alpana, your father says these things for your own good.”

“I know that, Mummy,” she said aloud but privately she said to herself “You don’t have the courage to question anything he says. You take up his side blindly.”

When the doctor said, “Your parents are always there for you, my dear, if you have any problem I am sure you can talk to your mother. She is after all your best friend.” Alpana replied, “Sir, I’ll do that if I have such a problem.” To herself she said, “Mummy will let me down if I share anything with her. She will be the first one to tell my father, who will create all kinds of problems for me. He was so good to me when I was younger; I wonder why he has changed so much towards me?”

A few months after her 18th birthday, her parents’ worst fear came true. Their beautiful daughter, admired by many, fell hopelessly in love. She recited verses that she composed herself, wrote long entries in her diary, and mooned about clearly stricken by someone. Mrs. Pillai wasn’t one of those “Mother is your best friend, you can tell her all” kinds of mothers.

Alpana was part of the local Dramatics Society which was staging a play with the 33 year old Major Pradeep Bhatia as the hero. Debonair and suave, he was secretly admired by many of the ladies. He lived alone. Rumour had it that his wife, a distant relative from his village, had left him after only a year of their marriage. There were no children. What kind of woman could leave such a handsome man, they wondered. Did she leave because she couldn’t cope with the new lifestyle of an Army officer’s wife? Some said he had tried to help her but she hadn’t matched his expectations. Others held the poor chap had been conned into marrying her by his parents whom he couldn’t disobey. People assumed they were divorced but in reality they were separated, never having gone through a formal divorce. 

Alpana had a small part in the play. She went out of the way to get Bhatia’s attention and succeeded. Others laughed good naturedly at her blatant attempts to attract Bhatia considering she was so much younger than him. She’ll soon outgrow this silly crush, they said.

Alpana told Neelam, her best friend, “I am totally in love. I have met Major Bhatia in his house after the rehearsals a few times.” Neelam’s mouth fell open, “Don’t let your father know about it. He will throw a fit.”

“I want him to know, I am going to marry Pradeep. He’s the only man for me. We are destined to be with each other.”

“But you are so young. They won’t let you marry him.”

“Why? That’s crazy. I am the one getting married, not them. I am over 18. Can’t I choose whom I want to spend the rest of my life with?”

She was less forthcoming when speaking to her elders.

“I hear some mysterious prince will carry away our princess,” said Mrs. Sethi, widely acclaimed to be the biggest gossip in the Army Camp. There was little she didn’t know about others’ lives,

“Who is this lucky man? Do we know him?”

“Of course, Aunty, but it is Top Secret,” Alpana replied leaving them to speculate who it might be.

Mrs. Sethi later told Mrs. Pillai, “Leela, I think it could be Lt. Rai, who joined the Regiment last year, fresh from IMA. Smart boy but a bit too early for him to marry, na?” Mrs. Pillai kept quiet.

“It could also be Brigadier Saxena’s younger son, Prakash. The boy who went to that management institute they talk so highly about. He was terribly fond of Alpana. Remember he used to always hang around her which annoyed your husband?”

“Prakash is a good boy,” said Mrs. Pillai vaguely.

“Of course your husband gets annoyed for everything,” Mrs. Sethi added, at her catty best. “You should be given a medal in the next Republic Day for having put up with him for all these years.” The ladies at the kitty party roared with laughter. Mrs. Sethi prided herself on her wit. She patted Leela to show she meant no offence, “Don’t worry. Your Alpana is so beautiful that you won’t have any problem finding a bridegroom for her. Bachelors for miles around would love to marry her.”

That evening when they were having tea together, Mrs. Pillai casually asked Alpana, “Have you heard from Saxena’s boy recently? I am told he is doing extremely well in that global firm in Hong Kong. They rave about his salary. Your father says even senior officers in the Indian Army don’t make as much as that young man.”

“No, I haven’t heard from him for long.”

“But you do write to him don’t you?”

“I know what you are getting at, Mummy. I am not planning to marry him or any of the hundreds of friends I have.”

“You said he is someone we know. Your father and I are naturally keen on knowing who this mystery man is.”

She hugged her mother, “Don’t tell him for now but I have no secrets from you, Mama. It’s Pradeep.”

“Saxena’s younger boy is Pradeep? I thought he was Prakash.”

“Who’s talking about Prakash Saxena? He’s a nice chap but that’s about all. I am talking of my Pradeep.”

“Who, young lady, is your Pradeep?” her mind raced trying to recall Alpana’s friends of that name.

“All of you know him. My real life hero. The one and only, Major Pradeep Bhatia!”

Her mother reeled in shock.

“That’s absurd. He is so much older than you.”

“He is only 33. You speak as if I am marrying someone of 60.”

“But you are just past 18. He is nearly double your age.”

“No he isn’t, I am not 16 and a half.”

“For God’s sake, Alpana! You know perfectly well what I mean. This is shocking.”

“What is? My marrying someone I love but you don’t approve of or marrying some one who has been married before?”

“Please don’t talk like that. This idea is ridiculous. Your father will go crazy if he hears about this.”

“You better tell him, otherwise I will. If he tries to stop us from marrying, I’ll either run away from home or file a police complaint against him.”

In later years, Alpana often wondered how her illness, if one could call it that, had started. Was it a cumulative effect of the stress and strains of growing up feeling totally alone and unsupported? Was it due to her ill-fated love affair with Major Bhatia? This may have been the last straw for this highly temperamental girl. Her mother was sympathetic at times but could not bring herself to oppose her domineering husband. Her brother was too busy to be drawn to her pleas for understanding. Asha was too small to appreciate what was going on in her sister's mind.

Marriage was not something Alpana had seriously contemplated. She only wanted to spend the rest of her life with Major Pradeep Bhatia, with whom she was hopelessly in love. This was way beyond the school girl crushes she had experienced with several young men. Adoring Bhatia as she did, she refused to consider practical issues of how they would get married, what people would say, or to what extent she was willing to fight her family to marry him. After all, at 18 to her the world was highly romantic. She imagined herself with Pradeep on their honeymoon. She dreamt of them at a Himalayan hill station, not Simla or Mussoorie the more popular ones, but some place which was more remote where they could be together all the time. She never thought of life after marriage, pushing any doubts away. She wanted to marry him and that was it. Only time would tell whether she would find the happiness she craved.

Major Pradeep Bhatia for his part was confused. This beautiful girl being madly in love with him was obvious to him as indeed to the whole world. He couldn’t deny he found her immensely attractive and her attention flattering. After all he was lonely since his wife left him some years ago. Being a realist, he knew her family would oppose their marriage as he was far older to her and had been married before. They couldn’t possibly run away and get married. The scandal to follow would certainly affect his Army career adversely. They were not young teenagers in a romance novel. He was a senior officer and expected to behave responsibly.

He remembered their last meeting; only at that time they had no idea it would be their last. Seeing her eyes flash with anger, he smiled, “Why are you so upset?” Her chest heaved, “My father hopes to get me married to some Mallu fellow. I heard him talk to his sister yesterday in Kerala. He appears desperate to get me off his hands. I have had enough of this deception. Let’s tell him the truth about our relationship and that we are getting married.”

“Are we? Have you thought of all that is involved?”

“I know we love each other and that’s enough for me.”

“What will people think? It’s almost cradle snatching! You are half my age.”

“Since when did you begin to worry about what people will say? Let them go to hell! Gossips like Mrs. Sethi and Mrs. Pande will have a great time but so be it. We can’t let those old hens spoil our lives.”

“I think we need to think about this some more, Alpana. Of course, I love you. Do you doubt that?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t care how.”

“What about your parents? Don’t you think we should talk to them? We should convince them. We need them on our side.”

“I am older than 18. I am not a kid any more. I can marry anyone I please. I don’t have to listen to what they say.”

“What happens if your father throws you out of his house?” he asked half-jokingly.

“Nothing happens. I move in to yours and we’ll live happily ever after,” she laughed and held him tightly.

She made it sound so simple. She was full of romantic ideals. His heart beat faster seeing her beautiful face so close to his. This woman was a killer!

Things hadn’t turned out the way Alpana hoped they would. Pillai was a shrewd strategist. He told his wife, “We need to get Bhatia out of the way and then take Alpana to Kerala. We can’t do it when he’s here. What if she seeks shelter in his house? There will be a huge scandal. You know she’s old enough to marry legally. We can’t force her to be here.”

It was widely rumored later that Pillai had used his influence with his ex-boss at Army Headquarters to get Major Bhatia transferred to a field posting to break the relationship. That story was true. “Sir, this is Pillai here. I need your help.”

“Yes, Pillai, what can I do for you?”

“It’s too delicate to write about so I have taken the liberty to call you at home, Sir.”

“That’s ok. What’s bothering you? You seemed troubled. Any problems at work?”

“No, it’s about Major Pradeep Bhatia. Please treat this in confidence, Sir. My young daughter, Alpana, has fallen in love with him. I am worried a scandal will break out if he continues here. My reputation is at stake, sir! I am sure you understand being a father of a young lady yourself.”

“Of course, I remember Alpana. An exceptionally pretty girl! Has she broken another heart?” the General guffawed before adopting a tough tone.

“Leave it to me. Bhatia will be posted out of there immediately. By the way, my wife and I heard rumours about this, but didn’t want to embarrass you. How old is Alpana now?”

“She’s past 18.”

“Good God! How time flies. I have known her since she was a small kid. She’s a lovely young lady now. She won some beauty pageant recently, didn’t she? Anyway, I’ll get things done from here.”

“Thank you, Sir. I am grateful for your help.”

“This is the least I can do for an old comrade from the China War days,” said the General and hung up.

CHAPTER 4

A senior officer at the Army HQ spoke to Bhatia’s CO the next day. Soon after he received a signal transferring Major Bhatia to a field posting near Leh. He sent for Bhatia, “ This is urgent. We have a problem at a forward post. I say this in confidence. A few jawans attacked their superior officer. That’s all I know at present. You are to set things right. We don’t want to make a hue and cry about this. Leave for Delhi tonight and you will be at your new post tomorrow evening. And, another thing, no one should know about your going. I repeat no one. Is that clear?”

“Sir!” said Bhatia dutifully, wondering how the hell he would explain his having to go away like this to Alpana. They had agreed to have a long chat the next day to talk about the next steps. She wouldn’t allow the situation to drift. He supposed he would set things right when he was back in a week or so. He left for Delhi late that night. As they drove past Col. Pillai’s house, he thought he heard someone scream from the house, but that may have been within his head.

Alpana was shattered. When she went to Bhatia’s that evening, she was shocked to find a platoon of men, packing and clearing things. His orderly sheepishly told her, “Emergency duty. Saheb left late at night for Delhi.”

It took a few days for her to realize that he would not be coming back. She continued with her studies at college and completed her graduation but was a shadow of her former self after that evening. Close friends noticed that she was never quite the same again. It was as if something precious had been taken away from her life.

Pillai told his wife, “This headstrong girl will ruin us one of these days. Imagine falling in love with a man nearly twenty years older than her. She must be absolutely mad.” Leela had to hear this all day through. She suggested, “Why don’t you talk to your sister in Cochin? She could suggest a good match for Alpana. She is so beautiful after all. I am sure most men would love to marry her.”

“Yes, they will like her until she opens her mouth,” said the Colonel. “The girl is full of ridiculous notions. She thinks she is some kind of princess and people will fall at her feet. She is dreaming all the time. Marriage would end that stuff and nonsense in her head. I agree. We should get her married off before she does something scandalous.”

Salim, an imp of a boy with tousled hair and a mischievous glint in his eye, was the 12 year old son of Razak, the part-time gardener for the bungalows. One day, he entered Pillai’s house which he had been forbidden to do. He was highly excited as he had never been here before. Without knowing its value, he took a silver cup from the hall and walked away. He knew it would fetch him money which his father never gave him. Being too scared to tell his father, he sold it for a pittance to a bigger boy. This was the start of his career as a thief. Pillai made a huge row about the theft threatening his servants with dire consequences. He said he would not hesitate to shoot the thief next time. They believed him.

Two months later on a hot afternoon, when most of the bungalow inmates were dozing Salim broke the promise he had made to his father. He entered Col Pillai’s bungalow once more, this time through the back door which he had noticed was not closed properly. Having got away the last time, he was bolder today. He made straight for Mrs. Pillai’s handbag, left hanging on a door knob near her bedroom. He stuffed a wad of currency down his shirt and was heading towards the back door when Pillai hobbled into the hall from the next room. Seeing the thief, Pillai swung out with his heavy cane. Salim yelped as the cane caught him on the side of the head. Pillai gave him a few lusty blows. Salim’s loud cries brought the others rushing to the spot. He was locked in the shed at the rear of the bungalow while Col Pillai stomped off to phone the police. Alpana who was then 20 couldn’t bear the thought of the young boy being taken into police custody. She always rooted for the underdog, particularly in this case. She knew what it was like to be locked in her room if she had done something to annoy her father.

When her father was busy reading the newspaper, while waiting for the police to get there, she hurried to the shed and let the boy out. He looked at her in surprise. Without a word of thanks he raced off, vaulting the low gate of the bungalow. Pillai was livid with rage when he discovered the boy had escaped, “Who let that scoundrel out? Worst of all, it was someone from my own house. Alpana, own up! Why did you let him free?”

“I have no idea what happened, Papa. I was reading a book in my room.” Alpana was the main suspect but there was no proof. She maintained she had no idea who had let Salim out. Privately she gloated in her victory, enjoying the sight of her father fret and fume. She had done something which no one had done for her; have the courage to free her when she was locked in her room.

Pillai initiated “Operation Bridegroom” with great vigour. To get a suitable match for Alpana, he showed an enthusiasm not seen for years. He fired off letters to assorted relatives, many of whom he hadn't seen for decades. He visited people from his community, again something he had shunned from doing during his service career. Results came in swiftly because people had seen and heard of her beauty. By the end of the first week he was happily sitting sifting through a sheaf of proposals and recommendations that had reached him. The Colonel was impressed with a proposal from a family in Sakleshpur in Karnataka, recommended by one of his sisters who lived in Chennai. She had babbled over the phone, “They are a distinguished family of planters with a son and a daughter of marriageable age. ‘The Girl’ is a perfect match for Ashok. ‘The Boy’ is a capable fellow who manages the adjoining plantation all on his own. He is not living with his parents.” She herself didn’t know that Thampi’s living separately suited him as much as it did his parents. With each passing year, they hoped he would settle down but he continued to be a womanizer and was drinking more than before. They preferred to keep him away as it was becoming somewhat embarrassing in their social circle.

As was common in those days, they sought a brother-sister combination to marry their daughter and son respectively. With Ashok in India on vacation, Pillai decided he shouldn’t waste more time. He said, “Leela, let’s get Ashok to marry this girl. He is well settled and he won’t make a fuss about who he is to marry. He told me the loneliness is catching up on him. As part of the deal, we will arrange for Alpana to marry Thampi, the girl’s elder brother. He is a handsome chap who manages the family’s estates. Good sportsman too. My sister says he’s a good golfer. I am sure he will be smitten by Alpana’s beauty. That’s settled then. I shall call them today itself.”

The pictures of the planter’s daughter showed a sweet-looking girl. The Colonel was impressed. “I must say she looks pleasant and good-natured. We’ll not have any problems with her. I can tell by just looking at people. My sister says she works for an advertising agency in Bangalore, drives a car, is independent and capable of managing her career and home. She will be an excellent match for Ashok. Besides, she would fit in well with life in the US.”

“What about Alpana? Should we not at least talk to her about this?” asked his wife.

“Are you crazy?” snapped Pillai.  “At present we just talk about Ashok’s marriage and leave it at that. She will raise hell if she comes to know more. It’s in her interest and in ours too that we don’t give away too much at this stage.”

“I am not sure whether that is fair on her,” said his wife.

“Then you manage the whole bloody thing,” he shouted. “Don’t blame me if the silly girl runs away with Bhatia or someone else! We won’t be able to show our face to anyone here. Are you ready to face that scandal? Have you thought of that?”

Her mother had then reluctantly agreed. There seemed to be no better option open to them.

Seeing his wife upset, Pillai said softly, “Listen, I am doing this for her own good. Thampi is not some riff-raff, not some chap walking on the road that we have thrown her at. They are an old and noble family once prominent in the court of the Maharajahs. Yes, Alpana will throw a few tantrums but we must convince her that it is all for the larger good.”

Two things changed Alpana’s life. The first was that she could not contact Pradeep Bhatia. Ever since he left that night on official duty, no one seemed to know where he was. She wrote him three letters one after the other in which she poured her heart out. Her attempts to call him on the phone met with no success. On several occasions she was told curtly that Maj. Bhatia was not available. He was in a field posting and they could not divulge where he was. It was as if he had vanished. She wondered if her father had engineered the posting but Bhatia himself had told her he was due for a forward posting soon, so that may have been a co-incidence.

Secondly, her father told her bluntly, “You might as well know what is at stake. If you don’t marry Thampi, there is no hope in hell of his sister marrying Ashok. You probably know too that our Ashok is greatly taken by the girl.” Alpana didn’t want the marriage to fall through because of her. She admired and respected her elder brother who had loved them so much as kids and always sent her and Asha gifts from the US. Her face fell thinking she could be the cause of his unhappiness. Seizing the advantage, Pillai made her feel more guilty, “If you want to spoil your brother’s happiness, and everyone else’s, say no to this marriage. Can’t you see this alliance is the best thing that has happened to both of you? Ashok and you will get highly suitable spouses, and Mummy and I will be so happy.”

Pradeep’s silence baffled Alpana. Had he turned out to be a cheat? Had he chickened out when marriage was mentioned? Had he used her, a passionate, impressionable young girl with no thought for her reputation or future? She felt terrible. Sadly there was no one she could confide in. Ashok was delighted about his marriage. It would be unfair to burden him with her problems. Her father was too busy preparing for the wedding. He was also preening himself at his victory. Her mother may have appreciated her feelings but could do little beyond that. When it came to making a choice between her and her father, Leela Pillai always stood solidly behind her husband which Alpana thought was most unfair.

For a few weeks Alpana moped about. She seldom spoke and never smiled. Dark rings formed under her eyes and she looked sickly. She had lost her zest for life.

Leela was in at the girls’ room to check on them before she went to bed herself when she noticed a window was open. As she closed it, a gust of wind sent a piece of paper fluttering down to the ground from the table. Leela picked it up. It was a note of some kind in Alpana’s handwriting. Her blood ran cold when she remembered what Dr. Sood had told her some months ago.

She read, "My tormentors want me dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. They want me to go. They want me out of sight. They want me destroyed. They want my lover destroyed. I am in two minds. Should I meekly follow many others and end it all? But I have done no wrong. I have only loved someone who loved me too. My love will be with me till the very end. Should I fight back till my last breath to get what I want? Should I fight? Should I?"

Asha tossed and turned in her sleep but Alpana who had written that note was sleeping peacefully, a small smile on her beautiful face. Alpana was more cheerful than she had been of late the next morning at breakfast. “You seem full of beans. Excited about your marriage?” joked Ashok. Pillai and his wife hadn’t shared their plans with him as he would have refused this marriage proposal if he knew Alpana was getting married against her will, only for his sake.

“No. I am happy that Mummy saw the note I left for her. She knows now exactly how I feel,” replied Alpana. This came like a physical blow to Leela. The contents of the note and the way Alpana made light of it was a revelation to her. Things had gone too far, she thought. Sweat broke out on her brow and her mouth was dry. She had to tell her husband about the note but he would be the last person to be understanding. She wasn’t sure how he would react.

She desperately wanted to share her concerns with someone she could trust. None of her friends would understand. She then remembered Dr. Sood and without telling the Colonel, Mrs. Pillai met him in his clinic one afternoon.

After giving her a patient hearing, Dr. Sood shook his head. He too had heard of the girl’s love for Bhatia and subsequent events. It wasn’t appropriate to discuss this with her mother at this time.  “Look I don't want to make a big thing out of this but Col Pillai doesn't seem to understand the horrible consequences that could take place.” “Tell me, Doctor. He won't understand but I will do my best. She is my daughter after all." “The Colonel is funny sometimes. His war wounds made him excessively cynical. He thinks the world owes him something for the hardships he had to go through. I am being brutally honest with you. Alpana is such a sweet girl most of the time. I don't want the Colonel's pressure to lead her to commit suicide."

He had uttered the word she was dreading. She clenched her teeth and heard more, “It’s not unusual for young girls who are depressed to attempt suicide. Please observe her very carefully. I am not saying Alpana will do this. Her marriage at this stage is a gamble. If it comes off, it could be the solution you are praying for. Her husband may make her very happy and she may overcome her grief. I hope to God this happens. If the marriage were to fail she could be in for a rough time. It would undeniably damage her physical and mental health further. Worse still, it could even affect her children."

CHAPTER 5

Dr. Sood looked kindly at Leela Pillai as she sat in his clinic, the tension showing in her face. He explained, “Alpana may be showing signs of schizophrenia. A disturbed mind due to something that is bothering her acutely, coupled with a rebellion against your husband’s autocratic behaviour, are pushing her towards serious trouble.”

She listened intently, “But can’t we do something to help her, Doctor?”

“There is no known way to prevent schizophrenia. We go largely by the symptoms like hearing internal voices not heard by others, and being suspicious of others including her family. She may think you aim to harm her.”

Leela Pillai sat in shock, disbelief in her eyes. What had happened to her child? Who could help them in this predicament?

Dr. Sood continued, “If the situation worsens, I fear this intelligent and beautiful girl may withdraw into herself like a crushed flower.”

Mrs. Pillai had no choice but to tell her husband who, as expected, got most annoyed.  He yelled, “Why are you wasting time on all this, when I am trying to settle the issue? Young doctors these days read too much into small things. If someone is upset, they act as if they are crazy. This M.O. sees bloody ghosts everywhere. I have half a mind to report him to the CO. Scaring gullible people like you with all this nonsense!”

There being no news whatsoever from Bhatia, who had vanished most unexpectedly, Alpana agreed reluctantly to see the “boy.” They travelled to Chennai where she first met Thampi at her aunt’s house. He was undoubtedly handsome and at 28 was seven years older than her. She felt he was very conscious of his good looks and wealth. “What do you like to do apart from being admired by others?” he asked with some sarcasm. His eyes pierced her body examining her from head to toe as he talked about himself, cracking a few risqué jokes as if he was testing the waters.

“I love dancing, poetry and music,” she said and saw his eyes light up.

“I am not into poetry and stuff like that,” he said, “I love golf and motor racing. I only read on these subjects.”

Alpana knew he was admiring her but his looks were lustful. His eyes said he wanted her. Right then. She couldn’t help comparing him with Bhatia. While Bhatia was always gentlemanly, this man who would soon be her husband seemed coarse, but with an animal-like magnetism. He looked what he was, a ladies man.

Col. Pillai wanted to carry out this important responsibility as a father and get Alpana married, especially after the Bhatia affair. Once married, she would be someone else’s responsibility. Pillai believed a strong man like him would keep Alpana in her place and she would become an obedient wife like her mother. Besides, as he told his wife, “We are not throwing her to the first man we see. Thampi’s is a very old and rich family. We are not selling off our daughter for God’s sake. You may have heard he has a short temper but many say the same of me. That hasn’t stopped me from being a good husband to you for all these years, has it?”

In April 1984, Alpana got married to Thampi in Chennai. She was amused to hear his close friends called him “Therapy” Thampi. Later she heard the name came from his theory that there was nothing a few drinks wouldn’t cure. His loud laughs and cold silences confirmed her fears that he was terribly moody. With his wealth and dashing looks, he had a reputation for his bravado and his drinking. He didn’t care a hoot what people thought of him.

He made love in ways that hurt her, treating her like a toy he was proud of. As she was getting used to her new home in the hills around Chikmagular, she found herself pregnant. She had a difficult pregnancy with Thampi being after her all the time. She fled to her parents’ house in Kundah. In May 1985, she struggled to give birth to a lovely baby girl, whom they named Sneha. For the next few years, her life improved with the little girl becoming the centre of her life. 

Alpana’s hope that the birth of their child would sober Thampi was belied. He frequently misbehaved despite all his promises to her. He became contrite but could not stay sober for too long.

With the passing years, Alpana and Thampi drifted apart. She lost herself in poetry when she found he didn’t have time for her.

The thought of leaving Thampi never occurred to her. There was no place to go with her little daughter. Her parents would never accept her side of the story. She was trapped in this marriage for the rest of her life. All she could do was to make the best of it.

Initially, she had tried to charm him and then fight him, but nothing worked. She tried tantrums and sulking, but he was totally indifferent to her, except when he wanted her. The final capitulation came when, after a big fight, he vanished for a whole week without telling her where he was going. She felt totally abandoned. After this, she abjectly surrendered and stuck to her poems. Soon she was lost in a world of her own, more fantasy than real.

Alpana realized that her parents had got what they wanted. She hadn’t. She had married Thampi as she was devastated after the affair with Bhatia and she wanted her brother to be happy. At least, she thought cynically, Ashok and his wife were happy in the US. It was her fate that she had to suffer like this.

Money was not the problem. Whatever she might have to complain about Thampi, he was never stingy. He lived life to the full spending lavishly. When she asked him nervously about expenses and saving for the future, he laughed, “Let’s enjoy when we can. If we run out of money we’ll deal with that when we come to it. Don’t worry about silly things like that. Come here, I want you.”

After her marriage, Alpana joined her husband for a drink occasionally. She soon found that alcohol numbed the pain of his repeated assaults, which later she learnt to avoid whenever she could. It also taught her that she could live in a dream world where she could mope about Pradeep Bhatia and what might have been under the influence of liquor. She once told Thampi, “There’s no law against dreaming. I can live in my own world which is special to me.” He said, “Great! I will live in mine too.”

To diminish her anguish, she took to drinking more. If earlier she had hated the smell Thampi brought with him, now she was in a position to retaliate and the smell no longer bothered her. Thampi said, “My God, your breath smells foul. You must have drunk a lot. You are stinking.”

She didn’t have the courage to say, “You are like that most of the time.”

Thampi gloated on his victory, telling his pals, “I have tamed this wild tigress. She’s now as quiet as a lamb. As always, my therapy has worked on her!”

In later years Alpana became precariously close to becoming an alcoholic. Chasing unfulfilled dreams, unlimited money, a husband who led a fast life and her turning a blind eye to his escapades made her easy prey. She had, of course, heard of the dangers of alcoholism. Her parents had spoken in whispers about an Army colleague who had wrecked his career and marriage.

She attended a meeting of the Alcoholics Anonymous. The plaque on the wall read, “God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can and the wisdom to know the difference.” This made a big impact on Alpana. She wasn’t obliged to disclose the truth about her personal life which was a relief.  Some members may have recognized her but the spirit of the group held their inquisitiveness in check. At these meetings, they were Anonymous and preferred to keep it that way.

Ironically, her best poetry came out when she had knocked down a few pegs. The mind whirled, the heart thumped but the words flew out. Some of her poems got rave reviews from the cognoscenti. Her first book of poems titled, “Dreams” made her a cult figure amongst a section of the youth, mainly young men and women. She took to visiting Bangalore for writers’ meets and poetry conferences.  By 1991, at just 28, she was well-known in literary circles as a poet of great promise. Several volumes of her poetry had been published. Her looks, dress sense and attitude gave rise to varying opinions about Alpana. At one extreme her admirers said she was a genius, on the other her detractors were convinced she was a nut.

She was reconciled to having just one child when unexpectedly she found herself pregnant again in 1992. This time she had a son, whom they named Arjun.  Thampi cheered up immensely with the birth of an heir. He said proudly, “Here is a future golf champ. I shall coach him myself.”CHAPTER 6

Pradeep Bhatia in the meanwhile had risen to become a Major General in the Indian Army. He followed Alpana in the Press whenever her name was mentioned. He had bought her books and was astounded to feel the depths of her passion, presumably, for him.

He had not replied to her letters or taken her calls because after they were separated for a few months he realized that it just wouldn’t work for them. Yes, Alpana was extremely attractive but he didn’t want to risk another bad marriage after the first disaster.

Nursing a drink in his bungalow in Mhow, he thought back to the only time he had seen her after her marriage to Thampi. As a Brigadier he was attending a conference in Bangalore on joint operations with the IAF in June 1995.  His friend  said that morning, “My buddy is celebrating his daughter’s wedding. They would love to have you for the reception this evening.” It was at a posh 5 star hotel. He had reconciled himself to a boring social occasion when he spotted a face he knew from the past. A face he could never forget.

A lady walked past with a young girl holding her hand. Her husband walked ahead chatting with friends. From his vantage point Bhatia admired her and watched the proceedings. Later he felt ashamed that he hadn’t even wished the newly married couple but this was far more fascinating. The lady who had drawn him to her like a magnet was Alpana, now in her early 30’s. Her extraordinary beauty had gone, though she still looked reasonably attractive. She had put on more weight than was good for her. Her hair remained glossy and shone in the lights of the banquet hall. Once he came close to her and their eyes met for a fleeting second. He didn’t know what to say. He stood there gaping. She took a long sip from her glass and turned away. Had she recognized him? He wasn’t sure.

Bhatia was brought back to the present when his friend came with another couple, “Pradeep, meet my old friends, Shyam and Rashna Kapoor. This is Brigadier Pradeep Bhatia, one of our war heroes.” Bhatia was forced to talk to them. Shyam asked whether he knew some Army people he had met some years ago on a train journey near Jhansi, while Rashna with her eyes wide open asked if he felt scared in battle. He said a few polite words but his eyes trailed Alpana. She seemed to know many people, moving from one group to another, always having a bunch of men crowding around her.

He rehearsed what he would say to her. After all, so much had happened and so many years had flown by. What was there to say? How could he communicate how he felt? Should he go up and tell her who he was? When he next looked at the spot where Alpana had been, she had gone. He spotted her again. This time in another part of the large hall.

She could be no other. He had to meet her. Mustering up his courage, he went up to the small group around her. When he got the chance to make eye contact, he stepped forward slightly. He had grayed considerably but otherwise looked much the same. They looked at each other for a few moments.

“Hello” he said, “What a surprise!” “Have we met before?” she asked, her big eyes on him. “Yes, we have. Don’t you remember me?” he asked, waiting eagerly for her answer. The others in the group waited, like him, for her reply. It happened so often in these parties. One met old friends purely by chance. She smiled, reminding him of how she looked when he knew her, “Of course, I do. Can I ever forget you?”

His heart leapt on hearing her words. “I am so glad. I was worried didn’t remember me.” 

“How can I forget you Kamal, the maddest fellow in college? But then you were crazy about me to have done all those stupid things. Of course, we were much younger then.”

She smiled again. This time the smile didn’t reach her eyes which looked full of pain. Her voice was husky. Very different from the past. Her figure had thickened with time. The sparkle was gone. There was something missing. Where earlier she radiated beauty, she now was like some queen of tragedy. A deep sense of disappointment hit Bhatia like a blow in the gut. He felt terribly let down.

“I am Pradeep, surely you remember me,” he said.

She raised her glass to him in a mocking toast, “To remember all the men in my life, I would have to be a genius.”

Had she not recognized him at all or was it a cold brush off?  By the time he gathered his wits about him, she was gone. A fat man almost bursting out of a far too tight suit took her by the arm and led her to another group of guests. She was laughing shrilly at something he said. She soon was the centre of attraction in that group and didn’t look towards Bhatia again.

He was shocked to see her unending capacity for drink. One followed another, and she wasn’t walking around taking decorous sips from time to time, either. Much later he saw her sitting in one corner with her daughter half- asleep next to her. The girl must have been about 10 years old. Bhatia didn’t know they had just admitted Sneha to a boarding school. Alpana felt it would provide a better environment for her than the one at home.

A man was leaning towards her talking animatedly. She looked lost in thought and distinctly bored. Her husband, if he was around, was nowhere to be seen.

Bhatia was unusually quiet when they drove home after dinner. His friend asked, “Pradeep, my friend, what’s the matter? This is most unlike you. Usually you are so jovial. You look like you have seen a ghost!”

“I just might have,” replied Pradeep Bhatia.

On a hot afternoon in May 2002, General Bhatia’s tourist taxi ate up the miles from Mysore to Bangalore. The road was far better than in earlier years. Pradeep Bhatia was returning to Bangalore from Mysore after a brief vacation which he had enjoyed in the Madumalai Game Sanctuary, being alone with nature. Coming off a strenuous six month tour of frontline duty in Jammu and Kashmir, this was a welcome break. 

At 53, General Bhatia was “fighting fit” as he liked to say though his tension at the moment showed in the number of cigarettes he smoked. "Go easy, old chap! Too many coffin nails today," he thought. A party last night, a late start in the morning and underestimating the traffic on this highway had resulted in their falling behind schedule. Bhatia was to catch the night flight from out of Bangalore to attend an important conference at Delhi tomorrow. This would determine his next posting, possibly his promotion too.

He cursed himself for having stayed on so late. As it did whenever he drank too much, his mind drifted in the same direction it had over the decades. It went back to the days spent with a beautiful young woman who loved him with a passion he had never thought possible. Her name was Alpana Pillai. He shook his head. Not today of all the days. He shouldn’t get into that frame of mind when he had important work ahead of him. He remembered having seen her seven years ago. Had she deliberately not recognized him? Why was he still yearning for her?

They cruised down the well-maintained highway that would get them to Bangalore in just three hours. Only 25 kilometers from Mysore, they had to stop as the traffic was piled up on the highway. A long line of vehicles waited ahead of their car. Most people stayed in the air conditioned comfort of their cars. The truck drivers hopped off and after the usual check of walking around their trucks as if to make sure all the wheels were still intact sat on their haunches to smoke and exchange notes. Bhatia told his driver to find out what was going on and lit a cigarette as he waited.

The driver took nearly 15 minutes to get back. He shook his head, looking affected.

“What’s the matter? How long will this traffic jam last?” asked General Bhatia. “It's clearing up, saheb, we should be moving in five or ten  minutes,” said the driver. As he spoke, with a wail of sirens and flashing lights, an ambulance tore past, going the opposite way towards Mysore.

In India news travels like lightning. The driver seldom spoke to the General but today he was moved by what he had seen. The human need to share overcame him. “It was a terrible accident, saheb," he said. “Two cars collided head on. The man who caused the accident was killed on the spot. He was driving rashly, probably under the influence of alcohol. The driver of the car that was hit had no chance at all. He too died on the spot but a lady with him had a miraculous escape. I am not sure if the two passengers in the car that caused the accident survived. They are in grave danger. If that ambulance doesn’t get to Mysore soon, a lady and her young son will surely die, Sir.”

Driving one of the cars stuck in the jam following the accident was Salim. He had seen a lot of the dirty side of life since he had run away after being locked in Colonel Pillai’s shed nearly 20 years ago. At 33, he was an accomplished con man. He stayed away from the rough stuff though he could be brutal if required. He specialized in more sophisticated crimes. His pet method was to work as a driver for rich folk which enabled him to learn a lot about them. Once he had gained their trust, he would strike one day to vanish with jewels or a wad of cash. A born actor, apart from being a driver, Salim had adopted the roles of a butler in a plantation, a waiter in a hotel, and a travelling salesman in the last year. His father was dead long ago and Salim’s family lived in Kerala. They had no idea what kind of work he did but were happy with the money he sent home.

The traffic ahead began to edge forward. Bhatia wondered how some people could be so irresponsible to drink and drive like that idiot had. He said, “Let’s hope the ambulance gets them to the hospital before it is too late. Idiotic bastards! Driving intoxicated and making it unsafe for others on the highway! They kill themselves and others with their stupidity. Look at the inconvenience they have caused to all of us."

The driver said softly, “There are all kinds of people, Saheb. Who can predict what will happen on our roads these days? Death can come calling any day.” Bhatia, who had seen death from close quarters many times, could only nod in agreement.

The next day he read about the accident in the Deccan Herald. A planter called Thampi, aged 46, was killed in a car accident along with his wife Alpana, aged 39, the well known poet and their son, aged 10. The report didn’t mention that he had been drunk. It said the only survivor of the family was a daughter who wasn’t there with the rest of the family that day.

Bhatia’s mind went back to the small girl half-asleep at that wedding reception. Poor kid, she had been left alone in the world under such tragic circumstances. He wondered if he should reach out to her. But what would he say? Who was he to her, anyway? Her mother’s old lover? It was nearly twenty years ago. Had she been happy in her marriage? Did she think of him as much as he had thought of her? He knew the Army top brass had deliberately shunted him to a forward posting all those years ago to break up their relationship. He knew from the papers that she had achieved some prominence, if not notoriety as a poet whose poems were described as being hard hitting, pithy, real and straight from the gut. Many felt they were too raw and some even vulgar but all acknowledged the passion that flowed in her words.

How could he tell the girl that he hadn’t seen her mother in so many years? Was he responsible for her unhappiness in life? Did he share the guilt for having in some way ruined a pretty young girl’s life? The past would come back to haunt them. Let things be as they are, he thought to himself. Raking up the past would do neither of them any good.

PART 2- SNEHA’S STORY

CHAPTER 7

The smell emanating from the old trunk indicated it hadn’t been opened for years. Perhaps her grandma had not had the courage to open it, thought Sneha. There were stacks of letters now faded with time. Many were the old world inland letters in her mother’s neat handwriting. Her thoughts may have tormented her but her handwriting seldom wavered. The neatly written pages looked like an imposition done to please a demanding teacher. Some faded leaves and flower petals kept between the pages of the books were frayed and almost in tatters. These books contained her poetry. Some were brilliant while most of them were too abstract for Sneha to appreciate. She vividly remembered one of the strangest ones she had seen. It was titled “I” and went something like this:

“I, me, mine, mine, me, I. I  I, and again I. He is mine and I am his. I, I, I,”

Her poems were a mixture of brilliance and rubbish, depending on how you saw them. Sheet after sheet was filled with poems, written in her firm italic handwriting. Some were scrawled as if written in great haste. As she shuffled through the pages of a dog-eared notebook of the type they had used as students, Sneha saw a few of these poems:

Rejection

Attention, Revelation, Rejection!

Joy, Happiness, Sadness

The world goes Round Every day

We pay the price for what we say

And another went:

My Man

“He was destined for me, the most handsome man in this world I was not destined for him, the cursed bitch that I am.Destiny laughs at us and leaves us no choice but to laugh at others

They may think we are laughing at them but we are laughing at ourselves and our fate.”

Many of the poems must have reflected her own life, thought Sneha with an aching heart. She must have led a sad life. They said the beautiful girl had ruined her health, drank too much to forget her pain. Whether it was the pain caused by a lover who abandoned her or a husband who didn’t care for her, one couldn’t say. It was most ironic that she who was so desirable to most was not attractive to her own husband. Another theory was that Alpana wanted to spite her husband. Whatever the reason, this took a toll of her health and she was never the same again.

One of Alpana’s oldest diary entries read, “It has been the worst week of my life. I feel wretched but I am not going to take it lying down. Who decides what is right and what is wrong? Who makes the rules? If a young lady loves a man who loves her in return how does it matter if he had a wife long ago? If the wife does not care for him any longer and lives apart, does he have no right to happiness? Can the girl in love be faulted only because she happens to love this man and not any other?”

Then, there was a note addressed to Sneha by name, “You will read this when you are older, my child. Get what you want at any cost. I didn’t. I suffered for my cowardice. I allowed myself to be bullied by my parents. My father yelled at me and my mother pleaded with me till I couldn’t fight any more. I gave up the only person I loved to settle for a total stranger. I saw his photograph and thanked God that at least he wasn’t a freak. I feared my parents would be willing to give me away to anyone, even a leper.”

In another note to her, Alpana had written, “You are much more talented than I was. You can have the world at your feet. Don’t compromise and listen to what others say. They may say it is for your own good. Disobey them. Do what you feel is right. I will support you. This much I assure you!”

She flipped through the old folder. A once- white sheet of paper had written on it a poem titled, “I am Not"

“My dreams are shattered but I am not

My heart is broken but I am not

My spirit is weak but I am not

I am alive in body but in soul I am not."

Sneha’s grandfather had settled down in Kundah on his retirement from the Indian Army. It was less glamorous than Ooty or Coonoor but that was the best he could afford. She had many memories, some pleasant and some dreadful of her younger days here.

Ayah was an integral part of her childhood. When later she read “Gone With The Wind” by Margaret Mitchell she thought her mother was like the beautiful but impetuous Scarlett O’Hara while Mammy reminded her so much of dear old Ayah. Ayah wasn’t as huge as Mammy but she was as fiercely protective of her. Sneha loved her more than anyone else except perhaps her own mother.

She must have been about 10 years old when one afternoon she overheard a conversation which disturbed her greatly. Her Ayah thought she was fast asleep and was telling the story of her mother to a new servant.

The new servant maid said, “Sneha is such a sweet girl. I heard her parents are dead and that’s why Colonel- Sir looks after her.”

Ayah replied, “Poor kid. She is alone in the world.  Her parents and her brother died together in that car crash.”

“Oh, my God!”

“The Colonel would never admit it, but sometimes he felt guilty about his daughter’s death.”

“How? Was he supposed to have travelled with them? I have heard of people dropping out of a trip in the last moment and someone else dying instead.”

“No, no! This was nothing like that. He had broken up her love affair. I am talking of this one’s mother. Even before her marriage, Alpana used to behave strangely sometimes, the Colonel found it difficult to get her to obey his orders. Of course, she was perfectly normal for most of the time. She could be very charming. You can’t imagine how beautiful she was, my princess! Anyone  who saw her went away struck by her lovely looks. Her troubles started when she became a teenager and later the broken love affair crushed her. She began to behave oddly. That was the turning point in her life.

“He got her married against her will. To make things worse, her husband was a useless fellow. Rich but so vulgar and crude. She lost her head after that and was never the same again. Became quite nutty, poor thing.” Here she made a gesture used universally to show that someone was mad.

“How was she after her marriage?” asked the inquisitive maid, “Did she show signs of madness all the time?”

“She came here with the kids but not too often. She had taken to drinking in a big way. The driver was bribed to smuggle in booze for her which she hid in her bedroom. Alpana was not mad in the sense that she had to be shut up in an asylum or anything like that. It’s just that she had these “moods” from time to time. No one could predict when it would hit her. At other times, she was charming. Really a very nice young lady. And, so beautiful!”

Sneha squirmed to hear their talk but pretended she was still asleep. Ayah went on in a hoarse whisper, enjoying the captive audience of the open-mouthed maid, “I am worried about this girl. I pray to God that she hasn’t got her mother’s nuttiness. I heard she became violent at times. Only the Colonel could manage her. God knows how! You know that he too has a terrible temper.” Sneha heard her grandmother call and the servant maid got up and scurried away.

On another occasion, Sneha was alone in the car, returning to Kundah after visiting friends in Coonoor. Mrs. Pillai had asked her to get some medicines for the family and some of the lovely fruits from the market near Sims Park. This same maid servant was sent with her. She sat with the driver in the front, while Sneha dozed off in the back seat of the old Fiat.

Some time later, she woke up with a start. Their driver swerved as a bus roared past taking the bend at an unsafe speed. They were almost shoved off the road into the Ketti valley far below.

They must have been talking about her mother. The driver said, “Her father, the Colonel, always hoped that Alpana wouldn’t have any children but she went ahead and had not one but two of them.”

“I thought people of their age wanted grandkids. Why would he not want her to have kids?”

“Are you such a fool to not understand?” he scolded. “Don’t you know they feared the kids might inherit her madness?”

Sneha squirmed on hearing this. It had a great impact on her impressionable mind. 

Sneha remembered with a start what she had heard as a child. The ayahs' gossip; “All the bachelors in the Army camp lusted for her.” “She could easily have become a leading film actress but her father wouldn’t let her.” “She was the best looking girl in the State. Far prettier than any of today’s actresses. She was that beautiful.”

Sneha held back the sobs that hit her when she remembered her mother. The slight trace of her perfume which never left her senses though it was so long ago that she last smelt it. Her mother’s eyes, ravaged by the disease that was eating her up, haunted that once beautiful face.

She saw another faded medical report, “Alpana is very highly strung. She needs specialist care lest she become paranoid. Her senses have left her befuddled.”

Some where else she got a fleeting glimpse of another report: “Alcohol dependence syndrome” “Alcohol abuse could result in severe psychiatric problems”; “Is in the dependent stage? It is feared she may lapse into the next stage which is worse, the deterioration stage.”

Sneha was sent to a boarding school in the Nilgiris in 1995 when she was 10 years old. Her mother told her, “We too went to boarding school as kids. It will make you more self-reliant than if stay here with us.” She didn’t add that her quarrels with Thampi were on the increase and she was drinking more than she should. She said, “Your Grandpa Pillai, close by at Kundah, will be your local guardian and you know how much your grandparents love you.” Mrs. Pillai maintained that in his old age, her husband was making amends for the bitterness he had with Sneha’s mother, his own daughter.

During her schooldays, Sneha was more shy than the other girls. Like anybody else, Sneha was influenced to a large extent by the lives of her parents. A sensitive girl like her mother, it wasn’t easy growing up with a near alcoholic for a mother and a known philanderer for a father. Though she was the only child for long, no one seemed to have time for her. All this contributed to her psychological make up. 

Her entry to boarding school was not easy. She took time to make friends, which made her feel uncomfortable with the more boisterous girls. Dealing with them was a terrifying experience. They seemed so full of energy and mischief that it took her breath away. Her friends saw a shy, quiet withdrawn girl. She was intelligent but didn’t talk much. If you went out of the way to be friendly to her, she might respond but other wise she kept pretty much to herself. This was rather strange in a boarding school where children bonded with each other more easily.

She was considered brilliant but erratic. The only sport she loved was swimming. An excellent swimmer, she felt a strange sense of peace cutting through the water in graceful strokes. Being good looking, some felt she would grow to be as beautiful as her mother.CHAPTER 8

A day in May 2002 changed her life forever. Having won the swimming championship she was immensely proud of the only time she was felicitated in the school assembly. It was one of the best days of her life. That evening as she basked in the attention showered on her by the other girls her House Mistress called her, “The Head Mistress wants to see you. It is something important. Come with me immediately.” It had to be for her feat in swimming. Did the Head Mistress want to congratulate her in person? She had already done that in the morning, why call her again?

