Murder with Bengali Characteristics Page 14

  ‘You’ve been a great help,’ said Li, ‘you sat there like a film star and refused to answer questions, but I learnt a lot from your pockets. And you’re not much of a gentleman if you stink like that. Ask your boss to get you some cologne. Tell him that he’d better stop this racket. Tell him that if I reveal what I know, the good people of Bhobanipur are going to come and burn down his house.’

  As he turned to leave, one of the guards caught his eye. He put his finger to the back of the thug’s head and looked at Li inquisitively. Inspector Li smiled and put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Try keeping this one alive, son,’ he said, ‘you might learn something that way.’

  25

  ‘Chhooo chhooo chhooo mantar…gili gili gili…hocus pocus…bhanish!’

  Security had been increased at Bijli Bose’s house, so he was safe from thugs, but not from Pishi. She was standing behind his chair, singing.

  ‘No ooman, no cry,’ she sang sadly, ‘no ooman, no cry.’

  ‘What is she singing?’ whispered Li. They were standing near the door, waiting politely for her recital to finish, ignoring the faint hint of desperation in the eyes of Bijli Bose. Li disliked the man. From what he had understood, he had caused a lot of suffering, and never displayed much empathy for his victims. It was only fair that he should suffer a little himself.

  ‘It is a song of Ali the Wanderer,’ said Phoni-babu, ‘famous Baul singer from last century. He was a lost soul who travelled from village to village, singing such songs and promoting smoking of ganja. Some say he was looking for Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, a great leader of our freedom struggle, who was misplaced by the Japanese. His songs were very catchy, and subject matter was very different, such as buffaloes who became soldiers, and liberal use of jam, and the shooting of one Sharif. Nowadays, we prefer simple songs, like “Bye Bye Bangkok” and “Hello Memsahib”, but few cultured people still remember him. Pishi is very talented and cultured. Historically her behaviour has shown that. Either she was writing, or she was reciting, or she was singing songs.’

  Pishi drifted into the adjacent bedroom. ‘Probably she is going to paint,’ said Phoni-babu.

  Now that Bijli Bose was no longer being tortured, Inspector Li stepped forward into the room. ‘Good to see you safe, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Who says I’m safe?’ said Bijli Bose, morosely. ‘She hasn’t even started reciting her poetry yet. She wrote thirty-seven volumes.’ His trembling hand reached for his whisky glass. He was too depressed to pretend that he was a mummy.

  ‘That’s something to look forward to then,’ said Li, brightly. ‘I was curious. What led you to give shelter to a wanted fugitive and known splittist? Since it’s you, no one’s worried, given how loyal you’ve always been. But you were never the best of friends, were you? I understand your boys once cracked her skull. She spent ten days in hospital. She may be old, but she’s still more active than you. Isn’t this a little risky? Supposing she creeps up on you in the middle of the night, looking for revenge?’

  ‘You seem to feel that I could stop her,’ said Bijli Bose. ‘She just came in through the bathroom window one day and said, “Bijli-da, I’m staying with you.” Her actions are devoid of logic. That’s why we could never manage her. The Party was built on logic and discipline. We had no guidelines for handling eccentricity. Of course, she was not always like this. She went mad trying to get Bengali bureaucrats to work, something I very wisely avoided trying to do. I am hoping that at some point some other brainwave will strike her, and she will go. Currently she is very upset about the destruction of the Kali Temple. That’s why she was consoling herself with the song. She is a great devotee. During her rule, all portraits of Marx were replaced with portraits of the Mother. Luckily she has no followers now, otherwise the matter could become complicated. But the potential for unrest exists. The boys used to love her. If they see her again, they could get excited. It’s why I’m trying to keep her in the house.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ said Li, grabbing Phoni-babu’s arm. Phoni-babu was about to slip off into the bedroom, to see what Pishi was up to. He was clearly fascinated, perhaps even a little bit in love. ‘Mother! Destruction of Mother!’ they heard her cry. ‘Revenge is required on Chinese! But I am ooweek!’ Followed by the sound of weeping.

  ‘So, no one noticed the thug coming in?’ asked Li. ‘You have a large staff here, protecting you.’

  ‘It’s their nature. They come and go. They mingle.’

  ‘Did he mingle with you? Apparently he was caught in the living room, sitting in an armchair. Almost as if you were having a meeting.’

