Murder with Bengali Characteristics Read online

  ‘Oye, oye, oye!’ said a small, dark drone, hovering near his left shoulder. It threateningly extruded what appeared to be a syringe, along with a small laser. Blue flashes of electricity crackled all over it. ‘Sillyfucker! It won’t be good, I’m warning you!’ said the drone. Geju-da held up his hand. The drone grew still, hovering in mid-air.

  ‘Does he do kung-fu?’ asked Big Chen, keen to defuse the situation.

  ‘He does everything-fu,’ said Geju-da. ‘He is multi-talented. He can do Madrasi. He can do Marwari. He can portray divinity. He can portray criminality. He can encourage children on television to reveal inner talent. He is an accomplished dancer of the disco. He achieved notable success as a hotelier. If you like, I can introduce you. But tell me, how can I help you gentlemen? I wasn’t expecting you, Phoni-da. No financial question has cropped up, I hope? Our rate has been fixed. Supply is regular. Suddenly, what happened?’

  ‘Arrey, no, no, what are you saying, Geju-babu?’ said Phoni-babu. ‘Your dealing is very clean. Problem is, our boss is very difficult. He wants us to meet everybody involved in this case. It’s like some sort of obsession with him. But now that you’ve met us, our job is done. Give us some tea-shea, one-two biscuits, and we’ll be on our way. You must be busy.’

  ‘What keeps you busy?’ asked Big Chen. Li had asked him to find out more, and given him some questions, which he intended to ask. Phoni could kiss the man’s feet as much as he liked. ‘What do you do exactly, sir?’

  ‘This and that,’ said Geju-da, modestly, ‘here and there.’

  ‘Let’s respect his privacy,’ urged Phoni-babu. ‘What kind of society will we be without privacy? Our freedoms must be protected. Police should not get into everything.’

  ‘I don’t mind telling you at all,’ said Geju-da, ‘it’s a matter of pride, what I do. I’m serving society. See, sometimes people have requirements. If there are too many people to fulfill these requirements, they get confused. For example, say you are building a house. For the house you need cement. If too many people are supplying cement, lot of time goes in selection, trying to assess price, quality and other such factors. House building gets delayed. Better to go through one person. Wastage of time is less. Efficiency is more. In other cases, the requirement is people. Our village is full of unemployed youth. World is full of requirement. That’s why, in every locality, the Party has nominated one person to take care of all the requirements of the public. Out here, I am that person, thanks to previous good work. Sometimes people resist, and we have to break their legs, but we always take them to the hospital afterwards. Hospitals are very cooperative.’

  ‘Are there any specific areas you work more in?’ asked Big Chen.

  ‘Economy is not very developed here,’ said Geju-da. ‘During the time of Bijli-da, union was very strong. First they targeted big companies, big companies left. Then they targeted small companies, small companies shut down. After that they started chit funds.’

  ‘What’s a chit fund?’

  ‘It’s a method for collection and redistribution of small savings,’ said Geju-da. ‘Personally, I avoid it. Public gets angry, and they know where I live. Police charge more to beat them up. Plus, it’s a question of humanity. I have seen people suffer heart attack due to pressure. Still, it’s a sacrifice from my side. Maximum money is in this line. Instead, I am contributing mainly in the service sector, and in small-tiny local requirements, like house building, betel-nuts, and threatening.’

  ‘You’ve come here about Barin-da, isn’t it?’ he said, coming to the point. ‘Ma Kali, I swear, I had nothing to do with it. He was our respected Mister Master. Very genuine person. Always reading all the time. Never caring about money. Talking only when required. Such people I respect a lot. I always tell my assistants, unfortunately you are all like me, but you should try to be more like him. None of them ever listen, of course. Their affection for me is too much.’

  ‘What about all these local boys?’ said Phoni-babu, ‘I hear you’re supporting so many of them. That’s also a social service, Geju-babu. Tell him about that.’

  Geju-da smiled modestly. ‘In this case, my social service is combined with business requirement. I need a distribution channel. I hire boys to do my distribution across Calcutta.’

  ‘What do they distribute?’ asked Big Chen, guessing drugs.

  ‘This and that,’ said Geju-da. ‘Small items. Margins are very low, but somehow we all survive.’

