benefit.”
A philosophical look came over the detective’s face. “Actually, Madam Rani, we Indian people believe that in life a spiritual guide is required, that we cannot find all the answers on our own,” he said. “Like children learning ABC, we need a teacher. This is a belief I hold to be true, also. If we are to escape the cycle of birth and rebirth, a guru must and should be there to show the way. But that does not mean one should follow any Tom, Dick or Harry, no?
“Problem is so many people these days are following these con men without question, ready to believe anything they say and do,” he continued. “If any old Charlie like this Swami-ji can make a watch appear from thin air, they are ready to worship him. But that is not genuine spirituality. Just it is so much hocus-pocus.”
“I agree, sir, people are all too gullible these days,” said Elizabeth Rani. “I suppose that is what Dr. Jha was trying to teach them.”
Mention of the Guru Buster reminded Puri that he needed to bring his file up-to-date with last night’s developments and he asked his secretary to fetch her laptop so she could take dictation.
When he was finished and Elizabeth Rani had saved the file, she said: “Sir, there are a few things I don’t understand. While you were waiting in the hospital room you told Inspector Singh there were two suspects. Who was the other one?”
“Allow me to tell you a little secret, Madam Rani,” answered the detective mischievously. “At that time exactly, I strongly suspected Professor Pandey had been killed for his magical boots. I suspected, also, Manish the Magnificent could be the one. He is a charge sheeter, after all. But other miscreant persons came to mind, also. Those who would have liked the invention for themselves – Maharaj Swami being one other.”
“I see, sir,” said Elizabeth Rani, but she was still frowning.
“There is something else I can help you with?” asked Puri.
“Yes, sir. What was the role of Dr. Jha’s widow in all this?”
“Naturally she knew from day one her husband was not dead, that the Kali murder was totally fake.”
“So the wine and flowers Professor Pandey bought that night he went to visit Mrs. Jha – those were actually from Dr. Jha?”
“Correct, Madam Rani. Dr. Jha was posing as Pandey’s driver so as to get around unrecognized. He was in disguise, actually. Naturally when Tubelight saw the good professor giving Mrs. Jha one embrace, he was not aware her husband was also present.”
It took his secretary a few seconds to decipher Puri’s syntax before she nodded and said: “I think I understand, sir.”
“The truth is, Madam Rani, Vish Puri was slow on the uptake,” he said with a mournful shake of his head. “Moment I saw that picture in Pandey’s office – the one of him standing along with Dr. Jha – I should have known the two were in this thing together.”
Elizabeth Rani took her cue. “But how were you to know, sir?” she said.
“It is my business to know, no?”
“Sir, the plan was so elaborate and perfectly executed,” she stressed. “Who could have ever guessed that Dr. Jha’s cremation was staged? What with all his near or dear present.”
“Most kind of you, Madam Rani,” said Puri, shaking off his self-pity. “As usual you are quite correct.”
She sighed. “What a remarkable case it’s been,” she commented.
“Undoubtedly, Madam Rani. One of the most remarkable till date. And even now, as we speak, it is not seen the curtains go down.”
There were two loose ends.
Puri decided to deal with them both before heading home to catch up on some sleep.
The first was Shivraj Sharma.
He called Shashi to get the latest on the archaeologist’s movements and asked him in Hindi: “Where did Fossil go?”
“B Block, Sector Forty-four, Boss. It’s a church.”
“He went inside?”
“He put an envelope through the letter box.”
“And after?”
“He went home, Boss. Then this morning, very early, he returned to NOIDA. This time to a different address in B Block. The Christian priest who works at the church lives there. Fossil followed him for half an hour and then drove to work.
“One other thing, Boss,” continued Shashi. “We got hold of his garbage this morning. It contained some copies of
Puri immediately called the church and asked to speak with the priest. Father James confirmed that he had received a strange note in his postbox that morning – the Hindi letters all cut from a newspaper.
“What it said exactly, Father?” asked Puri.
“It was a quote from a Hindu text – something about how all unbelievers would be purged.”
“Whenever there is a withering of the law; and an uprising of lawlessness on all sides; then I manifest myself,” quoted Puri.
“Yes that’s it.”
“You called the cops, Father?”
“Why bother? We get threats all the time and they never show any concern, let alone investigate.”
“It is most important you keep the note safe – and the envelope, also,” the detective told him.
Puri decided to hold off from calling Singh and briefing him about Sharma. It could wait until tomorrow. The archaeologist was a hatemonger aspiring to be a murderer and not an immediate threat to anyone.
He checked his watch. It was nearly twelve. Time to contact the health minister’s secretary – the last loose thread.
“Vish Puri, Most Private Investigators Ltd., this side,” he said politely when his call was answered. “Sir asked me to revert this morning. You were made aware? Exactly. You’d be good enough to pass on my answer? Fine. Be good enough to tell him following: It is with regret I must decline his generous offer. Actually, I am very much engaged in getting my shoes polished.”
Twenty-Seven
Vish Puri was at home in his sitting room laughing so hard the tears were rolling down his face. His mother, who had come to visit, was also having convulsions.
“What a total duffer!” she guffawed. “There’s daal in that head of his or what?”
Jaiya, who was by now six weeks from her due date – it being a week after Maharaj Swami’s disappearance – waddled into the room with a quizzical smile.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, lowering herself into one of the armchairs.
“Sorry, na,” said Mummy through a grin she could barely control. “Just we’re talking about Bagga-ji.”
“Oh God, what’s he done now?”
“Go ahead and tell her, Chubby,” prompted Rumpi as she returned from the kitchen with a tray of tea and chillas. “Jaiya, you’ve got to hear this. Even by Uncle’s standards, well, it…
Everyone burst into laughter again. It was a good minute before Puri was able to pull himself together and let his daughter in on the joke.
“Beta, you remember Baggage-ji was here the night you arrived, no? Talking about some money-minting scheme?”
“I remember.” She did an impression of him in a strong yokel accent: “‘I’ll soon be richest man in
