Murder in Bollywood (9 page)

‘But, sir, the cocaine had no impurities when the boys at the lab analysed it the first time around. In fact, according to them, it was the purest they'd ever seen,' Zagde replied.

‘I don't doubt that even for a second. However, I am not looking for impurities. I am looking for a foreign substance, similar in colour and texture to that of cocaine, which when taken along with the drug, causes a fatal reaction very similar to an overdose. Now, such substances generally go undetected until you specifically test for them, so tell the lab boys to test the cocaine for all substances which fit this profile, and if Mallika was indeed murdered by someone who tampered with her drug supply, then one of them will show up. In the meantime, Zagde, you and I will visit Gulistan Studio's Stage 7 first thing tomorrow morning. It is the place where Nikhil Kapoor was killed. So let's see what secrets it holds,' Hoshiyar smiled and said.

It was a call from Rumi begum the following morning that led Hoshiyar to discover the sordid history of Gulistan Studio. The good inspector had, in fact, called the capital the previous night to speak with his wife, but couldn't get her on the phone, as her cousin brother's sangeet ceremony was on in full swing, and she was its star attraction with her self-choreographed dance to Kareena Kapoor's ‘Fevicol' number. The next morning when she called up Hoshiyar to tell him how she brought the house down the previous evening and asked him to check out her latest photos that she had uploaded on Facebook just minutes before, their conversation meandered towards Hoshiyar's case, and he told her that he would be visiting Gulistan Studio that day at around noon. The mere mention of that place gave Rumi begum a chance to indulge in her favourite pastime, namely, the wilful disclosure of film gossip, with which she had wowed her Bollywood-crazy relatives in Delhi. But since one can never get enough of a good thing, Rumi begum saw no harm in regaling her husband with a little bit of seldom-mentioned film trivia, by familiarizing him with the scandalous past of Gulistan Studio, on the pretext of that information being of value to his case. Although the good inspector didn't have a taste for gossip, he had no choice but to indulge his wife, as otherwise he risked deeply offending her. Now, according to her, Gulistan Studio was established in 1950 by Dilshad Bano, the most famous actress of that time, who named that place Dilshad Film Studio. Her husband, S.M. Parvez, was the Hindi film industry's most renowned producer back then, and together the two of them made for a formidable team. In fact, the parties they would throw at their sprawling Malabar Hill mansion were nothing short of royal banquets, attended by the who's who of the film fraternity and the cream of Mumbai's high society. And undoubtedly, the highlight of every such evening, other than the food and the free-flowing booze, was the host Mr Parvez himself who would invariably have way too much to drink and make a fool of himself, much to the embarrassment of his dignified and gentle wife, who would bear his antics with a pretence of indifference, even as everyone around cheered and egged him on, for the shenanigans of the super rich, no matter how distasteful they may be, come across as fun and rather appealing. It was around the time when the husband and wife duo was at its peak that a man called Gulistan Hamrahi came to make their acquaintance. According to him, his full name was Gulistan-e-Alam Hamrahi, and he was a member of the royal Hamrahi family, whose forefathers had been the nawabs of Hamraha, an obscure hamlet in Uttar Pradesh, which didn't even feature on the map. Gulistan went on to say that their family fortune had long been exhausted and even their centuries'-old family haveli, which was once the pride and joy of Hamraha, now resembled a doddering pile of bricks, which could fall apart any time. He also spoke of an age-old royal custom in which every new bride of the household on the morning after her marriage had to stand in her bedroom balcony and wave gracefully at the 200-odd residents of Hamraha, who would gather downstairs in the haveli's front yard to greet the newest member of their royal family. But that glorious custom had been abandoned in the last five years, as that historic balcony had decayed and collapsed, which didn't really matter on hindsight, as most of their 200-odd subjects had long abandoned Hamraha to seek work in other villages, and the twenty-five villagers that remained didn't bother turning up any more. It was on account of these troubled times that Gulistan decided to do what no member of his family had done in five generations, seek employment. It was with this intention that he came down to Mumbai, for it was his long-cherished dream to become a big-time film director in the world of Hindi cinema, and deep down in his heart he knew that he had the necessary ingredients to turn his dreams into a reality, for he was, indeed, a volcano of talent just waiting to explode. But there was no volcano, nor any talent, for Gulistan Hamrahi was a dull, unintelligent man with little or no aptitude for film-making, and at thirty-two years of age, the old adage fit perfectly, that one cannot teach an old monkey new tricks. Unfortunately, for his career, none of these facts escaped the astute judgement of S.M. Parvez, who told Gulistan in no uncertain terms that he should drop the idea of wanting to become a director, after which, feeling sorry for him, he spoke to his wife, Dilshad Bano, who owned Dilshad Film Studio, and got him a job as its manager, making him the man to go to if anyone wished to hire the property for filming, and also the man responsible for the maintenance and day-to-day upkeep of the studio. To Parvez's surprise, Gulistan excelled at his job right from the word go, almost as if this was the one profession he was meant for, and in just a year, became S.M. Parvez's right-hand man, on the basis of his honesty, hard work and dedication. Then, on 31 December 1954, Dilshad Bano and S.M. Parvez threw yet another party at their home, this time to bring in the new year, and as always, invited the city's swish set, who turned up in full strength. Needless to say, sometime during the party, S.M. Parvez got drunk and started making a fool of himself, and like always, the esteemed guests gathered around him began encouraging him to carry on with his antics, but this time around, Dilshad Bano wasn't prepared to have any of it. She wasted no time in confronting her husband and tried to pull him away in an effort to get him to stop. But instead of letting better sense prevail, the man got into a blazing row with his wife, accusing her of infidelity, and being jealous of his success, after which he did the unthinkable. In his inebriated state, and in full view of the distinguished gathering, he hollered the word ‘talaq' three times