  Judging by the size of his house, some were surviving better than others. ‘Did any of his students work for you?’ asked Big Chen. ‘One of them told my boss that he does.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Geju-da, ‘but how would I know? I’m very professional. Personal lives I don’t interfere with. It becomes a question of individual liberty. Besides, where is the time? Morning-evening I’m serving the public, stopping only for meals.’

  ‘Geju-babu, don’t mind,’ said Phoni-babu, ‘but one question I have to ask you. If your boys are getting educated like this, won’t they get jobs? Barin-babu was doing education. Isn’t this bad for your business? In your place I would be upset.’

  Geju-da laughed. ‘Jobs! What jobs? We haven’t had any jobs here since 1986. Why he was teaching them, he only knows. Or knew, I should say, since he has left us. From my side, I have no complaints. All the boys are very good boys, doing very well. Customers are fully satisfied. Nowadays, they are even selling to our Chinese maliks. My business is getting international flavour.’

  The man knew more, but he wasn’t going to tell them. He could keep blathering like this for hours. Big Chen lacked the patience of his boss. Not that his boss was always patient. He had a fine judgement regarding when to listen, and when to draw his gun.

  ‘I’m going to need a list of your boys,’ he said, as he got up to leave.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Geju-da, ‘we are always there for you. If you have any other sort of local requirement, do let me know.’

  ‘We always do,’ replied Phoni-babu.

  18

  ‘Like a girl who can sing?’

  Agarwal ducked, and the bomb flew over his head, exploding against a lamp post on the far side of the street. He scrambled to safety behind the smouldering hulk of a recently burnt car. A bullet smacked into the fender. He hit the ground, face down, right next to Verma, who was feeling homesick for Chhattisgarh. The bomber backed away to his group. ‘Sot! Sot!’ said his comrades. They were standing in the middle of the street, shouting slogans and curses, firing away. Their rivals were at the far end, trading bullet for bullet, bomb for bomb, and insult for insult. The air was thick with explosions and curses. It was like Diwali with an X-rated soundtrack.

  ‘Motherfucker!’ said Verma. ‘I thought leaders lived here! Where the hell are the water cannons? What about tear gas? Is there no law and order or what?’

  ‘Violence is very democratic in Calcutta,’ said Agarwal, ‘you can be blown up, burnt, shot, stabbed, strangled, attacked with a chopper, or bashed with a brick anywhere in the city. Real estate value is never a factor.’ There was an explosion just behind them. They clutched each other like lovers. They felt each other up cautiously, to make sure they were both in one piece.

  ‘Same Same CPM!’ roared the boys at one end, who were indistinguishable from the boys at the other. ‘SAME SAME CPM!’ They were all thin, dark and wiry, in tight jeans and bright shirts unbuttoned to the navel, their concave chests bared to the world fearlessly.

  ‘Is it Tuesday?’ asked Agarwal. ‘I’m so sorry, I forgot that it’s Tuesday.’

  ‘Why are they doing gadar in front of Bijli Bose’s house?’ asked Verma. ‘And who’s fighting whom? Didn’t the CPM wipe out everyone years ago, thanks to support from the chinkies?’

  ‘They did,’ said Agarwal. ‘It’s Tuesday. Every Tuesday, they play Exhibition Match under his balcony. It’s similar to the arrangement with the Pope in the Vatican. They do double role. Ruling party, opposition party, both are played by them. Sometimes he comes out
and watches. It reminds him of the old days.’

  Bijli Bose’s house was twenty feet down the road, pale, pink and two-storeyed, with bright blue window shutters. It was the only house with nothing written on the walls. His neighbours were not so fortunate. Their walls had a lot to say. ‘MAY A THOUSAND SWISS BANK ACCOUNTS BLOOM!’ said the wall next door. ‘REMEMBER MAY ’35!’ said the wall across the street. ‘LEARN THE TRUTH FOR FIFTY RUPEES!’ said another. The guards in front of his house were peering over their sandbags, watching the show. One of the players charged, cheered on by his comrades, until he was blown off his feet by a bomb. Two of his comrades scuttled across and dragged him away, bleeding. There was a brief lull. It was time for some verbals.

  ‘I’ll play harmonium with your grandma’s cunt!’ promised someone from behind a burning bus.

  ‘I’ll shove my dick in your father’s ear!’

  ‘I’ll stuff a brinjal up your grandfather’s ass!’

  ‘I’ll play tabla on your mother’s tits!’