  ‘I did not realize he was a thug,’ said Bijli Bose. ‘The victims never do. He said he was a reporter, come to do a story on the golden era of Bengal. Also, he wanted to read me his novel. All of them have novels, except for the ones who write poems. That’s the fundamental problem with Bengal. Too much poetry. Poetry obscures. I prefer prose.’

  ‘Well, lucky for you the man with the signboard chose that very moment to try and beat your brains out,’ said Li. ‘That’s what alerted the guards.’

  Pishi drifted back into the room, making graceful hand movements. She noticed Li for the first time. She ignored Phoni-babu, who was gazing at her adoringly. ‘Who is dis?’ she demanded.

  ‘He’s an officer protecting me from the thugs,’ said Bijli Bose.

  ‘You’re the biggest thug, Bijli-da,’ she said, morosely. ‘Who will protect them from you?’

  She bent down to peer at Li’s face. Li smiled back at her. He liked a woman with spirit. She looked into his eyes, searching. She seemed pleased. ‘You are honest policeman!’ she said, astonished, ‘Towards end of my time, I sarched and sarched, thinking, hwer are you? But it waj phelyur. I had remoobhed all of dem. I should habh supported them more. Meanwhile, gorment babus were making everything bhanish! True magicians, better dan P. C. Shorcar. How could I do development? Money going for school, bephor it riches, bhanish! Money going for flood rilif, but bephor it riches, bhanish! Chhooo chhooo chhooo mantar…gili gili gili…hocus pocus…bhanish! But I am still here. I am still libhing. I will not let Bengal become nonsense place like India, becoj of Competent Authority. He haj taken everything! But here, I will not allow. I am gonodebota—goddess of da pipool!’

  ‘Pipool?’ asked Li.

  ‘Common pipool!’ explained Pishi. ‘You are good man! You do your job, I am supporting you. If you phace any poblem, come back soon, I ooweel help you. But be carephool of Mowists—dey are ebhrywheyar. And beware of dis Bijli-da. Dese gentry fellow cannot be trusted. Olways doing number-two bijness. ’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ said Li. Could it have been her? She was a force of nature. Through sheer force of will, she had subjugated one of the most Machiavellian minds of the twentieth century. Had she engineered the elimination of Barin Mondol as a suspected Maoist? Li hated it when crazy people got involved in his cases. You could never predict what they were going to do next. On the other hand, there was never any harm in asking.

  ‘What are your future plans, old mother?’ he asked.

  She flashed him a smile, and in that moment Li realized why so many had once followed her. She bent down and whispered in his ear. ‘I ham oowaiting phor da right moment,’ she said. ‘Storm is coming. Can you not pheel it? Can you not hear it?’ She listened for a moment and smiled, satisfied. ‘Bhery soon! Bhery soon!’ She drifted off, taking tiny little dance steps, clipping Bijli Bose lightly on the side of the head as she passed.

  Big Chen called. His face was grim. ‘Geju’s here,’ he said, ‘the one who manages the boys. Looking for a fight. He brought his drone. Its language is filthy.’

  ‘Don’t knock him out,’ said Li, who knew Big Chen well. His views in such matters were simple and direct. ‘I need to ask him some questions. Things are moving fast.’

  Li excused himself and left, dragging Phoni-babu, who was inclined to linger.

  ‘What a woman!’ said Phoni-babu, peering back at the be
droom door. ‘Because of her, even in this dark time there is still hope!’

  26

  ‘All I am doing is serving you loyally, without ever asking for return.’

  They saw faint wisps of smoke as they flew over the city, people were filling the streets. Black armoured cars of the People’s Armed Police dotted the landscape, but the cars were few, and the people were many. Somewhere in the distance, they heard the dull thump of a mortar. As they got out in front of the station, they were almost knocked over by a Chinese vendor, hurrying off with his tin trunk on his head. He did not stop to apologize. He was followed by others. They had been selling prawn wafers and meat pies in the little lane behind Lal Bazaar since 1853, but some sixth sense was telling them that their time was up. Old China was leaving. The rest was up to New China. Big Chen opened his mouth to speak, but Inspector Li was already striding into the building. He had a case to wrap up.

  Geju-da had come dressed for the occasion, in a crisp white linen shirt over his blue-checked lungi. His drone hovered over his left shoulder, small, jet-black and menacing.

