“Surely, sir, you and other members were confused, no? Something was affecting you – some narcotic or gas. Could be it had you seeing things that were not there.”
“Hallucination? It’s possible, I suppose. I did have a headache, which could have been an aftereffect.”
“Concerning the levitation,” said Puri. “What if some sort of magnetism were used?”
“An electromagnetic field? Interesting!” Pandey pondered the idea for a moment. “I suppose it would be possible for someone to levitate using such means. But nothing like that has been done before. You’d need a lot of equipment – a power supply, for example.”
“What about a projection of some sort?” asked Puri.
“Another interesting idea! But no, I’m afraid it couldn’t have been. Whatever killed Dr. Jha was definitely three-dimensional.”
Pandey went on to relate his version of events. He maintained that the ‘avatar’ had stood twenty feet high. Only after she had disappeared had he been able to move his feet again. The one major discrepancy was what had happened to the murder weapon.
“Again, I cannot explain how it happened scientifically. Metal cannot disintegrate of its own volition. That’s impossible. And yet I saw the sword turn to dust,” said Pandey, suddenly letting out a short giggle.
Puri eyed him curiously.
“Why no one else saw it happen?” he asked.
“How they missed it, I can’t imagine.”
And the ‘miraculous’ appearance and disappearance of the goddess?
“The flashes could very easily have been man-made,” the professor conceded. “They caused temporary blindness.”
“You saw any ice cream wallah after?”
“No, but then I was busy trying to save Dr. Jha’s life.”
Puri referred to his notes.
“Mr. Ved Karat tells he died right away. He searched for the pulse but found none.”
“That may be, but my first instinct was to get him to the hospital.”
Puri changed tack.
“How long you knew him – Dr. Jha, that is?” he asked.
“Two years or so. Since he joined the Laughing Club.”
“You were close, sir?”
“We became friends, yes.” Professor Pandey looked up toward heaven and raised his voice, saying, “A more courageous or generous man never walked the face of the earth.”
Again, the detective found himself flummoxed by the man’s lightheartedness.
“Why you didn’t attend the cremation?” he asked.
“But I did, Mr. Puri. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“Sir, when it comes to faces my mind is better than any camera. That is because it is never running out of film. I am one hundred and fifty percent sure you were not there.”
“All I can say is that in this instance you are mistaken,” said the professor, apparently untroubled by the detective’s assertion. “I was one of the first to offer my condolences. Perhaps you came late? I might have had my back to you.”
Puri wondered if Pandey might have been the man with the video camera but decided he was too tall.
“One thing I’m getting confusion over,” continued the detective. “Dr. Jha was your good friend. Yet you are not at all saddened by his demise. Very jolly, in fact.”
“I can assure you that I am absolutely devastated,” answered Pandey. “Suresh was a dear, dear man. But it is not in my nature to grieve. I believe in a positive outlook at all times. We only have one life and it’s my opinion that we should make the most of it every minute of every day. That is why I do laughter therapy. Laughter cures all our ills. It keeps us in a positive mental state.”
“There are times when crying is necessary also, no?”
“Perhaps. But laughter is so much better! It is the antidote to all the miseries of our planet. My answer to Suresh’s passing is to hold a Laughter Memorial for him. I am inviting everyone who knew and loved him to come to the Garden of Five Senses day after tomorrow. Together we will enjoy a good chuckle – the best thing for our grief. I do hope you can make it.”
Puri said that, regrettably, he would be ‘otherwise engaged’.
“Very good, very good, very good,” said Pandey, beaming again as he showed Puri to the door. “The best of luck with your investigation. I sincerely hope you find whoever – or should I say
“Allow me to assure you, sir, Vish Puri never fails,” said the detective in a dry, even voice. “No amount of hocus or pocus or jugglery of words will prevent me.”
Pandey walked him out to the gate and opened it for him.
“One thing before you go,” said the professor. “Do you know any good jokes? I haven’t heard one today.”
The detective was not in the mood for jokes. At best, he found Pandey’s buoyant mood inappropriate.
“Nothing comes to mind,” he answered.
“Next time, then,” said Pandey with a grin. “Keep smiling. Remember, laughter makes the world go round! Ho ho! Ha ha ha!”
Puri hurried across the street, fleeing from the sweltering heat and humidity, and called to Handbrake to get the Ambassador’s engine started. The driver, who had been trying to keep cool by the side of the road, jumped to attention and did as instructed. The car trembled into life, and within a minute or so the dashboard vents began to produce wafts of tepid but nonetheless welcome relief.
Puri sat back in his seat. His underwear was damp and was clinging to his skin. It was not the only thing making him feel uncomfortable. Something wasn’t right – about Pandey, that is.
“Number one,” Puri told Tubelight over the phone after they discussed plans to meet at Shadipur Depot at eight o’clock. “This fellow is positively merry. Like he is celebrating, in fact. Yet his friend has been viciously murdered. Second, why he said he attended Dr. Jha’s funeral when he did not?”
Puri saw no contradiction in a man of science also believing wholeheartedly in the miraculous. That was a common Indian characteristic. Still, there was something about his version of events that did not ring true – the description of the disintegrating sword being the most obvious disparity.
“Want him tailed, Boss?”
“Night and day. This fellow is up to something. Undoubtedly.”
Puri also asked Tubelight to check into Shivraj Sharma’s background. “That one has skeletons in his cupboard. No doubt there are one or two in his basement, also.”
Nine
Two hours later, after eating his fill of paapri chaat with lashings of tamarind chutney at a roadside stand, Puri descended underground on an escalator at Central Secretariat.
As the honking of the traffic faded and the air turned pleasantly temperate, he found himself in a cavernous, fluorescent-lit netherworld of gleaming floors and untarnished walls.
He bought a token for a few rupees at one of the efficiently run ticket counters, passed through the security check and automatic barriers, stood in an orderly line on the platform and boarded a shiny silver train.
Being whisked through tunnels more than twenty meters below the surface of the capital at fifty miles per hour was a great source of pride for the detective – as it was for most Delhiites, some of whom, he suspected, ventured underground just for the thrill of it. The construction of the Metro was a phenomenal success story. The first section had been completed to international standards within budget and ahead of schedule. The secret of the system’s success lay in the fact that it was not run by politicians and bureaucrats – as was the case with the Calcutta underground, which was a disgrace – but an autonomous, for-profit entity. It bore testimony to the