The Head’s office was huge, cold and dark. The Headmistress sat behind a large desk like a queen on a throne. She seemed to be upset which surprised Sneha. Her House Mistress held her hand, which surprised her even more. “Sit down, my dear. I am sorry I have some bad news for you. I received a call from your uncle. Your parents and brother were killed in a road accident near Mysore some hours ago. Mrs. D’Cruz will accompany you. We share your grief. May the Lord give you the strength to overcome this tragic loss.” It didn’t sink in then that she was now orphaned and the only survivor of her family.

The taxi sped towards Mysore. Mrs. D’Cruz prayed and spoke of God’s will for most of the journey. Sneha sat through the journey in a daze. She could not accept what she had heard. In the first place, no one she knew had ever died. She had read of people dying in books and seen some in the movies but this was different.

The next few days passed by in a blur. Her father’s brother took charge of all the arrangements. Sneha went around like a robot, not knowing what to do, too scared to think of her future. She wept till no more tears came out of her. Her aunt and grandparents were kind to her but no one could explain why Fate had snatched away those who mattered the most to her in the world at one shot.

As the years went past her life changed. Her uncle, aunt and their two sons made themselves totally at home in her parents’ house. She was made to feel like a poor relative who was to be pitied. When she went to Bangalore for a few days to write a competitive exam, she found on her return that her things had been moved to a smaller room. The elder cousin had taken hers.

Late one night, she woke up from her sleep feeling thirsty. She walked towards the hall on her way to the large fridge in the dining room. Only one lamp was on and someone mentioned her name. Instinct made her stand still in the dark. Uncle and Aunt were talking about her. He said, “Thampi hadn’t done much for the estate. I have done a lot to bring it into shape. I think we deserve to stay here.”

“What about Sneha?”

“We have not thrown her out. She is comfortable here. As per Thampi’s will, the estate passes on to her but I am her local guardian. She will become a major soon but by then many things could happen.”

“What do you mean? I don’t like what you are saying.”

“Don’t get involved in that case. Leave this to me. I know what I am doing. Beside, all that I do is for you and our sons.”

“I hope Sneha will not be harmed in any way!”

“No, but I can’t be blamed if she harms herself. You know Alpana was highly erratic and on the verge of a nervous break down several times. God knows what Sneha may do, considering the traumatic experience she has had. My friend Dr. Rajan told me that those who go through such tragedies commonly blame themselves for surviving. ‘A huge guilt complex’ is what he called it.”

“Are you suggesting Sneha may have some problems like Alpana did?”

“Who knows what’s going on in her mind? Poor kid. Dr. Rajan says she could well begin to hear voices and have hallucinations and stuff like that.”

“Don’t scare me. I hope nothing like that happens.”

“I hope not, too. She can’t blame us for what happened to her parents and brother. Keep an eye on her. If you see any unusual behaviour, like talking loudly to herself or being lost in her own world without responding to events around her, tell me at once. We will take her to Dr. Rajan.”

“Please don’t talk like that. This is creepy stuff.”

Sneha held her breath. Her throat was parched. She needed water more than before but was too scared to go near the hall and hear anything more. She tip-toed back to her room.

Her uncle’s conversation and her churning this in her mind for long periods of time, indulging in heavy auto-suggestion resulted in her having her first experience of hallucinations around that time. She was under intense pressure when she heard her mother talk to her for the first time as The Voice, “You have to look after yourself. You are alone in the world. I will be there but you must do whatever I tell you.”

These voices were definitely a new phenomenon. She knew for sure they had not been there before. Of course, she talked to herself some times, but then everybody did. She willed herself to squeeze out her best performance before the swimming finals, for example. She had spoken to herself to stay calm and save her energy for that final race. But this was totally different. This was someone, more often than not her dead mother, telling her what to do all the time. Initially she was scared. She considered confiding in her cousins, but those noisy boys would have made fun of her. She was too scared to tell her uncle or aunt. Remembering what she had overheard that night, it was best she keep quiet.

It was after that terrible accident in 2002, that alarming changes came over Sneha. She was a little past 17. When other girls of her age were already highly conscious of the changes in their bodies and their outlook towards life and boys in particular, Sneha was retreating deeper into a cocoon she had built for herself within her mind. That was the first time she heard voices telling her what to do. At first it was minor. Later it became more pronounced.

She had come to her grandfather’s house for a visit. The old couple maintained a strict regime. Dinner was exactly at 8.00 p.m., come hell or high water. After dinner, the Colonel went off to his study. He was working on a book on India’s war with China in 1962. He told his wife, “The people of this generation must know of the blunders that were made, of how many well-meaning soldiers like me suffered. I was lucky. I survived but so many didn’t, though there are times I feel I would have been better off dying in the snow than living like a bloody cripple.”

“Don’t talk like that. You were destined to survive. I wonder if anyone will be interested in a long forgotten war. People now are so very busy and no one remembers those old days.”

“Precisely! That’s why my book is important. It gives them a survivor’s perspective of our horrible experiences. They should know about the heroism of our ordinary soldiers. We fought in terrible conditions while most Generals sat on their fat asses cooking up favorable reports to please their political masters.”

Sneha was not interested in her grandfather’s war stories. It was now 2003 and he was writing of a war fought in some desolate frontier some 40 years ago. People of her generation couldn’t care less what had happened that long ago. They were too busy competing to sharing the spoils of a booming economy, a far cry from the old days when her grandparents cribbed about scarcities, rationing and poor payments.

While the Colonel was checking his notes and his wife was reading a book after they had cleared the dinner things, Sneha chose the quiet of the front verandah. She liked being on her own here. Her grandfather talked loudly in the house. High up on the tiled roof of the verandah, a light shone brightly.

She dozed off thanks to the nice dinner and the comfortable cane chair. A squeaking caught her attention. She looked up. There was the noise again. The swing in the corner of the verandah with its long chains and cushioned seat moved gently, causing the squeaks. It must be the wind, she thought. The swing moved again, higher this time as if someone was pushing it. But there was no one there. The swing’s movement was unmistakable. She had never seen anything like this before. She wanted to rush in and tell her grandparents but checked herself. Granny would give some vague reply and Grandpa would laugh at her. She didn’t want that. She hated it when people laughed at her even in jest. Her heart thumped and her pulse raced. From inside the house she heard her Grandma, “She’s here today. On the swing. I’ll call Sneha in.”

Her hair stood on edge watching the swing move to and fro. Her grandma, who hardly ever raised her voice, shouted, “Sneha, come in and lock the front door! At once, do you hear?”

She hurried in and locked the door. The swing kept moving by itself the squeaks tracking its movement up and down.

“Granny, why did you call me in? What’s going on? Why is the swing moving by itself? I swear I saw it move!”

“You must be imagining things, my dear,” she said cuddling her. She gestured to her husband to keep quiet but it was too late.

“Rubbish! Old women’s tales," he shouted. “It’s just the wind blowing the swing but your grandma feels it is your mother visiting us, to trouble us, even after she is dead and gone.”

Sneha was shocked.  Her grandma led her to her own room. She said softly, “I don’t want to scare you, my dear but this happens sometimes. Your grandpa doesn’t believe me but I can sense Alpana’s presence in the house. He thinks I am growing crazy in my old age but deep within my bones I know she is here.”

Sneha found it impossible to sleep that night. A hyena howled in the distance. She was imagining all kinds of things. Her grandparents were sleeping peacefully. She couldn’t possibly wake them up. What could she say? That she was frightened more than ever before? Of what?

A voice whispered, “Don’t be afraid.” The voice sounded familiar. She strained to remember where she had heard it before. It was from her childhood. She was perspiring profusely by now. She could smell her sweat when she realized it was her mother’s voice. “I am here to protect you, my baby.” She sat up with a start. The light from the yard faintly illuminated her room. She sat up and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. It sounded so much like her mother. She was shivering involuntarily. The voice went on, “I am with you. Sometimes you may see me, often you won’t but I am with you always. You were born within me and lived in me for nine months. I will now live with you.”

Her breath came in rasps. The voice spoke again. More gently this time, “No, Sneha! Don’t worry. I am there to protect you.”CHAPTER 9

Sneha would have loved to go to college in Chennai or Bangalore like her school friends, but her grandpa insisted she live with them and study at the Government College in Ooty. Pillai’s driver, a retired Army man like him who also did odd jobs around the estate, ferried her up and down in the Fiat car. The college itself was ancient with some charming buildings which she loved at first sight. She pretty much kept to herself, had only a few friends and remained devoted to her studies.

Pillai was keen on marrying her off. “I want to fulfill this responsibility when I can. Once she is married, she becomes her husband‘s responsibility.” Leela remembered these words only too well. He had said this so often about Alpana years ago. Fortunately for Sneha, her grandma supported her dream to study further, sharing her joy when she was admitted for her Masters at the prestigious Indian Institute of Technology at Chennai. Pillai didn’t like the idea of her studying further, especially since it meant living alone in a new place. His wife said, “Don’t be too hard on the poor girl. It’s a new world you won’t understand. Girls these days want to study more and work. Not like when I was young when all that mattered was to get married. I hope she does well in life, she deserves some happiness.”

Her Professors were pleased to see a young student totally dedicated to studies, unlike many others of her age. She had an astonishing ability to focus on studies. Her commitment was exceptional as she didn’t have time for anything else. She wanted to achieve breakthroughs never done before in the experiments she did in her labs. This brought about some unease in her mind. She didn’t realize there could be adverse consequences.

As part of her course she interned in the R & D lab of a pharma company in Mumbai, commuting by train from Bandra to Andheri. She spotted her old school friend Rita, one morning, as she boarded a train. Before the young woman could clamber on to the train with the agility that all the Mumbai girls seemed to have, Sneha grabbed her hand.

“Hi, Rita. How nice to see you again!”

Instead of being as overjoyed as she was, the girl scowled at her, “Who the hell are you?” She was annoyed as the train moved and picked up speed.

“I am Sneha, you silly ass! Remember, we were at school together? How are Shalini and Veena? I haven’t seen you for ages.”

“I am not Rita”

“Of course, you are! Those huge shades and your new hair style don’t fool me!”

“For God’s sake, what’s all this? You made me miss my bloody train.”

Some passengers on the platform stared at them. Sneha still clutched her hand. “Rita, let’s have a coffee together. It will be great talking about the old days.”

The woman pushed Sneha who staggered and almost fell, “Bloody nut case! She shouldn’t be let out like this,” she said and strode away. Sneha stood there holding her throbbing head, feeling dizzy. “Careful! You almost fell,” a man nearby held her hand. “Do you want some water?” He led her aside. She gulped down the water and felt better after she had washed her face.  She said, “Thanks, I don’t know what happened to me.” “It’s the damn heat. It gets to you. I too feel suffocated sometimes in this crazy rush. I must push off or I’ll miss my train.”

Sneha squeezed into a bench with three others who were already there. Trains slid into the platform, got filled in minutes and pulled away with people jumping in and out. Announcements droned on about arriving and departing trains. She just sat there. The girl’s words rang in her head, “Bloody nut case. Shouldn’t be let out like this.” She was shocked. Why had she been called a “nut case?” Was she not fully alright? She had been certain that was Rita. Why had her old school friend, who she had known for more than six years, so vehemently denied knowing her? Could she have changed her name? Why hadn’t she been as thrilled as Sneha was?

Was she a nut case or was Rita one? She laughed out loudly deciding that something was terribly wrong with Rita. Something must have happened to make her forget the past. She got up and looked out for the next train.

Sneha stared wide eyed at the board that read, “GerGer Labs”. Her professor had urged her to apply for a position here on completing M.Sc. from IIT Madras in June 2006. He said, “It’s a modern research lab. You have met the firm’s Founder, Dr. Nirmala Gupta. She is a widely respected scientist who does collaborative work with us here.”

GerGer Labs focused on the study of gerontology, the science of studying the ageing process and geriatrics, the study of diseases associated with the aged. The lab was doing cutting edge research, the job paid reasonably well, and the work sounded interesting. Sneha couldn’t have asked for more.

When she first interviewed Sneha, Dr. Gupta was drawn towards this quiet, young lady who seemed sincere and trustworthy. She liked the girl’s honesty. At the end of a grueling interview she selected her. “I appreciate your telling me that you don’t like to mix too much with people you don’t know, and you won’t be good at dealing with customers. That’s ok. In your job you will deal only with chemicals, test tubes and equipment. I am joking, of course, but you will be required to pretty much work independently. To start with, you will work on special projects for me. I am looking for a dedicated research assistant, someone who will stay committed to my lab.”

Dr. Gupta’s physical features made her stand out in any crowd. God had made her nearly 6 feet tall, with a beak for a nose, big uneven teeth, thin lips and long, bony arms. These made life difficult as she grew up, though she was brilliant in studies. Seeking shelter from the snide remarks and sarcastic jibes about her looks, she fled to the US where people were far more tolerant of such things. She got a scholarship to the University of Pennsylvania where she found the Americans were far more liberal and understanding. The eccentric Nirmala Gupta was accepted to their fold with a warmth she had not found in her own country. It was only when she became famous that her family and friends remembered her. She appeared twice in the Most Promising Scientists List and one of her senior Profs wrote of her as “having Nobel Prize potential.”

Not many knew that in her college days she had been through a brief and totally one sided affair with an American colleague.

Years of hard work later, her research was paying off extremely well. Returning to a new India, she started GerGer Lab, which was soon in the news for path breaking research work and for being the place to which bright, young scientists flocked to. Dr. Gupta was an excellent mentor and soon was happier than ever before.

Sneha was brilliant at her work. Her professors had said that her social skills might not be too good. She may not do well in jobs requiring extensive interface with others. Her current job suited her perfectly. Apart from Dr. Gupta (considered by many to be as, if not more, eccentric than her) she didn’t have much contact with others at work. Her job was simple. She had to conduct experiments given her by Dr. Gupta, one after the other. Many may have considered it a dull and tedious job, but she loved “messing about the lab” as she called it.

Dr Gupta was working on a formulation which she hoped would enhance life of terminal patients. She travelled extensively attending conferences all over the world. Sneha overheard her tell a close friend at a symposium in the US, “She is not only my assistant in the lab she is like the daughter I didn’t have. I am so proud of her. The girl is brilliant but a bit wonky, if you get what I mean. She has enormous talent but circumstances constrain her from achieving her full potential. She will give any research scientist of her age in the US a run for their money. I can bet my reputation on this.”

Experimental gerontology, the relatively new science that studied the slowing down or reversing the process of ageing largely involved hormone treatments. Dr. Nirmala Gupta was an expert in this aided by a small band of dedicated researchers. Sneha was one amongst them. The work was highly secret and apart from Nirmala herself no one knew what each of the researchers was working on. Nirmala accepted this wasn’t an optimal arrangement but her experience in the US made her fear that important gains could be squandered away if word leaked out of the progress they were making. After all, the market for anti-ageing drugs was worth billions of dollars. Hers was a specialized niche. Her passion and life’s work was in identifying and selling these formulations to the huge multinational organizations. They had the financial and sales muscle to manufacture the end product and make it available to the customer.

Unknown to Dr. Gupta, Sneha was simultaneously conducting her own set of experiments. Guided by The Voice which never left her, she was developing  “weapons” to protect her against “enemies” who were becoming more troublesome. She couldn’t possibly share this with anyone, including her boss, however eccentric she might be. Dr. Gupta would have been horrified to know what her protégé was developing in her lab.

In 2007, Sneha, now 22, was looking for a “PG accommodation” in Chennai. A room advertised off Haddows Road seemed to match her needs. The paying guest accommodation was on the first floor of a two storied house. An elderly couple lived on the ground floor. With their children abroad, they had let out one of the two bedrooms upstairs.

Someone at work knew someone else who had stayed there earlier and through her Sneha got the couple's number and met them after fixing an appointment. They were adequately impressed by her, “You can share the room with Vilasini, the girl who is already there. She works for an investment bank. As you may have been told, we take in only girls who will follow our rules scrupulously.”

Sneha met Vilasini her as she was leaving the house. A twinge of envy struck Sneha at their first meeting as she took in her future room mate’s gorgeous figure and lovely long hair. How could anyone, she asked herself, look so terrific? She felt dowdy in comparison.

They became good friends over time. Vilasini or Vils as she was popularly called was extremely vivacious, the life and soul of every party she attended. She told Sneha, “Like in the old Mills & Boon books I read as a kid, I am waiting for a tall, dark and handsome man to sweep me off my feet.” Sneha never bothered to think about boys in that sense. She was devoted to her experiments in the lab, sharing her findings with Dr. Gupta, speaking to her grandma in Kundah once a week, and very little else.

Two months later, Vilasini called Sneha at work. Bursting with excitement she said, “I met my dream man today. We are going out for a coffee at Cafe Coffee Day near Spencer’s." Later she was full of news about Rakesh, her new boy friend and spoke endlessly about him. For the first time since they met, Sneha became jealous of Vilasini as she had never had a boy friend all her life. The boys thought there was something strange about her though she was good-looking.

When Vils offered to introduce Rakesh to her, Sneha was reluctant. “You know me, Vils. He won’t like my company. I am not fond of dancing, pubs or anything like that. He will find me a total bore.” “No, I want you to meet Rakesh and tell me what you think of him. Besides, you do need to go about a little more, Sneha. You can’t spend the rest of your life with those smelly chemicals in that lab of yours. You are only 22, for God’s sake, not a confirmed spinster like your boss, Nirmala Gupta.”

When she saw Rakesh for the first time Sneha gasped involuntarily. He was by far the most handsome boy she had seen in all her life. His short hair and trimmed moustache made her think he was in the Defence Services. He turned out to be a software engineer who was witty, mischievous and so dashing that he swept her off her feet. Strange feelings and thoughts came to her mind like never before.

In the next few weeks, this became an obsession. She wanted him for herself. She was hopelessly in love but she feared it was one-sided. The man she loved was her friend's boyfriend. How could she come between them? Rakesh was nice to her but clearly preferred Vils who everyone dubbed a “hot chick.” Privately Vils thought her to be a serious, bespectacled goofy girl who was no threat which was why she had introduced her to Rakesh.

Rakesh seemed to like her and this confused Sneha. Sure, in school and later people said she was good looking but she wore thick framed spectacles and didn’t care about her clothes. She paid little attention to her hair and used no cosmetics. She had no interest in looking good and her choice of clothes was nothing to write home about either. She usually wore jeans and anything that she could lay her hands on. She never bothered to examine herself in the mirror. The mirror didn’t reflect Sneha. The mirror in her mind reflected her mother, most of the time or was a medium she used to talk to.

Deeply in love with Rakesh, for the first time ever she examined what she really looked like in the privacy of their bathroom. Vils had long since gone to work; she always used the loo first, always read the paper first and generally called the shots in their rooming arrangement. Sneha let her hair loose and stripped down completely. Her figure was shapely, though she admitted it was nowhere as good as Vilasini’s. Her breasts, which she always took pains to conceal, were not small at all. They stood out proud in her nudity. Her face was always nice, which was nothing new but without the dowdy specs which added a decade to her age and with her hair let loose like this, she actually looked pretty attractive. “What do you think Miss Mirror?” she asked. “Who is this pretty girl? Is it Sneha the Saint or Sneha the Sinner? ” Rakesh, appeared in the mirror, “You look hot, baby. You are so beautiful. Get rid of those drab clothes and hideous specs. And get a life.”

CHAPTER 10

The three of them went out together a few times. Sneha tagged on with mixed feelings, thrilled to be included and be in Rakesh’s company, but sad and angered to see the chemistry he shared with Vils.

Gradually, strange as it initially seemed to Sneha, Rakesh showed more attention to her as well. She was trying to look good, making a conscious effort to keep her long hair tidy. She now sported a new pair of thin rimmed specs which made her look her real age.

Rakesh enjoyed her company much more than he did Vilasini’s. Sure, Vils was much better looking but looks aren’t everything. He couldn't converse with her on things beyond movies. With Sneha he could talk about books, poetry and things outside his work. They became a three some. If Vils was not pleased, she didn't show it openly. Not at first, at any rate. Soon Rakesh was phoning and texting Sneha, treating her as his friend, not as someone known to Vils.

Their equation had changed. Rakesh preferred Vils for her hotness and Sneha for her intellect. If Sneha were as hot as Vils or Vils as intelligent as Sneha things may have worked out differently. Sneha found talk about his work in software fascinating. Vils found it awfully boring.

Sneha didn't realize how things were shaping until Rakesh called her at work. “Let’s meet this evening, around 7.00”

“Oh yeah? Vils just texted me you couldn’t meet her today as you were immersed in work!”

“She’s right but I am free to meet you"

“Hey! That's not fair”

“Haven’t you heard? All's fair in love and war! If you want to meet me, we can do dinner together. I told Vils I won't be able to talk to her till very late in any case."

Sneha felt slightly guilty but the thrill of going out alone with him was exciting. New sensations passed through her body which she had never experienced before. It was some kind of longing. To see him as soon as possible.

“Okay then, mister! You asked for it, I’ll see you at 7.00. at our usual place,” she said.

As they left the restaurant after an excellent dinner, Rakesh’s phone rang. “It’s Vils,” he grinned. “Hi, Vilsy. Just my luck, I am busy at work. I can't talk for long. What? Sneha has also gone out somewhere? So you are all alone. No, I have no idea. I haven’t talked to her today. Ok, Ok. Bye then. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Both of them exploded with laughter when he closed the call. Sneha felt a closeness that hadn’t been there before. Soon their friendship changed dramatically. Rakesh was two timing both of them but in her love for him, Sneha was blind to this. She refused to see that he could do to her tomorrow what he was doing to Vils today.

A few days later as she paid off her auto near their house, Vils saw Rakesh and Sneha leaving on his bike. They had an argument that night, “You have stolen Rakesh from me," said Vils.

“Of course not. I can’t help it if he wants to take me out. I never asked to meet him in the first place.”

“If I had known how slimy you would turn out to be, I would never have introduced you. I knew him long before you. He is my boyfriend and you better stay away from him"

“Fine, I’ll stay away from him, but I am not at fault if he can’t stay away from me!”

Sneha herself was astonished at the way she had spoken. It was so unlike her. Vils stood there gaping on seeing the transformation in the quiet girl. It seemed like someone else within her was speaking on her behalf.

Her maternal instinct and a genuine affection for Sneha, made Nirmala Gupta consult her old friend and current business partner who was visiting from the US. Howard Trennany Ph.D was a psychiatrist who specialized in mental illness among the elderly. After talking to Sneha at Dr. Gupta’s request, he said, “Her case is extraordinary, Nimsy,” calling her by a name which few people used and those only from her student days.

“The traumatic experience of her family being killed the way they were has upset her terribly. She seems to be living in a world of her own. I am not at all surprised she confesses to hearing voices speak to her. She has had a lonely life. She is now more at home with a make believe world of her own creation than the real life world around her. She has shades of brilliance but lacks self confidence in her own capabilities.

“When she speaks of voices she is trying to live out fantasies that she thinks are impossible for her to attain in her real life. If in the real world she leads a lonely life from what I hear you say, in her dream world she is highly popular, has a lover and so on.”

Shaking his head, Dr. Trennany said, “I think the make believe world is something she can’t shake off. It’s too deeply set in her.”

Dr. Gupta once told Sneha, “You are prone to extreme emotions and are too possessive about your things. Be a little less intense, my dear. When someone took material from your experiments by mistake, for three days you went around like a dormant volcano about to explode. What will happen if some day you become so possessive about a man? I shudder to think what you will do if he lets you down.”

Sneha told Rakesh, “Listen, Vils is mad at me. She thinks I am stealing you from her.” Vils had apologized the next day for speaking so harshly to her but there was coolness in their relationship already.

He said, “Stay cool, girl! Vils is an old buddy. She gets overly possessive about me sometimes. I have told her that she and I are at liberty to see anyone else. We are not bound to each other all the time. Besides, she is my best friend."

"What about me?"

"You are my second best friend.”

“Will I always be the second best?”

“I didn’t say so but I suppose you are right.”

She snorted in anger. If Rakesh thought Vils was possessive, he didn't know what being possessive meant.

Sneha was now intensely jealous and possessive. In all these 22 years she had never fallen in love like this. She would now do anything to make Rakesh hers.

The Voice supported her, “If you want something badly, you must fight for it. To make second best, the best the only way is to get rid of Vils. You then have Rakesh all for yourself.”

She knew that Vils was involved in a sexual relationship with Rakesh which had brought them closer. But he hardly ever touched Sneha, though she encouraged him.  He was totally different with Vils. They always held hands and touched each other even in her presence which made her burn with jealousy.

Getting rid of Vils became priority No. 1 from that moment. She didn’t know how, but she did know she had to find some way.

That night as she slept, she was woken up by The Voice, “Think about it carefully. It could mean the world to you. I will help but no one should suspect you.”

A chance remark by a girl in her Lab set off a chain of ideas. Someone had committed suicide through an overdose of sleeping pills. The more she thought of it, the better she liked the idea forming in her mind.

It was tough, but she forced herself to stay away from Rakesh for a month. “I am terribly busy with critical trials in the lab,” she told him. Vils was pleased to see the change and said, “I am so glad you realize that Rakesh is mine. I would hate to fight you over him.” The coolness between them thawed. It was like old times once more. A couple of days later she sat deep in thought in their room, sipping the beer they had smuggled in. “What’s up? You seem lost in thought,” said Vils.

“We are doing a stupid skit in the office for our Annual Day. Dr. Gupta has forced me to play the part of a woman cop.”

“So what? I am sure you will do well.”

“I am supposed to find a suicide note but the folks in the lab know my handwriting. Do you know anyone who can help?”

“Write this silly note? I’ll do it for you! As long as you tear it up afterwards.”

“You know I would.”

“Heck, I agreed, but what should I write?”

“What would most people who plan to commit suicide write?” “Shall I say that I don't want to live anymore because I have been ditched in love? That's a fairly common theme.” “That’s great. Please add that you have discovered you are pregnant and you don't know who the father is to make it more dramatic. We see that so often in the movies.”

Vils looked up startled. Her face went pale as if she had remembered something. Then she smiled, took a big swig of the beer and began writing.

Sneha studied the note carefully. Vils had slumped still fully dressed onto her bed and was deep in sleep. The most important thing was that she had signed her name. Sneha could add whatever she wanted later on. She kept the note carefully in her laptop bag and switched off the lights, a big smile on her face.

Vils asked her the first thing the next morning, “Was I knocked out last night? I had a weird nightmare. I can’t remember why, but I wrote a suicide note.”

“What rubbish! Nothing of that sort happened. You must have had a terrible nightmare. We talked a lot about boys and who else but Rakesh. You said you were getting married in a few months. We talked of where you could go on your honeymoon.”

“I am so relieved!”

“There was no talk of suicide of all the things. Whatever gave you such an absurd idea? Really Vils, sometimes you are the limit!”

Common sense told her that any physical stuff was out of the question. She couldn’t make Vils hang herself or anything like that. There was no question of using a gun or a knife. Violence didn't appeal to her at all. It had to be subtle yet effective. The result was what mattered. How Vils killed herself was less important. A new idea was forming in her mind, but she had to work some more on it and test it out too.

CHAPTER 10

The elevator at the newest Mall in town was awfully crowded that day. Thousands of people had flocked there to brag that they were there before the others. When they squeezed into the elevator, it was already full of people standing cheek to jowl. This suited her perfectly. She was looking for a guinea pig in this jam-packed mall. Sneha smelt the garlic on the breath of a fat man who was eyeing her and Vilasini. As usual, Vils wore a skimpy top and her breasts jutted out under the tight tee. She took an instinctive dislike to the man who was gaping at them.

Sneha smiled at Fatty and edged up to him. The next few minutes would be crucial for this experiment. She had zoned in on the right man. Fatty would do. He moved close to her and she felt his clammy hands pressing against her thigh. “Go for it!” said The Voice. “He looks a lecherous bastard.”

She eased the miniscule needle from her purse. The vial already had the poisonous liquid. As Fatty lurched towards Vils, Sneha maneuvered herself behind him and sunk the needle tip in Fatty’s soft backside. It was like a pin prick. For a moment his face changed as he tried to figure out what was going on. She pushed against him, pressing herself against his fat buttocks. He returned the pressure and went back to ogling Vils.

At the top most floor, they trooped out of the elevator, heading for the many eateries in the Food Court. The poison should react in about five minutes. She had to keep an eye on Fatty without being too close. Lots of people milled around placing their orders, hungry after their shopping and walking around the huge mall.

Standing in line to place their order, she thought she had lost him, but there he was sitting at a table on the other side of the hall. He was wolfing down a thick burger and slurping the ketchup that spilt out of it. He licked his lips wiping off a stream of ketchup that had flowed out to his chin with a paper napkin.

Vils was telling her about something that happened at work a few days ago. Even as she showed a cursory interest, Sneha watched Fatty. He was through with his hogging. He went towards the order desk, probably to get himself coffee or juice if not another burger. Suddenly he lurched and keeled over like a stricken whale. As he fell, his hands instinctively grabbed the hand of a woman standing in the queue near by. She shrieked repeatedly, resulting in a commotion. Fatty lay on his side gasping for breath. “Get a doctor” someone screamed. “I am a doc. His pulse is almost gone. This man is dying. Call for an ambulance,” shouted the doctor. Sneha and Vils were among the hundreds who gaped with curiosity.

CHAPTER 11

The poison did work. She could now move into the next part of her plan. She excused herself and in the ladies rest room ground the vial with her high heels in a piece of tissue paper and flushed it. On her return, she asked, “What could have happened to that poor guy? “Must have eaten too much,” replied Vils.

The experiment at The Mall had produced encouraging but not definitive results. Had Fatty died after all? There was no way she could find out. A week later at a salon for a pedicure and manicure, she idly leafed through the newspaper while waiting for her turn when a photograph jumped out of the paper at her.

In the obituary, his family had informed those who may want to know that Mr. Richard M. Prabhakaran was no more. That was Fatty, looking out of the paper in a morose way. They must have put the first picture they found because the late Mr. Prabhakaran looked grumpier than he had in real life that day at the mall. Sneha whispered a prayer for the departed soul. He had been most helpful.

She dragged Rakesh to a play which Vils was not interested in. She kept him away from her that weekend. She requested him to meet a college friend who wanted a job in the software industry, setting up the meeting for 6.30 p.m in a popular café. She then called Vils and took her there. When they reached the café, Rakesh and the girl were huddled together deep in conversation. Sneha said, “Hey! Here’s Rakesh. Let’s go and meet him.” Vilasini was upset. “Let’s go somewhere else. I don’t want to see that bum ever again,” she snapped.

Sneha liked the plan after rehearsing it innumerable times in her mind. Try as she did, she couldn’t spot any faults. Getting the poison was not a problem. Like last time, she slipped some cyanide used in the lab into the vial in her purse. No one checked these things in GerGer Lab and besides Dr. Nirmala Gupta trusted her implicitly. Smuggling out the vial was easy. She could always say that she had to check something which she had left at home. Sadly for Dr. Gupta, the security fellows were lax. They had no idea what was going on anyway. Sneha thought if you gave them sulfuric acid and said it was a new drink, they would gladly swig it with no questions.

She had to be careful in executing the next part of the plan. Why not be out of town when the “suicide” took place? She met their landlady, to pay their share of the electricity bill. She told her, “I am off to Ooty for a few days, Aunty. Vils will be here though she hasn’t been too well for the last month or so.” “That girl is too wild for her own good. She is not like you," said Aunty. “I tried to advice her in the beginning as she is younger than my daughter but she told me to mind my own business. Can you imagine such rudeness? Uncle and I keep away from her. Of course I grant that she follows our rules and pays her rent on time.”

That evening she and Vils drank some beer at a lounge near her office before dinner. As was their custom, they smuggled back a couple of bottles. Later, she left carrying an overnight bag waving to Uncle as he stood in the verandah watching the traffic rush by. “Have a good trip and bring me some of the famous Ooty plums,” he shouted. She hailed down an auto rickshaw in front of the house.

It was simple for her to return, open the gate and sneak in through the separate entrance for the upper floor. She let herself in to the room at 9.45 p.m. Vils, sitting alone on her bed gazing at the ceiling with the last of the beer in hand, looked up, surprised to see Sneha. “I thought you had left me all alone and gone to Ooty. What happened?” “Change of plans! I really felt bad for you. Here I am!” Vils hugged her, “Thank you so much. I felt terrible you weren’t around when I was feeling so low. I can’t think what has happened to me. I have been awfully sick of late.”

“Relax, you will be fine soon. Don’t worry about Rakesh the whole day. Things will work out fine. Rakesh loves you a lot.”

Vils was down and the beer took effect faster than usual due to her gloom. She became weepy and sentimental. She spoke of Rakesh and how much she had done for him.

Sneha went into the toilet and filled the vial using the new pair of gloves bought at a chemist’s far away from both her office and her house. All her shopping was done in places where she was not known or would be easily recognized.  

“Don’t worry, my dear,” said Sneha holding out her arms. As Vils snuggled into them, The Voice said, “Yes! Go for it now.” Sneha reached out for the syringe she had kept ready. Vils was wearing her usual short flimsy nightie. Hugging Vils, Sneha pricked her full buttocks with the needle. A quick plunge, the thin needle pierced the flimsy cloth and she injected the poison. A higher dose than Fatty’s. This didn’t any immediate reaction from Vils who kept sobbing. Vils sat on her bed, knees to her chin, rocking back and forth. With a dull thud she slumped back on the bed. The injected poison had hit the respiratory system, its prime target, and Vils choked as the air supply was cut from her lungs.

Still wearing the gloves, Sneha switched off Vilasini’s cell phone, left it on the table, kept the suicide note under her pillow, left a window open, quietly closed the door behind her and walked down the stairs. A dim blue night light in their bedroom showed the old couple had gone to bed. Otherwise the whole house was dark. There was much less traffic on the road. She vaulted the locked gate and walked briskly to catch a cruising auto rickshaw a block away. Ten minutes later she was on the way to the bus terminal.

It was a Friday evening. The elderly couple didn’t  see their tenants daily so didn’t bother to enquire. They knew that Sneha had left for Ooty. The old man had seen her get into an auto himself. Saturday, Sunday and Monday went past.

On the morning of Tuesday, February 6, 2007 the old man held his nose, “What’s that foul odor?” His wife bristled with annoyance, “I keep a spotlessly clean house. What are you talking about? You must be imagining things.” He took her out to the staircase. Yes, there was a horrid smell. They rushed up the stairs. The smell clearly emanated from the girls’ room.

They called their nephew who lived a few streets away. On hurrying there he quickly assessed the situation, opened the girls’ bedroom door with a spare key the couple had, and on seeing Vils lying there dead called the local police. The next few days went in a whirl for them. “It’s a straight forward case of suicide,” said the Inspector. “The girl switched off her cell phone deliberately, left a note behind and poisoned herself. Her handwriting on the note matches what she has written elsewhere. There is absolutely no doubt.”

Muttering about the lax behaviour of youngsters these days, the Inspector watched the medical staff carry the body away before a crowd of curious neighbors and hangers-on.

Aunty called Sneha on her cell phone in Kundah. She was hysterical. “My God! You don’t know what happened. That silly girl Vilasini committed suicide in my house. Did you hear that? In MY house. What a scandalous thing to do. I can’t tell you how upset we are. Why did she have to do it here?”

The landlady was more affected because it had happened in her house. She didn’t seem to care about Vilasini at all. She said, “The police were asking who all knew her. They have taken down your details. We told them whatever we knew about you and Vilasini, which was not much anyway. Don’t worry. Uncle says tell the police the truth and they won’t bother you. They have a job to do.”

The cops questioned her on her return to Chennai. She walked in to the police station not knowing what to expect. Uncle had insisted on accompanying her. The middle-aged Inspector sized her up after offering her a seat. He saw a bespectacled girl who looked intelligent. She could have been very good–looking had she paid more attention to her grooming. Today she looked tense and nervous, as if coming to a police station was a fearful experience. “Madam, please relax. This won’t take too long. I have just a few questions about your friend’s suicide. You stayed together. Was she depressed or troubled by anything of late?” “I don’t know too much about her personal affairs. We were room mates, yes, but didn’t know much about each other’s personal lives. We were busy with our own work, Sir. We worked in different companies with different timings and so on. We had some common friends we met sometimes on weekends. With the kind of work hours we have we really didn’t spend too much time together, even though we shared the same room.”

In reply to whether some lover or boyfriend could have caused Vilasini to take her life, Sneha replied, “Her boyfriend, Rakesh is a good boy. He was one of those common friends, I told you about. I met him through Vils. I shouldn’t say this but since you asked, she loved him more than he loved her. Vils told me this herself. I am sorry I can’t help any more but that’s all I know.”

The police officer said, “It’s simple. She was depressed because she loved this boy Rakesh or whatever his name is. He did not love her back. He says they were good friends and nothing more. Everyone seems to say that these days. He swears there was no plan of their getting married or anything like that. He probably took advantage of her. Our doctor confirms she was in the early stages of pregnancy. We have no idea if the person responsible was this Rakesh or someone else. This drove her to commit suicide. I see young girls get into such problems daily. We thought this happened only in the US. Sometimes I wonder if this is Chennai or Chicago!” He scowled, privately fearing for his own teenaged daughter.

He collected Rakesh’s details from Sneha. She gave him what she knew, and later called Rakesh, “The cops talked to me about poor Vils. I gave them your number.”

“That’s ok. They already talked to me at length. My business card was found on her table. Vils had drawn a series of hearts across the card. It’s really tragic that she took her own life like this.”

Hearing that Vils was pregnant came as a shock to Sneha. So, Vils had kept this a secret from her. Perhaps Rakesh too knew all the time. She found this intriguing. For a moment she felt a sense of shame. Had she killed this unborn child? The thought was swept away by another. In any case, she rationalized, Vils would have had the child aborted. Rakesh was not going to marry her. In a perverse sense, she had actually done Vils a favour.

She chuckled, remembering The Voice tell her, “Fight to get what you want. Don’t give up tamely, like I did,” and another familiar refrain “You have to fight for and grab happiness. Otherwise you will be the loser.”

These had been drilled into her head over time. Alpana would be proud of her. Sneha now had Rakesh all to herself.CHAPTER 12

Sneha retched in the toilet bowl. She felt queasy. It wasn’t anything to do with the food she ate. It wasn’t indigestion or anything of that sort. When she didn’t get her periods as usual, Sneha was horrified. She moaned to herself, “My God! What I have done?” She remembered that night with Rakesh, his urgent pleas, the groping hands, her being filled for the first time in her 22 years with a longing she couldn’t describe. Their love making was hurried as if this opportunity would never come again. After that they had made love in a more relaxed way after the frenetic coupling the first time. Sneha felt liberated. This was a new experience for her. She had no idea what she had missed all these days whenever Vils spoke openly of the joys of sex. People aren’t such prudes these days lectured Vils. You are missing out on some fun. Sneha thought of these words as she lay in bed. She called the lab to say she wasn’t well and wouldn’t be coming in to work today.

She had to make a huge decision two months later. She didn’t know any doctor she could go to. She was scared because she didn’t know whom to confide in. Her grandmother came to mind but that would be unthinkable. She couldn’t go to some roadside quack for an abortion ; most were terribly shady though their boards proclaimed expertise in solving f ailments ranging from headaches to heart attacks. With a great effort, she pulled her self together. There was much to be planned. She had to tread with utmost care over the next few days.

The painful experience of the abortion was over and done with in June. She had finally confided in Dr. Nirmala Gupta who scolded her for being so careless but took her to a discrete but clean nursing home, where they did what was necessary. There was no one to take care of her. She couldn’t go to her grandma or her aunt Asha.

At Dr. Gupta’s house, Sneha was looked after by the matronly housekeeper. She could never forget Dr. Gupta’s kindness and thanked her, “You have done more for me in my hour of need than anyone else would have even in my family.” Dr. Gupta smiled, “You have no idea why I am did this for you. If my daughter were alive today she would have would have been a little younger than you. I know the trauma of being an unwed mother. I too suffered long ago but we’ll talk of that some other day.”

Hearing that Dr. Gupta had lost her daughter when she was unwed jolted Sneha. It must have happened during her college days in the US, thought Sneha, looking at the tall gawky figure. What had “Whimsy Nimsy”- that was her nickname those days- been up to? Was it ordained that those who had kids born out of wedlock were destined to lose them? Some unknown force had guided her to Dr. Nirmala Gupta from amongst the millions of people in Chennai.

In November 2007, she met Sridhar, the son of an industrial tycoon in Chennai, for the first time when he came to meet Dr. Gupta. Sneha was called in to explain briefly about their work as Dr. Gupta was leaving for an international conference at Bonn. Sridhar introduced himself, “I studied in the UK and now work with my father and brother in managing our family business. I know Dr. Gupta is working on wonder drugs that could prolong life and radically cut the dangers of diseases associated with old age. I am deeply interested in this and wish to evaluate this as a business proposition.”

The two could not be more different. Sridhar was 32, ten years older than Sneha. If she was quiet, he was noisy. If she was reticent, he was full of bonhomie. They say love is blind. After a few meetings, Sridhar knew he was in love with her, possibly because he had never come across anyone like her before. The other girls he had known including his ex-wife wanted to be taken out and feted. They liked him to spend on them lavishly. This girl had no such needs. She seemed to be happy in his company, was always courteous and did not fall all over him like most girls did, because of his wealth.

Sridhar told her he had been married before. He was recently divorced after a long and messy case. His wife had left him after three years. Thankfully there had been no children. In retrospect he said it was a mistake to have married someone who was smart and chic but not really in love with him. He found Sneha captivating. In turn, she admired his maturity and felt protected in his presence seeing in him traits she had never found in her own father. In all fairness, Sneha did tell Sridhar about her “illness” to some extent. She said, “You don’t know what you are getting into. I am sometimes temperamental. My past life experiences have made me what I am. Maybe even a little crazy at times. I would hate to be the cause of any problem for you.” She spoke of the few occasions when she heard voices in her head and how she had imagined seeing people when really she hadn’t. Despite her candid declaration, Sridhar made up his mind. He wanted to marry Sneha.

His father did not think much of the idea when she was taken to meet his parents over dinner at their palatial home. The old man stared at her for long. His hooded eyes seemed to bore deep into the inner recesses of her mind. He later told Sridhar, “She is very disturbed. There is a lot of sadness in her. Look for someone else. There are so many better girls who would be happy to marry you.” His mother was more supportive, “If she is the one who will make you happy, I am pleased. But please don’t be hasty. We know how badly things can turn out. You have experienced this yourself. I pray this goes off well since you have made up your mind to marry her.”

They got married in January 2008. She continued to work in GerGer Lab because she loved the work. His parents suggested they live with them in their huge house but Sneha preferred they live separately, just the two of them. In their own house, they could live like equals. This was not possible in his parents’ house, especially with his domineering father and elder brother. They moved to a posh set of apartments in Mowbrays Road.

It was only in December 2008, when she found the old trunk with her mother’s things in Kundah, that Sneha came to know that Alpana was a confirmed schizophrenic. She was rattled to discover that Alpana had been cautioned by a doctor not to have children lest they inherit her traits. This scared her more than anything else.

The photographs she found in that old trunk showed that Alpana was far more beautiful than her. Sneha’s looks were perhaps marred by the thin long nose and weak chin inherited from her father. Alpana’s beauty was unmarred. She was sensational. Sneha secretly felt proud of her mother’s beauty.

The contents of the trunk affected her deeply. Soon after their return from Kundah, she had hallucinations again. She told Sridhar, "A man there is troubling me. It started with looking at me from the window. From his balcony he can see into our bedroom. He stares at me when I go out to the balcony to water the plants or to dry my hair. Now he has started following me around.”

He smiled, “You are so attractive; can you blame the poor guy?" "I am serious. He gives me the creeps. I don't like him being there whenever I look out of that window." She took him to their bedroom window and pointed. Sridhar said, “Please control yourself, Sneha. Why would anyone do that?”

“I don’t know. It scares me.”

Their complex was made up of three blocks of large and medium sized apartments. Another apartment block, identical to theirs stood across the yard and the lush garden. Sneha pointed out to the 7th floor, “He usually looks at me from that room there, the one with the red and white curtains.” Sridhar saw the curtains. Today the window was closed. "I’ll describe him for you. He is fair, with a neatly trimmed moustache. Brown eyes. Nice smile. Short hair. Looks like an Army or Air Force fellow from the way he carries himself. Very vain. Knows he’s handsome and is proud of it. He thinks he is so handsome that all the girls will fall for him.”

A few days later Sneha said, “That man is acting too smart! I have half a mind to go there and blast him.” “Which man? What are you talking about? Was there some problem while going to work or in your office?" “No, silly! I am talking of Mr. Stalker, the guy who keeps looking at me from his window. If you don't stop him, I know what to do about it!"

The complaints increased. Mr. Stalker had followed her in a cab all the way to the Lab. He drove past when she turned to stare at him. On another occasion, he bumped into her near the Club House, as if by accident.

When asked to describe him, Sneha gave what would have been an accurate description of Rakesh, though now no one including her knew where he was. Sridhar, of course, had no idea whatsoever of Rakesh’s existence and her past connection with him.

More to appease her, on his way back from work the next day, he first went around the block and discovered that the apartment was B 70. He decided it would be worth dropping in and finding out who this man was. What pretext could he use to strike up a conversation? He would enquire if the apartment was for sale or rent. If nothing else, it would solve the mystery for ever and Sneha would quit bugging him.

The board at the ground level indicated that Apartment B70 belonged to the Sharmas. He walked up the stairs as he could do with the exercise even though it was on the 7th floor. From the landing outside he could see his own apartment A35 across the garden. Sneha was right. Perhaps you could see their bedroom balcony from this height and angle.

Sridhar felt awkward. What would he tell them? How could he barge in to someone’s house to complain that a man from there was harassing his wife? How could he say that someone from their house was following her? What proof did he have? He bit his nails and waited. A young couple walking down the stairs looked at him suspiciously. He couldn't hang around here for ever. Someone was bound to ask who he was and what he wanted. He was tempted to just go home.

An image of Sneha nagging him about this guy came to mind. Was she to be believed? Was she really facing these problems? She would continue to give him hell if he didn't make the effort. He decided he would ask. He could always concoct some story and tell her the man was a guest and had gone away or something like that. With some nervousness, he rang the bell in B70 to talk to the Sharmas, whoever they were.

There was no response. He was on the verge of going back when he decided to give it one last try. He rang the bell again and heard it buzz within the flat. The door remained closed. He shrugged and walked to the elevator when the door to B70 opened. An elderly lady, stick in hand,  peered out. She wondered who had rung the bell as no one was at the door. “Did you ring the bell, beta?” she asked. He felt more confident on seeing her. “Hullo, aunty. I am Sridhar from A35 across the garden. Can I see you for a few minutes? I am a friend of your son’s. A mutual friend told me you lived here,” he blurted out the first thing that came into his mind.

