The Case of the Missing Servant

'You were sweethearts, is it?'

'Just friends, actually.'

'And then?'

'I stayed in Delhi; he went to Dubai. But we kept in touch. Last year he moved back to Delhi and we started spending time together. In August, we decided why not go the marriage way.'

'You've not considered marrying before?'

'There've not been a lot of takers-not with my weight and all,' she admitted.

'Why him all of a sudden?'

Tisca Kapoor smiled. 'We've always got along, actually.'

'So it's a love marriage, is it?'

'Certainly I love him, yes.'

'And he loves you, my dear?'

Tisca Kapoor hesitated again. 'I believe so,' she answered. 'Certainly he's very devoted and kind.'

Puri drank half a cup of tea, stuffed a cucumber sandwich into his mouth and chewed.

'So I take it you won't be wanting a family,' he said, his mouth half full.

'Why do you say that, Uncle?' she asked, sounding more cautious.

'You must be knowing about his problem.'

'Problem? What problem? I don't know of any problem.'

'It will do you little good to pretend, my dear,' he said. 'My investigation has been most thorough. I know everything . My only concern is you are not being deceived. If Mahinder Gupta has been one hundred percent honest, then that is your business. Certainly, I would keep his secret safe from your grandfather.'

She said nothing in response. Her expression betrayed both alarm and helplessness.

'It's my guess you've known what he is for many years. Perhaps he confided to you at university. Or you discovered it by chance,' prompted Puri.

There was a long silence and then Tisca Kapoor said in a quiet voice, 'It was at university. Everyone else teased me about my weight. None of the other boys gave me a second look. But Mahinder was always kind to me. We used to talk for hours and hours. About everything under the sun. I suppose I fell in love with him. One day I told him how I felt, but he ran from my room and after that he didn't talk to me for two weeks. Then, one day, he came to see me and told me that we could never be together. That was when he revealed his secret.' She lowered her voice. 'That was when he told me he was born a eunuch.'

Tisca Kapoor's throat had gone dry and so Puri poured her a glass of water.

'You mustn't be embarrassed, my dear,' he said. 'In my profession I'm often called upon to put aside the detective and become the psychologist. There is little I have not heard.'

Tisca Kapoor sipped the water gratefully and nodded.

'Understand, Uncle, this is something I've never told another living soul. Mahinder made me promise. He said his parents had hidden the truth from the world at his birth. Otherwise the hijras would have come and claimed him.'

'They were right to do so,' interjected Puri. 'They would most certainly have taken him.'

'That is why all through his childhood they kept it a secret. But also, had anyone at school ever found out, he would have been the laughingstock. That is why Mahinder has always been an extremely private person. He's kept himself to himself. But he's very sweet, I can assure you.'

'So now all these years later you're getting married. Is it only for convenience sake?' asked Puri.

'I've always loved Mahinder,' she said. 'But, yes, partly it is for convenience. There's so much pressure to marry, Uncle. My mother has been after me for so long! Now at least she'll be off my back!'

'She'll be after you for grandchildren next,' said Puri. 'What will you do?'

'We'll adopt,' she answered. 'One girl and one boy.'

'It's all decided, is it?' asked Puri

'We have it all planned out.'

The detective nodded knowingly. 'Well, it's as I suspected. Just I wanted to check you weren't being taken advantage of.'

'So you won't tell anyone?'

'My dear, you can trust me on that score. Confidentiality is my watchword, actually,' said Puri with not a little bravado.

Tisca Kapoor, soon to be Gupta, sighed with relief. 'You're too kind, Uncle. I can't thank you enough.'

The detective beamed with pride. 'No need for thank you, my dear. I'm only doing my duty.'

They walked back through reception and Puri saw her to her car. 'What will you tell my grandfather?' Tisca Kapoor asked before driving away.

'I'll tell him you're betrothed to a good man,' answered Puri, but it was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

Twenty-Seven

Puri's Hindustan Ambassador reached the Jaipur courthouse at a quarter to five the following afternoon.

It was the first day of the Ajay Kasliwal 'Maidservant Murder' trial and the proceedings had been under way for a couple of hours.

Outside the main entrance, the media had gathered in full force. Six uplink trucks were parked on the pavement, their satellite dishes emblazoned with the logos of the nation's English and Hindi 24-hour news channels. Eager, earnest reporters posed in front of cameras mounted on tripods, relaying live developments to tens of millions of potential viewers spread across the three million square kilometers that separated Kashmir from Kanyakumari. Photographers in sleeveless khaki jackets sat bent over their WiFi-enabled laptops transmitting the images they had captured an hour earlier of Kasliwal being led into court. Meanwhile a clutch of grizzled hacks milled around the chai stand, smoking laboriously, swapping disinformation and falling prey to their own self- deluding rumors.

Had any of them but known the identity of the shy, frightened young Jharkhandi woman who passed within a few feet of them, they would have surrounded her in much the same way Indian crows will ring and taunt a street cat if they spot it out in the open.

But the press-wallahs' scoop passed up the steps of the courthouse undetected.

Once inside, Puri led Mummy, who in turn was holding Mary by the hand, down the busy corridors until they reached the door of Court 6.

Already a crowd was waiting outside, all of them jostling for position and trying to cajole the peon on the door to let them in despite the sign that stated boldly, HOUSE FULL.

For once, Puri's powers of persuasion failed. The peon would not budge. 'Naat possi-bal,' he kept saying.

Mummy scolded her son for his failure.

'That's no way to go about things, Chubby,' she said after he had been rebuffed for the third time. 'How a son of mine ended up with cotton wool in his brain, I ask you? Evidently, a woman's touch is required, na. I will take care of it.'

Puri bristled. He had had grave misgivings about bringing along Mummy. But he had been left with no choice. Mary needed a chaperon and Rumpi needed to be at home to oversee the preparations for Diwali.

'Mummy-ji, please. I told you, don't do interference. I will sort it out,' Puri insisted.

'Chubby, when you'll accept you don't have power over everything, na? A helping hand is required from time to time.'

Mummy's words echoed those spoken to Puri by Chanakya in the dream he'd had in his office; for once, he was dumbfounded.

'What did you say, Mummy-ji?' he asked her.

She tutted impatiently. 'It's time to put away your pride, Chubby. I'm your mummy, after all. I've your best