Murder with Bengali Characteristics (16 page)

‘A local hero named Geju is running the boys on the street,’ said Li. ‘He said one of them joined you here, soon after the murder. That’s why I’m back in the jungle. Boy named Toobloo.’

‘Very sweet name for a boy,’ said Phoni-babu. ‘Toobloos have a tendency to be plumpish. My neighbour has a nephew named Toobloo. He can eat like anything.’

‘Can I meet the boy, please?’ said Li.

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Debu-da, ‘he needs to lose his fear of Chinese people.’

‘From what I’ve seen of these boys,’ said Li, ‘fear of Chinese people is not a problem.’ Debu-da stuck his head out of the tent. ‘Hey, Toobloo, there’s a cop here to see you!’ he yelled.

They were joined shortly by a serious little boy in spectacles, dressed in a regulation uniform which was slightly too big for him. Li knew they were small for their age here, but he was still shocked. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a sheet of paper in his hand. ‘Who ratted me out?’ he demanded. ‘It was Gonsha, wasn’t it? He’s a number one gandoo. His brain is slow, but his tongue is quick. Nothing stays in his stomach. You have to beat him up from time to time. He was spoilt by his sisters. They were so happy to get a little brother, they treated him like the son of Nawab Khanja Khan. I told the others we should kick him out. Big mouth, empty stomach.’

‘Well, you’re out of it now, aren’t you?’ said Li.

‘There was nothing left,’ said Toobloo, ‘What were we going to do without Mister Master? Who was going to take his place? Geju? All he wants is money. He’s saving up for a plastic randi. Mister Master never liked him. He said he was the lumpen component of the proletariat. The others were keen to continue, but I saw no future. Debu-da seems like a good person. He’s promised to get us all married to local girls. It’s time I started a family.’

‘Not just yet,’ said Debu-da, smiling.

‘And what were you doing, exactly?’ asked Li.

‘Selling, what else? You think Geju-da does charity? In fact, right now he’s very upset. Less of us on the streets means less money for him. He was blaming you. “I’m going to squash his balls,” he said, “and make him sing like Lata Mangeshkar.” Meanwhile Mister Master is dead. Foget about me, what are you doing? Have you arrested the thugs yet?’

‘I met their boss,’ said Li, ‘very fine gentleman.’

‘Those are the worst,’ said Toobloo. ‘They’re too lazy to suck blood. They make other people do it for them. Sometimes they have chilli chicken and fried rice at the Calcutta Club. Sometimes they read poetry. Other than that, they do nothing. All their money comes from number-two business. Why did he kill Mister Master? Did you ask, or did you arrive at a settlement?’

There was only so much Phoni-babu could digest. ‘Maoist-Taoist I don’t know, you manage your mouth, or things won’t be good! Whole life I’ve upheld the honour of this uniform, you can’t insult it just like that! Li-sahib is a very soft person, that’s why he’s not shooting you.’

‘Who let this uncle in, Debu-da?’ asked Toobloo. ‘Can we give him some treatment? I’ll call the others.’

Debu-da folded his hands. ‘Please take a seat, dada, I’ll ask for a cup of tea. Don’t mind the boy. We teach these young boys to be strong. Sometimes they become too strong. Don’t mind. We all respect your Inspector very much. He’s not just handsome, he’s highly intelligent. Possibly honest also.’ Phoni-babu subsided, mollified by his charm.

‘I don’t do settlements,’ said Li. ‘If Amalendu Lahiri of the Thug Society is the culprit, I’ll take him in. I’m just not sure yet. You’re a smart boy. You know it’s not always that simple. Are you sure it was the thugs? And if they did it, then why?’

The boy’s face crumpled. He was a bold little monkey, like most of them. But he was still a child. ‘I don’t think about it,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to think about it. What’s the point? He’s gone.’

‘Well, there’s always revenge,’ said Li, ‘it’s one of the things I’m looking for. Vengeance, love, silence, money. That’s why most crimes happen. I just don’t know which one’s the cause of this crime.’

The little boy wiped his eyes. ‘I hope you find out. If you need any help, let me know. Debu-da will give me off.’ Debu-da put his arm round the boy’s shoulder. ‘Of course I will,’ he said. ‘Come on, Inspector. You’ve harassed enough children for one day.’