She hesitated for just a minute, “Come in, beta. If you are my son’s friend, it should be alright. My husband and I are getting on in years. It takes me so long to get to the door. I can’t help it.” “Thank you, I won’t take long,” he said. He had to think fast. What plausible story could he tell the old couple? That he was an old school friend of their son’s? What if the man who stared was not their son at all but a nephew, son-in-law or visiting relative?

“A friend told me you were interested in renting out this apartment. It's not for me but for my sister and her family, you know.”

She took in his obviously expensive clothes and clean shaven good looks, “No, no, my husband Group Captain Sharma who is now retired and I live here, beta! We are not interested in renting this place. Someone has misinformed you.”

“Besides, I had a good friend called Sharma in Ambala. Would he be related to you?"

“Please come in. You look like a Service officer. We don't have many guests. It would be nice to talk about Arun and have a cup of tea together."

The hall was spic and span. Mrs. Sharma gestured to a large arm chair. “Who’s that, Madhu?” roared someone from inside the house. “I told you many times not to open the door to anyone passing by but you will never learn.” “He’s a friend of Arun’s, so I thought it was ok,” she said. She made a face and pointed towards the room, “My husband is not too well these days. He is always irritable but his bark is worse than his bite," she whispered as if they were conspirators. “What was that? What are you telling him?” shouted the man. A minute later a tall stooped figure shuffled into the hall. At one time he must have been a splendid specimen of a man but now illness had ravaged his once handsome face. He dragged one foot as he slowly went to the chair opposite Sridhar. Sitting down, he glared at Sridhar, “What brings you here? She says you are Arun’s friend. Were you in the Air Force?”

Sridhar wondered how he could tell him what Sneha and he really thought of the young man. That boor. A lout who behaved like a cheap Roadside Romeo. Sridhar thought on his feet. “No, he was actually my brother’s friend. I met him a few times. How is he anyway? Where is he now?” asked Sridhar.  “Turn around and look. He’s there right behind you,” said the old man.  

Sridhar hadn’t seen anyone when he walked in so he swung around and almost blacked out. There was no one there. Only a large photo on the wall. A photo of a handsome young man dashing in his flying suit. His Indian Air Force cap was perched on the side of his head. He smiled from out of the photo.  Under the photo, a plaque stood on the mantelpiece. “In Fond Memory of Flt. Lt. Arun Sharma, Vir Chakra. Killed In Action, Kargil 3/11/99. We will miss but will never forget you. Officers and Other Ranks, 26 Squadron, Indian Air Force.”

Sridhar’s head reeled. He didn't know what to say. The old man was looking at him curiously so he mumbled, “I am so sorry. I didn't know about Arun.”

The old man said, “He is in heaven these days. The fool volunteered for a crazy recce operation, a night op with little chance of success during the Kargil War. They praise his bravery but what do we have now other than that photo, his medals and our memories.”

Sridhar stayed quiet. There was nothing he could say.

“But as a military man myself, I am so very proud of him," continued the father tugging at his big moustache.

Sridhar realized his visit must have triggered more memories. “He was always a bit wild and reckless, but a good boy. A big one for the girls. Handsome young devil, Arun. Didn’t get married though. His mother and I are all alone now as you can see.”

Sridhar went near the photo. He was in a quandary. How on earth had Sneha so accurately described this young man? But the poor chap had been dead for a good ten years! Was she seeing ghosts? Having hallucinations again? How could she accuse him of looking at her from his balcony, when he was dead, the poor guy? He felt himself going cold. His hair stood on edge.

He made a few polite remarks, excused himself when Mrs. Sharma offered to make tea for him and fled from there.

On reaching home, Sridhar was perplexed as to what he should tell Sneha. Should he lie and say the man had gone away? She was unlikely to check. He could say he had made enquiries at that apartment. Yes, there had been a man in B70. A relative of theirs who had stayed for a few weeks but he had got a job and gone off to Delhi. But what if Sneha “saw” him again?

The other option was to gently tell her the truth. Explain that the man she had imagined following her and staring at her all the time was not there. He was dead and had been dead for over a decade.

CHAPTER 13

Sridhar was scared. What if Sneha started seeing someone else? Would this make matters worse? Would she stop believing him, which would make her treatment that much more difficult? How had she so accurately described young Sharma? Was she relapsing into one of her depression moods? Yet at most times she showed improvement. She was cheerful and he knew there were many positives in her progress over the last year.

He wanted to consult a psychiatrist. Sneha was normal most of the time but there was no denying that she did get what he privately called these “spells.”  Maybe during these spells, she imagined things like that man following her or she withdrew into her shell for a long period.

He remembered an incident of a month ago when they had been to her father’s estate. Sneha sat on the front verandah enjoying a hot cup of home brewed coffee, served by an old family retainer. She saw her mother admonish the gardener for not keeping the lawns tidy. They did look rather shabby. Her mother was gesticulating wildly with her hands. Sneha couldn’t bear to see this. “Enough, Mama. You can’t shout at him like that.” She rushed out onto the lawn, but found no one there other than the gardener digging a flower bed. “Where’s my mother? She shouldn’t have shouted at you like that.” The gardener smiled sadly and went back to his work.

Sneha sometimes wondered if she was mentally imbalanced. How long was she aware of this? Was it before getting rid of Vils to have Rakesh to herself? Did it mean that she inherited more from her dead mother than her good looks?

Sneha confided in Sridhar, “I don’t know how to tell you this but I have noticed something strange.”

“What’s it? Don’t worry, you can trust me.”

“I hesitated to tell you before. This morning I saw a raven flutter down from the tree and sit on my window ledge. My mother used to say ravens had the souls of the departed. Do you think this raven is trying to tell me something? Was someone's soul in this raven? Was it my Mom’s soul?” asked Sneha.

Sridhar didn’t know how to respond. This was something he had never heard or thought of. He tried to calm her down but later he noticed that what they called the “raven days” had some effect on Sneha. When the raven was not around as happened for months at a stretch, she was perfectly alright. But the day the raven returned, she became irritable, irrational and pig-headed. If she wanted something, it had to be done immediately otherwise she would become hysterical.

Sridhar talked to one of his friends, Karan Govil, the writer at their Club. “I say, you seem to know a lot about planchet and stuff like that. You wrote about this is your new book. I am skeptical about the whole thing, but is it possible for someone to occupy someone else's soul for a few days?" "Sure, the answer is yes. Have you heard of “Metempsychosis”?

“Good lord, no! What on earth is that?”

“It means ‘change of soul’ in Greek. It is a fundamental doctrine of several religions originating in India.  We Hindus believe that once we are dead our souls enter another being based on our karma or deeds, good or bad. There have been cases where one’s soul has resided in someone else’s body for months on end.”

“Oh really, how were they cured?'

“They weren't actually. There doesn’t appear to be any prescribed cure for stuff like this. This defies rational explanation. Anyway, enough of such spooky stuff, let's have one for the road.”

“Yes. I think I need one badly" said Sridhar. “Waiter, another round for us, please. And make mine a double.”

“The best thing to do is to see a psychiatrist like my eldest brother who happens to be one,” said Govil. As they went their separate ways, Sridhar drove home deep in thought.

Dr. Govil, who Sridhar consulted, was one of Chennai’s specialists in psychiatry. He met Sridhar alone in his clinic. “Karan told me about you. I can understand your hesitation but I am glad you seek professional advice for your wife. I have seen many cases in my career, where people kept quiet out of fear or shame, and harm the patient in the process. Mental illness is much more common in India than we would like to admit. Do you know that 60 to 70 million people in India suffer from mental disorders? Please take your time and tell me all about your wife. Anything you tell me could be pertinent. Give examples to elaborate. Even if you speak more than you should, it is better than hiding anything from me. Start from what you know of her childhood.”

The hours went by as Sridhar talked like he had never before. Govil listened attentively, asked him questions from time to time and made brief notes. Sridhar spoke on till abruptly he ran dry. There was nothing more he could add. “I don’t know if what I have said makes sense or not but I feel a huge weight has been removed from my shoulders.”

“Does your wife actively engage in substance abuse? Drinks, drugs, tobacco? Don’t look shocked. Any family history of this? This is important to know.”

“No, no! She does have a drink occasionally. I mentioned to you that her mother was a heavy drinker. I can swear she’s not into drugs. She doesn’t smoke either. I am sure of that. Her father was a heavy smoker though, if that is relevant at all.”

Sridhar asked, “Doctor, could she have inherited something from her mother? There has been talk that she was not fully ok.”

Dr. Govil said, “It does not naturally follow that children of scizophrenics will be schizophrenic too. Research indicates that children with one parent diagnosed as schizophrenic carry a 10 % genetic risk of developing the disease themselves. You must see this against the 1 % risk in the general population. More than that, some terrible event must have shaken her. In her case I am sure it was that dreadful accident which killed her parents and brother when she was just 17. As is obvious, environmental events like this accident could well have triggered this in her.”

Closing his eyes for a while from time to time as was his habit, Dr. Govil continued, “I must emphasize that the absence of symptoms does not mean the affliction has gone on its own. On the contrary we need to observe her closely.  At the residual stage they act much as did during the pre-modal stage. Patients do not always appear psychotic but they experience some negative symptoms such as lack of emotional expression or low energy. Although patients in the residual stage do not have delusions or hallucinations, they may continue to experience strange beliefs. Sneha, for example, may be convinced that her “enemies” are out to get her. This is a real symptom of the residual stage of schizophrenia.”

He went on, “There are many common psychotic symptoms. For example, in the active stage of schizophrenia, it is usual for people to have hallucinations or delusions. By then the disorder has developed fully and can be described as being psychotic. At times, this may even warrant hospitalization.

“Let’s hope for the best, but you should know that these are latent and can rear up when we least expect them to.”

Dr. Govil then told Sridhar that patients sometimes relapsed when some incident, even a comment or image took them back into a shadowy world in which they lived. If they got into that world, Dr. Govil explained patiently, it could take hours, days or even months to come out from that episode. No one quite knew why they happened that way. Explanations ranged from incidents triggering bad memories stored in the sub conscious which erupted when some such provocation took place. Otherwise they lay dormant under the surface.

“It’s like a volcano. It is impossible to predict when it will erupt. Even seemingly dormant ones are known to have erupted when we least expected them to do so,” said Dr. Govil.

Sridhar liked the analogy. He said, “I can relate to that. I wonder sometimes if there are two persons residing in Sneha’s body. An innocent and sweet girl and a wild, confused creature that cannot be controlled.”

Dr. Govil shook his head, “No, no! Let me clarify. You probably may not know that the term “schizophrenia’” was coined by Paul Eugene Bleuler, a Swiss psychiatrist from the Greek roots schizein, "to split" and, phren- "mind." Since schizophrenia literally means "split mind” because of the etymology of the word, it is commonly misrepresented as a split personality. Schizophrenics suffer from hallucinations and illusions. These are disturbances of perception which affect such people. Voices may describe the patient’s activities, carry on a conversation, warn of impending dangers, or even issue orders to the individual. Illusions, on the other hand, occur when a sensory stimulus is present but is incorrectly interpreted by the individual.”

“Have you heard her ever talk to herself? Softly or even loudly if she feels she is not being observed?” asked the doctor.

Sridhar thought for a moment. “Yes, sometimes I have heard her talk to herself. When I have asked her what was bothering her, she would go into her shell. Are you suggesting that this could be symptom of something terrible?”

“More than 75 % of schizophrenic patients show signs that they think they are being controlled. It’s difficult for us to describe. Delusion of control stems from a belief that her thoughts, feelings and actions are controlled by an external person or force.”

The doctor had hit the mark. It was an amazingly accurate diagnosis. Sneha in a candid moment had told Sridhar, “I keep getting instructions from my mother. I get them whether I need them or not. I can’t turn it off like a radio. It is omnipresent. Active both during the day and night. On some days it is worse than others. On many days it is not there at all. I don’t choose when she talks to me. She does.”  She did not tell him her mother had told her to find that bastard Rakesh and finish him off.

CHAPTER 14

Sridhar told Dr. Govil, “At times, she says she is being ‘persecuted’ by people who trouble her. ‘They’ seldom have names. ‘They’ wanted her to obey their orders. ‘They’ set her moods and swings. Often her mother spoke to her and protected her against ‘them.’ Is this also part of what’s going on in her mind?”

“Certainly! It explains many of her actions. Trapped between fantasy and reality, between the pulls and pushes of these voices, it appears she simply cannot fight them.”

“She will listen to you. Why don’t you tell her all this? Tell her this is plain stupid. All these voices and stuff like that are only in her imagination.”

Dr. Govil shook his head, “It’s dicey. We can’t predict how she will react. It may make things worse. She could get more stubborn or angry. It’s not worth the risk at this stage. She shouldn’t include us amongst those who are persecuting her.”

“I understand. I’ll go with your advice. You know far more about this than I do. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to question your expertise.”

“That’s ok. We need to make sure she doesn’t get worse. I have seen patients who were much more difficult to deal with. At least she is far better behaved than many that I have seen. She isn’t violent for one. Did she have any past history of violence?”

“No, she did not!” Sridhar told the truth as he knew it.

He convinced Sneha to meet Dr. Govil and they had several rounds of consultations. On all occasions, Sridhar remained present at the doctor’s insistence. Dr. Govil prescribed a battery of tests which were followed by physical examinations and psychological assessments.

When he had studied all the results, he called Sridhar. On reaching there, Sridhar thought Dr. Govil looked concerned and this set his pulse racing. Govil was not as warm as usual. He began without any pleasantries, “For this meeting I wanted to speak to you alone. Here are some notes I have written up for you. Please read them carefully. Schizophrenia is a severe, chronic disabling brain disorder that affects 1.1 % of the population over the age of 18. Patients have a combination of what we call positive and negative symptoms. Let me clarify that in this context ‘positive’ does not mean good and ‘negative’ bad.

“By ‘positive symptoms’ we mean the presence of sensations, beliefs, and behaviors that would not normally occur. These are the most noticeable symptoms, and often the ones used to stereotype people with schizophrenia. Examples include delusions, hallucinations, slow movements or catatonia, and erratic emotions. To expand a bit, delusions are beliefs about things that are not true, while hallucinations are when they see, hear, feel, smell or taste things that others do not. I am convinced Sneha suffers strongly from some of these symptoms.

“In her case, I can say with certainty, the ‘negative symptoms’ are not so pronounced. These refer to an absence of abilities such as making friends, lack of energy, poor motivation, being prone to anxiety, depression and so on.

Sridhar replied, “I agree with you. She may not be brilliant in these aspects but it has not been a failing. But do go on.”

The doctor looked at his notes and continued, “Schizophrenia symptoms do not appear overnight. They develop slowly, often over many months and years. It is again not necessary that someone will have all the symptoms. It’s a crucial point to understand. Some people who ought to be labeled as having schizophrenia are missed only because they did not display all the symptoms that the doctor was looking for. Likewise, just because someone has suicidal thoughts does not make them schizophrenics, though that could be one of the symptoms.

“There are different types of schizophrenia. Based on what I have read about her case and my own observations, I strongly feel Sneha has or is moving towards what we would call, ‘Paranoid schizophrenia.’ Common symptoms include being anxious, often argumentative, believing that others are trying to harm them or their loved ones.

Since this discussion is so important, I must go into more detail and explain. I rule out ‘disorganized schizophrenia’ as here patients usually have problems with thinking and expressing ideas clearly, they have childlike behavior and show little emotion. From my observations, Sneha does not fall into this category. Nor does she have another type which we call, ‘Catatonic schizophrenia’ in which patients show lack of activity and have rigid muscles and posture. They often have grimaces or odd expressions on the face and don’t respond to other people. You know, as I do, that Sneha doesn’t fall into either of these categories.”

“Doctor, I want an honest answer to just one question: can’t she be cured? How on earth do you find out how badly a patient is affected?”

“Strange as it may seem, despite all the advances in medicine and science, we still have no medical tests to diagnose schizophrenia. Sad, isn’t it? We psychiatrists reach conclusions and later a diagnosis based on our in-depth examination of the patient. From our patients and their families, we find out how long they have observed the symptoms; whether the person’s ability to function normally has changed; their genetic and family history; how medications have worked in the past etc. We then take a call based on our best professional judgment. That’s about it!”

After their consultations with Dr. Govil, they went to Derby, her father’s old estate near Sakleshpur. She wanted time off to take in what seemed to be ahead of her. The estate had slumped with the passage of time. Maybe the new owners would revive it. After her father’s death in 2002, his brother, who proved to be an erratic planter, managed the estate. At times he showed a lot of zeal but he wanted immediate results being an impatient man. He had made things worse than before till last year, when he had given it up and moved to Bangalore to run a real estate business.

Fortunately the old manager and the staff were loyal to the Thampis, working with a dedication rare these days. That’s how Derby still survived. With her parents dead, the estate held no interest for Sneha. They decided to sell it off. A party from Kadur known to the family was keen on making an attractive offer. Sridhar said, “Sneha, this decision has to be yours and yours alone. This estate was in your father’s family for generations. I have neither the interest, nor the time to run this place. We are city bred folk. I would get bored to death after a week here.”

Sneha looked around the old house. Though she had been to boarding school, she had come here for the holidays. The estate staff had fawned on her and she had a few happy memories of her childhood here. It was in some ways like the hills where her boarding school was situated. The atmosphere was serene, they had good weather and a slow leisurely life where no one seemed to be in any hurry unlike Chennai or Bangalore where everyone rushed everywhere to beat deadlines.

Despite all this, she didn’t like the vibes the place held for her. There were too many unpleasant memories of her parents. She could not bear the thought of living here for long. Sneha thought about it briefly, “I agree with you. I am really not at all interested in living here. Let’s sell the place.” They met the would-be buyers and signed the deal.

That night, Sridhar really didn’t mean to pry but she had left the computer on and rushed off to the toilet. The page that lay open was full of pictures of babies. There were so many of them. All were cute, chubby and delightful to look at. Sridhar scratched his head thoughtfully. Was this her way of saying something to him? Did she crave to be a mother of a sweet kid like these in the pictures? Was she deliberately not having children fearing the worst? It was a chilling thought. Dr. Govil’s words rang in his ears. Would they be prophetic? Subsequent events showed that Sneha was increasingly becoming more schizophrenic.

PART 3 – THE MURDER

CHAPTER 15

THE HONEYMOONERS’DREAM RESORT, OOTY, THE NILGIRIS,

MAY 2010

The Sens, holidaying in the resort, were a typical upwardly mobile couple and a product of their times. Rajneesh was 37, witty, street smart and a manager in a large IT firm in Chennai. His wife, Nobonita, 32, was a HR professional in a multinational bank. They were both from Kolkata and had fallen in love five years ago. They were here to celebrate their fourth wedding anniversary. They were happy with each other though at times Nobonita got annoyed with Rajneesh for flirting with other women, especially when she was not around. Rajneesh loved Nobonita in his own way but they didn’t have a child as yet. Each felt embarrassed to talk about the possible causes. Both were busy professionals too involved in their respective careers to think about this deeply though when they saw couples with cute children they regretted not having a child of their own. Both wondered why Nobonita had not conceived as yet but stopped short of blaming each other. They feared it would cascade into a blame game which neither of them had the time or energy to face.

Rajneesh found himself intrigued by the young woman in Cottage No. 8 near theirs. He was flattered by the way she looked at him, as if she knew him. She had stared at him for long when they first saw each other in the reception. He tried his best to place her. Had they met at some IT Convention, did she work for one of his clients, or had they met with mutual friends at a party? Try as he did, he could not remember where he had met her before.

His friends thought the handsome Rajneesh looked like a young Dev Anand. This encouraged him to mimic the old Hindi film hero. He took pains to cultivate the Dev Anand walk and style of speaking, believing this made him more attractive to the opposite sex.

Sneha and her husband, Sridhar had come up to the Nilgiris for a break from the oppressive Chennai summer. Sridhar had got back from a business trip to the US. As her work prevented Sneha from accompanying him, they were taking this break before they got immersed in their work once again. Ordinarily they would have stayed in her grandfather’s estate near Kundah. As they were renovating the place, there was so much chaos there that Sridhar suggested they stay in this resort owned by his friend, Pandian.

If Rajneesh was pleased to see Sneha, she was mad at seeing him. Sneha’s blood boiled from the moment she first spotted him at the resort’s reception. She recognized him straight away as Rakesh, the bastard who had ditched her. He now acted as if he didn’t have a care in the world. It looked like he was hooking one more girl. She had to warn this girl of the dangers ahead. At dinner in the large restaurant, Sneha took a table some distance away. Sridhar was talking about his business during the recent trip. Though she listened to him, her eyes kept straying to the couple.

Later she saw them walk hand in hand down the path leading to the northern part of the sprawling resort. There were many cottages there, including hers. She couldn’t possibly follow them to find out where they stayed. After dinner, Sridhar excused himself to make an important call. She walked up to the reception.

It was a relatively quiet period. The young man on duty wasn’t busy. She smiled, “Hello, I am Mrs. Sridhar. Can you tell me the names of those people who just walked past? Man wearing blue jeans and lady in a green skirt. By the way, what’s your name?

“My name is Bharat, ma’am.”

“We had dinner just now, but I can’t recall their names. There were many in our group. Who are they and where are they staying?” She bent low on the counter. Bharat, looking up saw her breasts as if they were on display for him. This woman looked hot. Though the staff was warned not to get familiar with the guests, he couldn’t help ogling her. “I just want to know their names. I am not asking for their bank balance,” she said and smiled again. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “I am sorry ma’am, it’s against the resort policy to divulge such information,”  “It’s against resort policy to stare at my boobs the way you are doing now. Do you like what you see?” Bharat turned a bright crimson. No one had spoken like this to him before. “My husband and I are old friends of Mr. Pandian, the owner of this resort. You will be sacked if I tell him you acted fresh with me.” He fidgeted in embarrassment. He was scared but she was so damn attractive

What the hell, he thought. The rich acted in ways he would never understand. Maybe that man in Cottage 5 had the hots for this woman, not that he could blame him. He reluctantly took his eyes off her and consulted his computer.

“They are Mr. and Mrs. R.K. Sen, from Chennai and are in Cottage no. 5,” he said, his eyes switching back to her breasts. “We are in Cottage 8. I am not spying on them for God’s sake! You can tell Mr. Sen I was asking about him. And, next time don’t stare at women like that. It’s bad manners besides being dangerous for your health. What would Mr. Pandian think of you?”

“No, ma’am. I won’t do that. Please don’t think I was acting fresh. I am sorry if you misunderstood. I am the only person working in my family. I can’t afford to lose my job.”

This was music to her ears. She once again leant towards him over the counter, “Then listen to me carefully. Do as I say and you will be richly rewarded, in more ways than one.” With a mischievous smile, she walked off. Bharat followed her with his eyes till she exited the lobby. She looked incredibly sexy to him. He was both excited and terrified. What did she mean? What could she want from him?

Sneha made it a point to tell Patnaik, the resort’s General Manager that Bharat the boy at reception was extremely courteous and efficient. The GM complimented him, “Good job, Bharat! Mrs. Sneha Sridhar specifically praised you a lot. Perhaps you are not aware they are friends of Mr. Pandian. They expect VIP treatment. She plans to write an article about our resort in a leading travel magazine. That will surely help us. Her husband is a big industrialist in Chennai.”

It wasn’t too difficult for Sneha to get a set of keys for Cottage 5 from Bharat the next day, saying she wanted it only for an hour or so. At Ooty, she told Sridhar she would like to visit her college for old time’s sake while he played golf. Near the crowded market an old man who had been doing this work for decades, made her a duplicate key in a short while. She paid him far more than he had expected. She could now enter Cottage No. 5 whenever she wanted.

When the Sens went towards their car the next morning, she boldly walked towards Cottage No. 5 and opened the lock with her new key. If anyone asked she could say she had opened the door by mistake and was about to leave. It took a while but clicked open. She found a perverse pleasure in being in someone else’s room. The bed was made up. The bathroom had a good collection of cosmetics and toilet articles. The clothes were all folded neatly or hung in the wardrobe colour coordinated. Nobonita must be a well- organized lady. A copy of “The Jury” by John Grisham lay on the table. She never liked these legal novels herself. A few magazines on lifestyle and glamour were strewn around.

She couldn’t resist the temptation. She ought to have slipped out silently locking the door behind her but the urge was too strong. She tore the picture of the Sens kept next to the bed into two pieces. She wanted to tear it into shreds but The Voice said, “Just frighten them. One tear down the middle will separate them.” She walked out leaving the two pieces, one on each bed. The door clicked shut behind her.

Later that evening, Nobonita was the first to see the torn photo on entering the cottage. Tired after a day’s sight seeing, she wanted nothing more than a refreshing shower, followed by dinner.

“What the hell is this, Rajneesh? What have you done?” she cried blaming him without stopping to enquire. He was tired too, “What are you talking about?”

“This was one of my favorite pictures! Have you gone mad? Why have you torn it like this?”

“I haven’t torn any pictures! What nonsense! Let me have a look. I didn’t notice it till now”

“What do you notice? You are too busy eyeing that woman who was hanging around.”

“Please stop, Nobonita. I am tired today and so are you. Let’s not quarrel. Neither of us is to blame for this.”

“Then who has done this? Who could come into our room? Complain to the management.”

He gave a parting shot, “Are you sure you haven’t done it? You blame me, but you could have done it too.”

They quarreled for some time until it was time for dinner. Nobonita remained sullen but Rajneesh cheered up looking forward to a drink or two.

Sneha’s eyes bulged in shock as the man entered the crowded restaurant. Yes, she had made such mistakes before, but this time she was certain. She had no doubt that man was Rakesh. Those same eyes. That nose. That attitude. The bastard who had ditched her and walked away from their relationship three years ago leaving her pregnant and in shambles. Instinctively, she made to get up to accost him but something held her back. What if it was someone else? It had happened to her a few times before.

Rakesh, (by then she had firmly concluded that it was him) had settled down in a corner table. He looked relaxed as he smiled and took a few appreciative sips of the whisky he had ordered. He must be waiting for that woman. She was proved right. In a few minutes a pretty woman entered the bar. Seeing him wave, she smiled and walked over to his table. They chatted as if they knew each other well. She reached out for his hand. They held hands and smiled a lot at each other. She ordered for some wine and they talked, laughing from time to time.

Sneha felt the anger building within her. Although she couldn’t hear their conversation, years of studying others told her the man was contrite about something and the woman had accepted his apology. The Voice told her, “That bastard has snared another innocent girl like you.” She was about to walk up to warn the girl about him when The Voice said, “Not now. Get her alone. That will be more effective.”

Sneha waited patiently for her opportunity nursing the strawberry daiquiri, until the woman got up. She knew the signs. The woman picked up her bag. She would be heading to the Ladies Rest Room. Moving swiftly, Sneha reached there before her. She was brushing her hair a few minutes later when the woman came in. After using the toilet, Nobonita looked at herself in the adjoining mirror and applied a light touch of make up, adding a blast of perfume for good measure. “Hello, who’s doing the seducing today?” asked Sneha, smiling at Nobonita who smiled back. Sneha saw she had nice teeth though one of them was crooked which kind of added to her charm. She looked confident of herself.

“Congratulations! You will make a delightful couple. Looks like he is falling for you,” said Sneha.

Nobonita smiled, “He did that long ago. He’s my husband.”

This surprised Sneha. The bastard had already hooked her. That was interesting! As she dabbed her forehead, the woman volunteered, “We both needed a break from work. This is the  holiday we have been longing for.” Seen from close Nobonita was even better looking, with attractive big eyes.

“I wanted to warn you, be careful of that man. He traps women like us,” Sneha whispered.

“Who are you talking about, and why should I be careful?”

“I am warning you because only you are so pretty. You look gullible too! Ask him if he has been here before without you. Ask how many women he got pregnant before ditching them. Be very careful of him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will!” said Nobonita, a worried frown now spoiling her pretty face. She fled without looking back before Sneha could say anything more.CHAPTER 16

Nobonita’s mind dragged her back to what the girl had said for the rest of the dinner. Who was she? Was she crazy? Why had she chosen to warn her of all people? Did Rajneesh know her? She had appeared so earnest while warning her.

Rajneesh smiled and raised his glass in a toast to her to make up for their quarrel earlier that evening. She didn’t want to tell him about the woman’s message just then. She was already exhausted and was in no mood for a continuation of their quarrel. It was while she brushed her teeth before going to bed that something struck her. The picture had not been crumpled. It had not been torn to bits. It had not been hidden somewhere where it couldn’t be found. It had been torn down the exact middle. Was there a message for her in this? Could this woman who had accosted her be in any way involved? Did that mean she knew Rajneesh? Did the torn picture mean they would be separated? She almost bit her tongue at the thought of their marriage breaking up. She shook her head after rinsing her mouth and wiping her face to get rid of a bad memory. She hoped she would get a good night’s sleep. Back in the bedroom, Rajneesh was already asleep. He looked so calm when asleep that she felt guilty of making too much of nothing.

Maybe the Housekeeping person had torn the picture by mistake? But why would they leave it there if that had been the case. They would have thrown it away. There were too many possibilities. She switched off the light and got into bed, trying her best to forget the woman’s words that kept haunting her.

It was warm and sunny outdoors the next morning, making it a perfect day for a holiday. The guests were at the breakfast buffet. Both Rajneesh and Sridhar were late risers so their wives had come alone for breakfast. When Nobonita was spooning some cornflakes and cereal, a cheery voice called out to her. “Morning, how are you?”

With a shock that made her drop the spoon with a clatter, Nobonita recognized her as the woman from the Rest Room last night. She looked more relaxed today.

Miss Rest Room looked much younger than her, and was striking to look at, with her long dark hair falling below her shoulders. She wore jeans and a jacket today with sunglasses perched on the top of her head. She looked so attractive that Nobonita briefly felt jealous of her.

As they helped themselves to items from the lavish spread laid out on the table, Nobonita was irritated by the way this woman scrutinized her from head to toe. “Excuse me, can I reach out for some eggs and toast?” asked Nobonita and moved ahead.

It was rude the way this woman was staring at her. As they passed each other, Nobonita raised her eyebrows as if to say, “Who are you and what do you want with me?” Placing some fruits on her plate, Sneha whispered, “Just one minute. I must tell you something important. It could be a matter of life and death.” This stopped Nobonita in her tracks. She turned around. Not wanting to create a scene though only two of them were near the table, Nobonita said in a low voice, “Please leave me alone. What’s the matter with you?” Her eyes shining brightly, the girl told her, “I am only trying to warn you. As I told you yesterday, be very careful of him. He plans to cheat you. He has done this before. If you don’t believe me ask him about Vils. Say ‘I know all about Vils’ and observe his reactions closely. I am telling you for your sake.” “Yeah sure,” said Nobonita and hurried away. The day did not seem as beautiful as it had been only a few minutes ago. The sun continued to shine brightly. Through the open windows they heard the chirping of the birds, but in Nobonita’s mind dark clouds were shutting out the morning sun.

Was Rajneesh that innocent? Who was Vils and what was this woman’s role in the whole story?

Much as she tried to think of other things, the same thought kept haunting her. Why was this woman trying to warn her? Was this some kind of bad joke? Who was this Vils, anyway? She had to ask him.

The famed Ooty Lake was azure and blue when they went boating that afternoon. He held her hand. She pulled it away and asked abruptly, “Rajneesh, who is Vils?”

“You mean where is Vils? It’s a tributary of the Danube in Germany. I went there once years ago. Does this lake remind you of that?”

“No, my dear. It’s the name of a woman you know from your shady past.”

He laughed, “What kind of joke is this? I don’t know any Vils-Bills. Are you talking of my cousin Mili in Mumbai, the architect? We call her Mils. She and I were great pals at one time, we still are but that should not affect you. Why are you asking from out of the blue?’

“I just wondered if you knew anyone of that name.”

“No, I don’t. I never have either. Let’s concentrate on our pedaling. Our boat will hit that rock at the edge of the lake, if we don’t turn soon. Stop pedaling for a moment, I’ll do it and we will swing the boat around.”

Nobonita didn’t speak of it again. She had tried, without any success to find out who the mysterious Vils was. Rather an unusual name though. She had never heard of anyone with a name like that. The woman who spoke to her must be soft in the head she thought. Why should she take this nonsense seriously? She smiled and reached for his hand.

However, her anxiety continued the next day. “I can’t understand why this wretched woman is trailing us,” said Nobonita, her exasperation showing in her voice. They were at the farthest part of the resort where a cliff overlooked the beautiful Kundah Valley. Sitting some distance away was the same woman who had talked to her in the ladies room the other evening, and again at breakfast today. She was talking to a man who looked much older than her. Her husband, perhaps. “Oh come on. This is not our private property. Anyone can come here. Like us, they too have come here to admire the view,” replied Rajneesh, who had noticed the woman too. He liked what he saw.

“Admire the view or admire you?” snapped Nobonita. “She is staring at you ever since we reached here as if you are some bloody rock star. She is not admiring any scenery. That’s for sure.” Rajneesh ran his hand over his hair,  flattered that he could have made such an impact on the girl.

The husband shot off a few pictures. The girl smiled for the camera. She walked across, "Do you mind taking a few pictures of us? We’ll do the same for you,” she didn’t look at Nobonita but stared at Rajneesh as she talked to him, smiling in a knowing kind of way. Her husband was still admiring the scenery. Something interesting had got him to the other side of the road to take a picture from another angle.

“Sure. I’ll be glad to,” said Rajneesh looking at the woman who stood close by, smiling at him. Her dark hair was let loose today. She looked  striking. Her breasts were clearly outlined under her top. He smiled back aware that Nobonita was glaring at them. Nobonita stepped forward and took Rajneesh’s hand in hers protectively. This did not stop the woman from continuing, “Hi, I have seen you around. We are staying in the resort, too. That’s my husband, Sridhar, over there. He is crazy about photography. I am Sneha. Where are you guys from? You make such a wonderful couple.”

“I am Rajneesh and this is my wife Nobonita. We are from Chennai.”

“Lovely! You look gorgeous, I can’t help being jealous of those eyes,” she told Nobonita.

“Flattery won’t help,” thought Nobonita but she said “Thanks,” abruptly and looked away.

Nobonita tried to pull Rajneesh away but he seemed inclined to chat. The woman had come close to him on the other side. She whispered, “Don’t you remember me?” He looked blank as his mind whirled trying to make the connection. Her being so close was exciting but unnerving at the same time.

“No? I am surprised. Let me try again. Don’t you remember our friend, Vils?” He didn’t know what to say. She continued, still looking at him though her black aviator sunglasses hid her eyes. “We made a nice threesome, didn’t we?” she giggled.

“Listen, this is becoming too much! We don’t know what you are talking about and we are least interested. Please leave us alone,” snapped Nobonita.

“Ok, I am going. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Our man is a smooth talker, isn’t he?” she said and walked away. Rajneesh tried to say something but Nobonita pulled him in the opposite direction. They didn’t speak of her again but she has spoiled their mood.

The next day, Sneha saw Rakesh and Nobonita  again. This time she just couldn’t help it. Though there were other people present in the lobby when they were going out, she shouted out to Nobonita. “Be careful. He is dangerous. Remember what I told you!”

“Please Sneha what are you saying? You are creating a scene in front of so many people,” said Sridhar. “I want to teach him a lesson, the rat! He can’t fool around with innocent girls. He will do it again. He says they are married but how do we know she is his wife?”

There was a shocked silence. Sridhar bundled her out, red-faced with embarrassment. He left her in the cottage and hurried back to the lobby. Rajneesh was flushed and angry. He was talking to the manager gesticulating wildly. Nobonita said loudly, “They shouldn’t allow loonies like her to wander around disturbing others. We come here to relax and see what we get!”  Other guests nodded in agreement. Everyone agreed Sneha had behaved disgracefully in public. Sridhar apologized profusely to Rajneesh and Nobonita. “I can’t explain why she said what she did. She has obviously mistaken you for some other person but that’s no excuse. What she said was shocking. I am extremely sorry for her abominable behaviour.”

Sneha made up her mind. It would be best to act as if she didn’t know that he was Rakesh. She would treat him like Rajneesh or whatever he now called himself but deep in her heart she was dead sure he was Rakesh. The man she wanted to punish. It would be wise to apologize to Rakesh for the scene last night.

Sometimes unrelated events lead to strange situations. It all started with a call from Chennai that Monday. They were relaxing in the morning when Sridhar’s brother called him. Seeing his face change and his terse replies, Sneha wondered what was wrong.

“Some problem has cropped up in a business deal. I need to be in Chennai tomorrow. I am so sorry this is spoiling our holiday. Let’s go together and come back in three-four days,”

“You go ahead. I’ll be fine here. I find it relaxing. If you leave this evening, you can catch the night train from Mettupalayam and will be in Chennai tomorrow morning. Attend to your work and fly back to Coimbatore tomorrow evening and you are here with me for dinner.”

“Brilliant idea! I hope you don’t mind but it is a critical deal for us.”

“That’s ok, I understand,” said Sneha, the germ of an idea coming to her mind. Here was an opportunity to get Rakesh for herself. How to keep his wife away? She would think of different options later.

Sridhar took a cab that evening to Mettupalayam some 60 kms away to board the night train to Chennai. He asked, “Are you sure you will be ok staying alone here? You can still come with me if you want.” “ Please don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’ll wait for you to be back.”

At dinner time, she wondered whether she should eat alone in the room. But that was so boring. It would be better to have people around her, even if she ate by herself. She went to the resort restaurant and got lucky. To her delight, Rakesh sat alone at a table in the corner. He looked fresh and relaxed wearing a colorful shirt and a pair of old Levis. Either his wife would be joining him later or had chosen to have a snack delivered to their cottage.

The Voice told her, “ Things are falling into place. Go meet him when he’s alone.” She walked up to him. He looked up startled. He hadn’t expected her to do this.

“I find it difficult to say just how sorry I am about last night. It was extremely rude of me to behave as I did.”

“That’s ok but what went wrong? You seemed to be awfully upset,” he said staring at her. She had an attractive figure though she seemed a bit careless about her dress and her hair. He wanted to see what kind of woman she was. Rajneesh prided himself on being a suave man about town. He believed it would be easy to impress this girl who seemed to be so confused but he had to tread cautiously. “Would you like to join me for dinner? Where is your husband?” “The same place where your wife is,” she said and they burst out laughing.

They enjoyed the conversation and he found her intriguing. There was something about her that was unreal. He couldn’t place his finger on what it was though he prided himself on being a good reader of people in general and women in particular. She said, “I am so sorry. You look so much like someone I knew that I made a huge mistake. I feel awful thinking about. Please forgive me for that ghastly incident.”

“That’s ok. I have already forgiven you.”

“Oh, thanks! I am so grateful.”

“Did you love him so much? There is such longing in your voice.”

“Yes, I loved him deeply, but that was a long time ago.”

“I may be as good as him or even better,” he smiled, tossing her the bait. He waited to see how she would respond.

“Really? I would like to check that out,” she smiled, biting it as he had hoped she would. 

“Why not meet sometime? It should be fun,” his eyes told her the conversation was going the way he wanted it.

“You mean as a foursome? We have never done anything like that!” the shock showed in her voice.

He reached for his drink, took a sip and looked into her eyes, “No silly! Just the two of us. For old time’s sake. After all don't I remind you of your demon lover?”

“Done! That would be exciting.”

“Let’s meet tomorrow. The resort guys have planned a picnic to Tiger Hill. I am sure you and your husband will be going too. Nobonita is keen on this. They say it’s a beautiful place being the highest peak on these hills. It will be a whole day affair with a picnic lunch and so on. Surely we can meet there?”

“I suppose we can, but won’t it be more fun for just the two of us to meet here when the others go for the picnic? We can be undisturbed. By the way, my husband has rushed off to Chennai for some urgent work. He will be back tomorrow evening. I am all alone and at a loose end tomorrow.”

He thought about this new development for a minute. She smiled and didn’t say anything. He needed a little push. She continued, “If you don’t have the courage to meet me, that’s ok. I understand. Some guys are mortally scared of their wives!” She gave a little laugh. “You will be the loser, Mr. Hot Guy!”

“Ok, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll cry off at the last moment saying that there is some urgent business. My wife will squawk about it for sometime, but I’ll deal with that later.”

She reached across and briefly held his hand, “That’s a good boy! You won’t be disappointed! As a warm up for tomorrow, why don’t you drop in at our Cottage No. 8 later on tonight? We can discuss the details with more privacy.” He nodded happily and gave her a big smile as he left for his cottage. Sneha gulped down the last of her wine and went back to hers.

CHAPTER 17

Sneha tingled with excitement thinking of how close she was to doing what she most wanted to. She rehearsed all the steps ahead on reaching her room. First, she called Sridhar and spoke to him for a while. She said, “ Take care of yourself. I am a bit tired today and going to bed. We are to make an early start for the picnic. It’s to be on some mountain top so I guess there won’t be any network connectivity there. I was reluctant but it looks like most of the people are going for the picnic.”

“Yes, you must go. It would be nice. Take care.” She then changed into a short night dress and lay down on her bed. Rakesh would come for her. She was confident things would go according to her plan. The Voice told her, “Be patient. Don’t be hasty. Fatten the lamb before the slaughter.”

Sridhar was settling down to sleep in his first class compartment in the Nilgiris Express to Chennai. Nobonita was sound asleep in Cottage No. 5. A severe headache prevented her from joining Rajneesh in the dining room when it was time to dine. He was understanding, “Get some rest. I have to catch up with some work. I’ll have dinner, make a few calls and be back. Tomorrow we are going to the Tiger Hill picnic. You need to be as refreshed as possible for that.”

He strode towards Cottage 8 which was close to theirs. The front light was not switched on. He looked around. There was no one in sight. He slowly pushed the front door. He wasn’t surprised to find it open. Each of the cottages had a couple of bedrooms, a large living room, and a small dining space. The bedrooms had French windows which opened out to the lawns bordering each of the cottages.

Rajneesh headed for the nearest bedroom. Breathing heavily, he went in. He thought she would be up and ready to chat. It looked like she was ready for much more. Sneha didn’t say a word as he quietly came to the bed and climbed on. She put a finger on his lips and hugged him, her hands frantically pulling him towards her.

She acted as if she hadn’t had sex for years, matching his fervour with a passion that amazed him. He felt exhilarated as they went on and on till they collapsed in each other’s arms. There was little conversation. Their bodies did the talking. She was fast asleep when he rolled out of bed, looked in the mirror, brushed his hair, dressed quickly and went back to his cottage. His wife was still deep in sleep. He smiled remembering this mysterious girl with a craving for him before he too fell asleep totally exhausted.

The sun shone brightly on Monday, May 24, 2010. Though it was such a glorious morning Mrs. Bopanna was worried that she was heading for one of her giddy spells. She suffered from low blood pressure apart from half a dozen other ailments. She and her husband had come to this resort for a week from Mumbai, just for a change.

They made a good sight as each fussed over the other. Breakfasting together they looked like two little birds as they pecked at their food, looking out at the beautiful view from the huge windows specially made for the diners to have a panoramic view of the hillside.

She didn’t want to unduly worry her husband. She felt some pain in her chest but he would make a huge fuss and she didn’t want to spoil their holiday, their first here. It reminded her of her native Kodagu. When her husband was not there, she went to the manager’s office. She asked, “Is there any medical facility, if I were to need something in an emergency?” The manager was reassuring, “Dr. Pasha, who has loads of experience, is on call. If required he’ll be here in 10 minutes. If the case warrants, we have an arrangement with the Hillside Hospital in Ooty. They send their ambulance for our patients who get preferential treatment there.” This satisfied Mrs. Bopanna who went to play cards with some other old people. They had already seen the sights and preferred to stay indoors, playing cards or exchanging notes about their children and grandchildren scattered all over the globe.

Nobonita was excited about the picnic to Tiger Hill that morning. She was relieved her head ache was gone. The night’s rest had done her a lot of good. Instead of all of them going by cars, someone had suggested they go together as a group in a coach. It would be more fun and something different for a change. “Hurry up or we’ll be late,” said Rajneesh. It was a bright and sunny morning with a cool breeze blowing in from the mountain tops. The guests were trooping towards the luxury coach drawn up in front of the main porch. Somehow most people had taken to the idea and some 30 of them were off for the day. Most were adults, but the picnic atmosphere was contagious. Some laughed loudly and yelled like school kids being taken out on a treat.

Rajneesh was some distance away from the bus when Nobonita saw him scowl in annoyance. She heard him speaking into his cell phone, “Shit, how could you let this happen? This is terrible! You have ruined my target. We had planned things so well. How the hell did you allow such a mistake? No, I can’t wait. Not even for a day more. It has to be done today itself.”

“What happened? Who are you shouting at?” asked Nobonita looking anxious. “Some idiot in my team has screwed up big time on a prestigious order. I am so sorry. It looks like I have no choice but to stay and sort out the mess. It may mean making many calls, analyzing data, reports and stuff like that.”

“Can’t you do it when we go out?” asked Nobonita and immediately realised she had said the wrong thing.

“Don’t be absurd. People are going out for a fun day. I can’t tag along talking about my business issues on the phone and reading my official stuff. Listen, I don’t want you to be disappointed. You please go ahead. If my day is ruined, so be it. There’s no need to spoil yours as well.”

“It’s ok. I can be here with you. May be we can spend a quiet day here itself.”

“No, Nobonita. I have to concentrate on some important things. I don’t want to lose focus with you around. I’ll be distracted and my work will suffer.”

As they spoke, the last people boarded the bus. The manager’s shout of “All aboard for Tiger Hill,” was greeted with loud cheers.

Nobonita was the last to board. She did so reluctantly but Rajneesh stood waving till the bus moved off. She decided to make the best of a day that hadn’t started too well. Looking around she saw some familiar faces of other couples, a few with small kids, who were as excited as their parents. A blonde woman, clearly a foreigner, smiled inviting her to take the window seat next to her.

People do spend time together at such resorts and most knew a little about each other by now. Nobonita hadn’t seen Sneha or her husband in the bus. As the bus rumbled down the steep slope to leave the resort and hit the highway, a lady nearby asked, “Where are Sridhar and Sneha? Why haven’t they joined us?” Her husband replied, “He took a cab to Mettupalayam yesterday evening. They must have gone back to Chennai.”

