Bhrigu Mahesh, Phd: The Return of Damayanti

By Nisha Singh

On his second adventure, Bhrigu Mahesh is called to help by a hapless, retired clerk named Nataraj Bhakti, who thinks he is being haunted by the spirit of his dead wife. As he investigates, the mystery deepens and takes a sinister turn. A woman gets brutally murdered, and the great detective faces the challenge to either catch the killer or risk the destruction of many innocent lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Mar 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781482888980

Nisha Singh

Nisha Singh has expressed a love for the written word from a very young age, writing and illustrating short children’s books and competing in student competitions. Rain & Other Mellow Things is her first book to be published. Nisha Singh is fifteen years old and is currently a sophomore in high school. She has lived most of her life in Dallas, Texas, but enjoys international travel and visiting her grandparents in India, from where she originates. She loves spending time with her mother and father, gardening, and musical theatre.

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by Nisha Singh.

ISBN:      Softcover            978-1-4828-8899-7

                eBook                 978-1-4828-8898-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/india

Contents

A Prologue

PART 1

Chapter 1 A Theory

Chapter 2 A Tale

Chapter 3 A Dissection

Chapter 4 A Journey

Chapter 5 A Tell Tale

Chapter 6 A Village

Chapter 7 An Old House

Chapter 8 A Condition

Chapter 9 An Introduction or Two

Chapter 10 A Sad Woman

Chapter 11 A Case In Point

Chapter 12 A Friendly Visit

Chapter 13 A Promise

Chapter 14 A Late Night Vigil

Chapter 15 A Loose Encounter

Chapter 16 A Man-Child

Chapter 17 A Man-Child Continued

Chapter 18 A Pedantic Tour

Chapter 19 A Wise Man

Chapter 20 An Angry Host

Chapter 21 A Story of Loss

Chapter 22 A Slow Weekend

PART 2

Chapter 23 A Frantic Call

Chapter 24 A Fancy Funeral

Chapter 25 A Resolution

Chapter 26 A Bereaved Room

Chapter 27 A Police Chowki

Chapter 28 A List of Suspects

Chapter 29 A Curious Report

Chapter 30 On A Scent

Chapter 31 A-libis

Chapter 32 A Warrant

Chapter 33 A Hopeless Romeo

Chapter 34 A Perfect Picture

Chapter 35 A Heady Cocktail

Chapter 36 A Peaceful Damyanti

Chapter 37 A Woman Scorned

Chapter 38 As Sweet as Revenge

Chapter 39 A Green Fire

Chapter 40 A Lost Refuge

Chapter 41 A Second Parichay

Chapter 42 A Peculiar Bird

PART 3

Chapter 43 A Closet of Curiosities

Chapter 44 A Game of Riddles

Chapter 45 A Vanity Trap

Chapter 46 A Sound Flattery

Chapter 47 A Whisper and Poof!

Chapter 48 A Solution

Chapter 49 A Lyrical Devotion

Chapter 50 A Brahman Decoded

An Epilogue

A FLASH FILE

The Doctor’s Ward

To my family and the hard working sleuth who was called The Bloodhound

A Quick Word

Before you proceed, I would like to draw your kind attention to the fact that you will find a, what I call, ‘Flash File’ at the end of the book. You will know all about it from Sutte once you reach there. So now you can turn this page.

See you around.

Nisha Singh

5-3-2017

A Prologue

The palm leaves, delicately preserved, seemed as old as time. He knew that they had been in his family for generations; sitting there, tantalizing, enticing them to understand the reason for their existence but all his forefathers could accomplish was to stare at it with awe in their hearts and a deep fear that stems from reverence, stopping them from ever handling the holy antiquity. His father had once told him that he had tried once to convince his grandfather to sell the priceless palm leaves to a wealthy and generous antiquarian and make good with the money but his old man had warned him against any such action. It was believed that in the leaves, rested the souls of their Brahman ancestors and if they were to leave their possession, misfortunes would soon follow. The leaves were thus preserved and worshipped but never fully understood. His forefathers had been revered pundits, who were well-respected in his ancestral village as an authority on the Vedas, and they commanded a mastery over the Sanskrit language but still they never tried to work the puzzles in any meaningful way, content only to possess them. His father had said to him when he was just a teenager- ‘Son, the content of the poem is light; simple riddles designed for entertainment only but they are valuable to us as physical proofs of the blessings of our forefathers. Never question their significance. That would amount to sacrilege." He, though, did not belong to the same school of thought. He was evolved enough not to suffer from any such religious dogma and he also knew almost instinctively that these archaic leaves were no less than a veritable gold mine or else who could explain its reputation as a heirloom in the family, precious enough to be passed down to posterity? If they were indeed light entertainment, their ancestors would never have taken the care to preserve them so that they were never ravaged by the elements of nature. Was it not the desperate hope that one day the paper would meet its match and the real meaning behind the ancient puzzles crafted in an exquisite mixture of Sanskrit and Pali would finally be solved? From the moment he had come of age, he had become obsessed with the poems; trying to understand the riddles which teased him like the flirtatious overtures of a nymph who beckons but never ever succumbs.

