The Astral Alibi (21 page)

In a flash Pankaj had grabbed the pistol from her hands. He shoved her hard, sending her sprawling to the ground. Cold fury distorted his handsome features as he aimed her own pistol straight at Sheetal. “No, Tina will not hate me, because she’ll never know what happened. You will not tell her, because you’re not going to live to tell her anything. And if it pleases you to hear it, yes,
I did kill Anju.
”

Sheetal gasped as she crouched at his feet. Fear and horror eclipsed all rational thought.

“I killed her because she was so full of Rajesh, her old boyfriend. She was still in touch with him, even after our marriage, and I suspected all along that she had never given him up. She wrote to him, talked to him on the phone. She ran to him with every grievance against me. It made me mad with jealousy. I couldn’t live like that. I had to put an end to it. And I did. I planned it all. I cut the brakes of her car. And she fell for the trap and drove straight off the cliff! I hated myself for doing it. But there was no other way. She had betrayed me. She had to pay the price for it!”

“Rajesh was just a good friend of hers. Anju wrote to me just as she wrote to him! You killed an innocent woman, you monster!” Sheetal cried.

“That’s in the past. But you are my present. And now you will die, too. You know too much and you introduced Jeetu into our lives. And even though now I know that no such person exists, I also know that I can never trust you again! Goodbye, Sheetal. I did love you, you know.”

He gave her a long sad look. Then he pulled the trigger. Sheetal closed her eyes. Nothing happened! Startled, Pankaj began examining the pistol, as Sheetal burst into tears.

“Pankaj, you are arrested for the murder of your first wife, Anju, and for the attempted murder of your present wife, Sheetal!” The booming voice of Inspector Divekar rang out.

With a gasp, Pankaj stared at the imposing figure of the Inspector. Sonia, Jatin, and Ganesh Pandit stood behind him. Sonia shot him a look of contempt, before she bent towards Sheetal to comfort her.

“It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was a terrible risk,” Sonia confessed.

Nidhi opened her eyes and flashed a bored look at the usual group gathered in the office, before curling up in her Mistress’s lap again. Something told her that she wouldn’t have a very peaceful nap.

“You have to take risks in our line,
beti,
” Inspector Divekar admitted.

“But, Boss, we were called to Kelshi to hunt out stolen antiques! What happened to them?” Jatin appeared bewildered.

“Nothing happened to them, Jatin. There were never any statues stolen. That was just a story concocted by Pankaj to lure us to Kelshi,” Sonia remarked.

“But why?”

“Pankaj was extremely jealous of Jeetu and he wanted to find out all he could about the guy—”

“He could’ve hired any detective for that,” Jatin interrupted.

“Who would’ve told him only the bare facts of Jeetu’s life. Nothing of his psychology. Nor of his innermost desires. And certainly nothing about his feelings for Pankaj’s wife!”

“Which you could,” Inspector Divekar interposed.

“Exactly. In the role of an Astrologer, I certainly could. But Pankaj knew that he had to create a reason to get me to Kelshi and, more important, a reason for Sheetal to produce Jeetu’s horoscope. She was obviously reluctant, but didn’t you see how insistent he was? When we did go to Kelshi, I sensed immediately that Pankaj lacked the drive and the worry for the loss of his antiques. And that instead he was most keen on reading Jeetu’s horoscope. At that point, of course, I didn’t allow my observations to sway my judgement. But when I examined the statues in the cupboard, I noticed that they hadn’t been removed in a long time. And more interestingly, there were only five marks of five statues. Where were the marks of the
two
statues he claimed had been stolen? That really set me thinking. What if there were no marks,
because there were no statues
? And if that was true, why had Pankaj really called us to Kelshi?

“Matters were further complicated when I read the horoscopes. I saw some complexities in Sheetal’s horoscope. Sagittarius as the zodiac as well as the ascendant showed her to be a dynamic person. But Sun and Harshal were in opposition, indicating dramatic developments in relation to her spouse. Saturn in the eighth house aspected the Sun, showing that Sheetal’s marriage would give her no happiness. On the other hand, Pankaj’s horoscope revealed definite criminal traits. Ketu in Gemini is the first house, Mars aspecting the ascendant by the fourth house and Moon by the eighth house clearly revealed him to be possessive, a jealous man with an imbalanced mind. And most important, Rahu, Harshal, and Neptune in the seventh house showed the strange, sudden death of his wife. Both their horoscopes really set me thinking.

