Aatish Taseer - The Temple-Goers

I shook my head.

‘You see that he’s hiding his face in the picture.’

He did have his arm raised over his head, but I said I thought he might have been shielding himself from the glare of the sun.

‘No, buddy,’ Sparky said, ‘he’s concealing his identity, you see. Because he’s operating outside his jurisdiction.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He’s a Delhi officer,’ he exclaimed, ‘operating illegally in Sectorpur. The best man Delhi has. Now, let me show you something else.’

He took the paper from me, flipped to another page, and again folding it in four handed it back to me. This article was about him. It showed a picture of Sparky next to a picture of Aakash. The headline read: ‘Sparky Punj Takes up Trainer’s Cause’.

‘So you’re acting on his behalf?’ I asked, hoping now perhaps to get some real information.

‘No, buddy, that’s the funny thing. Well, at least not when this article was published. Basically what happened was that I was in my office in Sectorpur when I heard the terrible news from one of my contacts in the police. It hit me damn hard, buddy, double-hard: it’s not just because of Aakash, you know; the girl’s brother is a pal of mine. Very sweet guy, wants to be a writer and things. No, this was close to home, I assure you. I could hardly think straight when I heard. And the crazy thing was I had a time set for a training with Aakash literally a couple of hours later. The standard practice on Sundays was that I’d pick him up from his place, we’d drive into town and work out there. I sometimes use Junglee, but my main gym is at the Ashoka Hotel. I think Junglee’s a little grimy. Anyway, when I get this call, telling me Aakash’s girl is the victim, I decide, despite all that had happened, to drop what I was doing and head over to Aakash’s. You know, to offer my condolences and basically be around in case he needs any help – no formalities. I like the guy; damn good trainer if you ask me.’

‘Yes, yes, of course…’

‘I arrive to find the family all sitting round. Devastated; I mean, you’ve never seen people in greater shock. They’ve just had some religious occasion, a jagran or some such jazz. The girl was with them till the morning; on the sly, mind you. She goes home, no problem. Six hours later she’s dead and they have the police and press wallahs at their front door. I’d met the girl too – sweet, bubbly, polite. Great shame, you know? They made an adorable couple. Her family wasn’t happy of course, but this sort of thing resolves itself with time.

‘Aakash’s father’s a long-time government servant, you know? He’s from a decent Brahmin family; they’re not used to handling this crap. TV cameras, broadcast vans, Shabby going at them great guns.’

‘She was there?’

‘Oh yes. In full fettle. Anyway, I figure there’s not much for me to do at that point. So I pay my condolences and am slipping off when a reporter from one of the city papers catches me. She asks if I’m representing Aakash; I say no and leave it at that. But her photographer takes a picture of me anyway and they run a small item in the afternoon edition. Now, one result of this article is that the police wallahs become damn suspicious. “Why is a lawyer coming here? If he’s innocent, why will he be needing a lawyer?” The other is that a few hours later I receive a call from – I won’t name any names, but from a very senior police officer who’s seen the report in the paper. He knows me a little, our girls are in school together, and so he calls me up and immediately says, “Sparky, are you representing this trainer chappy?” I said, “Sir, no. I mean, I know the guy, but the story in the paper is groundless. He’s just my trainer. I went to pay my condolences, nothing more.” Now, at this stage, I can see that suspicion is beginning to fall on Aakash. And no wonder. Poor boyfriend of rich girl, you know? She leads him on for a while, but then doesn’t want to marry him; jilted lover, you know the score. Motive’s there, opportunity too, and it’s not as if I know that he’s innocent.’

‘No.’

‘I like the guy, but nobody can tell what another man is capable of. I don’t know if my own chappy here won’t cut my throat for a little extra dosh; you get the picture. Anyhow, this guy says to me, “If you’re not his lawyer, I damn well hope you will be, because he’ll need a good one.” Literally, his exact words were, “We hang our heads in shame, because they’re going to pin the whole damn thing on him.” He said the whole business is shit-high with politics. There’s a lot of pressure on Chamunda Devi to act. The case is technically in her jurisdiction, it’s the third of this kind this year in Jhaatkebaal and she has an election next year. And Delhi, he said, won’t get in her face over it; they’d prefer she destroy herself. So they’ll stand back and let her goons in the Jhaatkebaal police force do as they wish.’

I tried at this point to say something, but Sparky stopped me with a raised hand, and urgently bringing this circular torrent back to where it had begun, said, ‘And that’s when he tells me about the top cop in the picture – you know, the one I just pointed out to you. He says that since the murder had happened so close to Delhi, he’d taken the liberty of sending one of his men under cover to the scene of the crime. This guy’s literally seen hundreds of cases like this. And he comes back and reports to his superior that there’s no way on God’s earth that the trainer could have done this.’

‘Why was he so sure?’ I said, a little subdued by Sparky’s energy. ‘Who does he think did it?’

‘Nepali job. Hundred and one per cent a Nep job. You’ve seen some of the crime they’re responsible for. I tell you, these guys are fucking crazy. It takes nothing for them to flip. Ninety-nine per cent of this kind of crime, at least in Delhi, is done by Neps. And they just slip back across the border when things get too hot.Would you like some tea or coffee or anything, by the way?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Water?’

‘No, no, nothing. Thanks.’

‘Anyway,’ Sparky began again, running his fingers over his moustache and blinking rapidly, ‘just after I hang up with this guy, Aakash calls me to say that they’re thinking of detaining him for a narco test.’

‘A narco test?’

‘It’s a kind of free run through the subconscious. They do it when they don’t have a better idea. It doesn’t stand up in court, but it can at best shed some light on an obscured aspect of the case. If you ask me, it’s bullshit. It can be fudged and in some countries it’s actually labelled as torture.’

‘Have they arrested Aakash?’

‘No,’ Sparky replied, ‘they’ve only detained him. But they could arrest him.’

‘Is there any way to speak to him?’

‘No, buddy, not at present. Only his lawyer can and that too with permission.’

‘So what now?’

‘Well, this is where you, or rather your girlfriend, comes in.’

Sparky smiled and blinked fast. He enjoyed the surprise his remark brought to my face.

‘How?’

‘Well, what my advice to Aakash is going to be is the following: that before the Jhaatkebaal police file a charge sheet, we make an appeal saying we question the judgement of the Jhaatkebaal police and want a full CBI inquiry. I’ve already warned him that the CBI will do a far more thorough investigation. And if they find him guilty, they’ll file a watertight charge sheet, on the back of which alone he could spend the rest of his life in jail. So if there’s even 1 per cent guilt on his part, he’d best be warned.’

‘Did he agree?’

‘Yes.’ Sparky smiled. ‘He’s a good boy. Said there wasn’t a shred of guilt on his part and he was ready for any kind of inquiry.’