Banquet on the Dead (26 page)

20

H
AMID
P
ASHA
LIMPED
to the middle of the room and looked around him. Even with the lopsided posture he managed to project a look of quiet confidence, Nagarajan thought, much like a magician who was about to unfurl his favourite trick. They were all sitting in the first-storey living room. The three youngest men stood by the entrance to Raja’s room. Swami, Venkataramana and Karuna sat on chairs pulled away from the dining table by the kitchen. Raja was sprawled on the floor, shaking. The rest of the family occupied visitors’ chairs laid out along the edge of the room to which Hamid Pasha’s back was turned. Directly under the window opening out to the path to the well, Ellayya and Gauri hunched together.

‘There are too many of you,’ Hamid Pasha murmured with distaste on his face. ‘Just too many of you!’ He picked his nose with one hand and stroked his beard with another. ‘And any one of you could have killed her. From the very start, there was only one thing that the whole solution was going to hinge on—
why
did the old lady go to the well?

‘There were other questions to answer, of course. Who among you called her to the well, for instance? And who among you waited for her at the well and pushed her over?

For we cannot assume that the person who called her to the well was also the person that pushed her over. No, we cannot assume that—
likely
, yes, but one has to doubt everything, you know...’

His voice came out in a slow, dull drawl, as though he were speaking to himself; as though the presence of the others was only an irritant to be tolerated. Nagarajan saw that the lines on the old man’s face were drawn tight, and his jaw muscles stood out from underneath his cheeks. The hands, which moved with apparent ease on the beard, twitched every now and then.

Hands again
, he thought dryly to himself.

‘There were no answers to those questions,’ continued Hamid Pasha. ‘No, there were not. There was no note found at the well asking the old woman to come, with the signature of any one of you. No, nothing so convenient!’ He limped across the room to where the servants crouched, and looked out of the window. ‘No, but there were more questions—more and more and more!’

He paused for a full minute, staring in silence out at the path. ‘Why, for instance, was Ellayya so keen on telling us that it was an accident?’

‘I still think so,’ murmured Ellayya defensively.

‘The old lady forgot her glasses when she went to the well,’ Hamid Pasha said. ‘Why? Why did someone who never went anywhere without them do so on the day she died? And how did she find her way in spite of that?’

Swami said, ‘Maybe she was not so blind after all.’

Hamid Pasha turned around to face Swami. ‘Maybe you are right, miyan. But I,’ he said, and patted himself on the chest, ‘I made my own tests, you see. I wore the glasses and walked down the path myself; granted, it might not be the same, but I thought it was reasonable to suppose that what I see with the glasses
on
will be the same as what the old lady must have seen with the glasses
off
. And do you know what I saw? Hain? I could not make out which path goes where.’

‘It was an accident,’ Ellayya said again, and belched.

Hamid Pasha looked at Ellayya and smiled; the way a master would smile at a cute but disobedient puppy. He looked up and said to Swami, ‘Maybe she knew the path well enough to take it without her glasses. Hain?’

Swami said, ‘Certainly. She has lived on these grounds all her life. I am sure she was able to find her way around without her glasses.’

‘Ah, of course, miyan. But the question is not whether or not she could find her way around the campus without her glasses. I am sure she could have
managed
without them. But if she had the option, why did she choose not to?’

‘Are you trying to say someone stole them?’ Koteshwar Rao asked. He was standing against the doorway with his hands folded. Strands of white hair curled down on his forehead.

‘It is possible, miyan, is it not? Or she was so much in a hurry that she forgot to put them on. Either is as possible as the other. Or is it something else?’

‘What else could it be?’

Hamid Pasha shrugged. ‘Who knows? Who knows? If we accept the former situation, we will need to ask a further question: who was it that stole the glasses that morning? If we accept the latter, we will just blame it on the lady and move on.’ He suddenly smiled. ‘Which one will it be, hain?’

Koteshwar Rao looked around him in puzzlement.

‘Yes,’ said Hamid Pasha. ‘Not easy to understand, is it? Another thing that is not easy to understand is why the killer chose to kill the lady by pushing her into the well. She was quite a fragile creature, was she not? One would think it would have been much easier to take her out to the backyard and—’ he squeezed his hands together in a suggestive gesture. ‘Hmm? Was it revenge for some past slight? Or was it something else? More questions, you see. More!’