  ‘Acchha, Inspector-sahib, so finally you’ve come. Good you could find the time. Your hotka assistant is not cooperating, just standing there like a cut soldier. He pretends as if he doesn’t understand anything. But I understand everything. You think I’m a goatfucker? I won’t accept this. It won’t be good, I’m telling you. Geju doesn’t fear anyone.’

  ‘What’s your problem?’ asked Li.

  ‘Poblem? I’ll tell you the poblem. You’re hitting me in my stomach, that’s the poblem. You hit my stomach, I won’t let you go!’

  ‘Won’t let you go, gandoo!’ echoed the drone, firing a laser bolt at the ceiling. It sliced through the blade of a ceiling fan, leaving it dangling limply.

  ‘I haven’t hit you in the stomach yet,’ said Li, ‘but I can if you want me to.’

  ‘Jokes? You’re making jokes, sillyfucker? I’ll show you jokes!’

  Big Chen made a move towards him. Li waved him back. Even Phoni-babu was appalled. ‘Chhee chhee, Geju, is this any way to talk?’ he said. ‘What will people think? Try to be cultured.’ Since his meeting with Pishi, he was acutely conscious of culture.

  ‘Oye, who asked you to speak? Big talk in small mouth! Go beat up a rickshaw-wallah. Don’t give me dialogue, I’ll change your face-cutting.’

  Phoni-babu turned to Li, hands raised in supplication. He was on the verge of tears. ‘Sir, where is the dignity?’ he wailed. ‘Thirty years I have honoured this uniform. Naturally between goonda-class and police people some amount of adjustment is required. But in front of you he is speaking like this? How much more must I suffer? All I am doing is serving you loyally, without ever asking for any return.’

  ‘You still haven’t told me your problem,’ said Li. He was extremely calm. This was a bad sign. Big Chen loosened his holster.

  ‘Stop messing with my boys! It’s not going to be good, I’m telling you. My boys are my income. I support them, they support me. Anybody interferes, dead bodies will drop. You don’t know who I am. I started as a wagon-breaker, moved on to bladder business, now look at me today! Four-four cars in the garage! You think it happened just like that? All these people I’m feeding. Where would they be without me? All the time I’m supporting society. None of you high-class people do anything, only I am there. Tomorrow if there’s an election, do you think they’ll vote for you?’

  ‘Long live Geju!’ said the drone, ‘Geju live long!’

  The nerve of Bengali goons never ceased to amaze him. From funerals to weddings to flag hoistings, there was no time or place where they feared policemen. Not even inside police stations. The man was acting as if he owned the place.

  ‘They’re witnesses in my case,’ said Li, ‘it’s part of my job.’

  ‘Saala! You’re showing me job? You think I’m a fool?’

  The drone began to crackle again, warming up its laser. ‘Who says that?’ it demanded. ‘Who? Who?’

  ‘Leave my boys alone, I’m telling you,’ said Geju. ‘You’re an agent of Debu Maoist, don’t think I don’t know. You’re all in it together, sucking the blood of the people! You’ve been eating their brains, meeting my boys and doing gujguj-phusphus. One by one, they’re leaving. Just now Toobloo joined them. Feeding them, clothing them, all this training I gave, what, so that just like that they can walk away? Don’t try to be clever with me. Result will not be good. You like the little boys so much, one-two bodies I can send you. Then we can see.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and fuck yourself?’ said Li.

  ‘Haramjada!’ roared Geju-da, lunging for him. ‘Shoot the drone’ said Li. Big Chen drew fast and fired from the hip. The drone exploded spectacularly. Li took Geju-da down with a single clean uppercut to the jaw. The goon dropped like a stone, settling into a boneless heap on the floor, covered in shards of drone.

  Li rubbed his knuckles. Thanks to his father, he was a boxer in a land of kung-fu.

  ‘Do you think he did it?’ asked Big Chen. ‘Maybe he and the teacher had a fight over the boys? Then he killed him and made it look like the thugs?’

  ‘Lock him up and we’ll see,’ said Li.

  His phone rang. It was Sexy Chen. He looked guilty.

  ‘It’s probably not your fault,’ said Li.

  ‘You asked me to track those two boys,’ he said.

  ‘Where are they?’ asked Li.

  ‘That’s the thing. We don’t know,’ said Sexy Chen, ‘I don’t see how it’s possible, but they’ve disappeared off the grid.’

