Nury Vittachi - The Feng Shui Detective

‘Well…’ She tilted her head diagonally to one side, another habit clearly picked up from Indian colleagues. ‘And then suddenly he was dead. At the age of forty-two. We couldn’t believe it. It was amazing. I mean, he had the usual executive stress problems-stomach ulcers and so on-but he was unusually fit. He had a line of trophies for sports things he had won. It was in that glass case over there. He was long-jump champion at his university or something. It was almost as if his energy was running out, as if he was a battery, and one day it was all gone. And then bang. Heart attack.’

‘At his desk?’ asked Wong.

‘At his desk.’

‘There was an autopsy?’

‘Sekhar’s brother-in-law is a doctor and dealt with the body. He said it was natural causes. There did not seem to be any controversy about it. He had no enemies, no one to, you know, poison him or anything.’

‘Jeez. Poor fella. Was he like okay to work with?’ asked Joyce.

‘Yes, he was a very nice man. He was moody, and a bit dispiriting, and his health went downhill-he had a bit of flatulence towards the end, but I don’t think that would have killed him,’ Ms Dev said with an embarrassed smile.

The story of Sooti Sekhar’s unexplained death at an early age intrigued the feng shui master. He knew that in such cases, there are often financial problems which do not appear until after the death. He attempted to mentally will Joyce to continue her sympathetic inquiries, and was surprised to find her doing just that.

‘Like, how were his wife and children? They must have been like, utterly devastated and stuff.’

‘They were okay,’ said Mardiyah Dev. ‘I mean, they were upset, of course, but I think they were all right in the financial sense. Sekhar had some savings, he had paid off their mortgage on their big house, and I think he was insured. You can ask his wife. She works part-time in despatch at Deshpande’s.’

‘Deshpande’s?’

‘It’s a handbag factory. Just about eight minutes down that way. Near the old market. You can take a taxi.’

Wong smiled. ‘Thank you for your help.’

The rooms required a great deal of work. The geomancer and his assistant spent the whole of that afternoon poring over floor plans, drawing charts, making measurements, and watching how the light moved in the rooms, as the sun was reflected in from the frosted windows of an old red stone office block opposite. Almost every item in the room was in the wrong place, and the mis-positioning of doors caused enormous trouble, with a too-fast flow of piercing northeast energy right across Sekhar’s old desk. No wonder he had been unhappy.

The main room was not quite a rectangle, having been designed with an extension to the southwest. This direction is associated with prosperity, but only if the proportions are correct, Wong explained to his assistant. In this case, the extension was too large in relation to the main room and would threaten the inhabitants with a desire to be over-active. Mr Sekhar had fought this by going to the opposite extreme and slowing down, which often happens, he said. The result would have been too great a flow of unresolved ch’i energy, leading to ill health.

Wong leaned out of the tall sash window and gave a yelp of triumph. ‘Waah!’

‘What is it?’ Joyce looked over from the table where she was looking at two charts Wong had produced-a lo shu chart based on Sooti Sekhar’s date of birth and another for the construction date of the building.

‘Water pipes. Some big water pipes from the building. They pass just outside here. On the southwest. One of the worst places to have water. Water is good. But in the southwest lives the soil ch’i energy. Destroys the water benefits. Very bad design.’

Wong looked back over his shoulder and grinned, unable to hide his delight at having found a major hidden fault so quickly. The geomancer returned to the table and busied himself with his diagrams again.

The bored young woman picked up a yellowing copy of The Hindustan Times and spent some time reading the matrimonial advertisements. After a few minutes, her mouth dropped open. ‘Just look at these. “Wanted, beautiful fair-skinned bride. Under twenty-five.” “Wanted, Sikh engineer or doctor boy under thirty.” These have got to be illegal. They just have to be.’

She flipped through the classifieds. They fascinated her, and she sat down, studying them for the next ten minutes. ‘This has got to be the most sexist, ageist, racist place in the world. All the marriage ads say the girl must be fair-skinned and beautiful, and all the job ads say applicants must be under thirty or under thirty-five. It’s amazing. You have to be young and light-skinned to get anywhere in India. I could probably earn more than you can here.’

Two hours later, they broke for lunch with Ravi Kanagaratnum and with Sooti Sekhar’s replacement, a Sikh named Jagdish who had learned Putonghua after four years in the company’s Beijing office. Wong said he wanted to visit Deshpande’s and have a brief talk with Sekhar’s widow.

‘Oh, you don’t need to do that,’ said Ravi. ‘We just want you to get the room straight so Jagdish can deal with the Chinese clients there. Look ahead, look forwards, there is no need to be looking backwards.’

‘It is difficult to fix the problem if I do not know the full problem,’ said Wong. ‘Must be serious problem. This man dies at age only forty-two.’

‘I am just thinking there will not be enough time. The engineering department will arrive at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to do those two rooms, and all the plans will have to be ready by then,’ said Ravi.

Jagdish cut in. ‘Why so little time? Why not postpone internal engineering for a few days so that these people can do a good job? I don’t want to die at the age of forty-two. That’s only four years away. I have yet to father a son. I better get cracking. Are you free, Ms McQuinnie?’ he asked, with a cheeky laugh.

‘Ha. If you help me buy a sari, I will refuse you nothing,’ she replied. Then she blushed, wondering if what she had said was too flirtatious. She looked down and studied her hands.

‘Engineering is only free for two days and then they have some big assignments,’ Ravi said to his colleague. ‘Besides, I want to get this business over with and move on. Far East business is terrible. We need to give it a buck up.’

The Sikh appeared unconvinced. ‘He died very young. I think if Mr Wong thinks that seeing Sooti’s wife would help tie up the loose ends, we should get him to see her.’

The external relations manager slowly unwrapped a sweetmeat from its leaf wrapping and popped it into his mouth before replying: ‘Very well. I’m not stubborn. I could arrange to have her brought to my office and you could come and ask her questions. I wouldn’t mind asking her a few question myself.’

‘I want to be on her alone,’ said Wong.

Ravi ’s eyebrows rose.

Joyce quickly interpreted: ‘He means he wants like a one-on-one interview with her.’

‘I’m afraid that really is impossible,’ said Ravi. ‘This is India. A man cannot see a young widow alone. It is not seemly. No, it would have to be in my office.’

‘No problem,’ said Joyce. ‘I’ll go and see her by myself. Two women talking is okay, isn’t it? Ms Dev said it was near the old market. I wanna go down there anyway, do some shopping.’

Ravi smiled. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘It’s not very far. You can take a company taxi or you can even wark.’

Joyce nodded her head diagonally. ‘I’ll wark, I mean walk, thank you.’

After lunch, Joyce took a long, lazy meander through the marketplace to the offices of Deshpande Handbag Manufactory Company, stopping regularly to take photographs. The midday heat made her dizzy and she stopped to buy a fresh king coconut from a street vendor. It was like drinking liquid energy. She found Delhi, like Hong Kong and Singapore, was a buzzy place, full of people hurrying and scurrying on their missions. Yet there was also something spiritual about it. People often had their hands together as if praying, and there were gods and shrines and holy pictures everywhere, sometimes interspersed with pictures of the Spice Girls and Elvis.