The door opened and Sonia stepped back guiltily. In reality, she wasn't supposed to be here.
A man in his late twenties looked equally startled to find her. Then his eyes narrowed, as he regarded her with suspicion.
“I . . . I'm Sonia Samarth. Kamini's friend,” she hastily offered in explanation.
Immediately his stance changed. “I'm Vivek and I've heard about you! Aren't you the one who's combined Astrology with Investigation?”
Sonia couldn't help feeling flattered. “Yes.”
“How wonderful to meet you! I'd a good mind to call you up one day and congratulate you on changing the whole outlook toward Astrology, which had so sadly been ruined by quacks. I'm really glad that you're doing wonders to straighten such a grossly misunderstood science. What a coincidence that we should meet like this,” he enthused.
“And you're an Astrologer, too. A very precise one, I heard.”
Vivek shrugged. “Not a professional, though. I use my knowledge in guiding family and friends.”
“Could you forecast Kamini's illness?”
Vivek looked startled. “Actually I did, to Ravi, but we didn't want Kamini to hear about it. That didn't help, though. Her health deteriorated very fast. But Ravi has been so wonderful. He's taking such good care of her. It surprised me. His devotion, his concern. We've been discussing her case every night, wondering what can be done. But it's no use. Sometimes fate is very cruel.”
“Vivek, can I take a look at the horoscopes—all of them?”
“Of course,” he agreed without hesitation. “You'll see that I'm right. They're in that drawer there on the left. I'll give them to you now.”
He strode over to the table, slid open a drawer, and from it extracted a small cotton bag. Opening the bag, he checked the contents. From the drawer, he withdrew another small plastic pouch, scribbled something on a paper, and added them both to the bag. “They're all in there. Mine, too.” He smiled.
Sonia accepted the cotton bag. “Why did you say that you were surprised at Ravi's devotion to Kamini?”
“Did I say that? Oh, it must've slipped out.” Vivek avoided her eye. Then he glanced up and sighed. “Well, I may as well—I've seen Ravi with a woman several times. I'm not saying there's anything between them, because I don't know. But I couldn't help wondering. . . .”
“Do you have this woman's name? Or her address?”
“Meena Sajane. Works as a social worker for Aajol, the Home for Old Women. And, in passing, I've noticed some fat cheques in her name, too. There are also one or two things I'd like to tell you, but not now. Perhaps we can meet later?”
“Sure, I'll give you a call.”
Vivek lifted some books from the table and followed Sonia out of the room. “Let me know what you think of the horoscopes.”
“I will,” she promised, nodding.
Rita and Kamini were descending the stairs as he crossed to them. The surprise on Vivek's face was evident.
“You look so much better, Kamini. Are you going out?” he asked.
Kamini smiled weakly and nodded.
“Good. Keep it up!” Vivek encouraged, and, whistling, made his exit.
Sonia sat in her office, listening to the melodious notes of the
Basuri
—the Indian flute—floating through the room. Rita had dropped her at the office and then proceeded to Kamini's favorite restaurant, though Kamini had insisted that she wouldn't be able to eat. Rita would take good care of Kamini, Sonia decided. She was a good friend.
Nidhi lolled on her pillow on the windowsill, cleaning herself with her tongue, granting her mistress the freedom to occupy herself as she pleased. Through the window, Sonia watched two green birds sitting on the electric wire. A pair of Veda Raghu—Bee-Eaters—swinging on the electric cable, totally unaware of the peril it presented. Something seemed to stir within her. A nebulous hunch. The horoscopes lay on the table, in front of her, methodical little booklets with calculations and mathematics drawn out with a seasoned hand. Essentially neat and, at first appearance, harmless. And yet, they troubled her. Something about the star combinations—Sonia couldn't place a finger on her doubt, but she felt an acute sense of frustration. It was like trying to look into vast space, sensing that something was out there. Something which eluded capture but which was transmitting tiny warning pricks to her brain. At length, with a sigh of annoyance, she thrust the booklets back into their little cotton bag and wound the top with a knot. She'd refer to them later, with a fresh and open mind and when her instinct had cropped away unnecessary matter.
