The Benefit Season Page 17

  ‘Umm…not really. Not enough space with all these cards these days.’

  ‘There must be some marriage albums…Facebook pictures…screensavers? There must be something on the computer that you could take a printout of?’

  ‘She was an intensely private person. She had virtually…no virtual presence.’

  ‘What kind of a marriage is this that you don’t have a single picture of your wife in the house?’

  ‘Wait! I must have her passport! Would that do?’

  The cop shrugged her shoulders, eyeing him with a misgiving.

  He disappeared inside his bedroom and emerged after what seemed 10 minutes. But this time, he looked calmer, far better composed and more confident. And he held in his hand some pictures.

  ‘Here, I found the pictures- she’d kept them in her cupboard- never told me about them’, he grinned, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and sniffing. He suddenly seemed jubilant; his voice was hoarse and his pupils dilated.

  ‘She’s one helluva looker’, the shawty said, looking over the woman’s shoulders.

  ‘Mind the baby…and change his diapers’ she said curtly, handing the toddler over.

  ‘But he’s clean’, answered the midget.

  ‘Are you going to wait for him to get dirty before you clean him up’, she asked.

  Overwhelmed by this simple logic, the elf proceeded to give the rug-rat a change of costume.

  ‘So were you two happy together?’

  ‘Sure, happy as can be’, Vishal said, and nearly guffawed.

  ‘You miss her?’

  ‘Yeah’, he laughed. ‘Who wouldn’t- I mean she was so smart…desirable to any man, with a figure to kill for’.

  Just then the Moroccan girl, Ruby, last seen with Vishal in the yacht, walked sleepily into the sitting room- stark naked. She ignored them, went into the kitchen, and came out sipping from a bottle of Avian. As she was about to cross the archway of the hall she paused. ’Could have sworn I heard a baby!’ she told Vishal, smirked, and went away.

  ‘Then why would Monal disappear- in the middle of her engagement party?’ Krishnamala asked; casting a cutting glance at the pipsqueak who wanted to ask who the nymph was.

  ‘Can’t tell what’s going on in people’s minds- can you?’

  ‘She wasn’t people- she was your wife!’

  ‘Yes of course- there’s no denying that fact. You know, the pressures of success, the limelight… beating deadlines- it gets to you someday. Even though we stayed in the same house- there would be days before we met- I need to travel quite a bit in connection with the business- mostly abroad’.

  ‘Were there any indicators…?’

  ‘None that I saw… or noticed’.

  ‘Was there love?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, there was love, as much as time allowed’.

  ‘Any affairs?’

  ‘In the corporate world, men and women rub shoulders all day…and night. Accusations will always fly thick and fast.’

  ‘So there were accusations- with whom?’

  ‘Look…this is very embarrassing for me…’

  ‘Don’t worry- I understand male pride’, Krishnamala said, looking fondly upon the pocket James Bond crawling after the tiny tot on the Turkish rug.

  Vishal began to shake. He covered his mouth with trembling hands, and his eyes misted over. She leaned across and patted Vishal’s tremulous hand. ’You can tell me’.

  The comforting touch broke the dam of his manly resolve and he flooded o’er with tears. ‘There’s this bastard…he won’t let her be- vexing himself and her in his shameless wooing. Pursuing her like game…like quarry to be hunted down.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Arjun- and to think my aye was the loudest when the partners voted on hiring him’.

  ‘Was there any reason why she drifted…I mean, did you give her any reason to stray?’

  ‘No no, not at all. Ask anybody. I provided for her, I nourished and cherished her as my own body’.

  ‘What about the…’ Krishnamala gestured with her hands to mean the nude Ruby.

  ‘Oh her- she’s someone from office…just staying over. She’s Monal’s friend actually – came looking for her last night. She’ll be gone ‘ere long’.

  ‘Does she roam the house…like this…even when Monal is around?’

  ‘I…I don’t know. I never checked; I never woke up this early’, he tittered. ‘She’s crazy…she’s African…still evolving you know…primitive’.

  ‘Yeah I know. Anything else you can help me with? Any relatives, friends, any place you think she would have gone to or likely to contact?’

