CONTENTS

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgments

1 The Cat Walks Out

2 The Return of the Cat

3 The Clue from the Past

4 Confessions of the Night

5 The Right Map

6 Marriage Jitters

7 Invited by Horoscopes

8 The Last Dance

9 In the Shadow of the Stars

10 The Stalker

11 The Proposal

About the Author

Murder in the Stars

Copyright Page

To my mother, Shobha Prabhu
—an Astrologer par excellence—
for giving the Soul to this book

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Dreams do come true. . . .

My deep-felt gratitude to Scott Eyman and Frances Collin, for believing in me.

I am truly grateful to Kate Miciak, my editor, for her spontaneous encouragement and professional guidance; and to Kathleen Baldonado, for shepherding my work so carefully through the process.

My sincere thanks to my sister Leena and brother Rajeev for their relentless trudging through the manuscript.

Also, thanks to Purnima and Sonia for their sisterly, critical approach to my writing.

Thanks to Bipinchandra Chaugule, my husband, for his amazing patience and microscopic inspection of each word!

And affectionate thanks to Rambha—my “official” cat—for being my inspiration!

Thank you all for being there for me and helping me realize my dream. . . .

“This is Stellar Investigations and we don't read horoscopes!” Jatin unsuccessfully checked the exasperation in his voice and slammed down the receiver. He thrust a restive hand through his untidy mop of hair and wheeled to face his boss.

Sonia Samarth stood by the table, scanning the newspaper with interest.

“That was the twentieth call demanding if this was an Astrology institute!” Jatin exclaimed.

“Natural, isn't it?” Sonia shrugged nonchalantly. “After all, it's common fact that people do get attracted to anyone who can predict the future.”

“But we don't predict the future. We are Investigators!” he emphasized.

“With a difference,” Sonia pointed out gently. “Relax, Jatin, I'll take the next call. You go finish your novel, till I need you.”

Sonia settled in her cushioned seat and took up the paper again. The advertisement was small and crisp, as per budget constraints, but, to be absolutely impartial, hardly deserved the misunderstanding it had created.

STELLAR INVESTIGATIONS

Now a detective agency which combines astrological science with investigations! If you have a problem, contact at . . .

All morning the phone had pealed constantly, ringing from all corners of Pune city. Voices—timid, uncertain, overconfident, and even incredulous, all requesting appointments. The questions were many—How much did they charge? Did they need the horoscope? Was it possible to predict the date of marriage? Could they predict without a horoscope? Initially, Jatin had braved the tide of queries on his own, intelligently masking his inexperience. Gradually, however, his polite, wordy explanations had turned to one-liner wisecracks and finally to downright insolence and refusals.

Sonia bore the confusion with better tolerance and patience. People were basically insecure, bogged down with innumerable worries, with a tendency to clutch at hopeful straws. Sonia knew and understood that feeling. She may have just set up her business a few months ago and had barely two cases to her credit, but she had a Masters in criminal psychology. Perhaps it was her understanding of human nature which had further led her to study Vedic Astrology—a science she deeply respected and used as a guideline. It had all begun in fun—reading horoscopes for friends, predicting their love affairs and life partners in college. Then finding missing articles at home, first for the family and then for relatives. It was when she successfully tracked down the missing son of a close friend that she realized that she had stumbled onto a rather apocalyptic and pivotal discovery. Her in-depth study of Vedic Astrology would prove invaluable in her lifelong ambition to become a detective.

A rented office and two itsy-bitsy cases later, however, the knowledge had dawned on her that people did not look kindly upon her brilliant brainwave. Reading horoscopes for fun was one thing; using them to solve life-and-death issues was quite another. The result was filling the long office hours with chores like cleaning up or reading books on Astrology and listening to music over cups of chai—tea with milk—and sandwiches, to avoid boredom! Luckily for Sonia, Jatin was an ardent detective-cum-office-assistant, willing to hang on for the big break, however long it may take.

Sonia recalled her parents' reaction on seeing the ad that morning and smiled. They'd just finished a hearty breakfast of pohey—soft puffed rice fried in onion and potatoes—and coffee. Her mother, petite and dignified in a pure silk peach sari draped around her exquisite figure, was skimming over the paper. Sonia adored her beautiful mother. She was her idea of a perfect mother and woman. Unfortunately, perfection does not always equate with compatibility of thought. Despite being a businessperson and working shoulder-to-shoulder with her husband, Mrs. Samarth had her qualms about Sonia's profession. Her voice was a sigh as she studied the advertisement.

“Need you be so open about your operative methods? You may end up making a fool of yourself! I can't understand why you must make yourself an object of ridicule!”

Mr. Samarth took the newspaper from his wife and spent a thoughtful, leisurely minute over it. He was tall, with an athletic body maintained in good form due to a strict tennis routine and a controlled diet. To Sonia's immense relief, he nodded in approval, sealing his role as her lifelong champion. He patted her on the shoulder and smiled that wonderful encouraging smile he'd used on her ever since she was a kid.

“Keep moving, never mind in which direction, but don't sit still!” he remarked with a wink.

It was exactly what she had in mind.

Now as she sat in her office, she realized that her parents, regardless of their initial hesitation, had been supportive. It hadn't been easy to accept that their only daughter had plunged into an unaccountable crazy fancy, relinquishing all claims on the family business and nipping off the lucrative marriage proposals. And yet here she was, launched in her sparsely furnished but comfortable abode of work—with no work at all!

But at least she had been lucky enough to find an office on F.C.Road. It was a prime location of Pune. She had managed to rent one of the two-room offices lying vacant on the ground floor. The box window overlooked the main road and the small garden surrounding the building—an ideal office in the centre of the city. The only problem being the traffic sounds, since F.C.Road was a crazy route at office hours.

For a minute, she glanced out of the window. The May sun beat down like a sweltering heat wave on the passing vehicles. It had been an unusually hot summer; she only hoped the monsoons would drive away all this heat.

The traffic was at its peak hour this morning. Black and yellow autorickshaws screamed and made their way skillfully between the Maruti vans, Zens, and Indicas. And the famous scooters and motorbikes—commonly called two-wheelers—weaved through the gaps, at breakneck speed! Driving was a necessary evil, in the cozy yet fast-churning city of Pune. Not for the girls, though. Teenagers and women office-goers were wrapped from head to toe in scarves, suncoats, and dark glasses to escape the sun. Totally unrecognizable, they enjoyed their anonymous freedom and mobility through the city.

Sonia's attention returned to the newspaper in her hand. Her eye traveled down from the first page to the next and halted on a write-up on the Rebel Cross gang. Sonia had followed this particular news story with a great deal of interest. The Rebel Cross was a group of unidentified young people with queer ideas of morality. They wore a cross, stamped like a tattoo, on their bare upper arm. They tracked down injustice and passed their own judgement. The spate of recent happenings, thefts, or thrashings in the city was an outcome of their policy.

Sonia shook her head. Strange is the idea of justice for some people!

In the outer room, Jatin switched on his portable Television, and Sonia smiled. Jatin was boyishly good-looking and had just stepped into his twenties. He had agreed to work with her—on one condition. That his TV set get a permanent position in a corner of the outer office and that he could watch cricket, whenever his mind pleased. Sonia had instantly agreed. She couldn't dare refuse such a request in a cricket-crazy country like India! Besides, she needed Jatin, and at this point couldn't afford to displease him!

Folk music emerged from the Television, followed by a male voice. Sonia's head jerked up spontaneously. She could barely decipher what the man was saying. But the quality of his voice made her step into the outer office.

“What are you watching?” she asked Jatin curiously.

“A new series. A documentary on Pune,” he replied.

Sonia seated herself beside Jatin and viewed the programme with interest. The camera panned from verdant, hilly slopes to a tall, good-looking man, who was commenting smoothly and effortlessly. He was standing atop Hanuman Tekdi, the hill behind F.C.Road. The sun was dipping along the horizon behind him and the camera panned again, as he indicated the sprawling city below with his hand. Patches of lush green were beginning to dull as the sun disappeared and the lights began to twinkle amidst the stretches of concrete structures. The Presenter continued to drawl into the mike.

“This is Pune, spread out before us. A city of green trees, hills, rivers, and of course masses and masses of unplanned buildings. But that can be expected with a population of four million and a land size surprisingly larger than neighboring Mumbai! And yet, Pune, which is India's leading industrial, educational, and research city, has retained forty percent area under green cover. Pune is one of . . .”

As he continued to elaborate on the richness of culture, Sonia realized that she most certainly liked the Presenter's voice. It was clear, resonant, and deep, but not deep enough to echo jarringly into the ears. It had a musical feel to it. And she also liked his face. It was an interesting face, well-defined features—

The telephone shrilled into her thoughts and Sonia gestured to Jatin to reduce the volume of the TV. She returned to the inner office and picked up the receiver.

“Sonia!” boomed the familiar, friendly voice of Inspector Divekar.

“Jeevan Uncle!”

“Smart guess. You have my horoscope before you, right?”

“How can you poke fun at something so serious! Do I ever mock you about the methodology the police use?”

“Hey, just kidding, you know. Even though it's worth considering the possibility that you may throw us out of business! Perhaps you could succeed where we police have failed, like in catching the Owl.”

“The Owl?”

“Haven't you heard of our world-famous thief, nicknamed the Owl? An intelligent international crook, who has managed to slip from the long arm of justice for a very long time. If you do manage to trap him, it will be a feather in your cap!”

“There you go again!” Sonia sighed. “Believe it or not, Uncle, I'm up to my eyes in work!”

“I get the hint. I just called up to say I liked your ad. Keep it up!”

His patronizing tone rankled a little as she hung up. Inspector Divekar, her father's dear friend, meant well but tended to go overboard with his sense of responsibility towards her.

A coconut Vendor was passing by the window, shouting loudly in Marathi, “Tender coconuts!” Sonia was tempted. This hot weather was giving her an unquenchable thirst. She popped her head in the outer office.

“Jatin, why don't we treat ourselves to some coconut water?” she asked.

“Good idea. How about stocking our little fridge for this summer?” Jatin responded with a grin.

“Only if our official budget for the month permits it,” Sonia said primly.

“Well, in that case, I can buy just two more!”

“Oh, are we in that bad a shape?” Sonia looked astonished.

“Quite, but I'm also being careful! I have my responsibilities. We need to pay the rent on this place, remember?”

“Don't remind me. I know we need to get a case, fast, or we may have to close up office,” Sonia said with a grimace. “But let's not get our spirits down. Go fetch our coconuts!”

Jatin switched off the TV, flew out of the office, and hailed the coconut Vendor. Within minutes, he was back with four tender coconuts and straws. He placed two coconuts in the small refrigerator Sonia's parents had loaned her.

“It's awful out there! The sun! Boss, as soon as we have some money, we need to get an Air Conditioner,” Jatin announced, handing her a coconut.

Sonia accepted the fruit and sipped the cool, sweet water. “Don't I know that?”

“An AirCon, and also a computer, a bigger office, two cell phones, one for you and one for me—”

“Right. But first we need a case—a real money-sprouting case!” Sonia finished. She returned to the inner office and sat behind her table, sipping the coconut water. The ceiling fan whirled overhead, with fits and squeaks, and she glared at it.

“Don't you break down on me!” she warned aloud.

As if on cue, the fan slowed, swinging noisily. She watched the reducing speed with alarm. A hot and dry summer without a fan? What misery! She focused on the fan and muttered, “Go on, move, you're not failing me. I rented this office with you. You better last out till the end of the season!”

The fan chugged and squeaked again and, much to Sonia's amazed relief, picked up speed with a loud groan.

“Wow! I just experienced what positive thinking can do!” she exclaimed. Then she raised the coconut to the ceiling. “Thank you for being considerate!”

The tasty fruit water was refreshing and she immediately felt replenished and energetic. She had just eaten the soft tender coconut and tossed the empty shell into the dustbin, when the connecting door opened and Jatin walked in.

His eyes were gleaming. “There's a man who says he'd like to meet you. A Mr. Mohnish Rai. And you're not going to believe this . . .” he said in an excited voice.

Sonia picked up her ears. “A prospective client?” She raised an inquiring eyebrow.

The expression on Jatin's face snuffed her hope. “I doubt it! But . . .” Jatin paused dramatically. “He's the man we just saw on TV, on the Pune show.”

Sonia was startled. What a strange coincidence! “Are you sure? I mean, you know your TV loses colors and gives distorted images from time to time!”

“Of course I'm sure!” Jatin was indignant. “And my TV set is the best piece you can get in the market, for the price I bought it. It just—”

“All right, I get it.” Sonia hastily curbed his flow of indignation. “Send him in.”

She threw a pleading look at the ceiling fan. Don't ditch me, she prayed silently. Then she flicked open her appointment diary and sat with pen poised. The door opened and a man entered, shutting the door behind him. Looking up, she saw the man throwing a casual glance around her neat, discreet office. In one sweep, she took in his spotless, creaseless white shirt, clean blue jeans, and polished leather shoes. Well-to-do, she made a note. And definitely the Presenter from the show.

“Yes, Mr. Rai. What has brought you here?” she inquired in her best business tone.

His gaze had passed over the music system with its display of cassettes and CDs and lingered on the set of Astrology books, lined systematically on a shelf. An almost imperceptible change overcame him. A smile plucked at the corners of his mouth and his gaze shifted to her.

“Curiosity. And you can call me Mohnish,” he replied, drawing out a chair and seating himself.

“Pardon me?”

“I said curiosity.” He smiled.

Sonia stared at him. Actually, Mohnish Rai looked much better off-screen than on-screen. He was a handsome man, clean-shaven, with intelligent brown eyes and a straight nose. The smile produced a rather attractive dimple in his right cheek. The crop of well-trimmed hair with a straying flick falling over his forehead made him look young, but actually he seemed to be in his late twenties. He exuded confidence bordering on arrogance and was certainly no client. She extinguished her wilting hopes by closing her diary with a determined bang.

“Nice place. Kind of stimulates you to work, I guess. Look, let me explain, Miss Samarth. I am a reporter—a freelance reporter, you may have read my articles or seen me hosting shows on local Television.” Mohnish Rai paused, expecting an acknowledgement from her, but Sonia deliberately maintained a dignified silence.

“I read your advertisement in the Times,” he continued. “I simply could not resist it! I had to meet you!”

“Why?” Sonia asked bluntly.

“Well, it's kind of bizarre, isn't it? Combining Investigations with Astrology! In an age where science has made tremendous progress, it amazes me that there are still people who rely on what I think is propagated by quacks! Moreover, you claim to solve cases with the help of this . . . this illusion? It's a rather bold commitment, you know. I thought, if nothing else, it would certainly make an interesting feature. Tell me, Miss Samarth, how many cases have you solved blending intellect and facts with the cosmic powers? Do you really believe that Astrology can substitute for facts? Are your clients happy with your style of operation?” He flung his questions at her, in an almost jocular manner, in the very same voice she had appreciated just minutes before.

Sonia steeled herself against the fusillade of his questions, took a deep breath, and remarked without revealing a vestige of anger, “Since you mentioned quacks—let me fill in the gaps. Quacks are a product of half knowledge. They are found in every respectable field, Astrology being no exception. Vedic Astrology is a science like any other. And no science can be censured and held responsible for man's incapacities, his inability to research, his deceptions, and his natural inclination to greed and scheming. What you call illusion is the result of this interaction of science with man! And yes, I do claim to use the science and knowledge of Astrology to solve the cases which come to me! Because I firmly and irrefutably believe that a horoscope is an X-ray of a person! You can even label it an almost metaphysical representation of the ‘real you.' The point is not to substitute facts with the ‘cosmic powers,' as you called it, but to use the planetary positions to guide the facts. And finally, Mr. Rai—”

“Interesting! I'm beginning to catch the drift of your reasoning! And please, call me Mohnish!” he interrupted magnanimously. “Do you think this science would prove useful in catching international crooks or criminals like, say, the Owl? Please elaborate, Miss Samarth, I'm highly impressed by your theory.”

“Thank you, Mohnish. But I don't recall consenting to give you an interview. Do you?” she asked sweetly. The ceiling fan spurted and squeaked in approval.

The dimple staged another appearance. “There's always a right moment. Like the present. So, to continue, what do you attribute—”

“No, I'm not interested,” she stated flatly. “I'm sure you can find other satisfying avenues to quench your curiosity!”

“Oh, I see that you're hurt. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“Look here, Mohnish. I'm a busy person. I have loads of work piled up and I'm fighting against time. You really must excuse me!” She stood up pointedly.

His eyes swept appreciatively over her. Tall, healthily slim, with straight hair in a non-fussy blunt cut, creamy skin, searching honey-brown eyes, faint pink lipstick, a pleasant yellow cotton salwar kameez—short, in keeping with the latest fashion—neat nails on shapely hands, with a single-stone ring on her right ring finger—perhaps a diamond. She seemed efficient, intelligent, and fired with remarkable purpose. A pastiche of beauty and brains. But Astrology?

The intercom buzzed.

“Yes, Jatin?” Sonia asked.

“The cat is here again.”

“Okay . . . ask her to sit . . . !” The flush crawled all over her face an instant after the blunder!

Mohnish raised an eloquent eyebrow.

“Cat . . . cat . . . short for . . . for . . . Catherine . . .” she explained haltingly. Then, remembering that she need offer no explanations, she gathered her scattered wits and held out her hand. “Goodbye, Mohnish.”

He stood with slow deliberation. “I'm not done yet. And this isn't the last you've seen of me. I'm extremely motivated to take this interview and you'll give it to me, Miss Sonia Samarth.”

“Don't forget to take an appointment,” she returned coolly.

Mohnish smiled enigmatically, then strode out of the room. At the reception area, however, he paused. Jatin was totally absorbed in feeding milk to a beautiful golden cat. Chuckling to himself, Mohnish Rai stepped out into the street. Interesting, very interesting indeed!

Sonia sighed. Surely, driving away a journalist and free publicity was not the wisest of acts. But that was the least of her worries. It was Mohnish's spontaneous take on Astrology which was more significant. And this was only the beginning. Adverse remarks, criticism, biased estimations, were undeniably a part of her profession—especially if it was tainted with a rather suspicious brush! It was true that people found it difficult to understand how the innocuous-looking rectangle called a horoscope could inhabit twelve houses, the twelve zodiac signs with the positions of the planets, and influence our entire life! What such people didn't care to acknowledge was that it required a detailed study to comprehend the intricacies of this science. In any event, she wasn't here to debate on the pros and cons of Astrology. She had set up a business. She wasn't going to compel anyone to pursue her line of thinking and she wasn't going to be persuaded otherwise, either! This was her free world and no one had the right to intrude on her liberty of thought and action!

Sonia strode into the outer room and lifted the cat, stroking the silky head fondly. It meowed in acknowledgement. “You funny little thing. You're as regular as the sun and yet we don't know where you come from and where you go! You do have a family, don't you?”

“I think she's a stray,” Jatin guessed.

“I'm not so sure. She's well fed, tame, and too friendly. Look at the way she insists on sitting on my lap. She's used to people. And don't miss this fancy leather collar with the steel studs. She's a pampered one.”

“In that case, her owners ought to care where she vanishes to for days altogether, don't you think so? I would if she were mine. I would be worried sick if I didn't see her for every meal!” Jatin said indignantly.

“Actually, so would I,” Sonia agreed. “I say, I've an idea! Let's try to find out where she lives. She must belong to someone in this area.”

“Great, then we can tell them a thing or two about caring for helpless animals!” Jatin retorted, still heated up in his role of animal saver. “But, how do we go about it?”

“Well, let me think. . . . We could tie a note round her neck. Hold on a minute.”

She tore a strip of paper from the pad and wrote neatly on it—If this cat belongs to you, contact Stellar Investigations, Contact No. . . . She handed the paper to Jatin.

“If it doesn't reach the actual owner, it will at least be mobile publicity for us!” she laughed, and the little cat purred in agreement.

Jatin secured the note round the golden neck, tucking it inside the collar. The soft head rubbed against Sonia's hand, purring noisily.

“Go find your people, cat. You're a good girl, aren't you? Then come right back again. Run along now.” Sonia patted her, then shoved her lightly towards the door.

The cat stared at her with glowing eyes, meowed intelligently, and then, with a swish of her abundant tail, vanished down the corridor.

“Now, let's bide our time!” Sonia experienced a sudden wave of excitement. Then she grimaced. Life must be in pretty bad shape if she could feel thrilled at the thought of finding a cat owner. The indisputable truth was that she itched for something to happen. It was definitely time for her to emerge out of her inertia and prepare herself for some action—any action.

In the outer office, Sonia lit some joss sticks before the idol of Ganesh. She bowed her head, clasping her hands together in a silent, reverent namaskar. It was a brand-new day of hopes and wishes and she prayed for a case—some work. Then Jatin switched on the TV and, much to Sonia's annoyance, Mohnish Rai appeared on the screen.

“The Kerkar jewels—the pride of the Kerkar clan—which were reported missing a month ago, have been confirmed by the family to have been stolen. The family had been hesitant to reveal the loss to the public. Suspicion rests on the renowned International Crook popularly known as the Owl. The jewels were in the custody of the Kerkar family, locked in the vault of their Mumbai residence. Unfortunately, no place is secure and no jewels safe where the Owl is concerned. Provided, of course, that the police prove that the jewels were indeed stolen by the Owl! This is Mohnish Rai for Cable Television.”

“Wow! Mr. Rai is active!” Jatin whistled.

“Pushy is the more appropriate word for him,” Sonia corrected. “I'm going to do some reading now and you should use your time, too. If the cat returns, call me immediately.”

Sonia settled down at her table. She was determined to put the day to good use. The fan swung overhead with valiant rhythmic creaks as she flicked open a book on Astrology.

It was then that loud ear-splitting meows announced the arrival of the cat!

Jatin burst into the inner office.

“She's returned and the note's gone!”

Catching his infectious excitement, Sonia hastened to the outer room. The cat had comfortably ensconced herself on the softest and warmest chair and was treating herself to a thorough lick and bath!

“The note was too tightly secured for it to have fallen off. Which means someone removed it,” Sonia observed, fondling the golden head. “Give her some milk, Jatin.”

“It's got to be the owner,” Jatin predicted, moving to the refrigerator.

“Perhaps. Whoever it is will undoubtedly call us.”

“Not if they think we wish to complain!” Jatin grinned, as he splashed a generous helping of milk into a bowl. He placed it on the table and the cat immediately concentrated on the business of lapping the bowl clean!

“I guess you're right,” Sonia agreed. “If my note was removed last evening, we ought to have heard from the owner by now. But if the note was delivered this morning, then we should wait and see. . . .”

As if on cue, the telephone rang shrilly, and galvanized Jatin into action. “That's her now!”

“Or him!”

“Stellar Investigations. Yes, please hold the line. . . .” Jatin covered the mouthpiece with his hand and whispered, “It's a him!”

Sonia accepted the extended receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello! This is Ajay Patkar. I . . . I read the note tied round the cat's neck,” a polite voice said.

The name rang a bell. “Good. She belongs to you, then?”

“Actually I . . . would like to meet you. I . . . need to talk to you. May I come over to your office?”

“Of course!” She gave him the address and hung up, her eyes alight with excitement.

“What happened?” Jatin asked anxiously.

“Nothing happened. He seemed kind of evasive. In any case, he's coming over straightaway. So we shall finally get to see the famous anonymous owner, if he's the one, that is!”

An hour later, Sonia was facing a tall man in formal clothes. A navy blue coat hung over a boy's figure. In fact, Ajay Patkar appeared to be in his early twenties. But although his attire and the expensive cell phone in his hand implied money and success, his appearance suggested a distracted mind. It was the clouded expression on his stubbled face that really caught her attention.

“Yes, Mr. Patkar. You came to discuss the cat?” Sonia prompted.

Patkar shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes . . . I mean, no. Let me be honest. The cat doesn't belong to me. Last evening I was relaxing in the Model Colony lake park—you could call it a vain attempt at finding refuge with nature—when this cat came along and rubbed against my legs. I rather like animals, so I stroked her. Then I noticed the piece of paper round her neck and curiosity got the better of me. I took it and read it and should actually have replaced it. But I was so relieved, this detail slipped right out of my mind! It was almost as if the cat had brought an answer to my worries.”

“What do you mean?” Sonia asked, intrigued.

“I've been so confused and disturbed these past few days, feeling low and kind of worthless. Floundering . . . not knowing which way to turn. I just didn't know what to do. And then I found that note, which seemed like a message from heaven! The idea just clicked. I . . . I know that this is normally not a routine approach . . . I mean, accepting cases . . . on the pretense of being a cat owner . . .”

The young man was so obviously confused and embarrassed that Sonia, whose heart had begun to thud with optimistic bangs, decided to assist him. It was a do-or-die situation!

“Are you implying that I do something for you, Mr. Patkar?” she suggested, her casual tone as simulated as her innocence.

“Yes! Will you please . . . I mean, I need your services. I can pay your charges, whatever they are. But I need your help!” Patkar rushed on, relief flooding his face.

Sonia could barely curb the surge of happiness that threatened to disclose her unprofessionalism! But she harnessed her feelings with admirable control and instead threw a grateful look heavenwards. She caught sight of the ceiling fan swinging and creaking awkwardly and hastily pressed the buzzer.

Jatin popped his head in.

“Two chai, please, Jatin!”

The assistant's eyes lit up at the code words. Chai—tea—meant business. At last!

“Right, Boss!”

“And Jatin, you can join us with your notebook.”

Sonia leaned against her cushioned chair, set her face in a pleasant, encouraging mask, and began, “Well, Mr. Patkar. I believe you're the son of the famous Patkar Industrialist?”

He nodded. “My father expired six months ago, leaving me the sole in-charge of his empire!”

She detected that he didn't seem too happy with the responsibility. Perhaps it was too much for his barely adult shoulders.

“Yes, I read about that in the papers. His death must've been a great shock to you.”

“It was. He had a massive heart attack. I wasn't at all prepared . . . I mean, we are never prepared to lose our loved ones. . . .”

She was discreetly silent for a moment. Jatin reappeared, armed with paper and pen, and drew a chair near his boss.

“So are you ready to tell me what's bothering you?” she asked Ajay Patkar gently.

“Yes. I'll put it as briefly as possible. Last Wednesday, a friend of mine—Satish Mali—came to live with me for a couple of days. Satish and I are school friends and we've been in touch over the years. In fact, I've always considered him my closest friend. He's the only friend I've shared all my deepest thoughts with. Last Wednesday, I'd invited him over to my house but on that very night, he was . . . murdered . . . in his bed! It was terrible! My best friend dead! And in my home! I . . . I just couldn't believe it! I curse the moment I invited him. I felt as if I had issued a summons for him to be murdered, as if I handed him to death myself, with my own hands! I . . . I'll never forgive myself. . . .” His eyes moistened and he fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief.

Sonia allowed a few seconds to elapse before she prompted him. “The police have been called, of course, the papers said so.”

“Yes, they're working on it but I'm not satisfied. I want to take no chances. I need to be completely assured that justice will be done. I want the culprit to be caught, no matter what!”

“And he will be,” Sonia assured, with quiet confidence. “Do you live with your family?”

Ajay Patkar nodded.

“Can you give me the details of the house members?” Sonia asked.

“My mother—Alka Patkar—you may have heard of her. She is a social activist. I'm the only child. Mahesh Uncle, my dad's brother, and his only son, Naresh, are recent additions to our house. Mahesh Uncle lost everything in a fire in our native place in Konkan and became quite destitute. So my dad took him and my cousin under his wing. Naresh is a couple of years older than I am. There's a family housekeeper-cum-everything, Yamuna Maushi—who has looked after me for years! That's the lot, I guess.”

“You haven't left out anyone?”

“No. Unless you count the gardener, but he too has been with us for ages!”

Jatin's pen was flying as he jotted down these details in shorthand.

“Now, can you describe exactly what happened that day?” Sonia requested. “Please don't leave out any details, not even the least important ones.”

Ajay Patkar took a deep breath. “I'd been feeling very low since Dad passed away. So I thought I would ask Satish over for a few days. We could chat like old days and it would be a good change for both of us. You see, Satish was an orphan, very poor but a real gem of a person. He wasn't too happy with his part-time job in an ad agency and I felt that I could get him absorbed in Dad's company. Though I never actually got down to doing it. Anyway, he came over in the evening and we had dinner together—”

“Who was present at dinner?” Sonia interrupted.

“Only cousin Naresh and Satish and I. Mother was attending a meeting, and was to be out till late. And Mahesh Uncle did not come in at all.”

“Go on.”

“After dinner, we chatted for a while. Then I took Satish to the guest room, but it was smelling awful, so I offered him my bedroom and decided to bed down with Uncle.”

“Smelling? You mean that the room wasn't aired and smelled musty and unlived?”

“No. It's a room we use frequently for our guests. It's always in good shape actually. But Yamuna Maushi later discovered a dead mouse in the room, which had caused that repulsive odour.”

“I see,” Sonia said reflectively. “Continue. What time did this . . . incident occur? I mean, when was Satish murdered?”

“The police say it was between two and three in the night. But not a soul heard a sound. It was only in the morning, when I went to awaken Satish for a walk, that I saw the most ghastly sight! Satish had been stabbed to death! His blood was all over the bedsheets!”

“Stabbed with a knife?”

“A paper cutter.” An almost imperceptible change crept into his voice, which Sonia's sharp ears detected instantly.

She hazarded a guess. “The paper cutter belonged to someone in the house.”

Patkar nodded. “It was Naresh's paper cutter.”

“Oh, your cousin's,” Sonia remarked thoughtfully. “But usually paper cutters are designed to be harmless—”

“Not this one. It was a bronze family heirloom given to my cousin by my dad.”

“And where was this article normally kept?”

“In Naresh's room. But he swears that he couldn't find it the last few days.”

Sonia digested this bit of information slowly, glancing at Jatin. “You slept in Mahesh Uncle's room that night, with him? And neither of you heard—”

“I did sleep in his room but not with him. Mahesh Uncle was away all night. . . .”

Sonia raised an eyebrow. “That's interesting. Where was he all night?”

Ajay Patkar shrugged. “I wouldn't know. Often he goes to our farmhouse, a few miles away, and spends the night there. I assumed that's what he'd done when he didn't turn up that night. He was present for breakfast, though.”

Sonia was silent, as she observed Jatin's pen fluttering across the paper. Then she said, “You and Satish were close, you say. Do you have any idea why someone would want to harm him?”

“I've absolutely no notion! I simply cannot imagine anyone wanting to hurt a person like Satish. He was an introvert—quiet, but extremely intelligent and friendly. I've never known him to turn his back on a needy person. There's no earthly reason why anyone would wish to harm him!”

“Someone bearing a malice against him?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Have the police checked the paper cutter for fingerprints?”

“They are doing it now, though I haven't heard from them as yet.”

“If this is an outside job, can you give me one reason why someone would choose your house for the murder?”

“No,” Patkar said firmly. “I've been thinking about it, but it beats me.” He sighed.

“Satish was murdered in your house, in your bed, and with a paper cutter which belonged to the house—never mind who it belonged to. I think it's pretty obvious to me that someone from the house—I won't say family because it's a little too soon to come to conclusions—is responsible for this hideous crime. Someone, perhaps, who bore malice towards Satish. You do understand the implications of such a possibility?” Sonia asked the question very carefully.

Ajay Patkar looked deeply unhappy. “I've been assailed by these same doubts the last few days and that is precisely why I'm here. The thought had crossed my mind that in all likelihood, the search would result in turning inwards, towards my family. But when I think of poor Satish, my blood boils! Why him? No one—except for Mother and Yamuna Maushi, our housekeeper—really knew him! And they've always liked Satish and encouraged my friendship with him. It all seems so pointless!”

“What about Naresh?”

“Oh, Naresh met Satish for the first time that evening. It was a spur-of-the-moment invitation, so he had no idea I had a guest staying over. In the beginning, I thought Naresh looked a little distracted but then he and Satish did exchange some views on advertising and it was an enjoyable dinner. I'm sure Satish felt good all evening. At least that's a solace to me—he was happy and content for his last-ever meal! We had absolutely no inkling that something so frightful would happen! It seems almost impossible that one of my family members could have . . .” He faltered.

“But it is a strong possibility that we cannot afford to ignore,” Sonia interposed.

The chaiwala—the boy from the tea stall—arrived just then and served the hot liquid. They sipped it in silence.

“Will you take up this case, Miss Samarth?” Patkar asked. “Even though the police are already handling it?”

“I will, but first you ought to understand how Stellar Investigations works. You may have seen our ad in the Times yesterday?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Never mind. It's important for you to know that we operate differently from other Investigators. We combine Criminology with Astrology. Do you believe in Astrology?”

He looked confused. “I . . . guess so. I don't know. I mean, I've never really chased Astrologers to read my future!” he added with a sheepish grin.

“But you believe in it enough to have your horoscope made? Well, your father's maybe, if not yours?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, just last month when I was sorting out my father's cupboard, I discovered a whole bunch of horoscopes. He must've got the horoscopes made when I was a kid.”

“Good. Can you get me those of your family members?”

“Of course. But what do you plan to do with them?” he asked curiously.

“Right now, it must suffice for you to know that I need them to deliver my goods!” She smiled. “I'd also like to take a look at your house and possibly speak to a few people. Perhaps right away?”

“Mahesh Uncle may be in the office, but you can meet the others.”

“Good enough. You can give me your address and I shall follow you. Also, I'd like you to jot down the details of Satish's ad agency and home.” She pushed a pad towards him.

Patkar quickly scribbled the addresses on the paper and then left.

Sonia turned towards Jatin with sparkling eyes. “Well, what do you make of it all?”

“It's Naresh, of course! The cousin. And I can bet they will find his fingerprints on the paper cutter,” Jatin foretold confidently.

“But why would he wish to kill a perfect stranger? That is, assuming that Naresh really met Satish for the first time that night. Remember that a crime is investigated on three Ms. Motive—why the crime was committed; Modus Operandi—how the crime was committed; and Material—what weapon was used to implement the crime. There's got to be a motive for Naresh to kill Satish. And we don't know anything about Mahesh Uncle. And Ajay's mother and his Yamuna Maushi. And of course, it wouldn't do to overlook the odd chance that Satish did really have enemies that Ajay Patkar knows nothing about! Someone may have wished to settle an old score! This case is not as straight as it looks, Jatin. We have to examine beyond the surface and we'll have to do a great deal of scratching of the top to get to the bottom of the matter!”

Jatin's eyes shone with anticipation. “Are we going over to Patkar's house with a magnifying glass? We'll need it, and I've done a lot of reading up on forensics and—”

“Hey, hold it! I'm sure you've done your homework but I'd rather work with my brains and horoscopes than magnifying glasses. Besides, the police surely have covered that ground!” Sonia chipped in quickly, before her eager colleague could expound on his novel-earned pages of knowledge.

“Oh!” His face fell.

Sonia almost felt sorry for Jatin. She'd better handle him well, or she would lose her best and only assistant. “But there's something else that you can do,” she added.

“Right!” He whipped out his pad again and the smile was back on his face.