She never thought anything about it as the lovely scenery unfolded in front of her. She felt sad that Rajneesh wasn’t with her. He was very particular about his official work. Several times in the past she had had to cancel events because of the sudden spurts in his workload. Today had been one of these days. She couldn’t do much about it. As a working woman herself, she knew how fierce work pressures could be. She looked out of the window deciding she might as well enjoy herself as much as she could. The foreigner said she was from the US and struck up a conversation which suited Nobonita.

Back at the resort, Sneha had lunch at the dining hall where she would be noticed. Many of the guests had joined the picnic party but a few couples who hadn’t were already there having lunch. She smiled at the Bopanna visiting from Mumbai and exchanged a few words. Mrs. Bopanna told Sneha, “You remind me so much of my daughter. They live in  Hayward, Wisconsin. Have you been there?”

After a leisurely lunch, at 1.50 p.m. she went back to her cottage. She brushed her teeth and freshened up. Her watch showed it was 2.30 when she reached Rajneesh’s cottage no. 5. She rang the bell after making sure no one was watching. He opened the door quickly and she walked into his waiting arms. “We had a great time, last night. You were in a great hurry,” he said. She smiled and said “You were that good. Today we have till late evening. We should be undisturbed till at least 7.00 p.m.”

Sneha smiled as Rajneesh made love to her expertly, moaning with pleasure. He felt happy seeing her face. She was enjoying the moment. He didn’t know that she was smiling for some other reason. She was imagining how his face would change from ecstasy to horror when she strangulated him with her blue dupatta.

She now played with her blue dupatta. He was initially on top of her and when he lifted his body off her she playfully twirled the dupatta around his throat. He laughed at her antics as she next put the dupatta like a veil on her own face. He removed it with a flourish and laughed when she again twirled it around his throat. He was enjoying himself as the sex had been great.

These thoughts made him hot again. He held out his hands to welcome her again when she whispered in his ear, “Do you still remember May 18?” That date was deeply etched in her mind. On that day the son of a bitch Rakesh had vanished without a trace. After she told him over the phone that what she had suspected for the last few weeks was confirmed. It was true. She was indeed pregnant. By him. With their child.

Rajneesh wondered whether he was imagining things in this elated mood. It looked like the girl had asked, “Do you still remember May 18?” What had that to do with the present? He didn’t understand. Was that the day they had checked in here and seen each other for the first time? He remembered she had looked hot in a sultry kind of way. But why raise that now? He didn’t think much of it. But she persisted one last time. As she fondled him, she said “Do you realize our child would now have been three years old?” “What?” he said, getting up from the bed.

The conversation was becoming weirder by the moment. He had seen this girl for the first time in his life at this resort. She looked a hottie, which she had proved to be. She had given him strong vibes that she wanted him, he wasn’t one to say no to such open invitations. What was this crap she was talking about now? Baby! Three years ago!! What was wrong with her? He had no idea what she was talking about.

“Rakesh, did you think I won’t find you?” she asked, the dupatta was once again around his throat. He snapped, “Cut the crap! For God’s sake, what are you talking about? We are here to have fun. Let’s enjoy ourselves while we can.”

What she was to say next remained unsaid because someone rang the bell to their door.

CHAPTER 18

One of the many drivers at the Honeymooners Dream Resort that day was a dark and swarthy fellow called Joseph. He didn’t talk as much as the others who chattered on about their employers or their wives and children. Joseph was an alias for Salim, now employed as a driver by the Pintos from Mangalore. He knew much more than driving, as he was a notorious sneak thief. His modus operandi was to steal using a variety of disguises. In the last year alone, he had been known as Ramu, Shamu, Asif and John and worked as a driver, salesman for detergents, and a security guard at an ATM and an assistant at a real estate office, amongst other things. He had hankered for money since his childhood. Now he had literally carried money in sackfuls for some of his employers. They had taught him not to miss any opportunity to make a quick buck.

At the resort, Salim has observed the guests carefully and zoned in on Rajneesh and two others as possible targets. He was a patient man. He didn’t believe in a spree of thefts that would excite people and create a big ruckus. His method was more suave. He would target one person and make a single hit that would get him great value without attracting too much attention. Like swiping a wallet for example. People may think they misplaced it, lost it somewhere and wouldn’t follow it up beyond an initial round of shouting and screaming.

He had done this many times before with success. He had several tricks up his sleeve. One was to distract the victim by pointing out to something and picking his pocket. He also used a powder on occasion, potent enough to knock out the person who drank anything with the powder in it for at least a couple of hours. This was time enough for him to escape from there. He lived for the moment often deciding which trick to use on the spur of the moment, based on the situation. Indeed, Salim had come a long way since he made his first theft as a kid in Colonel Pillai’s outhouse.

He had kept an eye on Rajneesh and Nobonita. The Pintos gave him a day off as they too boarded the coach for the picnic to Tiger Hill. This suited him fine. He was thrilled to see that Rajneesh had not gone too. Interestingly, his wife had. He walked around the half- deserted resort and picked up a waiter’s coat he found hanging on a peg. It had been a bright red at one time but was now faded. Slipping this on, he strode boldly to Cottage No. 5 where Rajneesh stayed and rang the bell. It was around 2.40 p.m. that Monday afternoon. No one responded. He rang the bell once again hearing the chimes echo in the cottage.

It took sometime for Rajneesh to respond. He was annoyed by this interruption. Who the hell was ringing the bell despite the “Do Not Disturb” board he had hung out? For a moment he feared that something had happened and Nobonita was back. He had tied his pajamas and come to the door bare-chested. “What do you want?” he snapped, seeing a waiter gaping at him like an idiot.

Through the gap in the door, Salim saw a half dressed woman on the bed. Her clothes were scattered on the floor. She was looking down and didn’t see him so she made no effort to cover her breasts. “Sir, did you want some beer and food? I was told to come here immediately so here I am.” Two things flashed in Rajneesh’s mind, huge relief that it wasn’t Nobonita after all and the realization that he was hungry. This woman had been more demanding than anyone he had made love to. “Since you have come, bring two bottles of Kingfisher beer, a plate of Club sandwiches and two fish fries. Come back in 20 minutes otherwise we don’t want it and you can cancel the order.” “I’ll be back soon, Sir,” he said and hurried away.

He had come to steal a wallet and if he got lucky may be some jewellery. These rich people left valuable stuff lying around. They didn’t bother to use the lockers the resort had at their reception. He took advantage of their laziness.

Seeing the woman gave Salim another idea. He had seen her face. She wasn’t Rajneesh’s wife, so she had to be another guest. It was unlikely that she would be a resort employee though there were women in the housekeeping and in the reception. “Why not look again and blackmail this fellow. I won’t steal anything other than his need for self-respect. He won’t mind paying me a few thousand bucks to keep my mouth shut,” Salim told himself.  This idea seemed very attractive the more he thought about it. Nothing could go wrong. He had to get into the cottage. Once he was there he would take things as they came. He was confident of his ability to handle any eventuality. Besides, Rajneesh looked well-fed and sloppy. He wouldn’t make trouble, being caught red handed with the woman. Even if he made a scene, it suited Salim. If he was cowed down, Salim could perhaps get more than a few thousand rupees. All in all it looked promising. Salim rubbed his hands together in glee. This was exciting.

All he had to do was to get into Cottage No. 5.

He wandered around the resort and found what he wanted near the swimming pool. There was no one around when he picked up a tray, a half empty beer bottle, a used plate with a knife and fork on it, and a large green napkin to cover the tray.

In his urgency to get back to Sneha, Rajneesh made a mistake which perhaps cost him his life. He left the door open. He took her in his arms, surprised to see the passion with which she returned his kisses. His hands were exploring her body and she was yielding to their search when the front door opened noiselessly. Salim walked in on the tips of his toes. It was about 2.45 p.m. The curtains were drawn and though it was a bright afternoon outside, the large room lay in the dark. A lamp on the bedside table illuminated part of the room. The new entrant to the room made out the silhouettes of the lovers locked in each other’s arms.

He heard the man grunt. She was saying something. It was in a soft whisper but the words carried to Salim hiding near the curtain. She asked, “How was I, Rakesh? Was it like the old times? Doesn’t it bring back so many memories?” Salim didn’t find out what the man called Rakesh felt about these questions. She had gone down on him and he moaned with ecstasy. No words were spoken. There was silence but for the noises of their love making. Salim watched fascinated. This was proving to be far better than he had expected. He took out his cell phone thanking the manufacturer for providing such an effective camera on his relatively inexpensive phone. He shot off a few pictures on his cell phone. It paid to be bold and take risks. The pictures were not spectacular but more than adequate for his purpose. His camera had captured their faces and bodies effectively. These pictures could be extremely valuable.

So involved were Rajneesh and Sneha in their love making that they had no idea at all of Salim’s quiet presence. He stood like a shadow snapping off pictures as they were absorbed in each other, changing positions, muttering endearments and encouraging each other to explore.  “Rakesh, Rakesh,” she called out. Salim saw the man stiffen. The next moment she playfully teased him by flipping her blue dupatta near his throat. He pushed it away with a laugh. Once again she wound the dupatta around his neck and kissed him. They were soon lost in their own world again.

Salim had seen enough. He slid the cell phone back in his pocket. Picking up the tray he had brought with him, he stepped forward closer to the bed and coughed loudly.

The booming cough so close to them broke up the couple as if they had been scalded. Rajneesh looked up in annoyance and saw the same waiter holding a tray in his hand. “You should have rung the bell, you jerk! How dare you come in like this?” He hastily covered their nudity with the bed sheet. “Sir, I did ring the bell. You were busy and didn’t hear,” he said with an insolent sneer. Rajneesh glared at him, his mind feverishly thinking how to deal with this new complication.

Lowering his voice deliberately, the waiter said, “Sir, if you or Madam didn’t open the door, how else could I come in?” He stood there in the light, tray in one hand and a know it all smirk on his face. A green napkin covered the tray which appeared to have a bottle of beer and plates of snacks.

This memory stayed implanted in Sneha’s mind. How could she ever forget this man? He was a waiter because he wore the dull red uniform coat and had brought the beer and snacks Rajneesh had asked for. Much to her surprise, he didn’t set down the tray he carried. Instead he came closer and actually leered at them. Sneha burrowed deeper into the bed sheet because she wasn’t wearing a stitch under it. Rajneesh hurriedly pulled up his pajamas under the cover of the sheets. He sat up in bed. He was still bare-chested, showing his hairy body.

He shouted, “Leave the tray here and go away! Come back for the bill later.” The man stood there gaping at them as if he hadn’t heard Rajneesh. His eyes took in her heaving breasts and sultry look. This woman was hot. The dark man wondered where this would lead to. Rajneesh knew how to deal with this blasted waiter. He tossed a few hundred rupee notes from his thick wallet, “You have got what you were waiting for, now go away!” The man said, “Not for a few hundreds. We need to talk, Sir. Madam and you like this…..”

“Mind your own bloody business. Take it and get out,” shouted Rajneesh, his face red with anger.

The waiter stood firm. “I have some nice pictures of you here, Sir. How will it be if this reaches the media? Imagine the scandal and Mr. Sridhar’s and Mrs. Sen’s reaction when they read about it in the daily newspaper! Pay me what I want and I will go as quietly as I came.”

“This is bloody blackmail. What the fuck do you want?”

“Sir, getting excited won’t help. I can do what I want. You cannot stop me. I want Rs. 500,000 all in cash. You know how to arrange for funds. You are a rich man. I am a reasonable fellow. I will give you exactly 24 hours from now to give me the cash. If you don’t, these pictures will reach the media. I shall tell the hotel manager as well as your wife, and this lady’s husband who is currently away from the resort, what you have been doing. You decide. It’s up to you. I have many interesting pictures of you on my cell phone. Both of you were lost in each other. Here, you want to see the video? I have internet too on this phone and can send these pictures to people all over the world in a few minutes. Don’t forget that!”

Rajneesh thought fast. The man may be bluffing or he may really have internet capability. Things had changed so much these days. He knew his driver had one such phone. It wasn’t a risk worth taking. An inspiration hit him. If this bastard had a picture of him, he could get one of him too. The man was smirking at them barely a few feet away.

Surprisingly he had made no effort to hide his face. He wasn’t wearing a scarf or a mask or anything like that, which made it more probable that he was a waiter after a few quick bucks.

In a move that totally surprised Salim, Rajneesh reached for his expensive cell phone on the table and snapped off a few pictures. It took a minute for Salim to understand the consequences. Rajneesh was bolder now. His whole demeanor changed. “Now let’s talk,” he said. “You have seen us and we have seen you. Let’s see who will be believed. Give me that bloody phone before I call the police and the hotel management. I’ll see that you are sacked by the management and arrested by the police for trespass and attempted blackmail. I have the pictures to prove this.” He expected the waiter to cringe before him accepting defeat.

Instead, Salim gave a broad smile which irritated Rajneesh even more. “Go ahead and call them, Sir. I am only a waiter here. I will lose my job but you will not be able to show your face anywhere again. What about Madam’s reputation? As it is people are saying she is crazy. They know how she behaved yesterday. I heard how she threatened you.”

In minutes, things had changed for both the men. Now that he had not only been seen by these two, but had been captured on camera, Salim had to have Rajneesh’s cell phone, at any cost. Likewise, Rajneesh had to grab Salim’s cell phone with the incriminating pictures. As the men talked, Sneha hurriedly slipped on her kurta and pajamas. Her underclothes were crumpled in the sheets somewhere. This was no time to be fussy, she thought. She somehow had to get out of this potentially explosive situation, she had least expected.

It was then that Rajneesh made his second mistake, which proved to be very costly. Instead of grabbing his assailant, he tried to grab his phone instead. Salim tossed his phone to a side, pushed Rajneesh back on to the bed and in one swift motion grabbed Sneha’s blue dupatta, lying on the bed. Rajneesh didn’t anticipate the next move. He tried to push the man away but by then the dupatta flew into the air and came down around his neck. Salim had never done this before. He had robbed many and threatened many more but this was murder. But it was a matter of his life or this man’s. He would take care of the woman later. Fortunately she hadn’t screamed out aloud. Her lips were frenetically moving but no words came out as she was in a state of shock. Her hands pulled at her hair, her eyes were bulging out, and she was writhing as if in great pain.

Salim caught the other end of the dupatta now around Rajneesh’s neck and twisted it in a swift motion. Rajneesh tried to grab his hands but Salim stayed out of his range.  Salim placed one foot on the bed to get a better grip and pulled the dupatta with all his strength. Like a garrote it cut into Rajneesh’s throat leaving him purple in the face gasping for breath. Rajneesh wanted to shout, “Who are you? Are you with her in this? Was all this pre-planned?” but the tightening dupatta cut into his throat. He made a gurgling sound and his face turned red. His scream was muffled and ended in a series of small coughs. A pile of vomit mixed with blood flowed out of his mouth. Salim pushed him back on to the bed. It was 3.30 p.m, Monday, May 24, 2010.

CHAPTER 19

Rajneesh lay on his side, naked below the waist. Salim left him as he was. The main door to the cottage was locked. He let it remain like that. The French windows leading to the lawns outside were closed and the heavy curtains were drawn.

The woman had got out of the bed and stood there like a statue. Her mouth was open but she was speechless. She was burning with excitement. She felt dizzy and feverish. Seeing the body of the man on the bed she thought her dream for many years had come true at last. Things had worked out well. She must have killed Rakesh with her dupatta, exactly as she had planned it. The bastard had got finally what he deserved.

Loud rasps from the woman made Salim spin around to face her. She stared at him with horror. He had to silence her before he escaped. To his surprise, she ran towards him muttering something unintelligible. She had grabbed the knife from the tray he had brought in. The glint of the knife as it swooped down on him helped him swerve out of the way as she lashed wildly at him. He was losing precious time. He had to get away fast. Judging the distance between them, he waited till she was close enough. At the right moment, he brought down the tray on her head. Instinctively, she tried to duck but it crashed down on the side of her head. She crumbled like a doll whose legs had been cut off from under her. Blinking rapidly a few times she staggered back, crashed to the ground, moaning silently. She lay there curled into a ball, holding her head.

Things were getting out of control but the situation could still be salvaged, thought Salim. Over the next few minutes he worked at a frantic speed. He took the man’s cell phone. He would have to delete all the pictures the man had taken. But that could be done later. He had to get out of the cottage quickly, unseen by anyone.

Salim took the expensive watch lying on the side table. He emptied Rajneesh’s thick wallet, stuffing all the high denomination notes to his back pocket. He was tempted to take his wallet with all the ATM and credit cards but thought that would be too risky. He left it on the bedside table. He took the gold chain with a chunky locket on Rajneesh’s neck, his ring and a few pieces of clearly expensive jewellery from the wardrobe. He threw things here and there as he looked for the most valuable things.

A soft voice whispered behind him. “Don’t go, Rakesh,” she said in a feeble voice. The woman had got up and was slowly moving towards him. Her arms were outstretched. Her breasts were outlined clearly through the thin kurta. In the course of her fall her pajamas must have come loose, for under her short kurta he caught a glimpse of her white thighs and flat stomach curved at the hips. He stared at her as waves of lust coursed within him. This had started somewhere and was leading somewhere else. She was now standing in front of him, her eyes bore into his. “I love you, Rakesh. Come to me,” she moaned.

In the shadows she looked bewitching. Her long hair fell in front of her. She reached out for him. He grabbed her roughly wanting to take her before escaping from there leaving her to take the blame. She said, “Rakesh, please don’t leave me again.” Her hands went behind his back holding him close to her. Salim lost his head completely. He tugged at her kurta when her hands till then caressing his back moved up to hold his throat in a vice like grip. It hurt like crazy. He yelped in pain as she immersed her long, sharp nails in his neck. In seconds everything changed. His lust vanished and all he wanted to do was to get the hell out of there. She whispered in his ear, “You can’t hide from me, Rakesh.”

Salim’s blood ran cold as he suddenly realised that there was something wrong with her. Only a few minutes back, he had heard her telling the man who was now dead, “Was I as good as before? Why did you leave me and go, Rakesh?”

She was obviously now mistaking him for her lover. He had to get out otherwise he too could die there soon, like that man, Rakesh. Her grip tightened on his throat, he found it difficult to breathe. She was much stronger than he had imagined. He kicked out catching her in the shin. The pressure on his neck eased momentarily. He then butted her nose viciously with his head. The blood gushed out of her nostrils and she released her hands from his throat. He pushed her away roughly. A fresh stream of blood jetted out of her nostrils. As she fell she screamed in pain as her waist grazed the sharp edge of a hexagonal table. Clutching her waist which hurt her as much as her nose did, she tumbled down on the floor.

Before he left there was one more thing to do. The blame for the man’s death must fall on this woman. He took the blue dupatta, now caked with Rajneesh’s blood, from the dead man’s throat and thrust it into her hands. One end was in her hand and the other trailed over the bed. It would appear that she had killed Rajneesh. Besides, most thought she was a nut anyway.

Salim didn’t hang around to see what had happened to her. This was his only chance. He had to leave fast and leave her to face the music. He may have left a few finger prints there but this was a remote resort. They didn’t have a sophisticated police force in these hills. In any case, he had been arrested several times under different names in different states. It would take them years to tally all the details about him, if at all they managed to do that. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He washed off the blood stains on his hands and face. There were a few scratches on his throat made by her long finger nails. He wrapped his handkerchief around his neck like a scarf. That would do for the time being.

Cautiously, Salim opened the French windows which opened out to the lawn. A bird trilled in the bushes but otherwise there was silence that afternoon. No one was around. He could reach the car park faster this way. Going out of the front door would mean having to pass the reception. There was no sound from the woman. She lay where she had fallen staring at him with glazed eyes. He briefly wondered if she too was dead but it was too late to worry about this now. He had to make a move on. The dead man’s watch ticking in Salim’s pocket showed it was 3.45 p.m.

His employer’s car, a powerful Chevrolet Optra, was fuelled and ready. Salim had to get away before the cops came. He drove away making a conscious effort to control his shivering. It was tempting to put his foot down on the accelerator, but he forced himself to drive slowly out of the resort. The guard at the gate recognized the car, smiled at him, noted the number in his register and waved him on. In less than an hour, Salim reached Ooty.

Leaving the car amongst many others near the crowded Botanical Gardens full of holidayers, he muscled his way through the swirling crowds and reached the bus station. Luck favoured him. A bus was about to leave for Kozhikode in Kerala. That suited him perfectly. The conductor stood at the door yelling that he had a few vacant seats. Salim jumped in and the bus gathered speed.  He was breathing unevenly as the magnitude of all that had happened struck him.

The man sitting next to him who looked like a bank clerk turned to stare at him. He noticed the dirty handkerchief around his neck. Were there faint traces of blood on it?  He peered closely, “You look sick and you are shivering. Are you having a high fever?”  “Shut the fuck up and mind your own business,” he snarled. The man hurriedly moved to another seat further away.

The dead man’s money was now in his wallet. Lots of it. The watch, ring and cell phone were in his pocket. He didn’t want to wear the watch as it would look too fancy for him. He would lock it in a cupboard at home. It would come in handy if he needed money in future. The dead man’s cell phone too had to be disposed off after he deleted the pictures. He could sell the watch and the cell phone later. The bus driver shifted gears and the engine yowled as he took the bus around one of the many hair pin bends. Salim thought each twist and turn of the hilly road was like recent events in his own story.

Sneha didn’t know how long she lay in that room after the dark man left through the French windows. Her mind raced like a F1 car hitting the last lap to set a new record. Her first impulse was to run away. Just get the hell out of there but The Voice stopped her from rushing out. There was still much to be done. There were blood stains on her dress. Her nose hurt but the blood flow had eased off. She touched her nose gingerly. No bone seemed to be broken. Her waist hurt where the edge of the table had gashed her resulting in an angry red scar. She got up and fell down in a heap again. Her legs didn’t have the strength to carry the weight of her body. With a huge effort, she got to her knees and slowly stood up. Her body ached, especially her head.

She tied a handkerchief around her mouth and nose to defuse the foul smell of vomit that emanated from the bed. Who was this man? Why was he stinking so much? She didn’t remember that Rajneesh had emptied his bowels in the last part of his fight with Salim when he was being strangled to death. Her head was throbbing like never before. She remembered coming into the room to do something. A closer look confirmed the man was dead.

Had she killed him? She must have. But who was he and why would she have done something like this? She had no idea. She found the wardrobe open and a few clothes were thrown around. She pulled out some more and tossed them all over the room. There was a wallet on the bedside table which she instinctively took. In an act of finality, she took a towel and spread it over the dead man’s face. If you had asked why she did these things she wouldn’t have known. If you had asked her who the dead man was, she wouldn’t have known either.

Strange as it might sound, she didn’t remember the sequence of events. Admittedly, she had gone into the room earlier that afternoon with a pre-determined plan but now she was in a state of what at best could be called semi-consciousness. She was devoid of feelings. She didn’t rejoice nor did she feel remorse

She combed her hair and adjusted her clothes. She shoved a few things, including the wallet, into her handbag which was lying on one of the chairs. The Voice calmed her, “It’s ok. This was destined to happen. He deserved what he got. Take care of yourself.” Opening the French windows, she glided out without looking back at the man who lay dead on the bed.

It was then that she noticed the short, stocky man watching her as she reached their cottage. Why was he staring like that? Was he a waiter or something? She couldn’t focus clearly. The man was laughing knowingly at her. “Just ignore him. He can’t do anything to you,” said The Voice.

She hurried back to her cottage. Being an odd hour the resort was quiet. Most of the guests had gone out for the picnic; the few who had stayed behind were having their afternoon siesta. The staff had a slack period till the festivities of the evening. No one saw her on the way except the short and stocky man who wasn’t close behind her but stood smiling at a distance. He raised his thumb up in a show of appreciation, his white teeth gleaming in his swarthy complexion.

Sneha went in and shut the door. She went to the window and cautiously looked from behind the curtain. Who was this guy and why was he following her? This time when she looked, there was no one there.

She went to the toilet in her own room. Her haunted face looked back at her in the mirror. She saw huge eyes and disheveled hair, and a face so pale as if she had seen a ghost. She hadn’t but she had seen death from such close quarters. The Voice took charge: “That’s done and over with. Get over it. Make a fresh start. This is a great opportunity to lead a new life.”

There were some dull stains on her kurta. Had she dropped some food on it? Some ketchup, perhaps? She didn’t think it could be blood. Her nose hurt but she must have banged it somewhere. She hurriedly rinsed the kurta in her wash basin in the bathroom. The creamy white resort towels soon became a muddy red with the blood stains. She threw the towel in the tray kept for the laundry. She washed her face several times scrubbing hard till she saw the colour re-appear gradually. Her waist still hurt. The edge of the table had pierced her skin in one place leaving an ugly blotch. Some moisturizing cream she found soothed the burning skin.

She changed into a clean salwar kameez. Slipping on her sandals, she went to the reception in the front of the resort. The clock behind the reception desk told her it was 4.15 pm. She sat and read the newspaper. Some new guests had arrived. Their taxi stood in the porch. The luggage boot was open and the bell hop was carrying in the bags. The new visitors entered the lobby full of enthusiasm anticipating a good holiday. Sneha got up from her chair and went close to the car. The driver was collecting his payment for the trip from the Coimbatore airport. The bell hop had gone inside to the leave the first lot of luggage; the boot of the car was still open. She tossed the wallet into the corner of the car’s luggage boot, and walked on. After some distance she turned around and walked back towards the car. The bell hop stood there smiling, counting the notes he had got for his services. The driver too seemed pleased. The bell hop slammed shut the luggage boot and waved as the taxi drove off. The driver wanted to reach the foothills at Mettupalayam before it became too dark. The black leather wallet lay in a dark corner of the luggage boot near the spare tyre.

The driver found the wallet four days later when he was cleaning the car thoroughly in his village close to Salem. A fancy card inside said it belonged to Rajneesh Sen of 23, Sea View Appts, Elliots Beach Road, Adyar, Chennai 600 020. A business card indicated he worked for a major software company. The driver scratched his head, puzzled. No one by that name had hired his taxi. How had Sen’s wallet reached the back of his cab? After that trip to Ooty from Coimbatore (hired by Mukundan and family, with no Sen with them), he had made a trip to Madurai. This time the man who had hired his taxi was Shanmugam, not Sen. Finder’s keepers, he thought with a smile. The wallet with its sheaf of credit cards was thrown into a lake en route to Yercaud on his next trip. The cash had been transferred to his own. Good bye and thank you, Mr. Sen, wherever you are, thought the driver.

CHAPTER 20

Sneha punched in the numbers for Room Service and asked for some tea. She was famished, so she called again asking for sandwiches and some fruit cake. As she waited for the tea to be brought to her cottage, she stood on her toes and took deep breaths to relax. Had a waiter or someone seen her come out of Rajneesh's cottage? Was that for real or a figment of her imagination?  The man at the reception had seen her when she read the newspaper till the taxi had driven up. She had been seen and greeted by the bell hop. But who was this other chap, that swarthy stocky fellow who had smiled at her? Was he part of the resort's security? Was he a guest whom she had not noticed till now? She couldn't say for sure.

She only knew that till then she had never seen him before. At least she couldn't remember having seen him from close by.

She sniffed. There was an unmistakable smell of vomit. She frowned in concentration, as she hadn’t vomited. She opened the windows and the evening light streamed in to her bedroom. She felt much better now, safe in her own cottage. Why was she in a dark room earlier and with whom? Her temples throbbed like remorseless engines with the effort to remember recent events. Heck, it wasn’t important. She packed her things neatly. Kept her suitcase ready.  From the locker, she took the thick envelope Sridhar kept with her on all their trips. It bulged with bank notes. She tossed this into her suitcase.

The ringing of the door bell made her jump. She froze for a moment. What if was that unknown swarthy fellow? “Room service,” said the musical voice. She relaxed and opened the door. A young waiter brought in the tea things covered in a spotlessly white cloth. The cloth covering the tea tray confused her.

“Did you bring some things earlier in a tray? Where is the green cloth napkin?” Murthy, the waiter was puzzled. He had been on duty from mid-morning and had not served anything here. Besides as he looked around, there was no tray in the room at present. They used white cloth to cover things served in the rooms. He was a precocious young man who prided himself on being smart and fluent in English. He knew that green serviettes were used only at the bar counter near the swimming pool. He wanted to say so but changed his mind and gave an ingratiating smile instead. These rich guests were unpredictable. There was no point in arguing with them.

“Shall I pour the tea, Madam?” he asked. She nodded and looked out of the window. He made the tea and said, “I’ll come back later for the clearance.”

She nodded again, as if her mind was elsewhere. Almost oblivious to his presence she had pulled up her kurta to look at something that bothered her. He caught a brief glimpse of her full breasts then his eyes travelled to her navel, her flat stomach and the curve as the waist flared into her hip. The smooth brown skin was marred by an angry, red scar on her waist, just where she tied the lower part of her salwar suit. Murthy stared at the mark which seemed to be of recent origin, with undisguised interest. His eyes popped out. He gulped. She must have hurt herself recently. He wanted to ask if she needed any help but thought the better of it. Had it not been for the red blotch, the skin was flawless and smooth. He would remember this sight for a long time.

She saw him still there and hurriedly pulled down the kurta. Murthy meant to ask if she was hurt when she spoke first. She shook her head as if to clear something, “Where is Sridhar? He left on Sunday, right? Did he go to Mumbai to meet his father? What’s the date today?”

Murthy was relieved she had not yelled at him for staring at her like a lecher. He said, “Madam, I don’t know where Mr. Sridhar is, when he left, where he went and for what. I do know that today is Monday, May 24, 2010. It is now 4.30 p.m.,” he added, to show how efficient he was. Being a bit of a smart aleck, he wanted to tell her they were in Cottage 8, Honeymooners Dream Resort, near Ooty in the Nilgiris District of Tamil Nadu in India but thought that might be pushing it too far. She could get annoyed and leave him with no tip! The facts he had provided so crisply didn’t seem to satisfy her.

Her quizzical expression prompted him to ask, “Is there anything else I can get for Madam?” She shook her head and gave him a weak smile, “I want my baby but nothing can be done about it now.” Murthy scratched his head. He hadn’t seen any baby with them for the last few days. Surely there was something wrong with this lady. What the resort staff whispered about her was perhaps true. He nodded politely and left the room.

After the door closed, Sneha ate the sandwiches and the cake, and drank two cups of tea. She knew the waiter would be back to clear the tray. The French windows gave her an idea. She had seen someone else go out of it earlier but she couldn’t remember who it was.

She took her suitcase and went out through the French window. She carried it over the lawn then set it down and pulled it behind her, rolling on its four small wheels. She started their car, a fairly new Honda City. The guard at the gate recognized her and the car. He was opening the gate with a big smile when she horned a few times sharply, “Hurry up, you fool! I must get away from Rakesh!”

He noted the time in his log book which no one ever bothered to see. It was a waste of time and effort. It was 5.20 p.m. Guests came and went. Writing these details made no sense to him but he was a sincere guy and did his job diligently.

Half an hour later, Murthy, the same smart ass waiter reached the door of cottage no. 8. He rang the bell but no one asked him to come in. He rang it again. He pushed the door and it opened. He hesitated. Should he come back later? Maybe the lady was in the shower. He didn’t hear any sound of running water though. Maybe she was applying some balm for her wound or had gone to the reception to ask for some dressing for it. Also, guests did go out forgetting to lock the door. This woman for example was nice but had acted lost when he had brought her the tea service. Making up his mind, he walked in. She wasn’t there but the bathroom door was ajar. Maybe she was in there. He wanted to go back but he was already in the room. He might as well collect the tea tray and go. He collected the tea things. The cake and sandwiches had been eaten. Crumbs lay on the small table. The tea pot too was empty. He picked up the tray after keeping the cup, saucer and the plate on it when he saw the bathroom door was open. He thought he saw a reddish stain on the wall. He peeped in and dropped the tray. The wash basin was full of a mixture of water and blood. A woman’s top stained with blood lay where it had been flung in the corner of the room. He ran to call the manager.

Murthy excitedly explained all that he had seen when a few minutes later he was back in the cottage, this time with Patnaik, the resort’s General Manager, and the security officer. For a moment Murthy regretted having called them. “Was she hurt? How is there so much blood? Where is she now? What was she wearing? What time did you come in? What time did you go out? How was she looking? Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”

Murthy was considerably rattled by the questions fired at him by Patnaik and the security chief.  Surely they weren’t suspecting him of having done something wrong.

He told them all that he knew. He confirmed that there was no blood on her when he had brought the tea. She had asked him the date. He had told her. No, she looked normal. No, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He didn’t of course mention the scar on her waist. A tough childhood had taught him not to say too much when it could go against him. Admitting that she had lifted her kurta in his presence would be foolish. They could develop their own theories and frame him. It was better to keep his mouth shut. She said something about Sridhar going to Mumbai to see his father, but that was about it. Sridhar was, of course, her husband. She also said something about wanting her baby, whatever that meant.  Patnaik asked, “Did they have a baby with them?” No one had seen them with a baby. At least not in the last few days they were at the resort.

Patnaik asked the security officer to check in the garden. Having finished the tea and snacks she may have gone out for a walk. He returned in five minutes with some startling news, “Sir, she has gone! The guard at the main gate saw her driving off in their car, a cream Honda City about 50 minutes ago. At 5.20 p.m. as per the log book entry.  He remembers clearly because she horned and yelled at him for a slight delay in opening the gate. As he was waving her out of the gate, she shouted, ‘Hurry up, you fool! Rakesh is after me’ or words to that effect. He says he didn’t bother too much because after all it was her car, and some guests behave rudely.”

Patnaik’s first instinct was to order the security office to take the jeep and chase her. But where? And why? Assume they found her on the way to Ooty, or Coonoor or Kundah or for that matter any place else. What if she was fine and going for a drive or on some errand? How would they explain chasing or following her? What if she complained to Mr. Pandian that she was being harassed by him?

Maybe she had cut her finger and bled. He thought of calling the police but decided to wait for at least an hour more. It would be awfully embarrassing if the police were to come only to find that the lady guest was fine and had gone to Ooty to buy some things. The blood in the bathroom was inexplicable but did that warrant calling the police?  No, he would wait and see. Her husband had gone to Chennai yesterday. He had personally seen him get into the cab. Mr. Sridhar had said he would be back today. Why then did the lady say her husband had gone to Mumbai? Or was that damn fool Murthy making a mistake? Sometimes he was too smart for his own good. Instructing the security officer to once again check the grounds thoroughly, he went back to his office.

His day was not over yet, not by a long shot. He cleared a few papers that needed his attention. He usually made his evening rounds around 6.45 p.m. He ordered a strong cup of tea and was enjoying the last sip when the Housekeeping Manager burst into his room, “Sir, one of the guests, Mrs. Bopanna, has collapsed. Please come immediately.”

Old Mrs. Bopanna had had these spells before. She didn’t tell her husband because the poor man was not capable of doing much. At 5.00 p.m. she felt dizzy while having tea and sandwiches in the dining hall. She had a cup of tea with some difficulty. On returning to their cottage, she fell asleep. Bopanna read for sometime, watched the cricket on television and dozed off. Their next program was dinner at 8.00 p.m.

“Oh, God! What next?” said Patnaik, running after the man, to where Mr. Bopanna was squawking like an old hen. Mrs. Bopanna was lying on the floor, gasping for breath. Patnaik and his staff lifted her and gently lay her on the bed. The old man was of no use. He walked around making odd noises. Apart from confirming that she had a weak heart, he hadn’t much else to say.

Patnaik felt her pulse. It was weak but discernable. Her heart heaved ever so slightly. “Call for the ambulance,” he shouted. The receptionist rang the Hilltop Hospital in Ooty immediately. Yet Ooty was a good 20 kilometers away. It might take another half hour or more for the ambulance to get there. It depended on the traffic on the hill road.

When questioned, the housekeeper was all flustered. She said, “Sir, I came for the routine evening housekeeping check at 6.30 p.m. They didn’t answer when I rang the bell. I opened the door with my key. The old man was asleep on the sofa in front of the television which was on. The old lady was lying on the ground. She may have come to open the door or go to the toilet when she collapsed.”

“Don’t assume what she may have been doing. Just tell me what you saw!”

“Sir, the lady was lying on the floor. I asked her, ‘Madam, are you ok?’ There was no reply. I shook awake the old gentleman who yelled at me for disturbing his sleep. He had not seen his wife on the floor till then. She remained motionless. ‘Has the match got over? Who won?’ he asked. I didn’t know what to do, so I called our boss who called you from your office.”

“Did you touch anything or talk to the lady?” “No sir, nothing apart from what I just told you. I was scared. Is she dead?”

“She has not died, thank God! Where the hell is the doctor?” The housekeeping manager replied, “Before coming to your office, I phoned Dr. Pasha. He is on his way.” “Good. You have done the right thing. He should be here soon. Madam, can you hear me? Hullo, madam, I am Patnaik, the GM of the resort. Are you ok?”

There was no response from the sleeping lady. Patnaik peered closely to see if he could make out anything. She seemed to be in deep sleep. Her body was still. There was a tense look on her face. “It’s best that we wait for Dr. Pasha,” he said and they walked out. The sleeping figure now on the bed did not move.

The resort did not have a full time doctor. They didn’t really need one all the year through. They had an arrangement with Dr Pasha who lived a few miles down the road. He practiced in Coonoor but was available to the resort’s patients or guests though he was listed rather grandly as Resident Medical Specialist. Today he happened to be home and had reached there within ten minutes.

Dr. Pasha had no idea what to expect. Usually he dealt with children getting hurt while playing, or the odd case of high fever because of the changes in temperature. In all these years he had not really come across any serious case. He examined Mrs. Bopanna, “She seems to have had some sort of a heart attack. She needs to be hospitalized immediately. I’ll speak to Dr. Jayaraj at the Hilltop Hospital.” In a few minutes, he said, “I have briefed him. Their ambulance is already on its way. Hopefully, she should pull through.”

Patnaik told Dr. Pasha, “Please go with her in the ambulance. Since the patient is a lady, I have instructed the housekeeper who found her to accompany you and Mr. Bopanna. I will follow in my car. The old gent says she had a heart attack five years ago but he is of little help. I hope he doesn’t collapse himself. I have enough trouble on my hands today.”

CHAPTER 21

Patnaik questioned the receptionist while waiting for the ambulance, “Did you see Ms. Sneha Sridhar of Cottage No. 8 this evening?”  “Yes, Sir. She came to the reception. I didn’t see the time. She read the newspaper for a few minutes, then went out. As she returned the newspaper to the rack, she was within hearing distance. I heard her say, “‘The bastard! Always creating trouble for others,’ I thought she was commenting on some news item she had read. She glared at me without seeing me if you know what I mean. Her fists were so tightly clenched that her knuckles were bone white. That’s why I remember it so clearly.”

Patnaik told Dr. Pasha, “Let’s take a quick look at Cottage No. 8.  I am sharing this with you in strict confidence, Doc. I suspect the lady has left the resort in a hurry. Her husband went to Chennai and is expected later this evening. I am worried. It looks like there were blood stained clothes in her bathroom.” He quickly filled in Dr. Pasha with what the waiter and the receptionist had seen and heard. He also spoke of the embarrassing incident last night when she had behaved most oddly with Rajneesh Sen, one of the guests and his wife, Nobonita.

Dr. Pasha looked at Patnaik and shook his head, “This could be a serious case. I fear the worst, don’t ask me why! Has she been behaving in strange ways, of late? She could well be mentally unbalanced. I have no idea why but she could be under severe stress.” Patnaik replied, “What the hell is going on?  The last thing we want is such a problem at the peak of the tourist season.”

To him, the resort’s business meant far more than the state of the woman’s health.

They left the cottage to discuss this in the privacy of Patnaik’s office, considering different options in whispers. He then called Sridhar who said he was that moment getting into a cab at Coimbatore. He would reach the resort later that night. He seemed shocked that she may be missing. “Wait for an hour or so and if you have no information, call the police” he said. “She could well have got bored being all alone and gone for a drive. I see no reason to panic unnecessarily.”

They did not tell him that about what she had shouted at the guard at the main gate. Why trouble him for the present? They also did not tell him about the dead man in Cottage No. 5 for the simple reason that they did not know about it themselves.

With the housekeeper now in the ambulance carrying Mrs. Bopanna to Ooty, the other three cottages she was to clean that evening, including Cottage No. 5, remained uncleaned. Rajneesh’s body remained in that cottage undiscovered till much later.

The picnickers arrived back around 7.30 p.m. They had had a great time and sang till their coach stopped in front of the resort porch. New friendships had been made, they had enjoyed the day. They were famished and looked forward to enjoying a leisurely dinner savoring the superb cuisine of the resort.

Getting off the coach they went their respective ways. Many headed towards their cottages. Some hit the bar straight away.

Nobonita wondered why Rajneesh had not called or texted her. He must have been busy with his work but surely that wouldn’t have taken the whole day. She hoped he was fine. He may have tried to contact her but there was no network connectivity in the mountain tops. She had heard other guests complain about this in their coach. Someone said, “We have got so used to our cell phones we felt crippled without them.” Another joked, “The day we want the cell phone the most we don’t have connectivity, but when we want peace and quiet we get calls and messages all the time!”

Nobonita walked with two others till they reached the fork which took them to their cottage. “Bye. Thanks, we had such fun,” said the lady and walked off holding her husband’s hand. This reminded Nobonita of Rajneesh. What a pity his damned work had stopped him from coming for the picnic. Despite missing him, she had a fairly good time having made friends with another lady on her own, a tourist from the US. It would have been much more fun had he been there with her. Anyway, that was over and she wanted to get back to him.

She imagined him waiting for her. He would be smiling. Probably already freshened up and dressed for drinks and dinner. Open necked T shirt and casual slacks. He would tell her to hurry up. She didn’t have the key to the cottage since he had stayed behind. She rang the bell a few times but there was no response. Perhaps he was in the loo, she thought. She waited for a few minutes and rang the bell again. This time too, there was no response.

It didn’t occur to her to call him on his cell phone. Had he gone to the main building? Was he already in the bar? She hadn’t thought of that. She was irritated. How could he have already hit the bar when she hadn’t come back?

She knew she wasn’t being fair. How would Rajneesh know the exact time the picnickers would reach back? Had he waited till 7.30 p.m. and gone over to the main building to find out when the bus would reach the resort? Yes, that explained it. He must be there somewhere. She hurried to the reception.

The man at the desk said, “No, Madam. Mr. Sen has not come here in the evening. Of course I know who he is. Your husband. He has spoken to me many times. I am sorry, Madam but I haven’t seen him since yesterday evening when I was in this shift.”

A few people had already gathered at the bar. Some were from the picnic. Other guests included a young couple who sat gazing out of the window. Rajneesh wasn’t here either. Even if it felt slightly foolish, she asked the barman, “Have you seen my husband here today?”

“No, Madam. He hasn’t come here at all. I have been here since 12 noon. Is there something wrong? Can I help in any way?”

This was becoming a bit embarrassing. Surely he hadn’t gone for a drive somewhere? Oh, God! Had he gone for a drive with some woman, perhaps that bitch who was virtually stalking him, after sending her off on this stupid picnic? She flushed at the thought. Was Rajneesh cheating on her? She had been suspicious sometimes but this was too blatant considering she herself was here.  Her anger mounted. She rushed to the car park which was beyond the reception. There were many vehicles there. She couldn’t spot their Mahindra Scorpio. Where had it been parked? Had he taken it for a spin? But what a relief! There it was, exactly as they had left it after returning from a drive to the valley, yesterday evening. She felt a sense of remorse. Why was she blaming Rajneesh for things he had not done? Control yourself, Nobonita. You are no longer a teenager in love, she told herself.

Loud shouts and orders bellowed out told her s something was terribly wrong when she got back from the car park, on the other side of the building. An ambulance screeched to a halt. Its siren still blared in the quiet of the hillside. People were rushing there. Oh my God! What was this about? Could something have happened to Rajneesh? She rushed there too just in time to see two hospital attendants lift a stretcher into the ambulance, which apparently belonged to Hillside Hospital, Ooty. She didn’t recognize the patient sleeping peacefully on the stretcher, but made out it was an elderly lady. Her heart burst with relief it wasn’t Rajneesh. She had cried out on seeing the ambulance, fearing something awful had happened to her husband. 

People around her were talking about what had happened. Was it some accident? Was the guest in a serious condition? Patnaik, the General Manager of the resort, looked hassled. Dr. Pasha signaled that the ambulance was ready to leave for Ooty. Nobonita managed to catch up with Patnaik as he got into his car, “Please, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Not now, Madam. Later! You can see I am busy just now. We have to take her to Ooty hospital.”

She understood what Patnaik said but couldn’t stop herself from saying, “I am looking for my husband. I can’t find him!”

“What do you expect me to do? This is an emergency. Please don’t waste my time now,” said Patnaik curtly. The attendants jumped into the ambulance, one holding an oxygen cylinder, and it shot away, its siren screeching like a banshee in the quiet of the hills. Patnaik’s car followed the ambulance whose headlights lit up the dark road that twisted around the clumps of trees in the resort’s compound.

After all that totally unexpected excitement, the resort fell silent again but the atmosphere had changed. You could feel the tension in the air. It was very rare for an ambulance to be called like this in such a resort. Half the people, guests and staff had crowded around to see what had happened. They drifted back to their cottages or the dining room or the bar or to whatever duties they had come from.

Nobonita went back to the reception. The receptionist was talking to another staffer in loud whispers. He didn’t notice her approach the desk. “That Patnaik interrogated me as if I was the bloody accused! So many questions, my God! I don’t know what is going on. That nutty lady, Mrs. Sridhar, the one who created a scene here yesterday, is missing! Don’t tell anybody. This is strictly confidential. Boss has been trying to reach the owner in Chennai. Could she have run off with someone?”

On seeing Nobonita approach, he swiveled around with a fixed smile, “Good evening, madam. What can I do for you?” Dear God! She hadn’t liked that nosy bitch but had something terrible taken place? What did he mean by saying “missing” and “run off with some one?” Surely Rajneesh was not in anyway involved in all this!

Although highly intrigued by what she had overheard, she controlled her urge to ask questions. She took a deep breath and said slowly, “My husband has gone for a walk with his key. I am not able to find him. Can you please give me a spare key to the cottage no.8?” He reached out and gave her a key from the board near him. “Please return this to us, Madam. Each occupant is given only one set of keys as per our rules,” he said in the officious way so typical of clerks. “Yes, I will. I am not going to run away with them,” she said her eyebrows knitting together in annoyance.

