Chandramani

By Kimsuka Narsimhan

Introducing Ajmer Lalla, detective...

Chandramani, the sumptuous home of the fabulously wealthy Kshetras. Manish, the Kshetra heir with everything to live for – fortune beyond imagination, a beautiful wife and little son.
So why did Manish fall from the walls of Chandramani one fateful Diwali and die? Did he fall or was he pushed over the edge? Accident... or murder?
Ajmer Lalla has to wade through a complex cast of characters to answer this. A much hated victim, a doting mother, an estranged wife, a distant sister, a motley group of friends... all come together in this intriguing tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kimsuka Narsimhan
• Release date: Apr 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9789384363772

Book preview

CHANDRAMANI

BABA, SOME LUNCH NOW, OR AFTER YOUR MEETING"? Chintan enquired solicitously.

Ajmer looked up from his contemplation of the grey Arabian Sea. The lead in his middle heaved once again before settling in. Last night’s Japanese restaurant had bombed spectacularly. Food was a topic best avoided at this moment.

Has Mrs Kshetra come in?

Yes… but, baba, she seems to be crying.

Ajmer’s face turned a shade paler.

Ok, ask Josie to bring her in quickly.

Seconds later, Josie bustled in, visitor in tow. Tall, willowy… Ajmer was soon enveloped in an Armani jacket and frilly blouse hug.

Ajji… at last! You must, must help me. I am in DEEP trouble!

Josie lingered; the dull morning suddenly showed promise.

Thanks, Josie.

Oh dear, dismissal.

Good morning, Mrs Kshetra… how can I help?

Oh, Ajji! You don’t remember me, do you? It’s Piggy! Come on!

That hated grandmother-moniker meant Ahmedabad. But the mists were still swirling. Unless…could it be…Purvi Gupta, PG, Piggy? The thin, washed out girl who managed middle-of-class respectability, but was unutterably boring? She had certainly scrubbed up well.

Purvi! My dear! How lovely to see you! After all these years… How have you been, and what brings you here?

Great gulps, more tears. Out came a tissue (used, tchah!) from a Celine Nano bag.

Ajji… I… Ajji, you have to help me get out of this mess. They say that I killed Manish.

Half a tissue box, two cups of coffee and many comforting pats later, the story came out in fits and starts, with many rewinds and fast-forwards. Ajmer pieced it together rapidly.

After business school, Purvi had gone to work for the Kshetra group, an Indian conglomerate. The young recruit was set to work in the CEO’s office. Soon after, the older Mr Kshetra was claimed by a cardiac seizure one morning at his ancestral home. That rung in the generation change at the group, with Manish Kshetra returning in a hurry from Vienna, where he was working on a project. He inherited Purvi along with his CEO title, riches and the rest of the quietly obsequious staff. They were married with in a year.(Ajmer made a mental noteto check out the gossip-pages of that time. Or, ask his mother.)

Purvi produced the obligatory heir in due course. In the meanwhile, silent cracks had begun to appear in the marriage. The Kshetra family had suffered the girl who had trespassed into their family (for God’s sake, her father was a small-time hosiery trader) with little grace. Baby Nitesh’s arrival had done little to bridge the widening chasm between Purvi and the rest of the family. And it wasn’t long before Manish’s roving eye relieved him of the tedium of monogamy. Purvi had, in the meanwhile, wisely created a parallel universe for herself in salubrious South Mumbai, playing the sparkling socialite, caring mother and dutiful wife as required. She kept far away from Chandrapur, where the Kshetra home was, bubbling with simmering tensions and thinly-disguised hostility towards her and her son.

And it was from the walls of Chandramani that Manish had fallen to his death two months ago.

Diwali was always tough for Manish. Too much food, drink and maternal smothering. This time, it obviously got too much for him and he ended it all, said Purvi.

And where do you come in?

More tears. A couple of weeks ago, she explained, one of the maalis’sons had alleged that he had seen a woman with Manish on that fateful night; well past midnight, on the terrace that led seamlessly to the wall, which then gave way to the ridge that plunged 100 feet down.

So?

Ajji, it was Manish’s habit to go out there at night and wander up and down the terrace. He was an insomniac… and that was his own private space. I hate that terrace;I have vertigo, you know. I would never have gone there. Leave alone pushed Manish over, as they now say… More sobs followed.

Aren’t we jumping a bit? From a lady being sighted on the terrace to you being accused of pushing your husband over the edge? All on the word of a maali, who has, of course, taken two months to report this, and could well have been set up to do so?

They would do anything, anything, to disgrace me. Trupti’s lawyer has already had a word with me… She wants me to give up my share in all the property. In return, she’ll make a lifetime allowance for me and create a small trust for Nitesh, but that is it. I have to give up everything else… or else…

Or else?

They are a very powerful family and she’s a very powerful lady…Why would I want to take her on?

You do know that this will not stand in a court of law as evidence of any kind?

Oh, the Kshetras will make sure that whatever the outcome in court, there is a parallel trial by society, which will finish me off… and the disgrace! And Nitesh! Ajji, please take this case on, and promise me you’ll clear my name… you just have to, I beg of you!

Ajmer rather hastily decided to forestall the next round of weepies.

Ok, ok… but you’re sure that whatever I unearth won’t spook the heck out of you?

Since I didn’t push Manish over, you can only put me in the clear!

ALEAD-STOMACH LED TO AN AIR-HEAD, THOUGHT AJMER. He wasn’t sure what had prompted the prompt yes to Purvi.

Well, he was beginning to feel rather bored, so a new problem to solve wasn’t a bad thing at all.

He searched around his mental social directory for the Kshetras in general and Manish in particular. He knew of the Kshetras, of course – they were so immensely wealthy that they managed a very low profile. And he did vaguely recollect having met the son and heir, a good looking but unimpressive presence. So Piggy-Purvi had married him… He wondered how he’d missed out on that event. He must have been on one of his extended trips abroad then.