He would sit for hours poring over the brittle, delicate leaves that still exuded the majestic charm of a rich, old world. It was an old pastime; a game, and of that everyone was certain. But he firmly believed that the light pastime was meant for enlightenment more than entertainment but the question remained as to how they were to be worked so that the wisdom hidden in the lines would become apparent. His obsession with the game had reached such a dizzying height that no amount of pressure from his family, especially his wife, could bring him back to deal with matters that required his immediate attention. He was no longer concerned with the bills that came like tides; each more powerful than the one before. Why should he seek to laboriously ride each and every wave when the alternative was to intelligently play the game, exploit the wisdom for his profit and reach the shore, safe and sound? Why should he struggle with his job; dying every day with no savings to account for in the end, not a single penny left for him to enjoy? There was no logic behind leaving the leaves and diverting his attention towards the quotidian activities that take little by little of life and gives nothing but a slow and miserable death in return.

After a couple of years devoted to the study of the ancient, sacred languages, he had started to see a faint light of meaning emerge behind the darkness which grew stronger with every passing day. He was happy indeed in the thought that he was now on the road to success and that he would never have to see the grotesque face of challenges and hardships ever again.

PART 1

CHAPTER 1

A Theory

‘Sometimes I wonder about the differences between the sexes and the more I wonder, the stronger becomes my belief in the fact that nature never meant them to come together but the ingenuity and adaptability of man has seen to it that such togetherness is made possible and we even have a formal name for it. Marriage.’

I gaped at my friend in such a manner that he couldn’t help laughing.

‘You look like one of those halibut fish I once saw on the Animal Planet. Give it an electric shock and it would look just like you.’

I closed my mouth hurriedly. ‘Your theories never fail to shock the daylights out of me.’ I said ‘if men and women weren’t supposed to come together, in what way, pray tell, was our species to move forward?’

He laughed at the top of his exemplary lungs, leaving me to wonder at the incognito humor of what I had just observed. ‘Why Sutte? Is it not biologically possible to mate without marriage? Is there some facility required for reproduction that is only made available after one has repeated the sacred vows of matrimony? There are millions of species on the planet and only one among them is supposed to follow the ritual of marriage, if they happen to develop an affection for each other i.e. Homo sapiens. Not just that. If, God forbid, that affection does not blossom into love, they are compelled to carry the burden of a dead relationship and thus destroy the remotest of possibility of finding true happiness. We say we are free creatures but how can we be free in the true spirit of the word when each one of us is bound by the garroting chains of matrimony that is rapidly making slaves of us all?’

‘But…but…mating without marriage would amount to sin! How could you even say such an immoral thing?’

‘And why is that such an immoral thing, Sutte? Nature meant every creature to be free and happy…it never built such institutions, we did. So how can you be so sure that the people who invented marriage weren’t immoral themselves? It’s the chicken-egg conundrum. How could you know for sure that marriage was instituted to declare all extra marital affairs as sin or extra marital affairs were somehow displacing the personal interests of our ancestors and hence they instituted marriage? You can never be sure. You can never be sure of anything man made. Only one thing you can rely on. Nature. And Mother Nature never requires a legal form from us, to give us a right to love.’

‘So…so you’re saying that marriages should be wiped off? Family values should be annulled? A child should not have a happy home to call it his own?’

