Murder with Bengali Characteristics (4 page)

Governor Wen raised the idol to his nose and sniffed it. This was an unexpected result of their religious policy. The anti-proselytization laws had been withdrawn to increase religious conflict amongst the locals, even though they were managing perfectly well on their own. Conversion work had started immediately amongst the immigrant Chinese, who were presumed to be godless. This worried Governor Wen. The immigrants were mostly low-class riff-raff from rural areas, with a sprinkling of urban undesirables, and a selection of senior citizens. They’d been removed to reduce social tension in the mainland. Personally, he didn’t care who prayed to what, but he knew the other members of the Central Committee back home would take a very dim view if too many of them were converted into Hindus. China was now a majority Christian nation. Things were bad enough already. Many of the immigrants had started playing carom instead of mah-jongg. They refused to drink Feichang Cola, preferring the harsh buzz of Thums Up. They often demonstrated a disrespectful attitude towards security forces. Some of the most depraved had started eating with their hands. It defeated the whole purpose of colonization. It was easy for the Committee to criticize. They didn’t have to deal with the Indians. They had no idea how tricky they were.

Take the two specimens in front of him. One of them was an Indian Indian, from New New Delhi, while the other was their own Indian, from Calcutta. One was a tall, strong, white devil, while the other was a short, fat, black devil. He could never remember which one was from where. Not that it mattered. They were all equally untrustworthy. He never said this to their faces, of course. His management style was avuncular and went well with his girth and his bald pate. He would never make it to the Standing Committee, whose members were trim and interchangeable, with their improbably dark hair and their identical dark suits.

‘Such a pretty little thing, isn’t it, Wang?’ he said.

‘It’s a foolish toy for ignorant rice buckets,’ said Propagandist Wang, sneering. He sneered a lot. He was a thin, angular man with a wispy goatee. He looked like a cross between John Lennon and a praying mantis. He sat in a chair behind the Governor, to one side. He liked viewing things from an angle. While there was some debate on the subject, and both General Zhou and Crazy Wu were strong contenders, most people agreed that he was the most powerful person in the Protectorate. His job was to promote correct thinking.

Agarwal and Verma were sitting across the table. Verma was looking at his tea suspiciously. There were unidentified objects at the bottom of the cup. ‘As your loyal subjects, Your Highness, we have come to you with valuable information,’ said Agarwal.

Governor Wen disliked information. So far as he was concerned, the less he knew the better. ‘Can’t you share it with Ganguly?’ he asked. Ganguly was his assistant. He was a great source of comfort to him in these times of trouble. ‘He’s very good with information.’

‘Sir, this is for your ears only, sir,’ said Agarwal, ‘It requires the involvement of the highest levels of the Party.’

‘Are you going to tell us, or are you waiting for the next Party Conference in Beijing?’ snapped Propagandist Wang.

Agarwal remained unfazed by his rudeness. His father had taught him two things very early in life. Politeness doesn’t cost money, he had said, and insults cannot hurt you. Agarwal had lived his life by these principles. So long as they left his wallet alone, he was fine with whatever they said to him. He drew his chair closer.

‘We are hearing whispers of war,’ he said.

Right on cue, there was the sound of gunfire from just beyond the French window. Moments later, General Zhou stepped through briskly, holding a clipboard.

‘Here’s another batch for you to sign,’ he said, cheerfully, placing the clipboard in front of the Governor.

‘Do I really have to?’ asked Governor Wen. He hated signing death warrants. All he wanted was some peace and quiet, and a moderate selection of concubines. But General Zhou had quotas to fill, and he was always in a hurry. Members of the elite were executed on the Governor’s lawn, out of deference to local sentiment. Poorer people were taken behind the chemical sheds. Things had changed on the mainland, but in the provinces, traditional methods of governance applied.

‘You should join us,’ said General Zhou. ‘The boys will be thrilled.’

‘Chairman Mao used to supervise executions personally,’ added Propagandist Wang, primly. Governor Wen signed the order. General Zhou swung round on his heel and left through the French window.

‘Sir, you are facing the possibility of war, sir,’ said Agarwal, slightly put out. He had expected to make more impact than this. ‘We are hearing whispers. Loud whispers.’

The Governor sat bolt upright. His paunch pushed the heavy oak table forward a few inches. ‘Who is whispering about war?’ he demanded. ‘And why can’t they speak up?’

