Read the series: Episode 1 | Episode 2 | Episode 3 | Episode 4 | Episode 5 | Episode 6 | Episode 7 | Episode 8 | Episode 9
It was Jamal who finally called Laadley and asked him to arrange a meeting. “Police have closed the case, but our Habib thinks that Rahman miyan was murdered. He wants to assemble everyone involved and discuss the matter.”
“Zaroor, by all means, let’s have a meeting, Jamal bhai. I have no control over Kanwal and Nirmal. They won’t come, and neither do I want them here, but I will assemble all the others: Maulvi saheb and the boys, Abrar and Arshad, Salman bechara is in jail, but we can call his mother and Zaitoon nani.”
“Better not. His mother will start wailing saying he is still in jail. Then Naseeban will also turn up, and they’ll have a big fight. We want a serious meeting. I will ask Achche chacha and Tara ma’am to be present too.”
“Shall I ask Abrar to make some paaya? He is free now. There will be rotis from my tandoor.”
“No, Laadley! Habib is calling the meeting to solve the murder. We can’t be eating paaya when the murderer is called out. Kamaal hai!”
§
The group had assembled at Laadley’s shop. The man in the sleeveless brown sweater and checked lungi was squatting upon the clay oven. Laadley had had it lit and had told him to have some kababs and rotis ready. “But serve it only if the murderer turns out to be Kanwal-Nirmal, or that Rana, or Salman – because he is already in jail. Don’t serve if it is one of the people present at the meeting. It will be very embarrassing.”
Laadley had also had plastic chairs arranged in rows facing the clay oven, which Jamal and Habib later rearranged into a large circle. “It is always a circle, Laadley,” Jamal had said sardonically.
Maulvi saheb and the senior boys were present; Abrar and Arshad were present too. Laadley had also invited Salman’s mother and Zaitoon nani, despite Jamal’s reluctance, out of a sense of fairness. Achche Lal had suggested that Mrs Pushpa Kumari come too, and bring with her Jamal’s parents. “It seems the children have solved the mystery,” he smiled. “Yes, and look at you – you were interrogating them only!” said she.
Even Constable Rana came to the meeting, with Shambhu riding pillion. He parked his motorcycle alongside the gutter and sat sidesaddle on it, such that he had full view of the proceedings. Shambhu stood by, not sure whether to go inside or be close to Rana.
“Arre, Rana? You’ve also come?” called out Achche Lal.
“I had come to eat the Bhandara, sir. Then I heard about this meeting, so I thought I will also come and get enlightened,” said Constable Rana. “I brought Shambhu also. Aye Laadley, give me some saunf. I have eaten too much,” he burped at Shambhu.
§
“Police has closed the murder case,” began ASI Achche Lal. “We have now got the post mortem report, which indicates that Rahman miyan died due to some infection. He slipped into a coma around midnight and passed away in the morning.”
“Saheb, let Salman go…,” his mother wailed from a chair and Jamal clucked impatiently. Zaitoon nani embraced her tightly and mumbled some platitude into her ear.
“But there was so much blood? We were told he was hit with the steam iron,” said Laadley.
“He was unconscious and fell on the steam iron. Then he hit his head against the counter top and everything crashed to the ground. There was a lot of bleeding, but it was not serious. The doctor said that there was no skull fracture or anything. It would have required a few stitches.
“There was extra bleeding because Rahman miyan used to take blood thinners for his heart,” Habib added.
“Yes, the doctor had indicated even on that day that it might not have been an assault. So what happened then? Rahman miyan had a bad infection and he slipped into a coma? Why was he not taken to the hospital? Abrar, Arshad, why did you not call the doctor?” asked Jamal’s father, Asghar.
“He was okay when we left! He was coughing and wheezing but he was fine. He was already annoyed with us because I had brought Salman in when he was doing his accounts. He had had to put everything away,” Arshad lowered his voice and said apologetically: “And then Rana sir had come. Rahman miyan’s accounts had remained incomplete all evening and he wanted to be alone and finish them. We left on his orders, and when we came back in the morning, he was no more.”
“But you left only after finishing all your work? You even washed Shambhu’s pateela in which you had brought chashni that evening?” asked Habib
“Oh that was much earlier. That was when Jamal bhai and you had come and had wanted gulab jamun. Must have been around 7.30, Shambhu?”