‘Each one of those things is possible Sutte…’ He said after a brief pause ‘Even without having to marry. And children who are caught in the struggles of a difficult marriage are way too unhappy than those living in a loving relationship, as long as it stays that way. Marriage is the materialization of sympathy between two people and nothing else. Compare that sympathy to a rose. A flower of rose is a true symbol of beauty and grace. You admire its beauty and intoxicating fragrance. But someday a greedy businessman chances upon that rose and decides to turn it into his own profit. He plucks it, processes it and turns it into a product say rose water. The rose water has the rose in it but would it give you the sheer joy than when you beheld it in its natural beauty?’

‘Are you trying to say…’ I said after a quick series of gulps ‘that love or sympathy as you call it is rose and marriage is like…is like…’

‘A branded rose water. Yes.’ he completed the analogy for me.

I tried to digest what he had just said and his theory seemed more outrageous by the minute. ‘If I give in to your bizarre opinion, tell me, why did you first declare that men and women were not meant to come together?’

‘Because a man and a woman are as similar to each other as a spotted leopard and a laughing hyena.’ he said somberly.

‘Don’t tell me that you have graphs and charts to prove it.’

‘I don’t, as of now.’ he said with amusement ‘But I have sown the seeds of my research in that direction. Let me assure you, my data points to a rising consciousness in people regarding this sentiment as the incidences of divorces become as commonplace as they had never been before. Man has finally begun to realize the absurdity of this useless institution which has held him captive for centuries.’

‘Try legalizing adultery too then.’

‘Adultery has a meaning through the concept of marriage. If there was no such thing as marriage, there would be no meaning of adultery.’

‘Your theories are getting bolder.’ I said caustically.

‘It’s not a theory but an observation.’

‘I give up.’ I cried ‘But I do not concede. I think there is lot of good to be had from happy marriages.’

‘Happy marriage?’ he laughed a laugh loaded with cynicism. ‘The term is a euphemism and nothing more.’

We were comfortably ensconced on the couch in Bhrigu’s reading room, having this not so comfortable conversation over cups of coffee and hot cauliflower pakoras, a specialty of Bhrigu’s one man army for domestic work, Ponalla. He was the native of a small town in Kerela and spoke fluent Malayalam interspersed with broken English. I was about to have my second helping when he came in and announced ‘Daisy madam at the door.’

‘Daisy?’ Bhrigu asked surprised. ‘This time of the day? Has she not gone to her shop today?’

‘Shall I ask her that?’ Ponalla questioned. He had an annoying habit of taking things at their literal value. No doubt we never quoted a proverb in his presence.

‘No, appa. Just let her in.’

I straightened myself on the couch, anxious to make myself presentable to a lady. Bhrigu didn’t mind much. He and Daisy had become good friends in the past couple of months and he was as comfortable with her as he was with me. In under a minute, she was in the room donning a half smile that so became her. Although it gave her a perpetual air of cynicism, as I said before, it somehow suited her all too well. Well, before providing a description of her, I must warn my readers that the adjective of a ‘lady’ that I had used with respect to her was more out of chivalry than anything else. Once I ascertain that the person standing before me belongs to the opposite sex, I waste no time in treating her like a lady. I have my gentle upbringing to account for this quality/weakness of mine. You see, Daisy would be the last female on the planet, who could qualify to be a ‘lady’ as she did not have any of those qualities which the thesaurus would come up if you happen to look up that word. She had an athletic physique; sinewy rather than graceful, courtesy the gym where she was a regular menace, er, presence. She had black hair cropped so short that one had to look very close to actually believe that she was not altogether bald. She used an electric shaver to style her hair and never let it grow beyond half an inch. Her oval face could have been gentle had she not been so hell bent on carrying that cynical expression that, as I observed before, became her. Her eyes were big and black with a weird glint that supported her cynical smile. It was a sparkle of perpetual amusement; a sort of mockery that is very hard to understand at a first glance. She had pierced her ears at three locations, starting at the ear lobe upwards. Her forearms were tattooed with the figures of popular football players, the one game she adored, resulting in her becoming the owner of a big, sports merchandise shop financed by her affluent family. The tattoos were temporary and the players changed every month. She always wore a dark colored T-shirt and baggy jeans, sometimes shorts, a big sports wristwatch and a sports cap. The only female thing that I could spot on her person was her nail paint but it wasn’t much of a consolation either as the color was a glossy shade of black. Her general air was that of a sports geek cross gym trainer cross hippie and I swear the first impression that she drew from anyone was that of shock gently giving way to surprise which gently faded into amusement.

