‘Did you talk to your uncle about my proposition?’ Abbas’s voice demanded.
‘I did,’ Michelle replied softly in contrast. ‘But he rejected it right away.’
‘The kanjoos old devil!’ Abbas hissed. ‘Why can’t he be a little generous for a change? Is he going to take the land with him when he dies? Or is it that he doesn’t trust me? Thinks I’ll walk away with his precious land?’
‘Abbas–’
‘To hell with the bloody cripple! Let him keep his land and take it with him when he dies. I’ll have to work this out another way, much as I would like not to. Meanwhile, talk to that lawyer fellow and find out what you can about those bloody wills–’
‘Shh!’ Michelle cut in fiercely. ‘Someone’s coming.’ Athreya spun around and quickly retraced his steps.
Halfway to the mansion, he met Sebastian, who was returning from the annex, and they entered the mansion together. On his way to his room, Athreya glanced at the wall clock in the hall. It was 11.50 p.m.
Back in his room, he opened his sketchbook and gazed at the second sketch he had made while listening in on the conversation between Michelle and Bhaskar. It was a sketch of a sari-clad woman carrying an engraved metal pot. He had no need to label the sketch, for he knew what exactly his mind’s eye had seen, and why.
The woman in the sketch was Draupadi from Indian mythology, and the vessel she was carrying was the Akshayapatram: Krishna’s gift to her, which provided a limitless supply of food, so that she could dole out meals to as many guests as required.
Not unlike Bhaskar, who was doling out money to his nieces and nephew. For a moment, Athreya wondered how Manu felt about his father’s generosity.
Chapter 8
When Athreya woke up the next morning, it was to a brighter day. Although wispy mist drifted past his window in the breeze now and then, it had thinned out from the previous night. The sun had just risen, making the hedges and bushes of the rose garden clearly visible. The upper half of the annex could also be seen from Athreya’s window, albeit not as clearly. The hilltops beyond were just being lit by the first rays of sunlight. It was a much better day for a morning walk.
Ten minutes later, Athreya was out on the walkway, just as he had been twenty-four hours earlier. Nobody was about, neither inside the mansion nor outside. Apart from Bhaskar, who had been the first to retire last night, Athreya must have been among the earliest to go to bed. But, curiously, the front door had not been locked. The two large bolts on the inside of the door, glistening faintly from recently applied lubrication, were drawn fully back.
A steady wind had sprung up, sweeping the shredded mist along the valley and rustling the tall eucalyptus trees. With visibility much better today, Athreya set out at a brisk pace along the walkway. When he passed the chapel, he saw its half-open door blow gently open in the wind. As he turned right and continued on his walk, the sound of a window banging in the wind reached his ears.
The intermittent sound continued to follow him as he walked around the inner lawn and the rose garden. By the time he had passed the silent annex and returned to finish one circuit, the sound was beginning to bother him. When he passed the chapel a second time, he noticed that one of its windows was open. That was the source of the noise. He retraced his steps and entered the chapel to secure the offending window.
He pushed the chapel door open and stopped uncertainly. Something had caught his subconscious attention. But he knew not what. He retreated from the chapel door, closed it, and opened it again. There it was…something gnawed at the back of his mind. He was expecting something that wasn’t quite there. After a fruitless mental search, not able to put a finger on what was bothering him, he went into the chapel and switched on the lights.
The chapel looked just as it had the previous day, still and empty. The aisle and the pews looked the same, as did the open space in front of the dais on which the altar stood. The doors at the left and right ends of the open space were in relative darkness, as the lights he had switched on were over the aisle and the dais. However, from where he stood, both the doors seemed shut. Only the window beside the door on the right was open. That was the one that was making the noise.
Athreya went down the aisle and turned right to latch the window, noting mechanically that it was unbarred. After latching it, he turned around to leave, but then stopped. Something definitely seemed different about the chapel. But what? He checked the door near him and found it bolted. Whoever or whatever had opened the window had not opened the door.
He swept the chapel with his gaze. Just like the spot he was standing in, the door at the far end of the open space across the breadth of the chapel was in darkness. As he looked around a second time, his gaze halted at the altar, and he realized what had changed. The candlesticks had been moved. When he had seen them yesterday, the five candlesticks had been distributed evenly along the length of the altar. Now, three of them were bunched together at the far end of the altar, the remaining two at the near end.
He approached the altar cautiously and studied it. The thin layer of dust that covered the altar stone had been disturbed in several places. There were long streaks on it where the dust had been removed,