  ‘Sounds like a job for Crazy Wu,’ said Li. ‘Funny how he keeps popping up, isn’t it? Join me in the basement.’

  ‘How can they just go off the grid like that?’ asked Big Chen. ‘We took their A-cards.’

  ‘Maybe they didn’t,’ said Li.

  27

  ‘Don’t let him touch my feet just now, there’s money on them.’

  As Calcutta went up in flames, a small evening celebration was going on at the home of Bijli Bose. He raised his glass in a toast.

  ‘To the Proletariat!’ said Bijli Bose.

  ‘To the Proletariat!’ said Propagandist Wang.

  They had much to thank the proletariat for. Rioting had started in the streets. Buses were burning. The systematic and clandestine removal of all fish from Calcutta, as suggested by Bijli Bose, had pushed them over the edge. His own suggestion of a Xinjiang-style programme against Kali temples had helped. It looked like war would be averted. There would be some temporary pain, but it would all be for the betterment of both their people.

  ‘Your contribution was invaluable, Mr Bose,’ he said, ‘you not only thought of the idea, you chose the right people for the job. To conduct a secret operation in Calcutta markets, who better than the thugs? All due to your guanxi with their leader.’

  ‘All of us know each other in Bengal,’ said Bijli Bose modestly. ‘Lahiri and I are both members of the Calcutta Club. Bit obsessed with temples, but otherwise a sound fellow. My paternal cousin sister married his maternal uncle-brother.’

  ‘They are masters of deceit, those thugs,’ said Wang, ‘much better than those inferior Japanese ninjas. One of them was arrested yesterday, by the way. He was pretending to be a momo seller in front of the LIC building on Chittaranjan Avenue. His costume was perfect but his stove gave him away. It had robot arms and a dish antenna, and it kept giving passers-by tips on nutrition. In the evenings, he was making pathetic attempts in local markets to locate fish. Apparently, this was why he had come, although he had misplaced his master, who was a trader of fish. We gave him a small packet of prawns and put him on a flight to Tokyo.’

  ‘Your bit about the FARS virus was a masterstroke,’ said Bijli Bose. ‘It added to the panic and the resentment. For maximum impact, you should go on TV in the evening and deny it. Things have worked out well. It looks like you’ll be back in Beijing soon. Have you found yourself a suitable position?’

  ‘Why go just yet?’ said Wang. ‘Perh
aps I could contribute to bringing peace to the province, and go back a hero.’ This could easily be achieved by releasing some of the fish back in the market. He had not shared this part of the plan with Bijli Bose. He wanted to act swiftly and make sure he got all the credit. All he had to do was find out where Bijli Bose was keeping the fish.

  ‘Your mind never stops working.’

  ‘Your wisdom inspires me.’

  ‘You know, it’s true what Nehru said.’

  ‘You mean, it’s true what imperialist stooge Nehru said,’ corrected Propagandist Wang, gently.

  Bijli Bose raised his glass again. ‘It’s true what imperialist stooge Nehru said. Hindi-Chini Bhai Bhai!’

  They clinked glasses and drank to that.

  A brick smashed through the window, landing on the carpet near their feet, followed by the sound of an explosion outside. Two servants in white appeared instantly, and briskly brushed up the glass. Bijli Bose frowned slightly. His armchair drifted to the right, away from the window. The small table with the glass followed.

  Verma burst into the room, followed by Agarwal. They were dishevelled and bore signs of recent manhandling.

  ‘The public appears to be angry,’ said Bijli Bose.

  ‘Angry?’ said Verma. ‘They’re out of their fucking minds! These Bengalis pretend to be quiet and sophisticated, wearing spectacles and not going to the gym, but they’re a bunch of lunatics. I’ve been checking their history. Twice they’ve trashed the Eden Gardens. Every week they burn buses. Not to mention the freedom struggle. It’s like Kashmir out there. I saw some local boys spray a tank with chilli powder. The mounted police are useless because the horses are terrified. And which genius issued the prawn crackers to the troops? I saw a crowd pounce on a platoon and strip them down to their underwear. I saw men on the street selling pictures of fish. I saw a column of vegetarians leaving the city, clinging to their meager belongings, looking back sadly. I saw a little old lady smash the window of a pet shop, and stagger off with an aquarium. The little fish swam about in it hopelessly.’