Aatish Taseer - The Temple-Goers

I nodded, then it occurred to me that I hadn’t understood where I came in.

‘Well,’ Sparky said, as if delivering a closing statement, ‘if we go straight to the centre, this will reflect very badly indeed on the Jhaatkebaal police, and by association on the state’s chief minister.’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ I said, wishing to cut short his excitement.

‘So much the better that, since you have a link to Madam CM, you communicate our position to her directly and that way she will avoid a potentially embarrassing situation. We, in turn, can avoid the headache of taking the matter to the CBI. That’ll also rescue her from Shabby Singh, who, if you ask me, is baying for blood. Am I right?’

‘Yes,’ I answered, and said I would talk it over with my girlfriend.

While we were sitting there, Sparky’s mobile phone rang. He flashed me an urgent look and took the call on his Vertu.

‘Hermann, hi, Hermann. Buddy.’

He listened briefly, then said, ‘Hermann, listen, there’s no point in my speaking to you at this stage because everything I say will be misconstrued. I’ve turned down CNN-IBN too. If I support the CBI, it will be seen as my wanting them to give my client a clean chit. If -’

He was cut off.

‘The police have announced a reward for the murder weapon,’ he said absent-mindedly and blinked his eyes.

‘What does that mean?’

‘That they’re groping around in the dark,’ he said smugly, detaching his spectacles at the bridge.

‘Tell me something,’ I asked, a little irritated by his tone, ‘what’s in it for you?’

He smiled patronizingly, then answered, ‘It’s a big case. Don’t get me wrong: I want to see justice done. The girl’s brother’s a pal of mine and so is Aakash. But if I took cases for those reasons, I’d be nowhere today. No, honestly, I believe this’ll be a very important case. A watershed moment.’

‘Have you spoken to Kris?’ I interrupted.

Sparky looked blankly at me, then his face clearing, he said, ‘Well, obviously now’s not a good time. But later, I’m sure.’

We shook hands and I rose to leave. Sparky followed me to the house’s tinted sliding doors. As I was walking out, he said, suddenly grabbing a few inches of fat round his waist, ‘Listen, buddy. You don’t happen to know a good trainer, do you?’

I thought he was joking and laughed.

‘No, seriously, buddy. Aakash and I were just about getting rid of this belly, and though I’m a decent lawyer, I doubt I’ll be able to get him off in the next week.’

I said I would ask around and turned to leave. Sparky stood on his veranda, watching me until I had closed the gate behind me. Then he turned around and went in.

Outside, it was still early evening, but not mild like the night before. This would be a real north Indian winter night, thick, cold and smoky.

I arrived back at Sanyogita’s to find her more distressed than before. Her eyes were swollen. They glistened from the light of a computer and she kept rushing back to the television every hour. The news channels had run out of material and the racier ones now showed images of a girl, healthy like Megha, running through a keekar forest at night. Her pursuer was clearly modelled on Aakash, and every now and then the glint of a knife was visible in his hands. Then the screen would darken and in the next scene Megha’s killer was stuffing bin bags and setting them afloat in the still, black water.

‘I don’t get you,’ Sanyogita would say, at the end of each cycle. ‘How can you see this and not feel anything?’

‘I do feel something, something much worse. I just don’t feel what they’re showing me.’

‘What is between you and Aakash?’ Sanyogita snapped. ‘Are you fags or something?’

‘No, Sanyogita, we’re not fags or something.’

‘So what did the lawyer say?’ she asked.

I began to report in full detail what Sparky had told me. Sanyogita listened to every word and I could see that the very act of my making the confidence eased the tension between us. Her face brightened when she heard of Aakash’s willingness to pass through the CBI’s trial by fire. He became for a moment the beneficiary of her vast reserves of compassion. But when, re-enacting Sparky’s line of reason as I had heard it, I came to Chamunda’s intervention, Sanyogita’s expression changed. The colour drained from her face and a contorted smile began to play on her lips. She seemed on the one hand elated by some marvellous realization, but on the other hardly able to stand the bitterness it brought up in her.

‘What is it?’ I said, unable to continue under the scrutiny of her gaze.

‘You must think I’m a fool,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Well, either you’re blinded by your love for this guy,’ she said, rising and beginning to pace around the room,’ or… or you really think I’m an idiot.’

‘Sanyogita, what is it? Tell me.’

‘No, you tell me,’ she said. ‘If they have, as they say, this watertight plan to bring in the CBI, why tell my aunt?’

‘It’s obvious. They’d prefer not to have to deal with the CBI, but will if they have to. This saves everyone the hassle.’

‘ Why would they prefer not to?’

‘It complicates things, it’s a gamble, it takes more time… I don’t know.’

‘So they’d rather go the easy route by exploiting my aunt’s political fears to clear Aakash’s name. And then no one ever finds who really killed the girl…’

‘Sanyogita!’

‘What! Am I saying anything that isn’t true? You know as well as I do that if Chamunda hears of this plan, she’ll make sure your friend’s found innocent whether he is or not.’

‘But this just saves her the embarrassment…’

‘I don’t care. Let her be embarrassed. If her police are so incompetent, she ought to be embarrassed. And,’ she added, trying to mitigate the effect of her words, ‘don’t worry about Chamunda. She’s a political animal; she can look after herself.’

I reached forward to hold Sanyogita, and surprisingly she let herself be held.

‘I know we’ve had a difficult time in the past few months, but… this is not a trial on us, you know? It’s very serious…’

‘That’s exactly why we can’t get involved,’ she said, pulling away and becoming forceful once again. ‘Not you for your friend; not me for my aunt. I haven’t asked for much recently, but I’m asking you now to promise you won’t interfere.’

‘What if Chamunda calls us?’

‘Then we’ll see. But you won’t call her.’

‘Sanyogita…’

‘Promise.’

I wanted desperately to act on Sparky’s advice, but Sanyogita was so full of high-sentence, so eager now finally to test our relationship, that in the face of her anguish I gave my word not to interfere.

The hours rolled by one after another; the heater stared up at us, open-mouthed; the television became more gruesome as night fell. Vatsala brought us Rajasthani blankets and hot-water bottles. Sanyogita fell asleep in front of the television.

From that moment to when I removed my arm from under her, seeking the cold night air, I felt myself at the centre of an emotional exchange: Sanyogita, asleep and childlike, grew distant, her reactions less immediate, her concerns less important; and Aakash, returning cycle after cycle on every channel, grew nearer, his predicament more urgent, his personality more forceful. Sparky’s rationale sang in my head. I began imagining that Chamunda was waiting for my call. I felt my insides ache from inaction. The chaste logic of betrayal took shape in my mind: of course Sparky was right, the Jhaatkebaal police force had nothing on Aakash; if they had, they would have arrested him; he would now suffer needlessly, losing time and money, Chamunda would be politically harmed, and all so that Sanyogita could settle personal scores… The dilemma ceased to be moral, my mental energies becoming focused instead on the undetected removal of my arm. And it was with something of the elation of a jailbreak that, around eleven thirty, I stepped on to the terrace and rang Chamunda.