Ba-ma wouldn’t be pleased with yet another case, but… he suddenly recalled that she knew Mrs Kshetra rather well. Good, he’d leverage that. The Kshetra family clearly held all the cards in this case, and he needed to get up close and personal.

BA-MA WASN’T PLEASED. THE PATRICIAN BROW FURROWED with disapproval.

I thought you were done with all that?

Ba-ma chose to believe that Ajmer spent his time writing on erudite if arcane subjects, and sleuthing was an occasional blip in an otherwise acceptable life. She wasn’t mollified even when he reminded her that his books and his summer guest lectureship at Stanford were both the outcome of all that.

And yes, of course, she knew Trupti Kshetra. Fortunately, fond memories from a shared past averted anyfurther discussion on Ajmer’s career choices. It took Ba-ma all of fifteen minutes to catch up with Trupti, exchange promises to do lunch in the coming weeks and fix a meeting with her for Ajmer.

Ajmer often used her extensive social network. He had an enviable one himself, but Ba-ma’s gratification at being asked normally offset her disapproval of his activities. Which was, of course, his intent.

AJMER STOOD AT THE GATEWAY OF INDIA, WITH THE WINTER sun slanting mellow rays at him. A rustle turned his gaze to the left, where a slim young man gestured respectfully towards a launch bobbing in the water.

Saab is Mr Lalla? I am from Madam Kshetra, sir. This way, sir.

A couple of minutes later, Ajmer was burrowing into a deep deck chair, speeding towards Mandawa. He’d barely taken a couple of sips from the glass at his elbow when they chugged into the shallow waters of Mandawa bay. Transshipment into a venerable old Bentley followed, and in 30 minutes he was at the door of ‘Chintamani’, the Kshetra home in Alibaug.

What a poem of a house! It was a white stone structure, two storeys high, surrounded by dozens of coconut and palm trees, which ringed the front garden. The house was beautifully framed by the sparkling winter sea on one side and the green of the grass and trees on the other. Flowering shrubs were planted close to the French windows, managing that manicured but natural look which comes from top-class gardening.

Trupti Kshetra entered the living room, interrupting Ajmer’s lyrical stream of thought. She came straight across and took his hands in hers.

Hello Ajmer… and how is Leila? I’ve known her for simply ages, you know. She was an absolute rock when Bhushan died. And now, of course, Manish is also gone…Hereyes filled with tears. Forgive me, beta, it will take a while for me to get over it. But come, sit down, and tell me about this book of yours and how I can help?

The lady is a surprise, thought Ajmer. She exuded warmth and affection, and didn’t seem like a vindictive matriarch as had emerged from Purvi’s rather dramatic sketch. The jamavar and the jade bracelet aside, there weren’t too many concessions to the great fortune that she was chatelaine of. And it was good to see that Manish had somebody grieving for him after all. Purvi’s tears had only been the self-pity kind.

Ajmer murmured something appropriate about Manish, and went on to explain that his next book was about stately homes in India, particularly ones with some history. ‘Chandramani’, the Kshetra’s home in Chandrapur, seemed an ideal candidate, and he wanted to ask if she would be okay with it being featured. And if yes, could she talk about it a bit?

Beta, I, of course, love Chandramani. You know that Bhushan and I were second cousins, so even before my marriage, I’d spent many a school holiday there. Manish and Mala love it too… But if you’re looking for history and that kind of thing, Dina-ji is your man. You should go down and spend a few days there – it will be quite lovely at this time of the year.

From the generous offer to closing out dates for the visit (early the following week) was a short run. After exchanging snippets about various mutual friends but politely refusing offers of lunch, Ajmer left.

The Bentley was at the ready, and soon they were cruising on the road to Mandawa pier. Ajmer, who was admiring the casuarina and coconut groves bordering the road, looked up to see the old driver’s eyes fixed on him in the rear-view mirror.

Saab, may I say something?

Ajmer nodded.

That Purvi-ji, she came to see you, no?

So the Chintamani bush telegraph was active.

Saab, she is a very bad lady. She upset the whole family by marrying Chota Saab. Especially madam. And look, Chota Saab is now dead!

That can hardly be Purvi-ji’s fault. Manish fell to his death, didn’t he? said Ajmer drily.

Chota Saab had been running along those walls ever since he was a baby. He could not have fallen from there, saab…

Why? What do you think happened?

Not think, saab, saw… Not me, of course, but…

Ajmer hadn’t got his sleuthing successes by being diffident about talking to domestics.

What exactly are you saying?

Saab… our maali’s son saw Purvi-ji push Chota Saab over! came the response in a dramatic whisper.

What! If that is true, then the police should have arrested her by now!

Old and renowned family, saab… Half the town works for them, the other half is beholden to them… How can they ever arrest the Chota Saab’s wife, even if she is a murderess?

Are you sure the maali’s son wasn’t drunk?

The tone became a little more wary.

There is a hill opposite the house, saab, from where you can see the walls quite well. Nobody goes there at night, after the temple closes. But Ramdin took the shortcut back home from the local adda, and that’s when he saw….

Loosely interpreted, that meant Ramdin was staggering back home drunk, saw a couple of figures on the terrace, took a while to make a meaty piece of it, waited for the excitement to die down, and then started dining out on his story.

Why did Ramdin wait for two months to come forward with his story?

I told you, saab, there is nobody in Chandrapur who wishes the family ill.

The domestics’ kangaroo court had clearly delivered its judgment. No wonder Purvi had come running to him. It didn’t take long for this kind of a rumour to gain legitimacy through repetition, either in Chandrapur or in Mumbai, thought Ajmer, as he did the reverse trip