“But it was Jeetu’s horoscope which really clinched the matter. I realised at once that his horoscope was a fake. As per the natal chart given by Sheetal, Harshal, Sun, and Saturn were in Scorpio in the first house. It doesn’t take a veteran to notice that the planets were all placed in odd houses. As per Jeetu’s birth year, Harshal ought to have been in the twelfth house with Libra; and the Sun and Saturn in Leo in the fifth house, in conjunction with Jupiter, Mercury, and Rahu. That was enough for me to grasp the significance of the whole issue. There were three reasons why Sheetal would provide such a horoscope. One, that Jeetu had deliberately given
her
a false horoscope; two, that Sheetal had deliberately given
me
the wrong one; and three, that she gave me a
concocted
horoscope because
Jeetu too, was concocted
! Of course, I had to go back to the office, look up almanacs for verification, and do some research work. And two more incidents occurred. By mistake Tina showed me Anju’s old photo album. There I discovered Sheetal’s photo with Pankaj’s first wife. And Ganesh Pandit insisted on showing us the Mahalaxmi Temple.”

“What
did
he tell you when he took you on a tour of the temple?” Jatin asked.

“When Ganesh Pandit narrated his suspicions that Pankaj had murdered his first wife, I wasn’t too surprised. And I couldn’t disregard his suspicions, because for some reason I had begun to suspect something much bigger than a theft had happened at Kelshi. It was clear that Jeetu was a figment of Sheetal’s imagination. But the question was—why had she created this character? And why had she kept the fact of her friendship with Anju hidden from her husband? What game was she playing and how serious was it? I had to find out. And there was only one way to do it. Force Sheetal to take action, so that we could discover her plan. So I told Pankaj the truth about Jeetu and suggested he tell Sheetal that her friend Jeetu had been invited to dinner. That galvanised Sheetal. She vanished with Tina. After that, it wasn’t difficult to trace Anju’s parents, who voiced their private fears of their daughter’s tragic death. They had told the Police of their suspicions, but they had no proof whatsoever. The Police ruled it an accident, clearing Pankaj of all suspicion. But her parents had hated the guy, holding him responsible in their hearts and minds. After losing the custody battle for Tina, they encouraged Sheetal in her plan for custody. Sheetal was very aware of their suspicions, but since nothing had been proved, she couldn’t know for sure if he had indeed killed her friend. Pankaj’s horoscope revealed very surprising criminal traits and the accusations against him were strong. The two could only be linked with proof, which no one had. The plan of action was crystal clear in my mind. Provided, of course, that Sheetal complied. She was more than horrified at the thought that Pankaj could actually be a killer. It was hard for her, because she was in love with that guy. Just as Anju had been. But at last she agreed. She wanted to find out, once and for all, if he was indeed a murderer. She was ready for the truth. And the rest we all know!”

“Pankaj reacted exactly the way you predicted,” Jatin agreed, admiration in his eyes.

“Right. He walked straight into our trap, admitting to the killing of his wife.” Inspector Divekar grinned. “Though that was some dramatic scene from a film!”

“Sheetal’s fear and her horror were real,” Sonia replied soberly. “I really admired her for her courage.”

“But, Boss, the pistol had no bullets in it! What did she have to fear?”

“I wasn’t talking about that kind of fear, Jatin. It was more the fear of discovering that your worst nightmare had come true. That the man you love is nothing but a deadly murderer! And that ugly fact indisputably closed all doors to any thought of a possible future together, even for the sake of their daughter!”

“Anyway, the pistol Inspector Divekar gave you came into good use, didn’t it?” Jatin flashed a smile at the Inspector.

“You bet!” Sonia laughed. “What do you think, Uncle?”

“Not bad. But I’ll be happier if you stop using it as a decorative item in your theatricals and keep it handy for serious situations!” But Uncle Jeevan was smiling fondly. “Anyway, I must be off. Good job, Sonia. But remember what I said: Start your lessons.”

“Soon,” the detective promised.

Sonia relaxed against her chair, a contemplative look on her face and one hand caressing the cat’s silky body.

“It’s all right, Boss. You don’t have to worry about Sheetal.” Jatin spoke gently.

Sonia glanced at her assistant in genuine surprise. His perceptiveness moved her. This was a noticeable change, induced no doubt by the presence of his lady love, Naina. The girl must be a good soul, after all!

“She’ll be fine,” Jatin continued. “She’s living with Anju’s parents at the moment, isn’t she?”

Sonia nodded. “You’re right. She’ll learn to accept and then they’ll all move on.”