  ‘No relatives here- I think they’re all settled in Europe. No friends either’.

  ‘Have you informed her relatives…parents?’

  ‘I don’t have their contact numbers- Monal didn’t like to discuss them’.

  ‘Funny. Do you mind if I come around to the office and check this Arjun fellow out?’

  ‘Naah. Not at all. Ask around.’

  ‘Let’s move’, Krishnamala ordered her companion, who was rolling with the infant on the floor and giggling away. He raised himself with a pout and began to gather the litter.

  ‘Do you think anyone would harm her?’

  ‘Why would they? I can’t think of anyone. She always minded her own business and confined herself to strictly professional terms with everyone’.

  ‘Did she gamble or drink or …had any vices…?’

  ‘Never- she was a top order sportsperson. She had no weaknesses… except perhaps...’

  ‘Except…?’ Krishnamala paused at the doorway.

  ‘She was insatiable, you know, had a tremendous sex drive. To be very frank I wasn’t up to it most of the time given my work schedule’.

  ‘Thanks’, Krishnamala said, scanning Vishal carefully, and left.

  ϖ

  The agents and the baby next made a visit to the agency where Monal and Arjun worked. It was a swanky glass and matte, high-maintenance building; flat, impersonal and unwelcoming, as good or bad as the rest in Vile Parle or Cuffe Parade or Nariman Point. A small garden, the size of a billiards table, with freakishly large palms that seemed to have grown somewhere else appeared to be the only thing alive in its otherwise sterile landscape. A small sign said it was out of bounds.

  As they entered through the large glass doors and pressed the lift button for the 7th floor, for that was where the placard at the entrance said the sports agency was, a security guard came running towards them, waving his arms.

  ‘Excuse me ma’am- no babies’, he said, out of breath.

  ‘Police duty’, Krishnamala replied with scorn and began to tap her foot impatiently.

  The guard adjusted his cap, not comprehending.

  Krishnamala flashed her badge and poking a finger in her bosom said, ’police’, and then jabbing a thumb toward the kid said, ’duty’.

  ‘Sorry ma’am’, the guard said but remained there out of curiosity. He thrust a thumb in the lift button and winked at Agent 9 who looked away- embarrassed. When the lift came the guard wanted to get in too but Krishnamala held up her hand- ‘police duty’- she reminded him. Seeing the steely glint in her eyes, the guard stepped back, ruing the loss of the spectacle of a woman police officer dressed like a village belle with a fat child dangling from her forearm and a midget with bottles sticking out of an odd belt around his tiny waist; a grand spectacle to be told to grandkids.

  The guard at the agency above was similarly smitten with curiosity and only let them enter when Krishnamala flashed the badge- the unspoken question about the baby left hanging at his gaping mouth. He showed them the manager’s office and retreated to his roost, where after attending to a persistent itch around his anus when no one was looking, he proceeded to steal his forty winks.

  The officiating manager, Shikhandi, was filling in for Monal. His skin was smooth like a salesman’s tongue and his tongue as sweet as diabetic’s tooth. He was extremely courteous and s
oft-spoken to a fault.

  ‘What can I do for you’, he simpered, after the introductions had been done with. He seemed amazed with the kid, as if he were seeing one for the first time. ‘Did you order one especially, or are they made this small these days’, he asked.

  ‘He’s perfectly normal for his age; weighs a good 18 pounds after my feed. We are here on police work, can we focus please?’

  ‘Sure’, he said, tucking his chin on his folded wrist and swinging on his chair and making faces at the baby.

  ‘What can you tell me about Monal?’

  ‘Monal…what can I not tell you about Monal! What a man! What muscles- rippling. She could tear a bear apart with her nails’.

  ‘Where do you think she could have gone? What could have happened to her?’

  ‘She wasn’t the running-away type. Believe me- she could take great care of herself- she was top order athlete and martial artist. If she has gone away, it’s by choice’.

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘Maybe she got bored. She was hard to please’.

  ‘You mean…?’ Krishnamala asked in a low voice, raising her eyebrows.

  The manager looked about warily and whispered, ‘there were rumors’.

  ‘What kind…of rumors?’

  ‘That she was into BDSM!’