“Yes, 7.30. I was closing my shop and I didn’t need the pateela that evening, so when you said that Jamal ji is asking for more chashni I gave my pateela,” Shambhu confirmed.
“Why were you eating so much gulab jamun? A pateela of chashni?” exclaimed Jamal’s mother.
“Well, the chashni is of some significance,” said Tara. “Rahman miyan actually died of a serious diabetic complication. It is called diabetic ketoacidosis and it is triggered when a diabetic person has some infection and at the same time his blood sugar levels go unchecked. It produces high levels of blood acids, which poison the body. Now Rahman miyan did have a serious chest infection. I suppose we can blame the air for that. But also he was being apparently less careful about his food and medicines in his wife’s absence. All of these would have been contributing factors to the onset of the complication,” Tara paused dramatically before she continued. “But if Rahman miyan was deliberately administered chashni, during a severe infection, that would definitely have contributed to the complication. So Jamal, answer your mother, a pateela of chashni?”
Constable Rana leaned in with interest. Jamal and his mother both turned red. “What are you saying, ma’am? Please don’t make such jokes. He has already been treated as a suspect. I only meant that he shouldn’t be having so much chashni because he himself has sugar,” Aamna said.
Tara raised her hands in apology.
“I didn’t ask for more gulab jamuns,” said Jamal. “Why does Shambhu keep lying and saying that I sent for more gulab jamuns and chashni? I only had one. Habib you were there!”
“Yes, we only had one gulab jamun each and then we left together. I remember because it was my treat. Jamal bhai would not have ordered more since I was going to pay. So why does Shambhu keep saying he sent more chashni for Jamal bhai?”
Everyone looked towards Shambhu, who merely shrugged and said, “How would I know if Jamal ji had actually asked for one plate or several plates? That is what Arshad said to me – he asked for the whole pateela of chashni. But I have been telling the police this story for some time now and this is the first time Jamal ji has actually denied having asked for more chashni.”
“I was just confused by what you were saying,” shouted Jamal in agitation.
“Jamal bhai certainly did not ask for more gulab jamun. I can vouch for that,” said Habib. “Perhaps Shambhu never sent more chashni nor his pateela over to Rahman miyan, but made up this whole story as a cover when he stole the tiffin carrier, to show that he had brought it back by mistake, together with his own pateela?” Habib was thinking on his feet.
“That wouldn’t make sense, Habib. That would mean there was no chashni to begin with, and the whole story was false. Whereas we are acting on the premise that somebody deliberately gave him chashni and brought on the coma,” Tara intervened.
“Arshad! You went and told Shambhu that I had wanted more gulab jamuns,” Jamal suddenly realised.
“And Abrar and Arshad are the only two people who could very easily have administered it to Rahman miyan. Put it in the qorma, or put it in any other food item? They also knew about his diabetes and how careful he was generally,” Habib said.
“We had guessed it the moment we heard Shambhu say that he had sent a pateela full of chashni. But I think Habibi momentarily forgot our theory, when he decided to explore this fresh line of enquiry about Shambhu having made it up,” said Tara matter of factly.
Constable Rana had now descended from his motorcycle seat and come inside the shop, Shambhu trailing behind him. Rana was looking at ASI Achche Lal for his cue. But Achche Lal seemed lost in thought.
“That night we saw Rahman miyan repeatedly insult Arshad,” Jamal next offered a motive.
“Yes, in fact, he continued to snap at both of them even when I was there,” Constable Rana said. “He was treating them with disdain.”
Arshad and Abrar both seemed bemused. “You are saying that we killed Rahman miyan because he was insulting us? Jamal bhai, everyone insults us all the time. Even Rana Sir insults us. We are used to it. If we go killing everyone for an insult…” Arshad scoffed and Abrar hurriedly put a hand on his shoulder. “That was Rahman miyan’s style. He’d get irritated very quickly, like Jamal bhai only. But we didn’t really mind,” he added. The maulvi nodded absentmindedly.
“But he also informed on people, on your friends, and everyone was peeved,” Tara said.
“There was nothing to inform on us. We knew everything that was told. We were usually there with him all the time,” Abrar said.
Tara glanced at Jamal and Habib, as they seemed to run out of ideas regarding motive. “In my head I was certain we had solved it. But there are so many details we had missed,” she said.