On the way back to the cottage she saw behind her a young couple walking towards their cottage. They had exchanged a few pleasantries during the picnic earlier in the day. Their cottage was further down the path from hers. They smiled and she forced herself to smile back. “Have you seen my husband Rajneesh anywhere around?” she asked.  The man looked at the girl, raising his eyebrows. She nodded and said, “He was going for a walk, with an umbrella in hand. He was wearing some sort of a hat. At least I think it was him. I am not sure. He was some distance away from where we were. Sorry we couldn’t help.”

“Oh that’s ok. He must have gone for a stroll,” Nobonita smiled brightly to show that nothing was wrong though her mind was in torment.

She had now reached their Cottage No. 5. By now lights had been switched on in many of the cottages. They could be seen through the thick curtains. Some cottages had the lights on in their front porch as well. Cottage no. 5 was the only one that still stood in complete darkness. With the disappointment of not finding him waiting for her, the arrival of the ambulance, and all her wandering around, it was nearly 8.15 p.m now. Her stomach rumbled to remind her she hadn’t eaten anything for long.  She fumbled for the key she had taken from the reception.

A strange silence followed as she inserted the key and opened the door to their cottage. The foul smell that rafted across the room choked her. She saw Rajneesh lying on the bed. She froze. Summoning her courage she went closer, holding her hands to her nose as the sickening smell of vomit assaulted her nostrils. It was then that she saw the blood on the bed, and on the carpet near the bed. She screamed. One scream followed another. She tottered afraid that she would fall. Her shrill screams rent the air shattering the silence. Hearing her gut wrenching screams some people rushed there, they were some of the resort staff and the guest from the adjoining cottage who was locking his cottage to step out to dine.

They found the front door open, Nobonita stood near the bed holding her mouth in horror. They saw the body of the man on the bed. They took in the blood and his clouded eyes. The man was dead.

CHAPTER 22

Meanwhile, on his way to Ooty, Patnaik was deep in thought as his driver followed the ambulance. He sat up with a jolt when a new thought flashed to him, one that filled him with dread. Murthy had said the woman guest from Cottage 8 was missing, and Mrs. Sen from Cottage 5 had said her husband was missing. Were these two events connected? Had they gone somewhere together? Surely Rajneesh Sen had not forcibly taken away Sneha Sridhar. Was that why there were blood stains in her room?

His cell phone rang.  It was from the resort. He wanted to ignore the call but it persisted. He barked, “Yes, what is it?” They were entering the outskirts of Ooty. The ambulance pulled ahead as he took the call. The receptionist kept it short and crisp, “Bad news, Sir! Mr. Rajneesh Sen of Cottage No. 5 has been found dead. There is blood all over the place. It looks like he had been killed. Shall I call the police?”

“No! Don’t do anything for the time being. I am returning immediately. I’ll speak to the Superintendent of Police myself when I get there. Have any others come to know of it? Can you keep it under wraps until I get there?”

“Sorry, Sir, I can’t. The body was found by the dead man’s wife. She screamed so much that others have come to know what happened. She is totally hysterical. Things are slipping out of control. The guests are blaming the resort for lax security. They are angry and upset. Please hurry back, Sir.”

Patnaik called Dr. Pasha, “Today is a crazy day. We have another crisis at the resort. A man has been found dead. Please admit Mrs. Bopanna quickly in the hospital and rush back in the ambulance to the resort.” He told his assistant to call the police but he knew the small police outpost at Kundah couldn’t handle such a high profile case. Ordering the driver to turn the car around at the first opportunity, he rushed back to the resort.

In moments of crisis, “Pat” Patnaik was at his efficient best. He called Mr. Pandian at Chennai who was shocked to hear about the incident. “Whatever happens makes sure the name of the resort is not damaged,” shouted Pandian. “I don’t want any scandal reported in the media. Speak to the SP and make sure you co-operate with the police. Give me his number I will speak to my contacts here.” Pandian would call his politician friends in Chennai. Shortly after, the SP would get a call from his boss, the DIG, to downplay the name of the resort as much as possible. Later in the confines on his office he spoke in whispers to the SP of Police who was a frequent visitor of the resort.

Seeing the agitated guests, Patnaik felt like tearing his hair apart. First, a woman guest had gone missing, and then another was almost dead following a heart attack and now and worst of all, a guest had been found dead, probably murdered, in the resort.  All this in one evening, which was fast becoming a nightmare. He wondered if at least two of the incidents were linked to each other. Was it possible that the man had been killed by this lady guest? Why? Had he attacked her and been killed in self-defence?

On reaching the resort, Dr. Pasha rushed to Rajneesh’s cottage. One look at the body on the bed and Pasha feared the worst. The smell of vomit was sickening. Pasha himself gagged though he was a doctor. The easy life in these parts had spoilt him. He had never come across such a case in all his life. He put a handkerchief around his mouth and bent down to peer at the dead man. He had already established that the man was dead by feeling for his pulse. Pasha was disturbed to find, when they removed the bed cover, that the man was naked under the waist. This was going to be a big case, he thought. Rape and murder cases generally were. It wasn’t a natural death, it wasn’t a suicide and the sex angle made it all much more complicated.

The woman involved in the sex act could have killed him. Or it could be the sex that had made someone kill him, perhaps an angry husband or a jealous lover. Someone angry enough to strangulate him.

There had been no effort to hide the dupatta that lay on the bed. It had adorned some woman’s neck when it was clean. Now it lay cutting deep into the dead man’s skin, soiled with blood, mucus and puke. The killer leaving this behind was in itself intriguing. Why wasn’t it taken away? Surely the killer wouldn’t leave such an obvious mark behind? That would be true only if the woman who was the owner of the duppatta was the killer? What if someone else had used her dupatta and deliberately left it behind to throw people off his/her track? Dr. Pasha studying the dupatta carefully without picking it up saw it seemed to have been roughly torn in half. The uneven tear clearing indicated someone had torn it, either before or after using it to kill the man. Whether he/she tore it by accident or deliberately, he couldn’t tell. Dr. Pasha was relieved his job ended with saying how the death took place. That was straight forward enough. The more troublesome questions like who had done it and why were fortunately beyond his brief.

Dr. Pasha mentioned all these observations to Patnaik. Patnaik explained what Pandian had told him, “Help the police but keep the publicity down to a bare minimum. Keep any hint of scandal away. We don’t want the resort to get a bad name in such a busy period of the year.”

After thinking about the guests possibly involved, the shrewd Patnaik scrawled his conclusions in sheets of resort stationery: The killer was one of the guests. No staff member would be so bold or stupid enough to commit such a crime. The sex angle made it awfully complicated. Rajneesh had been a handsome, smart young man. It was possible that he had lured Sneha to his cottage and had sex with her. Whether it was with or without her consent was difficult to say at this stage. Sridhar was also away from the resort. She may have cried for help. Someone, an accomplice of hers perhaps, may have rescued her by killing Rajneesh. Sneha and the accomplice had then vanished. It was certain that Mrs. Sen could not have been physically involved in this as she was at the picnic at the time. She was the victim and was overwrought. One more thought came to his mind. Was she really innocent or could she, knowing his tendency to flirt around, have arranged to have him killed out of jealousy?

The missing Sneha must have had sex with Rajneesh but that was their problem. His resort was not involved in any way. Sometimes people on vacation did things they would not ordinarily do. He remembered an American visitor telling him with a wink after he had stayed for a week in the resort with a lady friend, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” At this stage, Patnaik kept his conclusions to himself.

Nobonita was going out of her mind. She almost collapsed. Someone splashed water on her face and someone else brought her a strong drink. She didn’t know what it was but she glugged it down as if it were milk. Her heart raced when she heard people talk all kinds of rubbish around her. She heard stray snatches of conversation, “looks like a rape case”, “may have killed in self-defence” and “God knows what the bugger did.” The fact that Rajneesh and Sneha had had sex and there was medical evidence to prove it came as a huge shock to Nobonita. What case could she make against Sneha if her husband himself was responsible? She shuddered to think that they may make him out to be a possible rapist! Having him dead was bad enough but to face this ignominy was far worse. She didn’t know what to do or say.

Patnaik spoke to the Superintendent of Police and went to the Ooty Police Station to register a First Information Report; the FIR being the first step in God knows how many legal procedures there would be ahead of him in this bloody case. He mentioned all that he knew about the case. When asked, “Who could have done this?” Patnaik kept silent. He didn’t want to share his theories.

Police Inspector Rajamanickam, a tall, dark figure in crisply laundered uniform waved a baton in his hand. “Who could have reason to kill him? What could be the motive behind this?”

Patnaik didn’t know what to reply. “It could be anybody,” he said, much to the Police Inspector’s annoyance. “Don’t be smart, Mr. Patnaik. I know as you do that he was a guest in your resort. I am aware that you don’t know everything about the murdered man. I asked whether he could have some enmity with anyone in this resort. Did he have a quarrel with someone, may be at the bar? Was he misbehaving with some woman? Maybe another fellow’s wife or girl friend. All kinds of things happen in high society these days! They have lots of money but no brains. They drink too much and have brawls. Sometimes these brawls lead to messy situations. Did you or your staff see any incidents involving women? This is often a reason for such crimes.”

“Since you mention this, I recall we had a rather strange incident last evening. At the main lobby, in front of several people including me, one of our guests, Mrs. Sridhar called this man “Rakesh” and threatened him,” Patnaik replied.

“Why would she call him Rakesh?” asked the Police Inspector, quick to seize a point. “You told me he was Rajneesh Sen.”

Patnaik remained quiet. He just shrugged to say he didn’t know.

Even if he was from a small town police station, you had to hand it to Inspector Raj, as he was popularly called. He was thorough in a slow plodding way. He asked for and got a list of all the staff, both those who were on and off duty. “The killer could be an off duty staff, you know,” he told his Head Constable

He took a list of all the hotel guests, including details of when and where they came from. He asked about their routines. He was all ears when he was told Rajneesh had not accompanied his wife to the picnic for which most of the guests had gone. He showed positive excitement for the first time when he was told that the missing woman, Sneha Sridhar had not gone for the picnic too. He made detailed enquiries of Mr. Sridhar’s schedule, and made a few calls to Chennai too.

The Inspector’s observations were faithfully noted in a notebook which he never carried himself. A constable hanging around respectfully carried this for him. If something came to mind, he would merely snap, “Book!” and someone would hand it to him with a pen. He would make a few notes and give back the book to the constable. Patnaik took a peek at what he was writing. He had written: “Killed alone in room. Woman gone. Motive? Motive? Motive? Jealous husband? Woman assaulted and killed in self-defence? Third party??????? “

Patnaik saw this point must have intrigued him because after “Third Party?? He had scrawled “Unknown man???. With this woman ???? Separate?????”

It seemed the number of question marks after each comment showed how his mind was working.

Patnaik thought Raj was a shrewd police officer as he read aloud from his notes with a frown, “Who is Rakesh? Why did this lady call Sen “Rakesh” in front of others? Is he someone other than who he claims to be? We should check his past. Did he know Mrs. Sridhar earlier? Find out from Mrs. Sen if her husband met Mrs. Sridhar here or even before? What kind of man was he? Is Mrs. Sridhar mistaking him for someone else? Why would she do that? Has she done this before?” There were so many unanswered questions.

In any case, the crime branch experts from the Criminal Investigation Department had to be called in from Ooty and Coimbatore as The Nilgiris district came under the Coimbatore Range.

“No one should enter this cottage until our investigations are over. And I mean no one. Is that clear?” Murugesan, the CID man from Coimbatore told Patnaik when he reached there.

“Don’t worry. I shall ensure that is done.”

“I am not worried. You should be if I come to know someone has tampered with the evidence,” scowled Murugesan. He gave Inspector Raj a knowing look. “We know how to deal with cases where evidence has been tampered with,” said Murugesan with another scowl. Raj laughed. This made Patnaik sweat some more. Patnaik wondered whether Murugesan was always in a foul mood or whether this was part of his tough cop act.

He must soften him up, thought Patnaik. With an ingratiating smile he said, “Sir can relax and have dinner as he investigates. What would Sir prefer? Chicken, pork, fish? Beer, whisky, brandy? Can I serve it in my private room?”

He half expected another bark and scowl but Murugesan didn’t seem to have heard or acted as if he hadn’t.

“Has anyone else been to the murder scene already?” asked Murugesan.

“Mrs. Sen, the man’s wife was the first to find the body. When she shouted for help, the front door was open so the guest from the next cottage and a few of my staff entered the room.”

“Bloody fools! They would have contaminated the  fingerprints. What was the need for all of them to rush there? Why didn’t you stop them?”

“The woman was screaming hysterically. Naturally they rushed to help her and find out what had happened. No one dreamt they would find a murdered man there. Besides, I wasn’t there myself, till much later.”

“This adds greatly to our work. We will now have the prints of so many others who had no bloody business to be there. Did they touch anything in the room?”

“I can’t say for sure. Mrs. Sen told me she touched the body to make sure the man was dead with all that bleeding. She was almost off her head. It was naturally a great shock for her. My staff did not touch anything but rushed to call me. Others helped the lady out of the room. There may have been a total of five people in the room: the lady, a waiter, a security guard, and one of the housekeeping men from my staff, and as I told you the guest from Cottage 6 next door.”

The fingerprint team moved in and dusted the area for fingerprints. They were meticulous in their work and obviously had loads of experience in such matters. They had done this hundreds of times. The CID men collected things from the room and put them in cases for further lab examination. They took the tray, the glasses, bottles, sheets, pillows and so on. The photographer clicked pictures one after the other, exploring different angles.

CHAPTER 23

Murugesan of the CID was lazing against the wall but his mind was working on overdrive. He asked Patnaik, “That man next door. Mr. Cottage 6. Tell me about him.”

Patnaik replied, “I don’t know much. I happened to check our register a few hours ago so I remember his name is Murtaza Beg. He is from Hyderabad and is aged 42. He checked in three days ago. He is alone in the cottage.”

“Is it common for people to stay alone in such cottages?”

“Generally, not. Most of our clients are married couples, many on their honeymoon. I agree it is a bit unusual but he had booked long ago on the internet. He told me he is a research scholar working on a project to preserve and restore old buildings. We don’t care whether one person stays or two as long as he pays the rent.”

“How do you know this Beg fellow was not already in Cottage 5?” asked Murugesan. “Did he go for the picnic?”

“No, he didn’t. I am sure of that” said Patnaik. This came as a huge shock to him. This angle had not occurred to him before. He continued, “I have no idea whether he was in Cottage No. 5 or not. Come to think of it, he could have been there earlier but when my men reached there and saw Mrs. Sen screaming, he wasn’t there. He came a few minutes later.”

“Couldn’t Beg be involved? He may have been with Sen and this woman in the room. They may have quarreled, possibly about the woman. He could have killed Sen, attacked the woman making her unconscious, gone back to his cottage, washed up and returned to the crime scene.” The CID man glared at Patnaik almost daring him to disagree.

“I really don’t know what to say! Beg is a guest and can do what he wants.”

“Including kill people?”

“I didn’t mean that. But why do you suspect him?”

“He may have had an affair with Mrs. Sen. Their coming to this resort could have been pre-planned. Perhaps Sen caught them doing some hanky-panky. He sent his wife off to this picnic and called this guy to accost him. This Mrs. Sridhar may have been his witness having seen them in the resort somewhere. Or on a very different track, Beg may have used his accomplice Sneha as bait to trap Sen. At the moment I suspect everybody. That’s my job. I might as well start with you, for the record where were you between 2.00 to 4.00 that afternoon?”

Patnaik spluttered in indignation but gave him all the details. Luckily he had witnesses as he had lunched with some guests and had a meeting with some of this staff after that.

The CID man punched him lightly, “I hope you don’t mind. To me all are possible suspects until we get a better idea of the case. Nothing personal you know. I want to know where everyone present then was from 2.00 to 4.00 p.m. This could be crucial in our investigation.”

“I understand,” said Patnaik, rattled by now.

“Did Beg know the Sens? Were they seen together? Could he have something to do with this? Who reached the resort first, Beg, the Sridhars or the Sens? Did they come at roughly the same time, or perhaps the same day?”

Patnaik wanted to get rid of this man. “Sir, I told you I have no idea. There are so many guests and this is the peak season. I’ll enquire for you. The guests form their own groups sometimes so it is possible someone may have seen them together.”

“Think about it. It could be crucial for the investigation. How did Beg behave when he reached the spot, as you say he did? Was he calm, excited, or what? Did he get into the cottage before the others? What did he do once they went in? Did he talk to or move close to Mrs. Sen? Did he try to console her?”

“I’ll call all the staff that saw him. You may please ask them about this. As I mentioned clearly before, I wasn’t there,” Patnaik added rather coldly.

“I didn’t say you were, but any person including you could have killed the man and gone away. By the way, did they find the Cottage No. 5 door open or was it locked?”

“As I mentioned, Mrs. Sen was the first to enter the cabin. She had a key of course. She must have unlocked the door but after she saw her husband lying there, she became hysterical and I guess the door remained open after that.”

“Did she mention seeing anything unusual or anybody in the room as soon as she entered?”

“Good Lord isn’t seeing her husband lying dead unusual enough?” asked Patnaik in exasperation. He hoped this case would be over soon and he would be rid of this inquisitive man. He looked as if he would make all the guests and staff miserable with his questioning.

Later that evening, Murugesan gave off a big belch after having gone through two plates of mutton biriyani, two bottles of cold beer and some short eats. He called Patnaik. “I have decided. I want to arrest Mrs. Sridhar, wherever she might be.”

Remembering a scene he had seen in a Hindi movie recently, Patnaik asked “Sir, my boss will ask me. I must know. Do you have a warrant?”

Murugesan was condescending as he said, “You poor man. You don’t know anything about law, do you? This is a cognizable offence. We can arrest anyone without a warrant, even you.”

“But the reputation of our resort will be ruined. Can you not do it any other way?

“You have no idea about these things. As per sections 161 and 162 of the Criminal Procedure Code I need to record the statements of the witnesses. Later as per Sec 173 after we complete the investigation, as the IO (Investigating Officer) I shall forward my report to the judicial magistrate with the result of the investigation. We have confirmed the time of death. As per the medical opinion given by Dr. Pasha, the victim died between 3.00 to 3.45 p.m on May 24, 2010. Dr. Pasha has studied the body carefully before giving his final opinion. We will wait for the formal post-mortem report from the Ooty Hospital.”

Patnaik was surprised to find the cops taking so many measurements. Of the distance from the door to the bed where the body lay. From the bed to the wardrobe. And from the bed to the French windows. They found a lot of finger prints, the tray had fingerprints as did the beer bottle. The dupatta had several sets of finger prints. But this was a matter of small technicality for the police. Interestingly, they found the dupatta used for the killing had been torn in half. Not sliced with a knife, but torn in an irregular manner.

They were searching for someone who had killed the man and taken away his valuables. His wallet, watch, cell phone, and gold chain were missing amongst other valuables. Calls to his cell phone met with no response. Perhaps the perpetrator had thrown away the SIM card or the phone itself.

Murugesan told his team, “We need to investigate if the perpetrator staged the crime scene to make it look like a sex crime. Or was it really one? Staged crime scenes complicate things. He/she may have deliberately left clues to throw us off track.  We don’t know for sure as of now whether the woman had led the man on, whether he had snared her into a trap or whether they were consensual partners. The woman may say anything, now that the man is dead and cannot defend himself. The only thing certain is that they had sex that day.”

He asked Patnaik, “Did any of your staff go into the cottage since the morning?”

Patnaik said, “After breakfast was served there at 7.30, no one went into the cottage. They had put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ board. Our staff do not enter when guests put up such boards.”

The police photographer, a portly man with eyes that bulged like his camera lenses took lots of pictures; of the body from different angles, of the things strewn around the room and of the material lying on the bed like the dupatta.

A constable hurried in, saluted and told Murugesan, “Sir, one Mr. Pinto, a guest here, just complained that his car and driver are missing. They didn’t use the car yesterday evening, so they found out only this morning when they wanted to go out. I checked. The guard at the gate confirms the driver took out their dark blue Chevrolet Optra at 4.25 p.m. yesterday.”

It was common for the drivers to take the cars: to re-fuel or pick up their owners from a trek or a beauty spot, or meet them at a railway station if the guests took the toy train to enjoy the captivating scenery. Two days later, the car was found, parked a kilometer or so away from the Ooty Botanical Gardens. It was one amongst many cars parked in a plot that doubled as a huge parking lot. No one there remembered who had left it there or when. The driver was missing.

The fingerprints had been cleanly wiped off in the car making it more difficult for the police to figure out who this driver really was. Mr. Pinto, who employed him could not provide much useful information. He was happy to get back his car and wasn’t of much help in identifying the driver. He said sheepishly that the man had been hired only a week or so ago. His name was Joseph. He seemed to have good credentials. No, he didn’t have a copy of his driving license with him. He didn’t think it important to ask for it in the first place. The details given to him were probably fictitious anyway. The case was filed in the crime branch records to join thousands of others. Joseph had given Pinto an address in Perambur in Chennai. The police there would investigate.

Naturally the guests and the staff of the resort talked of nothing other than the murder in Cottage No 5. On top of this, news gradually spread that Mrs. Sridhar, one of the guests, was also missing. Word spread that she had stayed behind without going for the picnic, and that she had driven off that evening.

Patnaik was annoyed with all the loose talk indulged in by his staff and the guests. Near the bar, he heard a guest say loudly, “They must have had a lover’s quarrel. I think she killed him and vanished.” Another added, “I have read many mystery novels. Have you considered that her husband may have planned all this? He went off earlier to fool us. He pretended to leave for Chennai, and came back to the resort suspecting something fishy. He caught them in the act and killed Rajneesh. Or who knows, maybe she was in on this too and had driven off to meet him in some hiding place.”

On the next day, Murugesan told his superior, the SP, “Sir, we are doing a thorough investigation but our quick assessment is that the woman, a guest in the resort called Sneha Sridhar has killed Rajneesh Sen. We don’t know as yet whether he was called Rakesh in the past. His wife does not seem to think so. I attach a lot of importance to the lady running away after the crime. If she was innocent and particularly if she was the victim of sexual assault she would have stayed behind to lodge a complaint. The guard saw her go away in her own car. There is no question of her being taken away forcibly by someone.”

“True, but she may have been forced through blackmail to leave the place. She need not have to be physically taken away,” replied the SP.

Murugesan gulped. This had not occurred to him. The SP had once again shown why he was considered a super smart guy.

Anyway, Murugesan continued, “Did she kill the man in self-defence? We don’t know as of now. She could have been sexually assaulted, possibly by the murdered man. There are finger prints of another person, probably a man, in the room. This is puzzling. We are not sure if he was an accomplice of Mrs. Sridhar.  Another possible suspect or accomplice could be Beg from the next cottage who was quick to reach the crime scene that evening. We are finding out his antecedents. We are trying to establish if the missing driver could be tied up with this case in some way.

“Though there are no witnesses at all, it appears she met Rajneesh at his cottage. Whether he was genuinely busy with work and couldn’t go for the picnic with his wife or whether he gave this as an excuse to stay behind is a matter of conjecture. Whether things turned sour between them and whether he took advantage of her is still a question mark. The dupatta found in the crime scene has been identified as being hers by her husband. We found blood stained clothes in her bathroom. Her fingerprints are all over the place including on the dupatta. She was almost incoherent as per the waiter who was the last person to talk to her in the resort that evening. Witnesses also speak of her odd behaviour the previous night when she created a scene in public and referred to him as “Rakesh.” This is another track we are following. Did she know him earlier? Was there some previous enmity between them? There are many indicators which point out to her having killed the man, probably to take revenge on him.”

The SP thought for a moment, “I wonder why Mrs. Sridhar vanished? That is the key to the whole case.”

“Sir, as you know, her husband’s family is highly connected in Chennai. This will become a high profile case. Our first objective is to trace the missing woman. Her husband told me that she may have some kind of mental illness which complicates matters. I hope to God she doesn’t repeat this crime somewhere else before we find her. My hunch is that she would have gone back to Chennai. She hasn’t been to her grandparents’ estate “Nathu La” near Kundah. That’s for sure. My men are stationed there to watch out for her. If you agree Sir, we’ll announce that Sneha Sridhar is the main suspect for the murder of Rajneesh Sen.”

The SP, who was listening carefully, blew smoke out of his nostrils. His eyes stayed hidden behind the dark glasses he always wore. He stubbed out one more cigarette and said, “Good job, Murugesan! You seem to be on the right track. I broadly agree with your findings. However, because it will be a huge case, let’s think of other possibilities. Could the man whose fingerprints were found in Cottage no. 5 be the killer? Could he have broken in to steal valuables and tried to blackmail them when he found them in a compromising position? Could the two men then have fought with Rajneesh being killed? Could he then have escaped after assaulting Mrs. Sridhar? If this is true, all of a sudden, she becomes the victim rather than the accused.

“Alternatively, could he be an accomplice hired by her to kill Rajneesh because of an old enmity? Has he gone away with her? The security is slack in such resorts. He may have been hidden in the boot of her car when she left. No one checked the car.”

Murugesan had to accept there was some merit in what his boss was saying. Being in the Police force for many years, Murugesan wondered if he should change tack and support his boss’s theory when suddenly the SP spoke again.

“The public will demand immediate results. Let’s go with what you say. Make the woman the main accused in your report. We’ll keep quiet about the mystery man for the time being. Keep searching for him and keep the possibility I told you in the back of your mind.

“I agree with you on some points. Her avoiding the picnic and meeting the man as she did, her odd behaviour as described by Sen’s wife who says she was almost stalking them, her dupatta being found the way it was, her fingerprints all over the place, her rambling incoherently to that waiter, and her running away points to her guilt more than anything else. Your first task is to find her, and find her fast!”

Accordingly, in due course, Murugesan inquiry report was forwarded as per the requirements of the law to the local magistrate. It named the missing woman, Sneha Sridhar as being the prime accused in the murder of Rajneesh Sen on the afternoon of May 24, 2010 at Cottage No. 5 of the Honeymoon Dreams Resort. Murugesan knew that in the court, her guilt would have to be established beyond reasonable doubt.

For want of clear evidence of involvement in this case, no charge was pressed against the missing Joseph. No one knew who he was, where he was now or indeed whether at all he had been in Cottage No. 5 at the time of the murder of Rajneesh Sen.

The outcry that followed took up so much of the public’s mind space that the police didn’t worry too much about tracing Joseph. It was high priority to trace the woman who was the main suspect and close the case. As such, there was little to be gained in looking for the driver who may not be connected with this case at all. Besides they already had such a strong case against Sneha. They believed she had killed Rajneesh Sen based on some old enmity.

PART IV: THE HUNT

CHAPTER 24

At 8.30 p.m. on Monday, May 24, Sneha drove into the spacious grounds of the Hotel Grand Deluxe Plaza in Mysore. She parked the Honda City, now bearing a thick coat of dust, at the farthest corner of the parking lot. The car was in top condition and had covered the 100 odd kilometers from Ooty in less than three hours.

Mona, the receptionist on duty, was looking at the clock. In a few minutes, she would leave for the day. Her reliever should be here at any moment.

A lady, wheeling a big suitcase, walked up to her and asked for a single room. Mona checked her computer, “You are lucky, Madam. We have a fortunate cancellation but we can give you a room only for two days.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

“Could you please sign here and give us your details?”

She wrote her name across the columns in the hotel’s register. Name: Vilasini Kashyap. Nationality: Indian. Age: 32: Address: B 3, Mughal Garden Appts, Shastri Colony, Lucknow 226 005. Purpose of Visit: Pleasure/Tourist. Coming from: Bangalore. Going to: Ooty.

“Thank you, Ms. Kashyap. Will you be paying by cash or credit card? ” asked Mona.

“Cash,” said Ms. Kashyap. 

Mona asked the bell boy to show her Room no. 257.

“It’s on the second floor and over looks the swimming pool. You will like this room, Madam.”

“Thanks, I am sure I will,” replied Vilasini Kashyap. The bell boy went ahead with her suitcase. She smiled at Mona, “You are really so pretty.” Mona blushed with pleasure. “Thank you, Ma’am,” she said, preening herself in the mirror.

Alone in the room, Sneha stretched herself. Driving that fast from Ooty had been fun. She hadn’t done something so exciting in many years. The sharp bends and the powerful car had given her a high. She opened the mini-bar in her room and took out a chilled beer. It was most refreshing. Her head throbbed with excitement. There was so much to be done.

She showered and went down, wearing a green salwar suit with a white dupatta. It was nearly 9.20 p.m. There were some guests, a few foreigners amongst them, having drinks and chatting in the bar. She steered clear of them. An old arm chair on the verandah looked inviting. She sat down and toyed with the beer served to her by a waiter wearing an elaborate blue uniform with a curved white turban.

She was enjoying the silence, hearing insects chirp in the shrubbery, when someone said, “Excuse me, may I join you? You look so content sitting here all by yourself; I just had to meet you!” She looked up in annoyance. A white man was smiling down at her. The twang in his accent indicated he was from the United States. His boyish face belied the fact that he was in his 50s. He wore a bright T shirt and the longish shorts favoured by many Americans visiting the tropics. “Hi, I am Ralph Gibson. I am researching for my book in India. I would love to chat with you for a while, if I may.”

“I am Nirmala. You may find me dreadfully boring today. I am tired. It’s been a long day.”

“For all of us,” he said “I spent the entire day in the University Library researching the medical system under the Mysore Maharajahs. In pre-Independent India, Mysore was head and shoulders ahead of most States. In medical facilities and engineering projects, for instance, they were far advanced amongst the Princely States. I hope I am not boring you.”

“No, but I must confess I don’t know a thing either about Mysore or its medical system,” she said. “I will not be able to contribute one bit to your research efforts or your conversation.”

“That’s ok. I am used to lecturing without people paying attention! Did you know for example that what we now know as NIMHANS in Bangalore was started as the lunatic asylum in the late 19th century in the erstwhile Mysore State?”

She flinched a little on hearing that but she smiled, “I have no idea, not being from these parts. I am from Lucknow, up North. I am in the travel industry. I am here to review the facilities my clients use during their visits. What brings you here?’

By then he was sitting at her table and had asked for a whisky on the rocks for himself and another pint of beer for her. He ordered some kebabs and short eats. “I should not impose myself on you. It’s just that I crave for some good company after a terribly dull and tiresome day.”

“Not at all, it’s entirely my pleasure.” She sounded more relaxed now.

“When you have spent the whole day poring over old records in dimly lit libraries and visiting hospital wards, it’s a great pleasure to talk to a beautiful lady like you.”

“Oh, thanks. Are you writing a book? What’s your research about?”

“It’s a work of non-fiction and I am afraid may not interest most people much. I am a trained psychiatrist researching on how mental illness could be passed on from one generation to another. The jury is still out on that one. An American phrase to mean it’s still open for debate and there is no conclusive evidence either way,” he explained.

“I am familiar with the idiom. I have visited the US a few times.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Which parts did you visit? I am from California myself, the best state in the entire United States. I live in San Diego on the Pacific Coast.”

“I mainly visited Johns Hopkins and was researching in genealogy there. I loved Baltimore.”

“But you just told me you were from the travel business in Lucknow” he asked a bit puzzled.

“Did I actually say that? How odd! I am Dr. Nirmala Gupta from Pune. I have never been to Lucknow in my life. I may have said I have friends there. Why would I have said such a thing? Silly me! I guess I am too tired,” she laughed. He smiled too.

They had dinner together talking about other topics. He was fond of travel. He asked her about Mysore and Bangalore and about the Maharajahs who seemed to have captivated him. He had been here for less than a week and didn’t know much about India. She gave him brief answers or merely smiled as he shared his observations on things he had noticed. She yawned, excused herself and said, “I am sorry. I am just too tired. Sorry to end this so abruptly but I must hit the sack.”

“I understand. It was a great pleasure meeting you,” said Ralph. As he tossed back the last of his whisky, he thought this girl was fascinating. He wondered if she could take him around Mysore the next day. She was so much more personable than the pompous University professor who was his main contact in Mysore.

The next morning, she bumped into Ralph Gibson at the breakfast buffet. He was tucking into a good portion of bacon and eggs with a few slices of buttered toast on the side. She chose to have a vegetarian dish, opting for a hot dosa which looked a delicious golden brown, served with the exquisite Mysore coconut-based chutney.

Being two people alone, it was natural that he waved her over to his table. He set his newspaper aside and smiled, “Good morning. You were very tired last night. Had a good night’s sleep?”

“Yes, I did. I am feeling much better today. Have you tried some of our Indian food? You seem to have stayed with the safe and trusted path of bacon and eggs.”

“I am fairly conservative, that way. I like to stay with what I am familiar with.”

“But that’s no fun. You should try out different things. Otherwise life gets so boring. Haven’t you heard, you live only once.” “May be there’s something in what you say. What’s your plan for today? Are you going out somewhere? Do you think you could show me around?”

“I have seen Mysore so many times, the same old Palace, Brindavan Gardens, Chamundi Hills, Srirangapatna and the Fort, the usual museum, the silk sari shops, the handicraft stores, the zoological gardens, and so on. It’s ok for the first time but there’s nothing special beyond what I have listed. You will enjoy it, though. No, I’ll rest in the hotel, so you will have to excuse me.”

She noticed his face fall in visible disappointment. For his part, Ralph was surprised because he remembered her saying she was new to these parts. This woman was becoming intriguing.

“So you have been here before, have you?”

“Many times. We lived in Bangalore and visited with every family friend who had to be brought here for the inevitable sight seeing.  You are a sweet old man and you seem to be so keen on seeing Mysore, so I shall change my mind and be at your service. I am in the travel business as I told you, but don’t worry, this is for free. I am not charging you any fee.” Her shrill laughter rang out in the restaurant.

They had an enjoyable day. She explained some local customs, talked of India in general, and was a good companion. Not too chummy but polite and considerate. He found himself admiring her. They did the usual sights, stopping at their hotel for a lunch and a siesta before setting out in the evening once again to see the magical Brindavan gardens.

It was a wonderful sight, the gardens bathed in multi-colored lights, the fountains spraying water when the winds blew their way. Ralph Gibson was enthralled. “It is truly a beautiful place. Thanks so much for bringing me here.”

In the next two days, they met just once after that. The girl didn’t seem to go out much. Gibson continued with his work at the University. They had a drink together one evening. He asked, “Can we dine together later?”

She smiled, “Thanks but not today. I am meeting some friends.” Gibson didn’t see her or her friends where most guests had dinner, but then she could have met them outside the hotel.

On the fourth day, he didn’t see her at the breakfast buffet where they generally met. Half way through his breakfast, he saw a terse headline in the newspaper he was glancing through, “Man Killed, Woman Missing.” A brief article said a man had been found killed in some resort near Ooty, reportedly strangulated to death. No details were given of the exact location. The name of the resort was not mentioned nor was the name of the lady guest who, the article said, was now missing for the last four days.

Dr. Gibson looked at his half eaten eggs and bacon. He was disturbed by what he read. Some instinct made him leave his breakfast unfinished. He walked quickly to the reception.

The girl behind the desk had long hair and looked both attractive and efficient. She smiled at him. The nametag on her chest said she was Mona.  “My friend, Dr. Gupta, hasn’t come down for breakfast so far. Can you please call her room? It’s Room 257 on the second floor.”

She checked her computer, toggled the mouse a few times and said, “That room is vacant, Sir. The lady checked out early this morning.”

“Did she? I am surprised. She never told me yesterday that she was leaving. Has Dr. Gupta left any forwarding address or contact number? I would like to get in touch with her.”

“I am sorry, Sir. We aren’t allowed to divulge personal information of our guests.”

He reached for his wallet and gave her his business card. “Listen, as you can see, I am Dr. Ralph Gibson, a consulting psychiatrist from the United States. You can verify my credentials right now. Call Prof. Ramamurthy at the University here. I ask purely out of professional interest. That lady may be in great danger or worse may cause harm to others.”

Mona gulped. This was most unexpected.

Gibson pressed on, seeing her hesitate for a moment.

“Please! Tell me when she checked in and anything you can about her. You have my details. Trust me. This could be a matter of life and death.”

On hearing this, hesitatingly she said, “I’ll tell you in confidence but please don’t say you got this from me. I would be in deep trouble with the management. She initially took the room for two days. At her request it was extended by two more, as we had a room to spare. She was to leave today which is what she did. There is nothing to be surprised about.”

“I am surprised. Very surprised!” said Gibson. “Anyway, thanks for the information. I really appreciate your help,” he left shaking his head.

As he turned to go, Mona called him back, “Sir, I shouldn’t be doing this but you seem genuinely concerned about this lady.”

“Of course, I am. If I didn’t have Dr. Nirmala Gupta’s best interests in mind, would I bother to enquire after her?”

“I realize that, Sir. That’s why I am puzzled why you call her, ‘Dr. Gupta’ whenever you speak of this lady.”

“That’s her name. Why else would I call her that?”

The girl motioned for him to lean close to her across the desk. She whispered, “As per our records, which by the way I am not supposed to tell you, her name is Vilasini Kashyap. She gives a Lucknow address. She is not Dr. Nalina Gupta or Nirmala Gupta or whatever you call her. You are a psychiatrist, you said. Tell me then, if she is indeed Dr. Gupta why would she have registered here under a different name, which is against the law? ”

“You are right. I just don’t know. How did she settle her bill? Did she present a credit card? Can you please check?”

“I was here when she settled her bill. She paid cash, pulling out wads of notes from her handbag. I noticed that.”

“Heck, that doesn’t help us at all. I am sorry. I have no idea why but this is a shock to me.”

He gave her his card. “This is the cell I am using in India. If you get any more information about the lady, I would deeply appreciate your telling me.”

Mona shrugged and went back to her work. Gupta or Kashyap. Nirmala or Vilasini. As long as she had paid the bill, it didn’t matter to her. She loved mysteries though and wondered if she had been, although indirectly, involved in one. She wanted to tell him the woman had checked in the same evening as the murder committed in Ooty which she had read about. But she kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t her job to investigate. If somebody asked, she would tell them. If they didn’t, that was fine by her.

Being an imaginative girl who was easily bored, she tried to visualize a killer. Wouldn’t the woman who had committed the murder most likely be evil looking? Would she have blood red eyes and talon like finger nails? She would be jittery and suspicious, eyes darting here and there. On the contrary, this woman, Gupta or Kashyap or whoever she was had been so cool. She was pleasant to talk to, looked sweet really. Mona thought she would be the last person to kill someone. She was far too nice to do anything like that.

She remembered the woman had asked that morning whether she was keen on modeling as a career as she had asked for her bill. This pleased Mona immensely. No one in her 22 years had asked her such a thing ever. She had plucked up her courage and told her as she was leaving, “Madam, I thought about what you said. I am dying to become a model if someone gives me a chance.” The woman had looked at her quizzically and said, “That’s great but why tell me this? I wish you luck, anyway. Has anyone told you that you really are very pretty?”

Back in his room, Gibson asked for a hot cup of coffee and thought about this mysterious woman. His professional antenna was up. This case looked interesting. Had she bolted because of something she had done? She had seemed friendly enough but why did she go away without saying a word? Of course he realized she was not obliged to tell him her plans, but still it troubled him. And all the contradictions in what she said! He remembered her distinctly saying she was in the travel business but later she denied that. She said she had been to the US but didn’t seem to know about many things there, when he had asked her innocent questions. Why would she lie to him?  It mystified him. Who really was she? She told him she was Dr. Nirmala Gupta but the hotel had her registered as Vilasini Kashyap.

A thought struck him. He once again carefully read the item in the newspaper. The murder in Ooty had taken place four days ago. There was news of a missing woman. The dates matched. He felt a chill come all over him. Could she be that woman? There were many anomalies in her stories.

There was not much he could do. His work in Mysore was over. After thanking the Professor, who was more interested in fishing for an invitation to a conference in the US, than speak of his findings, Gibson left the hotel. The evening train took him back to Bangalore where he would spend the next week at NIMHANS before flying back to the US.

CHAPTER 25

Elsewhere, Sridhar told the cops that Chennai and Coimbatore were the most likely places, Sneha would have headed for. They accordingly focused their search in these two large cities.

It never occurred to Sridhar that she would have gone to Mysore, which was relatively unknown to her.

The next morning, Ralph Gibson opened the newspaper in his hotel room in Bangalore. On Page 4 he saw a private notice, an advertisement put out by a man called Sridhar. His wife called Sneha was missing for the last few days. Anyone who could provide information about her whereabouts would be handsomely rewarded. Sridhar had given two cell numbers and a landline number at Chennai. Ralph spilled the hot coffee he was enjoying when he saw the accompanying photograph. The lady looking out of the paper advertisement was the woman he knew as Dr. Nirmala Gupta/Vilasini Kashyap.

He had to contact this man Sridhar and tell him what he knew. The poor chap must be hunting all over the place for her. Why had she come to Mysore? Did this explain why she stayed aloof for the most part? Apart from their sight seeing trip that day, she didn’t seem to have left the hotel at all. She had not made any effort to change her appearance either. It’s not as if she had cut her hair or dyed it a different colour or anything of that sort.

He tried to recall any clues she may have given. No, she hadn’t said a word about Ooty. Was there some link with Vilasini Kashyap and /or Dr. Nirmala Gupta? Could this Sneha Sridhar have known them and used their names to cover her real identity?

Dr. Ralph Gibson was, by now, fascinated with this case. He reached for his cell phone and dialed Sridhar’s number. In Chennai, Sridhar was leaving for his office when Gibson’s call came through. He was astonished to hear Gibson say, “Hello, are you Mr. Sridhar? This is Dr. Ralph Gibson calling from Bangalore regarding your notice in today’s Deccan Herald. I am an American psychiatrist travelling in these parts on some work. I am fairly certain I met your wife Sneha recently”

“My God! Where? How is she? Thanks so much for calling. Where is she now? I hope she is not in any danger!”

“I am sorry to disappoint you but I met her, or some one I think is almost definitely her in Mysore two days ago. She was staying in the hotel where I stayed.”

Sridhar heard some more details and said, “Dr. Gibson, I’ll take the evening flight to Bangalore. Let’s meet at the Bangalore Club where I’ll be staying or I can come across to your hotel. There is so much we need to talk about.”

That evening, Ralph waited at his hotel lobby when the bell hop announced a visitor for him. A tall man in immaculate clothes walked up and shook his hand, “Thanks for your call. I am Sridhar, Sneha’s husband. Let’s go to my Club. We can talk over dinner and I shall drop you back.”

Soon they were ensconced in the deep arm chairs in a quiet corner of the Club; Dr. Gibson gave Sridhar a quick run down of how he had met Sneha and how she had checked out that morning. He had absolutely no idea from where she had come to Mysore or where she had gone from there. He spoke of how disoriented the woman he knew as Vilasini/ Nirmala Gupta was. She had told him her name was Dr. Nirmala Gupta but had registered in the hotel as Vilasini Kashyap.

On hearing this, Sridhar leapt out of the chair as if he had been administered an electric shock. “My God! It has to be Sneha!”

Dr. Gibson’s blood ran cold when Sridhar told him, “Dr. Nirmala Gupta is her boss in the research lab where she works. Sneha admires her greatly and must have assumed her name for whatever reason I can’t understand. Tell me, why would she impersonate her boss? I have no idea though who Vilasini Kashyap might be. I have never heard Sneha speak of her. Could she be her colleague in that research lab? Or some old friend from school or college?”

On his part, Sridhar related the sad story of the killing of Rajneesh Sen, how Sneha was the prime suspect, how they were looking out for her primarily in Chennai and Coimbatore. They had not considered that she might hole up in Mysore. He said. “This advertisement has given us a few leads but they may or may not be of any value. A lady called to say she saw someone exactly like Sneha boarding a flight to Dubai en route to New York early this morning. Someone else told me he saw her coming out of a bar in Bangalore yesterday evening with a group of friends.”

“Both we and the resort owner are struggling to keep the media coverage to a minimum, thanks to our influence with the politicians in Tamil Nadu and the media. The police of course have registered a case of murder under Sec 302 and 320 of the Indian Penal Code.”

“I am being honest with you. To make matters worse,” here Sridhar looked awfully embarrassed, “there could be a sex angle to it as well. It appears certain Rajneesh the deceased had had sex just before he was killed. The police suspect it was with Sneha because they claim there was no other lady present there at that time. One possibility is that he forced himself on her which made her kill him in self-defence. I believe this to be the case.”

“Another is that someone else killed the man and left her to face the charge. This sounds less believable as we don’t know who that man was or indeed whether there was another man in the picture at all. The police are questioning a man, another guest from a neighbouring cottage. I must be candid and tell you that the most outlandish story has it that I was the killer! The story goes that I caught Sneha and Rajneesh together and killed him in a fit of jealous rage.”

He took a deep breath and a few sips of his coffee. “I feel so much better after having shared this with you. I am really lost and could do with any advice you could give me. Soon after you called, I had my staff do a search on internet to find out as much as they could about you. I now know that you are a leading psychiatrist. You have been awarded the prestigious Distinguished Service in Psychiatry Award from The American College of Psychiatry. I would be most grateful if you could help me in this case. You and I know Sneha needs specialist help. I shall pay any figure you quote.”

“To start with, it’s certainly worth finding out who Vilasini Kashyap is. She could also be someone from Sneha’s past,” said Gibson. “Try to dig out whatever you can about her. We may get some clues from there.”

Thanks to a combination of the prevalence of social media and Sridhar’s influence with the Chennai Police, they got their answer in the next week. Vilasini Kashyap was a young woman who had committed suicide three years ago. That in itself was not significant. There were so many suicides these days. What caught Gibson’s attention was that Sneha had been her room mate at that time.

Dr. Gibson said, “Here is something which could be awfully important to understand the whole case. In my experience as a clinical psychiatrist, sometimes, though admittedly rarely, people take flight after a particularly traumatic experience such as Sneha might have had. We call it fugue in our technical speak. It is derived from the Latin word for flight. The patient forgets one’s identity for a varying period of time. At times, they are known to take up the identities of some others, as might have happened in this case.”

“Does that mean they may never remember who they actually are?” asked Sridhar, horrified at the thought.

“The fugue state, formally dissociative fugue or psychogenic fugue,” explained Dr. Gibson “is a rare psychiatric disorder. It is characterized by reversible amnesia for personal identity, including the memories, personality and other identifying characteristics of individuality. Usually, the state is for a few hours or days at most. In a few cases it has been known to last for several months.