  ‘And what might be BDSM?’

  ‘You cops don’t know’, Shikhandi asked with surprise.

  Krishnamala shook her head.

  ‘Bondage, Discipline and Sadomasochism- There!’

  ‘Meaning…?’

  ‘Erotic role-play. People in their strata of society who have a surfeit of sex always look for newer ways to amuse themselves- do something different. BDSM involves dominance and submission in turns- they switch roles- tops and bottoms. They inflict pain on each other using whips, floggers… bind the other with handcuffs or lashes… wear collars, use BDSM toys and even immobilize the partners by using spreader bars or by shackling them to walls. Get the picture?’

  ‘Which one was she- top or bottom?’

  ‘She was very tough with people. So I would say that she would have privately fantasized about being dominated. A bottom is what I would assume she would volunteer to be.’

  ‘Was she forced into it?’

  ‘That’s the catch- it has to be sane, safe and consensual- SSC. Sometimes they even have written contracts about what can be done and what is off-limits.’

  ‘You seem to now a lot about her’.

  ‘Not about her- about it. I know a bit about these things. All I’m saying is there are rumors I heard, and rumors is what I told ya’.

  ‘Do you think they might be true?’

  ‘I don’t know. People here have seen her at times in heavily bruised and battered condition.’

  ‘It could be domestic violence’.

  ‘Nobody could be violent with Monal, unless she willed it’.

  ‘That’s kinky’.

  Shikhandi shrugged and yawned. ‘Depends on who’s judging’.

  ‘Do you mean she was harmed in some way during one of these sessions?’

  ‘Can’t say’.

  ‘Is it fair to assume a woman is into kinky sex if she looks violated and battered?’

  ‘Just rumors, lady’.

  ‘Is her husband into drugs? Any kind of wrongdoing?’

  ‘Who isn’t these days? Earlier you had illiterate thugs to lighten your pockets, now you have savvy IIM and IIT crooks who specialize in transferring money from your bank account into theirs. They aren’t happy if you have any money on you- they’ll suggest a hundred schemes that will help you get rid of your life’s savings before you can say “MF” or “ULIP” or “Stocks”’.

  ‘Who’s this fellow Arjun?’

  ‘Now, that’s a fine young man you be talkin’ about. Broad like an oak, he is gentle as a lamb. A ladies’ man always- he’s full of old world charm. He will pull a chair for you, hold the door open, and offer to carry your bags. He is the kind of guy who’ll spring to a lady’s rescue in a dark alley… the scourge of scumbags. He’s the kind of hero who’ll walk into a minefield knowing fully well that three out of four guys will lose their limbs or die in the attempt. I believe he is the son of a soldier- a brave man who died defending his post to the last bullet. The low-life Pakkis prodded him with bayonets; even after he was dead- they were so scared of him- till not a shard of skin was left on his body. But he died unwept I believe- he’d left Arjun’s mother for another woman. One had already mourned him- the other didn’t care.’

  ‘Where’s this man you speak of?’

  ‘He’s taken. The loss of womankind in general. Getting engaged. Gone. What a catch!’ Shikhandi rubbed his hands in misery.

  ‘Who’s the girl?’

  ‘Aarti- another beauty. They’re a perfect match- childhood sweethearts I’m told. Simple and solid girl- the kind you who makes you gild your womb after she’s born.’

  ‘Would he have anything to do with Monal’s disappearance? Was there an affair?’

  ‘He wasn’t loose- with his tongue or hands. Though he could have any woman,’ Shikhandi weaved his slim fingers through his wavy purple locks,’ …or man for the asking. What equipment he had!’

  ‘Were the two tangled?’

  ‘She wasn’t his type. Though I think he was her type; people feel she had a terribly soft corner for him. And then…’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘There was an incident some people say took place at Diu. There was a fight between Vishal and Arjun over Monal who they say was in a state of extreme undress, caught red-handed in Arjun’s room.’

  ‘So there is something to it’.

  Shikhandi didn’t reply.

  ‘Where is the engagement?’

  ‘At Delhi. I could give you the address’. He searched in his drawer and tossed Arjun’s invitation card on the table.

  ‘Do you think they would elope?’