‘Sir, it’s the Competent Authority, sir,’ said Agarwal. ‘The CA. He’s the man who rules India. People think it’s the PM, but she’s only there for the TV channels. Between you and me, he’s taken leave of his senses.’

The stress of sitting upright made the Governor lose focus for a moment. ‘I have no objection to you shaving your brother-in-law,’ he said, mixing him up with an earlier petitioner. ‘It seems perfectly harmless to me, and does not affect the harmoniousness of society in any way. As far as I know, it’s not forbidden by the law. Is it Propagandist Wang?’ he asked anxiously.

Propagandist Wang bit his lip. Whatever he had to say to this turtle product could not be said in front of barbarians. Agarwal was perplexed. The Governor was degenerating from vegetable to mineral with astonishing rapidity. He would have to ask Ganguly to dilute his medication.

‘Sir, it’s the truth, sir,’ he said. ‘He believes the telepath attack was conducted by you. Any minute he may declare war, sir.’

The Indian telepathic corps had recently been attacked. Many of them had been hospitalized. Some had disappeared. Others were drinking in bars. As per instructions of the Competent Authority, India’s premier investigative agency, the CBI, had immediately reached the conclusion that the Chinese were responsible. They were scheduled to find supporting evidence within seven days.

‘Did we conduct the telepath attack?’ Governor Wen asked Wang, by now thoroughly confused. Propagandist Wang shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. It was true, what people said. Inbreeding was the single biggest problem facing the CCP.

Governor Wen felt personally betrayed. He spent all his time trying to be nice to everyone, but what good did it ever do? ‘What should we do?’ he asked, wishing someone would tell him. ‘Should we leave? What about all the immigrants?’

‘New Bengalis!’ barked Propagandist Wang.

‘Yes, yes, let’s quibble over semantics,’ said Governor Wen, irritated into testiness, ‘that’s the best way to deal with this. Let’s beat each other up with dictionaries while the sky falls on our heads. Do you have any suggestions?’ he asked Agarwal hopefully.

‘Sir, there is a way, sir,’ said Agarwal, ‘Something that only a tall leader like you can do.’

This did not sound good. Governor Wen waited apprehensively.

‘Bengalis are very excitable, sir. Historically they have caused many disturbances. Traditionally their attitude is poor. Right from Mughal times, there are reports which confirm this. Add to that the current situation. The New Thug Society is strangling people. Maoist behaviour is highly suspect. Telepaths may be reading our brains. File a report with the Party, sir, perhaps exaggerating the situation a little, saying things are very bad, and they should avoid war at all costs. Then you just kowtow to the CA a little, maybe give away a piece of Chhattisgarh, and everything will be peaceful. War will be avoided. You will be like an angel of peace.’

This last bit was a masterstroke. Their mine was in Chhattisgarh. If the Chinese no longer claimed the area, they would stop pushing Maoists in, and Verma and Agarwal would no longer need South African mercenaries. They cost a fortune in vuvuzelas and beer.

‘You want me to tell the Standing Committee that the situation in Bengal is going out of control?’ asked Governor Wen, unable to believe his ears.

‘Only slightly,’ said Agarwal, showing a small gap between finger and thumb.

‘They’ll shoot me!’ said Governor Wen.

A single shot rang out in the garden. Governor Wen leaped out of his chair.

General Zhou popped in.

‘Sorry, missed one,’ he said, and popped out.

‘Kowtow,’ spat Propagandist Wang. ‘No one is going to kowtow. You will write to the Standing Committee immediately demanding more troops, more drones, and more money. We will build up our strength, and boost morale through patriotic songs and audiovisual presentations. We will fly down some Harmony Doctors to re-educate splittists. If anybody from their pathetic little half-country threatens us, we will crush them, once and for all. If they want war, we will give them war.’

‘They’ll shoot me for that too,’ said Governor Wen.

‘No, no, sir, never,’ said Agarwal, soothingly. ‘Not a person of your calibre. It would be too great a loss for the nation. They may confiscate a few companies. Convert one two malls into Jinping Thought Centres. Perhaps freeze one two bank accounts. Nothing more than that, sir.’

‘If you think I’m going to report to the Committee that my province is going out of control, you need to have your head examined!’