‘Oh hello Bhrigu boss!’ she shouted in her deep, husky voice that one could place somewhere between a man and a woman.

‘Hello Daisy.’ replied my friend, beaming. ‘You are here today at an unusual hour for you.’

‘Yup.’ she said diving into one of those hot pakoras. ‘I closed my shop early today.’

‘Why is that Ms. Daisy?’ I asked.

‘Because Sutte ji’ she said putting an emphasis on ji, as was her custom while addressing me. ‘I did not feel like working all day today. Is that not a good reason?’

I preferred to keep quiet on her rhetorical question.

‘So, what’s up?’ she asked, chewing the pakora greedily.

‘Nothing much.’ Bhrigu said ‘Sutte and I were having a debate on marriage. Let’s see whose side you’re on.’

‘But what’s the debate? And since when did marriage become such an important issue to have a debate on?’

I mentally knocked my head against the wall. Talk of kindred souls.

‘The debate was whether not to altogether remove this practice of marriage.’ said Bhrigu with a smile. ‘You would beg to differ?’

‘I?’ she said, almost shrieking the syllable. ‘God no! The one thing I hate more than the Last season of EPL where my team came third is marriage.’

‘Your reasons?’

‘It’s more personal than anything else.’ she said; now eyeing the one solitary pakora kept on the plate. ‘My mother, as you well know, has developed this annoying habit of pestering me with the photos of eligible grooms the moment I turned twenty six. Only I know how I have been resisting her undying efforts for the past two years. She made such a racket when after college I decided to open a Sports Shop that I had to sleep for two days at a friend’s house! She said it was and I quote ‘improper’. Hell, I would do anything to strike off this term Marriage from the face of this earth. No marriage, no tension’s my motto.’ She finally succumbed to the temptation and snatched the savory off the plate ‘Bhrigu boss, do whatever you can in this direction. For me, you will be a crusader and I’ll become your biggest follower.’

Bhrigu laughed a gay laugh and I could only half suppress a giggle. ‘See, Sutte, Daisy is one with me on this.’

She vigorously shook her head, showing her support.

‘Yes’ I retorted ‘but you would need more than Ms. Daisy to launch your movement.’

He laughed and this time Daisy joined him and together they created such a din that poor Ponalla had to come running into the room, half afraid that the roof had caved in. We had to assure him quite thoroughly to the contrary before he agreed to leave.

‘But seriously Daisy’ said Bhrigu after the seizure of laughter had passed ‘Do you not have other reasons for not supporting marriage?’

‘I have.’ she said now licking her fingers ‘I don’t want to become like my mother when I reach her age. Marriage has a way of neutralizing your character; the distinguishing colors you were born with. You could have been a wild sports player, a rebellious media executive, a passionate engineer, a delicate painter, a cut-throat business woman, a hippie but after marriage all you become is a good mother, a good wife and a good daughter-in-law whose life rotates around that of her husband. You could have had many colorful feathers in your plumage before marriage but after you become like a mass produced object, made to order, exactly the same and following the same routine, like a pot boiler movie stereotype, over and over again.’

‘But there are women who have achieved much even after marriage.’ I observed calmly, almost.

‘And what’s the percentage?’ she said now addressing Bhrigu ‘Bhrigu boss, you must be aware of the percentage as regards your research?’

‘Yes.’ he replied with a frank grin ‘it’s dismal.’

‘See?’

‘And you have now a word for our observation, Daisy?’

‘What?’ she added quickly ‘Neutralization effect?’

‘Bingo.’

I looked at the two of them and realized how like each other they actually were. Bhrigu’s growing fondness for Daisy was because of her knack to sometimes see things in the same vein as him; a huge accomplishment as far as my opinion goes. Although Daisy belonged as much to the class of thinkers as an orangutan to the class of human beings, she possessed a kind of cynicism that questions everything and arrives at its own unique conclusions. Bhrigu was amused by her what he called fresh, untainted views and never tired of stroking a raw nerve in her to get the finest of them. He said and I quote- Daisy is a girl who looks at the world by using herself as a prism. She first concentrates any issue on herself, as a prism does to a monochromatic white light, and scatters her colorful opinions in every direction. Quite an interesting description, I might add.

Daisy left hurriedly after she received a text from her mother and after ten minutes, Ponalla made an entry again and said in a thick accentuated voice- ‘There’s a man at door. Says he came see Bhrigu Mahesh all way from…from…I forget name, sir…’

‘Must be Nataraj Bhakti. I was expecting him today.’