“Listen carefully. I'd like you to go to Satish's ad agency and make some discreet inquiries. Speak to his associates; find out about his office life, friends, enemies if any, relations with everyone. If they're reluctant to talk, tell them you're authorized to question people. Visit his house, meet his neighbors, have a chat with them.”

“Right, Boss.”

“And Jatin—while you're out, see that you buy a lovely, soft cushion for Nidhi!”

“For whom?”

“Nidhi—the cat. Nidhi means wealth and our Nidhi is here to stay. She's earned her home in this office!”

“Right, Boss!” Jatin grinned appreciatively.

The ceiling fan groaned and creaked. Sonia glanced up and smiled. “And yes, find an electrician and see that that fan is in top condition today!”

Jatin stared at the fan, bewildered, and shrugged.

Koregaon Park, where Patkar lived, was on the other end of Pune, and Sonia drove slowly through the heavy traffic. Her secondhand Maruti van hiccupped over bone-shaking speed-breakers. Hot air through the windows fanned her already flushed and perspiring face. At a traffic signal, she swept a cotton hanky across her forehead, as she waited for the red signal to change to green. A carrier truck, with a huge slogan printed on its back—Love Thy Mother—blocked her route. An auto on her right displayed a lingerie ad and Sonia couldn't help grinning. Anything for a little extra money. The signal turned green and immediately cars honked impatiently. Cyclists and two-wheelers cut recklessly through her path. Considering the manner in which the busses and the rash two-wheelers raced at high speed, you'd think that the Pune roads were empty. Instead, the roads pulsated with life, not only with vehicles criss-crossing dangerously, but also two- and four-legged animals lazing casually on the streets. Sonia sighed. Heat or no heat, with every passing day, the traffic was getting unbearable.

Finally, she drove into Koregaon Park—a residential area for the upper crust of society, which also housed one of the major attractions of Pune, the Osho Commune—the international meditation centre of Osho Rajneesh. Sonia observed the Westerners—the followers of Osho Rajneesh—couples strolling about arm-in-arm, attired in long maroon robes—the dress code of the Commune. Vendors lined the street, selling colorful silk scarves, short kurtas, and an array of white and maroon robes. Sonia had always found the Commune fascinating. One day she hoped to study what lay behind its walls. But right now, she had to concentrate on her first major case in hand!

The Patkar house was a grand, two-storey affair, off the main street. Sonia drove past two police Constables, deep in discussion, outside the bungalow. The well-maintained lawn was a treat to the eyes, as she led her van down the drive. She had just pulled up her vehicle and taken a swig from the water bottle she made it mandatory to carry with her, when Ajay Patkar strode towards her, with a hospitable smile. If he noticed how flushed and sweaty she looked, he was tactful not to mention it.

“I'm glad you could make it so quick. Would you like anything? Something to drink before we begin?”

“No, let's get started.”

“Fine! Where would you like to start?”

“The guest room, I believe.”

He nodded and indicated the way. A quaint red brick path led to the back of the house, past a small rock fountain, which had a wonderful cooling effect. Sonia paused, pretending to observe the house, and allowed the fountain to transfer its cool moisture. Then, feeling refreshed and composed, she followed Patkar to the guest room. They stopped at a door and Patkar unlatched it.

“There are two entrances to this room,” he explained. “One from inside the house and the other from the garden, in case any of my guests need the privacy.”

A faint odour, mingled with the scent of an air freshener, whiffed into Sonia's nose, as they stepped inside. She sniffed it.

“The stench must have been pretty bad,” she observed.

“Yes, it was awful. Yamuna Maushi hunted out a dead mouse the next day, from under the bed.”

“Do you usually find mice around here?”

“No. Yamuna Maushi and our gardener make absolutely certain of that. You know, placing poison balls to get rid of the mice, for the monthly housecleaning, that kind of thing.”

“And this was not the housecleaning time of the month? I mean, maybe one of the servants had placed poison balls to get rid of the rodents.”

“Not that I know of. But you could ask Maushi later.”

Sonia moved quietly round the room, her keen eye observing the smallest detail. A bed, a cupboard, a table and chair were the sole occupants of the space. The cupboard was empty. She opened the bathroom door and her eyes swept over the clean toilet. A cupboard in the corner of the bathroom caught her attention and she moved towards it. She opened it and frowned. An odd collection of articles lined the shelf. An ink bottle with some liquid in it, a piece of cloth, and a tiny glass stick. She picked up the bottle and read the label on it. “Cashewnut Juice.” Strange, and yet she sensed something familiar about it all. Something she ought to know.

“Is this room secluded from the rest of the house?” she asked, closing the toilet door behind her.

Patkar was leaning against the bedpost, waiting patiently for her, and he straightened at once. “That's right. I told you, it was to serve a dual purpose. Freedom of movement and privacy. Where to next?”

“Your room, please.”

This time, they took the inner door, which led down a corridor into the main hall. The entire décor of the house was ornate, and each room they passed was populated with a large collection of valuable antiques. Brass statues of Lord Krishna in different positions, blackened with age, stood on display in the grand hall. Patkar explained as they climbed the stairs and reached the landing that his father had been an avid collector of old statues.

“My mother and I have rooms in this wing and Mahesh Uncle and Naresh have rooms on the other side,” he explained. “This is my bedroom here.”

The room where Satish had breathed his last was beautifully done up, with money poured with a free hand into its decorations. Lush blue carpet, thick embroidered curtains, a wall-to-wall wardrobe, and a sprawling bookshelf lined with gold-gilded volumes of books. Apparently, Ajay was a much-loved son.

“I shudder to come in here. It's too soon to sleep in this bed,” he said in a low voice.

“I can understand,” Sonia agreed sympathetically. “It must've been an awful experience to find your best friend lying dead in your very own bed!”

She approached the window and glanced down. No ivy or pipeline ran along the outside wall. It would be difficult for a stranger to climb up that way. Her gaze skimmed over the room. It was thoroughly cleaned up, leaving absolutely no trace of any gory incident. Obviously, the police had finished with the murder scene.

The door opened and a plump woman in her mid-fifties bustled in. Draped in a printed cotton sari with her hair casually bundled in a bun, she wore a big, round bindi on her forehead.

“Here you are, Ajaybaba. These are some letters for you.”

“Thank you, Maushi.” Patkar took the letters from her and quickly scanned through the return addresses.

“Yamuna Maushi.” Sonia smiled at the woman. “You've been with the family for years, haven't you?”

“Oh yes, ever since Ajaybaba was a year old,” the housekeeper replied. “I was living in Goa at that time and they were in Mumbai. Ajaybaba's mother was finding it difficult looking after the baby, so his father called me over from Goa to take care of the child. Ever since, I have been a part of this family, taking care of all of them and looking after the house.”

“She loves me like a son,” Patkar explained with an affectionate smile at the plump lady.

“I believe you found a dead mouse in the guest room?” Sonia questioned.

“Oh yes, God! What a shameful thing to have happened. I particularly see to it that every nook and corner of this house is properly dusted and cleaned. Never a cockroach or mouse will you find! Then out of the blue this dead rodent! And to think that I didn't notice it! It was terrible!”

“Then you hadn't put out poison balls or anything of the kind?”

“Certainly not! I don't know what is happening to this house! The tragic death of Satish the other night—poor, poor boy—such a wonderfully sensitive boy, so quiet and nice—to think that such a horrible thing could happen to someone so decent! And then this mouse! I found it under the bed, the very next day. I keep telling Ajaybaba that God is terribly angry with us! These incidents do not augur well. It's necessary to do shanti—a ritual to sanctify the house. I'm going to light incense sticks in every room to expel the evil spirits!” Maushi left the room, still muttering under her breath.

“She's a dear,” Ajay Patkar remarked, grinning fondly, as he and Sonia stepped out into the corridor again. “She's been more like a mother to me than a governess. Of course, my parents have always been there for me when I needed them,” he added hastily. “But building up a business in industrial products is no easy matter. It took up a lot of their time, so I was naturally left in Maushi's care.”

“How did Mrs. Patkar take the news? I mean, a murder right next door!”

“Oh, my mother was so greatly shocked that she fainted! She hasn't been feeling well and is in bed. She always approved of my friendship with Satish and liked him tremendously.”

“Do you think I could meet her for a minute? Or would I be intruding on her privacy?”

“I'll have to check. Will you wait here a second?”

Sonia nodded. Patkar knocked on the door opposite his own and stepped inside. She could hear muffled voices, and then he reappeared.

“You can go in,” he told Sonia. “I have some phone calls to make, if you'll excuse me. And I'll find those horoscopes for you. Feel free to look around, as you please.”

“I will, thanks.”

Mrs. Patkar's room was exactly as Sonia had imagined it. Large and spacious, with the distinct touch of femininity. Dreamy pink walls with a framed mural of Lord Ganesh, printed curtains, bedspread, and a huge wardrobe aligning the entire left wall of the room. The elaborate dressing table with its multiple mirrors undoubtedly reflected the personality of the owner.

A woman in her late forties, attired in a fashionable, dainty nightie, sat up in the plush bed. Flawless skin that glowed in spite of the dark circles under the eyes, manicured fingers nervously twining and entwining into each other, and a faint sad smile on lightly brushed pink lips. A woman with expensive tastes, and money at her fingertips to satisfy those tastes! But Sonia was also aware, having seen her often on Television, that Mrs. Patkar was a philanthropist who gave away a lot of money to charity. It raised her respect for the lady.

“Hello, Miss Samarth. I'm so glad you're here. I can't wait to see this whole messy business cleared up!” Mrs. Patkar spoke in a soft, refined voice.

“I understand the feeling,” Sonia replied sympathetically. “And I'll do my best to solve matters. But what I really need, at the moment, is all the information I can get my hands on. Any bits and pieces of knowledge, however unimportant, could prove to be useful links in this case!”

“Absolutely! Please, ask me whatever you need to ask,” Mrs. Patkar remarked in a pressing tone.

“Can you tell me what time you came home on Wednesday night?”

“I was very busy that evening,” the older woman said immediately. “You see, I socialize a lot—social commitments of all kinds. You can never say no to anyone—not when you are in my position!” She sighed. “Women Councils, board meetings, Chief Guest at functions—all that lot. I think it must've been twelve-thirty when I returned that night. I went straight to my room. I was so tired that I slept like a log! And the next morning I learnt this terrible news. I couldn't believe my ears! Poor Satish! He was such a good friend of Ajay's! Such a nice boy. We've known him for years! Why would anyone want to kill the poor soul! Sometimes Destiny—life—is so cruel, so inconceivably ruthless that I begin to feel quite uneasy!”

“I can imagine,” Sonia agreed with a thoughtful expression. “Did you hear any kind of disturbance in the night? A sound perhaps? Or a door opening? A cry for help?”

“Absolutely nothing. I told you, I slept like a log.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Patkar. I won't interrupt your rest any more.”

“But you will get to the bottom of this matter?” the older woman asked anxiously.

“Rest assured, I will.” Sonia smiled and left the room.

She regained the corridor, deep in thought, and crossed over to the other wing. She tried the first door and it swung open. Here was a room in keeping with the rest of this rich house, announcing the strength of money. An ornate writing table stood in a corner. A photograph of a young, smiling face stared back at her as she rummaged through the articles on the table. A writing pad, envelopes, a laminated driving license bearing Naresh's name, ballpoint pens. So, this was Cousin Naresh's room. Sonia took the license and read the expiry date. Nine years from now. A new license. She replaced it on the table, observing mentally that it would be easy to pocket any one of these articles to incriminate Naresh. Sonia lifted the framed photo and studied the youthful smile. Naresh was as good-looking as his cousin was. Why would anyone wish to frame him for murder? Especially since he had never met Satish before? But what if that was just an act and Naresh did nurse a private grudge against Satish? Did Naresh have a secret agenda? Had he, in fact, killed Satish?

Sonia was deep in thought as she stepped out of Naresh's room and opened the door to the adjoining room. It was a neat, simple room minus the Patkar pomp, almost as if its owner wished to be declared as different. A mattress on the double bed was neatly rolled up, while the other half was covered in a pristine white bedsheet. This room evidently belonged to Mahesh Uncle. It was obvious that he wished to use minimum facilities provided by his brother's family.

Sonia stepped out of the room and nearly collided with Yamuna Maushi. The housekeeper handed her a bunch of booklets. “Ajaybaba asked me to give you these.”

Sonia accepted the horoscopes, held together with a ribbon. “I'm glad we met again, Maushi. You've known the family for years. Can you describe them to me? Tell me about Naresh, please.”

“Oh, he's a nice sort. Quiet and barely talks. Very interested in keeping fit. In fact, he's working out in the Gym right now.”

“But what does he do?”

“Helps Ajaybaba out at the office. But otherwise he's really most secretive about his life.”

“And his father?”

“Oh, Mahesh Uncle is quite different, very much like Patkarsaheb—I mean, Ajaybaba's father—but without that urban polish, of course. He loves his native place and misses it. How often he has said to me that he will go back and replant the Mango tree plantations on his land. He is willing to work at it all over again rather than lose his old, familiar life. He truly loves his land!”

“Maushi, do you honestly think Naresh murdered Satish?”

“No.” The plump woman's answer was prompt and decisive.

“Even if it was his paper cutter that killed Satish?”

“Even if that was true, I would still find it immensely difficult to believe that Naresh is capable of such a crime!”

Sonia was silent as they moved towards the staircase. Then she said, “Do you remember seeing any strangers hanging around the house on Wednesday, the day of the murder? Or any visitors perhaps?”

“Not that I noticed. Uncle had a visitor but that was on Tuesday. I particularly remembered him—or rather, them, there were two visitors—because I thought they were kind of odd, the Hindi film goonda—thug—type. I showed them both into the study where Uncle asked me to call them. But they didn't wait for long. I know, because when a few minutes later I went to ask if he wished me to serve any refreshments, they were gone. Mahesh Uncle was sitting very still in a chair. I asked him if anything was the matter and he said there wasn't.”

“And you didn't see these two guests again, anywhere near the house on Wednesday,” Sonia confirmed.

Maushi shook her head. “No. I'm quite certain about it.”

“Oh well, I suppose they're of little consequence.” Sonia shrugged. “But you feel that no outsider would have had a chance to steal Naresh's paper cutter? Or, for that matter, even attempt to kill Satish? That any stranger would have been immediately noticed by you?”

“I think so.”

“Thank you, Yamuna Maushi, you've been tremendous help! Can you show me the way to the Gym, please?”

The family Gym was behind the house. Sonia walked out of the front door, wondering how anyone could work out in forty degrees heat, when she almost banged into a tall, lean man. He was dressed in a white cotton shirt and khaki trousers and threw her an unconcerned look.

“Oh hello! Mr. Patkar? Mr. Mahesh Patkar?” she ventured.

“You are . . . ?” He frowned.

“Sonia Samarth. I'm investigating Satish's death.”

“You mean officially?” he asked sharply, the unconcern vanishing and the frown deepening.

“Of course!” Sonia blinked at his aggressive tone. “Do you mind?”

“Yes!” he replied, quite fiercely. “I mind very much! I object to outsiders meddling in our house! Taking it to pieces and exposing it to public humiliation!”

Mahesh Patkar glared at Sonia, then strode past her with long, purposeful strides. Sonia stared after him, surprise rapidly turning to indignation. Then, within seconds, she was back to normal, shrugging off the man's insolence and belligerence as lack of culture. Or was it, perhaps, simple insecurity? Mahesh Patkar certainly held no semblance to the rural, sensitive guy Yamuna Maushi had sketched. Was it merely his concern for his family, in the light of public disgrace? Or was it fear—fear that sprung from some secret knowledge of the truth? Thoughtfully, she made her way towards the Gym.

It was well equipped, installed with the latest machinery. A lone figure was huffing and puffing on the treadmill. Clad in a vest and shorts, Naresh looked young and impressionable. Sonia approached him with a smile and he faltered, a little abashed.

“Hello, I'm Sonia Samarth. Mr. Ajay Patkar has asked me to look into Wednesday's unpleasant incident.”

“And I'm Naresh, Ajay's cousin. Excuse me.” He hastily picked up his towel from a pile of things, gave himself a thorough rub, and pulled on his jacket. But not before Sonia had noticed a deep brown mark on his upper arm. Her gaze narrowed. That mark rang a bell. As if she ought to recognize it. She frowned as she jogged her memory for the intangible answer!

“Yes, Miss Samarth, what can I do for you?” Naresh asked, zipping up his jacket.

“Let me come straight to the point. You know that it was your paper cutter that killed Satish. Can you enlighten me on how it happened to be used as a murder weapon?”

Naresh shrugged. “Would you believe me if I said I don't know? I couldn't find that particular cutter for the past few days and I thought that I'd misplaced it. It's a crazy situation! Why me and why Satish? I'd never even met the guy before!”

“But you do understand that the evidence of the cutter could be incriminating, making you the prime suspect.”

“I know. But why would I kill somebody I've never known? And with my own paper cutter, for God's sake! And leave it as positive evidence for the whole world to discover? Damn it, I'd use more cunning than that! This seems like a desperate hasty job—premeditated perhaps, but certainly not with the intention of hushing up the entire matter! In fact, I'll go so far as to claim that someone is deliberately out to frame me!”

“I'm sorry that, logical as it may seem, the police may not take that view. They go by facts and evidence. Look at it this way: the paper cutter was yours. Chances are that it has your fingerprints on it. You knew Satish was in the house. And most important, you have a suspicious background, since you belong to the Rebel Cross gang!”

Naresh looked as startled as if she had knocked a punch into his nose. Sonia's unblinking gaze observed the conflicting, transient expressions on his face.

“I'm right, am I not?” she emphasized softly. “I saw the cross on your arm and also the cashewnut juice you use, to make that mark with. The moment I saw the cashewnut juice bottle in the guest-room cupboard, I linked it with your tropical Konkan background, and the cross confirmed my suspicions. You deliberately put a dead mouse in the guest room, because you didn't want Satish to sleep there. Because—”

“Yes, I did put the mouse in the room, but I did not kill Satish!” Naresh's face changed colour and his skin seemed tautly drawn over the bones.

“I know. You placed the mouse there because you have your Rebel Cross meetings in the guest room every Wednesday night,” Sonia continued calmly. “But the police won't believe you. As far as they're concerned, the case would be as straight as a line. Mr. Patkar, I think you may very soon need a good lawyer and I suggest that you start looking for one, right away!”

“But—”

Before he could utter his protest, sudden hasty footsteps crunched loudly on the gravel outside. Two uniformed men burst into the Gym, their faces grim and non-committal.

“Inspector Divekar!” Sonia exclaimed.

“Mr. Naresh Patkar, I have an arrest warrant for you!”

“My God! The case is over, then! Naresh did it, just like I thought!” Jatin whistled.

Sonia threw her purse on the table and fondled Nidhi, who curled comfortably on a soft, blue cushion.

“Did you find anything worthwhile at the Ad Agency?” she asked Jatin.

“Nothing much. Everyone was shocked to hear about Satish's death. Satish was a liked guy. No, he had no quarrels with anybody, neither office colleagues nor neighbors. But all this information is redundant, now that Naresh is caught!”

“Accused but not convicted,” Sonia reminded. “I can't help thinking that this case is a little like pedaling downhill. Often when you bicycle down a slope, you barely have to pedal. And you enjoy the effortless ease of the ride so much that quite often you miss the signboards! To all appearances, everything is so painlessly cut-and-dried in this case. But that, in itself, leaves plenty of room for doubt! I have this suspicion that the police have missed a signboard along the way, Jatin, and I have every intention to find it. Something is not right here. Something I ought to see, but cannot. Will you please leave me alone for a while? You can switch on the music while you go out and order some lunch for us in the meanwhile.”

Jatin nodded as Sonia settled in her chair. He switched on the music system, and loud drumbeats rocked the room. Jatin grinned. His boss never failed to surprise him. She insisted on blaring music to motivate her thought processes. She'd once told him about her “I formula” and when he'd looked bewildered she had added, “Nothing like music and dance to inspire insight into intuition, and instigate investigation!” Her source of inspiration was anything from soul-searching and philosophical non-filmy Urdu ghazals, romantic Hindi film songs, to hard rock and jazz. The priority, in each case, went to the volume, which had to be almost ear-splitting. Only then did the music flow meditatively deep through the body. Jatin closed the door, which mercifully dulled the sound. He had no relish for his boss's preference of volume.

Sonia stared into space, her mind working in unison with the quickening rhythm of the drumbeats. A finger absentmindedly twirled a lock of hair. The other hand distractedly fondled Nidhi's silky head. Voices of the people she had met that day repeated their dialogues in her mind, like characters in a film.

She stood up abruptly and began swaying to the drumbeats, then began dancing. Her eyes were closed meditatively, as the music took hold of her body. Then all of a sudden, she stopped. With renewed resolve, she took the bunch of horoscopes Ajay Patkar had given her, and spread them out before her. Each horoscope was subjected to the minutest observation. One by one, she set each booklet aside, until she stared at the last one in her hand. For a moment, her expression was that of bewilderment and then, impulsively, she exclaimed aloud. She took one of the almanacs from the shelf, referring to it with a great deal of interest. Then once again, she immersed herself in the horoscopes, particularly the last one, simultaneously scribbling furiously on a pad.

The serviced fan worked noiselessly overhead, efficient in its muteness. Just an occasional squeak betrayed its age.

Half an hour later, to Jatin's surprise, the musical jing-bang was abruptly turned off.

He peeped into the room. “Lunch's arrived!” he announced.

Nidhi immediately meowed her approval. But Sonia stood up, slinging her handbag onto her shoulder. “You go ahead and eat it. I'm going out!”

Jatin and Nidhi watched, amazed, as she zipped past them and was gone. What had happened? He ought to be kept abreast of the latest, Jatin felt. Grumbling silently to himself, he poured some milk into Nidhi's bowl. Then, together, they set down to accomplish the important business of polishing off their respective lunches. Nidhi finished off the milk in seconds. Jatin, however, took his time enjoying the delicious fried bread and mixed vegetables, the famous Paav Bhaaji of Pune. Fortunately, his boss's high-handed manner did nothing to interfere with the justice he usually did to his meal!

After lunch, Nidhi returned to her new bed and Jatin settled down to wait. Instinctively, he sensed that the music had worked. Something was on.

An hour elapsed before Sonia returned, a pleased, triumphant smile radiating on her face.

“Come in, Jatin, let's talk!” she said, and waved him into her office.

“Have some good news?” he asked cautiously, following her inside.

“Yes, I do. But the first thing you do, after we finish our talk, is to stock the fridge with fresh coconuts!” Sonia declared.

Jatin groaned. “But, Boss, the details, please!”

“You know, Jatin, we've been such naïve fools. Trying to eat the raw dish before us without making any changes to it—either additions or subtractions! The result was that all along we'd been barking up the wrong tree!”

“How's that?”

“There's this scene from a Hindi film that I vividly remember. The hero wishes to call the heroine for a date. So he sits in a college classroom, writes a note, and aims it at the seat where the heroine normally sits. Unfortunately, the heroine and her friend have changed places that day and the hero's note falls straight into the friend's lap, creating a lot of comedy and misunderstanding! This sequence has been at the back of my mind for some time now. It's funny how these films affect your mind and thinking!”

“Boss—which is the wrong tree?” Jatin asked with forced patience.

“You'll see soon enough! This afternoon I set about the case in a most systematic manner. It was time to turn to the horoscopes and try to find out if I could peg down a particular horoscope. So first, I checked out all the horoscopes to find out whose horoscope matched that of a criminal's. And sure enough I found one which showed me all the traits of a murderer! It amazed me because at that point that made no sense! But I did realize that I'd chanced upon a most vital lead, one which had plenty of potential to be explored. The next step was to go sequentially backwards from what I knew happened. What do we know? I mean, what really happened?”

“Satish was murdered.”

“Now the next logical question: Where was he murdered?”

“In Ajay Patkar's room.”

“In Ajay's bed, to be precise. Who normally sleeps in that bed?”

“Ajay, of course!”

“Right. So if Satish hadn't been in the house, who would have been sleeping in that bed?”

“Ajay . . . my God, are you suggesting . . . !”

“You got it! Conclusion—that paper cutter was meant for Ajay Patkar, and not Satish, as everyone presumes! It was pure bad luck that Ajay invited Satish on the same day as Naresh's gang meeting. Naresh, as a desperate means, placed a dead mouse in the guest room, so that the smell would drive Satish away. Accordingly, Ajay offered Satish his bed, and in the bargain placed his best friend straight into the hands of Destiny! The murderer was unaware of the change. And thinking that it was Ajay in the bed, struck him with the knife!”

“In that case, the murderer has to be someone who did not know that Satish was sleeping in the room that night,” Jatin pointed out.

“Good deduction. Now, who are the people who knew about the change of rooms? Naresh himself, since he was responsible for it, and Yamuna Maushi. And who did not know about the change? Mahesh Uncle and Mrs. Patkar. After I realized that, I went back to the horoscope I had singled out. It was Mrs. Patkar's horoscope that revealed the criminal traits!”

“But how's it possible? Why would a mother try to kill her own son?” Jatin protested.

“Exactly! I asked myself the same question and the answer again came to me from her horoscope! I won't go into details, but Jupiter in her fifth house is in conjunction with Rahu. Saturn, with Ketu, does not aspect the fifth house favorably, and to make matters worse, the swami or the Lord of the fifth house—a house which governs children—is with Saturn. To make technical jargon simple, such a woman will never conceive and will never have a child of her own. And even if she did, it will not be a son!”

“But she has a son!”

“That had me floored, too! But only for a while. The world knows that Ajay is her son but her horoscope denied the fact. Which made me think—was he really her son? I mean, did she give birth to him? If my line of thinking was correct, then our whole perspective on this case would change! The issue was remarkably sensitive but I had to find out! Because only the answers to these questions would throw light on this case. It was vital to tackle Ajay. I paid him a visit and put forth my argument in the most persuasive manner possible. He was naturally quite upset by my suggestion that he was not his mother's son. Ultimately, I did succeed in convincing him and he was willing to co-operate. It was their family gynecologist, from Mumbai, who furnished the information we needed.

“Ajay is not the present Mrs. Patkar's son but the son of Mr. Patkar's first love, who died in childbirth. To avoid a scandal, Mr. Patkar had to marry immediately. Alka—the present Mrs. Patkar—was a needy girl from a poor family. After their marriage, the matter was hushed up because Mr. Patkar always wanted his son to believe that this was his real mother. But that is exactly what Mrs. Patkar could never be—a real mother! She despised him, because he reminded her of her husband's first love and because she could never have a child of her own. So she threw herself into social activities, parties, and mounting debts, leaving the child in the care of Yamuna Maushi.”

“Whew! How did Ajay take this news? I'm sure I would have been shattered to discover that my mother was not my own!”

“Oh, he'll come to terms with it, I suppose.”

“But what about the motive? Why would she want to kill Ajay? And with Naresh's knife? What enmity could she possibly have with Naresh?”

“The age-old greed for money. Inheritance. The old Mr. Patkar, knowing his wife's squandering capacity and intense dislike for his son, left everything to Ajay, and after Ajay to Mrs. Patkar. But he made a joint nominee in Naresh, whom he liked and trusted. Mrs. Patkar was neck deep in debts and her debtors were constantly hounding her. She had no control over her husband's money and she hated asking Ajay for it. So she decided to go the whole hog—to kill Ajay and incriminate Naresh so that she could kill two birds with one stone. Or to put it literally, with one paper cutter! Then the inheritance would all be hers! On Tuesday, when two of her rather unpleasant debtors paid Mahesh Uncle a visit and threatened her life, she decided she must act fast. She knew that Mahesh Uncle would be away at the farm that night. She decided to seize the opportunity. Unfortunately, her plan misfired and her knife took the wrong life!”

“But what about proof? And are you going to inform Inspector Divekar about this?”

“Inspector Divekar is at the Patkar house right now. He's positive that he'll get the truth out of her. As for evidence . . . A deep and vicious stabbing always leaves some stains on the clothing of the killer. I am sure a thorough search of Mrs. Patkar's room will reveal a spotted nightgown!”

There was a knock on the door and Inspector Divekar—a tall, broad man with a receding hairline, attired in a brown uniform—strode in, a beaming smile on his lips.

“I can't believe it, Sonia, you did it! A little pressure and Mrs. Patkar went to pieces, confessing all! And we found that nightgown, too! Brilliant work! And you mean to tell me that it was a ‘horoscope' which gave you the lead?”

“Absolutely, Jeevan Uncle, believe it or not!”

“I'm beginning to believe it!” Inspector Divekar smiled.

“Gosh, I'm hungry. Jatin, I thought I told you to order lunch!”

“In a jiffy, Boss,” Jatin remarked with a grin.

“Where's Ajay Patkar?” Sonia asked the Inspector.

“Struggling with hard truths. But he'll be all right. He should be here soon. Hello! Who's this on the cushion?” Inspector Divekar stroked the cat.

“Nidhi—my lucky charm!” Sonia laughed, and Nidhi meowed in agreement.

Lightning streaked across the darkness, ripping the sky open with its brilliance. The thunder followed with such an earth-shaking rumble that Sonia shuddered. Jatin, too, looked a little startled, pausing over his meal. Inspector Divekar merely concentrated on his Chicken Biryani. A light drizzle fell outside the restaurant, like soft fountain water.

“What a night!” Sonia remarked. “Though I do hope it pours. It's been such a dry season this year that we almost feared a drought situation. But not anymore, I hope. We need the rain for the crops and the economy.”

Inspector Divekar nodded. “For the first time to-night, I can see some signs of our famous monsoon rains coming on. Are you sure you won't try some of this Biryani? It's delicious!”

Sonia smiled. “No thanks, I'm a strict vegetarian. And as it is, I'm full! Thank you for a wonderful treat in this charming place!”

Sonia glanced around at the beautifully decorated restaurant. Located along the curving green banks of the Mula River, the restaurant was aptly called Mula Retreat and served traditional Maharashtrian food. The décor was rustic, with coir mattresses adorning the mud walls, in criss-cross patterns. A bullock cart rested in the corner of the huge hall, where children played, creating sounds with sticks on the wooden wheels. Waiters in white dhotis—loin cloths—kurtas, and small white caps moved around, with food placed in cane baskets, matching the Maharashtrian mood and ambience.

Sonia and Jatin had thoroughly enjoyed the food—bhakri made of sorghum flour and crushed chilies along with curds and the spicy gram gravy called pithla. Inspector Divekar had insisted on taking the two of them out to dinner, to this new restaurant. They had arrived a little early, so as to enjoy the idyllic location and the cool evening breeze. Mula Retreat was sandwiched between sugarcane and sorghum fields on one side and an open grazing plot on the other where cows and sheep grazed. The metal bells of the cows tinkled melodiously. Local fishermen, in their tiny red and blue wooden boats, who had thrown in their nets for fishing in the rippling water, were now returning home with their haul. The river and the Babul and Neem trees, bathed in the golden-pink glow of the setting sun, sparkled with a dreamy, almost surreal effect. An ideal evening for meditation and romance, Sonia had thought. But, without warning, the weather had changed and a cold black blanket had enveloped the entire city.

Thunder rumbled again as Jatin remarked, “The weather's perfect for this kind of spicy food.”

“Also perfect to commit crimes,” Inspector Divekar added, as he polished off his Biryani. He looked quite distinguished in a comfortable sky-blue cotton shirt and black trousers.

Sonia smiled. “Trust you to equate a beautiful romantic night with crime!”

“Romantic? This is a setting for criminals! On a night like this, criminals find their way easily and effortlessly to their victims and their loot! I'm positive we'll have a whole list of new cases tomorrow morning at the Police Station.”

“You're right, I suppose. But good criminals, like good Investigators, can strike anytime, anyplace,” Sonia reminded.

“Absolutely. Take the Owl, for instance.”

“The crook who's supposed to have stolen the Kerkar jewels,” Sonia recalled. Mohnish Rai's voice and face, delivering the news on TV, rose in her mind. And she didn't at all appreciate the way her mind automatically supplied these images!

“Yes, the Owl. I'm certain he has the Kerkar diamonds. He's an amazing man, though I've never had the good fortune of interacting with him. You never know when he'll display his skill and talent. He's so perfect in the implementation of his ‘schemes' that he has successfully evaded being caught by the police.”

“So far,” Sonia added.

“Going by his track record, I doubt if he'll ever get caught. He's going to be one of those criminals who just fade away, simply vanish! Never to be seen or heard of again. But, of course, that won't be for a long time still. I'm sure he has yet to accomplish many more feats!” Inspector Divekar prophesied.

Sonia shrugged. “I'm afraid I'm no authority on the Owl. I doubt if our paths will ever cross.”

The waiter arrived with the bill and the Inspector dropped a five hundred rupee note on the tray. Then all three of them hastened to Sonia's parked van. Soon they were out on the street, the tar road sparkling white in the dim streetlights.

“I wouldn't like to be caught out on such a night,” Sonia said, as the vehicle sped towards the city. The headlights, like elongated, golden ribbons on the wet, glistening road, pierced a way into obscurity.

“I'm glad we finished dinner and are returning home before the downpour,” Jatin added.

They drove in silence for a while. Then, suddenly, Inspector Divekar said, “Jatin, please stop the van by this gate!” He pointed out the concrete shadow which was looming up on the left.

“Are you getting off here, Jeevan Uncle?” Sonia asked, puzzled.

“As a matter of fact, we are getting off for a few minutes. I'd like you to meet some people, Sonia. They live in this really smashing bungalow you simply must see!”

“Jeevan Uncle, it's late and it's going to pour! Don't you think we should pay this . . . er . . . visit some other, more appropriate day and time?” Sonia suggested, glancing at her wristwatch.

It was past nine. The dinner had been wonderful and it had filled her with warmth and lethargy. And now she looked forward to cuddling up in her warm bed.

“It won't take long and, frankly, the Tupays will profit by your visit,” the Inspector replied enigmatically.

Sonia stared at him in bewilderment. But his plump face was closed. Without awaiting her response, he ordered Jatin to park the vehicle and follow them inside the bungalow. With a strange reluctance of heart, Sonia trailed after Inspector Divekar up the flight of stairs to a wooden double door. He rang the bell, which clanged through the house like an echo of the rumbling thunder. The double doors opened, to reveal a man in his late forties. A streak of white wove through his thick mass of jet-black hair.

“Inspector Divekar! I'm sure glad you could make it!” he exclaimed, his face breaking into a welcoming smile.

“I said I'd come, didn't I? Meet Sonia Samarth, the daughter of my best friend. Sonia, Mr. Tupay.”

“Do come in, Sonia, it's much warmer inside,” Mr. Tupay said, and waved her in.

The hall was like a mini studio, with theatre-like sets, all ready for shooting. A traditional Indian seating arrangement in one corner, complete with pots and handmade long curtains of tiny stuffed toy animals and beads. Low cane chairs, in another corner, a revolving swing to go with it. A plush, heavy sofa formed a ring in the center of the hall.

There were four people seated on the sofa. Three women and a man. Sonia was introduced to each one of them. Mr. Tupay's wife, Medha; their daughter, Revati; her friend Gaurav; and Mrs. Tupay's sister, Pradnya Joshi. Sonia observed them all with a sudden stirring of interest within her. It was second nature to her to slip into the role of an observer and discover little secrets that no one was aware of.

