The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing

amounts of Royal Challenge. Nor the supremely confident, tough-talking version, either. Face-to-face with a learned, well-to-do type, he was deferential.

This was an instinctual reaction. Academics were up there with ministers and virtuoso musicians, and such erudite surroundings genuinely awed him. But his deportment did his cause no harm. Obsequiousness was what Indians of such standing – barre admi, big men – were used to, and as Puri was well aware, allowing their conceit and assumption of intellectual superiority to go unchallenged often proved beneficial.

“Very well, but five minutes is all I can spare,” said Sharma with a sigh, not deigning to stand or shake his visitor’s hand. He motioned Puri into a chair.

“Most kind of you, sir, and quite an honor, I must say,” said Puri. He glanced around the office with a childish glint in his eye. “Such a fascinating field you work in. So much of history and culture. I myself take great interest in the Mauryan dynasty. Something of a golden age we might call it.”

“India was certainly a very different place in those days, Mr…” Sharma referred to the detective’s business card. “… Puri,” he read, squinting down through his bifocals. “But my speciality is Harappan culture.”

“Fascinating,” Puri said, beaming.

“Currently my department is involved in extensive underwater marine work off the coast of Gujarat. There is every indication that we have located Dvaraka.”

“The lost city of the Mahabharata.” Puri’s eyes widened in awe.

“This find, together with the discovery of the Sarasvati River and a good deal of other evidence unearthed in the past forty or so years, leaves no doubt as to the indigenous origins of Vedic culture,” added Sharma.

The controversial nature of this statement was not lost on Puri. It suggested a Hindu nationalist bent, a rejection of the theory that Aryan tribes brought the holy Hindu scriptures to India from elsewhere. But he merely said, “Just imagine what India would be like had we not had so many of invasions. Is it any wonder everything has gone for a toss?”

Sharma met Puri’s gaze in silent, meditative appraisal.

“It is undeniable that certain, shall we say, alien belief systems have been foisted on us that have no place here and have done considerable harm to our indigenous culture.” A slight smile played across his lips. “But that’s not what you came here to talk about, now, is it, Mr. Puri?” said the archaeologist.

“Correct, sir,” answered the detective, fishing out his notebook and opening it to a new page. “Just a few questions are there.”

Sharma gave a vague nod of encouragement.

“I would be most grateful if you told me what happened yesterday morning exactly,” said Puri.

Sharma sighed. “As I already told the police,” he said slowly and deliberately, “it is extremely difficult for me to answer that question.”

“I understand you dropped your glasses, is it?”

“That’s right, Mr. Puri. And without them I can hardly see a thing. Everything is just a blur. So I was groping around in the dark for a while, so to speak.”

“What point exactly you dropped them, sir?”

“Just after Professor Pandey started telling his silly knock-knock joke and everyone started laughing again. I saw this mist forming on the ground. Where it came from I can’t say – and then there was a flash. It startled me and I fell over backward. That’s when my glasses came off.”

“You started laughing, is it?”

“I did not. The others were all howling, though. I could hear them.”

“You were able to move?”

“Perfectly able, Mr. Puri.”

“And by the time you got your glasses back on, Dr. Jha was lying dead and the Kali apparition, she was gone?”

“Exactly.”

“So you never saw her?”

“I saw a figure but it was blurred.”

Puri asked if he had seen the murder weapon.

“Again this is all in the statement I made to the police.”

“Yes, sir. Just I am cross-referencing. Sometimes these things get in a muddle.”

“I did not see the murder weapon,” Sharma stated categorically.

Puri scribbled in his notebook and then asked: “Sir, how you felt afterward?”

“Awful, obviously. It was a great shock. It’s not every day this sort of thing happens.”

“You told Inspector Singh you had a headache, is it?”

“That’s right. I came home and used some Muchukunda.”

“That is what exactly?”

“You’ve never heard of it, Mr. Puri?” Sharma tut-tutted and wagged a finger at him. “It’s an Ayurvedic remedy. A paste that is applied to the forehead. Much better than aspirin. It’s been used in India since time immemorial.”

Puri tried making a note of it, but his pen didn’t work. He chose another from the four in the outside breast pocket of his safari suit, but that one didn’t work either. The same was true with the next.

“Just the humidity is wreaking havoc,” he said by way of an apology.

“Here, take mine,” said Sharma impatiently.

The detective wrote down ‘Muchukunda’, checked that he had got the spelling right, and then asked: “You saw anything unusual, sir?”

“Unusual? Mr. Puri, I believe the entire incident falls under that category, does it not?”

“Yes, sir. You saw any suspicious persons around the place?”

“After Dr. Jha was murdered the place was mobbed by people. Dozens of them sprang from nowhere. It was complete chaos.”

“You didn’t see any ice cream wallahs, for example?”

Sharma gave him a quizzical smile. “So early?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I did not.”

Puri could sense that his time was running short; he got in his next question quickly.

“Dr. Jha was known to you?”

“I met him yesterday for the first time,” Sharma replied briskly. “And now, Mr. Puri, I must get on with my work. I’m giving a lecture at the Habitat Centre this evening and I need to prepare.”

“Actually, sir, one last question is there.”

“Last one?”

“Undoubtedly, sir.” Puri paused. “Just I wanted to ask, it was your first time at this Laughing Club?”

“That’s right.”

“How you came to join exactly?”

“I heard about it through somebody – a friend, I think. I’m in need of exercise so I thought I’d give it a go.”

“Forgive me, sir, but you look fit already, if I may say so.”

“Well, looks can be deceptive, Mr. Puri. I am in as much need of exercise as the next man. And they say laughter is good for you.”

“You enjoyed it, sir?”

“Now that’s four more questions, Mr. Puri, and frankly I fail to see the relevance. But seeing as you ask, I did not enjoy it. There’s something very unnatural about forcing yourself to laugh. It didn’t feel comfortable.”

“You won’t be continuing membership, sir?”

“No, Mr. Puri, it’s not for me. And now if you don’t mind, I’ll take back my pen.”

*   *   *

Second on Puri’s list was N.K. Gupta, senior advocate.

Puri had no difficulty locating his house near Bengali Market, but he found the front door locked and