  Verma was on his stomach in the gutter, otherwise he would have clapped. Punjabi was a good language for abuse, but the Bengalis were second to none. It was the poetry in their souls. He turned his head to look at Agarwal, who lay face down, perfectly relaxed, like a man taking a break during yoga.

  ‘How long will this go on?’ he asked. Agarwal turned over on his back and looked up at the balcony.

  ‘So far he’s not come out, and it’s getting dark. He pours his first drink at sunset. That way he’s very particular. According to me it’s almost over.’

  Soon the street was silent again, except for the groans of the wounded. The players dispersed, firing off the occasional curse to deter pursuit. Once the coast was clear, the local police arrived, and courteously escorted them to Bijli Bose’s doorstep.

  To the extent that Bijli Bose demonstrated any facial expression, he demonstrated some when he saw Agarwal. There was the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, and a tiny flicker in his eyes. ‘Hello, Kanti,’ he said, his voice thin, but surprisingly clear and strong. ‘Is your father well?’

  ‘He’s fine, Bijli-uncle,’ said Agarwal, ‘you’re looking fine yourself, I must say.’

  Bijli Bose held Agarwal Senior in high regard. During his annual summer holidays in London, he had always ensured a constant flow of fine food and rare beverages. ‘Let me repay some of his hospitality,’ said Bijli Bose. He raised a finger and an elderly Bengal Club bearer shimmied in, tightly breeched and whitely jacketed, complete with cummerbund and pantomime turban. Every member who completed fifty years at the Bengal Club received an armchair and a bearer free, to help create a more club-like atmosphere at home.

  ‘I see you got caught in the Exhibition Match,’ he said, once they all had a drink in their hands. ‘They’re useless, these new boys. Lack of competition has made them soft. We should have preserved some competitors. The Maoists are much tougher. If it wasn’t for the Chinese, they would have taken over by now.’

  ‘It’s funny you should mention Maoists,’ he said, ‘my friend here has a factory in Chhattisgarh.’

  Bijli Bose turned his head to look at Verma. ‘Our boys must look very incompetent to you.’ Verma couldn’t deny it. They were just amateurs with extensive vocabularies. The Maoists would have wiped them out in minutes.

  ‘Uncle, situation has deteriorated,’ said Agarwal, ‘the Competent Authority in India is trying to cause another war. After half the country was wiped out last time, you would think he would hesitate, but he is bold and visionary, thanks to IAS training. He is continuously insulting the Chinese. Naturally their sentiments are getting hurt, and they are launching submarines. Currently India has no submarines, but the repair work is receiving top priority. Files are moving like lightning. Before full drama develops, we require Governor Wen to take some small action, but he is suffering due to lack of good concubines. Ganguly-da was saying he requires some type of special encouragement or stimulus.’

  This confirmed what the Indian PM had told him. She was a bright girl, full of good ideas. She came from a good family. Her nose was just like her grandmother’s. Based on her information, he had set wheels in motion. He had also given her some excellent advice regarding Taiwan. His opinion of the Competent Authority was not as high as Agarwal’s. He was no admirer of Indian babus. Most of them would sell their mothers for a bottle of Blue Label. Few of them could ever make out whether it was genuine.

  ‘I’M GOING TO GET FUCKED, UNCLE,’ said Verma, who always spoke loudly to old people.

  ‘Perhaps you could give the Governor some kind of tasteful, cultured offering?’ suggested Bijli Bose.

  ‘Like a girl who can sing?’ asked Verma.

  ‘I was thinking more along the lines of a Ming Dynasty Noodle Bowl.’

  Agarwal tried to hide his disappointment. Matters had gone far beyond noodle bowls. Bijli-uncle was obviously out of touch when it came to the Governor, whose appetites were genuinely disturbing.

  There was a commotion in the adjacent room. ‘Red Lebel ti?’ said a loud female voice. ‘Wans more?’ A fine china cup came flying through the open door and smashed against the wall, followed by a saucer. They heard the sounds of a grown man sobbing, dry, hacking sobs from deep within. Agarwal looked at Bijli Bose. There was an expression on his face that he had never seen before. It was fear.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Agarwal.

  ‘Just the television,’ said Bijli Bose. His face was ashen.

  A little old lady in a white sari burst into the room. ‘What’s happening is not good, I’m warning you, Bijli-da!’ she said, ‘You’re insulting me with Red Lebel? No, no, sit where you are, don’t stand up. Sit, I’m telling you! If you fall down and fracture your hip, who will have to look after you? Me, who else? And who are these characters? That one looks like a Panjabi.’