The similarity between the sisters was striking. Both Medha and Pradnya had single, long, thick plaits and were clad in off-white Kolkata cotton silk saris. The passing years had lent a few lines to the two attractive faces, but the hint of a frown on each brow was more than a mark of age. It was worry. The two sisters had obviously been deep in anxious conversation before Sonia's arrival. Moreover, the interruption had not dispelled the heavy tension in the room. Something wasn't right here. Sonia remembered what Inspector Divekar had remarked a moment ago—“the family would profit by her visit.” Jeevan Uncle had deliberately brought her here, at this late hour—but why?

“Do join us, Sonia, we were just having coffee,” Medha Tupay suggested, a smile lighting up her rather tired face.

“Coffee would be a treat on such a night,” Sonia surprised herself by saying. She caught Inspector Divekar's eye and was pleased to see his approving nod.

Lightning lit up the room in a flash, throwing a bright blue tinge on all the faces. The thunder rumbled as if on cue and the downpour began abruptly, rattling the wide windows. Jatin entered, barely in time, shaking off raindrops at the door.

“Terrible weather, isn't it?” Inspector Divekar observed.

They were all now sitting, facing each other, almost as if they were ready to begin a game or a drama. Like something was about to happen. The impression was so powerful that Sonia felt strangely excited. It was odd and most mystifying. What exactly did Jeevan Uncle have in mind? Her gaze shifted to Revati. A pretty girl, in jeans and a green T-shirt, slim and fair-skinned, with hair swept up in a ponytail, looking young and vulnerable. She was leaning on the arm of her mother's sofa, her eyes restlessly darting to the wall clock and then seeking those of Gaurav. But her friend sat, his head bent, his gaze fixed on an invisible spot on the red carpet. Gaurav interested Sonia. Of medium build, dusky with a becoming stubble, his quiet reserve instantly placed him as an outsider. But at the same time, he was comfortable enough to completely ignore her presence in the house. . . .

Pradnya Joshi laughed. “It's a night for ghost stories!”

“Don't, Aunty!” Revati exclaimed. “Please, no ghost stories!”

“No need to get hyper, Reva,” Mrs. Tupay admonished her daughter. “Here's the coffee. Thank you, Kaki.” She smiled at the sari-clad housekeeper. “Did you give some to Sushil?”

“Oh yes, he's sitting right there, having it.” Kaki indicated with her head.

For the first time, Sonia noticed that there was another person in the hall. A thin, dark figure sat unobtrusively in a shadowed corner of the hall. It was the manner in which he held his mug, in an awkward grip—as if it might fall off any minute—that most puzzled her. He appeared to be staring straight ahead of him, into the wall.

“What do you do, Sonia?” Mr. Tupay broke into her reflections.

“Sonia and Jatin run a detective agency,” Inspector Divekar explained. “And, to say the least, it's not an ordinary agency. The interesting part is that Sonia's an Astrologer, too. She uses her knowledge in her cases!”

“How unique!” Pradnya exclaimed warmly.

“Yes, isn't it?” Inspector Divekar continued. “And she's really good with her predictions although reading the future is not her profession!”

Sonia waited without speaking, patiently and vigilantly. Her sixth sense told her that Jeevan Uncle was treading a slow and deliberate path in a preordained direction. She only had to bide her time, wait for the Inspector to unwrap his purpose, and watch out for the next cue. Which came soon enough.

“I have my horoscope in my drawer, would you mind reading it, please?” young Revati asked, her voice a peculiar combination of request and appeal.

“Really, Revati . . .” her mother began.

Sonia flashed the Inspector a glance and noted the almost imperceptible nod. “Well, to be honest, I don't usually do this kind of a thing. However, tonight can be an exception.” She smiled at the girl.

“Oh great!” Revati exclaimed. “Thanks a ton! I'll be right back!”

“I'd like mine read, too,” Pradnya spoke up.

“Get all the horoscopes!” Inspector Divekar called after Revati. He turned to Sonia with a slow half wink.

In a trice, Revati was back. She handed a bunch of booklets to Sonia and settled down.

“It's really good of you to do this, but . . .” Mr. Tupay demurred, but the Inspector raised a hand.

“Relax, Ritesh. This is simply for fun and it will hone Sonia's skills, won't it, beti?”

Sonia laughed non-committally. “Before I begin, I ought to tell you the rule. Never lie to the Doctor and Astrologer! Like I say very often to my clients, a horoscope is an X-ray of a person. It can tell a lot. Astrology is a science but I combine it with intuition. So if a prediction is correct, no matter what it is, you have to admit it. Sometimes facts—well-guarded secrets—come to the surface. You have to make a clean breast of them. There's no point continuing with this if any one of you is planning to play a hide-and-seek game,” Sonia remarked in a professional voice, softening the words with an encouraging smile.

“I accept!” Revati said promptly, “and I'm sure the others do, too! Right, Dad?”

“I see no reason to disagree.” Mr. Tupay shrugged but Sonia intercepted the worried glance he flashed at his wife.

Gaurav was observing Sonia with frank curiosity from his seat on the sofa. Sonia unfolded Revati's horoscope and studied it carefully. The others waited. Revati leaned eagerly over her shoulder, trying to see what Sonia could see. Her childlike excitement was refreshing. Finally, Sonia looked up at her and smiled.

“You're in love and plan to get married soon, don't you? I mean, this year—January to December—before Jupiter changes from your seventh house.”

Revati's pretty face glowed. “Yes! Gaurav and I are getting married! Could you really read that in my horoscope?”

“Yes, but I also see a problem. I don't wish to discourage you, but it's not going to be smooth sailing. And I don't mean your married life. I mean your getting married. I can see a lot of drama . . . publicity. . . .”

Revati glanced at her parents. Then she said, “You're absolutely right, Miss Samarth. Inspector Divekar could explain everything. You see, there has been a problem, a very serious one.”

“Really? Can you tell me about it?” Sonia asked.

“I'll tell you.” The deep voice spoke for the first time. It was Gaurav. “Revati and I have been seeing each other for the past eight months. We are in love and we told our families about it. Fortunately, there is no reason for anyone to object, so we decided to get engaged. But out of the blue, Revati began receiving anonymous letters. Crude and threatening letters telling her to break off her relationship with me! At first, we thought it was some kind of a joke, but as the frequency of the letters increased, we realized that this was not to be treated lightly. It was more than some detrimental mind's crude idea of fun!”

“That is when they contacted me. Ritesh here is an old friend of mine,” Inspector Divekar explained to Sonia. “We are working on it, but it's been difficult to trace the source of these letters. Look at this latest one.”

He extracted a sheet of paper from his pocket and showed it to Sonia. It was a message composed of letters cut from a newspaper. The message was brief and clear. CHUCK HIM BEFORE THE TENTH OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCE.

“But today is the tenth!” Sonia exclaimed.

“And tomorrow is our engagement!” Revati said gloomily.

“I see . . .” Sonia remarked. The grave and tense atmosphere in the house now became a platform of understanding for her. What she'd sensed was a cringing anxiety against a nameless and faceless threat.

“I'm so scared. I keep feeling something dreadful is going to happen to-night.” Revati shivered. Lightning flashed through the room and crashed far away. But the sound made her jump. “Someone just walked over my grave! Literally, look at these goose bumps!” She indicated the prickled skin of her arm.

“Revati, enough!” Mrs. Tupay snapped. “We're all here. Nothing is going to happen to you. Right, Inspector Divekar?”

“Absolutely. You have no need to worry,” the Inspector confirmed in a reassuring voice.

Sonia glanced at Revati and said with a smile, “If it's any comfort to you, your horoscope shows that this matter will be sorted out eventually and you will get married soon.”

“It certainly is,” Gaurav affirmed. “I don't like this business one bit. I shall certainly be relieved when we get engaged tomorrow. It's a small ceremony. No guests, no pomp. Just family.”

Sonia took up the next booklets, the horoscopes belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Tupay. She easily reeled off the combinations of the stars and what they implied. They were an obviously devoted couple and both were very impressed with the way she predicted some important incidents from their past.

“But Mrs. Tupay. You have this habit . . . a restless nature, which never leaves you in peace. You worry a lot and this may sound obvious, but at the moment something is weighing heavily on your mind.”

Medha Tupay nodded. “You're absolutely right. I am basically a nervous-natured woman and I feel responsible for all the matters in my house. I am fidgety and often discontented but there's always a good reason for it. Take this business of these awful letters. One can't help worrying about something so serious. And then, there's Sushil.”

“Sushil?” Sonia's gaze shifted involuntarily to the still figure in the corner. Sushil was sitting upright, with a napkin on his lap, staring into space. The coffee mug rested on the table.

“It's okay,” Medha Tupay said. “He doesn't understand.”

“Who is he?” Sonia asked.

“A family member now. I guess there's no harm in telling you, since half the world already knows about it. Sushil is actually an orphan someone left at our door, an absolutely brand-new baby abandoned in our care. I didn't have the heart to turn him over to some orphanage, so I handed him to Kaki, our housekeeper. She's like a family member, too, and she gladly took charge of the little baby. He grew up with Revati—a healthy, intelligent boy—and being about the same age, both were inseparable friends. He had a good education and lacked for nothing. But somehow bad luck seemed to have followed him after all these years.”

“What happened?” Jatin asked curiously.

“About six months ago Sushil had an accident. He crashed straight into a car on the street when it halted abruptly, and he was thrown off his scooter. It wasn't very serious, but he knocked his head. A stranger brought him home. What was really remarkable was the manner in which Sushil, who was babbling strangely, clung to this old man like an unreasonable child. He refused to allow the man to depart. It was most embarrassing and ultimately we had no choice but to request the man to hang on for a while. Fortunately for us, he was looking for a job, so we offered him the gardener's post. Only then did Sushil relax. But ever since then, he has kept to his room. He has to be led to the dining room for his meals or for a breath of fresh air. Kaki looks after him. But he recognizes no one, talks to no one. The whole affair is really tragic!”

Kaki spoke up. “I really hate to see him like this, behaving so strangely, almost like an insane person, unaware of any one of us. . . .”

“Is he violent?” Sonia asked.

“Oh no! In fact, he's like a small child, lost in his dreams and fantasies. He's quite harmless, but it really is sad. I was going to ask you if you could read his horoscope and tell me if he will ever get well. You see, he's like a son to me, I'm so worried about him!” Kaki sighed.

“You have his horoscope?” Sonia could not hide her surprise.

“Yes. His birth details and certificate were tucked in the shawl he was wrapped in.”

“How extraordinary!” Sonia murmured reflectively. “Well, of course I shall! I'd very much like to take a look at his horoscope.”

Kaki hastened away to fetch the horoscope. Sonia glanced at Sushil. He sat like a statue through all the talk, his expression wooden, like a face set in a coin. What did he think of? What did he see? Sonia wondered. The thunder crashed and her heart jumped. Sushil's shoulders shook for a fraction of a second. Then his figure froze again.

“Why don't you read Pradnya Aunty's horoscope in the meanwhile?” Revati suggested. “Until Kaki hunts out Sushil's horoscope? I'd love to know if she will ever marry!” Revati enthused, spontaneously hugging her aunt. She seemed a very loving young girl.

Pradnya Joshi blushed, embarrassed. “You're crumpling my cotton sari, dear. And at my age I should devote my life to God, not to any earthly human being!” she remarked dryly, patting Revati's cheek affectionately.

Sonia smiled at the bantering and took up the older woman's booklet. She opened it and stared at it a long time. Kaki returned with Sushil's horoscope and Sonia accepted it absentmindedly. Her eyes didn't leave the marked rectangle in her hand. When she did glance up, she found Pradnya Joshi's eyes fixed on hers. The woman's light smile had been replaced by an anxious gleam.

“Miss Joshi . . . I would rather like to speak to you in private.” Sonia matched her gaze.

“Why?” Revati exclaimed tactlessly.

“Why? . . .” Pradnya's question was a mere whisper.

“Because I may speak too much and I don't know if I ought to!” Sonia answered gravely.

Sudden fear flashed across Pradnya's face, so fleetingly that Sonia almost thought she'd imagined it. Then tranquillity stole over her entire body and Pradnya seemed to relax. Reconciled, Sonia guessed.

“Go ahead and say what you ought to. I guess I'm ready for it,” Pradnya replied, her voice controlled. She rearranged the pleats of her sari and settled against the sofa.

Mr. and Mrs. Tupay exchanged surprised glances. Inspector Divekar leaned forward, curiosity written all over his face. Revati looked hard at her aunt, but Pradnya ignored her. The figure in the corner stirred, the empty coffee mug turned in restless hands. The rain pattered on the windowpane like a steady pelting of stones.

“If that's what you wish.” Sonia drew in a deep breath. She felt as if she were treading on hidden land mines. “Your Venus and Mars together in the first house indicate an artistic personality. You are a lover of arts but you are also an incurable romantic. A minute ago, you said that you never married. I suppose it's true in the official sense of the word. But something happened long ago: You were in love once, but it didn't work out, did it? In fact, Harshal or Uranus in the fifth house with Rahu indicate that it could have culminated into marriage but I think—no, I can see—that he tricked you! Am I right?”

The hall was hushed. Only the crackling of the rain outside intruded on the loaded silence. All eyes were focused on Pradnya, awaiting her reaction to Sonia's words. Looking steadily at Sonia, she replied, without flinching, “Yes, you're absolutely right, Miss Samarth!”

“Pradnya!” her sister exclaimed. “What are you saying?”

Pradnya turned to face the impact of her sister's shocked expression. “You were in the last year of college then,” she said dispassionately. “I guess I was lonely. No parents to talk to, you at college . . . and he came into my life, when I needed a friend badly. We fell in love. He was a frequent visitor at our home and we decided to get married. But the night before, he vanished, along with all my jewels! I couldn't believe it. He'd always claimed that he was ambitious and wanted to be a rich man one day, but I never thought it would be with my money! He was nothing but a handsome thief!”

“But why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me?” Mrs. Tupay looked hurt.

“You were engaged to be married. I didn't wish to create complications,” Pradnya explained briefly.

“But, Aunty, to live all these years without marriage . . . in memory of a man who deceived you—” Revati was shocked.

“It wasn't in memory of him!” Pradnya broke in harshly. “It was in distrust of all men! He turned out to be a rascal, going to jail several times and later even hounding me for more money!”

“You mean you met this man again?” Mr. Tupay was astonished.

“Several times. The last time I met him was some months ago. After that day, I haven't set eyes on him. Today I came down from Mumbai for Revati's engagement, so . . .”

A window crashed open behind Sonia, and Pradnya turned a startled face towards it. Pradnya's attention was riveted to the open window, and all color had drained from her face. Seeing her reaction, Sonia instantly whipped around, but empty space met her eyes. The glass pane shivered and groaned against the pitch darkness. When she turned around, Pradnya's pale face was composed and set in its normal mask. Her gaze rested on her manicured hands, subjecting them to a minute examination.

“But Pradnya, no marriage! Don't you regret it all?” her sister insisted.

“No, the only thing I miss in life is a child. I always wanted one, but I guess fate had other plans.” Pradnya sighed.

“Yes, you always loved children and you paid special attention to them. You took them for outings—It must be difficult not to have a kid when you love kids and always wanted one so much,” Medha remarked meditatively.

“And that's why—”

Sonia cleared her throat eloquently. “Excuse me, but I haven't quite finished yet.” She took a breath, then, without economizing on her words, she continued. “I can see things in this horoscope, Miss Joshi, subjects which perhaps you would not wish me to discuss as evening chatter. Facts which you may want to hold back from the others. Believe me, I derive no pleasure in raking up the past and making your secrets public. You may stop me at once. If you wish to close the subject, please do so now.”

An avalanche of emotions broke loose on Pradnya's face. Sonia watched her in immense fascination. Pradnya's hands trembled as she covered her face, wrestling with guilt for a moment. Then she drew them away, steadily. The dredges of conscience proved powerful enough to force this moment of truth. Pradnya knew what Sonia had to say and she had decided not to turn her back on the truth.

“It's inevitable, isn't it?” she replied. “Perhaps Providence sent you here today, Miss Samarth, to unravel the truth that I never had the nerve to admit, even to myself. This is my chance to bury the past once and for all, and I intend to take it. You will be my spokesperson!”

Everyone in the room stared at them, intrigued at the enigmatic communication between the two women. Inspector Divekar frowned. Sonia's entire attention remained on her confessor. She held the older woman's gaze and there was something bordering on admiration in her eyes.

“You said that you miss a child in your life,” Sonia began. “That was only partly true. You do miss him, but not because you don't have a child but because you have a son whom you cannot claim as yours!”

Her words fell like a bomb in the hall. Medha drew in her breath sharply and her eyes darted wildly to her husband. Revati's face registered shock. Even Jatin, who was rather inconspicuous until then, turned in his chair, his mouth agape.

“This is utter nonsense!” Medha raised her voice, offended to the extreme. “You are insulting my sister—”

But Pradnya raised her hand to silence her. “Sonia is absolutely right, Medha. Yes, I have a son. One I've never been able to call mine. When . . . when that thief ran away, I . . . I was pregnant, though I didn't realize it until later. I was against abortion. I went to a place where there were no prying eyes and delivered my baby!”

“Pradnya! You . . . you don't know what you're talking about!” Medha remarked faintly, wildly clutching her husband's hand. Her voice shook uncontrollably.

Her sister turned to Sonia. “If you could read so much from my horoscope, perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me where he is right now.” She leaned towards Sonia and asked almost defiantly, “Where is my son?”

Sonia smiled at the older woman's challenging look. “I don't need to read your horoscope for that. I'm already aware of the identity of your son, and of his whereabouts! Your son is right here, in this house, isn't he?”

Pradnya stared at Sonia in silence. Then she looked at the figure in the corner and smiled sadly. “Yes,” she admitted softly. “Sushil is my unfortunate son.”

As the words were uttered, all pandemonium broke loose. Medha uttered a loud, hysterical “No!” Kaki, the housekeeper, froze like a statue at the kitchen door. Thunder clapped so deafeningly that everyone jumped, startled, and Revati screamed. Simultaneously a mug crashed. And then, like a masterstroke, the lights went out. The house was plunged into darkness.

“Oh God!” Revati exclaimed. “Gaurav, where are you?”

“Right here!”

“Kaki, get the candles, please!”

“Yes, sir.”

“It's all your fault, Pradnya! You lied to me! You—”

“Shh . . . not now, Medha. Pull yourself together.”

“Is the fuse this side of the hall?” Inspector Divekar asked.

“In the kitchen. I'll check,” Mr. Tupay replied.

As clamor gripped the house, Sonia rose. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the hall for a brief instant. Shadows molded into solid shapes and, casually, Sonia's eyes moved to the corner. The remote figure sat in its dazed state, like a blind man, his hands placed on the table, beside the napkin, a pitiful, melancholy outline. She was about to move when someone banged into her. An apology sprang to her lips but was curbed by a sudden ear-splitting sound. The shot was followed by an agonized scream of a woman.

“What happened!” someone yelled.

“Don't move, anybody! Ritesh, show me the main electricity switch. Jatin, move towards the kitchen,” Inspector Divekar snapped orders in the darkness.

A cold gust of wind made Sonia shiver. Minutes later, the hall was flooded with lights. She blinked at the glare.

“Pradnya Aunty!” Revati screamed.

All eyes were riveted on Pradnya, who lay in a crumpled, awkward heap on the sofa. A dull red mark was soaking her off-white blouse. Inspector Divekar pushed his way through the horror-struck family members and checked her pulse.

“Alive,” he observed tersely. “The bullet grazed the right shoulder. The impact and pain made her faint. I'll call the Doctor immediately.”

While Sonia and Ritesh Tupay did their best to arrest the flow of blood, the Inspector called for medical aid. It took a while for the Doctors to make their way through the storm, but soon Pradnya was driven away in an ambulance.

As the ambulance disappeared into the night, Medha dissolved into bitter tears. “What in heavens is happening in this house! I hope to God she lives! I really don't care if she lied or kept secrets, but she must live! I must go to the hospital. . . .”

“She'll be fine, dear. Just stay calm. And you will go to the hospital once this matter is cleared up,” her husband consoled.

“But who shot at her? And why?”

“I hope Inspector Divekar will have an answer to that most crucial question.”

The Inspector glanced at Sonia, who was staring at the door where Kaki stood.

“That is the kitchen, adjoining the hall, isn't it?” she asked the housekeeper. “Can I take a look?”

Sonia headed towards the kitchen, followed by Inspector Divekar and Jatin. Kaki made way for them to pass through into the huge room. An oval jute rug covered the stone slabs of the floor. On the wall opposite, closets curved round a long cooking platform. A dining table was placed beside another door. Sonia opened this door and immediately a gush of wet wind swept into the room. She shut the door at once, shivering. Her gaze glided along the floor and caught a small pool of water, at the bottom of the wall. Just above the puddle of water was the main electric switch of the house.

The water trailed out of the kitchen. With a frown of concentration, Sonia followed it to the corner table in the hall. Another puddle glistened under Sushil's chair. He remained motionless, his eyes closed and the napkin on his lap. Nonplussed, Sonia returned to the kitchen and stood in the middle of the room. Inspector Divekar was studying two coffee mugs on the table. He touched them. They were warm.

“Kaki, did someone have coffee in the kitchen a while ago?” he asked.

“Yes, the gardener came in, wet and shivering, so I offered him some coffee. Then I went out into the hall to collect the empty mugs. That's when the lights went out.”

“But he wasn't in the kitchen when the lights were switched on?”

“No. Actually, I didn't even think of him. My first thought was naturally for my Sushil. But poor Sushil was right there, as unconcerned and detached as ever. The gardener must have left to check if everything was okay outside.”

“Yes, quite likely,” the Inspector agreed.

As Inspector Divekar continued his examination of the kitchen, Sonia took her place on the sofa in the hall, thinking very hard. Medha was sobbing softly now and the two lovers were talking in low tones. Jatin took the seat beside Sonia.

“Anything I can do, Boss?”

“Any ideas?”

“The gardener?”

Sonia nodded silently. She wished she were back in her office with the music blaringly eliminating the unnecessary details. Quite unexpectedly, a scene from a film knocked on her mind. The hero is traveling in a train and a blind beggar passes him, singing an old song. The hero listens for a few minutes, then drops a coin in the beggar's extended palm. The coin is not a reward for the quality of the man's singing but because the song has triggered some hidden memory in him. It had deeply touched a core, a sentiment, she recalled. The scene stuck in her brain. . . .

Her hand casually riffled through the horoscopes lying on the glass centre table and she flicked them open, one by one. Suddenly, she stiffened. A finger twirled a lock of her blunt cut, as she bent her head over a horoscope. The seconds ticked by. Jatin waited, an expression of awe and respect on his face. He knew his boss's mind was racing and calculating. Finally, she raised her head and he caught the full impact of the triumphant glitter in her eyes.

“Jatin. I need to speak to everyone. Not Sushil, of course. Kaki can stay with him. But not here. Find out if we can meet in a quiet room. Perhaps a study?”

Minutes later, Sonia, Jeevan Uncle, and Jatin were shown into a spacious, thickly carpeted study. Maroon velvet–cushioned armchairs surrounded a huge teakwood table. Mr. and Mrs. Tupay seated themselves opposite the Inspector and Jatin. Gaurav settled himself behind the table, while Revati leaned casually against it. Sonia paced the floor.

“Are we just going to chew over the issue?” Ensconced in a deep chair, Inspector Divekar raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Or do you have an answer to this riddle?”

“Possibly, if I can straighten the muddle in my head,” Sonia replied. Her gaze took in each member of the family. “That's what I'm going to do, try to clear the muddle. And I want you all to listen and help me. One thing puzzles me immensely. Something was expected to happen tonight—I mean, everyone was waiting—subconsciously—for some kind of incident, but it was on Revati's account.” Sonia stopped pacing and studied the girl. “Revati was getting the threatening letters and that was the reason why you were here in the first place, Jeevan Uncle.”

“That's true,” Inspector Divekar acknowledged.

“But it was Pradnya Joshi who turned out to be tonight's victim! Why? There are several theories to that. First, the culprit had planned this attack all along. Second, someone entirely different pulled this stunt, capitalizing on the already strained situation. And third, it was a spur-of-the-moment change of plan on the part of the culprit. If you choose the last option, then the question arises—what made the culprit change his mind? Obviously, something did—was it something that transpired during the evening? Something that he or she heard?”

“My theory is that this is an outside job,” Inspector Divekar stated firmly. “After all, we cannot ignore that puddle of water under the main switch and near the table.”

“You mean the gardener?”

“On pretense of getting a cup of coffee he came inside, switched off the lights, then approached the table, fired at Revati as was his intention all along, but missed in the dark.”

“And then left through the kitchen door,” Sonia completed, nodding. “I did feel a cold gust of wind in the dark. But someone also banged into me a split second before I heard the shot. Someone in direct range of Pradnya, with a deliberate intention of harming her!”

“So you mean . . .”

Sonia faced the assembled group of people. “I am merely trying to piece together a distorted picture, trying to make it a whole with some sense. We have some pretty good evidence of what happened here tonight, though at the moment nothing seems to have bearing on anything else! Someone banged into me, a gust of wind, and pools of water in two different spots. Now let's rearrange the course of events in the form of a story.

“Actually, it was when we were discussing Pradnya's horoscope that I got the first hint of something being amiss. She was talking about her former fiancé when she halted and stared at the window. She seemed shocked, as if she'd seen a ghost. She clearly saw something or someone outside. I believe it was the gardener, looking in at the window. He came in to have a cup of coffee. He waited until Kaki went out into the hall and then he quickly moved to the switch and turned off the lights. Coming into the hall, he banged into me, fired at Pradnya, then escaped through the kitchen door.”

“But why Pradnya?” Jatin asked. “I mean, what motive could the gardener possibly have to shoot Pradnya?”

“Because Pradnya recognized him when she saw him at the window,” Sonia answered. “He was her fiancé, the thief who made off with her jewels and left her pregnant!”

“What!” Jatin exclaimed.

“Her fiancé! What would he be doing here?” Medha Tupay asked incredulously.

“You could be right,” the Inspector accepted thoughtfully.

“But there's a hitch in this story. A point which had been bothering me,” Sonia added reflectively. “If the gardener shot Pradnya, what about Revati and those threatening letters? Could that mean that there were two different people involved in this business? But this incident seems too hinged together to be played a coincidental part by two strangers. Then there's also that pool of water at Sushil's feet. How could it have got there? It surely was an important clue. Therefore, I reconsidered the evidence. There's only one way that puddle could have found its way under the table. Unless Sushil himself went out in the rain and returned to his seat . . .”

“That's impossible!” Revati ruled out.

“Sushil does not go unattended anywhere at all,” Mr. Tupay explained.

“He has to be led everywhere. How can he just get up and go out in the rain like a normal person?” Medha protested. “Don't you see, he's unaware of what's happening around him. He's like a child, lost in his own world, he's unsound of mind.”

Sonia quietly absorbed the spontaneous defense of the family members. It was obvious that they loved Sushil a lot and felt deep sympathy for him.

“Yes, I know,” she agreed gently. “That leaves us just one other solution. Someone who had been out in the rain had taken the same position as Sushil. To be precise, sitting in Sushil's chair!”

“But Sushil was there all along! You saw him and so did Kaki,” Jatin argued.

“Precisely. And that was how I began thinking, I mean really thinking. All evening I had this odd feeling that I was participating in some kind of charade, a drama being enacted before my eyes. There were characters in the foreground and in the background. Initially I concentrated on those who were obviously active. But gradually others—the subtle ones screened either by their absence or immobility—came sharply into focus. I had been seeing things, hearing them, gathering disjointed information from voluntary expressions and forced confessions. The links were available, ready to be gleaned and put in a logical sequence of a composite whole. Revati and Sushil growing up together as close friends, Revati's engagement, Sushil going crazy, the threatening notes. Facts which could be coerced into a sensible whole. And that's exactly what I'm going to do now. Reconstruct the story.”

Sonia's gaze swept across the room, resting fleetingly on each of the family members. Mr. Tupay—dignified and composed; Medha—nervous and anxious; Revati—excited and restless; and Gaurav—alert and sharp. For a moment, Sonia felt a deep wave of sympathy for each of them.

“Sushil and Revati grew up together,” Sonia began. “Sushil was in love with Revati, but she was unaware of it. When she decided to marry Gaurav, Sushil almost lost his mind in sorrow. Rejection gave rise to ungovernable jealousy. One day, in his distraught state, Sushil met his real father, a man who fed him a lot of poisonous crap about the mother he'd never known, without disclosing her name. The two decided to join forces. His father stayed on as a gardener. Under his father's criminal influence, Sushil sent the threatening notes to bust up the engagement. Together they planned this evening, which would be a sort of poetic conclusion to his rejected love for Revati. Revati was totally unaware that her life was hanging on a thread of decision. She had to either quit marrying Gaurav or face Sushil's bullet. Yes, I'm quite sure, that was his intention.” Sonia faced Revati, who stared at her with wide, frightened eyes. The young girl's face was very pale. Gaurav immediately grasped her hand in a comforting grip.

Sonia continued. “When Astrology forced some startling revelations, Sushil discovered his real mother. Remember how the mug slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor when Pradnya admitted that Sushil was her son? Her revelation stunned him. His hate for her was stronger than his love for Revati, so instead of using the gun on Revati, as he'd intended from the beginning, he fired at Pradnya, the mother who had abandoned him.”

“I don't believe all this,” Medha muttered, incredulously. “Sushil would never do something like that. Apart from the fact that he cannot!”

“Hmm . . . interesting,” Inspector Divekar remarked. “But I foresee some major problems. The first one being that Sushil couldn't have been in two places at the same time, since you and Kaki saw him in his seat. Kaki can bear witness to that,” he reminded her.

“We both saw a figure sitting in the dark, at the table. Our eyes were only recollecting what the brain had already stored in it. We both thought it was Sushil, on the assumption that he'd been seated there all evening. Neither of us went close enough to really vouch for the identity of the person sitting there.”

“But how—” Mr. Tupay began.

“Let me explain,” Sonia interrupted. “Whenever I glanced towards Sushil, he was sitting with his napkin on his lap. When the lights went out and my eyes gradually grew accustomed to the dark, I noticed that his hands as well as the napkin were on the table! And when the hall was illuminated once again, his hands and the napkin were back in their original position! Why should the napkin change positions unless it was deliberately moved to unveil something—a pistol, for example? And who would change the position of the napkin without being conspicuous? Sushil, of course. But Sushil had sat like a statue, right under my nose. He hadn't even moved! Then how could the whole drama have been enacted? Something must have transpired in those few confusing minutes immediately after the lights were switched off. What had transpired? Then quite out of the blue, the roar of confusion ceased and the answer streaked across my mind.” Sonia paused to inhale a deep breath. “The man Kaki and I saw was not Sushil!”

“What exactly do you mean?” Jatin exclaimed, clearly bewildered.

“This is ridiculous!” Medha complained querulously, glancing at her husband for support. But Mr. Tupay was studying Sonia intently. Gaurav and Revati stared at her curiously.

“I think you need to explain yourself,” Mr. Tupay told Sonia firmly.

“Let me complete my story. According to plan, the gardener entered the kitchen on the pretext of wanting some coffee. When Kaki left the room, he switched off the lights, then moved swiftly to Sushil's table. There, under the cover of darkness, the two men quickly exchanged places, because it was Sushil who was supposed to pull the trigger. But if anyone checked, it was very important that he be found seated in his place. So the gardener took his position at the table, pretending to be his son. Sushil took the pistol from under his napkin and in the dark banged into me. He shot at Pradnya, hastened to his seat again, and his father slipped out through the kitchen door. That's when I felt the cold gush of wind. When the hall was again illuminated, it was as if Sushil had never budged an inch. The deed had been done, but Sushil, for all appearances, had all along remained in his chair. A most infallible and perfect alibi!”

A loaded silence ensued. The Tupays seemed stunned and even Mrs. Tupay, who had vehemently repudiated all accusations against Sushil, was at a loss for words. Gaurav was regarding Sonia with a new look of respect on his face.

Inspector Divekar frowned deeply into his reflections, staring hard at Sonia.

“The pistol?” he finally asked.

“Once again under the napkin,” Sonia replied.

“And the fact that he is claimed insane by a good many people?”

Sonia smiled and held up Sushil's horoscope. “Moon—the controlling planet of the mind—and Mercury—the planet related to brains and memory—both are in excellent and auspicious conjunction with Jupiter. You wouldn't find a clearer, more logical person with total control over mind and body!”

Inspector Divekar stood up, taking in Sonia's confident stance. Then his eyes flashed his admiration and he gave a nod of acceptance. He wheeled around and, with Jatin and the others in tow, marched out into the hall.

With a sense of immense satisfaction, Sonia relaxed into the study armchair.

The case had been solved.

College boys whizzed past on motorbikes, shouting, “Happy Independence Day!”

Sonia, driving along in her van, waved back at the beaming, youthful faces. Patriotic songs were booming on the loudspeakers all around the city, adding to the heightened national sentiments in everyone's heart.

The morning sun filtered through a light drizzle, spreading a heavenly glow on the city. What a beautiful day it was! Sonia breathed in the air deeply. It felt fresh and clean and smelt of wet soil. She smiled with satisfaction. She loved peaceful Pune!

At her office gate, Sonia halted, as a group of teachers, attired in creaseless white saris, walked past. Uniformed school boys and girls trailed obediently behind them, chattering noisily. Each one of them carried a miniature paper flag of India. These children are the future of our country, she thought idly. Do they really understand what freedom means and what it cost us? As the crowd disappeared, Sonia maneuvered the van into the parking. She took a minute to examine the rosebuds in the garden, listened to the Cuckoo sing melodiously, then climbed the three steps to her office. Television sounds emerged loud and clear from the inside. Jatin had begun the morning well! Sonia let herself in and stared at her assistant. He was dressed in a ceremonious spotless white khadi kurta and pajama, and even matching footwear of Kolhapuri chappals.

“Happy Independence Day, Boss!” Jatin greeted Sonia cheerfully, handing her a plastic saffron-white-green flag.

“Thank you, Jatin! You look different today.” Sonia smiled, accepting the tricolour flag which was pasted on a stick.

He glanced down at his clothes with pleasure. “The occasion deserved special effort—It's Independence Day after all. I even attended flag hoisting in our housing colony.”

“Good. I'm going to place this flag on my almanac shelf!”

“And I'm going to put this one on my Tele, so as to remind me that I owe my present democratic existence to freedom fighters who lost their lives for a free country!” Jatin announced, raising the other flag in his hand.

“Good idea. Watching the celebrations?” she asked, glancing at the TV.

“Yes, the 15th August Independence Day celebrations at the Red Fort, in Delhi.”

Sonia stood beside Jatin and viewed the stiff, alert figures of the Navy, Army, and Air Force battalions standing in attention, awaiting the arrival of the Prime Minister. He arrived soon enough, responding to the Guard of Honor with a salute. Then, amidst a reverent silence, he hoisted the flag. The tricolor fluttered gracefully in the wind as the crowd began the national anthem—Jana Gana Mana. Then the Prime Minister took his place behind a bulletproof dais and began his speech.