Agarwal knew when to fold his hand. He drank up his Five Treasures tea. He gave the Governor his business card. He kept changing his address to avoid creditors. ‘Sir, please think further,’ he said. ‘Also, if you need any help writing reports or framing any sort of regulation, kindly let me know.’

He and Verma got up to leave. Verma hung back for a moment, wondering whether to menace them. It was what he usually did. But he deferred to Agarwal’s judgement. This was his home ground.

‘So what do we do now?” he asked, once they were outside. Agarwal looked remarkably calm for a man whose hopes had just been dashed.

‘We’ll make an appointment with Ganguly-da, the Governor’s assistant,’ he said. ‘He’s very cultured and capable. He’s my man. I pay him a small retainer fee. He’ll know what to do.’

Verma was not reassured by this.

‘I’m sure everyone pays him a small fee,’ he said morosely.

They were travelling at a height of around forty feet, so they could still recognize people on the ground. ‘Hey, look, there’s Tuklu!’ said the boy, pointing to a slightly depressed young man. He was chivvying a cow out of a half-submerged field of paddy. ‘Kareena’s got in the rice again! She’s a weirdo. She loves water. Hey, Tuklu! Tuklu!’

‘He can’t hear you,’ said Li.

‘And look! There’s Geju-da’s house!’

It was hard to miss. It was the only brick structure in a sea of thatched huts. It had pink walls, orange windows, and a massive dish on the roof. A drone was hovering in the courtyard. As they watched, it delivered a swift electric shock to the man who was sweeping the backyard. He started sweeping faster.

Inspector Li had no time for sightseeing. He was running out of fuel. The back-up battery was only good for surface travel. He rapped his knuckle on the dashboard. ‘Find us a nice, quiet place where we can land in the next four minutes,’ he said. There was a brief pause, as the car consulted its database.

‘Here are some suitable options,’ it said. ‘The spot where Deputy Secretary Jeng distributed shoes to the poor. The spot where Party Secretary Zhao unveiled a portrait of the Young Prince. The spot where Commissioner Wang enjoyed the view, and took a photo that was much admired on Weibo. Each one has a memorial stone or plaque, to enable identification of the exact location.’

‘Take us to a place where no one from the Party has ever been,’ said Li.

‘How about the spot where the wife of a Central Committee member gave a musical performance, bringing great joy to the masses?’ said the car. ‘It’s very picturesque, right next to the river. There’s a mango orchard nearby. According to local legend, witches may be living in it. The technical term for them is shankhchunnis. They can extend their arms to great lengths, while still sitting in their tree. This helps them to reach through windows and pluck babies out of their cradles.’

‘Some other time,’ said Li.

The car hovered indecisively for a moment before swooping ahead. A few minutes later it was landing in a football field. There was a small crop of dull grey buildings nearby. The football field was a good choice. Given the performance of the national football team, no official in his right mind would want to be associated with the sport. The Chinese football team was a mystery. It was strange that a country of a billion people was unable to produce eleven men who could challenge Brazil. Despite being bullied and threatened constantly, their performance never seemed to improve.

The car sank its wheels into the grass with a happy sigh. Its doors swung open. A gunshot rang out in the distance. They could see small figures running about in the cluster of buildings across the field. ‘We should probably stay in the car,’ said Inspector Li.

‘Don’t worry,’ said the boy, hopping out. He sat down in the grass. ‘It’s just the students’ union. It’s election time at the engineering college. They use country revolvers. The bullets don’t go very far.’

Li settled down next to him. He took a KitKat out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. The boy examined it thoroughly, turning it over and over. He had never held one in his hands before. He ripped it open and nibbled on it cautiously. He nibbled and nibbled, taking his time, until it was finished. He licked the wrapper thoroughly. He read what was written on it, lips moving silently, as if memorizing it. He folded it up carefully and put it in his pocket.

‘You miss him, don’t you?’ said Li.

The boy’s face crumpled but he did not cry. ‘He was the only person who ever talked to us,’ he said. ‘He didn’t have much money but he gave us biscuits.’ He fished out a crumpled wrapper. ‘See?’

‘I’ll get whoever killed him,’ said Li. ‘But I need your help. His neighbour says he didn’t know anyone, but that can’t be true. If no one knew him, why would anyone kill him?’