“Besides, Boss, a case is a case. No point getting your sentiments tangled with those of each and every person you come across, right? Just like a Doctor. Never get involved with your patients. That’s what I’ve been trying to drill into you all along. But you never seem to grasp the basics of investigation. Cold professionalism. Detachment. A clean cut from all emotions. No bonding and no—”

“Got it!” Sonia interrupted. And she’d thought that he was changing! The prospect was clearly as hopeless as checking weight every day on the weighing scale in the hope of discovering that your weight had reduced! She sighed. “Don’t you have a cricket match to watch on TV?”

Jatin jumped up from his seat. “Gosh! How could I forget? You’ll have to excuse me for the next hour, Boss!”

“Take the day off,” she told him grandly, and expelled a sigh of gratitude.

6

Check-Mate

The rain had defied all weather forecasts! It had fallen relentlessly through August and into September. The rivers were overflowing and the government even considered a flood situation. Not that it had affected the Ganesh festival season even an iota, Sonia realised as she slowed her van for a hasty view of the community Ganapati on its stage. The huge stage, jutting out onto the road, almost blocking traffic (which no one seemed to mind), boasted a scene from the epic
Mahabharata
with elaborately constructed and decorated, life-size statues, which moved in a circle around the stage. On the left, the idol of the god Ganesh sat with garlands around his neck. Loudspeakers blared a story explaining the set. Sonia knew that she would find more of these fascinating, lavish stages around the corner of each street in the days to come.

The ten-day Ganpati—Ganesh—festival had begun, despite the torrents, with a bang. As per the ritual, Hindu families bought Ganesh clay or plaster idols and carried them to their houses with noisy fanfare and devotion. They worshipped him for ten days and then immersed the idol in the river on the eleventh day.

Sonia admired the scene one last time, then accelerated the car, only to be stopped by a traffic signal. It was five in the evening and she had better hurry, but she couldn’t help indulging in quick pauses to admire the numerous
dekhave—
the picturesque exhibition of statues. It was the first day of Ganapati, but already the festive air was infectious. People, oblivious to the rain, carried idols of myriad sizes in their hands, shouting in chorus
“Ganapati Baapa Morya!”
Sonia marvelled at their enthusiasm, which not even the ceaseless rain seemed to dampen. Fortunately, the Samarths had a permanent statue of Lord Ganesh in their neat bungalow. They bought a miniature for the ritual immersion of the idol at the festival’s end. Earlier in the day, Sonia and her parents had performed
pooja—
the idol-worship rites—and now, in the evening, Mohnish, Jatin, and Naina were dropping by for
aarti—
musical prayers specially sung in honour of the Lord—and for
prasaad—
food offered to the idol.

Sonia smiled as she remembered the promise her mother had elicited from her that morning.

“No chasing criminals and no solving cases for ten days,” Mrs. Samarth had insisted, as she had set the pressure cooker for a fresh batch of sweet
modaks.
They were in the kitchen, a big room designed per Mrs. Samarth’s special requirements. Since Sonia very rarely attempted to cook anything more ambitious than a cup of
chai,
she was more than glad to allow her mother to reign in the kitchen. Which she did. Despite her busy schedule at the office, somehow Mrs. Samarth always found the time to cook special meals for the family!

“No cases,” Sonia had agreed.

“And you will do pooja every day.”

“Well…”

“Ganapati is a God of all Gods! He removes all obstacles,” Mrs. Samarth reminded her. Draped in a pure silk, blue-bordered sari, and with her shoulder-length wavy hair, she usually passed off as Sonia’s elder sister. She was pretty, even wearing a red-checked apron and a smudge of flour on her face. Sonia was very proud of her mother’s youthful good looks.

But it was unusual for her mother to insist on religious rituals. The Samarths had always practised religion quietly, without much fuss. What was so different this festival? Sonia wondered.

“Lord Ganesh has a place of honour in each house.” Mrs. Samarth turned to study her daughter. “All new activities have to begin with his blessings. He not only removes all obstacles, but he also protects his worshippers!”

“I know that, Mom! I believe in Ganapati and in
pooja
!”

“I’m glad.” Mrs. Samarth moved a fond hand over her daughter’s head. “I want him to protect you and take care of you. Specially in the profession you’ve chosen. Your father and I worry a lot about you.”

Sonia gave her mother a quick impulsive hug. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mom. I’ve never taken undue risks. Besides, you and Dad have a lot on your plate handling the family business. I’m just enjoying life, doing what I like.”

Mrs. Samarth smiled. “Just be careful, okay? And do pooja for these ten days.”