Celebrations were in full swing all over the country amidst tight security which had been spiked, because of suspected terrorist attacks. Going by the enthusiastic thousands that had gathered to watch the flag hoisting at the Red Fort—terrorists or no terrorists—it was clear that nothing dampened the patriotism of the Indians.

“Isn't it wonderful? I experience such immense thrill to watch all this—look, I have goose bumps on my arms.” Jatin showed her his prickly skin. “I never miss the Red Fort flag hoisting. It reminds me—”

“I know,” Sonia interrupted. “Free spirit; duty; what you owe to this country—”

“You got it!” Jatin nodded. “And that's exactly why I also attend office on 15th August, when the whole of India has a holiday!”

“You're a good boy, Jatin,” Sonia conceded. “But I thought it was more the fear of losing a likely case than your spirit of vacationing that made you refuse to stay away from this office even on Sundays! And it was your choice to come here today, not mine.”

“I know, Boss.” Jatin grinned sheepishly.

Sonia smiled back at him. “And that's why I shall allow you to continue viewing the celebrations for a while.”

“Thank you,” Jatin acknowledged. “You're a good boss. And I'm not the only one who thinks so. There is a special bouquet and a newspaper write-up on your table.” His impish grin spoke volumes.

Sonia raised an eyebrow inquiringly, then stepped into the inner office. Immediately Nidhi demanded attention with welcoming meows and Sonia had to put her curiosity on hold, until the cat was fondled and was sufficiently satisfied. Then she turned to the bunch of roses placed on the table in a vase. The card said—“Happy Independence Day! From Mohnish.” A newspaper lay beside the bouquet and Sonia quickly scanned through the article circled on it. With every word, her amazement increased. It was a glowing report on Sonia Samarth's excellent investigative capacities. Courtesy Mohnish Rai.

Sonia perched on her chair thoughtfully. Her eyes inadvertently swept over the article again. She didn't know what to make of this approach. What did Mohnish have in mind? It was a kind gesture, of course, and she had to appreciate it, without any doubt. The report on the Patkar and Tupay cases was pretty accurate. She had to give Mohnish his due. Besides, the article was a ray of hope amidst the recent spate of news write-ups on Stellar Investigations. No names had been mentioned in those, but the jokes on Astrology and disrespectful comments on how people treat Criminology rankled. The remarks were most unfair, biased, and unjustified. At least Mohnish had tried to represent her side of the story. He had given an unprejudiced view of her technique in the cases. Sonia touched the beautiful peach-coloured roses and, rising, placed the vase near the window. Nidhi meowed, rolling lazily on her pillow. Sonia sat down beside her and fondled her.

“Yes, my lucky charm. What next?” she whispered to the cat, adjusting the little leather collar around her neck.

Nidhi stared unblinkingly up at her mistress, held out her paw, and drew Sonia's hand to her face. Sonia laughed. “I get it! You want me to take a break so that I can give you some attention, don't you? But can I afford breaks?”

In response, the cat licked her hand lovingly.

The intercom buzzed and Sonia pressed the button on the instrument. “Yes, Jatin?”

“Mr. Mohnish Rai to see you” came Jatin's crisp reply.

Sonia straightened with a start and then blushed at her own uneasiness. Now what? She ought to see Mohnish and thank him for the article, she told herself sensibly. However, she wouldn't let him cajole her into an interview if he behaved as high-handedly as he had the last time, her stubborn side decided. Her feminine side quickly set into action, passing a comb through her already immaculate hair, adding a touch of pink lipstick, and glancing critically but not without satisfaction at her reflection in her little mirror. The ice-cream pink salwar kameez—delicate but not impractical—sat well on her trim, fit body. She looked efficient and professional. The only thing she wasn't pleased about was the eager, anticipatory look in her honey-brown eyes.

Sitting in her chair, she took a deep steadying breath, then asked Jatin to send Mr. Rai in. The door opened and Mohnish strode in.

“Happy Independence Day!” the journalist greeted brightly. “I'm glad you're working today and consented to meet me.” The dimple in his cheek was already on exhibit as he took a chair.

“Well, I had to thank you for . . . for . . . this.” Sonia waved her hand at the roses and the newspaper article. “Though, why you went to all that trouble . . .”

“No trouble whatsoever!” Mohnish brushed her words away. “It's my duty to report anything exceptional—whether it's an individual, an event, or both! And I specifically wanted that article to be published today because I think it goes with the basic concept of independence—a unique representation of the real free and emancipated woman of India.”

“And the flowers?”

“That is my instinctive response to someone beautiful and intelligent!”

She could do nothing to prevent a blush from stealing over her face! “Thank you,” she responded with a smile.

He was certainly good-looking and very charming. And his voice was exceptional. He was perfect in the role of Reporter and Television Presenter. But what drew him to this office? she wondered.

“What brings you here today?” she asked. “More curiosity? I can satiate that right away—I love to read, meditate, go for long walks,” she spieled off. “I love listening to music, sometimes I dance all night! I celebrate Christmas and I believe Santa comes on Christmas Eve with gifts!”

“Christmas? You're a Hindu, aren't you?” Mohnish asked instantly, then grinned good-naturedly. “Thank you, I'm highly enlightened. And curiosity is a long-lasting reason—I admit I'm very curious about you; in fact, you intrigue me. But, I'm afraid, your brief bio-data is not going to easily douse my interest in you. Instead, it has now fanned it. However, I shall tackle my personal issues at a later, more convenient stage—today I am here on business!”

“Really?” Sonia's eyes instantly flared with interest.

“Yes. Recognizing your inherent talent at solving mysteries, I have brought you one myself,” he replied.

Sonia searched his face for sarcasm, but finding none, allowed herself to relax into her natural professionalism. “Do you mean a personal case—a problem?”

“Well, yes, but that we shall tackle later, when you're less busy. This is a different mystery.”

“What kind of mystery? Something to do with the Owl?”

“No—though that is definitely something else we may discuss one day. Have you been reading about the Kapoor case in the papers?”

“Yes. And I've heard about it from Inspector Divekar.”

“A most interesting story. You may be aware of the details but I'll just run through them, since it's important to do a little revision. A month ago, Mrs. Kapoor went to the Police Station to report her husband missing. They had had a fight and Mr. Kapoor had walked out in the middle of the night and vanished. He had this habit of walking out on her and returning after several days, so she didn't worry initially. However, after a week had elapsed, Mrs. Kapoor began to fret and thought it wise to report his absence.”

“Unfortunately, the very next day, Mr. Kapoor was found dead on a railway track. An apparent case of suicide. Mrs. Kapoor claimed that he was constantly threatening her that he would one day commit suicide, and for once, he'd actually done it!” Sonia completed the story.

Mohnish nodded. “But that's not all. The widow gave an obituary to the paper with Mr. Kapoor's photograph. Now, this is where I come in. Another woman saw this photograph. She claimed that the man in the photograph was her missing husband! Well, what do you make of that?” Mohnish observed Sonia with narrowed eyes.

She tapped her pen reflectively on the table. “How long have you known this second woman?”

“She's a perfect stranger to me! In fact, she's a stranger to this city. When she—her name's Neha Gulati—saw the dead man's photograph, she was at a loss what to do. Apparently, she feels some kind of distrust for the police, so she went instead to the nearest social service, Naari Kendra—you know, that home for homeless women. The lady-in-charge happens to be a friend of mine and I was sitting with her when this woman arrived.”

“I see . . . And you thought this would be a perfect case for me?” Sonia arched a dark eyebrow inquiringly.

“I thought that Neha needed a fair hearing and representation. Will you take her case on my behalf?”

Sonia held Mohnish's penetrating gaze without blinking. “Are you convinced that Neha Gulati was not lying?”

“There isn't the least bit of doubt in my mind. I'm convinced that she was speaking the truth. Poor though she appears, she seems absolutely genuine to me. But, of course, you have to trust my judgement for it.” He shrugged eloquently.

“I think I'll try my hand at that—I mean, trusting your judgement!” Sonia smiled, and he grinned.

“Thanks! Can I call Neha in?”

Neha Gulati was in her early thirties, short, clad in a crumpled cotton salwar kameez which had seen better days. Her hair was rolled untidily into a bun; a red bindi clung crookedly to her forehead, which already displayed a smear of sindoor—red powder married women wear in their hair parting—and she continually fidgeted with her dupatta, wrapping it around her head. She carried a small cheap suitcase. But for all the signs of poverty, there was a real dignity about her, which struck Sonia. Mohnish introduced the two women, requesting Neha to sit down and narrate her story again. Jatin settled down with a pen and pad.

“I live in a small town in Uttar Pradesh,” she began in Hindi, and with a tiny start of surprise, Sonia realized that she was literate. “My husband—Tusharji—did all sorts of odd jobs, but he could never stick to anything permanent. One day, he told me that he had bagged a fantastic job, one which would change our fortune. The only hitch was that he would have to leave Uttar Pradesh and go to Pune. I was unhappy about this job but I had no say in the matter. In our community, we women simply obey orders of our in-laws. My husband went off and wrote to me occasionally. But in his letters he never once mentioned his job, where he was working or living. This was almost six months ago. For the last two months, I've had no letter from him, no news, and I began to get worried. I thought perhaps he'd been thrown out of his employment and that he was ashamed to tell me about it. So I set out to bring him back home. But . . . but . . . the moment I arrived in the city, I bought some Potatovada to eat, wrapped in this newspaper . . . and I saw . . . this—” Neha's voice broke as she indicated the photograph in a soiled local newspaper.

Jatin immediately produced a glass of water and Neha accepted it gratefully. Sonia and Mohnish glanced at each other. His face held a questioning look. Sonia took the newspaper from Neha, studying the obituary.

“I understand your predicament, Neha,” Sonia sympathized, “but tell me, are you positive that this man is Tushar Gulati?”

“I can swear on God that this man is my husband!”

“And do you know why this photograph has been printed in the paper?”

Neha sniffed tearfully and nodded. “Mohnishsaheb has explained to me. But how is it possible? How can my husband be in any way connected with this Kapoor woman? And they . . . they say he is dead? I don't understand! I simply don't understand! Oh, what am I to do? I'm so terribly confused!” She choked over her tears.

Sonia did her best to comfort Neha but the woman seemed inconsolable. Finally, Sonia gestured at Mohnish to come out into the other room, leaving Jatin to do his bit as she carefully closed the door behind her.

“What do you think now?” Mohnish asked.

“I'm glad I trusted your judgement,” Sonia replied with a half smile. “That poor woman is almost broken with frustration and misery. Where will she put up, while we adopt our course of action?”

“At the Naari Kendra, of course!”

“Good, because this may take a few days. I shall have to consult Inspector Divekar since he is handling the Kapoor case. It could be a rather unpleasant situation—finding out if the dead man was indeed Tushar Gulati. Bigamy is not uncommon these days, you know, but proving it, especially when the man is dead, could be extremely disagreeable!”

“Do you think this is what it is—Bigamy?” Mohnish asked curiously.

“It is a possibility one must consider. However, if it's my intuitive opinion that you are seeking, then no, I don't think it's Bigamy. I suspect foul play. But my suspicions, until proved, are quite baseless.”

“So what's your next line of action?” Mohnish asked, folding his arms.

“To meet Mrs. Kapoor, find out what I can about her married life, if she permits me to, of course. In the meanwhile, I think you should take Neha to the Kendra.”

“But what about her horoscope? Don't you need it to proceed on the case?” he asked, a trace of innocence in his tone.

For the first time, Sonia burst out laughing—a healthy, bubbly, youthful laugh that chimed like a bell. Mohnish waited patiently for the peal of amusement to subside.

“Well?” he asked. “May I share the joke?”

“Actually—I'm sorry—I didn't mean to be rude.” She looked up at him with twinkling eyes. “It's just your assumption—”

“But you're the one who works with horoscopes!”

“Yes, I do,” Sonia said in a more sober tone. “But it's not as if I hunt for horoscopes at the first scent of a crime! I treat Astrology like a map when I arrive in a city—a map that will guide me and help me navigate myself in the desired direction. However, before I embark on the journey to that city, I need to gather information—knowledge about the journey as well as my destination. Initially, I work with facts and investigation. Then if I reach a deadlock or a fork in the road, I use my map—which shows me the precise route or alternate options. At the moment I am still at the predestination stage and I have no intentions of vaulting over facts!”

“Got it!” Mohnish grinned sheepishly.

“I'm not saying I may not need Neha's or Tushar's horoscope,” Sonia pointed out. “I may resort to Astrology, at a later stage, after I have given enough opportunity and scope to my fact-finding, investigative capacities and when I need to reconfirm or reconstitute my findings!”

“You're trying to tell me that Astrology is not the magic wand most people might make it out to be. In your policy, Astrology goes hand in hand with the facts.”

“Precisely. Some may regard my technique of solving cases with a great deal of suspicion and perhaps even disbelief, because they don't believe in the science of Astrology. But, to tell you the truth, such an attitude bothers me the least. Such people are merely unaware that the Vedic Astrology principles and predictions are the outcome of thousands of years of statistical study of the magnetic cosmic forces and their effects on our lives. Anyway, my total belief in the science of Astrology sanctions my modus operandi. To put it plainly, Astrology delivers the goods to those who believe and study it, and I believe, study, and practice it!” She did not add that she'd been rewarded with results. Because of Astrology, she had seen her mental confusion dissolve, her arguments keel over, and answers emerge out of a blank horizon. No, she wouldn't tell him about it. Words would merely undermine the value of her personal experience—a premise secluded from prying eyes. Instead she turned to him and smiled. “Let's not waste any time. Our Independence Day is surely an auspicious day to knuckle down and begin cracking this problem!”

Mohnish straightened with alacrity. “Right! I'll be on my way! And you'll keep me posted on your progress? I'll call you up from time to time.”

Sonia nodded.

Mohnish hesitated. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“Actually, I ought to thank you for trusting me to find Neha's husband,” she responded.

“That was not a problem. Surprisingly, I do trust you.” Mohnish stared at Sonia, as if gauging her reaction. Then he smiled. “Well, see you later, then.”

Sonia stood still for a moment, feeling his presence even after he'd left. Which was odd . . .

Jatin stepped out into the outer office. “Neha is okay now,” he informed Sonia. “But, Boss, I was right, wasn't I?”

“Right?”

“About not taking a holiday on Independence Day? We have a new case!” Jatin pointed out, unable to contain his excitement.

“You were absolutely right!” Sonia agreed wholeheartedly.

The autorickshaw—a three-wheeler scooter—trundled over the bumpy Sinhagad road. The smell of diesel seemed to fill the auto, as it chortled and grunted noisily. Seated on the brown cushioned seat which had a big tear in the middle, revealing the stuffed cotton underneath, Sonia glanced outside. Her eyes flew from the piece of paper in her hand to the passing buildings. Although Inspector Divekar had taken a day to ferret out all the details of the case for her, he had given her exact directions to the Kapoor residence.

Vehicles zipped past, unruly and uncontrollable in the morning rush, but the driver of the autorickshaw nonchalantly managed to avoid brushing sides with his road-fellows. He whistled, unconcerned, as the vehicle jumped and steadied over small ditches.

“Slow down a bit, please,” Sonia told the rickshawwala. The driver slowed, passing a bakery, a laundry, a chemist, and a vegetable mini-market. “You can stop here,” she said, as she spotted the Kapoor house.

The auto jerked and halted by the side of the road.

“How much do I pay you?” Sonia asked, as she rooted around in her handbag for a copy of the tariff card.

The driver, in a khaki shirt, and a handkerchief tied around his forehead, glanced at the meter.

“Thirty rupees,” he replied casually.

“Thirty!” Sonia exclaimed. “Are you sure? Where's your tariff card? It's supposed to be pasted on the back of your seat.”

“Madam, have some trust!” the rickshawwala remarked a little indignantly, in the regional language, Marathi. “Children tear it off, so I can't put the tariff card on the seat.”

Sonia found her card and checked the rate. The fellow was charging two rupees more than the normal rate. “It's twenty-eight rupees!” she told him sternly.

The unabashed rickshawwala smiled carelessly. “What, Madam, everything is so expensive, can't afford anything, and then, what is two rupees for people like you?”

“Why, do I look as if I grow money on my head, instead of hair?” Sonia asked him sweetly. She slapped the exact amount on his hand and stepped out of the auto.

The rickshawwala shook his head and drove away, muttering at the miserliness of rich people. Sonia threw a resigned look after the receding auto. Basically, she hated haggling over trivial matters. But this was more a matter of principle than just two rupees. Anyway, with her van gone for maintenance for the day, she had little choice but to travel by public transport. With a sigh, she turned to the Kapoor residence.

For a few minutes, she observed the house, before passing through its small, rusted gate. It was a ramshackle building, looking almost as if it had been hit by a gigantic hammer. The walls were discoloured and revealed damages. Certainly a very old house in need of serious repairs.

Sonia walked up the overgrown path and rang the doorbell. Immediately, a melodious tinkling, most incongruous with the dilapidated structure, receded into the house. Footsteps hastened towards the door and it was opened by a housecleaner.

“Madam is not at home,” she explained, in Marathi, before Sonia could utter a word.

“When will Mrs. Kapoor be back?”

“She's gone out with Jaidevsaheb and said she would be back soon.”

“In that case, I'd like to wait for her,” Sonia replied.

The maid shrugged and silently made way for Sonia to enter. The girl was attired in a red printed cotton sari with the bottom half of the pleats tucked in at the waist to avoid hindrance. Apparently, she was sweeping the house.

The room was small—a neat sitting room with relatively new furniture. A small two-seater sofa set, a thick red square rug, and a landscape on the wall comprised the decorations of the room. On the wall opposite hung a garlanded photograph, that of a smiling near-profile of a man. A backlight shone on his shining hair. It was obvious that the photo had been arranged and clicked in a professional studio.

“This is Mr. Kapoor, isn't it?” Sonia indicated the photo with a hand.

“Yes, he passed away just recently, poor man,” the maid responded sympathetically. “Did you know him?”

“No—But I'd like to know about him. You see, I am an Investigator and—”

“You mean Jasoos—like in films!” The maid excitedly tucked her sari more firmly around the waist and seated herself comfortably on the floor. “But you don't look like a jasoos, an Investigator.”

“No, I guess I don't,” Sonia agreed with a rueful smile. “Have you been working here for long?”

“Ever since Madam arrived here. She and Saheb were looking for a bai—a maid, so they spoke to the Kulkarnis, who told their maid, who told my sister. She said to me—‘Uma, you've lazed around for too long, here's a nice job, take it!' So I accepted it! And I've been so fortunate, both have been such wonderful people!”

“And when did you first come to this house—I mean, how long ago?”

“Sometime in March. I remember, I asked Madam if she wanted me to help her make pickles or anything else but she wasn't interested. She never made jams or pickles, like the rest of us women. I think all the time she simply thought about Kapoorsaheb!”

“Was Mr. Kapoor unwell?”

“Oh no, he was a fine sturdy man and healthy! But alcohol can ruin a person!” Uma spoke knowledgeably. “Not that he used to drink all day. He drank occasionally, but when he did drink, there was no controlling him. They had loud quarrels, so that all the neighbors could hear them shout and screech at each other! We fight too—my husband and I—but even we maintain a kind of decency! At least my husband never goes to other women with his worries!”

“You mean that Mr. Kapoor was in the habit of going to other women?”

“Oh no!” Uma exclaimed hastily. “I meant that he would behave funny. You won't mention this to anyone? You look like a decent woman, yourself, so I can tell you the truth! Kapoorsaheb would come to me and blabber a lot of strange things—I blush to tell you what he would say in his drunken state! He told me that I reminded him of someone. That he had lots of money and would give it all to me. It was very indecent talk for a man of his stature and class, with a beautiful wife like Madam and me just a poor housecleaner! But he was a nice man. I'll never forget what he did one day. He came into the kitchen after one of those terrible fights, held my hand, and slapped some money onto it, asking me to use it all on my children! It was very wonderful of him, but of course, I didn't take his money. I gave it to Madam. After all, it isn't right to take advantage of an intoxicated man. Poor though we are, we have our principles!”

“Yes, of course,” Sonia agreed with a smile. “But how was Mr. Kapoor when he was sober?”

“Oh, a fine man—spoke in the most respectful and dignified manner, never even glanced in my direction. What a difference drinks made to his personality—it was shocking!”

“And did you ever hear him mention committing suicide—when Mr. and Mrs. Kapoor quarreled, for example?”

“Suicide?” Uma's eyes flickered thoughtfully to the garlanded photograph. “Only once. I'd just come in and I heard Madam telling him never to mention suicide again. She was awfully upset and sobbing and I felt quite sorry for her. But he was a strong man, Kapoorsaheb, and I never thought he would take his own life! But he did, didn't he?”

Sonia nodded thoughtfully. “Tell me about Jaidevsaheb. Is he Mrs. Kapoor's brother?”

Uma burst out into laughter. “Hardly! He's their family friend—the only friend I ever saw around here—apart from the neighbors, of course. A decent, polite man, highly educated and always around to help the Kapoors.”

“How did Mr. Kapoor and Mr. Jaidev get along?”

“Oh, famously. Quite often, it was Jaidevsaheb who would resolve their quarrels and put Kapoorsaheb to bed. They slept in separate rooms, you know.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I've noticed—” She halted abruptly and stood up swiftly. “Madam is here! Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks.” Sonia turned to meet the tall, slim lady who stood at the door, staring at her in surprise.

Clad in an off-white sari, Mrs. Kapoor approached Sonia with quick strides. A pair of light brown eyes flashed a curious mix of hostility and bafflement. The widow's straight hair fell in a loose, silky curtain on her back. A tiny mole on her right cheek added a hint of mystery to the beautiful, flushed face.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded softly.

Sonia quickly introduced herself as Inspector Divekar's niece. “I'm here on routine inquiry,” she explained, carefully masking her quickened interest. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Uma had slipped away.

Mrs. Kapoor instantly dropped her unreceptive attitude and smiled sadly. “I'm sorry—I mistook you for one of my pestering neighbors. Kind though they are, they do overdo the condolence bit—please, sit down. How can I help you?” She took the armchair opposite Sonia's.

“I won't take much time. I simply need to ask a few questions. I know you must be upset and I really don't wish to intrude on your privacy any more than I must!”

“It's a trying period, you know. Apart from the grief, there is the melancholy thought of a long, dreary, lonely life. . . .” Mrs. Kapoor's eyes moistened.

“I can imagine. But I understand that you—if I may say so—you didn't exactly share a cordial relationship with your husband?” Sonia asked cautiously.

Mrs. Kapoor sighed. “You must've heard reports from the neighbors,” she stated simply. “And I cannot blame them. Dhiresh—my poor husband—did exhibit a massive temper from time to time and he had no qualms about expressing it loud enough to shake the earth. But I love him a lot and he loves me, too. However, he would sometimes go through bouts of depression. He would frighten me—talking about killing himself, about walking away from my life forever—and . . . and . . . then he went and . . . and . . . did it! I still can't believe it!”

Sonia allowed her to compose herself. “You have recently moved to Pune?” she ventured, after a respectable interval had elapsed.

“Yes. We lived in Delhi—my husband changed his job and so we came to Pune. Dhiresh . . . he had a tendency of changing his jobs, rather too often for my liking—but I suppose it was his flaring temper and his reputation—anyway, this was the only decent place we could afford. The rent was reasonable and the area good. Besides, Mr. Jaidev—my husband's friend who'd offered to take him up as a partner in business—lived in the same locality. Mr. Jaidev has been of invaluable help to me!”

“In Delhi, what did he do? I mean, where did your husband work?”

“In a bank. He was the Manager,” Mrs. Kapoor said briefly.

Sonia paused before she remarked softly, “Mrs. Kapoor, I need to ask you an important question, please do not take it wrongly. Did Mr. Kapoor have a girlfriend? Or if I may put it crudely, another wife back in Delhi?”

“That's preposterous!” Mrs. Kapoor's beautiful eyes flashed in anger. “Whatever may be his reputation otherwise, Dhiresh is the most loyal husband I ever saw! He never looks at another woman and in spite of everything, he loves me a lot!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.” Sonia rose to take her leave. “Thank you for your co-operation, I hope I don't have to bother you anymore.”

Mrs. Kapoor was struggling to control her fraught emotions, her color slowly returning to normal. She nodded but did not rise. Sonia stood looking down at her for a moment. She did not have the heart to tell her that another woman had claimed her husband. Instead she walked out of the house with a meditative expression on her face.

“How did your interview with Mrs. Kapoor go yesterday? Any theories?” Inspector Divekar asked, on the telephone.

“Actually, yes, a working theory . . . But it's rather premature and I'd rather keep my own counsel for the moment. Jeevan Uncle, will you do me a favour?” Sonia asked. She was at her table, scribbling notes on a pad. Nidhi sat on her lap, curled awkwardly, but refusing to leave her mistress's lap despite the discomfort.

“Shoot!”

“Can you ask Mrs. Kapoor for documents, papers of identification? Anything from her marriage certificate to her ration card, and, of course, horoscopes!”

“Is this another ‘routine checkup' or are you really on to something?”

Sonia heard the smile in her uncle's voice and grinned. “Too soon to confirm either. And yes, I'd like Mr. Jaidev's horoscope, too. After all, he is very closely connected with the family.”

“Oh-oh, do you suspect some kind of a love triangle? Wife wants to marry the friend, so she gets rid of the inconvenient husband?”

“Why not? It does happen, every day, all around us. Although Mrs. Kapoor seemed genuinely in love with her husband, you can never tell! And to say the least, it pays to be skeptical in our line. Anyway, the horoscopes will help establish the relationship, if there is any!”

“I get it. Papers of identification are an excuse to get to the horoscopes.” Inspector Divekar laughed. “My dear girl, trust your instincts, never mind what the world says! Be bold enough to demand what you need! You really have to walk roughshod over a lot of egos, opinions, jokes, criticism, and ill-humour to reach the ultimate goal—results matter, never mind what the process of achievement is!”

“Jeevan Uncle, thank you for that pep talk!” Sonia remarked sincerely. “I'll remember your advice every time I falter in my steps!”

“Good. But what if the Kapoors haven't got their horoscopes made?”

“Quite unlikely, unless they are total atheists. But if that's so, you can ask for their exact birth date, time, and place.”

“Right. The horoscopes will be with you within the next hour!”

Sonia replaced the receiver just as Jatin walked into the office. “What have you found out?” she asked him.

“The reports are identical. The neighbors are well versed with the Kapoor arguments, since those two never restrained themselves. But when sober, he seemed to care for her. To all appearances, a normal pair of husband and wife—the usual round of fights and then making up. But he did have a tendency to leave her in the lurch and vanish for a few days.”

“Hmm . . . Socializing?”

“In the neighborhood mostly—birthday parties.”

“Standard of living?”

“Comfortable.”

“Any doubts raised or hints pointing towards Mrs. Kapoor and Mr. Jaidev?”

“None.”

Sonia pondered this information. Nidhi uncurled and stretched on her lap. Then, sensing her mistress's unresponsiveness, she reluctantly jumped onto the windowsill. Sonia followed her actions absentmindedly, her thoughts on a different plane. A vision rose involuntarily before Sonia's eyes. Her neighbour's child speaking to her mother. Mother talking to someone else. Impatient child deliberately drawing her mother's face towards herself to demand attention. The image was momentary and gone in a flash. Now, what on earth had brought that incident back to her? Sonia sighed. Her mind had an eccentric and incomprehensible existence of its own!

“How about Neha Gulati?” she asked Jatin. “Did you ask her if she can produce Tushar's horoscope?”

“I did, but naturally enough, she did not have her husband's horoscope in her possession. In fact, she doesn't seem to remember seeing it in years! And she cannot remember Tushar's birth details, either.”

“What about her mother-in-law? She will most undoubtedly remember her son's birth details.”

“Tushar's mother lives in the village up north. Difficult to get to her on phone, and a letter would take too long,” Jatin explained matter-of-factly.

“But what about a telegram? That will be quick enough,” Sonia pointed out.

“I hadn't thought of that! In the age of emails, a telegram seemed to be furthest from my mind!” Jatin conceded with a sheepish expression.

“In a vast and complicated country like ours, you have to conform to any means of communication! Delay does not hamper dependability! Send a telegram immediately asking for the son's birth date, time, and place. And in case there's a problem of literacy, I'm sure the village postman will be useful—they normally are!”

“Very well. Anything else, Boss?”

“Nothing for the moment.”

Just before noon, a small packet was delivered to Sonia's table. Inspector Divekar had been true to his word. A note was attached to the three horoscopes. She was hesitant to part with the originals, so she made out copies, which I am sending. Since my man gave her a very natural and valid reason, she suspected nothing. He also got them written in front of him, so I think it is safe to assume that she didn't try any hanky-panky! Sonia smiled at the note. Jeevan Uncle was a gem.

She turned on the music, and romantic instrumental piano filled the office. It was a tune she liked. The three horoscopes lay on her desk and a ripple of excitement ran through her. She experienced a heady feeling every time she touched a horoscope. It was like the thrill before a journey—only, at such times, the journey was into a person's psyche, making inroads deep into the mind of an individual, reading his secrets as clearly as if he himself had bared his heart to her. She enjoyed the power that strode straight into her hands. The power to gauge and to study human nature for an undeniably excellent cause. Certainly, no amount of displeasure and criticism was going to demoralize her or cramp her style. She had a gold mine in her hands and she knew perfectly well how to put it to good use. The music was already stimulating the most positive thoughts within her, she realized with a smile. She swayed with the romantic soft notes, closing her eyes, allowing the music to envelop her in a magnetic cocoon. Ten minutes later, she opened her eyes and approached the desk, her whole body tingling with anticipation.

Sonia placed Dhiresh Kapoor's horoscope on the left, his wife's in the center, and the third paper on the right. For the next forty-five minutes, the next piece of piano filled the room, first with slow, cautious notes, then rushing on with full, powerful bangs. Nidhi yawned, strolled, rubbed against her mistress's legs, and finally meowed a loud protest at being ignored. It was only when a hand passed over her with a casual disregard for her mood and affection that the protests ceased into low murmurs of perplexity. What could be so important as to occupy her mistress's attention when she, Nidhi, was around?

Sonia stared in fascination at the first two horoscopes. The Moon, Rahu, Mars, and Uranus in Mr. Kapoor's first house. And Neptune and Mars in Mrs. Kapoor's first house, face-to-face with Uranus in her seventh house. A strange couple but most ideally suited! Eccentricity bordering on cruelty! Capable of almost anything—even murder? Sonia frowned, but it was Mr. Dhiresh Kapoor who was dead, and he had committed suicide, not been murdered. Her eyes flicked to the third horoscope. Mr. Jaidev's horoscope. Nothing extraordinary about the career, a clean chit on the character front, and the normal ups and downs in life. Mr. Jaidev seemed a safe type except for the extreme bad phase on the health side. Instinctively, she felt that she ought to warn him—it was a period for accidents, sudden happenings—he needed to look after himself.

Sonia's gaze returned to Kapoor's horoscope and she frowned. Here was a horoscope which showed a distinctive, shady past. The cloud of doubt in her mind began to take the shape of a singular idea. The more she thought of it, the more concrete it seemed to grow! She felt an instinctive distrust for this man. Mr. Kapoor deserved to be checked out.

She buzzed the intercom and Jatin came in immediately. He clapped his hands expressively over his ears and hastened to turn off the music system! “I thought you would never call a lunch break! I'm famished, Boss,” he admitted cheerfully. “Should I order lunch for you?”

“Lunch?” Sonia asked absentmindedly. “No, no, not yet. I want you to do something for me before that!” She barely noticed her assistant's fallen expression as she rattled off instructions at him.

“But why dredge up information on Dhiresh Kapoor? He's dead and no use to us!” Jatin objected.

“Existence is not a precondition to knowledge! Anyway, Dhiresh Kapoor may be dead, but he didn't live in a void. He had a past, a life that was as real as yours or mine. Moreover, the law of nature dictates that our past always overtakes the present to affect our future and the future of our near and dear ones. Mr. Dhiresh Kapoor needn't be an exception to this rule!”

Jatin nodded as he jotted down her instructions. The pen weighed heavily in his starved, weak hand! It was unfair working on an empty stomach. He would have to make this objection clear to his boss in their next official meeting! Feeling most disgruntled, he returned to his table and picked up the receiver and dialed 183 for telephone inquiry. How in heavens was he going to trace the bank numbers!

Nevertheless, half an hour later a very different Jatin rushed into the inner office. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

“Your hunch proved right, Boss! I spoke to the Manager of the bank of Delhi and he gave me a detailed report on their ex-manager Mr. Kapoor! You'll love to hear this! Kapoor was accused of embezzling money from the bank! And the amount is huge! About twenty million rupees!”

“Wow!” Sonia exclaimed. “So what happened?”

“Unfortunately, nothing happened. Before any legal action could be undertaken, Kapoor vanished from Delhi. The police searched high and low for him, but he'd done a clean disappearing act!”

“Obviously, he came here to Pune with the noble intention of starting all over again! But the guilt wouldn't permit him to live peacefully. That's why he committed suicide . . .” Sonia remarked contemplatively. “You know, Jatin, crime is a little like drinking liquid in a moving vehicle. It's very tricky business. You may succeed in drinking a sip or two, but invariably, some of the liquid spills on the floor, or on the dress, leaving telltale marks. Sooner or later, those marks are discovered! How did the Manager react to the news of Kapoor's death?”

“He did not mince words! He thought the man deserved a prison sentence! They had some rather incriminating evidence against him.”

“Did you tell him about Kapoor's suicide?”

“Oh no. He read about it in the papers.”

Sonia paced the floor of the office, meditating deeply. “I wonder if Kapoor's wife knows anything about that money, now that he is dead. I'll have to meet with her again.”

“But, Boss, what about Neha Gulati? Where does she fit in all this mess? Is he or isn't he her husband, Tushar?”

“Honestly, I'm as much in the dark as you are! However, I have formed a vague, foggy picture from the statements of Uma the maid, Neha, and Mrs. Kapoor. The common features were that he frequently changed jobs, was educated, dignified when sober, but spoke of lots of money when drunk. It is now pretty obvious to me that the man who embezzled the money and Mr. Dhiresh Kapoor are one and the same. But is Dhiresh Kapoor Neha's husband, Tushar? There's also the fact that he kept telling Uma that she reminded him of someone—who could it be? It could be Neha, but then, it could be someone else. Yes, there's a possibility that he could be Neha's husband, but I am not confident enough to publicize my conclusion. Something's holding me back—and I simply can't seem to conquer the feeling that I'm way off the mark!”

“But you are gaining ground, Boss!” Jatin said encouragingly.

“Of course we are! Goodness, I can hear hunger rumbling inside me! Why haven't you ordered lunch? How many times have I told you not to skip lunch for work? My brain simply refuses to respond on an empty stomach!”

“Right away!” Jatin hastened out of the room, hiding a smile.

Sonia gazed across the room at Mrs. Kapoor and Mr. Jaidev. The latter was of medium height, a hefty man in his late thirties with a few grey hairs immediately above his forehead. But it was his ever-shifting gaze that struck Sonia. Jaidev's small coal-black eyes seemed to be constantly searching, without focusing on anything particular.

