pandemonium there was nationwide. But it was all a total nonsense. Just some unscrupulous individuals took advantage of people’s beliefs and superstitions. Got them believing something had happened which had not. Word spread like wildfires. Same is true now. I guarantee you no miracle has taken place.”
“I’m sure you’re right, sir, but I’ve never come across anything like this.”
“What all does Delhi’s ‘top cop’ have to say on the matter?” As ever when Puri referred to the chief, his voice was loaded with sarcasm.
“You know him, sir. If it can’t be solved, don’t bother solving it. Concentrate on cases where we can get quick, easy results. That’s his credo. Had the victim been the twelve-year-old daughter of a doctor or engineer it would be different. But none of his superiors are pressuring him on this one.”
Puri drained his bottle of water; he was beginning to cool off.
“Swami-ji’s whereabouts early this morning are known, is it?” he asked.
“He was in Delhi, a guest of the health minister, Vikram Bhatt. The minister himself called the chief first thing this morning to let him know.”
“By God,” muttered Puri.
“Do you think Swami-ji could be behind all this?” asked Singh.
“Too early to tell, no? But certainly he claims miraculous powers, levitation being one only. It is said he can be in two places at once. He had motive, also, after making one promise on national TV of some kind of miracle in Delhi to prove his power.”
Singh looked worried.
“Something is wrong?” asked Puri, although he could guess what it was.
“The chief wants Maharaj Swami left alone. Hands off. He’s not to be investigated.”
The detective sighed.
“No surprise there, Inspector,” he said. “But if you are asking for my help – and seems you are – I can hardly be expected to do a proper and thorough investigation while ignoring the main suspect?”
“Sir, all I’m saying is that we have to tread carefully.”
“That much goes without saying, Inspector. Now let us not waste more of time sitting idle. Take me to the spot.”
The crime scene had been cordoned off with metal barricades. But from even the most cursory examination, Puri could tell they had been put in place far too late to serve any useful purpose. Dozens of discarded bidi and cigarette butts, gobs of paan spit and fresh piss stains on the nearby jamun tree, which stood approximately eight feet to the north of the spot where Dr. Jha had been slain, indicated the size of the crowd that had gathered at the scene before the police had taken charge.
Plenty of traces also pointed to the earlier presence of opportunistic vendors as well. They had set up pitches selling cold drinks (bottle tops littered the entire area), peanuts (there were shells as well) and Hindi newspapers (flyers for a 50 percent mid-season sale at Jessy’s Shoe Palace in Pahar Ganj lay everywhere). Someone had also been doing a roaring trade in incense sticks: dozens had been stuck into the ground and lit on the spot where the goddess was believed to have appeared.
“Quite a carnival scene it must have been, isn’t it?” said Puri as he stood inside the cordon wearing his tinted aviator sunglasses with Handbrake by his side, umbrella aloft.
Singh was the only other person in the immediate vicinity. He had sent away his subordinates on some pretext (in case one of them reported Puri’s visit to the chief) and the media had been penned into a position in front of India Gate. Between there and the crime scene, Rajpath dissolved into a rippling, liquid mirage. Cars along the road melted as if made of chocolate. Figures took on alien dimensions.
“Constables patrolling the area reached first, is it?” asked Puri.
“Yes, sir. Constable R.V. Dubey arrived ten minutes after the murder occurred.”
Puri made a note of his name as Singh continued: “By then there was already a crowd of one hundred plus – passing auto rickshaw drivers, schoolkids, some women who’d been doing yoga. Their numbers quickly grew.”
The inspector himself had not reached Rajpath until eight thirty. By that time, hundreds of people, including the entire Delhi media pack, had trampled the crime scene.
“Could be the murderer left his business card, but we’ll never know,” commented the detective drily.
Singh did not respond to this gibe. He knew all too well that the response time of the Delhi police force was abysmal. There was no point trying to defend it.
“You know where the members of this Laughing Club were standing?” asked Puri.
Singh took out his notebook and read out the names one by one, indicating where each man had been at the time of the murder. Puri plotted their positions on a page in his own notebook. He marked the spot where Dr. Jha had stood with an X; in the middle of the circle he drew a question mark.
“These other fellows: they were all present when you arrived?”
“No, sir, they’d been taken to the station to give statements. But I interviewed each of them personally. I’ll have the transcripts brought to your office. One of them, Shiv-raj Sharma, an archaeologist, says he didn’t see what happened because he dropped his glasses. But the others are all convinced they witnessed a paranormal event – although of course their descriptions vary. Mr. Ved Karat, a political speechwriter, described the goddess as being twenty feet high. Mr. Gupta, a High Court advocate, says her eyes ‘burned like coals’.”
“Witness accounts always differ, Inspector,” said Puri. “Eyes all work the same, but the mind… that is something altogether different, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” intoned Singh, who had learned to put up with Puri’s little lectures.
“I would be needing to do interrogation of all these gentlemen myself, also,” said the detective.
The inspector had already anticipated this and written their names and addresses down on a piece of paper. Without a word, he handed it to Puri.
“You know me better than I know myself, isn’t it?” He smiled before beginning a more thorough examination of the scene.
Singh stood nearby watching the detective’s actions closely as if he was trying to decipher some hidden method.
“Inspector, your boys’ boot prints are everywhere,” scolded Puri after a minute or so. “A three-legged dog was present, also. But there is nothing else here apart from one bloodstain.” He paused. “Anything is missing?”
His question anticipated key evidence having been removed from the scene by petty criminals. In the past, Puri had known pickpockets posing as doctors to rob corpses of wallets, wedding rings, even shoes. It was not unknown for constables to do the same.
“Sir, regretfully, the murder weapon itself is nowhere to be found,” answered Singh.
“Could be anyone stole it.”
“It’s possible, sir, but…” The inspector looked suddenly unsure of himself.
“Tell me,” prompted Puri.
“It’s ridiculous, I know, but Professor Pandey says he saw the sword disintegrate before his very eyes while still in the victim’s chest.”
“Disintegrate?”
“Into ash, sir.”
“You found any of this ash?”
“I found some gray dust next to the spot where Dr. Jha fell. I’ve sent it to the lab. The results won’t be back for a few days.”
Puri referred to his notebook again.
“This fellow Pandey was closest to the body. Could be why he saw the blade disintegrate and others didn’t.”
“But, sir, you told me you didn’t believe anything paranormal occurred!” objected Singh.
“Correct, Inspector. But it may be the blade
By now, Puri was stooped over the bloodstain, the only indication of where Dr. Jha had fallen.
“Seems there was a good deal of blood,” he said. “How long the body lay here?”
“Five minutes at the most. Professor Pandey drove the victim to AIIMS, where he was declared ‘arrived