‘Who’s Nataraj Bhakti?’ I asked

‘The man who sent me that e-mail, remember? How can you forget? I showed it to you only a week ago!’

And he did well to count on my memory so much. ‘I am not able to recall…’ I said, slightly embarrassed and then a light bulb glowed somewhere in the depths of my mind, illuminating, I think, the memory portion of it. ‘Oh! You mean the man who wrote that he is being haunted by his dead wife?’

‘Yes.’

‘But I did not pay any attention to that nonsense. I thought you would delete it.’

‘Why?’

‘So you believe in ghosts, phantoms, witches et al?’

‘No.’

‘Then how could you entertain the lunacy of that man?’

‘The man isn’t a lunatic. In fact he is among those who don’t have any kind or form of imagination to claim as their own.’

‘Why do you say so?’

‘Didn’t you look at his credentials mentioned in the mail? He is a retired government clerk.’

I stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing. I think I was falling hard into the habit of repeating this routine. ‘You…you…’ I said wiping the tears off my face. ‘You are something!’

‘And that something is discerning? Well, yes.’ he replied with a smile.

‘So you are implying that if a person such as Nataraj Bhakti who never in his life saw a gay dream suddenly starts seeing the ghost of his dead wife, he is actually seeing his dead wife?’

‘According to him, yes.’

‘And that’s what we have to investigate?’

‘Correct.’ my friend replied ‘At the end of the investigation, we’ll either uncover a foul game or officially prove the existence of ghosts.’

‘And the paperwork will be done by Nataraj Bhakti?’ I said and my friend exploded into a cackle of laughter.

CHAPTER 2

A Tale

Nataraj Bhakti was sitting before us on the oak chair. He appeared much self conscious and kept looking around the room. His darting, restless eyes finally rested on a decoration tortoise displayed on a stool. He looked at it with such intensity that I was afraid my metal tortoise which I had gifted Bhrigu on his last birthday would panic any second and retreat into its shell.

‘So, Mr. Bhakti’ said my friend ‘your problem is haunting you or shall we say that your problem is a haunting?’

He looked at my friend with the same puzzled intensity with which he had graced my tortoise. Nataraj Bhakti was a man nearing sixty. He had very little hair at the back of his dome shaped head. His eyes were good for a man his age; big and brown and were noticeable behind thick, black rimmed spectacles. He had a straight, pencil thin moustache which he had laboriously trimmed at the corners. His lips were thin; almost as thin as his moustache and he had a habit of pursing them that sometimes gave one the impression that he had a slit for a mouth. The man was wearing a grey colored cotton shirt and faded black trousers. On his right wrist was a humble watch that he kept glancing at every five minutes; a habit many a government clerk develop over the course of their job, leaving me to wonder whether it is by sheer boredom or by an urgency to get the work done in time. I would wager a bet on the former, though. On the whole his bohemian style reeked of a clerk and the only thing that offered a relief like a singular dash of bold red across a dull, black and white picture was his shoes. They were pure patented leather, shiny and white.

‘My wife,’ he began in a pitch that I was afraid would not vary much during the course of the conversation ‘has returned.’

‘So I read.’ said my friend ‘what is the reason for your feeling so?’

‘My…my wife has come back from the after life’ he quavered ‘When she died, I performed every ritual prescribed by the scriptures, fed twenty five Brahmins, ten goats and a buffalo by breaking my provident fund…’ His voice reached an indiscernible pitch. ‘My provident fund! Imagine! Only so that her soul could rest in peace but…but still she returned!’

‘You should have sued the Brahmins for cheating you’ I said ‘Why did you come to us?’

He looked at me pitifully and said ‘How can I sue the Brahmins, sir? That would condemn my soul to eternity. I came here on the recommendation of Prasadu. He wrote the mail on my behalf.’

‘Prasadu?’ Bhrigu bolted ‘You know him?’

‘He is my distant nephew.’

‘Oh!’

‘Who is Prasadu?’ I asked. Apparently this conversation was getting more personal by the second.

‘He was a petty thief serving time in the police station where I worked.’ Bhrigu said ‘The man had the habit of landing in jail as soon as he had been released with some brand new charge. Like a ping pong ball. Until I met him. One interview and he is now working at a cloth shop as a salesman, earning his bread honestly. His family was very happy at him turning a new leaf and sent me baskets of mangoes as a token of their gratitude.’