“It's true that my husband was accused of embezzlement,” Mrs. Kapoor conceded in a low voice, “but he didn't do it!”

“How can you be so sure?” Sonia asked the widow gently.

“Oh, because I know my husband!” Mrs. Kapoor exclaimed with sudden spirit. “He would never do anything like that! He told me so and I believe him!”

Sonia frowned. “But if you were so convinced of his innocence, why did you both suddenly leave the city and come to Pune? Why didn't you fight it out and get his name cleared?”

Mrs. Kapoor flashed an appealing glance towards Jaidev, who sat placidly at her side with a non-committal expression on his face. Receiving no aid from him, she turned to Sonia with a sigh.

“Will you believe me if I tell you that I had absolutely no idea why we suddenly left Delhi? My husband simply announced the change and all I did was follow. It was only when we came here that I realized, by and by, that something was not right. My husband had become an entirely different person. One evening, in a moment of acute depression, he confided in me. He was bogged down by the hounding unjust accusations and couldn't face the injustice of it all! I think that was the main reason why he committed suicide. He realized that the badnami—the bad name—would follow him wherever he went!” Mrs. Kapoor said in a sad voice.

Sonia folded her arms. “I'm afraid I still fail to understand why he fled from the accusations instead of taking them by the horns, so to say!”

“You don't understand because you didn't know my husband. Dhiresh was a weak kind of person, unable to cope with the pressures of life, kindhearted, who wouldn't hurt a fly! He found life unbearable if he saw a mother hitting a child or if he saw a child throwing stones at a street dog! He was totally misfit for this hard and cruel world. That's the reason why, when the world turned against him, he took the chance of leaving it forever!” Mrs. Kapoor spoke with a distinctive reverence in her voice.

“Mr. Jaidev, do you agree with . . . this character sketch of your friend?”

“She couldn't have expressed it better. Mrs. Kapoor has described my friend perfectly,” he replied gravely.

“Thank you, both of you,” Sonia remarked, picking up her handbag. An idea was beginning to jiggle about in her mind, and she realized that she had to get out of the confines of this location. The stagnated atmosphere of the house and the overhanging feeling of death suddenly seemed to suffocate her.

Without preamble, she headed towards the gate, opened it, and for a moment turned around and glanced at the building. The house, she thought, looked like a stale cake, crumbling at the corners and without its icing.

“Here's the telegram! With all the details you need!” Jatin handed his boss the paper.

Sonia almost snatched it in her eagerness. “It's taken long enough! I've been waiting for this bit of information for three days. And I had to keep all my theories suspended in the meanwhile! From this information, I can write out Tushar's horoscope.”

Without further ado, Jatin inserted a cassette and a ghazal floated soothingly into the air. Sonia immediately turned to the shelf. Her hand traveled along the almanacs of different years, paused on the one she was looking for. She carried it to the table, looked up the month, and referred to the time. On a plain paper, she began drawing the horoscope. Her pen plotted the chart with the numbers which represented the different zodiac signs. It was when she began filling the twelve squares and triangles with the constellations that her heart began an unexpected tattoo. She'd seen this combination before! In fact, she'd seen this horoscope several times in the past week. Hastily, she completed plotting the horoscope. Then, riffling through the documents on her desk, she produced the first three horoscopes, the ones Inspector Divekar had sent to her. With an almost feverish anticipation, she brushed aside the mess on the table. Her trembling hands carefully laid out all the horoscopes side by side. Mr. Dhiresh Kapoor, Mrs. Kapoor, Jaidev, and . . . the fourth and final one—Tushar! Her gaze moved back and forth. There wasn't an iota of doubt. This was Jaidev's horoscope all over again, number by number, star by star! And with the clarity of lightning, the pieces of the puzzle converged into a shocking picture.

Sonia leaned against her chair, fighting to compose herself. The wave of excitement at the sudden discovery of the truth—stark and horrible—was ebbing slowly, leaving her cold and weak. She had to act quickly before it was too late.

She pressed the buzzer and Jatin popped his head in.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Jatin, you have to leave immediately—I want you to fly to Delhi—today. You have work to do!”

“Fly!” His eyes shone. “I've never been in a plane before. . . .”

“There's always a first time!”

“Yes, but can we afford it? Five or six thousand one way . . . that makes it twelve thousand rupees! What's so urgent?” he asked sensibly.

“Everything! We don't have a moment to lose! Now listen very carefully and make no mistake about it! You have to work fast and efficiently!”

Jatin caught the infectious streak of anxiety mingled with excitement and without another word whipped open his pad. Her instructions followed one after the other.

“And remember, the moment you lay your hands on it, call me up directly! I shall be near the phone all tomorrow morning!”

“Right, Boss! I'm going to love this!” Jatin rubbed his hands together, an anticipatory gleam in his eyes.

“If all goes well, I'll be glad, too!” Sonia remarked in a more sober tone. “Now get going!”

Sonia paced the room, her eyes shifting restlessly from the telephone to the wall clock. It was past ten. The offices in Delhi should be open by now. Why hadn't Jatin called? She slowed her frenzied steps, shaking her head. There was no need to get panicky. She couldn't change the past but she had done all she could for the present, to see justice done. She had rung up Inspector Divekar and he had promised to follow her lead. The rest would have to wait until the proof was in her hands.

The phone shrilled like sweet music into her reflections. Sonia rushed to pick it up.

“Boss? I've found it! You hit the nail dead on the head!” Jatin's excited voice rang into her ear.

“Excellent work, Jatin! I promise you a raise for this case!”

“Wow, thanks, Boss! It took me some time, going through all the newspapers, contacting their offices. But I found it ultimately!”

“You can fly back now, and don't forget to bring a copy of the paper with you! In the meantime, I'll set the cat on the mice!”

“I can't believe it! You did it again! With the same technique—I wonder what the critics will have to say about this one!” Inspector Divekar asked with a guffaw.

“Wait a minute! I'm still in the dark about a lot of things,” Mohnish interrupted.

They were all sitting in Sonia's office—Inspector Divekar, Mohnish, Jatin, and Nidhi, the privileged one, on Sonia's lap.

“I have yet to be told the whole story,” Mohnish insisted. “All I know is that Mrs. Kapoor and Jaidev have been arrested for murder. So those two were romantically involved and had to get rid of the husband?” Confusion was written on his handsome face.

Jatin glanced at his boss, candid admiration in his expression. “Boss, why don't you explain the hows and whys of it? I'd love to hear it, too!”

Sonia smiled a little bashfully. “Sure!” She caressed the cat with a loving hand. “But first let's have some chai with plenty of milk!”

After Jatin poured out the hot beverage, Sonia continued. “On the face of it, this did seem a very simple case of Bigamy. Until I met Uma the housecleaner and Mrs. Kapoor. They narrated some rather contradictory things about Mr. Kapoor, which sometimes rang true and often rang curiously made-up. Dhiresh Kapoor kept referring to another woman whenever he was drunk and with Uma—that made me wonder if he was indeed referring to Neha. But he also claimed that he had money, and that did not fit the description, since Neha's husband was a poor fellow. I realized later that what he meant was that he would be getting a lot of money! What was also strange was the way Mrs. Kapoor shuttled between the present tense and the past tense whenever she spoke about her husband. She seemed confused, and at the time, I excused her, thinking that she was prostrate with grief and a distraught person and was finding it really hard to cope with her husband's death!

“Then I had the opportunity of going through the three horoscopes and I got a clear insight into the natures of each person. It was when I saw Mr. Kapoor's horoscope that I noticed the inherent crookedness of character. Something stirred in my mind. I decided to check up on his record at the bank, where, true to my suspicions, we discovered that he was involved in a fraud of twenty million rupees! When I confronted Mrs. Kapoor with the accusation, she gave me such a graphic and pathetic description of Mr. Kapoor that she almost managed to convince me! She would have been successful, too, but for the fact that the devoted and glorified image of her husband that she created for my benefit was in direct contrast to my readings of his horoscope. That was the point where this whole business began to ring entirely untrue and I began to have serious doubts about the couple.

“Also, keeping in mind the fact that Dhiresh had embezzled money from the Delhi bank, I wondered why the couple had not changed their name when they came to Pune. I mean, that would've been the obvious thing to do. Change name and settle in another place, so as to start life all over again. Especially if you are guilty. But what really clinched the matter were Tushar's birth details! When I charted his horoscope from the almanac, I got a shock. Neha had claimed that Mr. Kapoor was her husband, so going by her claim, Mr. Kapoor's horoscope should have matched Tushar's horoscope! But that was not what happened. It was Jaidev's horoscope that was an exact duplicate! This mix-up floored me for a moment, until truth dawned! I had two options before me. If Jaidev's horoscope matched Tushar's, then Jaidev ought to be Neha's husband, which he wasn't! And if Mr. Kapoor was Neha's husband, then his horoscope ought to have matched Tushar's, which it hadn't! Since both these calculations misfired, I decided to approach the problem from another angle. Keeping Neha's claim as the right hypothesis—that Mr. Kapoor was actually Tushar—I matched the horoscope with the face—Mr. Kapoor's face! And realized that that was exactly what Mrs. Kapoor had done! Remember, she had refused to give the original horoscopes. She had copied them down for us. Only, while doing so, she had changed the names, or should I say, she had left the original names intact. She labeled Jaidev's horoscope as Dhiresh Kapoor and put Jaidev's name on the other horoscope, the one she told us was her dead husband's!”

“But why would she do something like that?” Mohnish demanded.

“Because she wanted to take no chances. She realized that we had begun to suspect something. At the same time, she dared not tamper with the horoscopes, perhaps because she was aware that a good Astrologer can figure out if anything is amiss with a horoscope. So quite ingeniously, she changed the names to confuse us.”

“But you read the horoscopes, found out the natures, and even got the clue of the bank fraud! Neha's husband was not involved in any of that,” Mohnish pointed out.

“True, though I didn't get the bank lead from Jaidev's horoscope—which is also Tushar's horoscope—I got it from Mr. Kapoor's!” Sonia told him.

“Hold on a minute! I can't seem to follow this. . . .”

Sonia put up her hand. “Let me explain. When Mrs. Kapoor put her husband's name on Jaidev's horoscope, all she did was put the right name—the real name—on the right horoscope!”

“What! You mean . . .”

“Exactly. Jaidev is the real Mr. Kapoor and that means Mr. Kapoor is alive!”

“Then the other Mr. Kapoor . . . I mean, the man who died?”

“Was Neha's husband, Tushar!” Sonia disclosed. “It was an infallible, premeditated plan! But for a few chance loopholes, they would have been successful! Mr. Kapoor—I mean, Jaidev—embezzled money from his bank. To shake off the constant threat of the police, he and his wife devised a brilliant plot. Kapoor met Tushar one day and found out his penchant for changing jobs and his weakness for money. Kapoor and his wife offered him a good deal. Tushar was to impersonate as Mr. Kapoor in Pune, so that everyone recognized him as Mr. Kapoor. Tushar accepted, because they offered him a great deal of money against total secrecy. The poor chap had no idea what the Kapoors really had in store for him. As per their strategy, they would get rid of him—which they did—then they would announce the death in the papers and put an end to Dhiresh Kapoor and the bank fraud! In due course, they would have moved to another town and lived happily ever after with their loot!”

“But what about the photograph in the obituary? Surely, that would give their plan away. After all, people in Delhi would recognize the original Mr. Kapoor even if the Puneites did not!”

“Yes, I thought of that, too. So I sent Jatin all the way to Delhi to check out the newspapers. To my great delight, the proof we needed fell straight into his hands. The obituaries in the Pune papers displayed Tushar's photo. But the Delhi papers had Jaidev's photos on them! It was a daring plot, but the Kapoors obviously banked on the Delhi–Pune distance and the short public memory! It was sheer bad luck that Neha recognized her husband from the newspaper wrapped around the food she had purchased here in Pune,” Sonia finished with a satisfied smile.

“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant detective work!” Inspector Divekar enthused.

“Yes, but I have another question,” Mohnish interposed. “What was Tushar's horoscope doing with Mrs. Kapoor? How did she have it to give the Inspector?”

“I think it was simply good thinking on the part of the Kapoors. They'd clearly worked out their plan to the last detail. They knew that there certainly would be a police inquiry once Tushar was found dead. Some kind of documents would be needed—which they were.”

“But wouldn't it have been simpler to say that the horoscope was lost or got misplaced in the Delhi–Pune transit?”

“I don't think so. Even today, we treat the horoscope with respect. People may not entirely believe in them or find them indispensable, but that does not stop most people from getting their horoscopes made. Impulse and curiosity betray the so-called scientific and logical mind. The urge to find out more about our future proves stronger than common beliefs and rationality. Human beings live with this paradox all their lives! So in this case, a refusal to give the horoscopes, under any pretext, would have perhaps roused suspicions. It was safer to give the horoscopes, since it bought them some time, and the Kapoors—like the majority of our lot—underestimated the power of the stars. They also saw no reason to worry, since they planned another vanishing act soon enough!”

“Yes, you were absolutely right there,” the Inspector said. “Your warning prompted fast action. I put two plain-clothed Constables on guard outside the Kapoor house. And sure enough, a van did arrive to pick up their furniture and luggage! That was good foresight, Sonia! Fortunately, we were on the spot to put a spoke in their wheel.” Inspector Divekar chuckled. “So all's well that ends well!”

“Poor Neha. It really pains me to pass on this bad news to her,” Sonia said with a troubled expression.

“I'll do it for you, if you like,” Mohnish offered, then added gently, “It's not just bad news that you deliver to her. It's also justice done! You've managed to catch her husband's murderers—I think that would satisfy Neha!”

“I hope so.” Sonia sighed.

“I'd better get going, Sonia. I have loads to do! But I'll keep in touch.” Inspector Divekar took her leave and Jatin went to see him off.

Mohnish observed Sonia quietly. She wore a pure white chikan salwar kameez, with a string of fake pearls round her neck. Her face was bent towards Nidhi. A lock of silky hair swung loose and covered her profile, and absently, she tucked the errant strand behind her ears and glanced up, meeting his candid gaze. For a second, their eyes locked, then she turned away, a slow blush creeping over her neck.

Mohnish smiled and raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Well? Your map—your horoscope—took you to your destination?”

“Yes, my ever-faithful map!” Sonia smiled. “What will poor Neha do now?”

“I think she has plans to stay on at the Naari Kendra. They find her very useful, doing odd jobs and helping with the work. I can assure you that she will be perfectly happy there!”

“That at least relieves my mind!”

“Good, because I want you to relieve my mind, too! I've been waiting anxiously for this case to get over so that I can make you a request,” Mohnish said, with a cheeky grin.

“You mean you wish to discuss your case?” Sonia remembered.

“Well, not quite. It's something else.”

“I'm not giving you an appointment for an interview!” Sonia laughed.

“Then how about an appointment for dinner?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

Sonia blushed again. “Just the two of us?”

Mohnish nodded, his dimple prominent in the right cheek.

“And we won't discuss cases?”

“Anything but that!”

“And we'll go to a lovely, cozy place?”

The dimple deepened. “Paradise on earth!”

“Sounds fine to me, but first I shall have to ask Nidhi! What do you say, dear?” Sonia fondled the golden fur and the cat meowed her response. “Oh, I'm afraid she's given her permission!”

“She knows what's best for us!” Mohnish laughed and Sonia joined in.

“I don't believe it!” Sonia laughed.

“You better believe it!” Mohnish replied.

The evening sun made the old stones of the Shaniwar Fortress glisten and shimmer. The 1736 historical monument, partly destroyed in a fire, stood in the centre of the city and still drew tourists in large numbers. It was a place synonymous with Pune and its cultural heritage. In front of the grand entrance stood the magnificent statue of the eighteenth-century Maratha general Bajirao Peshwa, the first. People still admired this undefeated hero, who had brought the downfall of the Moghul Empire at Delhi.

On the right of the spiked gates, the fast-food stalls made good business. The bhel puri and ragda patties stalls were mobbed by children and parents, in their best holiday mood. Laughter rang out amongst the clusters, attired in colorful saris and salwar kameez.

Sonia observed Mohnish minutely, as they stood in front of a paani puri stall. Was he joking or serious? She couldn't tell with Mohnish. In a lemon-yellow T-shirt and cream trousers, he looked the picture of innocence. And the dimple in his right cheek was so disarming, she knew she would believe him if he said the earth was square.

“You mean you have a Flower Shop and a Photo Studio?” Sonia confirmed.

“Yes.” He nodded solemnly. “And I don't think it's funny that you doubt it!”

“Okay. I'm not trying to be rude. But you?” Sonia emphasized exaggeratedly. “A sophisticated, classy, freelance journalist, with a cell phone—in a Flower Shop—the picture just doesn't fit!”

“You'd be surprised if I revealed all my activities to you!” he shot back.

“You mean there's more?” Sonia's eyes widened in amazement. “You'd better tell me all—I really don't want to be staggered with shock!”

“Okay, then, don't say I didn't warn you. I own a Flower Shop, a Photo Studio, and a Garage!” Mohnish confessed.

“And yet you need to earn your living as a freelance journalist and reporter!”

“Not quite. I freelance as a hobby—not as my bread and butter!”

“Well, I won't believe you till I find out for myself. Or until I read your horoscope! By the way, what is your zodiac sign?”

“Can't you guess? I thought you guys could look at a person and predict such things?”

Sonia pushed her plate forward for another round of paani puris. The Vendor added the boiled potatoes and sprouts to the puris, dipped them in the tamarind water, and placed each fat, round puri on her plate. Sonia always had a problem stuffing the whole puri in her mouth without spilling the tamarind water all over her dress. But the mouthwatering dish was too tempting to be considered a means of indignity! Mohnish was more adept, she noticed, as he neatly popped a puri into his mouth, without displacing a single drop! He savored the burst of spicy liquid.

“So can you guess my zodiac sign?” he repeated.

“I think I can take a guess. Your ascendant is Scorpio, “Sonia stated emphatically.

Surprise flickered on his face, but he dipped his head and polished off his last puri before saying “Justify, please.”

“Are you ready to take the good with the worst?” she asked, with a grin.

“Oh-oh, that doesn't sound too good for me,” he chuckled, as he paid the Paani Puriwala, the Vendor.

They strolled down the road and towards the bridge, oblivious to the jostling crowds and the traffic. A light drizzle began and Sonia raised her face to meet the fine rain. She was glad she'd agreed to take the evening off. Mohnish had proved to be most interesting and intriguing company. And the evening had granted more than promised, to say the least. They walked leisurely over the bridge, the cool wind riffling up Sonia's silky blunt hair.

The Mutha River—a major tributary of the Mula River—flowed silently below them. Pune city flourished around their confluence. Several bridges joined the two sides of the town here, and in the fast-dimming evening glow, the bridges appeared like a group of thin arches fading into the horizon. Pune city stretched on either side of the river—a wild, unruly combination of very old, quaint, rickety wooden structures and ultra-modern concrete buildings; of natural fauna, tropical trees, and parks; and temples, mosques, and churches signifying the curious and amazing mix of religions and castes. Pune, with its gallis—small alleys, which were the adventurous walker's delight—was an eternal source of fascination for all visitors. And for die-hard Puneites like Sonia, too. She threw a look of appreciation at the sprawling city, soaked in the drizzle of the setting sun. She glanced at Mohnish, who was studying her with a faint smile on his lips.

A group of street dogs followed them, wagging their tails. Sonia threw some of the biscuits that she always carried in her handbag. The tails wagged harder in appreciation, as the dogs gobbled down the biscuits, then curled up on the uneven pavement contentedly. Sonia smiled at Mohnish.

“What were we talking about?” she asked casually.

Mohnish grinned. “You were telling me about my zodiac sign,” he reminded.

“Oh yes! You're a Scorpio. Scorpios are dynamic, loyal, and family-loving—”

“That I am,” Mohnish agreed promptly.

“But they are also vindictive, shrewd, and cunning!”

“That I'm not!”

“Scorpios are dangerous people to cross. They always remember a wrong done to them.”

“Hey, that's not fair,” he protested.

Sonia laughed. “I can perfectly understand how you feel. Sometimes Astrology can be pretty cruel!”

“Right! And what is your zodiac sign? Gemini? I believe they're the most flighty!”

“That's a myth. I'm a Sagittarius—and please spare me the boredom of a character sketch! I still have to learn to accept the crevices in my character gracefully!”

Mohnish's glance flickered to her curved lips and then to her twinkling eyes. Her sense of humour was appealing. As was her unself-consciousness. She was refreshingly unconcerned about her looks—which made her seem like wildflowers dancing with the wind. . . .

“Is it true? Can you tell looking at a person's face what his zodiac sign is?” he asked suddenly.

“Sometimes.”

“Suppose the Owl were to stand before you, would you be able to recognize that this guy's a criminal?”

“The Owl—you mean the crook?”

“Not just a simple crook. He's a genius. Light with his fingers, agile on his feet, and I heard that he possesses a superior IQ.”

“Wow, sounds like an interesting man. Have you seen or met him?”

“As far as I know, no one has ever met him. He's so well hidden and disguised that he could be the next guy on the street and you would never know. But there are speculations about him—that he's stolen some of the best heirlooms in the world, he's handsome and dangerous and has houses strewn everywhere, travels in his own jet. . . .”

“All stolen money.”

“Some of it. The rest is well invested and well distributed. He's rumoured to have made generous donations to social organizations and such kind.”

“I certainly must meet this man.”

“But would you be able to pin down his zodiac sign?” Mohnish persisted.

“I really couldn't say. It's not like if you're a criminal you've got to have such and such a sign, or if you're not, vice versa. Astrology is far more complicated. But yes, sometimes you can take a guess. Sometimes a person's star sign is so imbedded in his personality, you can immediately spot the sign. But there's no rule.”

A marriage procession trailed down the crowded street and Sonia and Mohnish's attention was riveted on the cavalcade. A live musical band, consisting of a keyboard, trumpets, clarinets, and drums, played the latest Hindi film number. The youngsters of the group danced along with the music, leading the bridegroom on a heavily decorated white horse, while the more elderly family members followed them sedately. It was a grand procession, a display of sparkling clothes and jewels. Someone burst firecrackers and they exploded into a thousand diamonds against the sky. Sonia tried to take a peek at the groom's face as he passed her. But a huge garland of flowers covered him from top to bottom. With a shrug, she turned to Mohnish and grinned.

“I love weddings! And I love to watch the groom's face when he's on horseback—sometimes enjoying it, sometimes feeling terribly out of place!” She laughed.

“Tradition can make you feel equally good and foolish,” Mohnish agreed.

“I guess that's true. Going with the changing times, tradition can either enrich or embarrass. It all depends on the way you look at it.” Sonia glanced at her watch. “I'm afraid I have to leave. I promised my mom that I would go to a friend's place with her.”

“But we still have to discuss my case. Remember?”

“Yes, I do, but there's a snag. I don't mix business with pleasure. I'm afraid you'll have to take an appointment and come to the office, one of these days.” Sonia shrugged exaggeratedly.

“Oh, but this won't take more than a minute. . . .”

“I've never been accused of being partial to anyone before. And I would be called that if I break my own rule. So no business with pleasure!” Sonia laughed. “Unless it's so important that you've lost sleep, appetite, and weight over your problem. And I see no signs of any such changes in you.”

Mohnish chuckled. “So I'll reserve my case for a rainy day, right?”

“You got it,” Sonia agreed.

For a moment they looked at each other, the intimacy of shared pleasantries soaking into their new friendship.

“Need I say that I thoroughly enjoyed myself today and that we must go out again?” Mohnish remarked, on a more serious note.

“No, you needn't,” Sonia replied, equally grave. “And I, too, look forward to another evening like this.”

Mohnish watched her climb gracefully into her van and drive away. She really was unique. And with every passing moment, his need for her company was forming into something more long-lasting and permanent. Which was good, wasn't it? he asked himself. And for the first time, doubt uncoiled into his mind. Was he heading the right way? With a troubled sigh, Mohnish turned towards his car.

Sonia stroked the silky head of Nidhi as she curled in her lap. She glanced at the roses on the table and frowned. The card displayed the words Secret Admirer. Was this Mohnish's idea of fun? If it was, she should tell him to stop squandering his money on flowers, even if he did own a Flower Shop! There were other ways of impressing her.

The door opened and Jatin popped his head in.

“There's a lady here who says she simply must see you,” he told her.

“So send her in.”

Jatin hesitated.

“What's the matter?” Sonia stopped cuddling Nidhi, who immediately busied herself with cleaning her face. Jatin stepped in, carefully closing the door behind him.

“Should we allow her to just barge in and meet you? Without either appointment or a call? And you with a cat on your lap?”

“Jatin . . .”

“After all, Boss, you're quite famous now and you should demand such formalities!”

“Jatin.”

“An appointment, maybe a week later, a little display of work pressure—all these things go a long way in creating a good impression! It would help prove how busy we are. Busy is the keyword for success and increased clientele. Besides, you rarely discuss money! You should permit me to take care of that important detail in the outer office. Each client should pass through me—”

“Hey, hold it right there!” Sonia raised her hand, struggling to hide her amusement. “You've been reading that How to Be Successful book, right?”

“How did you guess?”

Sonia sighed. “I am an Investigator, aren't I?” she mocked, then, seeing the hurt on his face, added quickly, “I've seen you reading that book, hour after hour, so it was no big deal. However, I wish you wouldn't follow the advises as golden rules. It helps to bend our all-busy schedule for an urgent case, okay?”

“Okay!” Jatin grinned, and pivoted on his heels towards the door.

Sonia sighed again. Jatin was so uncontrollable at times. But also indispensable . . .

Moments later, he returned with a tall, slim girl in a salwar kameez. Her shoulder-length hair was confined by a rubber band. The white Lucknow kurta was creaseless, but her good-looking face was flushed and her gaze very anxious.

“Miss Sonia Samarth? I'm Aarti, Aarti Vaze. You simply must help me!” the girl exclaimed at once.

Sonia indicated the chair. “Do sit down and tell me how I can help you.” She nodded at Jatin, who whipped out his pad and drew another chair.

Aarti opened a brown handbag, delved into its depths, and extracted a sheaf of papers. “These are the horoscopes of my family. You need them, right? I've heard so much about you. . . !”

Jatin sought his boss's eye. Distraught women always left him floundering. But Sonia remained cool. She accepted the horoscopes without glancing at them.

“Miss Vaze, I think you need to calm down. Take deep breaths and count till ten. Go on, do it.”

Aarti looked taken aback, but she obeyed. She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. When she reopened them, she appeared more composed.

“Now, start at the beginning and tell me what's bothering you,” Sonia commanded gently.

“I'm a teacher at P.A. School. I teach the primary classes. Two months ago, we had a school function and Pradeep Gupte—a well-known painter—was invited as Chief Guest. We chatted over the official lunch for a few minutes. He was young and handsome and quite charming. The next day, he arrived at my doorstep—I live in the School Premises—with flowers. From that day, we met regularly and fell in love with each other. We felt so good together, so right, that it wasn't at all surprising when he proposed. I was the happiest soul under the sun! Pradeep introduced me to his family—his parents, their adopted daughter, Meera, and his sister, Beena. They were all very nice to me. It was wonderful. Here I was—an orphan with no family—and all of a sudden I was going to have a whole brand-new family who genuinely seemed to like me! I thought that finally life was really being fair to me. But . . .” She paused.

“What happened?” Sonia prompted quietly.

“A few days ago, I overheard an argument between Pradeep and his parents. I gathered that they—Aai, his mother, and Baba, his father—had been very keen on his getting married to the daughter of a family friend. She comes from a cultured, rich family and is well suited for Pradeep in every possible manner. But Pradeep had refused. He insisted that he loved me and that he will marry no one but me!”

“How nice of him,” Sonia said.

“Yes, I loved him all the more for it. But that conversation told me enough—that all was not as it seemed. That I was not a natural choice for Aai and Baba and that, in reality, they were not happy with the match. They were simply playing along for their son's sake.”

“Yes, I guess that's pretty common in our society,” Sonia agreed. She was watching Aarti worriedly. So far, the young woman hadn't divulged any real, serious reason for her distraught state.

“We're getting married two days from now. For the last week, I've been living with the family. Aai and Baba insisted that since I have no one, I should stay with them and enjoy all the preparations.”

“That was very kind of them, wasn't it?”

“Yes. I thought so, too. But of late, I've been having this strange feeling that something's terribly wrong. I can't place my finger on it: it's just a gut feeling that something strange is going on. And I'm frightened!”

“Have you seen or heard anything? What is it exactly that you fear?” Sonia probed.

Aarti shook her head energetically. “Just low voices in conversation, Beena and Meera and sometimes Aai and Baba, and even Pradeep and Meera. And I've been getting these headaches, which make me very dizzy. I found some powder at the base of my coffee cup. I can't help wondering if I am being drugged!”

“Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“I haven't the faintest notion! I told you, I've nothing concrete to communicate to you, it's just a feeling. . . .”

Sonia rested her hand on Aarti's and pressed it reassuringly. “Do you know what I think? I think these are marriage jitters. You've spent a childhood and youth nurtured on loneliness. Fending for yourself in this wide world has been your major task, taking up all your energy. And out of the blue, a whole new life and possibilities are unfolding before you. I think anyone would be more than a little overwhelmed by so much happiness. Too much of anything, all at once, mainly since you've rarely had it, can be pretty damaging. Especially if you fear that it's all too good to be true! What you need is to keep your mind on an even keel. Just relax, stay calm, and enjoy the feeling of getting married. You deserve all these good things happening to you, Aarti. So don't let anything worry you,” Sonia advised, smiling.

But Aarti looked doubtful. “Are you sure? Just marriage jitters? Nothing else?”

“As of now, I'm quite sure. But leave these horoscopes with me, since you've brought them. By the way, how did you manage to get hold of the entire family's horoscopes? I mean, its not as if one can find horoscopes strewn around the house, for all to see, is it?”

“The family Astrologer—Guruji—came over to fix the wedding date. Naturally everyone wanted to get their horoscopes read. And I quickly copied them, when no one was around. It would have looked mighty suspicious if I'd asked for the horoscopes openly.”

“And extremely awkward to explain,” Sonia agreed sympathetically.

Aarti impulsively leaned forward, clutching Sonia's hand. “Will you at least do me a favour? Will you attend the wedding? Will you please come?”

“Aarti . . .” Sonia began patiently.

“Please say that you'll come!” the girl pleaded. “I'll feel so much safer!”

Sonia looked into Aarti's moist brown eyes. Could this be more serious than it appeared?

“Okay, if you think it'll make you feel better, I will. But believe me, you'll be fine,” she reassured with a warm smile. She felt a sudden affinity for this orphaned woman, who was little more than a girl. Something about the honesty in her face appealed to Sonia.

“Thank you! I'll send you the wedding card, so you know where to come.” Relief had flooded over Aarti's face. “And . . . and if I discover something concrete, can I pass it on to you?”

“Of course, anything of the slightest importance. Goodbye, Aarti, and all the very best for your future!” Sonia pressed Aarti's hand.

“Thank you for seeing me. I'm already feeling better, talking to you.” Aarti stood up with a nervous smile, then quickly departed.

Sonia gazed absentmindedly at the closed door. It was some time before she realized that Jatin was staring curiously at her.

“Boss, did you mean that?” he asked. “I mean, the explanation about marriage jitters?”

Sonia flopped down on the window seat beside Nidhi and stroked her. “She'd nothing to tell us, Jatin, absolutely nothing—no incident, no proof, no tangible fears. Unless she can pinpoint what's worrying her, it'll have to be put down to marriage jitters, I'm afraid.”

“But she seemed so positive about her fear,” Jatin reminded her.

“Yes, but who can vouch for its gravity? It could be a figment of her imagination, stemming out of the excitement of the latest incidents in her life.”

“You could be right,” Jatin mused, sounding disappointed. “So the case is closed?”

Sonia laughed. “We never had a case!”

“And will you read those horoscopes?”

“I may. . . .”

“And are you going to attend the wedding?”

“Yes, since I promised. That's the least I can do to allay her fears.”

“How about some chai?”

“That's exactly what I need.”

Jatin closed the door behind him, leaving Sonia alone with her thoughts. Her glance rested on the stack of horoscopes on the table, bound by a rubber band. Should she? It could be a waste of time. But it was not as if she was buried under an avalanche of work. And no urgent matter was hankering for her attention, either. On the other hand, what if she found something worthwhile? Could Jatin be correct? Had she taken Aarti's fears too lightly? Should she have been more concerned? Well, there was a huge possibility that the answers to her questions could be found in the horoscopes. In any case, it was her duty to reconfirm.

With renewed resolve, Sonia rose and approached her table. Releasing the papers from the band, she aligned the six horoscopes on the table. Her eyes flicked over each, calculating. Aai. Baba. Beena, the sister. Meera, the adopted daughter. Pradeep and Aarti. Interesting family, artistic, rich—her eyes traveled along the horoscopes, picking and discarding. And then, suddenly, she took a sharp breath. She stumbled into her chair and separated three of the horoscopes from the rest. Her heart began a familiar tattoo, of understanding, of excitement. Was it possible? Could it be true? Sonia sat back against the chair, her hand twirling a lock of hair, her mind locked in confusion. Dare she meddle with people's lives on the basis of unsubstantiated suspicion? How could she be certain that her horoscopic revelations were not colored by Aarti's hysterics? Encroaching on the rights of human beings could be detrimental to her practice and career at this point. Ethics were fine, but where did they stand pitched against stark suspicions based on scientific calculations, backed by Aarti's gut instinct? Her mind was in a tailspin. As her thoughts swirled on, like a potter's wheel, her finger twirled faster, till finally she shook her head in frustration.

Sonia sighed and stood up. She selected a popular Hindi-film wedding song and inserted the CD. Her feet began tapping, as the song began playing at high volume. Soon she found herself dancing to the words and music of the song. The melodious number was rendered by two of the best voices in India. It lifted her spirits immediately. As the song ended, Sonia felt perspiration trickle down her forehead. She wiped it off carelessly with her hand, feeling relaxed and tension-free. Nothing like good music and dance to disentangle the mirage from reality, duty from ethics, and action from illusion!

The sharp, almost sad notes of the Indian oboe-like instrument—Shehnai—filled the huge hall with music. Trust the Shehnai to create a wedding atmosphere in a traditional, grand Indian wedding, Sonia thought. She settled down comfortably in her cushioned seat, adjusting her silver-sequined black kameez. Children ran about happily, their merry laughter ringing through the hall. A pretty girl in a frilled dress approached her with perfume. Sonia allowed the child to rub the essence on her hand, then accepted the rose and pedha—a sweetmeat—with a smile. The Mangalashtaka—the eight-verse auspicious chantings, the garlanding of the couple, and the showering of rice grains by all present to bless the union—had already taken place. Now she observed the next marriage rituals taking place round the fire. The buzz of voices, the floating notes of Shehnai, the flower-decked stage ready for the couple, the holy fire around which the bride and groom would presently take the Saptapadi—seven turns round the fire, which would bind them for life—it was all so satisfying and inspiring. Sonia sighed in contentment. Each wedding ceremony she attended brought into sharper focus her need to enjoy all the pampering that went inherently with the Indian marriage customs. One day. Not the splurging of money, though. For herself, she would rather have a simple wedding with just a few close friends and family. . . .

