Vikas Swarup - Six Suspects

Ashok Rajput thought of all the things he would do once he got the money. First of all, he would go to see Gulabo. He had taken up the demeaning job of junior welfare officer on that faraway island, cut off from civilization, only to spite her for turning him down. He had not visited her in five years, though he had continued to send her money orders for two thousand rupees a month to pay for Rahul's education. But he had been unable to forget her. Gulabo called out to him over the expanse of all those thousands of kilometres of land and sea separating Rajasthan from the Andamans, invaded his dreams, still made him hot and furious with longing.

Now he would go to Jaisalmer, shower her with wads of thousand- rupee notes and taunt her, 'You always called me a good for nothing. Well, what do you say now?' And then he would propose to her again. He was quietly confident she would accept him this time. Without any preconditions. He would give up his third-rate job dealing with wretched tribals in the middle of nowhere and settle down in Rajasthan. The ingetayi was the ultimate good-luck charm and it would change his life for ever.

He was jolted out of his reverie by the tram suddenly screeching to a halt.

'Korchen ta ki?' the cop barked, pointing a finger at Eketi and gesturing him to get down. 'Namun dada namun.'

As soon as Eketi descended from the roof, the tram conductor confronted him. 'Did you want to commit suicide? Ticket kothai?'

The passengers craned their necks out of the windows to stare at him.

' Nam ki?' the constable demanded.

Eketi simply shook his head.

'This fellow is not Indian,' the conductor declared. 'See how black he is. He looks African to me. Let's check inside his bag. He must be a drug-dealer.' He tried to pull the canvas bag from Eketi's shoulder.

'No!' Eketi cried and pushed the conductor away. The constable caught his ear and twisted it. 'Do you have a ticket?'

'Yes,' Eketi replied.

'Then where is it?'

'With Ashok Sahib.'

'And where is this Ashok?'

Eketi pointed towards the tram.

'I don't see any Ashok,' the constable said as he caught Eketi by the scruff of his neck. 'You'd better come with me to the police station, where we shall check what you have in your bag.'

He was about to drag Eketi over to the other side of the road when Ashok finally managed to extricate himself from the tram and came running towards the cop. 'Excuse me, Officer,' the welfare officer wheezed. 'This fellow is with me. I have his ticket.'

He produced two tickets from his breast pocket. The constable snatched the tickets and scrutinized them. With great reluctance, he let go of Eketi.

The moment they were out of earshot of the constable, Ashok delivered a stinging slap on the tribal's cheek. 'Now listen, you black swine,' he fumed. 'You pull another stunt like this and I'll let you rot in jail for the rest of your life. This is India, not your jungle where you can do as you please.'

Eketi glared at him and said nothing.

They returned to the hotel and had a light lunch. At around six p.m. Ashok decided to check out Banerjee's house.

They hailed an auto-rickshaw and Ashok gave the driver the address from a slip of paper in his wallet. 'Take us to Tollygunge. At the corner of Indrani Park and JM Road.'

The auto-rickshaw took them through quiet back lanes to avoid the mad rush of shoppers on the main streets. They alighted at the corner of Indrani Park and discovered the pond they were looking for almost immediately. It was little more than a depression in the ground, full of dirty monsoon water and edged with decaying reeds. But it was ringed by five houses, and the one on the extreme right had a bright-green roof.

'Banerjee's house!' Eketi exclaimed.

It was a typical middle-class residence, modest and undistinguished. Made of brick, it had a small garden surrounded by a wooden fence. The nameplate on the rickety gate said 'S. K. Banerjee'.

'Should Eketi go in and get the ingetayi?' the tribal asked.

'Do you think you can just enter the house and ask Banerjee for the sea-rock?' Ashok scoffed. 'He stole it from you, now you will have to steal it from him.'

'How will Eketi do that?'

'That is something I will have to figure out.'

For the next hour, they cautiously surveyed the house from all possible angles, looking for an open window or back door. Ashok couldn't find any obvious vulnerability.

'Eketi knows how to go inside,' the tribal declared suddenly.

'How?'

'Through that.' Eketi pointed to a blackish-green chimney on the roof.

'Don't be foolish. You'll never be able to climb that roof, let alone get inside that narrow chimney.'

'Eketi will,' he declared confidently. 'I can show you right now.' He was about to jump over the fence when Ashok caught his shoulder. 'No, no, you idiot. You cannot break into someone's house in broad daylight. You have to wait for Banerjee and his neighbours to go to sleep.'

They killed time by browsing at the many roadside market stalls which had sprouted in Tollygunge during the puja season. After a late dinner of appetizing fish curry and rice, they returned to Banerjee's house.

The area around the pond was quiet. The lights in the neighbouring houses had been switched off, but a single striplight still glowed inside Banerjee's house.

They waited under the awning of a milk booth till the striplight was extinguished just after midnight. Eketi instantly zipped open his bag and took out lumps of red and white clay, together with the pouch of pig fat. He removed his cap and began stripping off his clothes. 'What are you doing?' Ashok asked in alarm.

'Eketi is preparing for taking the ingetayi. Onge have to show it proper respect.'

He disappeared behind the booth and emerged half an hour later wearing only a genital pouch and the jawbone around his neck. There were horizontal stripes of red and white across his face and a delicate white herringbone design along the middle of his chest and abdomen. He looked like a trick of the night.

'I hope no one sees you like this. Even I am getting the jitters.' Ashok pretended to shiver and squinted at his watch. 'It is almost one o'clock now. Time for you to climb that roof.'

Without a word, Eketi loped off towards Banerjee's house.

He jumped over the wooden railing around the house effortlessly and clambered on to the roof with the nimbleness of a monkey, his bare feet making no sound. The chimney was quite narrow, but by twisting his body he managed to lower himself inside it, black soot coming off on his hands like powder. Through the strategic placement of hands and legs, the tribal climbed down the chimney and landed on the kitchen counter with a little thud.

It took him only a few seconds to get used to the pitch darkness. He opened the kitchen door and stepped into a gallery. There were three doors to his left. He entered the first one. It was an empty bathroom and there was no sign of the sacred rock in it. He tiptoed out and tried the second door. It was unlocked, but the moment he stepped inside a switch flicked on and his eyes were dazzled with light. He saw a bespectacled old man sitting on the bed, wearing light-blue pyjamas.

'Come in, I've been expecting you,' Banerjee said in Onge, his voice deadpan.

'Where is our ingetayi?' Eketi demanded.

'I will tell you. But first tell me who you are. I know you people can travel out of your bodies. Are you real or are you just a shadow?'

'What difference does it make?'

'You are right,' he said morosely. 'Even dreams can kill. So are you going to kill me for stealing your sacred rock?'

'Onge people are not like Jarawas. Eketi has come only for the stone. Where is it?'

'It is no longer with me. I got rid of it ten days ago.'

'Onerta? Why?'