‘Maybe because it is so secluded out at the well,’ Prameela ventured.

‘Ah, maybe, yes, memsaab. But it was not very secluded out there that day, was it? Ashok was at the side gate, and Nagesh was at the front. They both heard the killer perform his deed, did they not? Where, then, was the seclusion?’

‘It was just bad fortune for the killer that people heard him.’

Hamid Pasha smiled. ‘Yes, indeed. Yes, such bad fortune—but for whom, I wonder.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Swami sharply.

‘Just this, Swami saab, that it was perhaps a little
too
coincidental that the killer chose to kill on the same day when there were—not one—but
two
workers within earshot. Did the killer not know? Or did he not care?’

‘He probably did not know,’ said Swami. ‘The well is quite secluded even with workers working within earshot.’

‘Ah, but surely, miyan, he must have heard Nagesh beyond the compound wall. Surely he must have thought twice before doing his deed while
he
could hear someone barely a few feet away from him—albeit separated from him by means of a wall?’

Swami shrugged.

‘A mark for audacity, then? Or a mark for stupidity? Or—was it just a crime of passion? Did the killer just happen to come by at the same time the old lady was there, and overcome by an impulse, did he just see his opportunity and take it? You smile, memsaab, you do not agree to this theory then, hain?’

Karuna Mayi, who had begun to sneer at Hamid Pasha’s words, shook her head once.

‘I agree with you, memsaab. But one has to admit that it
is
a possibility. Speaking in that sense, perhaps Ellayya is right. The killer sees the old lady walk up the path without her glasses and take a wrong turn. He sees his chance; he knows that no one in the house is likely to see him follow Kauveramma up to the well. He finishes off his job, and only when the old lady screams and splashes into the well does the killer come to his senses. But he does not have to panic. No one in the house could have heard her. Only someone
outside
could have, and they cannot come in. So he waits for a moment to make sure everything is okay; then he walks out on to the path and gets out of view of the windows as quickly as he can.’

Silence fell on the room. Hamid Pasha walked to the window, peered out, and said, ‘It is possible, is it not?’

Lakshman rubbed his hands on his pants and said, ‘Anything is
possible
.’

‘Indeed,’ said Hamid Pasha dreamily. ‘But what is important is what
happened
, yes?’

‘Of course.’

‘Another set of questions that come to mind—and that came to my mind straight away—are to do with the lady herself. What was the lady like, I wanted to know. Because you see, once you know what kind of a person someone was, it becomes easier to understand what kind of people would like to kill them. It is pure common sense, is it not?

‘But even there we have to rely on the opinions of people. Gauri said she was a great woman; so did Durga memsaab. The sons did not tell me either way, but it seemed like Venkataramana thought highly of her, whereas, Raja saab, you thought she was thrifty, hain?’

‘Well,’ said Raja, ‘she was’.

‘She probably was. Karuna memsaab thought she was a lady Hitler. You had many fights with the old lady, memsaab, did you not?’

‘What you are telling us are no secrets, sir,’ she said. The smile on her face was cold.

‘No, no, I thought not. But in trying to know all of this, we come to one of the main questions, which is, why would anyone want to kill an old lady like Kauveramma? For money? Out of revenge for something?’

He looked around the room. ‘Money is definitely on the cards. She was a wealthy woman, and everyone among you knew it. But she had always been wealthy. If wealth was the reason, why did the killer wait for so long to carry out his plan? Did something happen in the near past to make the situation dire for the killer?’ His eyes rested on and narrowed at Lakshman. ‘Hain?’

He moved on. ‘Or was it revenge? Revenge for past deaths or past accidents, perhaps? Or revenge as rebellion against a life of servitude, maybe?’ He stopped, as though something had just struck him. ‘Or—maybe Kauveramma was plain unlucky. Maybe she saw something that she ought not to have seen. Is that possible?’

This time it was Nagarajan who heard himself answer, in a weary voice, ‘Anything is
possible
.’

