NOBODY LIGHTS A CANDLE
Anjali Deshpande
13
As they turned to get out of the place Adhir could not resist looking in at the window of the house. Vasantmalti (honeysuckle) laughed on the walls. Another bushy climber that seemed to have climbed from the back was gently swaying its saffron flowers in the breeze. He could not identify the creeper. There was a crack in the window pane, it was dusty. Yet he could see clearly inside. Looked like a bedroom, with a four poster bed with a dark blue sheet spread on it. At its foot near the wall was a dressing table in the same wood with an oval swinging mirror. Two chairs too were visible. The furniture was either antique or antique look-alike. Adhirath would not be able to tell the difference. He was amazed that people could decorate houses and not live in them. He knew there are such farmhouses but there is always a difference between hearing of them and seeing one.
A squirrel leapt downwards from the terrace and startled he looked after her shivering tail. He noticed a piece of yellow cloth nearby and something golden. They were partially covered with the yellow soil. He casually pulled out his handkerchief from his pocket, mopped his forehead. Then he bent down and pretending to tie his shoelaces he swept up the golden thing and the yellow piece of cloth in his kerchief. A small length of yellow red string trailed behind the golden thing. Shoving his handkerchief in his pocket he caught up with Bharat who was striding ahead.
“They are asking for a little more than the going market rate,” Bharat was saying. “You have seen it, the access road is just this wide. If they divide it into two how will they give access to the other guy? In a village you have to give access to everyone to their field. The land next to this piece of land is an inami land. You know what that is? It is land that was given as a gift to someone. It cannot be sold or bought. So you can’t buy access from there. There are ways of doing it but it is a bit complicated. Even then, let me enquire what they have to say. Had the chowkidar been around I would got the number of the owner. Could have called right away. Must have gone to the thana.”
“Thana? Why?”
Bharat studied him again. “Told you, they found a body here.”
“Oh, yes. I had completely forgotten. Who was she? The owner’s daughter?”
Bharat laughed uproariously. “She was from a village close by. Not a good one too. Otherwise tell me what does a village girl have to do with a farmhouse? Was a pros. She was. It was out in the papers too.”
“Oh, so this is that farm,” Adhirath cried in mock surprise. “Then the matter is different. Who will touch land that is involved in a police case?”
“Police is not going to camp here forever. They are rich people. The police will scare them enough to get money out of them, line its pockets and then the matter will be over. Did I speak the truth or what? You agree, don’t you?”
How could Adhirath agree? Had his hair not grown long, had his stride not changed to normal in a year this very Bharat would probably not have said as much as hello to him, would have immediately recognized a policeman in him. Will Nitesh truly make a lac or two in the case?
“It is a murder. They will have to catch the culprit.”
“She was a pros. They come to just such an end,” said Bharat. “Used to keep coming here. The whole village knew. This is not a city. Everyone knows who comes and goes in a village.”
“And the villagers allowed her to do her business?” asked Adhirath displaying surprise.
“She came here. It is a faramhouse. And whoever the owner allows can come. What can villagers say to that?” they had reached Bharat’s room of the not so straight walls. Bharat tapped the chair inviting him to sit down.
“Looks like we shall become good friends,” said Adhirath. “Now I must take leave. Had there been a polthene bag I would have gathered some mulberries.”
Bharat went inside the room and saw no bag. There was an empty plastic box though. He brought it out and rinsed it with the water in the jug and told Adhirath that last week he had bought some korma and it had come in that box. Thin white plastic that would crack with a second use. Shahtoot are best packed in boxes, Bharat was saying.
“Listen the thing is like this. Now this is not an affair of the village. The city people, they build houses on khets and live in it. Nobody in the village does this. They live away from farms in a specific place. All together. So as to be close to each other and everyone knows what is going on the other’s house. But faramhouses, they are on khets. The villagers don’t have anything to do with it. They seldom interfere. But they keep an eye, they know everything.”
“This is very useful. The police will benefit from this.”
Once again Bharat laughed out loud. Slapping Adhirath’s back he said “Come over some day. We shall kill some rabbits and cook them. Have a party. The villagers never tell any outsider anything.”
“At least they will give us the number of the farmhouse owner,” said Adhirath joining in his laughter.
“Then they will also ask for a cut in the deal. You can’t trust anyone in this business,” Bharat said. “True, isn’t it? You agree?”
Another man who had lost a treasure called trust in fellow beings, thought Adhirath as he mounted his bike.
email: anjalides@gmail.com
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