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ASI Achche Lal was expecting drama.
A bleary and irritable Constable Rana paced up and down outside the madarsa in anticipation of ACP saheb’s arrival. Abrar, the cook, had been asked to be present in order to identify the pateela. He stood to one side, along with his brother Arshad, waiting to be called to the proceedings. Laadley had guessed that something was afoot and had dragged his plastic chair out into the gali, his new point of vantage, where he sat watching expectantly.
Well into the morning, ACP saheb led a small police party as it marched purposefully up the alley, striding past Laadley, all the way to the madarsa. Both Achche Lal and Constable Rana jumped to attention.
“I kept watch all night, sir. No activity, sir. Stolen goods are still inside,” reported Constable Rana. He stepped up and rapped on the wooden door, “Eh, come out!”
The young maulvi opened the door a crack, again looking terrified. “I have already told sir everything,” he said pointing towards Achche Lal.
“Did I ask you what you have said to whom?” Constable Rana kicked at the door.
“Saheb, Salman bhai brought us qorma in that pateela. We didn’t even know where it was from – we just ate the qorma,” the maulvi folded his hands.
“Hain? What is he saying – Salman brought the pateela?” the ACP asked. Achche Lal whispered into his ears briefly and the ACP frowned. “Then you should have caught him last night only. What were you waiting for? They are all confirming that Salman had brought them the pateela? To feed them? Since when has he become such a provider?”
He called out to the maulvi, “Master ji, you come out here, and call the boys also. Let’s see who ate what.”
By this time, a small crowd of onlookers had assembled. The maulvi was wailing, “Had Rahman miyan been alive, he would have saved us. Who will look after us now?”
“First you steal qorma from a dead man – feast on it, and then you’re crying for him when you’re caught? You don’t have any shame?” ACP saheb felt stirred.
The maulvi spotted Laadley in the crowd. “Laadley bhai, please save me. You tell Inspector saheb, I’ve done nothing.”
The ACP half-turned towards Laadley, “Don’t intervene unless you want to get arrested. Don’t disturb law and order.”
But Laadley was not easily deterred. “They are orphans, saheb. Salman has grown up amidst them. He often brings them food. Sometimes, he takes from my hotel also.”
The ACP seemed to not have heard. “Call everyone out,” he snapped. A dozen boys of various ages, ranging from six to 19 but uniformly spindly, stood in a straight line, seeming more curious than fearful.
“Make them all stand in line, height wise. The tallest ones at the end closest to where I am standing. And, master ji, you also come and join the line at this end – you are senior most.”
It was at that fortuitous moment that Tara, accompanied by Jamal and Habib, arrived at the madarsa. She grimaced when she heard the boys being asked to stand height wise in a straight line.
“Sir, they are children!” she said.
“Who are you, madam?” asked the ACP wearily.
“I am a lawyer.”
“Whose lawyer? One of them has engaged you?” he asked impassively.
“I only want to make sure that the children remain safe.”
“Now you are suggesting that the children are not safe in the company of policemen?” the ACP feigned a smile. “What is this? What is happening in this country? And these two with you: do you know they are being investigated for conspiracy? Together you all will watch over us as we try to carry on investigations? Don’t try to browbeat the police, Madam. It will cause you trouble.”
The ACP found a parapet to climb on, so that he was higher than the rest of the group. He stood there, arms akimbo, gazing at the crowd with authority, and gave out more orders: “Take those two inside to identify the pateela; then seize it as evidence,” he nodded at Abrar and Arshad, then turned towards Tara: “Madam, this is a criminal investigation. This is not some PIL matter. Please stand back.” There was palpable tension now.
Inside the madarsa, Abrar and Arshad were examining the pateela with some self-importance. “Aye, don’t touch. It is evidence. Look at it from here and say,” snapped Rana.
“Yehi hai! This is indeed our big pateela. They have washed it clean. Had a full dawat on my qorma, hain?” Abrar said.
“Pucca, it is our pateela,” confirmed Arshad.
§
ACP saheb had now sat down on a plastic chair. It may have been the same one that Laadley had earlier occupied. Or it may have been another; Neelkamal plastic chairs were easily found in the old galis. Achche Lal had bent down behind him in order to speak directly into his ears: “Sir, I have already recorded their statements last night. It is believable that Salman had brought the pateela here. There doesn’t seem to be any direct involvement of these people. Better to go arrest Salman, sir. If we spend too much time at the madarsa, it will become an issue. One lawyer is already present, soon the media will come.”
“You should have apprehended Salman last night itself, but now there has been a recovery from the madarsa. What if one of them is responsible and he absconds later? Where will you go about finding them?” ACP saheb retorted.