“Sneha’s flight to Mysore is significant as dissociative fugue usually involves unplanned travel or wandering. It is sometimes accompanied by the establishment of a new identity. After recovery from fugue, previous memories usually return intact, but there is complete amnesia for the fugue episode. Fugues are usually precipitated by a stressful episode, and upon recovery there may be amnesia for the original stressor.”

“So the events that day at the resort must have led to this?’ asked Sridhar. “It must have been a horrible experience for the poor girl. She was probably raped and most certainly saw a gory death at such close quarters.”

“I expect so,” said Dr. Gibson, “Like dissociative amnesia, dissociative fugue is characterized by sudden onset resulting from a single severe traumatic event. That day’s events could well have caused this.

“The good news is that it usually consists of a single episode without recurrence, and recovery is often spontaneous and rapid. Did you know for example that the famous novelist Agatha Christie once went away in 1926 for eleven days without knowing where she went and what she did? This is a strange characteristic of fugue. You often don’t remember what happened when you were in that state.”

He then described one of his cases in the US where a man had head injuries after a motor accident. He survived but came out of the crash thinking he was his father who had unfortunately died in the same car crash. It took him almost two months to snap out of the condition.

“I am so glad I met you. It was a miracle that you chanced to be there that day at Mysore,” said Sridhar.

Sridhar’s phone trilled. He excused himself, “Sorry, this is the third call from this number that I don’t know. It could be someone with information regarding my advertisement.”

He spoke for a few minutes becoming pale as he listened. The caller was speaking rapidly, trying to cover as much as possible in one call. From where he sat, Gibson made out the caller was a lady. Sridhar thanked the caller and turned to Gibson, “This was Mona, a lady working in the Hotel Grand Deluxe Plaza in Mysore. She says pretty much all you told me. She confirms the lady checked in as Vilasini Kashyap. She was more interested in asking for her reward, but you called me first.”

“Please don’t embarrass me. The reward is the last thing I want. Mona needs it much more than I do. She helped me too though she wasn’t obliged to. Please give her whatever you had in mind. She richly deserves the reward.”

The cops were looking for Sneha based on the pictures given to them by Sridhar. These pictures, later put out in the newspaper advertisements, showed how she looked during that holiday at Ooty. The pictures were nice though Sridhar had never imagined they would be used to trace his missing wife. The police were also searching for the Honda City in different parts of Tamil Nadu principally in and around Coimbatore, Erode, Salem and Chennai.

With a scarf tied around her head and wearing big sunglasses, Sneha walked into a beauty salon in Bangalore on May 28. The glitzy board over the shop read, “Mac’s Miracle Makeovers.” She said, “I want a total make over for a stage show in which I am performing. Make me more glamorous, more hep. People shouldn’t recognize me, not even my boy friend.” The hair dresser said, “Madam, when I am done with you even your mother won’t recognize you.” He went on cheerfully, “So many girls come to me from small towns wanting to change their looks for the Big City. I transform them. They don’t want to go back to those hick towns after changing their looks and their lives in this city.” He was a chatty sort and she listened attentively as he said, “No major surgery involved.” Here he laughed at his own joke. “It’s the small things that make a big difference. The lips look fuller, different shades to add or reduce age, the eyebrows shaped differently. Accentuating or downplaying the eyes. These are tricks of the trade.” Whether he was Mac she couldn’t say but when he was through, he had performed one more miracle.

She looked at the mirror amazed at the transformation. He stood behind her proudly, “Like your new look?” She was thrilled. Her usually long black hair was cut short with a few streaks of blonde patched in. The make up accentuated her high cheek bones, making her face look longer that it usually did. Her eyebrows were slanted at a new angle, and her lips seemed fuller than they had ever been. At a shop close by she bought a pair of thin framed round glasses that changed her looks considerably. At the hotel boutique, she got herself a few skirts and tops. Later, as part of the makeover, she sported a tattoo of an eagle with outstretched wings on the side of her neck.

Back in the hotel, she changed into her new clothes, a skirt which was way above her knees and a tight top, reminiscent of the kind of clothes Vils used to wear in the old days. Perhaps she was unconsciously trying to ape the fashionable Vils and stop being the dowdy Sneha. She smiled as she remembered poor old Vilasini. Her mother had said she had done the right thing in getting rid of Vilasini and that was all that mattered to her. She had won her mother’s approval.

She had not seen the advertisement released by Sridhar. Even if she had she wouldn’t have recognized herself. She was a new person. She spent that night with a French guy she met at a bar in Brigade Road. She said her name was Vilasini. He said his was Pierre. It didn’t matter to him what she was called. He was attracted by her sexy walk and the look she gave him as he made the first move. An artist and photographer who had visited India years ago, Pierre had loved the place so much that he had stayed on. He had a cool apartment in Indiranagar. The next few weeks passed off like a dream. She and Pierre had a ball, initially in Goa and then at Pondy. He was talented and she loved his photography. She was photogenic and Pierre brought out the best in her. She had never had such fun in her life before.

Pierre, however, was already bored with her after a month. He was always on the look out for new models. This girl was becoming too possessive. After all, he had liked her and helped her, not married her. The time had come to move on.

He told her, “I have this huge assignment for a hotel chain in Rajasthan. I need to go there in a few days.”

“Wow! That sounds wonderful. It’s supposed to be a highly romantic place.”

“Vils, the time has come for us to move on. I am telling you straight.”

She pleaded with him but he was adamant and she had to go. The next week flew past. She attended parties thrown by new friends she met in some pub or the other. They were attracted by her. She in turn loved the admiration for her new look.

Money was not a problem, she didn’t know how she had so much but she had plenty. She moved into a decent but non-descript hostel in BTM Layout, used by working girls eking out a living in Bangalore. Most of them left in the morning and returned late at night. No one had the time or the energy to find out too much about the others. They knew her as Vilasini, a sociology student with rich parents in Lucknow, who was gathering material for a book she was writing. If they envied her, they didn’t say so openly.CHAPTER 26

Manjula, a journalist, soon became her best friend in the hostel. They stayed in rooms across the corridor and hit it off well from their first meeting. A stringer for popular English daily, Manjula was intrigued by this girl who was definitely from more affluent surroundings but was now staying in a working women’s hostel. She sensed a story. She couldn’t resist telling Sneha, “There is something mysterious and exotic about you. I can’t put my finger on what it is. There is a story which could be interesting.” “I am just an ordinary girl trying to fulfill my dream. I want to be loved, get married, have kids, and yes, I want to write a book about women and their struggle in the city, how they are used and cast aside like rags, how they go through so much pain and have to make such sacrifices.”

She usually didn’t speak of her past. One evening when they were walking in Lal Bagh she stood still, looking at the eucalyptus trees. She clutched Manjula’s hand so tightly that it hurt, “This smell of eucalyptus. Are we in Ooty? When did we come here? Let’s go. I don’t want to stay here a moment longer.” She dragged Manjula off to the nearest auto-rickshaw.

On another occasion, when Manjula told her that she was following a murder case, Vilasini said, “Tell me all the details. I am fascinated by this.” Seeing the animation in her tone, Manjula told her the story she had covered for her newspaper. A young girl, a BPO employee had been found dead with her throat slit. After three days, the cops had caught the killer, an-ex colleague who was madly in love with her and who had killed her when he came to know she was getting married to another man.  Vilasini said, “The poor fool. Must have got suckered into a love affair. She should have killed the man first.”

Manjula, totally intrigued by now, told Patil her editor about the possibility of a sensational story. “I get the feeling she is not who she says she is. I can’t explain why. It’s like someone living out someone else’s life.”

“Are you suggesting she is hiding something by adopting a new identity?” asked Patil sensing a story too.

“She could be, strange as it might sound,” said Manjula. “I wondered if she vanished from some place, we don’t know about. Maybe she had a broken love affair or marriage.”

“What else do you know about her?”

“Not much. She doesn’t seem to be employed anywhere. She goes out in the evenings but spends most of the day in the hostel or in the public library. She often tells me about the things she reads.”

Patil thought about this, scratching the stubble on his chin. He said, “There are many fascinating stories of people who have been missing, given up as lost but actually lived somewhere else for many years till they were found. In my younger days, I followed such stories keenly. That’s how I know something about this.”

“Are you saying Vilasini may be someone else? I have always wondered the same thing. This is very exciting!”

“She could well be. Invite her for a cup of tea and let me talk to her. ”

“Sure, I’ll get her here tomorrow.”

Manjula told Vilasini her editor was interested in the book she was writing. Could she do some articles about women’s issues for the newspaper? Perhaps throw in a few extracts from the book? Vilasini sounded keen and they met in his office.

The young woman who entered his office was different from what Patil had imagined. He had expected a sari clad demure lady, scholarly and pedantic. This one was a bombshell. Her t-shirt was like a second skin on her and below that her jeans hugged every inch of her. Her hair was a bit zany but young people these days did all kinds of things. He caught a glimpse of a tattoo on her neck. Her nails he noticed were painted in different colours.

He asked about her book and she told him it was about the struggle of women against exploitation by men. It was set in Lucknow, where she grew up.

As they chatted, he asked, “Where did you do your graduation in Lucknow?”

“Why don’t you guess?” she smiled.

“Was it the Janet Mary Thomson College?”

“That’s right.”

“I went there once, for a seminar on education. We flew to Kanpur from Delhi and drove down to Lucknow.”

“That’s what many people do.”

“Have you tasted the great biriyani, kebabs, and sultani dhal at iconic eating house near the park? It was full of college kids. What was it called? Ah, yes. The Old Lucknow Residency?

“Yes, it used to be such fun. I have been there many times. I loved eating there.”

After some more chat over a cup of tea, he said he had another meeting and wished her good-bye.

After Vilasini left, he called back Manjula to his office.

“If this girl is from Lucknow, I am from Nashville, Tennessee! If she is Vilasini Gupta, I am Michael Jackson.”

“Why do you say that, Sir? Did she say something wrong?”

“There is no Janet Mary Thobur College in Lucknow. The most famous women’s college there is the Isabella Thoburn College, there is no airport in Kanpur and the Lucknow Residency is a historical monument, not a restaurant.”

He continued, now more enthusiastic than before, “Let’s dig around for stories of young women who have gone missing in the last few months. We may get some clues there.” The editor who had a lot on his plate sent her away, “You do all the running around. If you find something interesting, don’t break anything until you have discussed it with me.”

Manjula rushed off highly enthused by the new project. She began looking at the archives of people missing. She told her friends to do the same. Two days later, a friend in another newspaper mailed her a cutting of Sridhar’s advertisement looking for the missing Sneha.

“I got it!” She burst into her editor’s office squealing with girlish excitement. “Vilasini whom you met the other day must be the missing Sneha. Look at this advertisement. She was last seen in Ooty. I now recall that a few days ago when we went to Lal Bagh, she pulled me away on seeing some eucalyptus tress and asked why we had come to Ooty. You too had doubts about her being from Lucknow. I am sure this mysterious girl is the missing Sneha.”

The editor was hooked by her infectious enthusiasm. They called Sridhar at Chennai. “The girl we think you should meet looks totally different from the photo, you published. It may well be a wild goose chase for all you know but we think it would be worth your while to rush to Bangalore and identify her.”

Manjula told Vils, “My friend is coming today from Chennai. He wants to meet you. I told him abut the book you are writing. He is the acquisitions editor in a large publishing house and could help you publish your book.’’

“I would like that very much.”

Watching Sneha’s reaction carefully, Manjula said, “His name is Sridhar. Does the name sound familiar to you?”

“No, why?  Should it?

“Did you know someone call Sridhar?”

“There was a boy in my school. Nice chap but with rotten teeth. Some were turned inside out. The boys used to call him, ‘Fang and Claw.’ I used to stare at them with horrible fascination. May be that’s why I still remember him. Poor fellow. I wonder where he is and whether he got them attended to.”

Sridhar was terribly excited as he boarded the first flight from Chennai to Bangalore on July 18, 2010. He was apprehensive of what the day might bring for him. Would this girl turn out to be his Sneha? He fervently hoped so. In what condition would he find her? He had not been around when she needed him the most. He felt guilty yet nervous.

The big ruckus soon after the murder in May had pretty much died down. In the first few days this seemed to be the biggest thing going but now that two months had gone by, there were new scandals, scams and happenings that pushed Sen’s murder story away from the limelight. The police were not sure what had happened. What was the connection between the missing woman and the murdered man? Had she killed him, for reasons unknown as yet and run away, as most seemed to believe? Some others felt she may have been kidnapped by somebody who had killed Rajneesh. Many did not buy the kidnapping angle as no ransom note was received in the month or so, since the killing took place. The cops had searched for Sneha in Bangalore, in Chennai, Coimbatore, Hyderabad and Cochin but had not been able to find her so far.

It was now well known that Sneha Sridhar charged with the murder had vanished into thin air. The police insisted that they were on her trail but people were fast losing interest in the case.

The fateful moment arrived when Sridhar reached the restaurant Manjula had asked him to come to at 12 noon. He called her cell number as he entered the restaurant. Manjula waved to him from where she sat at a corner table and another woman. Sridhar walked towards them trying desperately to control the feverish shiver in his legs. He stopped and stared at the girl. She didn’t look one bit like his Sneha, not with those cheap trinkets, and a tattoo on her neck. His heart sank. His first impulse was to turn and walk off but he was determined to find out if she indeed was Sneha.

As they ordered lunch and chatted, he noticed that Vilasini’s build was similar to Sneha’s but she had a far stronger personality. She radiated an “I don’t care a damn about what you think of me” kind of attitude. He said, “I heard you are writing a book about women’s issues. I might be interested. We publish a lot of books on matters of public interest. How are you developing your story? Is it based on fiction or what?”

She looked at him. Her eyes blazed with passion for the subject. “It’s about what I have read and observed. I haven’t had too much experience but what little I have had shows me that women are exploited and disposed off as if they are worthless. I want to change this. I want men who commit rape to be hanged without any court cases and all that rubbish. The legal system is so pathetic most of them get off so lightly.”

Sridhar recognized her voice. It sounded much like Sneha. After a while, he asked, “Do you know someone called Sneha? She looked a lot like you, also talked like you! You could be sisters, even twins perhaps, like in the movies.” He laughed to show it could be light hearted banter. She remained serious. “There are supposed to be seven of us at any point of time on this earth, may be your friend Sneha is one of them.”

“Do I remind you of someone you know?”

She looked carefully and said, “Not that I can recall but your voice somehow is familiar.”

Sridhar and Manjula looked at each other. “I wonder if we have met before?”

“No, I am sure of that. We haven’t. But I promise you if you publish my book, we will meet more often.”

“Let’s meet again tomorrow. Same time same place as they say on television. Bring along whatever you have on your book, an outline and a few sample chapters. We’ll see what we can make of it.”

“Oh, thanks so much” she gushed, showing more enthusiasm than ever before.

That night he called Dr. Gibson in the US.  “Ralph, I may have found Sneha. She calls herself Vilasini. She looks very different. I wouldn’t have recognized her myself if I had chanced upon her on the street. The voice sounds pretty much the same. I asked her if we had met and she was categoric that she had no such recollection.”

“Don’t rush things and under all circumstances ask your friend Manjula to watch her closely. She may not be able to do this all the time, I realize. You could engage private detectives to track her. At least, that’s common here in the US. The last thing we want is for her to vanish again, right?’’

“Ralph, I want you here in this crucial phase. Money is no consideration. I want Sneha to become ok again. Please make a trip. Give me your details and I’ll have my office book your air tickets right away.”

“I’ll leave in a week or so as I have to re-schedule a few things. I can appreciate your predicament. I am personally and professionally fascinated by this case otherwise I wouldn’t agree to leave my work and fly to the other end of the world like this.”

“Thank you so much. I am so grateful for your help.”

“Show her pictures that could bring back memories of the past. See how she reacts but don’t stampede her into doing anything silly.”

On the next day after talking about her book and hearing her ramble on about how women were exploited, Sridhar nodded to Manjula. This was the signal for her to closely observe Sneha’s reactions when he showed her some pictures from the past. He interrupted Vilasini and said, “Here are pictures of a typical South Indian wedding. We could use something like this for the cover of the book. Would you say this lady here is happy now?”

He passed on an album of pictures taken during their own wedding. They waited with anticipation for her reaction. She skimmed through the pictures and brushed them aside, “Nice girl. Lucky fellow. Must have spent a lot of money on the wedding. But what does this have to do with my book? Let’s get back to what we were discussing. Would you publish my book if you like the chapters I have given you? We can see your pictures later.”

CHAPTER 27

A week later Sridhar was at the Chennai airport to receive Dr. Ralph Gibson. After he had settled down in his hotel room, they went through the entire case at length over the whole day.

Dr. Gibson told Sridhar, “She is totally immersed in her new identity as Vilasini.”

“What do you suggest we do?”

“Here is the risky part and I am being very frank with you. We can’t for a moment forget that the Sneha you know is wanted for murder. We should take this lady to the same resort you were in Ooty in May when the murder took place.”

“Will that jolt her memory back to that time in May? Is that what you expect?”

“It might. I hope it does. I expect some shock there could bring back her old identity, if she really is Sneha, as we believe she is.”

Sridhar thought about it for a moment, “I don’t suppose anyone in the resort would recognize her as being Sneha. Besides, even if they do, it helps our case as she is presently wanted for a serious crime. I don’t want Sneha to spend the rest of her life in hiding. I will get the best legal and medical resources for her. We will fight the case till the end.”

They decided to continue the charade of the book publisher and invited Manjula to join them. She agreed after consulting Patil who told her, “This could be the story of a life time. You are very lucky to get a ring side seat. Play along and let’s see how it all pans out. If there is even a hint of your being in danger, call me at once.”

Sridhar told Vilasini, “I have some terrific news for you! Our firm will publish your book. Congratulations! We have organized a small retreat for writers in a resort up near Ooty. A residency of sorts. Dr. Ralph Gibson, a leading psychiatrist from the US will also be there. We are honoured to publish his book about his research in India. Would you like to join us? Manjula will be there too. Her newspaper is publishing an article about our firm and our forthcoming books. We will finalize the contours of your book during the visit.”

“I would love to be there.”

“Have you heard of Dr. Ralph Gibson by any chance?”

“No, should I have?”

“I just asked. He is a famous guy, one of the leading psychiatrists in the US.”

“I don’t suppose he has heard of me either,” she replied with a giggle.

That she didn’t know Dr. Gibson was re-confirmed when they met the next day at his hotel from where they left by car for Ooty via Mysore. 

Dr. Gibson extended his hand to Vilasini, “Hey, what a pleasant surprise. You are Dr. Nirmala Gupta, right? I had the pleasure of meeting you in Mysore some months ago. Remember we met at the Hotel Grand Deluxe Plaza? We visited the Brindavan Gardens one evening? That was so wonderful.”

“No, actually, I don’t remember meeting you at all. You must be mistaken. Who is Dr. Nirmala Gupta anyway? I vaguely remember someone else mistook me for her a few months ago. Do I resemble her?”

“She is a famous scientist in Chennai. Haven’t you heard of her research firm called GerGer Labs?”

“No, I am not interested in scientific stuff. Strange name for a firm though. Anyway, I am so glad to meet you. I am the famous author, Vilasini. Haven’t you heard of me?” she asked.

Dr. Gibson was surprised, “To tell you the truth, I haven’t!”

She laughed and nudged Sridhar, “I told you. He hasn’t heard of me either!”

He asked about her book and they talked briefly. She told him, “You are such a nice man, so knowledgeable and cultured. I wish I had met you earlier. What are your views on women being exploited by men? Is it very different in the US? My impression is that women there fight back much more than they do in India where we are sadly taken for granted.”

She showed no recognition of the sights as they passed Mysore. Not even when they stopped for a break at the Hotel Grand Deluxe Plaza. Ralph was sitting up front with the driver. He had said, “Make sure she is in the centre. Manjula and Sridhar will sit on either side of her. She shouldn’t be near the door.”

Manjula was about to ask “Why?” but bit her tongue knowing the answer.

“We don’t want her to lose her head on seeing some familiar sight or on reaching the resort. She shouldn’t try to jump out or anything like that.”

As the car climbed the mountain road, she said, “What a beautiful place. I could live here all my life. This place is so lovely, so peaceful.”  Sridhar replied, “The resort is an ideal place for you to write your book. As part of your contract, we could arrange for you to stay here for a week to start with, longer if you like the place.”

“Oh, wow! That would be delightful,” she said.

When they reached the Honeymooners Dream Resort on July 28, 2010, Sridhar in particular felt the unspoken tension. Just over two months ago, Sneha had vanished from this very place. The resort looked much the same. The gardens were beautiful, with lovely flowers of many colours shining in the warm sunshine. The lawns were immaculate. When they walked into the lobby, Sneha blinked and shook her head as if to clear some recollection. Sridhar told her, “This place is excellent. I have been here many times before. You will be very comfortable. Do you mind sharing a cottage with Manjula? Or would you prefer to be alone?”

“No, I would love to be with Manjula. We girls can have a great time together.”

On their arrival, Mr. Patnaik, General Manager of the resort watched them with great interest. It was about 10.00 a.m. and he offered them tea and snacks after they had registered.

Mr. Pandian had phoned him a couple of days ago. “Remember Mr. Sridhar, our family friend? Poor chap went through hell in that horrible case in May. He is visiting the resort with some important guests. Make sure they are given excellent treatment and get whatever privacy they want. Secondly, if he and his guests ask about the events of May 24, tell them all that you know. Next, I don’t want the Press snooping around when he is at the resort. Lastly, you don’t have to volunteer this information to the cops either. Is that clear?”

Today he flashed his brightest smile and bowed low, “Hello, Sir. We are so glad to have you back. A pleasure as always.”

Sridhar did the introductions. “This is Dr. Gibson, a very famous researcher from the US. We are proud to be publishing his book.” Patnaik saw a well built middle aged man with a weather beaten face. He was wearing a hat which didn’t keep in the strands of blond hair on his collar. Gibson smiled and gave him a firm handshake.

“Manjula is a journalist from Bangalore. She writes for many dailies and magazines.” He saw a petite lady with designer glasses and a nice smile. Patnaik hadn’t heard of her at all but quickly said, “But of course. She needs no introduction.” He turned to her, “We are delighted to have you here. I have read some of your articles. They bring new perspectives into many things.” He had no idea what she wrote about.

He then turned to the last member of their party. A good-looking woman with a rather strange hair style. She hadn’t removed her dark glasses even when they reached the resort’s reception area. She was dressed very differently from the others, in a short, tight skirt with a light sweater slung over her tight top. Funky boots completed her attire.

“This is Ms. Vilasini from Lucknow. My firm will be publishing her book. I know you will provide my guests with excellent service.”

“Be assured of that, Sir” he told Sridhar.

Vilasini smiled. Patnaik took in her figure and face at one glance, liking what he saw. She was admiring the beautiful surroundings of the resort.

He asked Vilasini, “Have you been to Ooty before, madam? There are so many lovely tourist spots close by. We have so much to show you.”

“No, this is my first visit. I would love to go around,” she replied.

Patnaik’s curiosity was aroused on seeing this woman. Why did he feel there was something mysterious about her when she had hardly spoken much? What was her relationship with Sridhar? Was she his new girl friend? Would he have one so soon after all that happened to his wife Sneha? Patnaik shuddered as he remembered Sridhar’s last visit to the resort in May. It had been a bloody nightmare what with Rajneesh Sen getting killed and the ruckus that followed. Sridhar’s wife who was in the cottage with Sen at that time and was alleged to be his killer had vanished. There was no trace of her after that.

There were strong rumours that she had gone abroad soon after the murder took place. The cops must have given up on that horrible case. There was no longer any mention of the Rajneesh Sen case in the media of late. He shuddered to think of that difficult period.

The story had received a lot of media coverage despite the resort owner’s vigorous damage control measures. Patnaik personally thought Sneha had killed Rajneesh in a fit of rage. They must have quarreled about something. Sen’s wife may have got suspicious and he wanted to keep her away from Sneha. Had they met for one last fling at her insistence?  It looked certain they had clandestinely met when most people had gone for a picnic together. This proved their date for that day was planned.

Interestingly, after that murder the occupancy rate of the resort had actually shot up! People came as if it were some tourist spot to see the place. How curious could they get! They walked past Cottage 5 where the murder had taken place some months ago with ghoulish interest. They couldn’t go inside but stood outside gaping at it as if they expected either the corpse or the murderer to walk out at any moment. Some guests had specifically asked for that cottage. There was no end to human curiosity!

Had Sridhar become bolder than Patnaik expected? Imagine being here with this hot looking woman from Lucknow or wherever. Of course Sridhar was a very rich man which perhaps made these things possible.

Patnaik was lost in these thoughts when someone prodded him in the shoulder. He returned to the present with a start. Sridhar said, “Perhaps you didn’t hear what I said. Miss Vilasini is a very sensitive writer. She doesn’t want to be disturbed at all. Please instruct your staff not to bother her with requests for room cleaning, room service or anything else unless she specifically asks for something. Is that very clear?”

“Of course, Sir. I’ll see that no one disturbs her in any way,” said Patnaik. Seeing Sridhar’s eyes seldom leave Vilasini, Patnaik wondered if Sridhar had said all this as he himself wanted to spend time alone with her. Anyway, what they did was none of his business, besides they were staying in separate rooms. Sridhar had signed for the luxurious Cottages 4 and 5. He and Dr. Gibson would occupy Cottage 4, while Cottage 5, close by was for the two ladies.

When they reached Cottage No. 5, the same one where Rajneesh was killed, they watched Vilasini very carefully. She walked in and kept her things. After she had admired the view of the rolling hills from the balcony, she praised the room décor admiring the arrangement of flowers on the table.

At 5.00 p.m. Manjula had gone to meet Dr. Gibson and Sridhar to be briefed about their plans for later that evening. Vilasini, alone in the cottage, lifted the phone and asked for room service. She ordered some plum cake, with cheese and tomato sandwiches topped off with Earl Grey tea. Murthy was assigned to deliver the order to Cottage No.5. He had seen two ladies check in earlier that day, the one wearing a short skirt being decidedly sexy.

He rang the bell. A husky voice said, “Come in!” Murthy wondered if had heard that voice before. Was this Miss Short Skirt or the other one? Well-trained waiters are taught to walk softly and Murthy had picked up this skill. He moved noiselessly into the cottage. From the foyer, he recognized her at once. Miss Short Skirt had showered and now wore a light blue sari. She had opened the window to enjoy the cool evening breeze. Up she was on her toes near the window, her outstretched arms pointing towards the ceiling, her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply. Her breasts pushed against her blouse. Her posture increased the expanse of her slim waist visible to Murthy.

“Madam…..” he said moving into the room to leave the tea things on the table. There was no response from the woman who maintained the pose. She was still as if in a trance. Murthy looked up and almost dropped the tray. A dull red patch showed up on the waist of the woman standing tall on her toes, her eyes still closed, facing the window. It was much less fiery and red than when he had seen it that day in May. Controlling the impulse to drop the tray and run, he coughed nervously. The woman came out of her breathing exercise. “Leave it here and come back later,” she said in that same husky voice. Now that she no longer stood on her toes, the scar was not visible under the sari. She had used almost the very words the last time! The cheese and tomato sandwiches ordered and the plum cake were exactly the same as that day one and a half months ago. He now remembered her voice too. She had to be the same woman he had seen on May 24 when Sen was killed in this very Cottage no.5!

Shivering with excitement, Murthy excused himself and ran to find the General Manager. He had to tell Patnaik of what he had seen. What if she killed someone else today? He wouldn’t have been able to live with this on his mind.

CHAPTER 28

Patnaik was at that moment answering Dr. Gibson’s questions in his private office. Sridhar had requested Patnaik to reconstruct events of that day in May and tell him all that he knew skipping no detail. Dr. Gibson hoped to gain some new insights from the information he gathered. Patnaik was getting into his stride and explaining how chaotic that day was. “Think of my plight, Sir. On one side an elderly lady had what seemed to be a heart attack, another lady was missing and a man was found gruesomely murdered in his cottage. All in one evening!”

Panting heavily having run all the way, Murthy reached the GM’s office, “I must see the GM. It is very important.” He tried to enter the GM’s office although he had never been inside the main office before.

Miss Pereira, Patnaik’s secretary, a comely woman who considered herself very efficient, jumped up from her seat.  “How dare you barge in like this? Tell your story to the Room Service Manager. I shall report you for your insolence.”

“Madam, I must speak to the GM, please believe me,” pleaded Murthy. He banged his fists on the GM’s door leaving her speechless at his impertinence. “Miss Pereira, what on earth is going on?” said an angry Patnaik opening the door. “Can’t you see I am in conference with Dr. Gibson? I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed!”

“This idiot can’t understand, Sir, he didn’t listen to me.”

Seizing the opportunity, Murthy slipped past Miss Pereira into Patnaik’s office. Such a thing had never happened in her ten years as a secretary. Gibson jumped up in alarm. Seeing Murthy’s uniform, wild eyes, and agitated manner, he assumed a disgruntled employee had come to attack Patnaik. Moving swiftly, Gibson who towered over Murthy, caught and locked his hands behind him.

Addressing Patnaik, Murthy shouted, “Sir, that woman is back. The missing one. Mrs. Sridhar. The mad one.”

“Don’t talk such rubbish! You know the Police have not been able to find her since May 24 the day Sen was killed. I can never forget that day for the rest of my life.”

“I just saw her, Sir. She is staying in Cottage No. 5. The one where he was murdered. She checked in this morning. Sir, I am not going back there. The last time I served her there was so much blood; I couldn’t sleep for days after that.”

“What is this nonsense?” yelled Patnaik. More than anything else he was embarrassed by Murthy’s blabbering in front of this foreign guest.

Dr. Gibson said quietly, “Calm down, you two! That’s Vilasini’s cottage. Yes, we checked in this morning. I am fascinated by this. Let’s hear what he has to say, Mr. Patnaik.”

“Who knows what she will do today?” shouted Murthy, worried they did not believe him. “I am definitely not going there. I’ll tell all the other waiters not to go too.”

“Please ignore this man, Dr. Gibson. Let me find out all the details and brief you later this evening.” said Patnaik.

Gibson said firmly, “No, I want to hear what he has to say.” Taking charge, he told Miss Pereira, “Call Sridhar here at once! Tell him Manjula should stay with Vilasini till our meeting is over. She must ensure she doesn’t leave her alone even for a minute. This could be vital.”

Miss Pereira horror struck by what she had heard had forgotten Murthy’s insolence. She rushed out to follow Gibson’s instructions, echoed by Patnaik. Murthy didn’t know whether he would be the hero or the villain after he told his story to the General Manager and this foreigner.

Patnaik yelled at Murthy, “Why did you hide such important information from me? I’ll deal with you later, you rascal. We must first decide how to deal with this astonishing turn of events.”

Knowing that Murthy was a notorious gossip, Patnaik seized him by the collar, “Left to yourself, you will blab about this to everyone within minutes. I warn you, if one word gets out on what you saw I shall make sure you are immediately arrested by the police as a possible suspect.”

“Sir, please believe me,” stammered Murthy “I had no idea this would be important. I happened to see the scar that day and today too I saw a scar of similar shape in the same place on this lady. I know nothing more.”

“Have you told anyone about this?”

“No sir, I swear to God I rushed here to tell you. I won’t utter a word about this to anyone.”

Patnaik shook Murthy again, “Remember, if the police know you have hidden crucial information in a murder case, they will beat the shit out of you to extract all the information. Now go back to your work and keep that big mouth shut!”

“Yes sir, Yes sir!” said Murthy and hurried off, wondering why this could be such a big deal. He had no intention of getting mixed up with the cops again. They had already interrogated him once. He had told them whatever he knew, apart from having seen the scar. He didn’t want them to think he was a voyeur or something. That’s why he hadn’t spoken of the scar he saw that day.

Gibson and Sridhar had a hurried conference. They had to take Patnaik into confidence. There was no alternative. Sridhar explained the entire situation to him. He concluded by saying, “Please realize how vitally important this is for me. Our first objective is to confirm whether or not this lady is Sneha. We will face the consequences later. If she is the alleged killer, so be it. Don’t worry about any trouble for the resort.”

“I understand your predicament,” said Patnaik. “I am a married man myself.”

“Please tell us all you know about that fateful day. It could be very important for us,” said Dr. Gibson. Sridhar nodded and Patnaik talked for long telling them whatever he remembered.

One bit of information caught Dr. Gibson’s attention. He said, “You just mentioned no one went into their Cottage since that morning. How do you know this?”

“Sir, I have talked personally to all our staff, especially the waiters and the housekeeping women. And so have the police. On several occasions. Other than them no one else ordinarily enters guest cottages. There is no record either of any food being ordered from room service or the restaurant since that morning.”

There was a silence as Gibson and Sridhar thought about what he had said.

Patnaik popped the important question, “What happens if she is Mrs. Sridhar? How do we establish that beyond doubt?”

Dr. Gibson said, “We’ll ask her to show us some proof that she is Vilasini. Could be a driving license, passport or whatever. If she shows us solid proof that she is someone other than Sneha, then I am sorry we were on the wrong track. We have to Drop this charade,” and turning to Sridhar, he added, “And you have spent a lot of money for nothing.”

Later that evening, when they sat together over drinks before dinner, Sridhar said casually, “I am sorry to bother you, folks. You know we were checked in this morning with the minimum of fuss, but they do need some identification of each guest. Can I have your passport or driving license as proof of identity?”

“Sure, here is mine,” said Gibson fishing out his passport from his jacket pocket. Manjula slid across her driving license now issued in the form of a slim card.

“I am not sure whether I am even carrying one,” said Vilasini. “I had no idea I would need any of this.”

“Please check. They would definitely need some sort of identification. Apparently they have tightened up these processes after a tragic event here a few months ago.”

“What happened?” asked Vilasini her eyes wide with innocence.

Sridhar remembered Dr. Gibson telling him it would be useful for Sneha to come across something which might remind her of that awful day. This was his opportunity. Nodding at Dr. Gibson, he said, “It was in this resort some two months ago that a man called Rajneesh Sen was killed.”

Being concerned that they may miss her reaction, all three of them were now watching her closely.

“Hello? What’s this about? Why are you guys staring at me like that?” asked Vilasini, raising her eyebrows.

Sridhar said, “Not at all. Why would we? I just thought you may have read about the murder or seen the news on TV. It was all over the media.”

“No, I must have missed it. I hate seeing gory stuff in any case.”

“The man was strangled to death.”

“That’s terrible! Did they catch the murderer?” she asked.

The others watched her very closely.

“His killer is still at large. They suspect some woman killed him,” added Dr. Gibson.

“Why would she do that unless he had harmed her?” she asked.

There was a silence around the table. A little later Sridhar asked, “Even if he had harmed her, assume he had for a moment, does it justify her killing him?”

“Why not?” Vilasini, her eyebrows asked knit in annoyance. “In my book, I write about many cases where men have caused irreparable damage to women and walked away scot free. If this fellow, whatever his name is, had harmed her, he probably deserved what he got. I would have done what she did, that’s for sure.”

Sridhar hastily changed the topic and spoke of their plans for the next day.

She didn’t leave the topic however, “I have always wondered how it is to stay in a place where someone was killed,” she said. “Do you think it’s morbid to think like that? I am not easily scared, by the way. I don’t believe in ghosts and stuff like that.”

Dr. Gibson regretted having suggested she stay in Cottage no. 5 but it was too late to change things now. He cleared his throat and asked whether they could play golf the next day.

After a good dinner which changed the mood totally, Vilasini said she would write up her notes. Sridhar said he would play snooker with some other guests since he wasn’t sleepy. Dr. Gibson asked Manjula if she would like to come for a stroll. She readily agreed.

He told her when they were alone, “I don’t wish to scare you but to be on the safe side you will shift to another cottage as soon as Sneha falls asleep. Nothing may happen but as long as I am involved in this project, I won’t take even the slightest chance of what she might do to you alone at night. I shall give you a tablet. It’s only a mild sedative. Make sure Sneha has this. You can then come away as soon as she falls asleep.”

The atmosphere in Cottage No. 5 had changed when Manjula got back. Vilasini paced up and down the hall. “Ah, there you are. I couldn’t sleep at all. Something about this place bothers me. I wonder if it’s to do with the story of that chap being killed and so on. I can’t get over the thought that he was killed in this room. Perhaps in the very bed I slept in!”

Manjula quickly said, “I take a mild sedative if I feel low. I’ll give you one too. It assures me of a few hours of good sleep.”

Vilasini went on as if she had not heard her, “Something is disturbing me. I can’t concentrate on my book. My mind is wandering. I am beginning to wonder if I have been here before. There is a sense of déjà vu. Have you ever felt you have been to someplace before even if you haven’t?” Manjula mumbled something in reply. She was getting scared now, remembering what Dr. Gibson had told her. Was there a wild gleam in Vilasini’s eyes or was she imagining things, out of fear?

Vilasini continued, twirling a strand of hair incessantly, “I felt very strange when all of you stared at me this evening when Sridhar mentioned the murder. It was kind of spooky. It was as if you wanted to see my reactions. I like Sridhar, he’s a nice sort. This Gibson guy is full of questions but is charming. Patnaik is a creep. You should have seen how he stared at me. I know you better than the others, Manjula. Tell me, am I missing on something I should know? Why do I feel I am being made a guinea pig in some kind of experiment? Something tells me things are going horribly wrong for me.”

“You must be tired. It’s been a long day. Let’s have this milk I have heated. Both of us need to sleep well. Good night!” said Manjula, to close the conversation. She was relieved when Vilasini said, “Okay, good night, then. See you in the morning.”

Manjula planned to sneak off quietly once Vilasini slept. She had no intention of spending more time alone with her in this cottage. After switching off the lights, she lay in bed trying her best not to think of what Vilasini had just said. Her mobile phone was under her pillow. There was no noise from the room across the hall where Vilasini slept. After half an hour, Manjula decided it was time to get away from there. As she got up, there was a knock on the door.

“Manjula. Manjula!” Someone whispered urgently. It was Vilasini. “Open the door. I want to show you something.”

She didn’t answer remembering with a fright that she hadn’t locked the door having planned to sneak off later. She decided to pretend to be fast asleep

To her horror, she saw some light slide in to the room from the corridor outside as the door was pushed open. Vilasini switched on the lights. Sitting up, Manjula noticed that Vilasini had something in her hand behind her back. Manjula quaked with fear. Was it a knife?

She froze when Vilasini came right up to her bed and sat on it. “Gibson wanted some identification. I couldn’t remember then but I have found this now.” She held out a card of some sort. Manjula tried to move away but Vilasini held her hand.

She was smiling now. “Why are you so scared, Manjula? I am not going to harm you. By the way, I threw out the milk you gave me. You didn’t notice that I took it to my room, did you?” She stroked Manjula’s arm making her break out in gooseflesh. Vilasini told her, “Here is my ID card. I came to show this to you. Do I look the same or have I changed with time?”

Manjula couldn’t say a word. The scream choked in her throat as she saw the company identification card Sneha held before her eyes. It was faded with time and read, “Vilasini Kashyap” and gave her employee number. A blot of black ink hid the picture of the girl on the card. One couldn’t make out the features very clearly. It was difficult to say whether the ink had fallen on it by accident or had been put there deliberately.

Vilasini broke into her thoughts. “You are the only person to have seen this. I can read your mind. I have satisfied your curiosity. Now, you can sleep in peace. Good night!” She smiled, squeezed her hand once and glided out of the room silently, closing the door behind her.

Sleeping in peace was the last thing on Manjula’s mind. Leaping out of bed, she dashed out of the cottage. There was a light on in Dr. Gibson’s cottage. She raced there and rang the bell. Dr. Gibson hurried to let her in. She was quivering with fright. A stiff whisky brought her back to some semblance of normalcy. She explained what Vilasini had told and shown her.

They woke Sridhar up and talked about what seemed to be the inevitable conclusion. They went back to the Cottage No 5. None of them knew what to expect when they opened the door to Vilasini’s bedroom.

She was sleeping like a baby. Two things caught their attention on the bedside cabinet. The glass of milk given by Manjula was there untouched. Next to it was a bottle of sleeping pills. On a chair close by was Vilasini’s handbag.

Dr. Gibson gestured towards the handbag and Manjula reached out for it. They left the room quietly. In the living room, they emptied the contents of the handbag, wondering what they would find.

A quick search showed them a slip of paper confirming an appointment in “Mac’s Miracle Makeovers” in Koramangala in Bangalore for a day in the next week as a follow up to the visit on May 28, 2010. They also found a receipt from Best Deal Pre-Owned Car Services in Bannimantap in Mysore.  A Honda City with Tamil Nadu registration had been left there for sale at the best price, indeed for the best deal, on May 26, 2010 by someone who had signed as Vilasini Kashyap.

It was difficult to piece together the whole story at this stage but one thing was certain. The woman now sound asleep who claimed to be Vilasini Kashyap was probably not Vilasini Kashyap at all. Yes, she did have Vilasini’s ID card though the face was not clearly visible. Within seconds of each other, all three reached the same conclusion. They knew instinctively who “Vilasini Kashyap” was. She had to be the missing Sneha Sridhar.CHAPTER 29

They had breakfast together. After coffee had been served, Dr. Gibson, Manjula and Vilasini set off for a stroll in the lovely landscaped gardens of the resort. Sridhar stayed behind to confer with his high level contacts in the Chennai police.

Dr. Gibson cleared his throat, “Vilasini, I have to tell you the truth. There can be no other way. I am keen on tracing a missing woman called Sneha Sridhar. As you know I am a psychiatrist. We have reason to believe she is under enormous stress. We must find her for her own good before she does more harm to others and to herself.  We think you may know something about her whereabouts. She is of the same build as you and even has a similar voice. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

There was a long silence, then Vilasini laughed, “This is weird but I can play along and answer your questions. I have nothing to hide or fear. Please go ahead though I have already told Sridhar and Manjula that I don’t know who or where Sneha is.”

“She is his wife and that’s why he is so worried. She has been missing for the last few months.”

“What do I have to do with it?”

“I would be grateful for your co-operation. Let’s start at the beginning once more. Sneha Sridhar disappeared from this very resort on May 24 and has not been traced since then.”

“That’s tough. I wonder what happened to her.”

The mountain air was fresh as they walked in the beautiful grounds of the resort. There was a lovely fragrance from the pine and eucalyptus tress all around them. There was palpable tension amongst them despite the lovely atmosphere. The questions continued.

“What brought you to the working women’s hostel in Bangalore? Have you been there since you left Mysore on May 28?”

“I haven’t been to Mysore for long. I don’t think I went there on May 24. I can’t say for sure. This hostel suits me perfectly. There are so many young women, maybe forty of them here. I blend in easily. Most are working women from the BPO companies. They are busy with their work. I keep to myself and do my writing work.  Apart from Manjula, I don’t know many others.”

“How long have you been in Bangalore? I mean before you met Manjula at the hostel.”

“A few months, I guess. Initially, I stayed with Pierre, this French artist and photographer. He had an apartment in Indiranagar. We spent two weeks in Goa, it was such fun there, then we spent another couple of weeks in Pondicherry, it was an old French colony you know.”

“Where is Pierre? He sounds an interesting chap. I’d love to meet him.”

“I have no idea. He said he was next going to Rajasthan for a shoot but I haven’t kept in touch. We were attracted to each other, had a good time and said bye after that. We are not romantically linked or anything like that. Once he pushed off, I managed to get a room in the hostel through a real estate fellow. I met Manjula there and we struck a friendship. She introduced me to Sridhar and then to you. Well, that’s about it. You have known me since and here we are.”

She looked at the beautiful beds of flowers. “How lovely they look. I am so glad I came here.”

“Tell us the truth, Sneha, haven’t you been here before? Don’t you remember meeting Rajneesh Sen and his wife, Nobonita? You stayed here in Cottage No. 8, right?”

“I don’t like the way this conversation is going, Dr. Gibson. I trusted you and answered your questions. Sridhar told me he was interested in publishing my book. What’s all this crap about Rajneesh Sen, whoever he is? I am Vilasini Kashyap and I can’t see why you keep calling me ‘Sneha.’ Who the hell is she anyway and just what are you trying to prove?”

“My dear, we are trying to help you. We want to give you the best care possible. You are Sneha Sridhar. An unfortunate traumatic experience has led you to believe that you are Vilasini Kashyap. You may not be aware but you are wanted by the police in a murder case. Perhaps because you were most of the time with Pierre in Goa and Pondy they haven’t found you yet. You have also altered your appearance. You may have adopted the persona of Vilasini, whoever she is, but that doesn’t make you her.”

There was a long silence. No one dared speak.

“Why would anyone do such a thing?” she asked. “Why would I say I am someone I am not?’

“You seem to have been affected by fugue. It’s a mental state where you believe you are someone else. You adopt that person’s identity and try to bury your own.”

“That sounds weird. Why would I do that?’

“To escape from something unpleasant that has happened in the recent past.”

“That’s rubbish. I don’t like this questioning one bit. You have no right to bring me here under a false pretext and harass me like this.”

“We have found in your possession a chit which shows you left a Honda City car in Mysore on May 26. You have signed as Vilasini Kashyap.”

“So what? I am Vilasini Kashyap. Surely you don’t expect me to sign as Manjula or even Sneha who you are looking for.”

“How did you get that car in the first place? It belongs to Sridhar and was found missing from Ooty. Didn’t you drive it from Ooty to Mysore that evening?”

“From Ooty? Pierre and I went to Goa and then to Pondicherry. We didn’t visit Ooty at all.”

“Why did you leave the car at that used car place in Mysore?”

“Pierre must have wanted to sell it. So we left it there. Why else would people leave cars in such places?”

“I ask again. How did you get this car?”

“Pierre must have bought it. I don’t know.”

“Did you know Vilasini Kashyap for long?”

“All her life. I am Vilasini Kashyap.”

There was much more along these lines. She stoutly denied being Sneha, insisting that she was Vilasini; that she hadn’t been to Ooty before; and that she had no idea who Rajneesh Sen was. Gibson held up his hand to stop the questioning and lapsed into silence, thinking of the different possibilities. Manjula shifted the conversation to the beautiful scenery. The innumerable types of flowers presented a riot of colour in the resort’s gardens.

When they got back to their cottages, Sridhar signaled Gibson that he wanted to speak to him in private. Manjula and Vilasini went back to their cottage.

