‘I hope I’m not disturbing you too soon, Miss Madhavan. Inspector Raju would like to speak to you in his office – the room he was using last night. But at your convenience, there is no hurry.’
‘Thank you, it’s quite convenient now. I will come.’ And she called towards the shower-room: ‘The inspector wants to see me. I won’t be long. Do take down that sari, if it’s in your way.’
‘I already have. All right,’ said Patti’s voice, half-resigned and half-relieved, ‘after you!’
She was dressing when Priya came back. She came in very softly and quietly, as was her way, and began to collect up her night things without a word, her hands competent and quick as ever; and it took Patti several minutes to realise that there was a different quality about this silence, a private tension, not at all out of hand – she had never seen any emotion get out of hand in Priya so far – but nevertheless troublous and dismaying. Then, looking up with carefully screened attention through the drift of her fair hair as she brushed it, she saw tears overflow slowly from the dark eyes. She dropped her brush and was across the room in an instant.
‘Priya, what is it, what’s the matter? What did he want with you?’ She flung an arm round the slender, straight shoulders, and then, in terror that her touch was too familiar and would be unwelcome even in these circumstances, snatched it away again. And Priya smiled faintly but genuinely, and smudged the tears away again. No new ones followed them.
‘It’s all right – that is, it isn’t anything unexpected. I didn’t look for anything else. But I told you, it never gets any more bearable when you lose one…’
‘But what’s that inspector been doing to you?’
‘He is very kind, and it was nice of him to think of telling me. Of course he knew it was what I really expected, but how did he know, then, that it still mattered so much?’
‘But what did he say to you?’ Patti persisted furiously.
‘He sent for me to tell me that Ajit Ghose is dead.’
‘Oh,
‘But of course! It was foolish to consider any other possibility, because practically speaking there
‘Then he never spoke? He never had the chance to tell them anything?’
‘He never recovered consciousness at all.’ She went on assembling her belongings in a neat pile, and looked round the room to make sure nothing had been forgotten. ‘After breakfast I think he means to let us all leave. I mean the inspector, of course. He was most kind. He tried to comfort me by telling me something more – that it is perhaps as well that Ajit Ghose died. He said I could also tell you, if I thought it would help to compose your mind.’
‘I shall be seeing him,’ Patti said, staring sombrely into her own thoughts.
‘He says it isn’t necessary, unless you wish it. Besides, it really does seem unnecessary now. He told me that Ajit Ghose came from Bengal only a month or so ago, just as Romesh told us, and it was true that he asked for the duties to be changed so that he could go with Mr Bakhle’s boat. Romesh thought it was for the sake of a big tip, but now it seems he may have had other reasons.’
Patti’s eyes changed their focus, stared at the incredible idea, and turned then to stare at Priya. ‘You mean that
‘Well, not quite, as they see it. Though if they’re right he must have been willing to accept the risk of suicide. They say he was a fine swimmer, he may have intended to slip overboard and swim clear before the explosion, but he would need to leave it until the last few minutes, you see. And as it turns out, the bomb was a little faulty. It went off ten minutes before time.’
Patti pondered, wide-eyed, wringing her hands restlessly in the lap of her demure shirt-dress. Her face was quite blank, her pale pupils fixed. ‘But they must have more than that, to be so sure. There must be something else they know.’
‘Yes, there is. They’ve been going through his things. People like Ajit don’t have much – a few clothes, a blanket, a bed-roll, maybe a pot or two, a few books if they’re literate. He was – barely, but he had one or two books. One was “Shakuntala” – you know it? In among the pages they found several Naxalite leaflets and some Maoist literature. It is what they expected. What they were looking for.’
Patti sat quite still and silent, gazing before her. ‘And you think,’ she said, ‘that it’s really true? They’re sure of it? He threw his own life away to make sure of taking Bakhle’s life? Then he wasn’t just the pathetic, innocent victim I thought he was? My God!’ she said, more to herself than to Priya, ‘It’s terrifying!’
‘He thought it would put my mind at rest,’ Priya said with a rueful smile. ‘The inspector, I mean. So that I should know that, too – that he wasn’t just an innocent victim, that he died as the result of his own act. He thought it would make a difference!’
‘Doesn’t it?’ demanded Patti, astonished. ‘It does to me.’
‘It doesn’t to me, not very much. I told you, you never get used to losing one. What he may have done doesn’t make much difference. Except that he might have lived to die a worse way. Shouldn’t we go and see if the men are up? They were going to sleep in the Land-Rover – there weren’t enough rooms.’
Patti rose slowly, like one still in a dream. ‘You are incredible! I’m frightened of you, and I envy you, you know that? I can believe in
‘I think,’ said Priya, considering, ‘that he may. Perhaps for a reason of his own.’
‘Oh? What do you mean by that?’
‘I think,’ she said carefully, ‘that Inspector Raju has his reservations. Yes, he surely believes that this is the truth about Mr Bakhle’s assassination. There seems no doubt about that. But not the whole truth. You see, this was only a half-educated man, however intelligent he may have been…’