“Only motive I suppose,” said Jamal.
“Well there was one other significant thing that happened: Rahman miyan announced that he was leaving the restaurant to his wife’s nephew,” Habib remembered. “Arshad said that he could have managed it too. And Rahman miyan made fun of him for even thinking that.”
“Who else would he give his restaurant to if not to his relative? He didn’t have children of his own,” Laadley said.
“They are suggesting that Abrar and Arshad had hoped to get the restaurant after Rahman miyan, and when they found out that he was going to give it to his wife’s nephew they killed him out of spite. That kind of motive exists in novels and in cinemas; in real life the servants know it will never come to them,” Zaitoon nani said with a smile. The boys from the madarsa smiled too.
Laadley scowled at the man in the checked lungi.
“We always knew it was going to the nephew. She had been after his life; it was discussed, day and night, for the last one year. We never imagined it would come to us,” Arshad spoke with genuine surprise.
“May I say something? Even I know what might have happened,” Zaitoon nani said. She glowered at Abrar and Arshad: “Were you just having fun at the poor man’s expense? You were irritated so gave him some chashni to aggravate his sickness?” They remained quiet. Zaitoon nani turned to her audience, “Cooks do that. When I felt cheated by begum saheba, I would forget to put salt, or put too much masala, or leave the rice, or the gosht uncooked. What else could I do? These days, if there is a problem, people just leave work – look at Salman. He can’t hold a job – gets bored, or gets upset and stops working. We did not have that option. Anyway, I don’t think they would dare to murder somebody like Rahman miyan. What exactly did you do boys?” she raised her chin.
“Abrar bhai used to put whatever ingredients he liked into the paaya and if I told him that Rahman miyan would not like it, he would say ‘Who’s the cook? Him or I?’ Sometimes he put more chilli to please the public who came to eat the paaya, but sometimes he did it to make Rahman miyan sick!” Arshad snitched.
“I never forced him to eat the hot paaya. He himself liked to eat and then complain if he felt sick later,” Abrar said. “Anyway, that day Arshad brought the chashni back just for fun. We warmed it and drank some of it ourselves. Rahman miyan was coughing and he wanted me to make him some kaarha, and he kept snapping at us for no reason. I put some cinnamon, pepper, ginger and tulsi leaves into the decoction, and then I also put some hot chashni. He liked it so much that he had three mugs, one after the other. Then he had a coughing fit but then he was fine. All this was before 11 o’clock. By 11 the customers had left, and we had cleaned up the place. That is why Shambhu’s chashni pateela was all washed and cleaned. We had put out the tandoor also and were just preparing to leave. I was sitting outside relaxing and Arshad was locking up, when Salman came to ask for work. Arshad made the mistake of taking him inside while Rahman miyan was counting money, and he became very upset and agitated. Then suddenly Rana sir arrived with Kanwal ji and we had to feed them. Rahman miyan made us light the tandoor fire again. Rana sir stayed for almost an hour and Kanwal ji and he said many things.”
“What things?” ASI Achche Lal asked sharply
“Rana sir said that serving nehari-roti was hurting Kanwal’s sentiments. Rahman miyan had become very tense and upset,” said Arshad.
“Stress also causes onset of diabetic ketoacidosis. This kind of unwarranted bullying could also have been a factor,” said Jamal, while looking into the middle distance and away from Constable Rana.
“Why have you not called Kanwal to this meeting?” asked Mrs Pushpa Kumari.
“Kanwal ji is busy with Bulbhaddar babu’s bhandara,” Shambhu answered.
“I always suspected Kanwal,” said Mrs Pushpa Kumari to Aamna as an aside but in everyone’s hearing.
“After Rana sir and Kanwal ji left, Rahman miyan told us to also leave quickly. He didn’t even let us put away the big pateela of qorma. That’s why Salman found it lying outside,” Abrar further explained.
“He had the chashni-kaarha himself. He wanted some home remedy,” Arshad said.
“But you’ve been with him since childhood. Did you not know that his diabetes could cause a complication?” Jamal asked.
“Do even you know, Jamal?” his father said. “You’re not very careful yourself. How would people near you know how risky something might be? Did you know Habib?”