“We will keep all their names in the register, sir. There is no direct involvement.”
ACP saheb dismissed Achche Lal with an impatient wave of the hand and motioned to maulvi saheb to come forward. “Haan ji, master ji, how did Rahman miyan’s pateela come to be in your kitchen? Did one of the boys steal it?”
Maulvi saheb was shaking involuntarily. He let out a sob, which was more than Laadley could bear: “Arre, maulvi saheb, why are you crying like a woman? ACP saheb is asking you a simple question – just answer it. What is the problem?”
The ACP sighed at the extent of crowd participation, but nodded encouragingly at maulvi saheb. “Saheb, Salman bhai brought qorma. He said you all have not had qorma in some time, so eat it. Then he said, ‘Let me take a little bit for Naseeban’s children also.’ The rest I distributed amongst all the boys, and then we cleaned the pateela and left it in the kitchen thinking he will take it back. That is all I know!”
“Achche Lal, he took some of it to Naseeban’s house it seems. Have you checked her house for evidence?”
ASI Achche Lal mumbled that he had not. “You can’t afford to miss small details like this. Whole case may turn on such details,” ACP saheb said officiously.
“Saheb, Rahman miyan’s tiffin carrier was also missing. It is not here at the madarsa either. He must have taken qorma in it to Naseeban’s house,” said Abrar in a shrill voice.
Balabhadra babu, uncharacteristically absent thus far, came upon the scene just then. “Arre, what is happening? Nobody informed me! I have been busy with organising the consecration programme, bhai.” He detached himself from the crowd and approached the ACP, a little awkwardly.
ACP saheb watched with annoyance as Balabhadra babu shuffled about till he had found himself a matching chair, which he set very close to ACP saheb’s own chair. Balabhadra babu proceeded to sit on it and then leant forward, apparently to whisper something in confidence to ACP saheb. He seemed to be explaining something at length to ACP saheb. ASI Achche Lal who was standing just behind the ACP heard too.
“Arre, the tiffin carrier has been found too! It is with Shambhu, not with Naseeban,” Achche Lal exclaimed loudly.
The ACP turned around and glared at Achche Lal. Tara found her moment and said that things from Rahman miyan’s hotel had obviously been taken by different people, and they were slowly turning up in different places, and there may not be any need to blame the children alone and to keep them back for questioning.
“Haan, I agree with madam. Only main murderer has to be found. In any case, sir, I have told Shambhu to wait in my shop. Anytime sir wants, he can speak to him. But it was a genuine mistake; I can assure you. He brought back the packet thinking it had only his pateela in it, and the tiffin carrier also happened to be lying inside,” said Balabhadra babu.
ACP saheb weighed all the options and decided to not make arrests at the madarsa at the moment. “Take down everyone’s name, address and Aadhar number,” he said gruffly, as he prepared to lead his party to Naseeban’s house.
§
“Why is the whole mohalla walking to the next place? Is this any way? Somebody would have called and warned Salman by now – what kind of investigation are you all carrying out? And Achche Lal, I hadn’t expected this kind of behaviour from you! You announced to the whole mohalla something that had been said to us in confidence.”
Now, as Laadley and the man in the checked lungi, Abrar and Arshad, Jamal, Habib and Tara, Balabhadra babu, as well as several boys from the madarsa walked behind a posse of policemen to Naseeban’s house, they all wondered for the first time whether he would be arrested for Rahman miyan’s murder. “He won’t be there now,” said a tall boy from the madarsa.
“Why, you warned him?” said Laadley with a wink.
“Arre, it’s not his time to be there now. It’s only noon,” Abrar laughed.
“But at some point Salman will need a good lawyer,” Laadley felt. “His mother works with important people, they’ll provide,” said his companion who was wearing a checked lungi. Laadley was probably not convinced for he sidled up to Jamal and Habib, “What is madam’s full name? Is she Mohammadan?” he asked. They shrugged in embarrassment. Tara heard too, but said nothing.
A search of Naseeban’s modest quarters revealed neither Salman nor any leftover qorma, but the police did recover a plastic folder with sundry certificates and papers belonging to Rahman miyan. “What is this now? Has he stolen any bank papers?” ACP saheb extended his hand for the folder. “Aadhar, voter’s ID card, electricity bills, medical bills, what is all this…and where is the meat?”
“It must have been eaten that night only. Why would they keep it for four days?” said Laadley. Naseeban and her children admitted that Salman had bought qorma and fed them, which threw Naseeban’s husband into another fit of anger. “Because of you, my little children will now go to jail. How could you let a murderer feed my children?” he ranted.