“Right, Mom!”

Now, as Sonia waited for the red signal to turn green, she smiled. Dear Mom and Dad. They had really stood by her, through all her decisions, respecting her choices. Through her childhood, despite the tragedy in their house, they had never ever smothered her with protection, as would have been the natural tendency. Instead, they had given her enough rope and freedom to pursue life on her terms. She had a lot to thank God for, Sonia thought gratefully.

A tap on the right window of the van interrupted her flow of thoughts. A hideous, ugly face was gazing at her. Small wild eyes and an unkempt beard peered through a grubby white sheet which was wound around his head. Water dripped in rivulets from his grubby, unclean face and the sheet slipped to reveal a mass of hair in knotty dreadlocks. His head twitched, involuntarily. But it was not his looks that sent a chill down the detective’s back. It was the expression in his eyes. Mean, very nearly malevolent. A dirty hand was thrust forward.

“Paisa do maaye!”—
Give me money, O mother!—he whined.

Sonia almost shrank back, an involuntary shiver of fear running down her back. Impulsively, Sonia began winding up the window.

The beggar began uttering a slew of bad words, shaking his fist at her and spitting on the pavement, his head twitching violently. Fortunately, the signal turned green and Sonia raced forward, her only thought being to escape the foul language and manner of the beggar. Only when she had safely neared her house did she brake the van to a halt, her heart thumping. What in heavens had come over her? Why had a beggar incited such strong emotions in her? But something about that man was so evil…. Sonia took a deep, steadying breath. It was just a random encounter. But she didn’t want to relive that choking shock again. As her heartbeat returned to normal, she almost smiled at herself. Sonia Samarth, the hardcore detective, had felt threatened by a mere beggar! It was a good thing Jatin had not witnessed this episode. She would never have heard the last of it!

Sukhakarata Dukhaharata Warta Vighnachi…
The
arati
sung in chorus, accompanied by a tinkling bell and the clapping of hands, filled the Samarth home with a pious air. The scent of joss sticks and fresh flowers mingled with the aroma of offerings of a fresh batch of
modaks—
a sweet dish made of coconut and jaggery, stuffed in rice-flour jackets in the shape of small, domed crowns—said to be Ganapti’s favourite sweet dish. Mr. Samarth, dignified in a crisp white kurta pyjama, held a plate on which rested a lit oil lamp. He circulated his hand with the rhythm of the
arati.
As the prayer ended, everyone chorused,
“Ganapati Bappa Morya!”
as a salutation to Lord Ganesh. Then Sonia took the lamp from her father and passed it to each of their guests. Mohnish smiled at her and moved a hand over the flame, then his hand to his eyes reverently. Jatin and Naina did the same. Last, she took the lamp to her parents, then placed the plate before the elaborately decorated three-foot-high statue of Ganesh. Kneeling, she touched first the idol’s feet and then her parents’ feet in reverence.

“Come along,” Mrs. Samarth welcomed the others.

Sonia watched, a little amused, as Jatin fumbled in his pocket and dropped a five rupee coin near the statue. Naina followed, kneeling beside the statue, closing her eyes, and praying silently. She really was a very pretty girl, Sonia thought for the umpteenth time. Naina opened her eyes, drew a hundred rupee note from her purse, and placed it at the foot of the idol. Sonia opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it again. What if she hurt the girl’s feelings with her objections? She had no right to dictate the amount, though there was no compulsion that you had to place money. It was a matter of personal choice and faith. As Naina rose, Mohnish followed suit and, kneeling, showered turmeric and red powder on the idol, and a
jhendu—
marigold—flower, along with a betel leaf and a ten rupee note.

“Now let’s all have
modaks
!” Mrs. Samarth announced, and steaming hot
modaks
were served with plenty of
ghee.

As they all settled in the hall and tucked into the delicious sweet, Sonia glanced around the gathering. Her parents, on the right side of the plush red sofa, were commenting on the Ganesh rituals and the monsoons. Jatin, in a flamboyant black leather jacket, and Naina, in a
zari-
bordered red Salwar Kameez, looked more like a couple with every passing day. And bang opposite her sat Mohnish. He wore a moss-green T-shirt over a pair of dark blue trousers and he looked as handsome as ever. He responded politely to Mr. Samarth’s remarks and once again, suddenly, Sonia felt blessed. Truly blessed. Her parents liked Mohnish and they had hinted more than once at a more serious relationship between them. Which of course Sonia had denied. But as she watched him laughing good-naturedly at a joke Jatin had cracked, she had to admit that she certainly wasn’t indifferent to Mohnish. On the contrary, she was positively and definitely drawn to him.