‘Yes sir’ said Nataraj Bhakti ‘When Prasadu learnt of my problem, he told me to go see you. He said that you could do anything.’

‘Not everything, for sure.’ said Bhrigu, smiling broadly. ‘But if your problem falls under my expertise, I’ll surely do my best to help you. Tell me, sir, why do you thing that your wife has returned?’

The man clasped his fingers tightly on his lap, pursed and unpursed his lips and began ‘There has been no end to my troubles since I retired from my job as a senior clerk in the Public works department and came to lead a retired, peaceful life in my village. I was very much enjoying the natural air and the simple pleasures of a retired life when my wife passed away. She was a strong woman who had always stood with me through thick and thin. I owed her a lot. When she died I organized a grand funeral to pay my final respects to my dear wife and did everything for the peace of her soul but…’ He wiped a bead of sweat that had stealthily formed on his forehead, gulped visibly and resumed ‘but after six months I swear I heard her voice at about midnight when I woke up to attend to Nature’s call. Our lavatory is situated at the back of our house and I have to cross my backyard to get there. I always carry my torch when I have to go to the lavatory at night. So I got up, took my torch and made my way through the backyard to the lavatory, my torch illuminating a small area ahead of me. I reached the door and pulled it open. I latched it from the inside and was about to squat comfortably when I heard a noise. It was more of a disturbance, really, and I accorded it to one of the cats which had developed an irksome habit of loitering outside, looking for an opportunity to enter into the kitchen in search of milk. The noise subsided after a few seconds. But when I got up and was about to open the door to go outside, my hand froze on the latch and blood in my veins when I heard the shrill cry of a woman renting the air outside. It pierced the heart of the peaceful night like a sharp edged knife. The cry echoed in the fields and slowly died in the arms of the night. My heart was beating fast inside my chest. I couldn’t muster up the courage to open the door and venture out. I kept muttering verses from the Hanuman Chalisa and stayed locked up in my crammed confinement.’ He gulped again, pursed and unpursed his lips and resumed ‘I never knew fear such as I felt that night, behind the weakly latched door of my lavatory. I could clearly hear my heart going like a ticking time bomb and my blood pounding in my ear. I stayed motionless; hand numb with clasping the latch and head sore with naked fear for about half an hour and kept repeating the name of Shree Hanuman in a desperate effort to avoid a panic induced heart attack. I don’t know how but I somehow mustered enough guts to open the door with a trembling hand. I got out into the night sky and nervously scanned my surroundings in the dim light from the torch. Everything was dark, silent and peaceful again. For a moment it appeared as if the cry was just the manifestation of my overwrought nerves when I heard the noise of shuffling feet coming from the lavatory that I had just vacated!’

We were listening to his account of horror in absolute silence but the nature of our silence was vastly different. Whereas my silence was the product of sheer fright, Bhrigu’s was more out of a natural curiosity. He looked like a vigilant reporter, listening to a most incredulous account and simultaneously thinking about how much of it was worth his time and patience.

‘At that moment, several things happened all at once.’ The man continued ‘Adrenaline overpowered my senses and before I knew anything I was inside my bedroom, panting hard. I don’t know how I got there so fast but I had a numb sensation in my feet and I guess taking orders from the adrenaline which was now in charge of my body, they had carried me safely to my room. I bolted the door from the inside and tried to sleep but the shock of fright gave rise to a dreadful paranoia and all through the long night, I half imagined, half heard terrible, ghoulish noises drifting towards me from behind the curtained windows. That was the worst night of my life.’

‘For a month I went about my work in a daze; frightened to death at the prospect of the approaching night. I was relieved somewhat when the noises did not repeat themselves and within a month of careful watchfulness, my panic gradually subsided. I was starting to feel myself again when the phantom calls began again.’

‘Really?’ asked Bhrigu ‘Why do you think that the ghost was silent for a month?’

‘I don’t know!’ he replied with visible heat ‘How am I to know the timetable of a ghost? Pardon me sir, but I am a retired clerk and not a tantrik.’

‘Please continue.’

‘Well’ he began ‘I started suspecting the ghost to be my recently deceased wife when it endeavored to scare me for the second time.’