In a voice choked with emotion, Sridhar told Gibson, “Things are getting from bad to worse. I really don’t know what to say. My contacts in the Chennai police confirm that a young lady called Vilasini Kashyap committed suicide about three years ago. Sneha was her room mate. Perhaps she kept her id card as a memento of some sort.”

“She may have kept the id to use it for herself,” replied Gibson. “I hate to say this but are you sure Miss Kashyap committed suicide? Are we sure Sneha has not got involved in any crime before? She may not be aware of what she does when she gets into those black moods.”

“Please don’t say that, Dr. I know she would never commit any serious crime. The cops confirm Sneha was not there when Vilasini Kashyap committed suicide. Besides, thank God, they have nothing to suggest it was anything other than suicide.”

“Not knowingly, Sridhar. Unknowingly. In any case, we now have confirmation that this lady can’t be Vilasini Kashyap who died years ago. We are virtually sure she is your wife, Sneha. I believe she needs urgent treatment. I can’t imagine how she will endure the hassles of a messy trial in court she will undergo.”

Later Dr. Gibson told Sridhar, “However cruel it might seem, it’s time for us to make our last move. Based on what Patnaik and others have told us, we shall re-create the scene of that evening in May to the extent we can. I believe this will shock her out of the fugue state. Let’s hope for the best” They discussed their plan carefully to make sure nothing would go wrong.

That evening when they had trooped in and made themselves comfortable in Cottage No. 5, Manjula suggested they play cards. She said, “The pack of cards is on your bed, Vilasini. Could you please get them for us?”

Vilasini went towards the door. Dr. Gibson and Manjula waited expectantly. Seeing the man lying on the bed with a blue dupatta twisted around his throat, Vilasini gave a piercing scream that tore into each of them. Manjula and Gibson raced towards the door. Sridhar who had been lying on the bed was sitting up and gaping Vilasini. She held her head as if it was exploding with pain giving off a series of low moans. She pointed to the blue dupatta with a hand that shook like jelly. She rocked back and forth. They were shocked when she stood up and shouted, “Rakesh! It was him that day. He had ruined my life. I remember trying to strangle someone but I don’t know who that was! That bastard did it, with that dupatta. It was so terrible. He killed him by strangling him. He had our pictures. He wanted to blackmail us. I was so helpless.” She had worked herself to a state and suddenly collapsed in a crash.

Later after giving her first aid and putting her to bed to rest for some time, Dr. Gibson told Sridhar and Manjula, “So now we have the real story. As I suspected, she was a witness to the murder but took it upon herself because deep within her she wanted to kill the man herself. Who he really was and why she could think like this is beyond us at this stage!”

When she woke up next morning, much to Sridhar and Manjula’s surprise, but not to Dr. Gibson’s, the woman they had known as Vilasini for the last few days had changed to the more subdued Sneha. She clutched Sridhar and held on to him, “Sridhar, what has happened to us? I can’t remember anything well. Why are all of you looking at me like that?”

As Dr. Gibson had predicted, Sneha (now they were positive it was her after all) couldn’t remember much of what had transpired since she left the resort the evening Sen was killed. “This is fairly common,” he told them, “for patients to be blank about events that took place during their fugue state.”

Knowing that Vilasini was really Sneha after all made things highly complicated for all of them. Each had a different reason. Sridhar felt terrible deep in his heart. Though he was happy that they had found Sneha, he was horrified by all that might have happened to her during the days she had gone missing. Their next step was clear. She had to surrender to the police.

Manjula had stumbled upon the biggest story of her journalistic career. Her enthusiasm for the story was tempered now that she knew Sneha personally. She was torn between what she should reveal and what she should not.

Dr. Gibson was very excited for purely professional reasons. This case was extraordinary. He could see there would be a lot of learning for the scientific body when he presented a paper on this.

Sridhar summed up his situation, “Let’s have her surrender at the police station. There is no choice. We will be accessories to the crime if we ignore what we have discovered and hide it from the police. My life is already in such a mess, I don’t want any more hassles.”

Dr. Gibson agreed, “You must emphasize that she is under great stress. Hers is a medical condition. She is not play acting though one may think so. We can only be grateful that she has snapped out of the fugue state. These things have been known to happen.”

The next morning, July 29, they went to Coimbatore where Sridhar using his contacts at Chennai had arranged to meet the CID officers.

After introducing himself and the others, he told Murugesan, the officer in charge, “I have some news that will shock you. We have found Sneha.”

“What? My people have been looking for her everywhere. Where the hell was she hiding? I am sorry I shouldn’t have said that. I forgot for a moment that you are her husband. My apologies. We are as rattled as you are.”

Sridhar quickly explained all that had happened, how Dr. Gibson met her at Mysore, how she was spotted at Bangalore much later, how they had brought her to Ooty, how she had mentioned another man being present that evening who might have killed Sen etc.

He ended by saying, “Dr. Gibson here is a world renowned psychiatrist. He is sure she was in a state of fugue after the traumatic event of witnessing a murder and probably being sexually assaulted as well. She sought shelter by taking on the identity of her old friend, Vilasini.”

The CID officer looked puzzled but said, “She is wanted for a serious crime. She has to first surrender. We will then investigate what actually happened.”

“Precisely! That’s why we brought her here ourselves but please understand her plight. Kindly deal with her with compassion. The media will create a huge scene when the news breaks. She is not well. Please remember she needs urgent medical attention. She will surrender as Sneha and not Vilasini who existed only in her head, as her friend died some years ago. Your colleagues in Chennai told me Vilasini had committed suicide.”

The next few days were a nightmare for Sridhar. As expected, there was an enormous reaction in the media when the news broke that the missing accused, Sneha Sridhar had voluntarily surrendered to the police. Gradually news leaked out about her assuming another identity. They know knew she was mentally ill. Cases of fugue were few and far between. Somehow it caught the imagination of the public. Many claimed that she was pretending and it was all one big drama. Others were sympathetic towards her. The public interest in this case which had been dying down now once again gained momentum.

Sitting in his boss’s car in Mumbai, Salim read of how Sneha Sridhar, who was wanted for the murder of Rajneesh Sen in May, had suddenly surfaced with some weird story that she was someone else. He laughed to himself. His name was nowhere in the picture. They must have given up the search for him, he thought. He had grown a thick moustache which changed his appearance considerably. Besides, he was now known as Mani.

Sridhar remembered his last conversation with Dr. Gibson who had told him, “I need to get back to the US. I will return if and when you want me to appear as an expert to help in Sneha’s defence. I’ll study more material I have back home to help us prove she is a mentally ill lady and not a dangerous killer.”

“I would really appreciate anything you can do for us,” said Sridhar.

“So what happens now? I am sure there will many amongst the jury who will be sympathetic to her cause. We can testify that she really did not know what she was doing, strange as it may sound. The prosecution may say this is a lame excuse and a stupid one, but it is the truth. I firmly believe she was not in her right senses when she killed that man, if at all she did.”

“Are you having doubts on her having killed him?

“I am not sure why, but something tells me she may not have killed him. She may have, ah, er, been with him but someone else may have killed him.”

“Ralph, our judicial system in India is very different from yours in the US. For one thing, we don’t have a jury system at all. We had one decades ago but it was abolished in the early ‘60s. Many, like me, think there are strong merits in the jury system but the Government of India of that time thought otherwise and abolished the system.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. Anyway, I would like to volunteer to be present when you talk to the lawyers. I could probably brief them better than you can about what happens medically in such cases. After that, I’ll fly back to the States.”

CHAPTER 30

Sridhar immediately contacted Hemant Patel, one of the leading (and therefore highest paid) lawyers in Mumbai. He flew down to Chennai and they met at the Park Sheraton. After listening to them patiently and making brief notes occasionally, Patel looked down his long, hooked nose and said, “Listen and listen very carefully. We just need to sit tight and ask the Prosecution to prove that Sneha killed Sen. First, you must know that there is a difference between murder and culpable homicide not amounting to murder.

“For murder, one can get life imprisonment at the minimum and death punishment in the worst case. For culpable homicide not amounting to murder, one can get a maximum of ten years imprisonment.”

Sridhar shook his head sadly, “Why can’t you say she was not in her right senses? She needs medical attention.”

“We’ll need to prove that but let’s come to that aspect later. I want you to understand the fundamentals first. Remember, courts decide primarily on the basis of evidence placed before them.  Don’t underestimate the importance of evidence. Defendants who most believed deserved to hang have been freed for the lack of strong evidence. For your information here is the definition of culpable homicide.”

He leafed through a folder, “Ah, here we are. I quote: ‘Culpable homicide is not murder if the offender, whilst deprived of the power of self-control by grave and sudden provocation, causes the death of the person who gave the provocation or causes the death of any other person by mistake or accident.’ This is Exception (1) to Section 300 of the IPC. Furthermore, Exception (4) states: ‘Culpable homicide is not murder if it is committed without premeditation in a sudden fight in the heat of passion upon a sudden quarrel and without the offender having taken undue advantage or acted in a cruel or unusual manner.

“Our defence is that it was not premeditated at all. She was deprived of the power of self-control. We will emphasize that in such cases it is immaterial which party offers the provocation or commits the first assault."

Reaching for some more tea, Patel said, “Let me take you quickly though the process. The trial begins with what we call the “framing of the charge” against the accused. This must have been done in May itself. A bit of advice. Please don’t get irritated if I keep on referring to your wife as ‘the accused.’ We sort of get used to it and don’t mean any offence. Please understand that she is the accused in a major case. I say this considering your best interests. You will hear all kinds of nonsense, in the press and on TV. It can be very stressful for you and for her of course.

“The judge first decides whether or not a prima facie case exists against the accused based on the evidence shown to him/her. If yes, they frame the charges.”

“What if they don’t find adequate evidence? Or if what they find is confusing or not good enough? Can that happen in our case? Surely we’ll have points to argue in her defence.”

Patel smiled, “I understand how you feel. But all that comes much later. In this case, I have no doubt they will order a trial. The charges I spoke of are simply a statement of what the accused is alleged to have committed. Here’s a golden rule. Remember, these are allegations till they are proved in court. Always say ‘allegations against her’, ‘events alleged to have taken place’ etc. Never make the mistake of admitting that she might have committed the crime, especially to the media. They will crucify you along with her. I am sure they will add on other sections of the Indian Penal Code but in essence it will say that she killed Rajneesh Sen that day at Ooty.”

The lawyer told them what would happen in court since Sridhar confessed he had never set foot in a court before. Usually, if there was any case concerning his business his staff and battery of lawyers attached to his firm took care of these matters. Patel told him, “Your head must be full of Perry Mason stuff. It’s not that glamorous with brilliant cross-examinations, incisive questions and witty repartees. There is a lot of grunt work involved. We sit pretty at first as the ball is in the prosecutions’ court.”

“What do you mean? Don’t we go all out to save her?”

“Sure we do, but the trial begins with the prosecution making out their case. We are asked if she pleads guilty or not and naturally we say she is not guilty. It is their responsibility to prove the allegations. They need to furnish evidence and produce witnesses to further their case and prove beyond reasonable doubt that Sneha killed Rajneesh Sen. We will of course cross-examine these witnesses who are under oath. We can insist that the trial be held expeditiously and there is no undue delay in examining witnesses.”

“Who will they bring as witnesses?”

“The doctor who found the body first, I would imagine, the wife of the man who died, various hotel staff etc. Don’t worry about these details, leave all that to me. All that I ask is that you don’t hide anything at all from me. It could make the difference between your wife getting the death punishment or walking free. It’s as serious as that. Talk to her as much as you can. Get all the information that you can from her. She may remember small details which could help us. If you give me wrong information, I won’t be able to defend you effectively.”

“I swear we will not hold back anything from you. Sure, you must know all the facts to fight our case. We will co-operate 100 %. That’s my promise. Spare no expense on the case. I can’t bear to see my wife being accused of murder.”

“Getting back to the process, the Court will examine the accused after the prosecution has made their case. This is to give her an opportunity to explain any incriminating facts that the prosecution may have presented. We will need to lead our evidence and produce our witnesses; you of course will be a leading one. The law provides that Sneha can appear for herself as a witness. If the charges are not proved which is to say the evidence produced is not adequate to prove that she has committed the offense, the judge will order her acquittal.”

“Will she not let us down if she appears as a witness? I am very concerned about this.”

“On the contrary she could be our star witness and do more than anyone else to save herself.”

“I am sorry I don’t understand”

“If she comes out with the kind of weird remarks you say she has been making, not being able to remember things and so on, it will only strengthen our defence that she doesn’t know what she is saying or doing most of the time. Our witnesses will have to be well briefed as they are liable to be cross-examined by the prosecution. We’ll talk more about that at the right time. It is too early to discuss all that.”

“I have a much better idea now of what is in store. How does the case get wrapped up?”

“Under the CrPC an accused can also be withdrawn from prosecution at any stage of trial with the permission of the court. In cases where such withdrawal is allowed after framing of charge, it is acquittal. We in India follow the common law system where the burden of proof is on the prosecution, and the degree of proof required in a criminal trial is beyond reasonable doubt. The final arguments take place and the judge pronounces his/her judgment, which hopefully will be in our favour. Sneha is freed, I get paid for my services and everyone goes home happy.”

“I know you will do your best for us. Wouldn’t our best defence be in saying she was not mentally ok and things like that? I have read stories where the accused claims shelter under temporary insanity. I never imagined a day would come when we may have to seek this for my own wife. I shudder to think of the court case and all the publicity. It will really affect her badly. I am not worried about myself. I will be able to manage. I am terribly concerned how Sneha will take it.”

Hemant Patel said, “I repeat what I told you. It is crucial that Sneha tells me the truth. If I get a wrong story, I’ll never be able to defend her properly. Please let me hear what she has to say about the entire episode.”

Dr. Gibson strongly supported this, “Mr. Patel is absolutely right. We must know her version of what actually happened that day. If you agree, we can try hypnotherapy. I am a qualified hypnotherapist. I can try to get her to open up. It’s a bit controversial, this line of treatment for people of her background. However in my considered opinion we have nothing to lose. You need to, of course, approve of this as her next of kin.”

Sridhar readily agreed and Dr. Gibson had a series of hypnotherapy sessions with Sneha trying to bring out what lay hidden within her subconscious.

He went out of the way to make her feel less guilty and in a better state of mind to speak out her mind. She underwent many sessions of hypno-therapy conducted skillfully by Dr. Gibson.

Her version was keyed in almost verbatim by Sridhar and signed by her in the presence of Dr. Gibson and Hemant Patel.

Sneha told Hemant Patel, her lawyer and Dr. Ralph Gibson, her doctor, in Sridhar’s presence, “All that I say may not make sense to you but I am telling you things as I recall them. I was highly jealous of Vilasini. She was so much more smart and prettier than me. I always felt inferior in front of her. I wished to do all that she did. I loved her and hated her at the same time. I wanted to emulate her. I felt like an ugly duckling to her swan. I was thrilled to snatch Rakesh from her. This was a big mistake. I should have left them alone. That bastard ditched me. I lost my baby as I had to have a painful abortion. I can never forget how lonely I felt before and after that horrible event. I hated Rakesh and wanted him to suffer for what he had done to me.”

After talking for some more time, she ended by saying, “We decided to meet that day in his cottage, No. 5 when the others had gone for a picnic. He was alone when I reached there. It was in the afternoon. We made love. He was like the Rakesh of old. I was torn between hating him and loving him. Later someone else came into the room. I remember seeing Rakesh lunge out of bed. Whether it was at me or at someone else, I can’t say for sure. Later I felt dirty hands pawing me. Someone was ripping off my clothes. Rough hands pawed at my breasts. I wondered if that was Rakesh. Why was he doing this to me? I fought back and held his throat. I scratched him till he hit me on my head. I don’t remember what happened after that. I must have blanked out. I was pushed aside. I tried to cry out but no words came out. I was mumbling incoherently. There was silence from the bed. I didn’t know what had happened to Rakesh or the other man. Later I remember seeing Rakesh lying dead on the bed. I had the filthy dupatta in my hand. I was all alone in the room. I left through the French windows and went back to our cottage. Someone was staring at me as I walked back to our cottage. He laughed knowingly at me. A short dark man wearing a waiter’s uniform.”

The police did the usual check in their records. They didn’t find Sneha’s name because no case had ever been registered in her name. There was no past history of any violence. The check for Vilasini revealed that a young lady by that name had committed suicide, but that had been three years ago.

While they waited for the court case to commence, Sneha was housed in a hospital attached to the jail. It was only Sridhar’s influence that got her better treatment. Nothing could be worse than the plight of the mentally ill, especially the women, in India’s prisons.

PART V: THE VERDICT

CHAPTER 31

The trial of the Sneha Sridhar Case as it was widely called began on August 10, 2010 in front of a packed court room in the District & Sessions Court in Ooty. After all, this case had the makings of a sensational trial. The story had caught the imagination of the public for all its ingredients. There was a murdered man, a missing woman, and some sex thrown in to make the story spicier. The missing woman, who was from an affluent and respected family, had surfaced from God knows where to be the accused in the crime. There were dark rumours that she was a mental case, which complicated matters.

Flash bulbs went off like a barrage of gun fire when Sneha Sridhar was escorted into the courtroom by two policewomen. The courtroom was unusually crowded that morning. The hype about the case in the newspapers and the TV channels ensured all the seats in the courtroom were grabbed well before the defendant was led in. The police escorts cleared a path through the media people, the photographers clicking till the group went into the court premises where they were not allowed. The pictures captured a serene looking lady who smiled nervously.

Sneha looked composed in an off white sari and black blouse. Her clothes were very traditional but not her blond streaked hair which was let down to below her shoulder. Here was no sneering, hard faced criminal who looked capable of such a hideous crime. The defendant looked too demure to be a vicious murderer.

This lady was like the girl next door. She didn’t look like a killer with that pleasant smile and dimpled cheeks. But what to make of the tattoo of the bird on her neck? And her streaked hair which looked so incongruous?

The public prosecutor Mr. Narayanan was a busy man. This was a big trial. After all it was his job to prove her guilt. The law was clear on the subject. Even a layman knew that the principles of jurisprudence said that someone was innocent till they were proved guilty beyond reasonable doubt. He wiped his brow and shuffled his papers incessantly as he prepared for the long grind ahead.

The defending lawyer, Mr. Hemant Patel looked composed. This veteran of many a court battle commanded a very high fee. Only the very rich like Sridhar could afford to hire him. He smiled encouragingly at his client who sat watching the people in the court as if they were on trial and not her.

Mr. Patel had told a crowded Press Conference the day before the case started, “Admittedly my client has been through a traumatic experience, as you can well imagine, but we have nothing to prove. Sneha Sridhar, we maintain, is absolutely innocent of the crime she is accused of committing. She is under severe stress and is not mentally sound. It's for the prosecution to prove that she is guilty. She remains innocent until such a charge is proved in court based on proper evidence. I am confident they will not be able to do so.”

The subdued murmurs within the courtroom subsided when the court attendant shouted out, “Arise for the court.” With a rustling of clothes, the assembled crowd stood up as Justice Srinivasan took his seat. A grey haired man with a beaked nose and a perpetual frown. "Please begin," he snapped. He looked a tough cookie to Sridhar. He reminded him of a hungry vulture eyeing his prey.

It was initially established that Sneha had pleaded not guilty to the charges framed against her. Through his examination of the police officers, Rajamanickam and after him, Murugesan, the public prosecutor ran through the main points of the case. 38 year old Rajneesh Sen, a senior executive in a multi-national firm in Chennai was found murdered at about 8.15 p.m. on Monday, May 24, 2010 in Cottage No.5 of the Honeymooners Dream Resort near Ooty. The time of death was determined to be approx 3.45 p.m. This and the cause of death had been first noted by the attending doctor, Dr. Pasha. Death was due to strangulation by ligature, in this case the defendant’s dupatta. These facts were later verified by the post-mortem report from the Government Hospital at Ooty.

The police found preliminary evidence that he had been with a woman, the defendant in this case, Mrs. Sneha Sridhar. She went missing that very day and was traced only on July 29, over two months later.

The man’s wife was away in a picnic that day with many other guests at the resort. She had found his body on her return that evening. The man was strangulated using a blue dupatta, which belonged to the accused. There were witnesses who saw her wearing those clothes that morning. The FIR was made out and the missing woman, Sneha Sridhar had been charged with the murder under Section 302 of the Indian Penal Code. 

After the FIR was registered in the Ooty police station the investigation had commenced. The police recorded statements of witnesses, like the doctor, the General Manager and several of the resort staff and guests present that day under Sections 161 and 162 of the Criminal Procedure Code.

Speaking slowly and clearly, Narayanan droned on and on about the procedures followed. His deep voice and soporific intonation made some in the court feel drowsy. He had done this many, many times before. Over the years he had adopted a slow and deliberate manner, which he thought made him look methodical and thorough. He explained how the observation mahazar was done, how a sketch of the crime scene was done, how the fingerprint experts had studied the crime scene and how samples of human hair, blood stains and fingerprints had been sent to the Forensic Lab for tests. He concluded by saying that a dupatta had been used to carry out the strangulation of the deceased man. A serology report had been made as had an evidence mahazar.

He then shifted gear and spoke of the final report that was submitted by the investigating officer to the judicial magistrate at Ooty. This was as per the prescribed procedure since the resort technically was under the jurisdiction of the Ooty police. He took them through all the subsequent events, till the defendant re-surfaced in late July.

Mr. Narayanan concluded by looking pointedly at the judge, “The defendant in this case is Mrs. Sneha Sridhar.”

“I am well aware of the fact,” snapped Judge Srinivasan.

“I mention this, Your Honour, because when she surrendered to the police, they discovered that for the last two months she had used the alias of Vilasini Kashyap.”

Judge Srinivasan’s eyebrows went up one inch.

“She said she wasn’t Sneha Sridhar at all!”

The judge looked startled for a moment, “Really? Is this true?”

Narayanan plunged on, “She hid her tracks by assuming a new identity and managed to evade arrest for two months or more by changing her name, attire, appearance etc. Why would she do this if she had nothing to hide and was innocent? Why such an elaborate plan to assume another identity? How can she be Vilasini Kashyap, when we know for a fact through the police records that Vilasini Kashyap was her friend and room mate who committed suicide some three years ago in Chennai?”

At this stage he invited the attention of the court to two sets of photographs. The first showed Sneha Sridhar during her stay in the Honeymooners Dream Resort in Ooty in May 2010, and an earlier photo taken during her marriage to Sridhar. The second showed her as Vilasini Kashyap, taken in Bangalore by her friend Manjula in June 2010 and more recently in Ooty in July 2010 shortly before her surrender to the police.

Judge Srinivasan grimaced as he examined the photos very carefully. Possibly the streaked hair and the tattoo annoyed him. He stared coldly at the defendant for a long time, shook his head and ordered Narayanan to continue.

Narayanan described how on July 29, 2010, the police announced at Coimbatore that Mrs. Sneha Sridhar, who was missing since May 24 had been traced. He downplayed the fact that Sridhar had personally taken her to surrender to the police. She had stood there meekly showing no undue agitation, even when the cops announced that they had found her. The assembled media had gone berserk getting as many pictures of her as they could. The trial began, both in court and out of it in the minds of people.

This was hot news. The old theories were re-played and caught the attention of most TV viewers. After all, the case had mystery, murder and sex thrown in for good measure. There was speculation that one more person was involved in the case. Rumours spread that another man had been in the room when Rajneesh was murdered. Sneha’s being found indicated that he must still be in hiding. Perhaps he was her accomplice in the murder. After all fingerprints indicated that some unknown man had been present in the room around the time of Rajneesh’s killing. The security was 100 % sure that no unaccounted person had entered the resort campus. All the people were either guests, staff of the resort or employees of the guests. There was no one else.

Suspicion naturally fell on Joseph who was still missing. The car had been found (abandoned in a crowded car park at Ooty two days after the crime) but he had not. The police naturally couldn’t make much progress till either he or the lady was found. They didn’t have any luck. Salim, the driver was at that moment in Mumbai where he had gone after three days in his village in Kerala. He had been fixed up with a job as a driver for an underworld gang through his contacts there.

The prosecution examined their witnesses. Narayanan had told his assistants, “Let’s run through the list of our main witnesses. The man’s widow along with the reception clerk will testify how the defendant had acted oddly and stalked and threatened Sen openly in front of other guests. The waiter, Murthy will say what he saw the evening she vanished and a few months later how he recognized her. The police officers, Rajamanickam and Murugesan will describe their investigations. Dr. Pasha will testify how he found the body of the dead man and our medical specialist, Dr. Bheemasenan will talk of the post-mortem etc. The resort’s General Manager, Patnaik, will testify about events both during the first and the subsequent visit of the defendant to this resort.”

The case for the prosecution was that Sneha had used sex to get the deceased to be alone with her. She had then strangulated him. The motive was some old enmity. Case solved. Her stalking the victim and his wife at the resort, threatening she would teach him a lesson in front of others before the murder, showed she had planned to kill him. She had managed to get him alone on that fateful day.

Inspector Rajamanickam was the first witness for the prosecution. He spoke of how he had been called to the Honeymooners Dream Resort and gave detailed answers to subsequent events. He was a good witness, answering to the point and looking self-assured. In his testimony, he methodically explained how the body was found, how they checked for fingerprints, how they took photographs of the crime scene, how they questioned those who reached the spot when they the body was found, and so on. He spoke of his recording the statements of witnesses under sections 161 and 162 of the Criminal Procedure Code. The case was then handed over to Murugesan of the State CID as per his boss’s instructions. He was then tasked to search for the missing woman and had led teams to Chennai, Coimbatore, Salem and Madurai.

In the cross-examination, he admitted rather sheepishly that they had not been able to find her. Patel asked, “What in your view was the motivation for the defendant to kill that man?”

“I think they may have had a previous love affair. It’s unlikely that they fell in love on meeting at this resort for the first time, and their affair ended in his murder just four days later.”

“Have you in your career as a police officer come across murders committed by the mentally unsound?”

“I have seen one such case. The man was guilty as hell but pretended to be mentally ill. He is now undergoing life imprisonment.”

“Do you believe the defendant, a lady from a good family, is capable of killing a man in cold blood?”

“I cannot say what she is capable or is not capable of; I go only by what evidence we found. Her blood and fingerprints were found on the dupatta used to strangulate the deceased. There was no one else present in the room when he died.”

“Medical evidence clearly indicates that they had sex before the man was killed. Would you deny that?”

“No, I am sure they had sex. This makes it even more unlikely that someone else was there when he was killed.”

“It is our case that the man forced himself on the defendant. Do you have any evidence to the contrary that you can produce?”

“The evidence indicates they had sex.”

“I know that. What evidence do you have to prove that she was a willing participant?”

“The circumstances suggest that.”

“Please back your comments with evidence otherwise they don’t further your allegations in any way. You will agree that he was very much alive when they had sex.”

“I suppose so….I can’t say for sure….” said Inspector Raj flustered at the way the questioning was going.

“Surely you are not suggesting,” said Patel with a voice dripping with sarcasm, “that my client had sex with a person who was already dead!”

Patel paused for effect. There was pin drop silence in the courtroom.

“I put it to you that my client was mentally unbalanced and/or defended herself in a very traumatic event when attacked by the deceased. Is that possible?”

“It could be possible, but I don’t think that was the case.”

“Please don’t tell us what you think. Restrict yourself to facts borne out with evidence. Did you meet or even see the defendant at the resort before the killing took place?”

“No, I did not.”

“Then how can you say so for sure what her state of mental health was? She may have been perfectly sane or stark, raving mad. Thank you, I have no other questions.”CHAPTER 32

Murugesan of the CID corroborated everything said by Rajamanickam. He focused more on how the defendant had surrendered saying she was Vilasini Kashyap. He explained how she had used this false name and disguise to hide her crime.

Patel drew him back to the crime scene.

“How can you be so sure there was no one else in the room?”

“Considering they had sex, they would have locked the door. No one was seen entering or leaving the cottage.”

“That doesn’t prove no one else was there. Let me ask you, was a beer bottle and some cutlery found in the room?”

“There were many things that have been listed, I don’t remember.”

“Here is the list produced by the prosecution. How is it that a beer bottle, a napkin, and some cutlery were found in the room?”

“They may have ordered something before locking the room.”

Patel turned towards Judge Srinivasan, “Your Honour, here’s an extract from the room service and restaurant records for May 24. Nothing was ordered from Cottage no.5 after 7.30 a.m.”

He turned back to Murugesan, “Is it possible someone else came in dressed as a waiter with a tray etc?”

“We have not found any proof of that happening.”

“But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have happened. Please answer a simple, 'yes' or 'no.' Could it have happened?”

“Yes, I suppose it could have.”

“One more question, in your experience have you come across cases where the defendant was mentally unsound, I am not talking of people who claim they were but speak of confirmed schizophrenics.”

“No. I haven’t”

“Here are two pictures, marked Exhibits ‘A” and ‘B’. One of them is a confirmed schizophrenic. Can you please tell the Court who in your considered opinion is schizophrenic?”

He passed the pictures for Murugesan to study then handed them over to the court clerk to place before the Judge.

Exhibit “A” showed a smiling woman and Exhibit “B” showed a morose dangerous looking man.

“How can I when I have not seen or met them?”

“You met Mrs. Sridhar after her surrender and questioned her at length?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Would you know a schizophrenic if you came across one?”

“I would get our medical experts to find out. I am not a medical man.”

“That’s true, but you wouldn’t have made out at a glance?”

“No, I would not I suppose.”

“Did the defendant come across to you as a mentally unbalanced person? Again I want a 'Yes' or ' No' answer."

“No.”

“Thank you, Sir. And by the way, the cheerful, smiling woman in Exhibit 'A' is schizophrenic. The morose man in Exhibit 'B' is as normal as you or me. A couple of questions more. Do you read mystery novels, when you find the time from your busy schedule?”

The prosecutor said, “Objected to as irrelevant, Your Honour. What this officer reads or does in his off duty hours is most irrelevant.”

Judge Srinivasan seemed interested, he said, “Over ruled, answer the question.”

“Not often, sometimes”

“You must have heard of Dame Agatha Christie, the famous British writer on crime.”

“Of course. I have enjoyed many of her books.”

“Are you aware of a mental state called fugue in which a person assumes another identity usually after a very traumatic incident and often does not recall what happened during the time they were in that state?”

“No, I am not aware.”

“You haven’t heard that Agatha Christie herself once mysteriously disappeared for 11 days in 1926 and didn’t recall where she had been and what she had done?”

“No, I am not aware.”

“She was found to have been in a state of fugue. But that’s ok. Thank you.” He passed on a bundle of papers on fugue and the Agatha Christie case to Judge Srinivasan.

Nobonita Sen, the widow of the deceased was the next witness. She quickly told the Court how she had gone for the picnic on that day in May, how on her return she looked for her husband and how she found his dead body. Through out her examination by the prosecutor she glared with animosity at Sneha, the defendant.

Narayanan had briefed her well and she must have told him all she knew about Sneha. They covered how Sneha had approached her that evening at the restaurant and warned her about her own husband, how she had followed them wherever they went and ended with how she had behaved oddly in front of many guests at the resort, mistaking her husband for someone else. She spluttered with indignation recollecting how Sneha had warned her that her own husband was trying to kill her.

Much of what she said was borne out by the next witness, Bharat the reception clerk. He elaborated on how Sneha had acted most strangely calling the deceased “Rakesh” and asking loudly whether at all he was married to the previous witness.

The judge looked down severely at Sneha who shriveled under his glare.

Bharat naturally remained silent about Sneha enquiring about Rajneesh Sen and his wife or that he had given her key to their cottage, even for a brief while.

In the cross- examination, Mr. Patel asked Mrs. Sen how long she had known her late husband before their marriage. She said they had dated for a few years but they were from the same neighbourhood of Ballygunge in Kolkata. Her family had known the Sens for decades. She clarified there was no chance whatsoever of his having been married before. Also that to the best of her knowledge Rajneesh Sen was the only name he had. She had never in all her life heard of Sneha or Vilasini before the death of her husband.

The next witness was Dr. Pasha, the resort’s doctor, the first medical man to view the dead body. He stated that he was called by the hotel at about 8.00 p.m. when he was on his way to Ooty in an ambulance with a lady guest who needed hospitalization. Her name was Mrs. Bopanna, she was aged about 70 and had suffered a mild heart attack.

Narayanan looked a bit annoyed, asking sharply, “What does this have to do with the death of the man in Cottage No. 5?”

“Perhaps nothing but I was advised to give all the information I know so I was talking about this earlier case.”

“What do you mean by earlier case? Are you suggesting the defendant may have had something to do with that case as well?”

“No, I only saying that Mrs. Bopanna collapsed in the resort and I was called at 7.00 p.m. to attend to her. On my way to Ooty in the ambulance sent by the Hillside Hospital, I got a call saying that a man had been found dead. I immediately rushed back to the resort.”

“Why tell us about this old lady then?”

“I am merely stating the facts, emphasizing why I could not possibly reach the dead man earlier. He had been dead for a long time when I saw him for the first time. That’s why it is important.”

He explained how he had reached the resort from Ooty around 8.30-8.45 p.m. He had rushed to the cottage in question where he found a man lying on the bed. On examination, he concluded that the man was already dead. The cause of death was by strangulation. Dr. Pasha said he had been in the profession for 25 years and knew what he was talking about. No, he had not come across specific cases of strangulation but it was obvious to him that the victim had been strangulated using a dupatta which was found lying near the bed. The victim's tongue had come out and the signs of strangulation were all there for him to see. He was 100 % sure that this was the cause of death. There were no other marks of any recent injury on the man's body.

Narayanan didn’t talk of the sex angle at all. He attributed an old grudge to be the motive for Sneha’s killing Rajneesh. On cross- examination, Dr. Pasha was forced to admit that the man was found in a half-naked state. He said it was certain the deceased man had sex recently as was evident from semen which was found on his person. As far as the doctor could make out no contraceptive condom had been used.

The medical expert, Dr. Bheemasenan was sworn in. A rotund man with thick spectacles and a bald head, his credentials were impeccable. He had been a practicing doctor for three decades and was the Prof of Medicine in a leading Medical College. He was well-versed in court procedures having been the medical expert in many cases.

“Tell the Court what in your opinion as a medical specialist caused the death of the deceased Rajneesh Sen?” asked Narayanan.

“Undue pressure was put on the victim’s throat thereby restricting blood circulation and breathing. When a person is strangulated as this man was, the airway, carotid artery and the jugular vein get blocked. It is a silent killer. In a short span of a few seconds, the victim is unable to breathe and since blood and oxygen supply to the brain get cut off, he/she loses consciousness.”

“Next we would like you to please explain briefly what exactly happens to the victim in such cases of strangulation.”

“Clinically a victim who is being strangled first experiences severe pain, followed by unconsciousness, and then brain death. The victim will lose consciousness by any one or more of the following: blocking of the carotid arteries (depriving the brain of oxygen), blocking of the jugular veins (preventing deoxygenated blood from exiting the brain), and/or closing off the airway, causing the victim to be unable to breathe.”

Warming up to his lecture, he continued, “Death by strangulation is due to asphyxia. This in simple terms means the person cannot breathe due to obstruction of the respiratory system. Many murderers prefer strangulation since it is does not require the use of firearms or weapons like knives. You can even do it with your bare hands. In forensics, we look for specific signs of asphyxia.

Usually we find what we call cyanosis, where the skin turns purplish. This results from a reduction of oxygen and increase of carbon dioxide to the blood and tissues.  We find blood stain around the mouth and nose, and what we call Petechiae (spots of hemorrhage) which show up due to the bursting of small capillary blood vessels. Often victims vomit in the process of being strangulated though it must be recognized that vomiting may have caused the asphyxia instead of being a result of asphyxia.”

“Is it possible, in your considered opinion, for a slender lady such as the defendant to strangulate a well-built robust man like the deceased? There are no major marks to show any struggle, like scratch marks on her face, any skin traces under his finger nails etc.”

“In manual strangulation, using his/her hands the assailant gets a firm grip on the throat and squeezes it. However, it is not the only way to strangulate someone. In this case, strangulation was by ligature.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“Here the assailant, instead of one’s bare hands, uses a cord like object that could include anything from a telephone cord to articles of clothing.” 

“Like, for example, a dupatta?

“Certainly even a dupatta, as was evidenced in this very case.”

“What kind of pressure is required to strangulate a person? Could a lady like the defendant do such a thing?”

“Of course! Only 11 pounds of pressure placed upon both the carotid arteries for about 10 seconds is enough to cause the victim to fall unconscious. If pressure is released immediately, the victim will regain consciousness in 10 seconds. If not the victim does not recover. If the victim is deprived of oxygen for about 50 seconds, the victim rarely recovers. To completely cut off the trachea, three times as much pressure will need to be exerted. That is about 33 pounds. By way of example the pressure needed to pull the trigger of a gun is only 8 pounds.”

“Very interesting, but what does all this mean to the layman? Tell us your conclusion, doctor. Could this lady be physically capable of strangulating this man using a dupatta in a purely medical sense?”

“Certainly. She is not that weak. Besides I might add that in fits of severe emotion none of us know the strength we are capable of.”

“Can you give examples of such cases?”

“Sure, a person in a very agitated and angry frame of mind could be capable of feats of strength, you might not think possible. The human body is capable of strengths that ordinarily we would not imagine the person carrying out. I can give some examples from my career.”

“Thanks. That may not be necessary at this stage.”

Dr. Bheemasenan went on to speak of the post-mortem he had carried out. He gave so much of gory detail and such long winded answers that Judge Srinivasan intervened impatiently, “Doctor, this is not a medical symposium. This is not your classroom either with us being medical students. Your knowledge of the subject is not in doubt. You are an expert but please explain in simple terms so that we can understand the essence of your answers.”

The doctor went on to say laboratory tests had proved that some of the blood stains found on the deceased person matched that of the defendant.

In his cross-examination, Hemant Patel knew there wasn’t much he could get out of this witness who was such an expert in his field. That did not stop him from launching a parting shot.

“Doctor, I value your expertise and thanks for the detailed explanations. I have just two questions. You did say that under some circumstances a person, including a lady like the defendant, could be capable of strength you would not believe she possesses?”

“That is correct, Sir.”

“Could these circumstances include a woman fighting to save her honour and life while being raped?”

“Without a doubt. Such circumstances could easily lead to any woman fighting with a strength I have described.”

“And, would what you have explained also hold good for a woman not in sound mental health? Would such a person also defend herself?”

For the first time, Dr. Bheemasenan seemed to hesitate. He finally said, “I am not a qualified psychiatrist, but I would imagine a mentally ill woman could also defend herself if raped.”

“Would you say ‘would defend’ is more appropriate than ‘could defend’, doctor? These nuances matter, you know.”

The doctor sighed and said, “I guess, in some circumstances ‘would defend’ might be more appropriate but I don’t know the full circumstances of what happened that day.”

“That’s ok, doctor. I don’t expect you to know either. Thank you, Sir. I have no other question.”

From the corner of his eye, Patel saw Judge Srinivasan write something in his pad. He did this from time to time whenever he felt an important point had been made.

CHAPTER 33

Murthy, the waiter at the resort had been warned not to talk too much and merely answer to the point. It was his first time being the centre of such attention. He was thoroughly enjoying the experience. He spoke of how he first saw the defendant when they checked in at the resort and explained in graphic detail how later he saw her on the evening of May 24. He then explained events of July 28 and how he had recognized her when she came back to the resort. He ended by describing how he ran and told Mr. Patnaik what he had seen.

Mr. Patel gently asked him, “Please tell us your impressions of Mrs. Sneha Sridhar when you first saw her in May.” Murthy said, “She was a pretty lady and obviously from some big family, but she did behave oddly as many in the staff also noted.”

“How did she look when you saw her again in July? Did you notice any difference in her?”

Cajoled and prodded by Patel’s quiet questioning, Murthy blushed and said, “In May she seemed the very quiet sort but in July, since you told me to tell you the truth on oath, I would say she looked hot and sexy. None of us recognized her.”

Patel asked, “Did she, in any way, look abnormal or mentally ill when you first saw her?”

“No, she looked perfectly normal, though as I said there was talk of her odd behaviour which was unlike the usual guests we have. Many of us felt she met an ex-lover at the resort. I can’t say whether it was planned or by co-incidence. Perhaps she was blackmailing him as they hadn’t got married to each other. They had a fight and she killed him.”

“Please answer only what I ask. Don’t add your own opinion,” said Patel sharply. “There may have been all kinds of gossip and loose talk. Tell us if you personally saw anything odd about her behaviour in all your interactions, both in May and July.” Murthy replied, “I have already explained how she asked me some strange questions that evening in May. I didn’t see anything odd about her in July other than her looking totally different from when I saw her in May.”

The next witness was a waiter who was passing by on the other side of the courtyard. He saw this lady come out from Cottage No. 5 in the afternoon of May 24. A short, dark man, he said he had been working at the resort for the last ten years and knew all the rooms very well.

He had described to the management and later to the police how the defendant came out hurriedly from the French windows and almost ran past him. He reiterated, “Her dress was disheveled. Her hair was wild and blowing in the wind. I recognized her as I had served them food in their room on several occasions. She is definitely the lady I saw that day. She looked very upset and worried that afternoon.”

Patel immediately interjected, “Wouldn’t you look hassled if you were the victim of a sexual assault? What did you expect? That she would come out smiling?”

Titters broke out in the courtroom which swiftly ceased following a sharp look from Judge Srinivasan.

Patnaik was a vey important witness. He spoke with ease, though it was his first time being in court. He explained all the events in great detail, taking care to highlight that this ghastly incident was through no fault of the resort which had an excellent reputation. The resort owner would have been proud of him. He did admit that they were totally foxed about Sneha’s disappearance. Mr. Narayanan’s skilful questions saw him conclude with the assertion that the defendant must have killed poor Mr. Sen.

Next, speaking of the events of July, he emphasized that none of them at the resort recognized the lady who came to the resort as Sneha Sridhar. To defend his view, he said, “There was no reason for us to believe she would come back to the resort. I am totally convinced based on the events of May 24 that no one other than the defendant could have killed Rajneesh Sen given the circumstances.”

Patel stood up to cross-examine the witness. “Mr. Patnaik, the law is clear. It does not go by logic or emotions. Saying that you are convinced she had done it is doesn’t help your cause. The law calls for firm evidence or even circumstantial evidence in some rare cases. You cannot accuse my client of a major crime like murder merely because you feel she could have done it.

“Where is the proof? In the eyes of the law the accused is not guilty till proven guilty beyond reasonable doubt. No one heard any screams or signs of a fight. Yes, the cottages were far apart from each other, unlike conventional hotel rooms, yet it was a quiet afternoon. Guests don’t play music or watch TV loudly in a resort like yours. Surely someone would have heard some noise.

“There is also the matter of how she got into the room in the first place. The front door was locked from within. This means three things. Either he opened the door and let her in, or she had a key and let herself in or she came in through the French windows which must have been left open.

Why would anyone in their right senses leave the French windows open, particularly if they planned to have sex?”

Patnaik replied, “This is a fairly exclusive resort. People who come here mainly come for a get away, honeymoons and the like. In fact on a warm day or indeed even at night, guests do leave the French windows open. In fact that’s the whole idea of having these large French windows that lead out to the lawns assigned to each cottage. They drag their deck chairs outside and relax on their lawns.”

“The curtains are drawn if they want more privacy. I might add that on a night like May 24 about 75 % would have left their French windows open. This is an estimate based on my experience at this resort for the last five years. I have not actually counted this. I am only saying that this was not the only couple to have their French windows open, amongst those who were in their cottages at that time.”

In the cross- examination, Patel asked, “There was mention of no food being served to the couple in Cottage no.5”

“Yes, I am aware of that.”

“In that case how do explain the presence of a tray, beer bottle and a napkin from the swimming pool area? Are you suggesting that the deceased or the defendant went scrounging around and got these items into the room? Or, did someone not identified as yet bring this into the room?”

There was a long moment of silence.

Patel said, “There is no hurry. Think calmly and answer. If your staff or the guests involved hadn’t brought this tray etc in, who else could have? You said none of the guests or the staff came into the cottage after the breakfast was cleared at 8.15 a.m. The waiter has said the deceased was alone in the room at that time.

“I put it to you that the missing driver could have come into the room. You say you have accounted for everyone else. Is this possible?”

“Yes, it is possible, though I don’t think that’s how it happened.”

“I am not asking what you think. I am asking could this have happened the way I have described.”

“Yes, it could.”

“Why wasn’t he accused of the murder?”

“Sir, this lady was found with the weapon in her hand and she was alone in the room with the deceased. Evidence, direct and circumstantial, points to her having killed the man. No one saw the man anywhere near the room, before, during or after the incident. One witness, as you know, saw her come out of the room after a time we know now the deceased was killed.”

Now that the witnesses for the prosecution had been examined, Judge Srinivasan once again asked Patel, “Based on the evidence produced before the Court, does your client plead guilty to the charges leveled against her?”

“She pleads she is not guilty, Your Honour,” replied Patel without any hesitation.

Hemant Patel handed over a written statement which included medical reports filed by the defendant under Section 233 (2) of the Criminal Procedure Code to Judge Srinivasan.  He also furnished a list of witnesses for the defence.

Patel called Sridhar, the defendant’s husband as his first witness. He mainly focused on her state of health, how she had shown signs of being schizophrenic, how she had had hallucinations in the past. He gave a few examples and then produced records of their discussions with Dr Govil and her other medical records. He concluded by saying that when she came put of the fugue state on July 28 she was like the Sneha of old.

Narayanan had only two major questions to ask.

“If she was mentally unwell, why Sir did you marry her? If she could have fooled you about her innocence, she could have fooled anyone else including poor Mr. Sen”

“It’s a personal question which has no bearing with the trial but let me say that I had been through an unhappy first marriage. All the women I knew seemed interested in me only for my wealth. Sneha was very different. As far as she was concerned I could have had no money at all and this impressed me. Perhaps I felt a bit sorry for her too.”

“Did she tell you of her mental problems?”

“She told me very frankly about her family and the tragedies in her life. Her illness wasn’t so pronounced. She did have hallucinations, but these were not a regular feature of her life. It isn’t as if they happened daily or even all the time on some days. I have given some examples already, but she was taking regular medication. Besides, she was working and there was never any trouble at her workplace. At least no incident was reported to me. Dr. Gupta, I was always told, was very pleased with her work. More importantly, she was never violent and not once did she hurt anyone or even herself.”