“Did he say where he had got it from?” asked Achche Lal.
“No! Four pieces of mutton – we didn’t discuss where it had come from. We just ate it,” said Naseeban.
“Why did he bring this folder full of Rahman miyan’s identity papers?”
“I will tell you,” old Zaitoon nani had hobbled across with Salman’s mother upon hearing that the police were raiding Naseeban’s house. “Of late, he had become possessed with the idea that he needed to collect certificates and all kinds of papers. I suspect he brought these without realising that he couldn’t use them.”
“Everyone has an opinion,” muttered the ACP. “Where is Salman now?” he asked Salman’s mother and Zaitoon nani harshly.
“Must be in the bazaar,” Salman’s mother started to curse Naseeban and cry at the same time. “My only son…” she sobbed.
§
The ACP had dispatched Constable Rana, together with Abrar and Arshad, to look for Salman. “I have to speak to this Shambhu also, Balabhadra babu.” He turned and surveyed the lingering crowd, “Achche Lal, will this crowd be following me all over the mohalla today?”
“Sir, let them come if they want to come. Otherwise they will make it seem as if there is some big conspiracy and that we are trying to save Shambhu. Let them see for themselves that we interrogated him also as part of our investigation.”
Balabhadra babu ushered everyone into his shop with great formality and immediately sent someone to bring ‘hot tea, first’. “Shambhu himself is the tea champion, but today he has to be interrogated,” he declared. “I told him that it was a grave mistake; he should not have. But it is a genuine case, sir. His own utensil was in the same packet. It was a death scene, so he was trying to be respectful. He didn’t want to poke and prod. He quietly picked up his packet without checking to see whether there was anything else inside. Only later he found out about the tiffin carrier.”
“It was a crime scene; body was still lying there and you went about looking for your utensil? What was so urgent?” asked the ACP.
“Sir, I had to make the day’s gulab jamun! Night before Jamal ji had ordered gulab jamun, so I sent back two plates. Then he asked for more gulab jamun and chashni, so I sent the pateela only thinking it’ll come back the next morning. Then I saw it lying there, washed, and I thought Arshad must have washed and kept it for returning to me, so I brought it back.”
Jamal was listening intently. He scratched his nose in a thoughtful manner and looked at Habib.
“Did you really not see the big tiffin carrier? How big was your packet that the tiffin just got lost in it? You didn’t feel its weight also?” the ACP stood very close to Shambhu.
“Must have deliberately stolen it, sir,” called out Laadley.
Balabhadra babu coughed. “ACP saheb, why would he steal a non-veg tiffin carrier? He doesn’t take non-veg food, or serve it in his shop. What use is a non-veg tiffin carrier to us? He came and informed me as soon as he realised his mistake. Anyway, I am certain that once the report comes, we shall find out that it was not even murder. It was probably gastro, or asthma. Rahman miyan ran such a famous hotel, but he couldn’t eat anything because of his stomach problems. And his asthma became very bad in the winter air. ACP saheb, our humble request is: please close this matter before the holy consecration ceremony.”
“Are you saying that the air killed him?” asked Tara.
“We all die incrementally until the day we actually die,” said Balabhadra babu philosophically.
The phone rang and ASI Achche Lal held up his hand, motioning for them to stop talking. He listened into the phone and said, “Sir, Salman has been apprehended. Rana has detained him and is seeking your permission to call an Uber to take him to the police station.”
“Are you arresting Salman? But you are not detaining this one for theft,” Tara motioned towards Shambhu with her chin.
“Madam, I don’t have to answer to you why I am arresting one suspect and not arresting another. Salman is a known offender, Rahman miyan’s papers have been recovered from him, plus he tried to abscond. And let me tell you – he was helped by someone from the madarsa, those ‘children’ that you were valiantly trying to save,” said the ACP tersely and strode out of the shop, ending any further discussion.
“Madam, the police are like that only. They are always blaming us,” Laadley said matter of factly.
Balabhadra babu looked at Laadley’s sullen expression, and also noted Jamal and Habib’s despondent faces. “Let the police do their duty, It is not right to keep questioning like this. Nobody is discriminating against any person or community. We are all one. Come, let us have another round of tea,” he said.
“Isn’t it time to close the shop for lunch, Bulbhaddar chacha?” asked Jamal.