at his wife, which according to the Islamic faith is enough to end the social contract of marriage between man and woman. The following morning when S.M. Parvez returned to his senses and realized what he had done, he fell at Dilshad Bano's feet and begged her to forgive him and take him back; while she agreed to the former, there was no way she could accept him as her husband, because by uttering that word three times, their marriage was truly null and void. Not one to give up so easily, S.M. Parvez decided to seek the council of a highly respected maulvi on this matter, who told him that the only way a divorced couple could get back together was if the woman married another man, who after the marriage was consummated, divorced her and set her free. The logic behind this was to make people realize that while it was very easy to break relationships, putting them back together again was a lot more difficult. Under normal circumstances, any other person told of this only method of reconciliation would have been disheartened, but S.M. Parvez came up with a clever idea to turn this situation around to his benefit, and somehow managed to convince Dilshad Bano to go along with it. According to his plan, he would get someone he trusted well to marry Dilshad Bano and then divorce her the following morning itself, leaving her free to remarry her first husband. For this purpose, he approached Gulistan Hamrahi, his most trusted aid, who instantly agreed to help the couple in their hour of need, and gave in to all their terms and conditions readily, including the fact that he would not try and establish any physical relationship with his bride and the very next day divorce her without the slightest hesitation. But when the moment came for Gulistan to sign on the divorce papers, he flatly refused to comply, because overnight he had realized that he would be a fool to let go of a woman as beautiful as Dilshad Bano, and besides, she was also Hindi cinema's number one heroine, and he believed that his association with her would take his non-existent career to dizzying heights. It was only after much pleading and persuasion that he relented, but in exchange for signing the divorce papers, he demanded that Dilshad Film Studio be handed over to him. S.M. Parvez, aside from his inability to control his drinking, was a fair man, who made sure that Dilshad Bano did not suffer a financial loss on account of him. He bought the studio from her for more than the market price and handed it over to Gulistan Hamrahi, who promptly gave her the divorce she sought, thereby setting her free to do as she pleased. Soon, Dilshad Bano and S.M. Parvez were married again, but this time around, the movie mogul was a changed man, for not only did he give up alcohol completely, he even stopped throwing those lavish parties, which were a breeding ground for sycophants and fair-weather friends, who through their patronizing ways pushed him into an abyss, then watched him stumble in the darkness and nearly lose the one he loved the most. In time, however, the trauma of the past was forgotten, as the careers of both husband and wife went from strength to strength, and by the time they called it a day and drifted together into old age, she was Hindi cinema's long-time reigning queen and he, the movie mogul extraordinaire, who, undoubtedly, had left behind a golden legacy for their children and their grandchildren to carry forward with pride. As far as Gulistan Hamrahi was concerned, although he changed the name of Dilshad Bano's property to Gulistan Studio and proclaimed himself to be its new owner, and a future movie mogul in the making, his dream of achieving greatness never materialized. All the films he made under his newly launched banner of Hamrahi films flopped miserably, and after a mere five years of turning film producer, mounting losses and a total lack of expertise forced him to shut shop permanently. At the end of the day, he found himself relegated to the position of manager of his own studio, living off the money he made from letting it out, and when he finally passed away, he left behind three wives and as many as seventeen children, just as inglorious as him, who spent most of their time fighting with each other for total control of their father's ill-gotten legacy. And now, just when it appeared that they'd finally put behind their differences and agreed as one to sell off Gulistan Studio, the murder of Nikhil Kapoor had caused the sale to fall through, putting an end to all their brotherly love and sending them back at each other's throats. With the place's history firmly under his belt, Hoshiyar left for the much-maligned studio and got there around noon, to find Zagde waiting for him near the main gate, just as he'd asked him to the evening before, but with a dejected look on his face. It turned out that Zagde, as instructed, had paid a visit to detective Mule's office, but found nothing of relevance with regard to their case. He then got a copy of Mule's cellphone records, which told him that during his visit to Shimla, although Mule hadn't called any local number from his cellphone, he had, however, made a call to the village of Padiabeda in Haryana and spoken to one Sub-inspector Amanjeet Phogat at the local police station. But when Zagde called that morning, the officer on duty informed him that Phogat was on leave and would only be back after a few days, which was a factor that didn't bode well for their investigation, as apart from Phogat, no one else knew why Mule had called Padiabeda. But strangely enough, Hoshiyar didn't believe this to be a setback. On the contrary, he considered it a breakthrough as they had discovered that Shimla wasn't the only place where the missing pieces of their case were hidden, and the moment officer Phogat resumed duty, Hoshiyar was confident that all would be revealed. In the meantime, the more important job on hand was to thoroughly examine Stage 7, to see if they could discover any evidence that had been missed by the previous investigating team, which would help them prove that Nikhil Kapoor's death was an exceptionally well-planned murder and not some tragic, freak accident. As the two officers made their way past the main gate and drove up to Stage 7 at the far end of the studio, they were met by a paan-chewing elderly gentleman, dressed in a spotless white shirt and trousers, who greeted them with the warmth of a long-lost buddy.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen, welcome to Gulistan Studio. I am Israr Khatri, the manager of this place,' he said with a friendly handshake.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Khatri. I am Inspector Khan and this is my associate, Sub-inspector Zagde. Thank you for aiding in our investigation at such short notice. But honestly, I am a little surprised to find someone from the studio staff present on the property, as I was told that the place has been shut down,' Khan replied.