‘I’m not the one teaching them to kill people,’ said Li, ‘but I have to thank you for the book. It was interesting. Felt just like home.’ He reached into his jacket and handed back his copy of
Animal Farm
. Debu-da snatched it from him quickly and shoved it under a pile of clothes on his cot. His smile seemed a little forced. ‘Why, thank you, inspector! I completely forgot. I thought you would keep it. It’s a rare and precious thing. You really are an honest man.’

Before leaving, Li turned to his young suspect, who had abruptly stopped crying. ‘What are you going to do now?’ asked Li.

‘Think,’ said Toobloo.

Just as they reached their car, parked on the edge of the jungle, Phoni-babu received a phone call. His mouth fell open as he listened. ‘What are you saying, sisterfucker!’ he cried. ‘How is that even possible? Which mother’s son would dare to do such a thing?’ The phone dropped from his nerveless fingers. He fell at Inspector Li’s feet. He wrapped his arms around his knees. To Li’s amazement, there were tears in his eyes.

‘Sir, please save us! Please do something!’ he said. ‘You’re a brave officer!’

‘Save you from what?’ asked Li, trying to pull him back to his feet.

‘Maa Kali have mercy on us all! They’re destroying the Kalighat Temple!’

‘Who is?’

‘You, Inspector-sahib, you! Soldiers have come, with tanks. They’re blowing up our temple and shooting the priests! How could you do this? We look upon you as our elder brothers. We serve you with maximum loyalty. Big Chen refuses, but every penny of my collection, I share with Sexy!’

‘Crying won’t help your mother. Get off your feet and get in the car,’ said Li. ‘I’m dropping you off at the station on the way.’

Inspector Li watched the Kalighat Temple burn. A black tank with the insignia of the People’s Armed Police was parked horizontally across the tram tracks. It fired off a round, obliterating three small shops and a legless beggar, who was unarmed, unless you counted his small tin bowl, which flew up in the air, miraculously intact. One of the soldiers fired from the hip, and hit the bowl, earning a cheer from some of his comrades. Joy was not universal. Some of the others were looking away, their rifles pointed at the ground. General Zhou watched, feet planted wide apart, hands on his hips, smiling.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ said Inspector Li.

The hysterical crowd pressed against the barricade, maddened by grief. General Zhou gave the sign and his boys opened fire. ‘Try not to shoot any children,’ he shouted, out of deference to his guest. He liked Inspector Li, even though he was from the Ministry of Internal Security. He could hold his drink, and he knew when to hold his tongue, priceless qualities, both.

‘Why are you doing this?’ asked Inspector Li.

General Zhou slapped him on the back. He belonged to the whistle-while-you-work school of soldiering. He was fat, cheerful, and thick as a plank. His men loved him to bits.

‘First, let me tell you, little brother, this has nothing to do with quotas. It’s true we were slightly behind. The Governor’s been very busy, and he won’t let us use his lawn. He seems a little depressed. We need to keep an eye on the fellow. This has nothing to do with him. This is a patriotic forward movement, to help save the Motherland.’

A wizened old priest emerged from the smoke, clasping a small idol to his breast, followed by an impossibly burdened flower boy, wearing most of his merchandise round his neck. The guns had stopped firing now. The crowd was creeping in, to remove the dead and the dying. Some still stood at the barricades, watching the temple burn, their faces lit by the fire.

‘Once the ashes cool, we’ll go in and check how many thugs we got,’ said General Zhou.

‘Thugs?’ echoed Inspector Li, hollowly.

‘Yes, thugs,’ said General Chen, eyeing his troops keenly for signs of battle fatigue. ‘I heard about your meeting with Wang. Apparently, he thinks the thugs are no threat. His brain is the size of his penis. Of course they’re a threat! They’ve killed four of us in the last six weeks. That’s the problem with you Internal Security people, you spend too much time stuck to computers. The People’s Armed Police believes in action. Spend more time on the streets, meet lots of people, shoot them. That’s the way to do it.’

‘But I thought Propagandist Wang specifically ordered us to focus on the telepaths, who are crossing the border as we speak,’ said Inspector Li.

‘I don’t report to that dog turd,’ said General Zhou, frostily, ‘I report directly to Beijing. Once I explained the situation, their orders were very precise. There’s this ancient cult or brotherhood, I said, who are going around killing Chinese officials with handkerchiefs. I explained how they were deadly secret, and masters of disguise, and worshipped a goddess named Kali. As I had anticipated, the news of a secret religious cult terrified them. They asked for my advice. They know I’m an expert on local conditions.’