  ‘Pishi!’ said Agarwal.

  Pishi ignored him and glared at Verma. Verma found himself unable to move, transfixed by her gaze. She was radiating gigantic concentric waves of insanity and power. Bijli Bose shrank visibly in his chair. She pointed a trembling finger at Verma, roughly aimed at his crotch. ‘Your pantaloons!’ she said. ‘Remoobh dem!’

  Verma was wearing red trousers, partly in honour of Bijli Bose, and partly because of his sharp fashion sense. He unbuckled and unzipped meekly, and removed his trousers. He rolled them up and tucked them under his arm. Disobedience was out of the question.

  ‘Good boy,’ said Pishi. ‘You must be thinking, what is Pishi doing here? But Pishi is ebhrywhere! Pishi is in ebhrything! Nothing escapes eye or ear of Pishi. I was in the place for mad people, because I was phed up of all these naughty boys, always doing nonsense bloody. I was resting. Then one day I thought, enough of resting, now I must save the country, everything going to jahannum. “Nonsense boys, open the door,” I told the guards. They opened the main gate and released me, saluting. I came straight to Bijli-da. Although we are enemies, he is fond of me. I’m like his younger sister. Isn’t it, Bijli-da?’

  ‘I feel guilty because we smashed her head when she was in the opposition,’ said Bijli Bose tremulously. ‘She was in Belle Vue Nursing Home for a week. Secretly, I always felt great affection for her, because of her fighting spirit.’

  ‘I also feel affection for you, dada,’ said Pishi fondly, pinching his cheek, ‘even though you’re a looj character, always drinking.’

  Agarwal folded his hands. ‘Pishi, please help us. We are good boys, requiring your help. Only you can do it.’

  ‘Ey Panjabi,’ said Pishi, ‘you come over here.’ Verma shambled across obediently, and squatted next to her, so that their eyes were level. She felt his bicep. ‘Nice, strong boy you are,’ she said. ‘Are you a cricketer? My Light Strider batsmen are ooweek, because of torture by Chinese.’

  ‘I can learn very quickly,’ said Verma, ‘bas, just give me a bat and I’ll start practising.’

  ‘First let me solbh your problem,’ said Pishi, ‘that’s my main job, I solbh all the pr
oblems. They can challenge me, but I am nebhar difited. Sitting in the next room I could hear you. My hearing is bhery good, because ebhryone was always plotting against me, and whispering. What is the use of whispering? You think I am a phool? Pishi can hear ebherything! Your problem is with gobhorner, no? That gobhorner is a looj character. Maximum Chinese are like that. I know what to do.’

  She whipped out a card from her blouse, and gave it to him. She looked bashful for a moment. ‘I pheel shy because Bijli-da is a senior person,’ she said. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Verma listened to her, growing progressively paler. After she had finished, Pishi gave him a push. ‘Now go, go, phinish!’ she said, ‘I hate westej of time.’

  They backed out of the room and slipped down the stairs. Outside, the street was deserted. The players had gone home, or to the hospital, as per requirement. Agarwal took the visiting card from Verma’s trembling fingers.

  ‘POLTU-DA’s WILDLIFE SUPPLY,’ it said, ‘FULFILLING ANIMAL REQUIREMENTS SINCE 2021.’

  ‘What do we have to do?’ asked Agarwal. ‘Some kind of 420 business?’

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ said Verma, weakly, wishing he had listened to his father. ‘Sanju-beta, do your business anywhere,’ his father had said, ‘but never go to Calcutta.’ He was beginning to see why.

  19

  ‘It was a cartoon pig smoking a cigar.’

  ‘I was born in the Year of the Pig,’ said Governor Wen, ‘that’s why I’m so loyal and lovable.’

  Inspector Li smiled encouragingly, while making sure his hat recorded everything. Gao Yu loved intimate glimpses of the rich and famous. He took care not to make any sudden movements. The Governor was looking fragile. Fear filled his eyes. Sweat beaded his forehead. Sensing this, his chair extruded an arm and gently dabbed him with a cologne-scented tissue. It was designed to cater to his every need. ‘Must this too be done by a machine?’ wailed the Governor. ‘Can I not feel the gentle touch of fingers on my forehead?’