EPISODE 24
Reddy showed Vivek Kalia, the private investigator, to the terrace where Raghav was eating.
The men greeted each other warmly. They had worked closely on a difficult matter a few years ago, and had developed mutual respect for each other. It had been some time since Raghav had to call on Vivek’s services.
Vivek glanced at Raghav’s plate and said, “Biryani at ten in the morning! How do you eat like that yet continue to look this good?”
Raghav gestured to Reddy to lay another place setting for his guest, and said, “This is Farhad’s Ammi’s biryani. You must have some.”
Vivek needed no further pressing. They ate and chatted nostalgically about the old case.
“Farhad mentioned you are interested in Mandhar Deshmukh—why is that?” Vivek asked, putting down his fork, and pushing the plate away.
Raghav nodded. “I’m interested in his widow—and curious what kind of man he was.”
“His widow?” Vivek said, infusing meaning into the two words. “When is it to be?”
“What?” Raghav looked up from his plate.
“The shaadi. This is one wedding I do not want to miss.”
Raghav lifted a napkin to his lips and asked, “Why is it that every time I mention a woman—you all begin to plan my wedding?”
Vivek responded. “It’s your fault. You live like a monk so the moment you drop a woman’s name, we can’t help but speculate. But seriously—as I said to Farhad, I would love to take your money—but I fear you too much to cheat you.”
Raghav asked, “What do you mean?”
“Everything I can tell you, your man Swamy has known for a year. I’m sure he’ll happily provide you with a hefty file on the case.”
“Mandhar Deshmukh’s death was a police case?”
“Of course. He was an MP.”
“A politician?”
Vivek shook his head. “MP. Missing Person. His family launched a search—and after a year he was announced dead. A body was never recovered.”
Raghav sat back absorbing this information.
“When Farhad mentioned the name it all came back to me.” Vivek added, “Because the circumstances were somewhat titillating, and made the tabloid news for a few days.”
“How so?”
“May I smoke?” Vivek asked. “I always follow good sex with a cigarette. And this biryani is the best sex I’ve had in a long while.”
Raghav laughed and indicated to Reddy to clear the table. Reddy brought an ashtray.
Vivek Kalia, as you might have already gathered, Sisters, was a colourful character. He liked to tell a good story. Raghav was the opposite—he preferred bullet points. However, in this case, Raghav indulged him.
“Imagine this,” Vivek began. “You’ve just come home from your wedding reception with your bride. She’s beautifully arranged on your rose petal-strewn bed. What are your thoughts? What are your intentions? Tell me. What do you do?”
Vivek required audience participation, so Raghav played along. “I take her away to an undisclosed location where I spend the next ten days exploring every inch of her.”
Vivek flicked his ashes, and said, “Exactly. But here is what Mandhar Deshmukh does. He tells his father something urgent has come up that he must attend to. He leaves the house—and is never heard from again—”
Raghav leaned forward, with interest, interrupting the storyteller, “—He left her on their wedding night?”
Vivek nodded, “Never seen nor heard from again. And not for lack of trying. I know from those who worked the case that the family spent a fortune searching for him. His mother was a permanent fixture at the police station.”
“So—he might not be dead?” Raghav said.
“Perhaps not.”
“What are the chances? A grown man held against his will for over a year? Seems unlikely,” Raghav said.
“But don’t dismiss that popular tv-serial trope—he has lost his memory and is somewhere out in the world unaware that he has a family in Hyderabad who believe he is dead.”
“Or he planned it?” Raghav suggested.
Vivek gave a gratifying shout. “That is far more common than people imagine. And surprisingly easy.”
“Then begin there. Presume he is not dead—and find him,” Raghav instructed.
Farhad stepped onto the terrace. He greeted Vivek and turned to Raghav. “Annah, we need to get to the hospital. Kirti just called. It’s Amma.”
***
“Didi?” Krishna said, tilting her head, casting a professional eye over Pallavi’s saree. “This doesn’t look like one of ours.”
Pallavi smoothed down the pleats of her blush pink saree and said, “It’s not. Do you like it?”
“I do,” Krishna said, lifting the pallu to examine it closely. “The silk is so finely woven. This would sell well for us. Where did you buy it?”
Pallavi said, “It was a wedding gift from my college dorm. They all clubbed together and gave me this saree and these pearls.” She adjusted the pearl choker, and said, “When Kirti comes this morning we should discuss colour palettes. I think for the first line, we should do pastels—”
Krishna’s phone rang at that very moment. Krishna saw the screen and held it up for Pallavi to view. It was Kirti calling. She connected the call on speaker. “Hey Kirti, Didi and I were just thinking about you.”
Kirti sounded out of breath. “I’m sorry, Krishna. I won’t be able to come for our meeting today—in fact, I don’t know when I’ll be able to—” and then the girl’s voice shattered into sobs.
Pallavi and Krishna drew closer to the phone, exchanging anxious looks.
They managed to understand that she was at Yashoda Hospital waiting to find blood so her mother could have emergency surgery. She apologized for cancelling their meeting, begged for their prayers that they would find AB negative blood because it was a rare blood group—and ended the call.
Krishna put the phone down and said, “Poor thing!”
“I’m AB negative,” Pallavi said, running to the storeroom for her purse and helmet.
Within moments, Krishna saw Pallavi weave past the pedestrians in her scooter, her pink pallu flying out behind her.
Edited by JalebiJane - 4 years ago
Anupamaa