  He laughed, ‘with Monal? Are you mad? She is high maintenance, and Arjun loves his girl. You should see the glow around the two of them’.

  Meanwhile the baby woke up and started crying.

  ‘Is he hungry’, Shikhandi asked. ‘Can I order a pizza or something for him?’

  ‘He doesn’t have teeth’, Krishnamala said, calmly.

  ‘How ‘bout ice cream. That’s what I have anyway when I get a tooth removed’, he said.

  ‘No, thank you’, she told him, and looked at her companion, gesturing towards the milk bottle on his belt.

  ‘It has gone cold’; Agent 9 apologized.

  She shook her head and spread her stole around her shoulders. Then she slipped her blouse off her shoulder and began to suckle the child right there. Shikhandi couldn’t believe his eyes- he first bit his knuckles and then he climbed on his chair- watching the spectacle in dread. It was the largest milk-swelled breast he’d ever seen bared in public.

  ‘What? You’ve never seen a baby feeding’, Krishnamala asked, seeing the other’s consternation.

  ‘Never so closely’, he squirmed out of his seat and bolted out of the room mumbling excuses.

  ‘What do you think’, Krishnamala asked her companion, feeling drained and light as the baby suckled noisily and contentedly.

  ‘He’s not really getting the pizza, is he?’

  ‘I was referring more to the job at hand’; she chided him, compressing her breast with a hand to improve the milk flow at the teats.

  ‘I think you should change the breast’, he said with concern.

  ‘I was referring to the case of the missing person! What do you think about the Moroccan girl?’

  ‘She’s missing too? I thought we just saw her’. He squirmed when she gave him an icy look. ‘Sorry. Now let’s see; there might be raging debate about the daintiness of that waist, but I would put it below 26. Size-10 feet for sure, and the skin that is stretched tightly across her deep ribbed body, has never seen the sun. That chest will yield good milk for many a season but I wouldn’t pick ora
nges from apple trees.’

  ‘I asked you to think, not fantasize’, she said, not without a touch of jealousy. ‘Fat chance that Monal has eloped with Arjun if he’s getting engaged to a childhood sweetheart right now. And our dear Vishal hardly seemed the mourning husband type. Hasn’t taken him long to keep his bed warm with a deep ribbed Bedouin, has it? And for all the moping this creep here might do about kinky stuff, Monal seems to me the victim- or an accomplice- of some deeper conspiracy. That man, Vishal, I tell you is up to no good. Once I put my finger on what he’s hiding in that closet, it will explain everything’.

  ‘I think our next stop should be at the scene of engagement’.

  ‘Uh huh. As per this card, the engagement is already over, but Arjun is apparently still on leave. But I would like to know- where? Maybe we could go to Delhi and meet everybody in the family, but before that, we could meet Aarti, who for all you know might be right here in Mumbai. If Cupid is still shooting arrows, and they are finding their mark, then we can rule out the elopement or sour marriage angles’.

  ‘Let’s call her and tell her we’re coming’.

  ‘Go ahead’, she said, wrapping the sated baby around her shoulder and burping him thrice. Then she spread it across her knees and rocked it to sleep, mumbling a Haryanvi lullaby. ‘But be sensitive- don’t make any unnecessary insinuations about her future husband’.

  The manikin unsheathed his mobile from his ubiquitous belt and dialed Aarti’s number from her visiting card stapled to the invite.

  ‘Hello’, Aarti said, on seeing the unregistered number, ‘I am busy please; I don’t need any insurance or credit card right now’.

  ‘I am DSP Kadian ma’am’, he said, ‘…Crime Branch’.

  ‘Oh. Yes?’

  ‘There was a missing person investigation we were doing.’

  ‘Oh, sure’.

  ‘ We were looking for Sh. Arjun. Can you tell us where we can find him? ‘

  ‘Are you joking with me, Inspector?’

  ‘I am sorry?’

  ‘Yeah, me too’.

  ‘Sorry for what?’

  ‘What are you sorry about?’

  ‘Why would I be sorry?’

  ‘Then why did you say so?’

  ‘I meant why did you say I’m joking?’

  ‘Weren’t you?’