The group had broken into smaller discussions. Laadley was making faces at Abrar and Arshad. “Kambakht, I had thought I’d keep you. But go rot in hell, now.”
Jamal was telling Habib that he had read about incidents when slaves rebelled through small acts of insubordination, by pretending to not hear, or spoiling their day’s work, and even getting whipped for it sometimes. Habib looked distracted, evidently wanting to return to the meeting.
Tara was saying to Achche Lal that had the police done proper forensic tests of the pateelas and the plates, there would be more clarity about what was administered in what dosage and at what time. “Then we would know if they had given him chashni to only tease, or to actually kill?”
“Madam, I can detain them and get a confession if you want,” said Achche Lal tersely. Tara recoiled at the idea: “No, Achche Lal ji, that’s not the way. You might beat a confession out of them, but we will still not know the truth.”
Mrs Pushpa Kumari also nodded in agreement. “I don’t think they are lying,” she said.
ASI Achche Lal got up from his chair and signaled to Constable Rana to step out with him. “Sir, what should we do?”
“Well ACP saheb has closed the case. We can arrest them now and reopen the case, but we will first need his permission,” Achche Lal said.
“Sir, there is nothing to go on. Even if we file a chargesheet they’ll get out immediately. Better to get them for something else next time. We can properly plan and put it on them,” Constable Rana.
“Where are you learning all this Rana?” said Achche Lal with obvious distaste. “I don’t want to involve them now because this case is complicated. Really, someone can argue that stress was a contributing factor also.”
“Sir, you mustn’t believe what they are saying. They are liars; always trying to implicate the police.”
When the policemen returned, Abrar and Arshad had slinked into a corner and looked suitably fearful. It appeared that Laadley had just hit them. He was being pulled away from them by Jamal, while Zaitoon nani was now speaking to them.
“Case is closed,” said ASI Achche Lal, “but if I hear of anything in the future, any crime in the area, I’ll come and find you. I don’t want to lay eyes on you for the next few months, you understand? You get out now.”
There was silence for a moment and then Laadley sighed loudly. “At best it was a contributory factor. I don’t think they gave it to him intentionally.”
“Then what did you just hit them for?” Jamal exclaimed.
Laadley shrugged: “Even giving Rahman miyan chashni in the kaarha was wrong.”
“They probably gave him the chashni much earlier in the evening. And he carried on through the evening, so they must not have realised how ill he would become,” a boy from the madarsa spoke for the first time.
“Yes, they must have finished the chashni much earlier in the evening. That is how my pateela was washed, whereas the big qorma pateela from which Rana sir was served was left out,” Shambhu also agreed.
“Anyway they will suffer for their deed. Nobody will speak to them, or give them any work. Total boycott,” said Laadley.
“Hmmnh, they will be back in a day begging and pleading,” said Jamal with a laugh.
After a few minutes, the group started to break. People got up to leave. The man in the sleeveless brown sweater and checked lungi crept upon Laadley and whispered in his ear, “Am I to serve kababs or not? Nobody has been declared murderer.”
“Swine! Is this the time?” Laadley thundered.
The end.
Note from the author
The murder mystery, such as it is, is done. Thank you Seema Chishti for inviting me to write. It was a wonderful experience. I should have written the whole story and then broken it up into parts, for serialised publication. Instead I wrote from week to week, issuing two chapters at a time.
The process was exciting, interactive and alive. But I never submitted on time, thus eating into my editor Jahnavi Sen’s weekends. Thank you, Jahnavi, for your patience, and for your technical team’s time. Thank you for the silent encouragement, tempered often with silent disapproval at the late submissions. Both were helpful.
I knew I had at least some readers who actually waited for the next installment: my parents, Paro, my muanijaan, and my friends Mayukhi, Kaiser, Monty, Mallika, Sujata and Richa. I’m most indebted. My sisters did not wait for the installments, and only read chapters under duress; then they offered their criticism. It was very useful, though.
Thanks also to Vanita, Veena and Anjolie for their feedback.
Finally, very special thanks to Dr Sumit Ray, for making time to help me resolve the murder. I had started to write without an end in mind, and made mistakes along the way: he helped me with the ‘means’ question, so central to a murder mystery, and with tying all the loose ends together.
Thank you Paro, Abbu and Mama for reading and editing and debating the plot points with me.
