NOBODY LIGHTS A CANDLE
Anjali Deshpande
27
Udairaj was sitting in a back room drinking his tea and watching TV. Some English movie was on. His face went red with anger the moment he saw them.
“I wanted to ask you something,” said Adhirath. “That girl, where did you meet her?”
“IU don’t remember,” said Udairaj standing up. “How many times do I have to answer your questions? Why don’t you record them?”
“Sit down, sir. We have many questions to ask you,” said Nitesh.
“Why?”
“It is a murder case.”
“So? You are treating me like a suspect? Me?” Udairaj emphasized the ‘me’ with some annoyance. “Are you in your senses?”
“It is our procedure, sir. We have to answer questions in court. The court asks us why did you not see this or ask this or question that person. It keeps scolding us. Lawyers get paid only to harass us. Please cooperate. Where did you meet the girl?”
“You never told us Sir, how you met the girl,” Adhirath said smiling. They were still standing.
Udairaj turned to Adhirath and closely inspected his frame from the head to toes. His longish glossy black hair, his almost round eyes, a thickish nose, full lips, a slight paunch and the pant straining downwards on it, unpolished shoes. An average man, would be completely lost in a crowd, nothing to distinguish him from a crowd of average people. He was not even in uniform. His brain got a jolt. He never paid attention to such details. He could not even recognize the faces or names of the workers in his factory. How would he when he seldom looked at anyone carefully apart from the foreman. Was this man truly a policeman?
Udairaj told them that his driver had got him here some time. He had told them that she was some distant relative of his. She had even come to the farm once or twice. When it was too late in the evening to go back she had even stayed there. Parduman was the one who used to get her. He had been told not to. “I have told you all this before. You keep asking the same thing again and again.”
“What did she say her name was?”
“Something starting with an M. Let me think....oh yes, Mohini.”
“Sir, I have a warrant to search the farmhouse,” said Nitesh. “You will have to come with us.”
Udairaj was taken aback. When they left half an hour later Nitesh asked Adhir at the corner of Lakshmi Nagar whether he should take a turn towards his house or did he want to go elsewhere.
“Keep going. I will tell you where I want to get off,” Adhirath said.
“Looks like we will be spending the night at the farm,” said Nitesh.
It was clear. He was not welcome as part of the search party. It was an official job. Nitesh had work to do. There were many files piled on the back seat of his jeep. He just wanted to go on sitting in the jeep driving away as far as possible from his house. He felt that the farther he went from home the fainter the accusations of Pushpa would get. He felt strangely restless. These people were well set, their jeeps were running smoothly. Files were being made, phones were ringing, cases were being recorded in daily diaries, searches were being conducted. Well, he had no such hard work to do. That is why he was enjoying it, this investigation. All he had to do was go talk to people and get back without entering everything in a file. He did not have to go to brief public prosecutors and be lectured by them. That is why he was enjoying this probe. That was till yesterday. Today even the murder case was unable to hold his attention. No, no, he did not want this rest. He wants what Nitesh has, what he had till last year or so. A room next to the maalkhana, table, chair, cooler, hawaldars running errands and obeying orders. People used to ask him how much he had paid for such a plum posting, in the thana of his own residential area, where his house was within shouting distance. He had not paid a penny. The department had thrown him there in an area of lumpens. It was an area known for goons. Such areas were the milch cows of the department. But he had not milked anything. Or else what value would 25 grand have for him? He could have thrown such a small amount in the gutter. In fact had he been the type, the type who took money to settle cases, he would not have been in trouble today. Not this kind of trouble.
Near Mehrauli he got off the jeep and onto the first bus he found headed towards him. It went inside Mehrauli village and he took a round of the bazaar. Shops were selling Biryanis and kormas from huge degs. He wanted to get some korma packed but the thought of his father discouraged him. Bapu would start commenting the moment he saw the packet cribbing that the spices were not fresh, not even unadulterated, the meat is that of an old goat. Here most of the meat would anyway be that of buffalo, or what they called buff meat. It stinks, his father would say. His could hear the sound of his father’s voice knocking inside his head.
When he got home Pushpa was rolling rotis. He sat down next to his mother on the bed ands said, “The lawyer is asking for 25 thousand.” His voice was loud. The intention was clear. Pushpa must hear this. The same stiff back faced him. It did not even tremble. No suppleness in it. Pushpa upturned the rolling board in the parat, moved it aside, put the lid on the steel box with the fresh rotis in it, and placing it on the hot griddle under which she had turned off the gas, went out the door and up the stairs. He did not have the guts to go upstairs that night.
email: anjalides@gmail.com
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