Aarti looked beautiful, in her yellow sari with gold adorning her wrists and neck. She must have saved all her life for this special occasion. The bride sat now, with head bowed, following the commands of the Pundit. Pradeep looked handsome in his silk kurta. His adopted sister, Meera, dressed in a jazzy red and green sari, hovered protectively around Aarti, heeding to the bride's needs. A little distance away, Beena and her parents mingled with the guests, urging them to proceed to the lunch hall, where the buffet awaited the crowd. Sonia glanced at her watch. It was almost one. Hunger rumbled in her stomach. She'd done her duty of attending this wedding. All was going well and now she deserved some food inside her. But where was Jatin? He was supposed to meet her at the hall.

The Pundit requested the couple to take the seven circles and Aarti and Pradeep stood up. Sonia watched as the young couple made their way, in a clockwise direction, slowly round the fire. Aarti glanced up and looked at Sonia, who flashed her a warm smile.

Finally, the Saptapadi were over. The couple was declared religiously married. The Shehnai played voluminously and a musical band struck up notes of a movie song, to celebrate the new bond. The bride could now go and change for the reception. Aarti made her way to a room specially retained for the bride. Meera followed her with some prasaad—shira, a special sweet dish offered to God—in her hand. At the door, Aarti half turned and glanced again at Sonia, but Meera hustled her new sister-in-law inside the little room and the door shut. Minutes later, the door opened and Meera walked out, closing the door behind her again. Sonia waited. Any minute now, Aarti would emerge, resplendent in her reception sari, glowing with happiness and renewed confidence. And then Sonia would feel free to sample some of the exotic food and they could both laugh at Aarti's “marriage jitters.” She relaxed, observing the teeming crowds as they drifted towards the lavish buffet. Where was Jatin? He ought to be here by now. As if on cue, her assistant appeared at the end of the hall. He hastened through the people festooned with jewelry and glossy clothes, and headed straight towards her.

“Whew, I did it!” He sighed, slouching down on the seat beside her.

“And just in time. The ceremony's over and I'm hungry!” Sonia smiled at him. “Aarti's changing. We can congratulate her, eat, and then leave.”

A terrible scream tore across the hall. Startled, Sonia and Jatin jumped to their feet. The guests, too, halted in their tracks. Meera stood frozen at the door of the changing room. Her face was white.

“Something's happened to her! Something's happened to Aarti!” she stammered.

Sonia galvanized into action, as if she possessed lightning instead of feet. Followed closely by Jatin, she streaked to the little room, then stopped. Aarti lay on the bed, motionless. A piece of paper was clutched in her hand. Sonia immediately checked the girl's pulse. Then she plucked the paper out of her hand and opened it. A single line was written on the page: I do not wish to live, so blame no one for my death.

“Jatin, shut the door and let no one in! And call Inspector Divekar and a Doctor immediately!” she rasped, and Jatin instantly flew into action.

Within moments, the glorious festivities had become terrible tragedy. Aarti was no more. Her body had been taken away for Post Mortem. A glacial hand clutched at Sonia's heart. She hadn't believed Aarti, had labeled her instinctive fears as mere jitters. It almost seemed funny now! Only, death was not funny. It was serious and irreversible! And she'd wasted hours agonizing over stupid arguments, arguing with herself about choosing ethics over life-and-death issues. She certainly had a long way to go as a detective, she chided herself. Because it wasn't important just to be a good Investigator, it was also important to be able to sift instinct from illusion. And, if worst comes to worst, to trust illusion as deeply as one trusted instinct, if only so that you left no stone unturned. And that's where she'd been weak. Guilt tore through her like a jagged knife. What if . . . What if . . . The words clamored through her brain in ceaseless, remorseless repetition.

Gradually, the sobs and mutterings of the family members seeped through her numbness. The wedding guests had all left. Pradeep sat, paralyzed with shock, his head in his hands, looking a lonely figure. Aai and Baba were silent, and Beena was sobbing freely, heedless of Meera's comforting words.

“Why did she do it?” Baba, Pradeep's father, kept muttering. “I just don't understand it!”

“She seemed so happy, so excited to get married,” Aai, Pradeep's mother, agreed.

“She wasn't happy, I told you that,” Beena spoke up suddenly. “I told you the other night that Aarti seemed distracted, and reluctant and terribly unhappy. But you told me that was normal. It wasn't normal, was it? Look what she did! And now we shall never know what was worrying her!” Beena burst into sobs.

“I don't understand. . . . They wanted so much to get married.” Aai sounded flustered. “Why would she commit suicide?”

“Do you remember what Guruji told us?” Meera spoke up. “He'd predicted that something like this would happen! Do you remember, when we matched the horoscopes, Guruji said that they didn't match? That Pradeep and Aarti had better not get married?”

“Yes, I did,” a gruff voice interrupted them.

An old man with a balding head drew up a chair. “I'm most sorry about what happened here today. I did say that Aarti and Pradeep are not suited, but nothing in her horoscope would've prepared me for this. Yes, I warned Pradeep that he had a very unique combination in his horoscope. That his first wife would die and then he would remarry. But even I couldn't predict that his wife would commit suicide! And on their wedding day! Life is too complicated and unpredictable, isn't it?”

“Pradeep said at the time that he didn't care, he loved Aarti too much to bother about such predictions! And now look what's happened! A poor innocent girl has lost her life!” Beena cried in a harsh voice.

“She didn't lose her life, she took it herself,” Aai corrected sharply. “Let's not blame each other for what's happened, Beena. Be careful what you say. Aarti was obviously the suicidal type.”

“It's all right for you to say such things, Aai!” the wretched groom interrupted suddenly, turning a tear-stained face to his mother. “But I've lost the love of my life and I shall never know why. Oh, why did she do it? Why didn't she talk to me?” His shoulders shook as he bowed his head in grief. Meera moved instantly to his side and pressed an understanding arm around him.

Sonia cleared her throat. “Excuse me, I've been listening and I really must introduce myself to you.”

The others looked at her in surprise, as if aware of her presence for the first time.

“I'm Sonia Samarth, and I run a Detective Agency. Aarti came to me two days ago, feeling thoroughly lost and frightened.”

“Frightened?” Baba questioned, amazed.

“Yes, unfortunately I didn't believe her at that time. But I wish I'd probed, that I hadn't acted so pompous and self-assured. I wish I'd let her talk to me—but I didn't. Can any one of you tell me why she was feeling so fearful, just days before her wedding?”

“We have absolutely no idea! I wasn't even aware that she'd sought your help.” The bridegroom looked even more distraught than before Sonia had spoken.

“She was overexcited and oversensitive to issues,” Beena insisted. “But I wouldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams that she was so desperate! And now she's gone!”

“I can't believe it,” Pradeep murmured in a dead voice.

Sonia stood up. “I'm really sorry—for everything. I wish I could've prevented this from happening. And I wish I could've been of more help. Goodbye.”

She headed to the entrance of the hall. At the door she turned. The family was huddled together, grieving and crying. Sonia felt an intense urge to burst into tears herself—for lost causes, for lost love, and for death, which is the final parting.

“It's been four days since the incident and you're still grinding the memories to powder. You know you can't blame yourself,” Mohnish insisted. “Superfluous guilt will lead you nowhere. And there's no point moping: you can't change the past.”

Sonia was pacing the floor, restless and disturbed. Mohnish was leaning against the table, watching her, his arms folded, his eyes sad. An attentive Nidhi sat beside him. Both he and the cat watched, their heads swiveling along with Sonia's pacing.

“I'm not moping and I know I can't change the past. But I can learn from mistakes I've made, can't I?” Sonia pointed out.

“I think you're being too hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes, it's normal—it's a human right!”

“Not when it involves a person's life.”

“Aw . . . come on, Sonia! You couldn't possibly have known that Aarti planned to commit suicide. Not you! Not anyone! You said so yourself, she had nothing to tell!”

“Yes, but I should've persisted, read between the lines, helped to sort out her jumbled fears,” Sonia shrugged eloquently, “done something to relieve her burdened mind. I just told her she had marriage jitters and let her walk out that door. Marriage jitters, for God's sake! Unforgivable!”

Mohnish was silent. He'd never seen Sonia in such a mood. Anger, guilt, retribution—all directed towards herself—stuck into her customary serene logic like splinters. Perhaps it was best if she purged herself of all these negative feelings. At length, her blazing face lost color and she slumped into a chair.

“Where's Jatin?” Mohnish asked casually, hoping to change the subject.

“Out. I've sent him on some errands.”

“He wasn't here the last time I dropped by, either.”

“He was reading too many books and falling into a habit of preaching to me! So I sent him on some real practical jobs. It'll keep him away from his books and protect me from his intelligent advises,” Sonia replied with a faint smile.

“That's better. You do look quite beautiful when you smile,” Mohnish remarked.

“Thanks. And you make me feel better, too,” she admitted.

Another silence ensued as both looked awkwardly at each other. Mohnish stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. His deep gaze bore into the honeyed depths of her eyes.

“You know that you can always rely on me, don't you? Whatever the situation, Sonia, however silly or dangerous, if you ever need me, you know I shall be there for you. . . .”

Sonia nodded, suddenly tongue-tied. A wave of bashfulness swept over her.

Propitiously, the phone shrilled at that moment. Sonia almost sprang to the instrument, and hastily lifted the receiver.

“Hello? Yes, I'm listening. . . . Oh good! You know what to do, don't you? Go ahead and contact him, I'll talk to him later.” She listened for another minute, then hung up.

When she turned to Mohnish, her eyes were twinkling.

“You said you'd be there for me, right? However silly or dangerous?” she challenged.

“Yes, though I didn't know you planned to take me up so instantly on the offer!”

“That will teach you never to take risks with me!” she laughed. “So? Are you game?”

“Well, since I said it, I'm not one to back out on a promise. Name the situation, place, act, and time!”

The night was cool and a wind swept the dry Banyan leaves off the road. The Zen drove down the road, turned a curve, and halted in front of the Gupte residence. It was a modest bungalow of red bricks. The moonlight bathed the house and the tree-lined drive. Meera hit the button on the remote, and the well-oiled gates swung silently open. Pradeep accelerated and was halfway through the gate when he halted so abruptly that Meera was almost thrown against the windscreen.

“What the . . !” she cursed, turning to Pradeep.

The young widower was staring straight ahead, his eyes wide, shock and fear written all over his handsome face. Meera slowly turned in the direction of his averted gaze and gasped. Aarti stood at the entrance to the residence. Dressed in her bridal yellow sari, decked in jewels, she stood motionless as the wind tugged and pulled at her pallu. Her shoulder-length hair blew wildly about her face.

“No . . . !” Meera screamed.

“Stop it! Stop screaming!” Pradeep yelled.

“It's a ghost! She's come back, Pradeep, she's come back! To take revenge!”

“Shut up and get out of the car!”

“No! She's coming towards us!”

Aarti walked slowly to the car. The headlights threw her figure into harsh shadows and the moonlight spun a halo around her slender form. She stopped at the bonnet of the vehicle and raised an accusing hand towards Pradeep. He stumbled out of the car. The wind seemed to blow stronger, throwing him off balance.

“I'm sorry! Forgive me, Aarti! It was all her idea, believe me! I loved you, I truly did!”

“Liar! Liar! You planned it, you never loved her, you killed her!” Meera screeched, scrambling out of the car, now hysterical and out of control.

Aarti turned to her. The venomous hate on the dead woman's face made Meera step back in fear. Wildly, she turned and fled.

Pradeep stared after his adopted sister, uncertainty and fear clogging his brain. At that moment, bright lights went on, and he winced at the dazzling impact.

“Mr. Pradeep Gupte, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of your wife!” Inspector Divekar's voice boomed out through the darkness.

The grieving bridegroom turned a confused, hazy gaze at the crowd suddenly gathered around him. Inspector Divekar, Mohnish, Jatin, and three Constables—their faces hard, accusing, and unforgiving. And at the back of the group, Sonia, holding Aarti's hand. Aarti was sobbing uncontrollably.

“I can't believe that you played such a dirty trick on me!” Mohnish said indignantly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

“The first rule in investigation is never to reveal all your cards. Right, Jatin?” Sonia chuckled.

“Right, Boss, though I didn't know you were reading the same book!”

“I wasn't, but that's immaterial.”

“But it still doesn't justify the fact that you didn't treat friends as real friends.” Mohnish looked hurt.

“The second rule is not to reveal your cards, not even to friends!”

Mohnish grinned. “Okay, I give up. Now tell me exactly what happened! I'm still so confused. I truly believed that Aarti had committed suicide and that you just could not get over your guilt trip.”

“Okay, let me start at the beginning. You know that Aarti came over with all her anxieties and fears and I sent her packing with my confident and immature advises. But after she departed, I checked out the horoscopes she'd left with me. And I realized that Pradeep's Venus and Mars were in the same house as his adopted sister Meera's. Without going into astrological jargon, that was enough to tell me those two were strongly attracted to each other and were having a relationship. But Pradeep claimed to be deeply in love with Aarti. Somehow, that did not add up, since Aarti's horoscope revealed no such bonds with Pradeep. So I began wondering where Aarti fitted in to the picture. There are usually two reasons why couples marry—love or money. Since Aarti was an orphan, with no inheritance, the motive for this marriage had to be love! I began wondering if for Pradeep it was love for Aarti, as he declared, or could it be love for Meera?

“Another interesting detail was that Venus and Mars in Aarti's horoscope were so placed, they showed that this girl was going to be badly tricked. I kept running in circles, trying to decipher the workings of three loving hearts! And then I stumbled onto another star combination in Pradeep's horoscope. There were traits of a criminal mind and there was an extremely strong possibility that his first wife would die and only then could he lead a married life. Somehow, that set me thinking. What if Pradeep loved Meera and was aware of this troublesome hindrance in his horoscope? The idea took such a strong root, I thought I must investigate it. But there was a problem. Did I have the right to pursue a hunch, one based entirely on my astrological knowledge? I debated with myself and argued that I had no right to malign people by accusing them of criminal plans that might well be the product of my own imagination. But finally, the Investigator in me won. I knew that if there was even the remotest possibility of something fishy going on, I would be saving a life. It was a risk I had to take.

“So Jatin and I made some background checks. Jeevan Uncle, of course, went all out to help me. And sure enough, we found that Pradeep Gupte had been sentenced to three months in jail for a minor crime. He was also reported to have been seen with Meera in the coziest of joints. Some of his friends even expressed surprise that he was marrying Aarti instead of Meera. It was then that I knew that something was surely cooking. Aarti had spoken about Guruji, their family Astrologer, so I contacted him. He confirmed that he'd advised Pradeep against the marriage for the reason I'd detected—that their horoscopes were not suitably matched and that his wife could die. At that time, I called up Aarti and warned her to be on the alert.

“It was the afternoon before the wedding that Aarti came to the office with some real proof of her suspicions. That very day, she'd overheard Pradeep and Meera in the garden. The only words she heard were Meera's, who said, ‘This will be her last prasaad!' That set me thinking. Which prasaad was Meera talking about and which day would it be given? The most difficult part was to figure out when they would try to get rid of Aarti. After all, anything could happen anytime after the wedding! I tried to place myself in the shoes of Pradeep and Meera. If I were so passionately involved with Pradeep, would I allow him to get married and consummate that marriage? No—I would be too possessive to take such risks. But on the other hand, if Pradeep tried to kill Aarti away from home, it would draw suspicion to him. I realized that it had to be done in the public eye after the marriage had taken place but before it could be consummated!

“After that, it didn't take me long to figure out what their plan was. After the Saptapadi, Aarti would go to her room to change. Meera would take some God's prasaad to her—only this concoction would also have a generous amount of poison in it! Aarti would eat it and instantly fall dead. Then Meera would remove the telltale prasaad and stick the suicide note into Aarti's hand and declare that she had killed herself.”

Mohnish whistled. “That was some plan!”

“Yes, quite ingenious, but we decided to come up with a better plan, didn't we, Jatin?”

Jatin grinned. “You bet!”

“We decided to defuse their excellent trap and sponge a script of our own from their crooked scenario! Aarti was warned that if she was brought anything to eat, she wasn't to touch it. She had to send Meera out of the room, pass the food to Jatin through the window, then pretend to die. When Meera returned, she believed her murderous plan had succeeded. Hiding the empty prasaad utensil, she slipped the note into Aarti's hand as she and Pradeep had planned and raised a hue and cry that the poor girl had committed suicide. Jeevan Uncle was ready for action. He was waiting round the corner for just the right moment. Within minutes, the ‘dead' Aarti was bundled into a police car and taken away. Meera and Pradeep had no reason to believe that their scheme had not succeeded!”

“And was the prasaad tested for poison?”

“Yes, Jeevan Uncle spared no time in taking it to the Lab. It is positive evidence of their heinous intention!”

“Wonderful! But then you kept quiet about it. Why?” Mohnish demanded.

“Have you ever noticed what happens when you drive a two-wheeler very close behind a car? You never see the potholes the car is going over and you end up falling into those potholes. Even though we had the poisoned prasaad as proof, it wouldn't be sufficient evidence to incriminate Pradeep and Meera for attempted murder. I gave them plenty of space, allowing me to spot their potholes, so that I could circumvent them and lay another trap. Since the couple was entirely unaware that their plan had misfired, they were unguarded. And unaware that Jatin was keeping a close watch on their activities. Initially, they kept their distance from each other but eventually love outstripped decency. We had to await the right moment to spring our trap. Not too soon but also not too late, because it would've been difficult to retain the ‘body' for long under the pretext of ‘Post Mortem.' At some point, Pradeep would surely lay claim to his beloved wife's body. Besides, Aarti was in hiding at Inspector Divekar's house and was getting restless. When Jatin called up yesterday to say that Pradeep and Meera would be returning from a friend's place late that very night, we finally had the perfect opportunity to enact our little drama. Since we were prepared beforehand, everything went off smoothly. I thought Aarti was brilliant, wasn't she?” Sonia chuckled.

“I think you're brilliant, Boss!” Admiration shone in Jatin's eyes.

“Thanks, Jatin, that's sweet of you! And I thought you were good, too!”

“Hey, before this mutual admiration goes any further, I have one more question to ask,” Mohnish interrupted with a broad, dimpled smile. “What if the poison had been administered before Aarti went for a sari change?”

“That wasn't possible. The whole point of the plan was to get married, remember? Pradeep wouldn't dare kill Aarti before they got married. The sari change was the only time when Aarti would be alone with Meera after the wedding. Meera would definitely act then. The moment Meera arrived with the prasaad, Aarti had the courage to set our plan in motion.”

“Gutsy girl,” Mohnish applauded.

“And also perceptive. I almost got her killed, by disbelieving her,” Sonia admitted.

“Yes, what was all that about—the self-recrimination?” His brow knitted in a frown.

“That was just that—a brutal introspection! Residual Guilt. When you came to the office, I was engaged in a skirmish with myself. I couldn't stop reliving the horror of what would have happened if I hadn't read those horoscopes and trusted Aarti's and my instincts. The image of a dead Aarti kept hounding me. I was sore at myself because I'd almost goofed up the case, blathering about ethics and stuff when the paramount thing in life is—life! I'm sorry if I misled you, Mohnish—but if it's any consolation to you, I really and truly was mad at myself for being such an overconfident, pompous ass in the beginning. If I'd stuck to labeling it all as the proverbial marriage jitters, Aarti would be dead!”

“I understand.” Mohnish nodded sympathetically. “What about Aarti?”

“She's gone back to her school. I guess she'll need some time to decide about her future. She has some major decisions to take. Poor girl.” Sonia sighed. “This whole episode has really taught me a lesson.”

“We've all learnt a lesson,” Jatin added magnanimously.

Sonia turned to him and quirked an eyebrow.

“I better fetch us some chai,” Jatin mumbled, hastily beating a retreat.

Mohnish and Sonia laughed.

“He's incorrigible,” Mohnish told Sonia.

“But the best assistant I could have. And I wouldn't repeat that to him,” she said.

“You don't have to. I just heard it!” Jatin popped his head through the door and grinned from cheek to cheek. “Thanks!”

He was gone again in a flash.

Anand Gandhi trudged along the gravel path, engrossed in thought. He was perspiring freely, but that was the least of his worries. The late-afternoon sun cascaded gold over the glistening Mulshi lake as the hills converged straight ahead. The letter would have reached her today, he thought. It would've entertained him immensely to watch her reaction. But she would come, he was certain of that. He was looking forward to this evening's rendezvous, which, if he had any say in the matter, simply had to go well! Everything was planned to the last t.

A sigh escaped him. He experienced an unusual wave of fatigue and loneliness. But he knew he couldn't feel either tired or lonely. Not now, when the end was so translucently close. He'd set out to achieve his goal, with a crystal-clear logic and mind. And he'd gone through a lot. He couldn't afford to succumb to meaningless protests of the body now! Besides, he had Maya, his wife, and his son, Swapnil, not to mention the entire Cotton Empire he'd worked so hard to raise to stupendous heights. No, he'd forsaken a lot for his end, which was now so within reach that he could almost touch it! All he needed was a little patience and then he would be free from all the entanglements of life! And he would most certainly have the last laugh. He smiled. Yes, he was going to enjoy himself very much.

Anand Gandhi straightened his broad shoulders, encased in an expensive khadi silk shirt, and headed towards the sprawling house ahead.

Reema frowned deeply as she observed Anand Gandhi's slow progression down the path. How tired he looked, she thought. He certainly didn't come anywhere close to resembling the successful, ruthless businessman that he was. The sun glinted on the pane and she stepped back from the window hastily. She couldn't risk being caught watching. This window had served her well these past few months. Not that her watch had yielded as much. Time was short and she had to be prepared. It could be any moment now.

All the anger and hate built up inside her was like a volcano, ready to erupt. Today, she was certain, it would be today.

Reema turned from the window, as Anand Gandhi entered his study from the side door and vanished inside. Instinct told Reema to stay on her watchful post. It had to be today!

Swapnil Gandhi lounged about the terrace, watching his father move in the direction of his study. Such a dynamic man, so successful, so unscrupulous. Swapnil had so much to learn from him—if only they could interact like normal beings. But of late, it was getting more and more difficult to communicate with his father. Swapnil was sure that something was on his dad's mind. But it was unlike Anand Gandhi to confide in anybody—not even his wife. Specially not his son, whom he trusted no more than he would a stranger. This pained Swapnil. He'd tried very hard to please his father. But somehow, he always ended up making a mess of things. The reason was quite obvious. Basically, he and his father were different in principles and he was no match for Anand Gandhi's quick mind. And now, despite the interest Swapnil had displayed in the family business, Anand Gandhi took his own decisions—mostly financial ones. Especially after he had discovered his son's expensive habits. The uproar that followed immediately afterwards still rang painfully in Swapnil's mind.

Well, he had to have another talk with Anand quite soon—unpleasant though it would undoubtedly be. Swapnil winced at the prospect, but he had no choice. He must talk with his father—today!

Sonia attentively watched the live telecast of the Gokul Ashtami celebrations on the Cable News. Mohnish's voice drawled on effortlessly in the background with a steady flow of comments. The festival rejoiced at the birth of Lord Krishna at midnight, and the next day celebrated his childhood love for curd and butter in the form of a game for the public, called Dahi Handi. Usually an earthen pot of curd, decorated with strings of rupees, was tied about fifty feet high, in the centre of the street between two tall buildings. This time the pot contained a spectacular and lucrative prize amount for the winning team. The game took place in different parts of the city as the public—Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Jains, and other communities—all gathered together to have a great time.

Boys formed a large circular chain, arms outstretched, holding each other by the shoulders. Lighter boys climbed on the shoulders of the first circle, forming another narrower circle on the top. Swarming crowds cheered encouragingly and dhols—large cylindrical drums—played loudly, as another group of boys climbed onto the second circle. Sonia watched the Television in fascination as the human pyramid grew amidst rhythmic cheering and drumming, narrowing on the top to allow one tiny boy to scramble upwards. On the top of the human tower, he reached out to grab the pot of money. But he was too short. He leaned farther up into the sky, and the group below him rocked. The crowd screamed wildly and Mohnish voiced his comments excitedly. The human pyramid swayed perilously, lost balance, then came crashing down. The boys toppled, one on top of the other, like the cards of a card-house.

“Oh no!” Jatin exclaimed. “They were so close!”

“One weak link and the whole pyramid topples,” Sonia observed.

“Here's the next team now.”

“Jatin, ten minutes, and you get down to work,” Sonia commanded gently.

Jatin grinned. “Right, Boss!”

Sonia returned to the inner office and immediately her attention was drawn to the lush bunch of roses there. The card read Secret Admirer. The bouquet had been delivered by the florist that morning. This was going too far. Who was sending these bouquets, week after week? Mohnish had flatly denied having anything to do with the roses. Who was her secret admirer and what did he want of her? Why didn't he reveal himself? It was really quite tough trying to solve the mysteries of the impenetrable and inexplicable human mind. With a sigh, Sonia turned to Nidhi and straightened her collar. The little cat truly did look quite royal, with her gleaming golden coat and black leather collar.

Absently, she took up the newspaper and once again read the brief news on the Owl. The police had finally found a trace to the thief's latest whereabouts. He was now reported to be in Mumbai. Mumbai, of all the places! So close. What could an international crook like the Owl want in Mumbai? she wondered. On the other hand, why not Mumbai? It was, after all, one of the most happening high spots in the world. But also so huge that it no doubt supplied hundreds of hiding places for crooks. Would the police ever be able to capture the Owl?

Jatin opened the door and walked into the inner office. “Boss?”

Sonia glanced up at him. “What happened? Has a team finally won?”

“No, Boss. TV is not the only thing on my mind!” he protested indignantly.

“Really?” Sonia raised an eyebrow expressively.

“Well, okay, I admit it's a good source of entertainment and information, but not when we have work to do,” he explained with dignity, holding up an envelope. Without another word, he set it on the table.

“What's this? Something interesting?” she queried.

“Very!” he replied.

Puzzled, Sonia dropped the newspaper and examined the contents of the envelope. The first page was a letter—a computer printout. It was short and addressed to her. Dear Madam, I'm sending you two horoscopes. Two people plan to meet today, and I'm afraid something terrible is going to happen to one of them. Please come to the following address before night falls—if you think you can prevent it from happening. With due respect, Anand Gandhi. The address printed below his name was a Mulshi one.

“Well?” Jatin ventured.

“Fascinating,” Sonia murmured as she took up the other two sheets of paper. Each contained a neatly drawn horoscope.

“I thought so, too. But does it mean anything? Like a real client? Should we treat it as a joke?” Jatin persisted. “It does seem as if someone's trying to pull our legs!”

“Yes, it does seem so,” Sonia admitted. She stared thoughtfully at the horoscopes, then glanced at the envelope. No stamp. “This arrived by courier?”

“Yes, just now.”

She looked at her wristwatch. “It's five just now. If we leave straightaway, we could reach Mulshi, which is about thirty kilometers from here, by seven.”

“You don't plan to take this note seriously, Boss, do you?” Jatin asked incredulously. “It's obvious that something isn't right here!”

“I know that. But doesn't the name Anand Gandhi ring a bell?” There was a meditative expression on Sonia's face. “Isn't he the guy who brought the best cotton designs along with the cheapest rates in the market, but who's still the most private public figure around?”

“The Cotton King!” Jatin gasped. “You mean, this is that Anand Gandhi?”

Sonia nodded. “Unless this whole thing is a sham—which we'll discover soon enough—I believe this is from the same Anand Gandhi. As far as I remember, he lives in Mulshi.”

“So you think this is serious business?”

“Not only is it serious, it's a challenge! Can't you detect that ‘if you dare' tone in the letter? Anand Gandhi may be just playing a game or he may sincerely intend it to be a challenge. I don't know which it is—a game or a challenge, the what or why—yet! But I intend to find out!” Sonia said, with grim determination. “Because if this is a deliberate, malicious stab at my respectable profession and practice, I'll return it with full justice and vigor. And if this is indeed a harbinger for a crime about to be committed, then I must do my best to prevent it!”

“But what I don't understand is, why doesn't he come out with it straight? I mean, if this guy knows something, why not just speak up and tell you what he knows? Why be so odd about it?”

“To arouse our curiosity, for one, and to ensure that we accept his invitation.”

“We?” Jatin raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to come along?”

Sonia smiled. “Of course. And don't forget to carry an overnight bag, in case we have to stay over.”

“But your parents, if they object . . .”

“My parents have given me a free hand to do as I please. And Jatin—I do the worrying here, you follow orders!”

Jatin grimaced. “I know. But once in a while . . . I should show some sense, shouldn't I? I can't always allow you to just pick up your bags and go off somewhere! I feel responsible for you!”

“Thank you, but I don't need you as a chaperon. I need you as an assistant,” Sonia reminded pointedly, amused at the gallant, protective role young Jatin had taken up.

“Besides,” he continued, ignoring her, “what would Mohnish say?”

“What would who say?” Her eyes narrowed.

Jatin shrugged. “Mohnish. He asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“Mohnish! And since when did he start giving you orders?”

Jatin grinned, unabashed. “He cares for you, Boss. It's only right that he should make such a request!”

“Hold it, hold it! I don't need anyone ladling out advises to me, certainly not you, and most certainly not Mohnish!” Sonia raised a hand. “And anyway, this conversation is going way out of control. No more discussions. I want you back here in half an hour, ready to leave.”

Jatin shrugged again, realizing belatedly that he'd gone too far. But he was only trying to do his duty. His boss ought to have taken it in the right spirit. Sometimes he simply couldn't understand the woman.

Sonia was fuming. How dare Mohnish say such things to her assistant! He'd no right to meddle with her professional life. She'd take it out with him when she got back, she decided, still bristling with resentment. Right now, she had to think about the case in hand.

She picked up the two horoscopes again. There was something about them, something she ought to recognize. But what was it? One horoscope had Gemini as its ascendant and the other had Cancer. But the rest of the planetary positions were quite similar. No names or birth details were mentioned with the rectangular diagrams. If she could find out which year they belonged to, she would get the precise age of the two people and a general description of their looks.

For the next half an hour, Sonia studied several almanacs, looking for different combinations. She was so engrossed in the job that she barely noticed Jatin performing his duty, albeit a little belatedly. He entered the room quietly, slipped a CD into the player, and melodious strains of flute loudly filled the air. At the door, he glanced back and observed with satisfaction that his boss seemed less agitated and more concentrated on the horoscopes.

At last! She had it. With a feeling of triumph, Sonia jotted down the date of the first horoscope. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. The person in the second horoscope had been born just a few minutes after the first. What a remarkable coincidence! Suddenly questions swamped her mind. Did the two people whose horoscopes these were know each other? Were they friends or enemies or simply strangers? Were they even aware of each other's existence? How was Anand Gandhi connected with these two? Could one of the horoscopes belong to him? And what was his motive for sending her the information?

There was no point tossing questions around in a void. There was only one way to divest herself of her sharply piqued curiosity. Reach Mulshi as soon as possible. She quickly gathered the almanacs, the letter, and the horoscopes and stuffed them in her handbag. Then, stroking Nidhi, she sloshed ample milk in a bowl for her and slipped out of the office.

Sonia drove the van slowly through the crowds gathered in each square. Everyone seemed engrossed in the game of Dahi Handi. She searched for a TV crew, then realized that Dahi Handi was on in various parts of the city. Mohnish could be absolutely anywhere!

Beside her in the van, Jatin almost hung out of the window in his eagerness to soak up the atmosphere. Passersby halted to contribute to the rising wave of encouragement, clapping along with the Dhol, as different teams tried their luck at reaching the pot. As the van crawled through the crowd, Sonia's attention was riveted by an astonishing sight. A girls' team! She couldn't resist it. One look at Jatin's longing face and she stopped the van. Jatin flashed her a grateful smile and they climbed out of the vehicle.

Dressed in shorts and T-shirts, the girls formed the pyramid, planting a firm foundation of tall, hefty girls. The lighter, nimble ones went next, until the last girl climbed agilely on the top of the eighth column. Sonia and Jatin watched with bated breath as the girl reached for the pot and struck it with all her might. The pouch of money fell straight into her arms along with some curds! Delight rippled through the human pyramid, as the mob screamed in appreciative frenzy. Sonia and Jatin joined the thunderous applause.

“Wow! Girls! This is the first time I've seen girls play Dahi Handi! That was some display of discipline,” Jatin remarked with admiration, as they returned to the van.

“Yes, a perfect example of good planning and organization of human resources; unity and discipline, which works in any situation of life—be it workplace or personal level,” Sonia agreed, as they set forth again.

She edged the vehicle out of the crowd and towards Mulshi. “Everyone is equally important in the achievement. Each one of the group has to put in his or her best. A single weak link can pull down the whole pyramid.”

They drove silently as the van ate up the miles—Jatin still reflecting over the amazing girls' team. He was sure lucky to witness this new revolution, he thought gratefully.

Dusk was falling fast when the vehicle finally climbed up the last hill, throwing up dust from the road. The Mulshi lake loomed large and dark on the right; the hills surrounding it were endless, shapeless patches of black.

“This must be it,” Jatin announced, as a large gate rose ahead of them.

Sonia nodded as she drove past the lampposts on either side of the gate. She half expected a watchman to arrest their progress, but much to her surprise the entry appeared deserted. A short drive led straight to the two-storied house. She stopped the van in front of the grand building. She and Jatin stepped out, and Jatin hitched his overnight bag over his shoulder as his boss pressed the doorbell. A merry tinkling filled the depths of the house. Immediately the door was flung open. An oldish woman, clad in a sari, gaped at them in bewilderment.

Sonia quickly introduced herself. “Is Mr. Anand Gandhi in? He's invited me—”

Before she could finish, the old lady gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. Still mute, she turned and hastened into the house. Sonia raised an eyebrow at Jatin. What was up?

“I think that was an invitation to have a free run of the place!” She grinned and the two of them stepped into the hall.

The lush furnishings, done with taste and style, bespoke money and elegance. Evidently no expense had been spared on any corner of this home. Sonia didn't doubt that the house boasted an excellent view of the lake, too. A perfect refuge for a rich businessman, one who led an extremely private life.

“Can I help you? I'm Swapnil Gandhi,” a refined voice broke into her observations.

Sonia whirled to face a boy just past his teens. Fair good looks. Tall and boyish, with a refreshing innocence in his face. But at the moment, the frown lines on his forehead betrayed annoyance.

Sonia cleared her throat. “I'm Sonia Samarth and this is Jatin. I'm here on express invitation by Mr. Anand Gandhi. May I meet him?” she asked politely.

“You mean . . .” The boy's eyes widened. He stammered, struggling to speak.

Sonia observed him with a great deal of interest. “What is it?” she couldn't help asking.

The boy was now very pale and his hands were trembling. He sat down abruptly on the plush sofa.

“Dad's . . . Dad passed away. . . . I just found him! I think it's not natural. . . .” He burst into tears.

Jatin stared horrified at the distraught figure, then looked helplessly at his boss, awaiting instructions! Sonia steadied her quickened breath and counted till ten, then sat down beside the sobbing boy, allowing him to vent his feelings. Finally, his tears tapered into hiccups.

“Tell me what happened,” she said gently. “I'm an Investigator. Maybe I can help.”