‘If it was revenge, then,’ went on Hamid Pasha as though he had not heard Nagarajan, ‘those two other incidents in the well ought to have a lot of importance, one would think. Hain? The death of the sister, or the near-death of the doctor’s son?’

‘It was not a near-death,’ said Koteshwar Rao, and Nagarajan heard a twitch of irritation in his voice.

‘More questions, then,’ said Hamid Pasha. ‘The deeper one probed into this, the more one came up with questions. But somewhere deep within the questions themselves, the answers must lie.’ His face turned suddenly grim, and he turned away from the window. He raised his voice and his arm and pointed, at no one in particular. ‘You!’ he said. ‘This is a matter of murder. One of you
murdered
her, and where there is murder, Hamid Pasha does not rest until he has found all the answers.’ He held his position for a moment, and his eyes blazed. He then said: ‘Today I know all the answers to all the questions. Yes! All of them! Even the most important one: Who killed Kauveramma?’

It was mid-morning, and rays of sunlight were been flooding in through the windows. As Hamid Pasha said those last three words, the shadow of a passing cloud dimmed the room. Nagarajan surveyed the reactions of its inhabitants. He saw everything from astonishment and shock to amusement and indifference. On the face of Prameela, though, he thought he saw fear.

Hamid Pasha did not look around the room. He stood in the middle of it as erect as was possible for him and folded his hands. He said, ‘This is a case where the question, “who could have done it” is irrelevant, miyan,’ and Nagarajan realised only then that he was being addressed. ‘The answer is too broad, you see. Anyone could have done it. ‘Lakshman.’ He jerked his head to where the bearded man was standing. ‘He could have done it. He had the motive.’

‘And what was my motive?’ Lakshman asked, and Nagarajan heard his voice grate.

‘Not a straight one, but a motive nonetheless. You knew your father was caught up in the business of the marijuana, and you knew that you could manage it much better than your father could. If only—eh?—if only you could get hold of your grandmother’s inheritance a little early, then you would have everything you need to manage things. I am sure your father and you had your own private talks on how much easier it would be with the old woman out of the way.

‘And you had the opportunity. You were here in the building when you saw Kauveramma go down to the well at noon. Durga memsaab was the only other one outside of your family that looked out of the window that afternoon, and she did so only for a few minutes. The only other witness was your mother—and even if she did see you, would she tell us?’ Hamid Pasha cast a sidelong glance at Kamala.

‘I did not see him,’ Kamala cried. ‘I did not.’

Hamid Pasha ignored her. ‘You saw her go in, you followed her up the path, knowing full well that it was extremely unlikely that anybody would be watching; knowing also that the people outside could not possible come in to see anything. All they would have as evidence is what they
heard
—not very strong evidence, or so you thought.’

Lakshman grinned and rubbed his forehead clear of a thick film of sweat. ‘You are crazy, old man,’ he said.

‘I have been called that before, miyan, and I doubt that this will be the last time I hear it. You have been heard yelling at your grandmother that you would kill her and take all her money—when was that? Yes, not more than four days before the murder, I think.’

‘People say many things.’

Hamid Pasha nodded. ‘I agree.’ He turned to Venkataramana. ‘You have a similar motive, do you not, miyan? Gauri says she heard you in your room, but she only
heard
you, you see. Anybody could have entered your room and been “you” for the hour while you went down and waited for your mother by the well...’

Venkataramana looked down at the floor. He shook his head.

‘Your son could have; your wife could have.’ He whirled around to look at Kamala. ‘Ah, yes, memsaab, you could have done much more than impersonate your husband in his room. You could have walked down the path too and followed your mother-in-law, got your revenge for all those years of slavery and servitude—and also, like a good wife, done your husband a profitable turn. Could you not have hurried up the path, met the old woman by the well, held her by the neck with your two hands, like this—’ and Hamid Pasha lifted his hands, thumbs touching, fingers spread out.

‘No!’ she said. ‘I did not!’

‘But you did poison her, did you not, memsaab?’ Hamid Pasha’s voice was suddenly a murmur.

‘No—I—I did not.’ Kamala stole a beseeching glance at her husband.

‘Shut up, Kamala,’ he said, turning his face away.