General Zhou was a war veteran, and proud of it. He’d seen action during the Ranchi Incident, which had mostly involved retreating from Ranchi. The Maoists had warned them about Indians advancing in overwhelming numbers. The rumours had turned out to be false, but the Maoists had promised to hold the ground for them, and to keep them posted about future threats.

‘If the roots are not removed during weeding, the weeds will return when the spring wind blows,’ said General Zhou. ‘We need simple logic, and an iron hand. The thugs worship Kali. No Kali, no thugs. We’ve made a list of all Kali temples in the Protectorate. We will destroy each and every one of them. Left with no goddess to pray to, the New Thug Society will wither away, like capitalism. All it requires is a systematic approach, and enough ammunition.’

Inspector Li sat down on a nearby sandbag. ‘What did they say about your plan?’ he asked.

‘Oh, they agreed. Of course, things are different in the Motherland. Society has evolved. No one shoots cult members now. We adjust them instead. But in the New Territories, the old rules still apply. Once the GDP reaches a certain level, more freedom will be allowed. I’m not sure what the required GDP level is exactly, but it will be revealed once we reach it. Until then, we run over them with tanks, as and when required. That’s the essence of our philosophy.’

I could do with some adjustment myself, thought Li. Maybe then my head won’t hurt so much.

‘If we can finish the job in four weeks, all my boys get free holidays in Macau, and luxury flats in Celestial Heights. Celestial Heights! Can you imagine? For a new man, no place is better than the New Territories!’

Inspector Li knew the score. Almost everything boiled down to real estate in the end. He looked curiously at the soldiers. Not all of them were as excited by the prospect of flats as General Zhou. Several were muttering. As he watched, one of them threw down his rifle. The others tried to make him pick it up, but he refused, shaking his head. Finally an officer scooped it up and handed it back to him. He took no further action, and walked away.

Darkness had fallen. The burning temple lit up the night. The crowds were bigger now. The air was filled with the sound of crying, and something else. Young men, whispering to each other. There was more than just mourning in the whispers. A new chapter was about to be written in the history of imperialism with Chinese characteristics.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up. It was Big Chen. His face was set like stone. ‘We need to move, boss,’ he said. ‘There’s been an incident at Bijli Bose’s house.’

Li bounced to his feet. ‘What do you mean by incident?’

‘Assassination attempt. Thug. Been arrested. Also an old man attacked him with a signboard.’

‘What, two people tried to murder him at the same time?’

‘I don’t think he’s very popular,’ said Big Chen.

‘Or one of them wasn’t trying to kill him,’ said Li. ‘Let’s go find out.’

They walked back to the car in the gathering dark, as the whispers grew, and the flames flickered over the temple.

‘Pass the tobacco,’ said the thug, smiling a private smile.

Inspector Li lit a cigarette from his own and passed it on. He was in an interrogation room in the heart of Lal Bazaar. Generations of suspects had sweated it out in these rooms, cowering at the sight of chillies. The atmosphere was discouraging. The lights were dim. The air was oppressive. The walls were laced with grime and fear. The contrast with home was striking. Everything in Beijing police stations was shiny and new. The instruments were sharp, and the lighting was fabulous. Money was never a constraint. Here it was different. The government spent very little, and lawmen were expected to live off the land. The public was their primary source of income. Apart from selecting the officers, which was done for a modest fee, the government had little role to play. There was no incentive for capital investment, which was why most of their facilities were horrible. Inspector Li had read about the Black Hole of Calcutta, a case involving the suffocation of white people. In 1857, rebellious natives had put a large number of Britons into a small cell. Not used to being so close to each other, many had expired. Enraged by this atrocity, the British had soundly thrashed the natives, and proceeded to siphon money out of India even faster than before. It all seemed like a perfectly simple misunderstanding to Li. He could imagine the jailors looking down the next morning and shaking their heads in wonder. ‘Just one night,’ they would have said to each other, ‘that’s all they had to spend in it. Such weaklings they are. We can beat these people.’

The thug was dressed in an ordinary white shirt and blue jeans. He was in his mid-thirties, with neatly cut hair. He could have been a front office man at Hong Kong Bank. Perhaps he was. The thugs were tricksy, and never visibly thug-like. It was the secret of their success. Their clothes might have changed, but the approach was the same. His complexion was fair, which meant he was most probably upper caste. Inspector Li was yet to figure out what exactly this implied, although he had a hunch that it was far more complex than some people thought. He had met some fat cats from the sweeper caste, and if they were groaning under millennia of oppression, they were hiding it very well.