Still, her mind flicked from question to question. Who was Meena Sajane and what relationship did this unknown woman have with Ravi? Why did he pay her large amounts of money? Was Kamini's state of mind curable or was she already over the edge? Could the presence of Meena in Ravi's life have anything to do with Kamini's illness? The bunch of horoscopes on the table were beckoning at her again. She touched them absently, then, on an impulse, untied the bag. There were the three booklets inside and a small packet of powder. A paper rustled against it.
Jatin walked in with a tray in his hand.
“Misal Paav!”
he announced.
“Good. I am ravenous.” Sonia smiled. “What did the Doctor have to say about Kamini?”
“Not much.” Jatin spoke between bites. “He says she was very ecstatic and excited when she came to get her report. Fit and in excellent health. He can't figure out what's gone wrong in the past few weeks. He's treating her, of course, for tension and pressure. But he hasn't been able to identify her illness at all.”
“Hmm . . . I thought as much. There's nothing really wrong with her,” Sonia remarked reflectively, spooning the
misal
—a mixture of sprouts, onion, and puffed rice with quantities of very spicy red curry.
“Then what exactly is the matter? Do you know, Boss?”
“This is a perfect example of what blind belief in Astrology can do to you. Kamini believes that she's going to die very soon—that's what has been prophesied by her cousin, Vivek. So foolish and immature of him to voice his doubts aloud and for her to believe them! Rationality and responsibility are the two necessary accessories of an astrologer. Like all sciences, Astrology is neither complete nor precise. Used sensibly, it can do wonders. But used carelessly and blindly, it can prove to be a most deadly weapon. And that's what Kamini—” Sonia halted abruptly.
“Boss?”
She stared straight ahead. Then she closed her eyes.
“Boss!” Jatin was beginning to get worried.
“Of course! Why didn't I think of it before!”
“Think of what before?”
“Too half-baked to explain right now. Let's quickly get done with the meal. I've got to go somewhere.”
“Go where? And you haven't even gone through the horoscopes yet, have you?” he reminded.
“I will. There's something that I simply must check out first. I have to pay someone a visit.”
“But, Boss, what's the hurry? As far as I can see, there's really no case here. Just a frightened woman, who doesn't have enough sense—”
“No, Jatin, that's where you're wrong. Have you ever lighted an
agarbatti
—a joss stick?”
“Of course! I do it every day before God.”
“Then you must've noticed that the immediate impulse on lighting a joss stick is to extinguish the match. Very often, I feel the joss stick has caught fire enough to keep burning and I puff the matchstick out, only to realize that the joss stick hasn't lit properly yet!”
“Boss, what are you getting at?” Poor Jatin was bewildered.
“Simply that a case is like a joss stick. Our immediate impulse is to form opinions and reach conclusions, sometimes ignoring or even deliberately extinguishing the other options, just as we extinguish the matchstick without really thinking about it. But most often, it is advisable to wait for the joss stick to light. A good Investigator must mark time, wait for the joss stick to light, wait for the case to ripen. Besides, it is always useful to remember that superficial appearances are as deadly as blind faith in Astrology!” Sonia remarked enigmatically.
To Jatin's amazement, she polished off the spicy
Misal Paav
at super speed. Then, without further ado, she picked up her purse and the horoscope bag and zipped out of the office. Jatin shook his head in annoyance. Really, sometimes his boss simply failed to communicate. How in heavens was he supposed to keep track of her multi-layered thinking?
Joss sticks.
Grumbling, he concentrated on doing justice to the delicious
Misal Paav.
The Lab took just a few minutes of her time. Then Sonia headed for her next stop—the Home for Old Women. She parked her car outside the gate and made her way inside. Aajol—a mother's home. How apt a name and place for all these homeless women, Sonia thought. Women in white, blue-bordered saris strolled leisurely, alone or in groups, in a tree-shaded garden. Questions swarmed in Sonia's mind. Did they miss their families, were they happy, had they come here of their own volition, had this lonely life been thrust on them by their children so that they had no choice but to spend the rest of their lives here? She experienced a twinge of sadness at the growing trend in India. She couldn't imagine parting with any member of her family. But to deliberately subject old parents or grandparents to the horrors of a lonely, bondless, life of a home was so humiliating. It was a true pity that sometimes it was the only course open to these old people, especially when their children preferred to squander wads of money instead of love.