Swapnil blew into his kerchief and glanced up at her with reddened eyes. “I think someone . . . killed Dad. I've called the police, they should be here any minute. I also called the Doctor.”

“You did the right thing, but you must tell me exactly what happened,” Sonia insisted.

“I'd something important to discuss with Dad, so I went to his study—he's always there at this time of the day—but I found . . . there was blood all over . . . someone hit him . . . on the head . . . I think. . . .”

“Have you touched anything?”

“No . . . No, I couldn't! The blood . . .”

“Good. Do you mind if I take a look?” Permitting Swapnil no time to protest, Sonia rose expectantly.

The boy hesitated for a fraction of a second, then led them through a passage to a room on the left. At the door, he stepped aside, allowing Sonia and Jatin to pass through.

At first sight, the man inside the room appeared to be sleeping. But closer inspection revealed the details. Anand Gandhi was lying slumped on the table, his head battered by something heavy. Sonia's eyes scouted round the room and immediately spotted the big metal flower vase lying upturned on the floor, at the foot of a chest of drawers. It was covered with blood. No points for guessing what struck the poor man! A half-burnt paper on the carpet caught her attention. It was a letter. She bent and scanned the smudged words, then straightened, without touching the letter. The entire left wall was lined with tall windows. A door at the other end of it led into a garden. Before Sonia could turn to Swapnil and ask any questions, the wail of a siren pierced the evening. The police had arrived.

“I've heard of you, Miss Samarth. Inspector Divekar holds you in high esteem and I hold his opinion in high esteem.” Sub-Inspector Ganesh Inamdar was surprisingly forthright.

“I'm flattered and glad. Does that mean we can work together on this case?” Sonia asked with a smile.

“Apart from the fact that your contribution would be advantageous to me, I understand that you've actually been hired by Mr. Anand Gandhi. So that does give you the official right to be here, doesn't it?”

“Hired wouldn't be the exact word I'd use, but I guess it would come close. Actually I've been dragged into this murder. Whether by coincidence or design is what I need to find out.”

“Fascinating. So should we begin?” The Sub-Inspector rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“Could you tell me what you found in the study?”

They stood in a medium-sized room adjoining the hall. The room had a table with a computer on it, and a sofa set arranged near a large window which overlooked a garden. Jatin was on standby, ready for any action his boss desired.

With gloved hands, Sub-Inspector Inamdar held out two half-burnt sheets of paper of two different sizes. There was scrawled handwriting on both sheets.

“I believe it's a letter, unfortunately we don't know who wrote it or to whom,” Inamdar remarked.

Sonia ran her eye over the pages. The first sheet read “. . . I am trapped and all because of . . . you've got to understand . . . don't be fooled . . . I need to get out. . . .” The remaining words had curled up into ashes.

“This seems like some sort of a plea,” observed Sonia. “The paper's quite yellow, so it's an old letter. Unlike this one, this small slip, which seems pretty recent.”

The handwriting on the smaller sheet of paper was darker, bolder, and more forceful, but indisputably the same as the first. These words, too, had an ominous ring to them. “I'm coming. It's payback time!”

“Definitely a threat, perhaps to Anand Gandhi. Perhaps it was the threat that made him approach me, albeit unconventionally,” Sonia concluded.

“But someone tried to burn these letters. Gandhi or someone else? And why?” Jatin frowned.

“To destroy evidence? Or . . . to create evidence?” Sonia mused.

“You mean these were deliberately left in the study to mislead us?” Jatin asked.

“I don't know. I'm just thinking aloud.” She shrugged.

Sonia was thoughtful, staring at the blurred words, trying to coerce some meaning into the half-expressed emotions. Powerful emotions but of very different natures—one a plea and the other a threat. The words retribution and justice flashed through her mind. But who had written these two notes? And to whom? And why?

All three of them stepped into the hall, where the whole family had gathered, sitting almost idly, talking in low voices to one another. Maya Gandhi—looking shocked and dazed, grappling with the truth that her husband had been murdered. Swapnil—tearstained and red-eyed. The housemaid—or Daaima, as Swapnil called her—with swollen eyes and sniffing ceaselessly. And Reema—Anand's Secretary, who lived at the mansion.

It was Reema, the Secretary, who intrigued Sonia most. Medium height, wheat-complexioned, she appeared young and fresh—not at all secretary material. In fact, the girl distinctly lacked the poise and confidence of a businessman's personal secretary. What could she be doing in a place like this? Sonia wondered with a frown.

And more baffling, where did she—Sonia—fit in to this scene? Why had Anand Gandhi really invited her to his house? His invitation seemed more nebulous than ever now. Had he known that he was in danger? Had he sensed something that he'd wished to convey to her? And who did the horoscopes belong to? For a moment, Sonia experienced an acute wave of annoyance, which she tamped down immediately. This was no time for expressing personal frustrations. The man who had issued her the invitation had been brutally murdered. She was going to forge ahead with her investigation and find out who killed him.

Sub-Inspector Inamdar cleared his throat, securing the desired effect. Everyone instantly glanced in his direction.

“I'm quite sorry about what happened here this evening. And I—we—would certainly like to get to the bottom of this sordid affair. But we need your co-operation. Miss Samarth and I need to ask you some questions, individually and in private. We'll be in the next room. Miss Reema?”

Reema flashed Swapnil a nervous glance. The boy's reassuring half smile, Sonia thought, spoke volumes.

In the adjoining room, Reema chose the single sofa seat, sitting on the edge, her hands twisting a kerchief. Ganesh Inamdar raised an eyebrow and Sonia nodded in understanding. Jatin pulled out his notebook.

“Reema, how long have you been working here?” Sonia asked the girl casually.

“Six months,” the Secretary replied, in a husky voice.

“And did you like your job?”

“I'd nothing to object to.”

“Are you officially qualified to be a secretary?”

“No. I'm an MA in Sociology, but since I needed a job desperately, Swapnil offered me this post, and I had no choice but to accept it,” Reema offered.

“You and Swapnil are good friends.”

The young woman blushed. “Not exactly. I mean, we were in college together but . . .” She halted, looking confused.

Sonia threw a glance at the others. The Sub-Inspector was leaning over the table, listening intently, and Jatin was busy with his shorthand. She said, “I'd like to hear, in your words, what you were doing this evening and exactly what happened.”

Reema nodded. “I was in the office writing out some cheques which Mr. Gandhi had to sign. I saw him go for his usual walk and then return to his study. The road from the garden leads into the study and I can see it from the office window. Mrs. Gandhi was gardening and—”

“What time was this? Do you remember the exact time when Mr. Gandhi returned from his walk?” Ganesh Inamdar interposed.

“I can't be sure, but I think it was around six.”

“Right. Go on.”

“Mrs. Gandhi was in the garden doing some work, but when her husband returned she followed him inside. I took the cheques to him a few minutes later and she was still with him. I think they were in the midst of some . . . discussion, but they stopped when I entered the study.”

Her hesitation did not go unnoticed by Sonia. “Do you know what they were talking about?” she pressed.

“I haven't a clue.” Reema's response was prompt. Too prompt. “Mr. Gandhi signed the cheques and I returned to the office,” she concluded, on a note of relief.

“And after that, did you hear or see anything fishy?” the Sub-Inspector prompted.

Reema considered the question seriously before replying. “No. Though I was in the office for a while. But I've been thinking, something wasn't right—it was different, something odd. . . .” She paused, frowning.

The other three waited expectantly. Reema continued to concentrate, apparently unaware of the silence fallen in the room.

“Yes! No wonder it registered unconsciously!” She looked up at Sonia triumphantly. “Mr. Gandhi is—was—ambidextrous. He would use both his hands for activities, but he always signed his cheques with his right hand. Now I remember what puzzled me all evening. This evening he signed the cheques with his left hand!”

“Are you sure?” Sonia asked.

“Positive! I couldn't miss such an overnight change in habit!”

Sonia nodded, her face thoughtful. “Anything else?”

“No, not that I can think of.”

“In that case, thank you, Reema. That will be all for now, although we may need to talk to you again later.” Sonia smiled at the girl, who stood up readily. “Oh, by the way, is it possible for you to bring me your horoscope?”

“Horoscope? I'm afraid I don't have it here. It could be at home.”

“Home is . . . ?”

“In Mumbai.”

“Well, then, you better ask your family to send you the birth details, or better still, fax your horoscope to you immediately.”

“Yes, I can do that. But, why do you need my horoscope?” Reema couldn't hide her curiousity.

Sonia shrugged. “Operative technique.”

The Secretary nodded, unconvinced, but Sonia merely smiled and said, “Could you please send Mrs. Gandhi in?”

Reema slipped out of the room. Sonia exchanged glances with the other two.

“A smart woman,” Jatin remarked.

“And an excellent actress,” Inamdar added.

“Do you really think so?” Jatin countered. “I thought she was so genuine!”

“He's right, you can never know . . .” Sonia responded absentmindedly.

A knock on the door preceded the arrival of Mrs. Gandhi. The widow was short and plump, clad in an expensive sari of blue silk. The tears had dried, leaving a mottled pattern on her round cheeks. She seemed too absorbed to care. A woman unconscious of her looks. Kind? Sonia had a distinct impression that this woman would put the needs of others before her own. Sometimes Sonia's intuition played havoc with her reasoning, she decided. She had to curb it, especially where a murder case was concerned! She needed hard-core logic, she chided herself severely, not instinctive emotional responses to people which could capsize rational thought.

“Please sit down, Mrs. Gandhi. We know that this is tough on you, but you understand that this is standard procedure . . . ?” Inamdar began.

The lady of the mansion nodded. “I don't know how I can help you. I don't know anything at all! I'm just too stunned to talk. Memories of the days spent with him, the intimacy, the loneliness, the life we led together—all that seems so pointless now! I feel so deceived, so humiliated, so betrayed by . . . by everything! Why did this happen? How did this happen? I'm so confused, I don't know what is right from wrong anymore! I don't know anything myself, how can I explain things to you or anybody else, for that matter?”

The tears were coursing down her cheeks, her control buckling under emotional pressure. Sonia left her seat and spontaneously hugged the weeping woman. Mrs. Gandhi's agitated sobs finally receded and she rubbed her eyes angrily.

“I'm sorry, I'm a fool! I should learn to accept what's happened, but somehow I can't. All those wasted years, the irreversibility of it all—it's a shame. I just don't know how to cope!”

“I understand, Mrs. Gandhi. Death is a strange thing. Irreversible, yes, and final. But not the end of the world for those staying back,” Sonia supplied in a quiet voice.

Silence ensued as Mrs. Gandhi struggled to get a grip on her emotions. Sonia watched the woman sympathetically. Why did she get the impression that she had entered the climax stage of the story, Sonia wondered. So many incidents may have elapsed until this moment, in the lives of the Gandhis; episodes fraught with secrets left to be unearthed, leading to the final climax scene of this evening's experience. And would she be successful in leading the story to a favourable, satisfactory end? Sonia stared at Mrs. Gandhi's drooping shoulders and spent expression and wondered. . . .

“I'd like to ask you just one question. Do you think you could answer that?” Sonia asked the widow.

Mrs. Gandhi nodded, producing a kerchief and sniffing noisily into it.

“You were in the garden when your husband returned from his walk tonight. You went inside and then you two had a talk. Could you tell me if you were arguing?”

Mrs. Gandhi looked a little startled. For a second, the myriad expressions on her face evaded capture and then her face froze into indifference.

“Arguing or discussing—it's the same with us, Anand and me. We had our tiffs. But we hardly spoke tonight because Reema arrived with some cheques to be signed, and then I left, too.”

“And did you notice something different, or odd, while your husband was signing the cheques?” Sonia persisted.

A thoughtful expression flitted across Mrs. Gandhi's face, then she shook her head slowly. “No-o-o.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gandhi. That's all for now, but we may wish to speak to you later, when you're more inclined to talk.”

The widow rose and walked towards the door, her silk sari trailing behind her, and her troubled thoughts already far away from the room.

“Hmm . . . Intense!” Jatin expelled a sigh. “And definitely genuine!” he insisted.

“And extremely in love with her husband,” Sonia added with a sigh.

She leaned against her chair, feeling disturbed. And upset. Was it the woman's helpless ramblings? she wondered. The human mind was a labyrinth, so cryptic. The detours that thought processes took made it an impossible task to peg down fiction from fact. Not to mention the bulwarks that the mind set up. It wasn't so easy to turf out the fabrication, if there was any, from the morass of all that hurt.

Out of the blue, an idea began cavorting around the conscious edge of her mind, but she couldn't grasp it and pin it down. Well, later; she would think about it later.

Swapnil Gandhi was more in control than his mother and more willing, too, to answer any questions. But he hadn't much more to contribute than what he'd already told Sonia.

“You said you had something important to discuss with your father,” she reminded him. “Can you tell us what it was about?”

Swapnil hesitated for a minute, then shrugged. “Well, okay, you're bound to find out sooner or later anyway,” he remarked, matter-of-factly. “I've run into some heavy debts and needed money from him.”

“You're a gambler,” Sonia confirmed.

“Not an accomplished one. I just had bad luck once, that's all, but Dad refused to help me. I had to talk to him and convince him to pay up for me, one last time, but I never got the chance. He . . . He—” Swapnil stopped abruptly. His carefree tone and façade slipped, revealing raw pain.

Was it the pain of the loss of a father or frustration at facing the hounding debtors, Sonia wondered. Swapnil excused himself and quit the room. Sonia sighed and turned to her assistant.

“Jatin, I think it's time to begin our Modus Operandi—to collect the horoscopes from the family. Could you do it now?”

“Yes, Boss.” Jatin stood up with alacrity.

Inamdar excused himself, too, saying that he needed to question the servants. Alone in the room, Sonia couldn't help but feel a little lonely. Odd. No case had ever elicited such a reaction from her. Like a personal loss. Like a core being slowly and deliberately removed! She felt pinioned to this case and even responsible! That was absurd! Or was it something more? A moral responsibility, a human responsibility?

She stared out the window, into the night. Then, impulsively, she extracted the two horoscopes sent to her that day by Anand Gandhi, placing them side by side on the table. Two minutes, just two minutes . . . The rectangles with their constellations suddenly focused before her eyes, defining new statements. Was it possible? My God, if that was true . . . Why hadn't she thought of this before?

Jatin returned with three horoscopes and a fax. So Reema had managed to obtain her horoscope from home.

“Thank you, Jatin. Now I need some quiet. Could you just hang around in the hall while I go through these? Keep your eyes open. If you see anything of the slightest importance or suspicion, get right back here,” Sonia instructed.

“Right, Boss!” Jatin grinned. He wished he could provide her with some music, but that would certainly be in bad taste in a house where a death had occurred! “We still have Daaima to talk to,” he reminded her.

Sonia nodded absently. “After I finish with these. And Jatin—I think I shall want to make some phone calls. Can you also find out if they have Internet facilities attached to this computer?”

“Straightaway!” He returned a few minutes later. “You can use the phone and the computer in this room.”

Sonia nodded, as Jatin left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Automatically her favourite music began playing in her head and she closed her eyes, swaying slowly. Then as the tempo in her head increased, she moved across the room, with slow, swirling movements. Jatin popped his head in and stared in astonishment. What in heavens was his boss up to!

Sonia appeared to be dancing in the silence. No, not quite, he realized with a start. The totally absorbed expression on her face with a faint smile touching her lips and her graceful rhythmic hand and body movements seemed to penetrate into the silence, and elicit a melody entirely of a different kind. The feeling was so compelling that Jatin could almost pick up the rhythm in her head! He shook his head in amazement, then slowly withdrew, leaving his boss alone with her brilliant experiments.

Slowly Sonia opened her eyes, smiling to herself. If anybody saw her, he would think she was quite mad! But this refreshing feeling of energy was so invigorating, it was worth being called batty, she decided as she turned to the horoscopes.

She sensed the uncoiling of an inner excitement as she unfolded the booklets. She placed the two horoscopes sent by Anand Gandhi on the top. Right below them, she placed Mrs. Maya Gandhi's horoscope. Virgo as zodiac sign as well as the ascendant; Venus in the seventh house in the zodiac sign Pisces; Sun, Neptune, and Uranus in the fifth house . . . Sonia stared at the horoscope, her breath quickening. Mrs. Gandhi's horoscope told a story, a very sad story. Lacerations of the past! She flicked open Anand Gandhi's horoscope and gasped. It was an exact duplicate of one of the horoscopes which had been posted to her. Gemini in the ascendant. The Moon, Sun, and Rahu in the eighth house; and the seventh house accumulated with Mars, Saturn, Mercury, Venus, Uranus, and Neptune! What a unique combination! Her eyes traveled along the triangles, calculating and judging. Her hands suddenly felt clammy and she rubbed them against her dress. Had the night suddenly gone cold? She turned her attention resolutely to Swapnil's horoscope, simultaneously consulting Reema's. Certainly something on between the two of them. Harmless? Not quite, but nothing that could not be controlled. Reema's horoscope, her parents . . . She needed to check that out, Sonia decided. She stared contemplatively at the four horoscopes on the table and then at the fifth one, disconnected and isolated, sent to her by Anand Gandhi. What had he mentioned in his letter? That the two people were going to meet and one of them was going to be hurt! Did he mean himself? Had he known that he would die? And who was the second person? If her assumptions were right . . . An image of a group of people sitting on a wooden bench rose in her mind. When one person moved or shook his leg, the whole bench moved and all the rest of the people moved. . . . Wasn't it exactly like that? The repercussions of a deliberate act influenced the actions of others. . . .

She picked up the receiver and quickly dialed Inspector Divekar's number. Her uncle was the only person who could help her at this hour. After a brief discussion with him, in which she outlined the details of her requirement, she hung up. The Inspector would certainly call as soon as he had the information. Next, she logged on to the Internet. Fifteen minutes of surfing and she had all the answers to her questions—well, almost all. No sooner had she disconnected than the phone rang. It was Jeevan Uncle.

“You're on the right track, Sonia,” Inspector Divekar boomed. “Here's what you need.”

Sonia swiftly jotted down the information and her hand shook with excitement. Finally she had all the pieces to this puzzle. She sighed as she replaced the receiver. And what a mess it was. What a clever plot! Here was an example of how an intelligent mind could use the human pyramid to his advantage. Flawless planning, masterly implementation and practiced exploitation of a human chain, climbing onto the shoulders of others, to achieve one's goals. The manifest meandering of an insensitive, warped, and invidious mind! Well, luck had finally backlashed. Retribution?

A cold gust of wind made her shiver and she instantly wheeled towards the window. And gasped. A figure in a black coat, a black hat drawn low over the face, stood framed against the window. A motionless, ominous figure! Her mouth went dry. It was Anand Gandhi staring back at her. But the dead man's body had been taken away hours ago by the police.

“Who's that!” she called out sharply, but only silence met her ears. The figure vanished.

She rushed out into the hall, calling out to Sub-Inspector Inamdar and Jatin.

“What happened?” Jatin asked.

Sonia opened her mouth to speak, then froze. The man in black stood at the entrance of the hall. The bearded face had an uncanny resemblance to that of Anand Gandhi. Thinner, more hollow-cheeked than the original, but definitely the same face.

The stranger stepped forward, his eyes boring straight into Sonia's.

“I've come to make a confession,” he said in a rough voice. “I killed Anand Gandhi.”

“No!” Mrs. Gandhi gasped, collapsing onto the sofa. Daaima ran to her mistress's aid.

Reema glared with bright eyes at the stranger, her fists curled into balls. Swiftly, Swapnil strode to her side and his hand covered hers.

“You can arrest me right away, Inspector, I'm ready to go,” the man said.

“But who are you? And why should you kill Anand Gandhi?” Inamdar demanded.

“I don't wish to say anything more. I've said all I have to!” the man retorted harshly.

“Sub-Inspector Inamdar, could we talk for a minute?” Sonia interposed.

The Officer nodded, looking confused. The others watched in bewilderment as Sonia led him aside and spoke to him in urgent, hushed tones. Surprise flickered on Inamdar's face. Jatin sat on a chair, his admiration for his boss showing through the anticipatory gleam in his eyes. His boss was at it again! The phone rang and Jatin answered it, handing it over to Inamdar. The conversation was one-sided, but Sonia noticed that the Sub-Inspector seemed startled. Some new revelation? When the Officer hung up, he immediately turned to Sonia.

“I have some news about Anand's death,” he murmured, and continued in muted tones. A sparkle of satisfaction rose in Sonia's eyes.

“What's happening here!” the man in the black coat rasped angrily. “Why are you wasting time?”

“I'd like to know what's happening, too.” Swapnil spoke up for the first time, throwing anxious glances in his mother's direction.

“I'm ready to explain,” Sonia replied. “But not to everyone at once. Mrs. Gandhi, will you please join us in the next room? And you, sir?” Sonia requested of the stranger.

Mrs. Gandhi rose, as if in a daze, and followed Sonia, Jatin, and the Sub-Inspector. The widow stumbled and the man's arm shot out instantly to support her. If Sonia had any doubts before, they were quite resolved now.

“Let me start at the beginning,” Sonia began, looking directly at Maya Gandhi and the stranger sitting opposite her, on the sofa. “This afternoon I received these two horoscopes by courier, with a letter from Anand Gandhi. Let me read the letter aloud to you.” Sonia read the letter, then paused. “I was, of course, quite curious. We arrived here, only to find that Anand Gandhi had been murdered. After having spoken to each one of you, I studied the horoscopes, and this is what I arrived at. One of the horoscopes I'd received belonged to Anand Gandhi himself. The second belonged to someone born just two minutes after Anand. The horoscopes were too similar to be a mere coincidence, I realized. So that left me with the one and only logical explanation. The horoscopes belonged to twins!”

Jatin gasped, wonderment written all over his face. Mrs. Gandhi sat like a statue, her tear-blotched face swollen and pale. The man beside her remained stiff with anger.

“Now, without going into a lot of technical jargon, let me explain what I deducted from these horoscopes. Two horoscopes of two brothers—one with Gemini as ascendant and the other with Cancer. For the sake of ease, I shall call these two boys Gemini and Cancer. Being twins, the two ought to have had similar destinies, but the difference of two minutes changed the course of their lives drastically. Gemini had a whole lot of planets in the seventh house, which revealed him to be a dramatic, eccentric, cruel personality, even sadistic. And his eighth house—the house of death—had the Sun and Moon, along with Rahu in Saturn's favourite sign—in short, he would prove to be his brother's biggest enemy! Now, Cancer—basically a good person at heart, but Saturn in the sixth house in conjunction with Uranus, Mars, and Venus, aspecting the house of siblings, turned him into his brother's victim. And this is the tough part—the Lord of the seventh house, Saturn, and the planet of siblings, Mercury, are both in the sixth house, in conjunction with Uranus, Mars, Venus, and Neptune—indicating that his wife would have relations with his brother!”

An audible gasp escaped Mrs. Gandhi and she rose unsteadily.

“Please sit down, Mrs. Gandhi. I haven't finished yet,” Sonia warned gently.

“I don't want to listen to any of this! I won't listen!” the woman exclaimed.

“I'm afraid you'll have to,” Sub-Inspector Inamdar insisted.

Mrs. Gandhi sank down heavily, the tears beginning to stream down her cheeks again.

“And now I come to a third horoscope. A lady's horoscope, with Virgo as the ascendant. A victim of happenings entirely beyond her control. A pawn in the hands of Destiny. Sun and Uranus together indicate melodramatic incidents with regard to her husband. But worse, the ninth house is also the brother-in-law's house. The Lord of the zodiac sign Taurus in the ninth house—Venus—is in her seventh house, which means that the lady had a relationship with the husband's brother! An extremely complicated charting of the horoscope and I admit that it startled me. But it also made the whole history stand out like a clear, rain-washed landscape.

“And so now I shall tell you a story which began several years ago and which shall lead us to what has actually transpired in this house this evening. I may be wrong, some parts may be totally construed, but I'm trying to string together a sketch of reality!

“Anand and Jayesh Gandhi are identical twins. Maya and Anand are happily married and they have a son. They live in Mulshi. Anand is constantly away on business, mostly to Mumbai, where his twin brother, Jayesh, handles the headquarters. One evening Maya's husband, Anand, calls her up and tells her that Jayesh has been arrested for murdering a client. It's an open-and-shut case and Jayesh has been sentenced to fourteen years in jail! It is sometime before Anand returns home, subdued and changed, and Maya of course puts this down to the heartrending experience of seeing his twin convicted of a terrible crime. What Maya doesn't know, however, is that the man who has returned to her is not her husband, but her husband's brother!”

The shocked gasp from Jatin was like a gunshot. Mrs. Gandhi's face now revealed a resigned expression. The man beside her stared unblinkingly.

“Jayesh has used their identical looks to fool the law and his brother. It was so cleverly enacted that not a soul suspected that Jayesh had switched places. Not even Anand's wife! Anand writes from jail to his wife, explaining the mess, but the letter never reaches Maya. At least not then. Fourteen years pass and finally Anand is released. His first impulse is to write a threatening note to his brother warning him that he's coming home to take his revenge. But Jayesh now has other plans. He's so used to being Anand, the soul of the Cotton Empire, that he's loath to relinquish his hard-acquired identity. He decides to keep it forever. His plan is simple. He asks his brother to meet him at the cliff—perhaps at Sunset Point. But first, he decides to reveal his true identity to Maya, the woman he has deceived all these years. He would then head towards the cliff, get rid of his brother once and for all, by perhaps pushing him over the cliff, and then return to the house as the indignant Anand Gandhi, newly returned from jail!

“His plan was perfect. Jayesh despatched two horoscopes to me, to ensure that I would land here as witness to the whole drama. Then he deliberately showed Maya the two letters that his brother had written. To say that it was a great shock for her to discover that the man she'd been living with all these years was not her husband, but her husband's brother, is an understatement! Reema arrived at that very moment to get some cheques signed, and Jayesh deliberately signed them with his left hand, so that Reema, as an additional witness, would help him reestablish his identity as Jayesh. This was after all necessary for him to do before he could kill his brother—whom everyone would believe was Jayesh—and return once more as Anand. However, he hadn't bargained for two things. One, that Maya would be so incensed that she would threaten to disclose his identity—”

“Only threatened, but I took his life! I killed him! He was insane and he deserved to die!” The man in black spoke up heatedly.

Sonia smiled at him. “No, Mr. Anand Gandhi. You did not kill Jayesh. And neither did your wife, Maya, for whom you are understandably trying to cover up. Though she did hit him with the vase in her rage. Tell me, Mrs. Gandhi: Did you go out into the garden after Jayesh revealed his identity to you?”

“Yes . . .”

“And you stormed back into the room, furious and determined not to allow Jayesh to get away with his scheme?”

Mrs. Gandhi nodded.

“Did something strike you as odd? The way he was sitting, perhaps?” Sonia prompted.

Mrs. Gandhi frowned. “Yes . . . He'd burnt up one of the letters he'd shown me. And suddenly he was leaning over his table. I remember thinking that it was odd—a moment before, he was laughing so cruelly—his laughter is still ringing in my ears! And the next moment, he was quiet and reflecting, with his head on the table! But that didn't stop me from picking up the vase from the chest of drawers and hitting him hard over the head like a crazy woman!”

“He wasn't reflecting. He'd just had a massive heart attack. He was dead!”

A thundering silence ensued. Maya's face blanched, and then she turned wildly to her husband. They stared at each other and hope flared in their eyes.

“Does that mean . . . ?” Anand stammered to Sonia, disbelief tainted with sudden longing.

“Now listen carefully. This is what really happened and this is the story you shall repeat. Jayesh Gandhi had a heart attack, and in his struggle for survival, he knocked the vase placed overhead on the chest of drawers. The vase crashed down on his head. But a split second before it fell, Jayesh was already dead! In Mrs. Gandhi's horoscope, Mars aspects the ninth house, which has Saturn in conjunction with Jupiter. This indicates that she will be tempted to murder him but Jupiter will not allow such a thing to happen! And this means that there's no murder, and hence no case. What passed between us in this room was mere speculation on my part. I was simply trying to outline a story out of the horoscopes that were sent to me! I may be wrong, of course, but I don't want any corrections!” A faint smile touched Sonia's lips.

She turned away discreetly as Mrs. Gandhi burst out sobbing and fell straight into her real husband's arms. Anand held her close, then he led her out of the room.

“Boss, there's something I don't understand. Why send us the horoscopes?” Jatin asked.

“First, I think it was Jayesh's idea of fun. Second, he wanted to have written proof that the fake Anand really wanted to get rid of his brother. Jayesh wanted to return as Anand from jail, remember? Just as he did his best to re-create his original identity with Maya and Reema, he left proof with us so that we could vouch for the fact that he indeed had ulterior motives! Then as per his plan, Jayesh would arrive on the doorstep as the real Anand Gandhi and claim that his criminal brother either ran away or committed suicide!”

“Whew! What a fantastic idea! How very clever!” Jatin whistled.

“And also cruel, wreaking havoc with the lives of so many people . . . Jatin, I'm exhausted. Do you think you can handle Swapnil and Reema?”

“Sure, Boss, but what do I have to do?”

“Reema is the daughter of the man Jayesh murdered years ago. I think she's been acting as a Secretary here with some poetic notion of avenging her father's death. She's young and immature and I'm certain Swapnil will take good care of her. Do you think you can manage?”

“Sure, Boss! I'll be right back!” Jatin grinned, thrilled beyond words at this added responsibility.

Sub-Inspector Inamdar came forward with a warm smile on his face. “I'm speechless—truly, I don't know what to say!”

“Then don't say anything at all. Remember, we agreed on this decision together,” she reminded him.

‘Yes, but it was your idea to give those two a second chance, not mine,” he told her gently.

“They deserved it. Fate has played some cruel tricks on them; it was only fair to back off now. But let's forget it! This case is closed. We all need a good night's sleep, it's well after midnight!” Sonia yawned.

“I'll ask a Constable to drive you back to town,” Inamdar offered, as the phone shrilled into attention. Inamdar lifted the receiver. “It's for you,” he told Sonia.

Surprised, she took the receiver. Inspector Divekar again?

“Hello, Sonia, I've been worried. Where in heavens are you?” The familiar deep drawl echoed into her ears.

“Mohnish!” she exclaimed. “You've been worried about me?”

“Of course!” he retorted, and in a flash her earlier anger and her loneliness were a distant memory.

She listened to him for a few minutes and then hung up. Her fatigue, too, had vanished. She picked up her handbag, and with a light spring to her feet, headed out into the night.

The September sun was on the horizon, painting the sky in golden-pink shades. There was still plenty of time for the famous Panchgani sunset, but already the glow in the sky was a treat to watch. Sonia's eyes feasted on the golden ball as it tilted over the tableland—the second largest plateau in Asia. Every single time she visited this hill station, she marveled. Panchgani was an idyllic hilly town on the crest of the Sahyadri mountain range, a favorite choice of tourists and also the perfect location for film shootings.

Three large, red-and-blue-striped garden umbrellas were set up on one side. Sonia, along with Jatin, relaxed under one of these, watching sixty people bustle around them. A spot boy approached and served them hot chai in two disposable thermacol cups. Sonia smiled at the shy kid.

“Silence, please!” a voice boomed on the handheld speaker-cone. Chirag Mehta, the Producer and Director of the film titled Ek Paheli (“The Puzzle”), issued crisp orders to his team, and everyone immediately fell into position. The Cameraman on top of the crane, the Light Men with the huge HMI lights, the Makeup Men and junior artists hovering on the sidelines—all ready for action.

“Roll camera!” Chirag bellowed.

The Clapper Boy slipped in front of the camera, clapped the board, and said, “Ek Paheli, sequence 70, scene 3, take 1.”

“Music! Action!” Chirag thundered.

Sonia watched in admiration as Nimisha, the famous actress and her friend, danced with perfect tempo and grace to the music, before a huge, ornate set of a temple. The camera whirred. The Light Men trained the huge reflectors and the lights on the beautiful actress. There was no doubt, Nimisha was a star—in the real sense of the word. Attired in a sequined, traditional blue and gold Bharat Natyam dance sari, her tall willowy body showed off perfect curves. Her personality emanated magic, poise, and vitality. In front of the camera, she positively glowed like a star.

The group on the sidelines watched in rapt silence, appreciation on their faces. Except one face. Jay—the hero of the film—was positioned at the foot of the crane and the expression on his face startled Sonia. He was staring at Nimisha, a long fixed gaze filled with agony and misery. Whatever could cause such intense emotion in the man, Sonia wondered. Was he in love with Nimisha?

“Cut! Perfect!” Chirag boomed, pleased.

Jatin expelled a slow whistle of approval. “Wow! She's good, isn't she?” he whispered.

Sonia agreed. “The best. What perfect rhythm, and she's supple, like a cloth in hand.”

The music was switched off and the shot was okayed. Immediately a flurry of activity commenced, as trolley tracks began to be laid for the next shot. Lights changed position around the set of the temple, and the entire crew, including Chirag and the twelve Light Men, swung into action. The Makeup Man ran to Nimisha to touch up her makeup. The actress patiently allowed her face to be dabbed and puffed, then, smiling, walked towards Sonia and flopped down on the empty chair beside her.

“How do you like it?” she asked in a cultured, husky voice.

“A wonderful experience. I'm so glad I came,” Sonia told her.

The Spot Boy offered Nimisha a cup of chai, which she accepted gratefully.

“I told you you'd enjoy the change. Sonia, we've known each other since school days and I wanted you to see what I actually did. I'm so glad you accepted my invitation, even if it's on the last day of the shoot. Just one more small sequence and we shall be done for this schedule. Then we can attend the small party at the cottage.”

“And after the party Jatin and I must leave,” Sonia reminded her.

“Are you sure you won't stay for the night?”

“No, I have work tomorrow. And it's only a three-hour drive to Pune.”

“Okay, I should be consoled with the fact that at least you could come today.” Nimisha flashed her famous million-rupee smile, which had lodged itself into the hearts of the Indian public.

“I had to. I thought it was time to brush shoulders with the great Nimisha Raikar,” Sonia teased, then added warmly, “You've come a long way, haven't you?”

“You mean from the time in school when I'd been so desperate to act that I was on the verge of committing suicide?” Nimisha asked. “I remember how sick I was of school and how I longed to act, but had no permission from home. If it hadn't been for you, I would have committed suicide, Sonia.”

“No, you wouldn't have. It was just that—desperation and frustration. But you were strong and managed to overcome that silly urge of taking your own life. And look at you now! Successful, sought-after, highly paid, with an adoring fan-following!”

“You're right. It was tough. It was really tough, reaching this stage, without compromising my principles.” Nimisha rested against her chair, a reflective expression on her beautiful face. Her eyes followed the film crew hastening to organize the next part of the dance sequence.

“Look at those people. Chirag—the Director, Jay—my co-star, K.Kusum—my Choreographer and the woman who in a way is responsible for my rise to success. If she hadn't choreographed dances which showcased my dancing skills, I would still be a starlet. Kusum is getting on in years now. You know, Sonia, each one of those people and the rest of the crowd out there—each one of them—has a secret, a skeleton in the cupboard. Jay once made me a scandalous proposition, which shocked me. Now we pretend as if nothing ever passed between us and we are cordial to each other. As for Kusum, each dance step of hers has a history . . . and I think this will be my last dance with her. Believe it or not, the world of films is a quagmire. Before you realize it, you're sucked into the swamp of lies and deceit, gilded with the gloss of glamour and creativity. Too late, you realize that you're trapped. If I didn't love the work, I don't know how I could've handled this feeling of being trapped.”