‘How?’ I asked.

‘I am coming to that, sir.’ he replied, glancing at his watch again. ‘The second time around the ghost started to spook me in a manner very like my wife.’

‘Your wife used to spook you? Strange.’ I observed.

‘No, not spook.’ he said with a touch of guilt in his voice. ‘She, as I said, was a strong, supporting woman but sometimes that kind of strength and support comes at a cost. Of all the qualities that she possessed, tenderness was not one of them. She was an able worker but not an elegant one at that. When she cleaned the house, for example, I had to run for sanctuary because she would make such a racket moving pots and pans, beds, furniture to get to the dirt hiding in obscure corners that had we lived in a city, where people are prone to privacy and peace, I would have received complaints depending on the time my wife decided to clean the house. She was that thorough and that ruthless. Do you understand?’

We nodded our heads in agreement. She was a ninja cleaner.

‘The ghost started to do just the same. It would move pots and pans and other items in the kitchen to an imperceptible degree at first, as if nervous at its first attempt and afterwards, getting bolder, it started creating a pandemonium in exactly the same manner as my wife. Only this time the objects moved but the dust remained there as before. So, you see, I did not even have the advantage of tolerating the infernal noise in the hope of seeing a clean house.’

‘That’s a tragedy.’ I observed.

‘And how long did it last?’ Bhrigu asked

A look of torture and pain convulsed the face of the poor man. Apparently, the second time the efforts of the ghost were of a persisting kind.

‘Three months this time.’ he replied, suddenly aging by twenty odd years. ‘It was a relentless process; inexorable. I thought

Reviews for Bhrigu Mahesh, Phd

[mariaantonysamy · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

General

“Bhrighu Mahesh, PhD “ The witch of Senduwar is a crime fiction written in the most fluent fashion of genius like Sherlock Homes, the fictional private detective , aided by the technique of observation. This logically marvelous book is woven with a beautiful social mysterious drama in a literary style.I like the thrill and excitement It has created in me and the poetically expressed prose has lured me to finish the reading within three days. I like itssimplicity and the tempo it maintains throughout the story. My keenness to know the way the story proceeds , will always work like a trigger to complete the book at one go. It is a great delight to come across an Indian version in the contemporary atmosphere casting a brilliant work in the form of a mystery thriller.

The plot

The story is told in a first person ‘s voice and his name is Sutte . He happens to be the neighbour of Bhrigu Majesh ,the protagonist who is the detective , assigned the job to unravel the mystery of a murder. The victim is the only son of Jayanti Devi a 65 old woman living in a village Senduear in Bihar. It relates to a legend involving a witch well versed in "Black magic herbs"What is the motive of such a heinous crime , who is the culprit and other related questions arise and the answers are found by the hero after many efforts and experiments. In between there are so several sub plots to carry forward the story in a coherent and logical way.The methods used by him to find out the truth are given in a beautiful manner. The theories and formulae employed are included in the story. The sharp intelligence and quick reflexive movements of the investigator are exhilarating .

Pros


The language is superb. Nisha Singh’s style is exquisite . it is straight , poignant not mind -boggling.The words are crafted with an artistic workmanship to get awe-struck and it makes the reading a lively experience. Valuable in formations and ideas are strewn all over the pages to enlighten the reader about the mechanism applied by the investigator.

The characterization is strong and vital to the movement of the tale. All the characters are down-to earth and they are realistic. I like Meenakshi character because she is projected as an eccentric one with an aptitude to be the voice of the voiceless. But she chooses to become a social worker to help the exploited and poor villagers.

Some humorous situations tickle your ribs to create a spontaneous laughter. Sutte helps in this area and it gives some relief in the otherwise tense and fast moving story.

I find the following lines in the book are meaningful. .

A couple can never survive together if both are equally controlling.One has always to back down to make room for the other.

Suspects are like pieces of chess. Read them correctly and be ahead by one move only.You will win the game.

Charm of a temptress is the most potent weapon known to mankind.

Love should never be bound by laws , even marital ones . it was and should be free.

Talent is distributed equally , nor is knowledge.

Cons.

I find a very few grammatical errors and otherwise the book is flawless. Every effort is made by the author to present a great novel.

Rating : 4.5/5

My verdict

It is an exciting read and I like the concept , story and the execution. I recommend the book to all, especially who are interested in detective novels with a love for literature .