A plastic Diwali lantern hung from the main door of the office. Sonia pushed the iron gate and approached the Security Guard standing in his uniform at the office door.
“I'd like to speak to Meena Sajane. Does she work here?”
“Of course! She's the most active worker we have.” The guard beamed. “I'll fetch her in a jiffy.”
He hastened away and Sonia leaned against the wall, waiting. A few minutes later, she saw the guard returning. A woman in a formal white sari was accompanying him. As they strode toward her, Sonia's heart raced. The tall, slim woman with the aquiline nose, in her early thirties, was the splitting image of Ravi. . . .
The dawn of Diwali was spectacular. Every house sparkled with rows and rows of earthen lamps which glowed and twinkled in the dark. Lanterns adorned balconies and some enthusiastic houses had even put up strings of tiny, lighted bulbs. Fireworks lit the dark sky, in psychedelic patterns, as if a war were being waged overhead. Firecrackers burst in every lane, the ceaseless ear-splitting sounds now like familiar background music. Rather unwelcome music, Sonia mused.
The Samarth bungalow was like a small illuminated palace. Sonia had awoken early, had helped her mother draw floral patterns with the flowing white
rangoli
on the verandah. She had applied oil and
utana
—a paste of gram flour and scented powder—before the traditional bath. Then, wearing a beautiful, flowing red sari, speckled with gold, which showed off her figure to perfection, Sonia had enjoyed a
chakli
and
laadoo
breakfast with her parents. As daylight settled on the world, relatives began arriving, and the house became a lively park. But Sonia began to get restless.
Much to her parents' surprise, Sonia, ignoring her mom's frowns, excused herself, slipped out of the house, climbed into the van, and drove to her office.
The beautiful day had suddenly turned cloudy and lifeless, she noticed. The sky was a dull ink-grey and heavy rain threatened to make an appearance any minute. A rare occurrence during Diwali. As she stepped into the office, Nidhi meowed loudly, surprised to see her mistress this early. But after sloshing a generous amount of milk into Nidhi's bowl and dropping her pieces of the spicy
chakli,
her mistress switched on some music. Then she became quite busy poring over some tiny booklets. Nidhi tackled the food leisurely, but the loud bangs of firecrackers in the distance startled the cat. She rubbed against Sonia's legs for a while, then, purring her protest, she stared up at Sonia's bent face, willing her to pay attention.
“I know, sweetie-pie, I hate crackers, too,” Sonia murmured absently. “I'll turn the music on louder.”
Sonia increased the volume and settled down to work again. Nidhi meowed her complaints, but her attention-seeking gimmicks did not seem to move her mistress. Finally, feeling totally neglected and indignant, Nidhi curled up on her cushion, trying to sleep amidst the jing-bang made by the firecrackers and her mistress's music.
Suddenly, much to the cat's great surprise, Sonia stood up.
She tapped her feet with the latest Hindi song number, and as the song picked up beat, she began dancing. Nidhi eyed her lazily, then closed her eyes. This was nothing new! She had seen her mistress behave this strangely before!
Sonia swirled with the music, the pleats and the
pallu
of her sari twirling prettily. Finally the song ended and she halted, a glow of satisfaction on her face. She dropped into her chair and stared at the horoscopes before her. They were most intriguing. Ravi, Kamini, and Vivek. Yes, Vivek had been absolutely right. Kamini was going through the worst phase of her life. But death? Certainly not, unless . . . She paused. Her heart began a familiar tattoo as her eye fell on the other two horoscopes. There was something worth exploring here, she thought, her breath quickening. She'd been right with her misgivings. Swiftly she lifted an almanac from the shelf, leafed through its pages, made notes, then nodded in satisfaction. There was much more here than met the eye. She was dealing with an extremely clever person and she needed to keep all her wits around her. If she was right . . . She picked up the phone and dialed a number.