Mohnish nodded. “Mrs Rima Dharkar is thirty years younger than he was. And a good friend of mine”
“Really!” Sonia couldn’t hide her surprise.
“A couple of years ago, I did a documentary on the Dharkars. They were both very co-operative and friendly, and ever since then I’ve been in touch with them. She was a singer trained under him and she fell in love with his music and ultimately married him. She’s a wonderful lady and I have a great deal of respect for her. As a matter of fact, I’ve just come from the Dharkar residence. And I have a request from Mrs Dharkar for you, Sonia.”
“A request?”
“There’s something she wishes to discuss with you immediately. I promised her that I’d pass on the message to you.”
“Discuss what? Her husband’s death?”
Mohnish nodded. “She didn’t go into details, but I gathered that what is concerning her is Raujibua’s passing away. I believe that it was unexpected.”
“He was ill and old. And a heart attack doesn’t announce its arrival,” Sonia pointed out.
Mohnish shrugged. “Why don’t you meet with her once? Surely you don’t mind…”
“Not at all,” Sonia cut in quickly. “Today?”
“Around four? I’ll drive you down to her residence. It’s at the foot of the Sinhagad fort.”
Sinhagad Fort - a fort synonymous with valor - was about twenty-five kilometers south-west of Pune. Here many wars were fought to conquer the fort’s steep cliff. The famous Maratha warrior king, Chhatrapati Shivaji, wanted to take the fort from the Moguls. On the night of February 14, 1672, it was his General Tanaji Malusare who scaled the back wall of the fort and entered it with the help of a ghorpad - a monitor lizard. Only then could the Maratha troops enter and capture the fort. But in the battle, General Tanaji lost his life. A grieved Shivaji had uttered the famous words Gad aala, pan sinha gela! - The fort is ours, but the lion is gone! Since then the fort was renamed Sinhagad - Fort of the Lion - in honor of the lion- hearted Tanaji. As they left the Khadakwasla dam behind, Sonia couldn’t help but think of the history of the place. As a child she had often gone up the winding narrow ghat, for picnics. The remnants of the fort offered only bits and pieces of insight into its past, but somehow the stories of valor had threaded their way into the heart of each Punekar. Besides, the ridges and forests which surrounded the fort were a trekker’s delight. Though treacherously dangerous during the monsoons.
The Dharkar estate sprawled on the same hill as the majestic Sinhagad Fort. In the centre of the land stood the Dharkar residence - the compact, mo dest bungalow of the famous classical singer. Single-room cottages flanked either side of the bungalow. These were the abodes of the resident students. As Mohnish’s car drove through the gate, Jatin expelled a soft whistle.
“Wow!” he exclaimed.
“It sure does look ideal, doesn’t it?” Mohnish agreed.
“And it all belongs to Mrs Dharkar now. Do they have any children?” Sonia asked.
Mohnish shook his head. “None their own. A daughter from Mrs Dharkar’s previous marriage. That’s why they always treated his students as children. Some of them have trained and resided in these cottages for years! You’ll meet three of them today, I believe.”
Mohnish drove the car into the porch and to the front door. A knot of people in a variety of white attires were murmuring in low voices. Others ambled along the garden aimlessly. Mohnish led Sonia and Jatin past them, into the spacious hall. A big photograph of Raujibua Dharkar was set up in the centre of the room. Garlands almost hid the wrinkled but pleasant, smiling face of the old man. The strong smell of chandan incense sticks mixed with a melancholy air of sadness. As the three paused awkwardly at the entrance of the hall, a woman detached herself from one of the groups of people. She was tall and in her forties. A white cotton sari was looped over her slightly overweight frame. A thick long plait swung below her waist, as she approached them with slow, heavy steps.
“Mohnish!” her soft, sweet voice called out.
“Namaste Rimaji, I want you to meet Sonia Samarth. Sonia, Mrs Dharkar - or Rimaji, as I call her. And this is Sonia’s colleague, Jatin.”
Swollen eyes, red-rimmed with shed tears, turned on Sonia. “I’m so glad you could make it,” Mrs Rima Dharkar murmured. “I can’t talk to you with all these relatives around, so anxious to help and yet at a loss what to do. Please follow me to the music room.”
She turned and they followed her into another room, much larger and more imposing than the hall. The high walls were adorned with life-size portraits of the singers in the family, along with a variety of musical instruments. A Sitar, Tabla, and Dagga, Harmonium, a Violin, and a Guitar. Thick, white floor- hugging mattresses which could accommodate at least twenty students covered the length of the floor. A mattress with two oversize cushions rested against the wall.
“This was Raujibua’s favourite room, where he liked to do his riyaz and teach his students. I can’t believe that he is not amongst us.” Mrs Dharkar sighed. “Please, sit down. I hope you don’t mind sitting on the mattress?”
Mrs Dharkar sat down on Raujibua’s seat, while the others settled cross-legged opposite her.
“Rimaji, you wanted to discuss something…” Sonia began.
The Maestro’s wife nodded. “Yes. I don’t know how to put this… ” She paused delicately, then continued, “It’s a strange feeling that I’ve got. That my husband needn’t have died like he did.”
“What exactly do you mean? He had a heart attack, didn’t he?” Sonia confirmed.
“Yes, he did. But… I know that I’m going to sound foolish saying this, but I have a terrible feeling about this whole thing. That something is not right. Something I ought to know but don’t. Something somehow connected
