Nury Vittachi - The Feng Shui Detective

Joyce gently picked up the extension. She waved to him to signify that she would do the talking.

‘Hi, Dr Ran, this is Jo McQuinnie, I’m like Mr Wong’s assistant. We are doing like a report at Associated on the death of your brother-in-law, and just, er, want to double-check a few things, if you’ve got a couple of minutes.’

‘Very well.’ The voice was low and measured.

‘Like, er, okay, so what happened?’

‘Well, Miss er…’

‘McQuinnie.’

‘Ms McQuinnie. I think you will find that I have supplied my findings to the company already.’

‘Would you mind just repeating them? Think of us as, like, fact-checkers.’

‘Very well. My brother-in-law had a ventrical infarction, a cardiac arrest. He had become overweight. He was swallowing a lot of digestion tablets in those last months. Fundamentally, I think, it was stress, physical and mental. Simple as that. Now I am really rather busy, so if you would excuse me, I am in the middle of an examination.’

By the end of that afternoon, the rooms were already becoming brighter and more appealing, although one side of the room, where the door was being moved, was a mess of bricks and mortar. Still, the operation was progressing at speed, and Wong thought the job would be complete with relatively few feng shui formalities (a sprinkling of sea salt for example) and a careful final inspection tomorrow.

By eight o’clock that evening, after the usual harrowing taxi ride through permanently honking traffic which seemed to continuously switch lanes for no reason and with no warning, the visitors got back gratefully to the coolness of Mrs Daswani’s home in Uttar Pradesh. They sat in wicker chairs on her verandah and sipped fresh mango lassi with a piece of lime floating on the top. The Indian suburban mansion seemed like paradise after a day in the heart of town.

‘You look relaxed, Mr Wong,’ said Mrs Daswani. ‘So have you fixed the rooms at Associated?’

He nodded. ‘I think so. It was a big job. So much out of place. But I think we have finished.’

‘It was a horrible pair of rooms,’ said Joyce. ‘Business-people often think big rooms are better, but they can be worse if they are badly laid out. This was dark and like, all out of shape.’

Mrs Daswani smiled. ‘But what I want to know is, did it really cause harm to the young man who died? Forgive me for being skeptical, but it still baffles me that inartistically planned furniture can kill a healthy young man.’

Joyce looked at Wong for an answer.

‘The feng shui in the room did not kill him. Not directly,’ the geomancer said. ‘It had an effect. It had a big effect. But it was not the number-one reason.’

‘So what did kill him?’

‘I can tell you. But in confidence only. You must not tell the company.’

‘Very well,’ said their hostess, sitting up, suddenly interested. ‘What was it?’

‘Suicide,’ said Wong.

‘It was?’ asked Joyce, surprised.

‘Do tell,’ said Mrs Daswani.

‘He had a problem. He was very good sales analyst.’

‘That’s a problem?’ asked the young woman.

‘Can be,’ said the geomancer. ‘It is like this. He was ambitious man. Star pupil. Keeps going up the ladder. Up and up and up. Boss loves him. Then he gets stuck as head of animal products sales. Can’t go up any more. Then, I think, he looks at two things. One is the business trend for his division. Far East business in ivory, tiger medicines, deer antlers, all that, is going down. He has chosen wrong specialisation. His department shrinking. He realises his work will one day disappear.’

Wong sipped his drink. ‘Number two. I think, maybe, he looks around at the other old men in his office and in his club. Sad, fat businessmen. Unemployed or underemployed. Both are bad. He did not want to be like them, but cannot not see any way to escape. Very hard to find a new job or change job after age forty in India. Almost impossible.’

‘That’s true if you believe the newspaper ads,’ said Joyce.

‘So he takes out life insurance policies. Big ones. So his wife and children get everything they need all their lives. Then he commits suicide.’

Joyce looked puzzled. ‘But how was it suicide? Everyone said it was natural causes. Some kinda poison, like I suggested?’

‘No. He committed suicide very slowly. He was an eater of kormas. Korma is number-one mild curry. He had ulcer in his stomach. But he made himself to eat vindaloos. He ate extra chilli. Then he had double vindaloos and palis. Hottest curries. He told the chef to make him spiciest food they could. Gave him great pain. Much bottom gas. When his stomach hurt, he ate many indigestion tablets.’

‘That killed him?’

‘I think so.’

Mrs Daswani was surprised. ‘But how do you know all this?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the geomancer. ‘I only guess. He liked mild curries. But he eats hot ones. He has stomach ulcer. But he eats chilli sauce. He is a teetotaller. But he makes himself drink beer every day. He loves sports. But he stops doing them. He hates pills. But starts swallowing indigestion tablets. So many changes in his life this year. So sudden. Add up. Must be deliberate.’

‘Gosh. He vindalooed himself to death,’ said Joyce. ‘Now that is truly weird.’

‘Do you think Dr Ran knew about this?’ Mrs Daswani asked.

‘Maybe,’ said the geomancer. ‘Or not. But Dr Ran is brother of Sekhar’s wife. He also wants family to be happy.’

There was no sound for a minute except the loud, cyclic chirp of cicadas from the garden.

‘What a way to go,’ said the young woman. ‘But it makes sense. No one noticed a thing. I mean, what could be strange about an old Indian guy sitting in a Delhi club eating a curry?’

Mrs Daswani raised her eyebrows. ‘So, C F. Are you going to report that it was suicide, and save the insurance company a fortune?’

‘Take money from children? After he went to such trouble? Certainly not,’ said Wong. ‘Death was natural causes. This is what the doctor says. I am not a doctor. Only feng shui man.’

His hostess laughed.

Wong added: ‘Besides, there are many people slowly murdering themselves with hot curry. I think even I am one.’

The servant boy appeared and struck a gong to signify that dinner was ready. ‘Just wait till you see what we have for you tonight,’ said Mrs Daswani. ‘This will kill you.’

The great sage Lu Hsueh-an lived on the Plain of Jars one thousand years ago. A man came to him. ‘Sage. I need your help. I have so many burdens. My house has started to lean over. I think it will fall down.’

Lu said: ‘Can be fixed.’

The man said: ‘I have another problem. My chief he does not like me. He wants to get rid of me. What can I do?’

Lu said: ‘Can be fixed with the same action.’

The man said: ‘I have yet one more problem. My wife looks at my neighbour. I think she likes him. I don’t want her to leave me.’

Lu said: ‘Also can be fixed with the same action.’

The man said: ‘What is the action?’

Lu said: ‘Spend three days in contemplation in a temple on top of a mountain.’

The man did this.

After, the man returned.

Lu said: ‘Your problems are fixed. I knocked your house down. I told your chief you are leaving. I moved your wife next door.’

The man said: ‘This is not what I asked for.’

Lu said: ‘How do you feel?’

The man said: ‘Free of my burdens.’

Then the man became very happy. He thanked the sage and lived happily after that.

Blade of Grass, do not listen to what people say. Listen to what they mean.