“What do you think, Sonia?” Mrs. Samarth cut into her thoughts.

“About what?” She jerked out of her trance guiltily.

“Boss hasn’t been listening,” Jatin accused. “She’s been staring at Mohnish!”

“Jatin! You’re impossible!” Sonia exclaimed, blushing furiously. Subtlety was never her Assistant’s best quality.

Mohnish laughed, his dimple staging an appearance as he turned a full, interested gaze on poor Sonia. “Is that right?” He quirked an eyebrow.

Mr. and Mrs. Samarth passed each other quick, amused glances.

“Soniaji, can I have some water?” Naina’s sweet voice broke into the awkward silence, changing the focus of the conversation.

Sonia threw her a grateful look and rose immediately. As she walked towards the kitchen, she was very aware of five pairs of curious eyes watching her.

The fountain sprouted colourful illuminated jets of water against the dark night, dancing in rhythm to a popular Hindi film song. Jatin and Naina watched the colourful display of water antics, their feet tapping with the music. Behind the fountain, on a raised stage, rose a big idol of Ganesh, heavily garlanded. Crowds passed by, idly watching the kaleidoscopic jets of water, then moved on with their families to watch the other
dekhave.
As the song ended, Jatin and Naina clapped spontaneously, then slowly strolled down the street. Fortunately, the rain had stopped for a couple of hours and everyone was taking advantage of the respite.

“Have you enjoyed working for Stellar Investigations?” Naina asked Jatin.

Jatin kicked a stone on the road. “They’ve been the two most rewarding years of my life!” he confessed.

“Really?”

“Boss is amazing. I mean as a person. As a detective, she’s exceptional.”

“And as a Boss?”

“Well, there’s room for improvement!” He grinned cheekily.

“Come on! I’m sure she must be an ideal Boss!”

“What do
you
know about it?” Jatin frowned.

“It’s not too difficult to deduce. Which Boss would allow her assistant to go off on dates in the middle of working hours?”

Jatin was silent.

“And who would give her assistant a mobile for Christmas?” Naina asked. “And she’s given you these ten festival days to do as you please, while you both stay off cases, giving you—”

“Plenty of time to get to know you!” he completed with a twinkle in his eyes. “I admit it. Sonia Samarth is the best Boss anyone could ever have! Now, let’s talk about us. You’re looking like an angel tonight,” he continued.

Naina blushed. “You pay me far too many compliments.”

“Every one of which you deserve,” he replied gallantly.

They turned onto F.C.Road, holding hands. Crowds jostled, even at that late hour. It seemed as if half of Pune was out on the streets enjoying the Ganapti
dekhave
set up by the community groups called
Mandals.
Some of the
Mandals
ranged back almost a hundred years, in keeping with the age-old tradition of celebrating the birth of Lord Ganesh.

“Do you like
Masala Dosas
?” Naina asked suddenly.

“I love them! It’s my favourite South Indian dish,” Jatin declared. Then he stopped. “Why don’t we have one right now? There’s my usual haunt.”

He pointed out a cart, on which a stove heated up a huge flat-iron
tava.
A man dressed in white overalls was busy laying out
dosas,
while his customers hung around patiently. Plastic chairs were set on the pavement for the tired and the old.

“Only if the treat is on me,” Naina remarked.

“No problem. It’s very cheap anyway.” Jatin led her to the cart. “Hello, Shettychacha,
sagale theek aahey na—
everything okay?”

“
Uttam!
Excellent!” Shettychacha acknowledged, wiping a kerchief over his dark, sweaty face. His oiled hair was well plastered in a side parting. “What will you have?”

“Two crisp
dosas,
please!”

“Give me five minutes.” Shettychacha nodded, indicating the chairs with his hand.

Jatin watched as Shettychacha quickly sprinkled water over the heated
tava.
He put semi-liquid, pasty rice dough into a
vati—
a small steel bowl—and dropped the rice platter on the
tava.
Then, using the back of the
vati,
he deftly flattened the dough on the
tava.
The thin layer of dough set and sizzled, browning in seconds. A blob of potato
subji
was placed in the centre of the platter and both the ends of the
dosa
were curved into a roll. The smell of the dish filled the night rain-laden air. Jatin loved the whole process. He knew it was an art. He could never take his eyes off the quick expert movements. The timing, the circular hand movements—everything had to be perfect.