Dr. Ralph Gibson was the next witness. Patel quickly established his professional credentials. He drew the attention of the Court to the documents already filed about his eminence in his field. Judge Srinivasan seemed to approve of Patel’s preparations and Gibson’s expertise.

Answering Patel’s questions, Gibson explained that sometimes normal individuals may feel, think, or act in ways that resemble schizophrenia. To use a popular expression, it may appear that they are not in a position to “think straight.” Gibson said, “The biggest fear for some is to speak in front of large groups. Other become tongue tied when they see a fire. Just because they look confused or unable to communicate their thoughts effectively, it does not mean that they are schizophrenic. I must hasten to add, and this is a very important point, people with schizophrenia do not always act abnormally.

“It does not mean that once a person is schizophrenic, they will always behave strangely wherever they are. It may surprise you to know that some schizophrenics can come across as being totally normal. Even when they experience hallucinations or delusions.”

“What happens if they are not diagnosed or receiving the right medication?”

“Nothing happens. They continue with their lives.”

“Do they become violent?”

“They very rarely commit unprovoked violence, as far as my experience goes.”

“Can their behaviour change over time?’

“Yes, I must admit that it can. Just like yours or mine.”

“I am not talking about you or me, doctor. Please just answer the question.”

“Right, sir.”

“Are you implying that people with schizophrenia can never become normal?”

“I don’t know what is your definition of “normal” but a respected research study found that 10 years after being diagnosed with schizophrenia: 25% Completely Recovered; another 25% were “Much Improved and relatively independent; the third 25 % were Improved, but required extensive support network; 15% were Hospitalized and Unimproved, while the last 10% were dead.”

“How did they die?”

“Most of them committed suicide.”

“In your professional view in which of the categories that you described does Sneha fit in?”

“I am convinced that she is among the 25 % who has improved but requires an extensive support network. I have full confidence that with the right supportive environment and treatment she will move to be much improved and relatively independent.”

“I am not asking what will happen to her. I am asking what her current position is.”

“I repeat. She has shown improvement since we took her under our charge. We now know the problem, earlier we didn’t know the extent to which it existed.”

“Is there some way in which schizophrenia can be prevented?

“Not I know of. Sadly there doesn’t seem to any pre-emptive steps. There is no known way to prevent schizophrenia.”

“Does that mean one with schizophrenia will have to live with it all through their lives?”

“Pretty much so. As I said before, some are fortunate to recover fully during their life time.”

“Would you say that Sneha the defendant could be one?”

“It would not be right on my part to hazard a guess. But data shows, she like anyone else, could be in that 25 % with careful treatment over a period of time. Hers is not, in my view, a very severe case. We have experienced that good treatment does relieve many symptoms.”

In cross- examination, Narayanan asked, “If she was mentally ill or had schizophrenia, how was she able to work in Dr. Gupta’s lab? How come she didn’t have any problems there?”

Dr. Gibson replied, “Several studies have shown that people with mental illnesses like hers actually fare better if they work. The ability to hold a job is not necessarily related to the severity of the person’s illness. British and American studies have shown that people with schizophrenia are more likely to stay out of hospital if they are employed. While many people with schizophrenia are able to work successfully in competitive fulltime employment, others do part-time or volunteer work.

I am not too sure to what extent it is practiced in India, but in the US we consider work to be a vital part of rehabilitation for such persons. Amongst other benefits, it increases their self esteem, reconnects them to the community, and provides a meaningful way to fill time. I am so glad that Sneha has been working. From what I am given to understand, she has been working well with this scientist lady. It’s important that the job suits her requirements. I guess she was lucky to get just the conditions someone like her would need.”

CHAPTER 34

Dr. Nirmala Gupta testified that Sneha was a highly committed worker at her best when she had to work by herself. Fortunately her work of conducting experiments and reporting their results did not necessitate much interaction with others, who like her, did their own set of experiments. Yes there had been times when she was out of her zone, as she put it. On these days she was best left alone. But even then she had not had any fights with people or done anything adverse to bring a bad name to either herself or the company.

In the cross- examination, Narayan asked, “Can you tell us in what way she was different from the others, or for that matter with most other people?”

“There were days when she used to talk to herself. This was mostly very quietly. On such occasions one had to be a bit patient to get to her. But she never shouted out aloud. People who knew her understood that this was some idiosyncrasy with her and anyway they largely ignored her.”

“You were aware of this habit and still hired her?”

“I have studied and lived in the US for long, Sir. I am well aware of the need to support such persons rather than ignore them. Besides, I don’t think it interfered with her work in any way. She herself spoke of this when I first interviewed her. She mentioned very innocently that at times she talked to herself. That’s because, she told me, she could hear voices within her talk to her. When I asked her, ‘Who are these people? Are you talking about people like me?’ She replied, ‘No, not you, I see you in front of me. I speak of people in my mind….like my mother, sometimes my ex-boyfriend, my school friends, they keep telling me what to do.’ I then asked her whether she listened to these voices and did whatever they told her to do.

“She replied, ‘It depends. Mostly they tell me what I should be careful of. About people who may harm me. At other times, they suggest what I should do.’

I remember asking her if she could simply ignore the voices and whether they would stop by taking no notice of them.

She replied, ‘Oh no! That’s impossible. I can never be without them,’ or words to that effect. She also told me that it had been going on for the last five years. Apparently, it was less frequent earlier but now it had become, to use her words again, ‘Earlier it was more sporadic but for the past five years it has become a part of me- a part of my life!’

Judge Srinivasan who had evinced keen interest in Dr. Gibson’s testimony now said, “Dr. Gibson, you may be a witness for the defence but considering your undoubted expertise in this field, I shall see you more as an alienist. For those of you who may not be familiar with the term, alienist doesn’t mean one who studies people from other planets.” He allowed himself a rare wry smile. “It means a psychiatrist, especially one who has been accepted by a court to assess mental competence of those appearing in court regarding a case.”

Mona, the girl from the Mysore hotel identified Sneha the defendant as the lady who had checked in on May 24, 2010 as Vilasini Kashyap. She spoke of how she cleared her bills in cash and left the hotel. She said, “I remember her distinctly because she asked me if I wanted to be a model. I was thrilled, but a few days later the same lady

seemed to have forgotten this conversation.”

When shown a picture of Sneha in Bangalore later as Vilasini Kashyap, Mona said, “I swear this wasn’t the lady who checked in at the hotel. The one who checked in was the defendant sitting there. I have never seen the lady in this picture in our hotel, whoever she is. The defendant has changed her hair style since I last saw her in May.” Although she wasn’t asked this question, she volunteered that it was a cool hair style which got her a quick reprimand from Lawyer Patel and a glare from Judge Srinivasan.

There was a buzz in the courtroom when Patel said, “Your Honour, as I have submitted a petition under Section 315 of the Criminal Procedure Code, I call upon the defendant, Mrs. Sneha Sridhar to be the next witness. I am aware, just as my learned friend is, that no defendant can be forced to be a witness. My client wishes to do so voluntarily.”

“Is that so, young lady?” asked Judge Srinivasan, looking softer than he had been so far.

‘Yes, Your Honour. I am doing this on my own volition and am ready for the consequences.”

This was permissible but unconventional, particularly in a case like this. The strategy could backfire badly on the defence. It would all depend upon how Sneha responded to his questions and the grilling that would come from the prosecution. Patel had explained, “Trust me. This is our best bet. Even if she comes out confused, let that be. She will come across as being genuine and authentic in the true sense of the term. The law doesn’t see things as being good or bad.”

Dr. Gibson had supported Lawyer Patel and somewhat reluctantly, Sridhar had approved.

They had spent hours with Sneha talking about her childhood and her family to make sure she would answer all the questions put to her.

After she was sworn in as a witness Mr. Patel questioned Sneha, as planned. He took her through her early childhood, spoke of that terrible car crash that left her the sole survivor in her family, how she first got hallucinations and ended with her love for Rakesh. He created a picture for the judge of an innocent young lady who had more than her fair share of misfortune.

Finally he got to events of May 24, 2010.

“What happened that day? Please tell us in your own words”

“I wanted to talk to Rakesh, to confront him for being such slime and ditching me when he came to know I was pregnant.”

“Who is Rakesh and when did these events take place?”

She explained how they met through Vilasini, loved each other and how she had discovered that she was pregnant.  Patel said, “You say all this happened in 2007. That’s about three years ago. How did you find Rakesh? Did you track him and reach here?”

“No, it was a sheer co-incidence. I had always prayed that I get a chance to meet him. God answered my prayers. I had not seen him since that evening in Chennai when I told him I was pregnant.”

“How did he react when you told him that? You were not married, were you?”

“We were not married formally. He had promised to marry me by the end of the year. He said he had spoken to his parents and convinced them though they initially opposed the idea.”

“Did you meet his parents any time?”

“Never. They lived in Trichy. He said he would take me there when the time was right but I never saw that day! I have only heard of them from Rakesh.”

“Did you trust him when he said he would marry you?”

“But of course! He said he loved me deeply. When he said he wanted some time to arrange for our wedding, I thought it was fair enough. He said we needed to think about this carefully and not do anything in haste. He asked for a few days time to think things through. He said he was going to Mumbai on official work for two days.”

“He would convince his parents and tell them how much he loved me. Then we would get married and live together, the way we wanted to.”

“Was he shocked when he knew he was to become the father of an illegitimate child?”

“We never thought along those lines. It was our child after all. The child would have been precious to us. He merely asked for time and convinced me that things would work out. I was foolish enough to believe him, I was such an idiot.”

“Why do you say so?”

“He never answered my call the next day. The phone was switched off. I texted him and he didn’t reply which was very unusual for him.

“What happened after that? Did you try to contact his office?”

“I did, many times. His colleague said he hadn’t come to work for the last few days. When I asked whether he had come back from his official trip to Mumbai, she said that he hadn’t gone to Mumbai at all. In fact she said with sarcasm that his work never took him beyond Tambaram. There was no news of him at all after that. I didn’t know where he stayed. Some friends told me he stayed as a pg somewhere in Chetpet. I went there but couldn’t trace him.”

“Did you tell the cops?

“No, I didn’t. I was shattered as it is. The cops would complicate things. I didn’t know where his parents stayed other than that they were in Trichy. Where could I start looking for them? What if he had lied and they were somewhere else? Besides, I was worried they wouldn’t believe my story.”

“Did you see him anytime before in the last few years?”

“I saw him a few times but each time he refused to admit he was Rakesh. Once when I was attending a conference in Bangalore with Dr. Gupta, I saw him as we were entering our hotel.”

“What did you say and how did he react?”

“As I said it was in a hotel, we were registering at the reception when he came into the lobby. He was alone and looked much the same, may be looked a little older. I rushed to him and shouted, ‘My God! Rakesh, how nice to see you! Where have you been?’ I was so excited to see him that I totally forgot my promise that I would kill the bastard if ever I saw him again. He looked shocked. Some other people stopped and stared at us. Perhaps I shouted too loudly because of my excitement. He said coldly, ‘I am not Rakesh. Please don’t make a scene’. I told him, ‘I am Sneha. Your Sneha. How can you not remember me?’ He pushed me aside and said, ‘Please, there is some mistake. This is becoming awfully embarrassing. I am Mahindra Jain and I have never set eyes on you before.’

“By the time I could recover he got into the car that pulled up at the porch and drove off. I never saw him again.

Dr. Gupta spoke to the security men and they were very kind to me. It was a big hotel and they didn’t like my making a scene but they were courteous. They showed me the register where he had registered as Mahindra Jain. I didn’t know what to do. He could be using a false name. There was not much I could do anyway because we left for Mysore that evening to see the sights with the other conference people. Seeing the beautiful scenes in Mysore, I was very much reminded of Rakesh/Mahindra Jain but there was little I could do. When the others admired the beautiful Mysore Palace, which was illuminated for some festival that evening, I sat near the bus reading a book on Molecular Physics.”

“Did you see Rakesh any other time? Remember you are under oath to tell the court the truth.”

“Why would I lie, sir? I saw him a few times, in trains, in buses but they were fleeting glimpses. I never got the opportunity to meet him in person till I saw him enter the restaurant that night in May. He was with this woman in the resort near Ooty. My first impulse was to rush and protect her. To save her from what happened to me.”

“Let’s not talk about that just now. We will come to that later. Are you aware that the Chennai police have tracked Rakesh Kumar? The one you speak of. He is and has been living in the Gulf for the last three years. He went there around the time, you described. As per the information the police have, he is married and has a child.”

“I am shocked. What can I say? He must be some one else because Rakesh was here in the resort.”

“I would like to show you this photograph. Please look carefully and tell the court. Is the man in this picture Rakesh, your friend from Chennai in 2007?”

She looked carefully at the picture. There was total silence in the court. She took a deep breath and said, “Sir, must I answer this question?”

She held the picture close to her heart. This tragic gesture moved a number of people in court. She began sobbing uncontrollably.

“I am sorry you can take your time but you must answer. Is the man in this picture, Rakesh? The man who, according to your sworn statement, is the father of your aborted child. I am sorry to bring this up again and again but this is crucial to the case. I ask you once again. Can you identify the man in this picture as Rakesh Kumar?”

“No, he is NOT Rakesh. My Rakesh was clean shaven. This man has a moustache and beard. My Rakesh didn’t wear spectacles like this man in the picture. Also he had curly hair unlike this man, whoever he is.”

When asked to describe the Rakesh she knew and talked of, Judge Srinivasan watched carefully as she proceeded to describe him exactly like the smiling Rajneesh Sen whose picture with his wife Nobonita was an exhibit on the Judge’s table.

There was a shocked silence. The prosecutor said “Your Honour, based on evidence collected by the Chennai police with the help of Interpol and the Passport Office, this man is Rakesh. Here is the statement recorded by the police, which established beyond doubt that this man left Chennai in 2007 and reached the Gulf via Mumbai. He has been living there since. Initially he refused to answer any questions but when he was told he could be deported for impersonation, he  told us about Vilasini, Sneha and all that happened at that time.”

“No sir,” shouted Sneha. “He is not my Rakesh. He may be some other Rakesh. I am very sure my Rakesh was the man in the resort that day, the one who assaulted me that day. He wanted to make me pregnant again.”

CHAPTER 35

When it was the turn of the public prosecutor to cross- examines the witness, Narayanan approached Sneha holding her eyes in his. After a few preliminary questions, he asked,

“Is it not true that you were alone in the room with the deceased?”

“No. It’s not true”

The crowded court room fell totally silent. They were following the questions keenly and knew what the prosecutor was getting at. He wanted to pry a confession from the defendant that there was nobody other than her and the deceased in that room.

“Madam, remember you have taken a solemn oath to speak the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth”

“Yes, Sir. I am aware of that”

“And you maintain that there was someone else in that room apart from you and the deceased”

“Yes, I do”

“Who was present?’

Sneha flushed and kept quiet. She looked very uneasy. The Judge observed the sweat pouring down her face. Her eyes rotated wildly in their sockets.

He said kindly, “You can have some water, if you like. You look unwell. Can you answer this question or should I order a recess?”

“I am ok, thank you, Your Honour,” said the girl in a voice more feeble than normal.

“Can I go ahead with my questions, Your Honour?” asked the public prosecutor worried that the tempo he had built up may be ruined if there was a recess at this crucial moment.

The Judge thought for a moment as Sneha gulped down the whole glass of water. She mopped her face with her handkerchief. It came away fully wet.

“Yes, go ahead and ask your questions.”

“Madam, as I was asking earlier, is it a fact that you were in the room that afternoon in May with the deceased?”

“Yes, I was,” said Sneha, in a very small voice.

“Speak up, please, madam. The court can’t hear you.”

“Yes, I was,” she said in a louder voice.

“So you were there and Rajneesh Sen was there in that room.”

“Who is Rajneesh Sen?”

“The man you killed.”

“Objection, Your Honour. The prosecutor has no right to speak to my client like this.”

Judge Srinivasan glared at Narayanan, “Objection sustained! Mr. Prosecutor, please don’t foist your conclusions. Don’t skip legal protocol to make interesting sound bites for the media. I shall not allow this sort of thing in my Court. Is that clearly understood?

“Yes, Your Honour.”

“I ask you again, Madam. Is it right that only you and Rajneesh Sen were in the room that afternoon?”

“That is not correct.”

“Why do you say that?”

“That man was not Rajneesh Sen.”

The prosecutor couldn’t stop a small smile from appearing on his face.

“Then who was he?”

“He was Rakesh Kumar.”

A stunned silence filled the court room. The prosecutor shook his head and the judge rapped his gavel to bring the court to silence.

“Who is Rakesh Kumar?”

“My lover who abandoned me when he got to know I was pregnant, with his child.”

Again there was uproar in the court.

The Judge had to intervene once more. The journalists were hurriedly making notes. This was becoming sensational.

“Madam, are you aware that the room was booked in the name of the deceased, Mr. Rajneesh Sen? It was not booked by any Rakesh Kumar. We have produced documents to say the man was Rajneesh Sen who had booked the room in his own name.”

“I don’t know any Rajneesh Sen. Years ago I knew one Mr. Kamalesh Sen but he was a much older man who was known to my grandfather. I think they were in the Army together.”

“You admit you spent time with the man in that cottage and claim you don’t know him?”

“Our meeting was not to become buddies. He wanted to make love to me. I wanted to talk to him about our past. We were not interested in getting to know each other. He didn’t tell me his name and naturally I didn’t ask.  He did not ask me my name either. In fact, when I called him ‘Rakesh’ he had not objected.”

“Why on earth would you call him Rakesh when he was not Rakesh?”

“I already answered that, Sir.”

Narayanan shook his head, “Are you suggesting that Rajneesh Sen was earlier called Rakesh Kumar?” he asked sarcastically. There were titters in the court room.

“I have no idea. I am only saying this man who assaulted me was Rakesh Kumar. I also heard someone tell me clearly that he was my Rakesh.”

“Who could have told you that? You just told us there was no one else in the room apart from the two of you.”

The defendant remained silent for sometime. She bit her fingernails and crumpled the handkerchief she was twisting and turning in her hand.

“Answer me, madam. Who told you that it was Rakesh? Who else was there in the room?”

Sneha looked up and clenched her teeth.

She said, “It was my mother. She was there with me all the time.”

“Your Honour, her mother has been dead for eight years! I can’t understand why she is trying to confuse issues. She is bringing in some unbelievable things in this story.”

“She is here right now,” said the defendant solemnly, but she looked lost in another world.

“How can your mother, who has been dead for years, be here? Has she been summoned by the Court?”

Hemant Patel sprang to her defence, “There is no need for the learned counsel to be so rude, Your Honour. The lady has been through a traumatic experience. She is under tremendous mental strain even as we speak. Surely she deserves to be shown some consideration!”

The prosecutor continued, “Please don’t insult our intelligence, young lady. We are in a real world and arguing about a serious crime, a murder which you are accused of committing. Don’t complicate issues with references to your make believe world, if at all you are living in one.”

Seeing the smiles around the courtroom, he continued, “Next you will say that you should be pardoned because you did not commit the crime. It was done by your deceased mother.”

The prosecutor was shaking his head with a wry smile when he clutched at his throat. He coughed for a few minutes and sat down drawing in huge quantities of air. He stood again, “I am sorry, Your Honour. Some thing happened to me. I am short of breath. Kindly grant a short recess.”

“Recess granted. The court will re-assemble in half an hour,” said the judge. As he ordered a recess, he felt enveloped in a cold cloud of air despite the stifling heat of the crowded courtroom. It wasn’t like the refreshingly cool air pumped into his chambers by the powerful air conditioners. This was a clammy, creepy kind of cold he had never experienced before. He shivered involuntarily. He shook his head as if to clear the air and it was gone. It was there for a minute. By the time he stood up to hurry to his chambers, the cold cloud was gone.

When the court began after the recess, Narayanan continued his cross- examination.

“To recall, you said your mother spoke to you at the resort room that day in May. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is.”

“You even went so far as to say that she was here some time ago. This despite my telling the court that she passed away some eight years ago. Do you maintain what you say?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I put it to you that this is a figment of your imagination. You are using this to escape the truth which is that you killed Rajneesh Sen that day”

“Objection, Your Honour,” shouted Patel.

“Over ruled,” snapped Judge Srinivasan, “I want to hear what she has to say.”

“I maintain what I say. My mother was very much present that day and is here even now!”

The prosecutor changed his strategy.

“This is too far fetched, Your Honour” said Narayanan, “but let me establish something else.”

“We will not speak of your mother anymore. Apart from Rajneesh Sen and you, was there anyone else in that room”

“I told you he was not Rajneesh Sen. He was my Rakesh. Excuse me; I am getting a severe headache answering your questions. You are trying to trap me by asking the same things over and over again.”

“How do you account for the fact, already established beyond doubt that your dupatta, with your fingerprints on it was found to be the weapon used to strangulate Rajneesh Sen?”

“I don’t know. I can’t explain anything. I saw Rakesh lying there and then someone attacked me and I must have blacked out for sometime.”

“Who could this someone be? As per the police investigation, no one, and I repeat no one, was in the room, apart from the two of you.”

There was a long silence. The lady at the witness stand hesitated.

“There was another man who entered the room when Rakesh and I were making love. He brought a bottle of beer and some snacks on a tray. He took some pictures of us on his cell phone camera. Then he had a fight with Rakesh”

“Was he a waiter in the resort?”

“I don’t know. I had not seen him before.”

“Was he one of the guests?”

“I have no idea. The last thing I remember was his fighting with Rakesh.”

“Would you recognize him if you were to see him again?”

“Perhaps I will. He was standing close to the bed. Right now, I am not sure.”

“Can you describe him, please?”

“He was an ordinary-looking man of medium height,  an average kind of person.”

“Was he well dressed?”

“I don’t remember too much about him.”

“Did this man see you?”

“Of course! I am sure he did. Some one hit me on the head; it must have been this man.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To escape from there, I suppose. You will have to ask him that question. I don’t even remember anything after that.”

“How did he leave the room?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you see him leave the room?”

“No”

“Is it possible that he was asked to leave by your mother?”

“It’s possible.”

“Is it not true that this man is also, like your mother being there, a figment of your imagination?”

“No!”

“How did you leave the room?”

“Through the French windows that lead to the lawn between two cottages.”

“When you were in the room, I assume the French windows were closed?

“I suppose so.”

“Then how did you find them open now?”

“No idea.”

“Did you open them to go out when you found the body of the dead man?”

“No. I didn’t open them. They were already open.”

“Who could have opened them, if you didn’t?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t.”

“Could Rajneesh have opened the French windows?”

“I am sure he did not.”

I put it to you that this man you are talking about is a figment of your imagination. And that in a fit of anger or jealousy you killed the deceased.”

Patel was on his feet, “Objection, your honour. The answer is obvious. I can’t see where counsel is going.”

“Objection overruled. Answer the question.”

“No, I did not kill him. He must have attacked me.”

“Why did Rajneesh attack you?”

“Do you mean Rakesh? Who said Rakesh attacked me? I didn’t.”

“Then who attacked you?”

“The other man”

“Why didn’t Rajneesh save or help you?”

“If you are talking about Rakesh, he couldn’t- even if he wanted to”

“Why?”

“He was dead by then.”

A stunned silence descended on the court room. This case was becoming more bizarre by the minute.

“What happened after this man who you claim you saw attacked you?”

“I don’t remember. It was much later that my husband Sridhar and Dr. Gibson told me that I went to Mysore.”

At the next recess the prosecutor asked the cops, “Who is this man she is talking about? There was no mention of him in the FIR.”

Murugesan said, “There were dozens of men in the resort on that day- staff and guests. He could be anybody. We interrogated so many men but have no answer. We haven’t a clue.”

“What’s all this about her seeing her mother, who has been dead for years? You never put this in your report!”

“This is all rubbish, Sir. She has made all this up. We could find no evidence of any such thing. Tomorrow she may say she heard from her grandfather!”

“Who knows? There’s something strange with this case.”

“Sir, all this is a figment of the defendant’s imagination. We know for sure that her grandfather, Col Pillai who had an estate near Kundah died in 2005. In fact, after that in late 2008, his widow, and the defendant’s grand mother also died. She may be imagining all these things in her head,” explained Murugesan, patiently. There was a shocked silence. Narayanan scratched his head in disbelief. There wasn’t much else he could do.

In conclusion, Patel argued on behalf of the defendant that she was mentally ill. It was common knowledge that some people suffered from delusions and some had what were called command hallucinations. A top notch specialist like Dr. Gibson had explained the fugue state in detail. In a famous case in the United States, a man had killed his wife and four out of his six children for no apparent reason. It was established that he was schizophrenic and badly needed treatment. He added that the execution of those with mental illness or the insane is clearly prohibited by international law.

Mr. Narayanan concluded by saying that just because they were mentally ill, it did not mean they could be a law unto themselves and kill an innocent man.

He said, “Some may argue that the mentally ill person does not understand what he/she is doing. They cannot be held responsible for their actions. But that’s absurd. They should not then be allowed to roam about causing harm to others. How unjust is it for a man to be killed and get away with it on the plea that the killer was insane. Ask the family of the victim if they have such noble thoughts. It doesn’t matter as long it happens to someone else. All this talk of being considerate to the sick would vanish if someone close to you were to be killed by one of them as happened to my client’s husband.”

Judge Srinivasan then closed the case for the day and announced that he would deliver his judgment a week later. The gathered media reporters rushed to file their reports and speculate on the judgment.

The crowds in the courtroom as well as the general public were confused. Some wanted Sneha to pay for her sins; others wanted her to be shown mercy as she did not know what she was doing. This controversy was fuelled by the media attention to this case. A national television channel held a debate, “Do the Mentally Ill Deserve the Death Sentence?”

It was late at night. Sneha tossed and turned in her bed. She couldn’t sleep. Her mother was talking to her. “Hello, my dear. Were you happy living two lives? Are you Sneha or are you Vilasini? Or are you bits of both? Was the man Rakesh or Raghav or Rajneesh or whatever? Would you do what you did again? Tell me the truth; didn’t you love what you did? Didn’t you get a huge high when his face changed that afternoon? When he knew things were going horribly wrong. Do his eyes still haunt you? Would you do it again? Remember that fat man Prabhakaran? You had no qualms in experimenting with him before you took care of Vilasini. You loved her so much, didn’t you? You craved for her praise. You wanted to be like her, but thought you couldn’t.

“Now things are different aren’t they? What does the future hold in store? Trust your Mom. I will guide you as I have done all these years. You will win the case and be set free. To do what you like again.”

CHAPTER 36

The atmosphere in the court was tense on October 18, 2010, the day the judgment would be pronounced. Judge Srinivasan made his opening remarks, “The accused has to be proved guilty beyond reasonable doubt. The prosecution has tried to prove that Sneha had walked out of the room after killing Rajneesh Sen, using her dupatta to strangulate him around 3.45 p.m. on May 24, 2010 at The Honeymooners Resort near Ooty.

“I summarize different scenarios placed before me. They were argued upon and evidence was produced to support them, by way of witnesses, or documents or both.

1.    It is clear the deceased knew the defendant otherwise they would not have met as they did that afternoon. Since they met at dinner without their respective spouses, given the circumstances and future events, I believe they planned to meet the next day, when most of the guests at the resort went for a picnic.

2.    All the events took place in Cottage No. 5, hired by the deceased. This indicates he invited her and she came on her own volition. He did not force her to come there.

3.    It is highly unlikely that he forcibly had sex with her as there were no signs of any struggle whatsoever. This means she must have co-operated with the deceased. Why didn’t she fight back if she was raped? She could have cried for help. This indicates this was part of their mutually agreed upon plan.

4.    There is reason to believe there was some previous enmity between the defendant and the deceased. Witnesses saw and heard her shouting at the deceased in the restaurant/bar the previous night. She had openly threatened the man saying she would get him in the end for what he had done. It is possible that she seduced him to settle some old score.

5.    There is a strong possibility that some man, unidentified as yet, walked into the room when they were having sex. His motive remains unknown. It appears that he fought with the deceased and strangulated him using the defendant’s dupatta.

6.    The man robbed them of their expensive belongings and fled after injuring the defendant.

7.    This man had walked in or was already in the room with the deceased. He may have entered from the open French windows, seen them having sex, tried to blackmail them, killed the man and left the way he came in.

8.    There is no reason to believe this man raped the defendant. Her blacking out and entering a fugue state on this traumatic experience suggest to me that she did not kill Rajneesh Sen but probably witnessed the killing.

9.    No evidence exists to suggest the defendant and the unidentified man were accomplices.

10.    Based on my own observations and assessment I hold the view the defendant has a history of paranoid szichophrenia and is prone to hallucinations and delusions. Her mental health condition is a matter of concern and she needs to be treated further.

11.    On the basis of all the evidence produced which I have perused with great attention and the arguments put forth by the parties, I hold that it has not been established beyond reasonable doubt that the defendant murdered Rajneesh Sen on May 24, 2010. Sneha Sridhar is acquitted of the charges against her.

Amidst the thousands of words written and spoken about this case, one particular piece stood out. Writing in a leading magazine, an eminent juror wrote, “The Sneha Sridhar Case is very complex and really taxed us. Not only should justice be done, but justice should seem to be done. In this case, the judge went by the evidence placed before the court. I quote Judge Srinivasan who said, ‘We should not sensationalize cases. I frown upon the modern craze for media publicity. The judiciary should be left to do their jobs’

The article went on to say, “If we have trials based on public opinion alone, we are being less than fair. By all means, judges should take into account public sentiment, but this is, at best, an additional input. Our laws are clear. The case is decided on the merits of the evidence placed before the court. There could conceivably be other data points, other people who know about the case, other information that may be crucial to determining the truth out there somewhere in the world, but the case, as far as I am concerned is decided based on the facts placed before the court.

“Unlike in the US we don’t have a system where a jury weighs the evidence and gives its decision based on their collective wisdom. In our system, the decision is solely that of the presiding officer of the court. The judge’s decision can be appealed against as provided under the law but she or he must decide. They cannot abdicate their responsibilities under a shroud of officialese or in this case medico-legalese. You and I may not like the evidence but that is what determines whether the accused walks free or is given exemplary punishment. This has been a very challenging for the prosecution, the defence and the presiding judge. As in any case of this type, there will always be recriminations.

“The case has had its ups and downs. It has been the story of a young girl who was subject to parental neglect and did not know that her father was a spendthrift and her mother an alcoholic who was schizophrenic as well. A tragic road accident caused by her father’s negligence, no less, made her the sole survivor of the family as he, her mother and her brother were killed in this accident.

It is probably a combination of genetics and circumstances which made the young lady become what she became. To make things worse, when she was 22 she fell in love with a young man who abandoned her when she told him she was pregnant with his child. A painful abortion followed resulting in worse psychological damage to this sensitive girl. It has by all accounts been a very difficult life for her.

Medical evidence suggests she had hallucinations which made her believe a man she met at the resort; Rajneesh Sen was Rakesh Kumar, the man who abandoned her.

She planned to harm him, of that there is no doubt. What happened next was a quirk of fate. An unknown man entered the scene with the motive of robbery. He cashed in on the circumstances and probably attempted to blackmail them. In the fight that followed, he strangulated Rajneesh and left after assaulting Sneha, the defendant.

She must have fought back because he probably hit on her head. This resulted in her falling into a fugue state in which she did not know who she really was for as long as two months. She was discovered by her family purely by chance.

The odd thing is that she did remember trying to strangulate someone. Unfortunately she does not remember who it was. Was it Rajneesh or the unknown man in the cottage that afternoon?

The man’s disappearance (he has not been traced till today, by the way) and her inability to recall events clearly resulted in her becoming the prime accused in the case. She was accused of murder.

As the old saying goes “There’s a story behind every person. There’s a reason why they are the way they are. Think about that before you judge someone.”

This has been the defendant’s story. Taking into account all the evidence produced before in court, I concur with Judge Srinivasan’s order acquitting the defendant of the charge of murder of Rajneesh Sen on the afternoon of May 24, 2010. There are many secrets buried in this case. There could be many more. They are to do with those who are no longer with us. This case is closed. Let the past remain in the past.”

Salim now looked older than his 40 years. Where others dyed their hair to look younger and people of 60 looked as if they were 40 these days, his lifestyle had made his hair grey. He had shaved off his moustache. In any case, the search for the missing driver had more or less been called off after a few months. The Pintos and the police seemed to have moved on and given up the case.

He had followed the Sneha Sridhar case, as it was being widely called, with great interest. He couldn’t miss it as initially it was so much in the limelight on TV and the newspapers. The case against Sneha was very strong. His name had not featured at all. The widely accepted position was that Sneha had killed Rajneesh and any mention of another person or persons in the room at that time was a figment of her wild imagination. In any case, he had taken precautions.

After taking that bus from Ooty to Kozhikode that evening in May, Salim had stayed with his family just for two days. In that part of the country there was no news published of the murder in Ooty. He gave his wife a good amount of the money he had stolen from Rajneesh’s wallet. He would need the rest himself. He made a discrete phone call to friends in Mumbai and left for that metropolis by train. His old friends knew him to be a very resourceful man who could adopt different roles quite easily. He merged easily into the gang and was soon a part of their rackets. He, of course, didn’t whisper a word about the Ooty affair to anyone. If they suspected him of having committed a crime somewhere else and seeking refuge in this huge metropolis, no one asked. In their business, the less you knew, the better it was.

He went to Chennai only because he had to. He had no choice in the matter. A job had come up to kidnap and hold a visiting non-resident Indian (NRI) to ransom. This man had links with the underworld especially for smuggling antiques out of India. The gang Salim worked for planned to hijack these priceless antiques from this NRI.

Salim’s sixth sense told him not to go there. He had promised himself that he would remain in Mumbai until the Sneha Sridhar case was closed. The woman had been arrested. The trial was going on. His name had never come up. She had said there was someone else in the room besides her and the murdered man but of course no one believed her. She was a nut and didn’t know what she was talking about. She must have imagined things, they said.

But this was an important deal. His boss told him, “Salim, find out how we can grab this man and get the antiques. You will go in as a tourist car driver. That would be a good cover for you.” You never argued with this underworld boss if you knew what was good for you.  Salim did as he was told. He left for Chennai the same day and worked on this assignment for a week. He carefully examined different options, with the help of their contacts in Chennai. They formed a plan to strike in a week’s time on receiving the go ahead from their boss in Mumbai.

Salim was deep in thought planning the finer details of how to get the antiques to Mumbai once he laid his hands on them, when his friend shouted, “Salim, this is interesting. That nutty woman, Sneha Sridhar has been acquitted in the Ooty murder case.” Controlling himself, he took the newspaper dated October 19 and read the headlines and the long article. He had lots to think about. His instinct was to run back to Mumbai but he couldn’t do that without the underworld getting after him, and there was no place he could hide from them.

It was on October 24 that he was assigned to drive for one Mr. Sridhar. His pulse raced when he saw that the woman with him was the one he had last seen in the Ooty resort some months ago. He managed to stay calm as Sridhar told him, “Please take us to this address on the Eastern Express Highway. We need to reach there by 7.00 p.m.”

Salim hurriedly broke eye contact with the woman. It may have been the sight of the hairy, muscular forearm or the thick wrists or the long overgrown fingernail on one of the hooked fingers, the one with the chunky gold ring, something brought back memories of that afternoon in the cottage in Ooty. Salim opened the door for Sneha and gestured for her to get in. Theirs eyes met for a second. She shrieked. Clutching Sridhar, she blabbered, “He is the man. He was there that day in the cottage. He is the man who nearly killed me.”

It became awkward for all of them. “Control yourself, Sneha” he said quietly as he stroked her arm. He then apologized to the driver, “She has not been well. Just forget what she said. I am sorry on her behalf.” The driver smiled sadly as if to say he understood. He politely said “That’s ok Sir. Madam must be under the strain of the court case. I have read about it in the papers and have seen both of you on TV.” Sridhar believed him as the case had indeed caused a huge sensation. Hundreds of people whom they didn’t know were writing, emailing, and calling them with advice, suggestions and even abuse.

The journey went off without any further incident. Initially, she clung on to Sridhar and was pale, but settled down as if nothing had happened. Sridhar was deep in thought. In all this time, she had never identified anybody like this. Could this be the turning point or was this another of her hallucinations? He called the police CID officer as soon as they reached his friend’s luxurious beach side bungalow. The cop said, “Note the cab number and get the driver’s cell no. as you normally would to call him when you are about to leave.” The dinner went off well and they rode back in relative silence.  Sridhar tried to remember as much as he could of the driver. He was dark, well-built, had grayish hair, no moustache and the fingernail on the ring finger of his right hand was unusually long.

He wrote down his observations on reaching home and mentioned all this to the CID officer the next day. “There’s no harm in checking on this fellow. Sometimes we do get lucky,” said the tired cop and noted the address and telephone numbers of the taxi service.

CHAPTER 37

The incident had shaken Salim too. When that stupid woman had screamed like that, he had panicked for a moment. He had felt himself flush and hoped that no one had noticed. He had managed to remain calm. Years of playing several roles had perhaps made him a skilled actor.

His impulse was to take the night bus back to Mumbai but he had to wait for this assignment to be completed. Running back to Mumbai with the job unfinished was not an option. His boss would get after him. He could scuttle back to the relative safety of Mumbai only after this job was done.

The CID officers called on the owner of the taxi service. “Harshan is a new man, Sir. Been with me only for a week or so. He came with excellent referrals. He is 39, unmarried and is from Salem in Tamil Nadu. Do you have any complaint, Sir? Has he done anything wrong?”

He was anxious lest the cops latch on to his underhand dealings. The man who had sent Harshan had not mentioned about his being involved in any police case.

“No, we were just checking. Keep an eye on him in any case. He could be wanted for questioning in a big case. What work have you given him now?”

“I have assigned him to Mr. Sridhar who wanted a cab for a few days. His driver has gone on leave for a week. They thought they might as well hire a cab with a driver. If you want I can change his duty.”

The cop thought for a brief moment.

“No, let him stay at that duty. Don’t let him know we were asking about him.”

“I won’t, Sir!”

“I am sure you know what is good for you.”

The cop strode off with a menacing glance at him.

Salim did think, not once but many times, of killing Sneha to silence her before she identified him but it would be risky. She was always with her husband who watched her like a hawk. He had to bluff his way out. That was the only way. Usually his crimes were deft and he didn’t dabble in violent crime. That day in Ooty had been a major exception. He had killed that fool only because he had taken his pictures.

After his duty hours tomorrow, he would finish his other work too and leave by a night bus back to Mumbai. Once that was decided he felt much better. He had to last out for another 20 odd hours in Chennai.

When he reached Sridhar’s house at 11.00 a.m. as ordered, they were ready to leave. Sridhar looked his normal self but his wife seemed to be looking at him with suspicion. He shrugged off the thought. He was being unduly tense. She was looking at him like on any other day. There was a new man with them today who sat in the front of the car next to Harshan. This burly man had plainclothes cop written all over him. Harshan’s nerves fluttered and his antenna went into overdrive. Where did this fellow come from? Was it part of a trap? This was an unexpected development.

“This is my cousin,” introduced Sridhar chattily, “he is from the Army. On leave here. We’ll show him around today.”

“Yeah, right,” thought Harshan but he managed a smile at the man who was looking at him casually.

That afternoon, the Salem police reported that Harshan was very much in Salem driving a car for another agency. His license had been stolen some five or six months ago. Now he was using a new one. No, he had not made a police complaint. And no, he had not been to Chennai for the last year or so. Why were they asking him all these questions?

At 6.30 p.m. the CID officer told his colleague, “We know now he may be using a stolen driver’s license. If the real Harshan is in Salem, then who is this fellow? In our line of work, we often have to use our gut. My instinct tells me this driver is someone on the run, perhaps connected with the Ooty murder case.”

He texted the plain clothes man. “Arrest that man and bring him here. Be very careful, he may be armed. Shoot him if necessary but don’t kill him. This is an order.”

When they returned to Sridhar’s house, Sridhar signed the day’s bill and walked away with Sneha. When Salim opened his door and got in, he was surprised to see that the “cousin” had turned around and got in the front again. He was more surprised to see the pistol aimed at him. “You are under arrest. We know you are not Harshan of Salem. Tell me the truth. Who are you?”

“I am Harshan. This is nonsense. You can’t do this to me.”

“Just watch,” said the man as he reached out and snatched his cell phone. When Salim tried to get back the phone, his door opened and someone dragged him roughly out of the car. Another man quickly handcuffed him. Two others materialized from God knows where. There were all in plain clothes. The “cousin” stood there, pistol still in hand.

Salim knew he had run out of luck. He had come a long way from the time he first stole Col Pillai’s silver cup, all those years ago.

“You are handcuffing me for using someone else’s license? It is mine and even if it is not, this is not such a big deal.”

“You mean a license to murder? You are arrested for the murder of Rajneesh Sen whom you killed at Ooty on May 24. We have all the proof we need to put you away for life.”

However skilled an actor he was, this took Salim by total surprise. He couldn’t control his body reactions. He went pale for a moment, his eyelids fluttered quickly and his mouth became so dry that he gulped slowly.

The experienced CID officer knew they had their man. Men may lie but their bodies don’t. This fellow was as guilty as hell.

The “cousin” smiled at him, “At last we have caught you. We have been on your trail for long. Why did you kill that man?” Salim, for once, lost his cool. He blurted out “I didn’t kill him, Sir. It was the woman in the room. She did it. She must have blamed me. She is a nut case, Sir. She killed that man, her lover in that cottage in Ooty.”

The officer already visualized a special reward, perhaps a promotion and of course a huge amount of publicity. He had followed his instincts and been proved right. Later, the police went ahead and filed a petition under Section 173 (8) of the Cr PC as they arrested him for further investigation. Salim was now formally accused of the murder of Rajneesh Sen.

At first, Salim vehemently denied that he was the killer. He admitted to being in the room that afternoon. He admitted to stealing the money from the wallet and the jewellery. He said everything the police said about the happenings that fateful day was right except for one thing. He claimed the woman screamed, “I got you at last, Rakesh” before killing the man. He had watched all this not knowing what to do. He said that after killing Rajneesh the woman had left the room through the open French windows.

Knowing he may have left his fingerprints in the room, he had lost his head. In blind panic he had rushed to the car and driven off. Yes, he had abandoned the car near the Ooty market. He had caught a bus to Kozhikode within 10 minutes of leaving the car. He had travelled to many places. He had sold the jewels to a pawn broker in Hubli, in North Karnataka.

“Everything else was correct but I swear I didn’t kill that man. She did. I had followed him for the last two days in that resort. I knew he was Rajneesh Sen. The papers in his wallet including some business cards said the same thing. That’s why I was puzzled about something that still mystifies me. She was screaming and crying at the same time and calling him Rakesh. She looked angry, mad with rage but she was sobbing uncontrollably. She was like some maniac. I have come across many things that are scary in my life but never have I felt such fear as that evening. She was like a she –devil.  I could understand that she might be a woman possessed because I have some women like that in my village. I could not understand why she called him ‘Rakesh. Not only that, later she called me Rakesh too. I found this very weird. That was when I wondered if she was insane. This suited me perfectly and I managed to escape from there.”

That evening, the police made him stand in the shadows when Sneha was brought into the room. He was suddenly pushed in front of her into the harsh light. Seeing him, set off Sneha once again. She screamed, “He’s here, the killer! He’ll kill me like he killed Rakesh.” They were now convinced that she was telling the truth.

Salim broke down and admitted to killing Rajneesh. He had used Sneha’s dupatta to strangulate him and left it in her hands before leaving the room. He admitted being Joseph the driver for the Pintos of Mangalore then holidaying at the resort. He had spotted the woman entering Cottage No. 5 and knew that they were having an affair. He smelt a great opportunity to blackmail them. He had entered the room and taken pictures of the couple. The man had tried to snatch his camera phone and in fact had taken his pictures. This was incriminating. He had to get those pictures back. They had fought and after he had killed the man, he had deleted his pictures from Rajneesh’s cell phone before doing anything else.

The news that the true assailant had been captured came as a big relief to Sridhar. He knew his wife wasn’t capable of such a deed. Sneha was now in the hospital for further treatment. 

CHAPTER 38

Kundah: The Nilgiris, South India

DECEMBER 2010

Three months went by. They were back in “Nathu La” the old estate near Kundah. Sneha was responding positively to the treatment she was undergoing and was definitely improving said the doctors. Dr. Gibson kept posted in the US was delighted about her progress.

One afternoon, Sridhar was pottering around their garage when he saw the old trunk lying in a corner, a coat of dust and some cobwebs showing it had been there for quite a while. Sneha had taken her post-lunch medicine and was fast asleep.

He had never thought of opening the trunk but now that the case was over, he wanted to persuade Sneha that they were better off without it. Out of curiosity, he decided to open it right then.

Carelessly tossed in with some old stuff, in the corner of the trunk there was something wrapped up in newspaper. The newspaper print looked relatively new compared to the faded stuff in the trunk. Not knowing what to expect, he opened it out of idle curiosity. There was something soft inside. He felt the cloth and found it was a bit coarse where he had touched it. When he brought it in brighter light, he screamed and dropped the packet. Rolled up and crushed was a part of a blue dupatta with faded blood stains. He remembered the blue dupatta had been an important piece of the evidence in the case. One half had been produced as main evidence in the court case in which Sneha had been the defendant. The second half had not been found at all. Till today.

The couple stood near the pit which the man had dug in the soft soil adjoining a potato field. The hole they, or rather he, had dug was fairly deep. Satisfied with his effort, he grimaced wiping the sweat off his brow though it was a chilly evening. The physical strain had been considerable despite his being fit with all those workouts he did in the gym. She didn’t lend a hand but provided moral support. She didn’t say a word. Her presence here was strength enough for him. They were doing what they had finally decided to do. Perhaps what they should have done long ago.

Col. Pillai’s old Army trunk which he had hauled across the field was pushed into the newly dug hole. It contained all the things that Sneha had found earlier. A few things had been added some months ago including the torn blue dupatta.

Gearing himself to the task, he got down to covering the pit. Soon it wasn’t visible to the naked eye. They spread some clumps of bushes and mud there and stomped it into place.

The cold wild swept through the mountain side. Far away they heard the peal of a church bell. It was a Sunday evening. The mist was coming in from the south. They stood in silence praying that they had brought total closure to a momentous chapter in their lives.

The chill they felt deep within was not just because of the cold breeze. Sridhar took Sneha’s hands in his. “Let’s go in,” he said. “Let the dead stay dead.”

THE END