“Arre, where is the time for lunch these days? There is so much work to do. Now look at these Modi masks. These are leftover stock from the previous election, but in tip-top condition,” Balabhadra babu picked up a paper mask and put it on. Suddenly they saw Modi Ji beaming at them. “See? First I thought I’d distribute these only,” said Balabhadra babu’s muffled voice, “but then I thought it is not the current picture. We should have an updated picture for this historic occasion, so lot of printing work also. Then I have to make banners, flags, headbands, everything.”
“What is the programme, Bulbhaddar chacha?”
Balabhadra babu took off the mask. “Now everyone can’t go for the temple consecration ceremony in Ayodhya. There is only limited capacity, no? But every Indian’s heart is filled with emotion and pride. Everyone wants to be a part of this sacred ceremony. So we are having ceremonies in every mohalla across the country.”
“Communal prayer? Like the namaz, where everyone prays at the same time,” said Tara.
“Not like namaz, Madam. Our own ceremony.”
“Bulbhaddar chacha, you will again order that non-veg cannot be sold? First that Rana took away all my supply and I had to remain closed. Just this morning, I have reopened and now again Kanwal and Nirmal will come and say ‘close down’, and put jhandis outside my shop.”
“Arre, Laadley, why so much non-cooperation and negativity? You can’t stop selling meat for a few days to respect people’s sensibilities? We show tolerance or not? I have so many Muslim friends. During Ramzan, my wife used to complain: ‘Every day you have to go for an iftaar party?’ My most senior shop attendant was Muslim. I always used to make sure he was free at namaz time – no matter what was going on in the shop, I would say to him, ‘You go to the mosque and finish your namaz first.’”
Jamal had begun to titter, “Bulbhaddar chacha, now you are sounding like a fake secular who doesn’t actually know any Muslims at all. Otherwise, how many shop attendants do you know in the old city who take time off for namaz? Laadley, do you also send your man to first read his namaz when he is trying to light the tandoor?
The man in the checked lungi and brown sweater laughed most heartily.
§
ACP saheb was tired, but Constable Rana was completely exhausted. He had been up the previous night, then in the field all morning, and now he had been slapping Salman intermittently for the last one hour trying to get him to confess to the murder of Rahman miyan.
“He treated me badly but I never harmed him,” wailed Salman. “He threw me out again that evening, so I went and had a drink.”
“How many drinks did you have?” Rana shook him violently.
“A few. I cry when I drink. I went back to plead with Rahman miyan privately, because I knew Arshad bhai would have left by then. But he was lying on the ground. I thought he was sleeping; I didn’t think. I took his folder from the table and went into the kitchen to see what was there. There was a full pateela of qorma; I thought I’ll take it and share it with everyone.”
When ACP saheb tired of listening to the screams, he called for ASI Achche Lal.
“Sir, I think he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time,” said Achche Lal. “He was drunk, went back to argue, or plead, saw that Rahman miyan was lying on the floor and took the opportunity to steal. Maybe he knew he was already dead, or maybe he really thought he was sleeping. God only knows!”
“He thought Rahman was sleeping on the floor with the whole place turned upside down around him? How do you know he isn’t lying?”
Achche Lal shrugged, “My humble experience, sir. He wouldn’t have lasted so long in interrogation.”
“Why did he steal the documents?”
“To use for the NRC it seems. He doesn’t have his own,” Achche Lal twirled the fingers of his right hand in a gesture that indicated bewilderment at Salman’s naiveté.
“He is an idiot, or what? Anyway, Achche Lal, I will be frank with you. I have felt from the beginning that the investigation has been deficient. You found out that Salman had brought the pateela to the madarsa but instead of arresting him there and then, you sat on the information. And another thing, you said take these people along – let them see when we interrogate Shambhu, but then nothing satisfies them. Now they are saying why did you arrest one and not the other! It is all part of an ecosystem. This communal card will come up again, just watch. Once you get used to playing the victim card, then you see everything through jaundiced eyes, no?”
Constable Rana knocked at the door, came in and smartly saluted. “Sir, he stole from there; that much is definite. But more than that he is not saying.”
“Keep him – you have 14 days. Then let him go into judicial custody. When you file the chargesheet after three months, put Section 302. If the new criminal Act is allowed to come in by then, he would be tried for stealing. But if it is the old Act still, he would be tried for murder. It will depend on his luck. And his lawyers and supporters will also learn that it is not good to oppose every single change.”
ASI Achche Lal and Constable Rana looked at him uncertainly. The ACP burst out laughing, “Joking, bhai, joking.”
To be continued…
Shahrukh Alam has been trying to write a murder mystery for a very long time. She has written versions of this story since 2013 and The Wire has published one such version earlier. She is hopeful that she’ll deliver a complete mystery this time. 🤞🏻