‘Oh, we have not been operating for a few months now, in anticipation of the studio's sale. But ever since Kapoor saheb's death on our property, the construction company that was going to buy this place isn't too keen on going through with the deal, so it looks like we'll be renting out the studio again very soon. That's why I have to be here in the office, every day,' Israr explained.

‘But by the look of it, Mr Khatri, you don't appear too cut up about the studio's sale falling through. In fact, you almost sound pleased,' Zagde remarked.

‘Oh no, not at all. There is no question of me being happy at the Hamrahi family's misfortune, considering I have been in their employment for the last forty years. It's just that when they struck the deal for the sale of the studio last year, my services were terminated overnight, without the slightest warning. When I approached Torab Hamrahi, the eldest of Gulistan saheb's children, and asked him what I had done to deserve this treatment, he calmly showed me his right hand and said,
“Kya karein, Israr mian, hamare haathon ki lakeerein kah rahi hain ke hum bade paise wale banne wale hain. Abhi humein apki koi zaroorat nahi
” (What to do, Israr mian, the lines on my palms say that I am going to become very rich. Now we don't need you any more). But a few months later, when the deal fell through, there he was at my doorstep, begging me to return to my old job, because neither he nor anyone else from his family knew anything about running a studio. And at that point, I couldn't help but remark,
“Torab saheb, haathon ki lakeeron par itna yakeen mat keejeeye. Kya Khuda unki kismet nahin likhta jinke haath nahin hote?
” (Torab saheb, do not believe too much in the lines on your palms. Doesn't God write the fate of those who do not have hands?) And all he could do was lower his head and look around uncomfortably. I was just thinking of that incident while talking to you. Perhaps that's why I sounded happy,' Israr said.