Sonia's concerned gaze rested on Nimisha for a moment. Did she seem depressed? No, merely resigned. Then, as Nimisha continued talking, Sonia's gaze moved to the others. The Director, with a Panama hat on his head, was discussing something with the handsome Jay—heartthrob of the masses. K.Kusum listened on, offering suggestions. The Choreographer was a tall, elegant lady, past her prime but carrying herself with immense dignity.

An old man offering baskets of strawberries and raspberries approached Kusum, accompanied by a young boy. She tasted the fruits and seemed to like them. Sonia watched in amusement as the Choreographer spoke in a raised voice to the man, who was apparently a little deaf.

“Panchgani is famous for its berries!” Nimisha remarked unnecessarily. Then she leaned suddenly toward Sonia and whispered, “I have some real damaging proof. It can ruin someone.”

Sonia blinked. Immediately Nimisha straightened and resumed in a normal tone. “If you needed story material for a film, I can promise you that each one of these people can boast a background, far more colourful and fascinating than fiction! But then, I think you can deduce that from their horoscopes, can't you?” the movie star asked. Interest glittered in her light eyes.

Sonia shrugged. “I probably could tell.”

“Good. I specifically asked Chirag, Jay, and Kusum to bring their horoscopes on location. I hope you haven't forgotten your promise of reading our horoscopes?”

Sonia particularly disliked a general reading of horoscopes. However, she didn't want to hurt her friend.

“No, I haven't. But just a quick run-through, okay?” she conceded.

“Oh, good! After this sequence, it will be pack-up time and the whole film unit will leave for Mumbai. Just a few of us are staying here for the night, because the hotel Manager insisted on inviting us for a party he was throwing this evening. You and Jatin will of course join us and then we can have a small horoscope-reading session.”

The next shot was ready and Nimisha excused herself. Sonia settled against her chair once more, to be entertained by the high-power activity of the film scene. Idly her eye roved from the scene of action to the sidelines. A few Vendors and tourists were hanging about, giggling and enjoying the trials and errors of the rehearsals. A huge merry-go-round swung smoothly at the far end of the plateau. Tourists, with cameras, flooded the stalls and enjoyed jaunts round the tableland, in the horse-driven colourful six-seater carts. Narrow steps, etched into the cliff, curved down the side of the land, to a natural cave restaurant. Sonia wished she had the time to soak in the rustic ambience of the cave, which also had a quaint shop. She made a mental note that she had to, at least, buy a basket of strawberries and some jam, squash, and jellies for her parents. Later, when the shoot was over, she'd stroll round the pretty town and do some shopping.

The rehearsals were taking longer than expected, but Jatin watched with full concentration. Sonia picked up the newspaper she had bought that morning, on the way to Panchgani, but which she hadn't had a chance to read. Her eyes flicked over the headlines, her feet tapping absently along with the music on the Nagra. At a particular write-up she paused, her pulse quickening. The Owl! It was reported that he was last traced to Panchgani! How very interesting, she thought. He had moved from Mumbai to Panchgani and the police were once again on his trail. But would they be able to catch him? And if they didn't, what would be his next destination? Pune? Sonia couldn't help but experience a rather childish thrill at the thought.

The shot was ready for the final take, so Sonia folded the newspaper and concentrated on Nimisha.

The sun was setting over the horizon in blazing colours as the film unit packed up. The huge lights, their stands, and long cables with the extension boards were loaded into a van by some. Others were pushing boxes of hired set property into another van. Earlier, the set of the Temple had been dismantled in such record time that Jatin had gaped in amazement. As one by one, the Generator Van, the buses, and cars crawled out of the town, he sighed. It had been a great experience, being in close quarters with a real film crew and trying to understand firsthand the technique of film production. If his career as a detective didn't work, he could easily take to filmmaking!

“The film unit has left,” he reported to his boss unnecessarily.

Sonia nodded.

“What about us? When do we leave?”

“Late evening. I'm going to have a brief horoscope-reading session with Nimisha and her friends, then we're free to return to Pune, you and I.”

“Boss, I thoroughly enjoyed myself today. Thank you!”

“Thank Nimisha, not me.”

“Do you really mean that? Wow, I'd love to talk to her and take her autograph!” Jatin exclaimed, starry-eyed.

Sonia laughed. “Go ahead, before she returns to her cottage. She's right there beside her car! In the meanwhile, I'm going to the market. Catch me there after you're done with the acknowledgements!”

The market was a small, quaint place consisting of a long, curving street. Shops selling leather goods, footwear, handwoven multi-coloured mattresses, and fruit products lined either side of the street. The whole market road had a charming, magical feel to it. Sonia and Jatin strolled along, popping roasted gram into their mouths and checking out the items on display. Jatin had bought a walking stick with a carved dog head and Sonia's shopping bag was full with mixed fruit and raspberry jam and two baskets of strawberries.

She paused at a shop selling handwoven cotton carpets. The striped carpets were piled high, one on top of the other, inside and outside the shop. Sonia ran her hand over the carpets and picked out the jazziest one.

“I hope that's not for the office,” Jatin commented.

“Actually, it is,” Sonia confirmed.

“But, Boss, you can't! It's too . . . too feminine!” Jatin protested.

Sonia raised an eyebrow. “And what's wrong with it being ‘too feminine'?”

Jatin hesitated. “Think about the image of the office! It's Stellar Investigations—a detective agency—”

“Run by a woman—a very feminine and stylish woman, I hope,” Sonia completed, and her tone brooked no argument.

Jatin shrugged. “Don't say I didn't warn you!”

Sonia turned back to the carpet, shaking her head in mild annoyance. The Vendor, a strapping young fellow in a thick multi-coloured shirt which appeared to be stripped off the mattresses he sold, smiled encouragingly at her.

“How much for it?” Sonia asked him in Hindi.

“Three hundred rupees.”

“Three hundred! That's too much!”

“Okay. How much are you saying?” The Vendor seemed ready to bargain.

“A hundred rupees,” Sonia stated.

“Boss, that's too cheap,” Jatin whispered in her ear, and Sonia frowned at him.

“Hundred rupees!” the Vendor exclaimed, visibly shocked. “That is not even my basic purchase price!”

“A hundred rupees,” Sonia insisted, firmly.

“Madam! Quote something reasonable!”

“Okay. A hundred and fifty. And that's my last price.”

“Two hundred.”

“Boss, two hundred seems reasonable to me,” Jatin whispered.

Sonia threw him her worst scowl. “Jatin, go away!” she hissed fiercely.

The Vendor watched their exchange with a great deal of curiosity. “Two hundred?” he asked hopefully.

“A hundred and fifty.” Sonia unsympathetically and firmly stuck to her price.

“No, Madam, too cheap.” The Vendor looked downcast.

Even the most hard-hearted purchaser would've melted at the man's dejected expression. Jatin did. But not Sonia.

“Fine!” She shrugged and turned to leave.

“Okay, take it!” The Vendor intervened hastily. “But, mind you, you are getting it dirt cheap, and please don't tell anybody at what price you bought it.” He stuffed the carpet into a plastic bag, accepted her money, and turned to the next customer.

Both he and Sonia looked quite pleased.

She gripped Jatin by the elbow and led him away from the shop. “The next time I'm bargaining, don't you dare whisper advises into my ear!” she warned him.

“But I was only trying to help!”

“Of course!” Sonia grimaced.

“But I must say that you did a good job. That was a good bargain! Well done!”

“Thank you.” Sonia smiled sweetly. She thrust the carpet into her assistant's hands. “You may as well take this to the van,” she told him, then added on a friendlier note, “And don't worry, the moment I lose a case because of the carpet, it goes straight home!”

Jatin grinned. Tucking the carpet under his arm, he trudged to the van, whistling tunelessly. Sonia smiled after him. He was such a child at times!

She resumed her stroll down the street, glancing at the leather goods displayed in the windows. She spotted some hand-knitted cardigans on the other side of the road. It was while she was crossing the street towards them that she had an uncanny feeling. Like someone was staring at her. She whipped around, her gaze probing the crowd for a familiar face. But the passersby, mostly tourists, were engrossed in their own shopping and merry-making. Vehicles zipped across the street. Sonia shrugged. Her imagination was playing tricks on her! She crossed the road. Suddenly the skin on the back of her neck prickled and she wheeled around again. No, this was no imagination. Someone or something was definitely following her. But who was it? Her cruising gaze yielded no results.

Perplexed, she had turned towards the van, when a hand clasped her shoulder.

“Hi!” a familiar voice drawled.

“Mohnish!” Sonia exclaimed. “What in heavens are you doing here?”

Mohnish grinned broadly. He looked quite handsome in a lemon-yellow cotton shirt and ink-blue jeans. Dark glasses shielded his eyes from the evening sun. He threw an appreciative glance over Sonia's sleeveless black Top and cream trousers. “I'm here to do a feature on Chirag Mehta.”

“On Chirag! Are you sure?” Sonia couldn't hide the suspicion in her voice.

“What do you mean?” A frown puckered his brow.

“I mean, isn't it too much of a coincidence that we both should be in Panchgani on the same day?” Sonia asked. “Are you positive you're not following me?”

“Following you!” Mohnish couldn't have looked more surprised. “Why would I follow you?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “Okay, forget it! I'm just a little hyper.” She brushed off further conversation and kept on walking towards the van.

Mohnish fell in step with her. “I can see you don't like coincidences. You're not happy to see me here.”

Sonia stopped. Crowds jostled around her, making a discussion difficult. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. Forget it. Are you going directly to Chirag for the interview?”

“I think I will. So I'll see you in Pune, tomorrow?” Mohnish asked her seriously.

“Of course!” Sonia smiled, holding out her hand. “Goodbye.”

Mohnish grasped her outstretched hand in a warm handshake. “Bye.”

It was dark outside and merry sounds of laughter and spoons clinking against glass plates drifted into the cottage. Jay was pacing in the room, an expression of deep worry marring his good looks. Chirag swirled the drink in his glass, hiding the exasperation he felt. Jay was intelligent and urbane but sometimes he got a little too panicky.

“You've got to stop this at once, Jay. What's done is done. You can't really undo anything, can you?”

“No, I can't,” the actor exclaimed. “But I've got to do something! What if she goes with the knowledge to the police?”

“Police? You're crazy! She wouldn't do something so foolish!” Chirag laughed. “Anyway, she has no proof.”

“She can tell them what I said to her.”

“What did you say to her?”

Jay glared at Chirag. “What do you mean? I was very clear, wasn't I?”

“Were you?” Chirag raised an eyebrow. “Can you repeat what you said to her?”

“Of course. I said, ‘Nimisha, there's someone very special who desires to interact with you. Someone who wishes to shower you with love and everything you've ever desired in life.' That's what I said to her.”

“Right. And what does that indicate? You mentioned no names, you made no unpleasant requests. Don't you see? You simply implied and hinted. She can't go to the police with hints and suspicions!”

Jay stared at Chirag for a moment and his brow cleared. “Put like that, it does seem rather . . . outrageous, doesn't it? So for the moment I'm safe? I don't need to do anything about it?”

“You don't need to do anything about it, ever!” Chirag grinned. “Just tuck that idea away for good. And think about what you have to tell him. Your main concern now ought to be facing him. I can imagine his reaction when he hears that Nimisha turned him down. A powerful man—a dangerous man . . . He'll ask for a replacement—someone equally attractive.”

“I hate this whole business!” Jay burst out.

“I know, but it's too late for your conscience to pop up, isn't it? This is the price you have to pay for opportunities, success, and money. Focus on these goals and everything seems tolerable,” Chirag advised kindly. “Come on, let's freshen up and join the others. I want to meet this Astrologer Sonia something, Nimisha's friend!”

K.Kusum watched herself in the mirror. She smiled grimly, studying her reflection—tall and graceful, draped in a plain black, glimmering salwar kameez. She ought to have become an actress. She had the looks—oh, not the light-eyed, classic, fine features of Nimisha—but a face with character and strength. Yes, she had plenty of strength. Had an opportunity presented itself, she would've been good as an actress. But destiny had led her down the path of Choreography. And God alone knew how difficult it had been to establish herself in this world of cut-throat competition. She had barely survived at first. And then a stroke of luck had cleared the way to success. After that, she had never looked back. Until now. Suddenly she felt afraid. She couldn't afford to lose all that she'd achieved in life. She'd struggled too hard and for far too long to let it slip out of her hands. She couldn't give it all up now, at the zenith of her career. Not for anyone!

K.Kusum straightened, squaring her shoulders. She was the best, no matter what. A faint smile of satisfaction crossed her lips.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” she called.

The door opened and an old, dhoti-clad man stepped in with four baskets.

“The berries you had ordered, Madam.” The old man spoke gruffly.

“Oh yes!” K.Kusum automatically spoke loudly in Hindi. “Keep them on the table, by the window.” She indicated with her hand, just in case he didn't hear her.

The old man nodded, placing the baskets on the table.

“Good.” K.Kusum picked up the basket of red and purple-blue luscious fruits. She loved strawberries and raspberries. They were fitting goodbye gifts to give her friends. Jay, Chirag, and Nimisha would certainly understand her emotions behind the gesture, she thought.

Jay swung a comb through his already immaculate, gelled hair and flashed himself a disarming smile. His talk with Chirag had lifted his mood considerably. Now he could look forward to this last evening with his friends. Tomorrow would be a rest day, and after that, his nose would be once more to the grindstone.

A knock on the door preceded the arrival of an old man with a basket of berries.

“Kusum Madam ne phal bheja hai.” Kusum Madam has sent fruits.

“Shukriya,” Jay thanked him in Hindi.

The old man handed him the basket and shuffled out again.

Jay glanced appreciatively at the berries. A green satin ribbon was tied in a beautiful bow, over which a card read, “To Jay, from Kusum.” Jay smiled. Kusum's way of saying goodbye? She really had the knack of doing it in style.

Nimisha shut the suitcase she was packing. She threw a quick look across the neat tidy cottage and was about to leave when there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” she asked, picking up her purse.

“Berries for you, Madam! Kusumji asked me to hand you these.”

“Thanks. Do I have to pay you?” Nimisha accepted the basket.

“She's paid for it.”

The old man retreated, and Nimisha watched him leave. Then, raising an eyebrow, she glanced at the basket, which she placed on the table near the window. Kusum presenting her with berries? What exactly was she playing at? Surely not peacemaking? She picked up a purple-blue fruit.

“Madam, there's a call for both you and Kusumji at the reception,” a hotel boy announced from the open door.

“A call for me? Can't you connect it here?”

“It's in the Manager's office. That phone isn't connected to the PBX.”

Nimisha dropped the berry into the basket, picked up her purse again, shut the door, and followed the Hotel Boy to the main reception area.

The cottages were more like Row houses, small and red-roofed. Tidy in their arrangement and yet pretty, with pink lace curtains adorning the grill-less, open wooden windows. Glasses clinked as the small circle partied on the lawn adjoining the cottages, where the film personalities and other hotel guests were housed. Sonia sat in a chair, a glass of orange juice in her hand. Even though the majority of the film unit had departed, the others had a good reason to rejoice. The shooting was over and the film would now be promoted to the editing stage. These people, who had spent over a month together like a family, were now going to part—perhaps forever or until the next film. Whatever Destiny chose.

She saw Jatin, circulating amidst the guests and helping himself to a plateful of salad. It had been a good treat for him. After his unfailing loyalty to Stellar Investigations, he deserved a change. Her gaze moved to the cottages. Nimisha must be busy dressing. Actresses were usually very conscious of the way they appeared in public. Nimisha would be no different.

Sonia watched the strawberry Vendor go to different cottages, delivering his goods and heading out of the premises. Leaning against the warm cushioned seat, Sonia allowed the breeze to relax her body.

“Enjoying yourself?” a low voice asked, startling Sonia.

Jay looked extremely handsome, in a white silk kurta—casual yet elegant. His smile was warm and friendly.

Sonia smiled. “Very much, thank you.”

Jay seated himself beside her. “You're an old friend of Nimisha's, aren't you? But I've never seen you before.”

“That's because this is the first time I'm attending a shoot of hers.”

“So how do you find it?”

“Exhausting!” Sonia grinned.

Jay threw back his head and laughed heartily. “You're absolutely right. Film work is tedious. Very few know what effort goes behind filmmaking. Sometimes I feel that it would help if they knew. At least they would stop a minute to think before they pan a film!”

“The reverse could also be true, of course. I mean, how many filmmakers truly stop and think before they make films? Could that be one of the reasons for the devolution of films?” Sonia asked.

Jay looked taken aback. “Oh, are you the type who prefers art cinema to commercial, song-and-dance mainstream films?”

“No. I'm the type who prefers to be entertained with sensible, wholesome films. And that is not arty cinema. That is logical, middle-of-the-stream cinema. Songs and dance included.”

“Fair enough,” Jay conceded with an abashed smile. “But creativity cannot be typecast.”

“Do you know what I believe is the main function of anything creative—be it performing arts, fine arts, films, books? It is to heal. Creativity has the power to heal—the creator as well as those exposed to it. A good creation can be therapeutic. It may ruffle your beliefs, challenge your intelligence, and instigate your thought processes, but ultimately it must soothe. It must mend broken spirits, touch a core, and harmonize the turbulent highs and lows of the agitated human mind. The process and the product must automatically trigger a process of healing. That is what creativity means to me.”

Jay stared at her, his eyes widening in amazement.

“Hey, what're you two talking about?” Nimisha slipped into the chair on Sonia's left.

“Nothing special.” Sonia shrugged.

“In that case, why don't we start our horoscope-reading session?” Nimisha asked.

“Here?” Sonia indicated the swirling crowds.

“Oh. They're all drunk and happy. They won't bother us. Jay, have you your horoscope on you?”

Jay nodded, a little sheepishly.

“Okay, you first,” Nimisha ordered.

Sonia ran an eye over the handwritten horoscope and felt a familiar tingling of excitement. Horoscopes—X-rays of people. Honest revelations of deep dark secrets. In a way, she enjoyed the power she experienced the moment she began analyzing the twelve houses with their star combinations. Wasn't this another kind of creativity, intended to serve and to heal?

As she studied Jay's interesting horoscope, another chair was drawn on Jay's right. K.Kusum flashed her pleasant smile. Sonia acknowledged the gesture, then concentrated on the horoscope in hand. Full of dramatic twists and turns, mired with love affairs and a dangerous streak . . . As she began a narration of Jay's past, she sensed his restlessness. It was always like that. The desire to know. And then the distinct feeling of having too much revealed.

“You are getting more and more embroiled in something unpleasant,” Sonia concluded.

“Unpleasant?” Jay asked unnecessarily.

Sonia fixed an uncompromising gaze on him. “Need I put it in black and white?”

“Well . . .” Jay hesitated, and Nimisha watched him curiously. “No, I . . . I think I know what you're talking about. But is there any way, I mean, any chance of getting out of this . . . situation?”

“Yes. This year, before Jupiter changes. A clean cut, before it's too late.”

“It's already too late,” Jay murmured, and Sonia felt a little sorry for him.

“Don't worry. You will get out of it,” she assured with a smile, and handed him the piece of paper.

“Now my turn!” Nimisha said, with an almost childlike glee.

“And mine, after that,” K.Kusum added, with a smile.

“Oh, well then, you first, Kusum. I'll go last.” Nimisha offered grandly.

The two women were smiling at each other, but Sonia detected something. Hostility? Friction between the actress and the Choreographer? She shook her head off the fancies and turned to K.Kusum.

“By the way, thanks for the berries, Kusum, they're delicious!” Jay said pleasantly.

“Oh yes, thanks a lot,” Nimisha remarked.

Kusum smiled. “Just a gesture to express my pleasure at the wonderful time we shared together.”

“Same here. We worked with perfect co-ordination for this shoot,” Jay agreed.

Kusum handed Sonia a booklet, a traditional plotting of the stars. Sonia turned to the ascendant horoscope. From the corner of her eye, she saw Chirag emerge from behind the cottages and head toward them. Another chair was drawn and she glanced up fleetingly. Chirag nodded a hello and completed the circle of interested listeners around Sonia. Laughter and drunken voices mingled in the cool night air. The smell of kebabs and curries pervaded the night scents and Sonia sighed. She sensed it. Something strong and unexpected. Something inevitable.

“You've come a long way, haven't you? Hard work, plenty of it, and you still had to struggle to get your due,” she began.

“Absolutely right,” K.Kusum agreed.

“Oh, she's worked hard enough,” Nimisha agreed, and K.Kusum glanced at her sharply.

“You'll be doing at least two things at a time. Both creative . . . Do you also have a business?”

“Yes. I'm in the jewelry business. I design and produce semi-precious jewelry. But my first love will always be dance,” the Choreographer explained.

“That's understandable. You're good at your work!” Chirag agreed.

Sonia was silent for a moment. Then she continued, on a more sober note. “You had a tough childhood. Your siblings . . . Do you have an invalid in the family?” she asked abruptly.

K.Kusum looked startled. “How did you know that?”

The others glanced at her, astounded. All except Nimisha. The expression on her friend's face took Sonia by surprise. An arrogant, almost hateful smile curved Nimisha's lips.

“A horoscope can be a source of many surprises,” Sonia explained, then waited for the Choreographer to speak.

“Yes, my younger sister. She's always unwell, can barely get out of the house—”

“You never mentioned her,” Chirag interrupted.

“I didn't feel the need to.”

“Yes, but—” Jay spoke up.

“Look, let's drop it, okay? I don't want your sympathy!” K.Kusum's sharp brush-off took everyone by surprise.

“As you wish!” Chirag shrugged. He extracted a cigarette and lit it nonchalantly.

Only Nimisha maintained a steady, unblinking gaze, her eyes hard and cruel. The Choreographer met her stare with defiance.

“Who's next?” Sonia asked, and Chirag promptly forwarded his horoscope.

She opened the booklet and spent a studied moment over the star combinations. Then she glanced up at Chirag. “You have success and fame and money, but there's one thing missing in your life. Or should I say someone?” Her eyes betrayed compassion.

Chirag's face registered candid astonishment, then a pained expression flashed in his eyes. It was obvious that this was the last thing he expected Sonia to mention. “Hit the nail on the head,” he remarked bitterly.

“You experienced real love a long time ago, didn't you?” Sonia continued, and the others glanced at him expectantly.

“Yes, a very long time ago. We were in the Film Institute together, madly in love, and dreaming of growing rich, famous, and old together. She was very talented. But one fine day, she simply vanished! I've never gotten over her!”

“How sad!” Nimisha exclaimed.

“Now I know why you never married,” Jay said sympathetically. “Obviously, you must've tried very hard to search for her?”

“I moved heaven and earth, looking up all her friends, going to places she had mentioned even casually. I tried everything, but to no avail.” Chirag sighed, puffing on his cigarette. “I guess what has to happen does. After all, everything happens for a reason, doesn't it? Some call it Destiny.”

The others murmured agreement. Only K.Kusum was silent.

Sonia glanced at the horoscope again and remarked, “But you will meet her again. One day.”

Chirag looked startled. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Since Jupiter has entered your seventh house. Since last July.”

The Director stared at her, a contemplative gleam in his eyes. Not a pleased, happy look, Sonia observed. Which was odd . . .

K.Kusum turned to Sonia, a sudden enthusiasm on her face.

“Do you think you can read my sister's horoscope and tell me a few things?”

“Of course,” Sonia replied a little hesitantly.

“Good. I'll go fetch it.”

“In the meanwhile, I'm next,” Nimisha remarked dryly.

Sonia watched K.Kusum leave the table and head toward her cottage. What a strange woman! One moment she was most unwilling to talk about her invalid sister, and the next she was anxious to show her horoscope. She wished she'd had more time to read Kusum's horoscope. There was something in it which she had meant to explore . . . something she'd meant to say but was interrupted. What was it? . . .

But before she could spare it another thought, a chill ran down her spine. K.Kusum staggered out of her cottage. She was lurching and fighting for breath, holding her throat in agony. Sonia started, throwing her chair backwards. “Call a Doctor!” she yelled.

The others turned as she sprinted just in time to catch the falling, gasping woman. Kusum's face was changing color. She was spluttering, desperate to say something.

“What is it, Kusum? . . . What happened?” Sonia urged.

“I . . . He can't read. . . .” K.Kusum took a last gasp and was still. Her hand slid to the ground, and a raspberry rolled onto the lawn.

Sonia stared at the woman. Kusum's face was contorted. She sensed rather than saw the crowd gathering around them, shocked murmurs and stifled screams thickening the atmosphere. She rose, and someone hastened forward, stooping over the dead woman. Dazed, Sonia glided aside, and found Jatin beside her. Solid, steady Jatin.

“Boss, are you all right?”

She nodded. Poor K.Kusum. Concerned about her invalid sister one moment. And dead the next! This was life?

The police sirens sounded shrilly and the next hour was buzzing activity. K.Kusum's body was taken away before a stunned audience, and her cottage was cordoned off. The crowds were ordered to stay off the premises while the rest of the film unit was advised to stay on for a couple of days, in case the police needed to question anyone. An atmosphere of ominous anxiety settled on the merry-making group of people.

Sonia stepped forward. “Sub-Inspector Pawar?”

“Miss Samarth! What are you doing here?” The Sub-Inspector, a huge man, hefty in frame, turned towards the Investigator. A faint frown puckered his brow.

Sonia explained briefly.

“So you saw her first. Odd isn't it, this business?” Pawar frowned.

“Most definitely. If you don't mind, I'd like to help.”

“You mean—all that horoscope stuff? You must be joking. This is probably murder, Ma'am. Murder of a famous personality, even if she's just a Choreographer. I really wouldn't like anyone messing around here. Anyway, you need to be hired first to work with us.”

“I've hired her,” a deep voice spoke up.

Sonia turned astonished eyes on Chirag.

“I'm in charge of this setup and I want this terrible mess cleared up at once,” the film Director said. “I'm sorry for K.Kusum, but I can't keep my artists hanging out here endlessly. A lot of money is at stake. So I want as many forces working on this as possible.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your concern for all.” Sonia smiled at Chirag. Turning to Pawar, she raised her eyebrow. “I guess you have no objections now?”

The Sub-Inspector shrugged, grudging acknowledgement on his face. “As you wish, Miss Samarth.”

“Do you know what her last words were?” Sonia recalled. “‘He can't read!' Does that make any sense?”

She and Jatin were having breakfast in the cottage. They had stayed the night after all, Jatin in a room in the main hotel and Sonia in the cottage. Now as they finished a breakfast of Upma and coffee, Jatin glanced across the table at his boss.

“All night, I've been trying to figure out what she could've meant. I mean, if someone was dying . . . his or her last words would surely be—Help, save me, or even I'm poisoned, but He can't read?”

“Poisoned?” Jatin repeated, startled. “Is that what you think?”

Sonia nodded. “Positive. Cyanide—I'm quite sure of that. Same symptoms. And besides, she was fine when she left us. Something transpired in that cottage in those few moments she was inside. She came out instantly and died. It is definitely a case of poisoning.”

“But, Boss, murder? I mean, despite what the police said yesterday, I was still under the impression that this was a natural death. Murder, in a film unit?”

“You'd be surprised at the kind of jealousies and hatred that run through this industry.” She thought of Nimisha's words. “The world of films is a quagmire.”

“But who would want to kill a Choreographer? I mean, I can understand an actress wanting to kill another actress, or an actor or a director doing the same. But a Choreographer who seems to be no threat to anyone's ego?”

“Yes, it's worth thinking about, isn't it? Why would anyone wish to kill K.Kusum?” Sonia spoke almost to herself.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Oh, hello, Sub-Inspector Pawar. Any news?” Sonia welcomed him with a smile.

“The reports will come in soon. But we suspect murder, all right.”

“Cyanide poisoning?”

“So you guessed.”

“I don't need to check horoscopes for what my eyes can tell me,” Sonia replied sweetly.

Pawar flushed. “Look, I'm sorry. I spoke to Inspector Divekar of Pune and he said you're brilliant. I'm sorry I underestimated you.”

“Oh, forget it!” Sonia brushed off his apology. “Would you like to have some breakfast?”

“Oh, no thanks, I've just had mine,” Pawar declined.

“Fine, then let's get down to work. You searched Kusum's cottage last night, didn't you? Can you tell me what you found?”

“The room was pretty untidy. A chair and the wastepaper basket were upturned, probably in her struggle to steady herself. There was a basket of berries and her purse contents on the table. Bits and scraps of paper—nothing important—in the waste bin. The berries have gone to the Lab. We suspect that the cyanide was swallowed.”

“Do you know, she's the one who sent the fruits to everyone,” Sonia pointed out. “As goodbye—how fateful! How sad . . .”

“I heard. But then someone tampered with her berries for sure. We've taken samples from all the four baskets. But since the others ate the berries and are unharmed, we can be quite sure, Kusum's basket was the only one to be contaminated,” Pawar said.

“But when? When and how did anyone have the time to tamper with the berries, provided of course, that's the way cyanide found a way into her body. How was the cyanide inserted into the berries? And of course, most importantly, why?”

“The three Ms of investigation,” Jatin interposed with understanding.

“A good many questions, and we hope to find the answers to them all,” Pawar assured confidently.

“Did you go through her handbag? What was in it? Did you make an inventory?”

“Of course! All the lady stuff—compact, lipstick, a small tin of talcum powder, some papers, a horoscope, phone diary, some tissue papers, a chequebook, that's all.”

Sonia was thoughtful. “You know what fascinates me most? The timing. And the fact that someone has been extremely clever and intelligent in using Kusum's gifts against her. This has to be an inside job—someone from the film unit who had good reason to kill her, who had access to the cottages, and who could move about the place without rousing suspicion.”

“But the film unit had left by then, except for . . . Do you mean one of the three to whom the berries were gifted?” Jatin asked.

“Possibly,” Sonia replied thoughtfully.

“Rest assured. By evening we shall have found out who poisoned K.Kusum,” Pawar wagered.

Admiration shone in Sonia's eyes. “I like your confidence, Sub-Inspector.”

The tiny makeshift shack of corrugated sheets had a prime location in the marketplace. The boy sat behind a wooden table along with his grandfather, the old man with the dhoti who sold strawberries. Bouquets of exotic local flowers and crates of berries lined the iron shelves. Jatin lolled on a tall stool, as Sonia tried to get some information out of the son.

“What's your name?” she asked in Marathi.

“Ganu,” the boy, who was in his teens, replied. “What is it, what did we do wrong?” he asked a trifle anxiously.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing wrong,” Sonia reassured immediately. “But I want you to tell me exactly what passed between that lady who bought the strawberries from you and your grandfather. I mean, what did she say?”

“The filmy lady—Kusumji? She asked us to deliver four baskets to her cottage in the evening. So I chose the best fruits and Nana took them to her.”

“Do you recognize these film people?”

“Of course! I've seen all their films. I know them by heart. I love Chirag Mehta's films. I think Jayji is okay, though. Could do better films. And Nimishaji—who doesn't love her? All my friends think she's the most beautiful actress in the industry! Even Nana here likes her!” Ganu laughed, nudging his grandfather. “Don't you, Nana?”

Nana's wrinkled face creased into a smile of general understanding.

“Nana, you took the baskets to Kusum?” Sonia asked in a raised voice.

“Yes. I took them to Madam but she said she'd like some ribbons put on each basket. And she asked me to go to the general store and buy the ribbons. Pink, blue, red, and green, according to the cards.”

“And did you do as she told you?”

“Of course. I bought the ribbons and put them on the cards, just as she told me.”

“And then what did you do?”

“Madam had informed the hotel Manager that I would be delivering the fruit baskets, so I had no problem moving about the premises. First, I kept Kusumji's basket—she had ordered one for herself too—on her table. Then I went along and delivered the other fruit baskets—to Jayji and Nimishaji and then Chiragji, but he wasn't in his cottage.”

“How long did it take you to deliver all the baskets?”

“Just a few minutes. All these people are put up in four cottages in a row. It hardly took me any time at all.”

“And did Jay and Nimisha say anything to you?”

“They thanked me.”

Sonia smiled at Ganu and his grandfather. “Look, if you remember anything else—anything at all—please contact me immediately at the cottage. And thank you for your help.”

Nana and Ganu nodded.

“Where to next, Boss?” Jatin asked.

“Nimisha Raikar.”

Sonia glanced around the cottage, while Nimisha freshened up in the bathroom. The cottages were identical. A small sitting room and a bedroom with attached toilet. Neat and cozy. On the table stood a basket of berries. Sonia fingered the slightly withered fruits, past their glory, her hand traveling down to the card. It simply said Kusum. A pink satin ribbon adorned the bouquet. A coffeepot, filled with steaming-hot coffee, was awaiting consumption.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Sonia. But I like to sleep in late and last night was such a shock. I still can't believe it!” Nimisha was in her nightgown, with a woollen wraparound thrown casually over her shoulders.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, then settled down in the chair opposite Sonia and Jatin. “You wish to ask me something, don't you?”

“Just a few questions.”

“Okay, shoot.” Nimisha sipped delicately from the steaming cup.

“Do you have any idea why anyone would want to kill Kusum?” Sonia asked.

Nimisha shook her head. “Absolutely no idea. I mean, who could do this to Kusum? In fact, I'm truly shocked.”

“Are you?” Sonia asked a trifle sharply, and Nimisha stared at her with wide eyes.

“You don't mean to imply that I actually know something about this business?” the actress asked incredulously.

Sonia matched the stare, with a contemplative glint. “All I know is that something was not right between the two of you last night. I sensed the friction and heard your snide remarks. What is it, Nimisha? Tell me. You were so different with her last night. You said you were old friends. Why were you so . . . hard . . . so cruel, so unlike you, with her?”

Nimisha blushed. “So you noticed.”

“Of course! Something was going on between the two of you and I need to know what it was. It may be unrelated to Kusum's murder, but you've got to tell me, Nimisha, whatever it is!” Sonia urged.

Nimisha rose gracefully and poured herself another cup. Then, still standing, she faced Sonia. “Yes, there is something, but I'm positive that it has nothing to do with Kusum's death, which was just something she ate wrong, or perhaps even a heart attack. And right now, I'm not even sure I should repeat the knowledge. Now that Kusum's gone, I do not wish to reveal the skeletons in her cupboard.”

“But earlier you wished to do so,” Sonia said shrewdly.

Nimisha nodded. “I thought it was the right thing to do—then.”

“But if it's important, you've got to tell me!”

Nimisha dithered, then sighed. “Well, all right. I'd discovered a secret of Kusum's that no one—not a soul—was aware of. I think you almost discovered it yourself last night.”

Sonia and Jatin passed each other quick looks, but maintained a silence.

“More than a month ago, Chirag and I were returning from a day's shoot and our car broke down near Malewadi, a village which is about two hours from here. We had to take help from the locals. While the village mechanic was inspecting the vehicle, I strolled around and came upon a very pretty cottage. A thin, pale woman was sitting in the garden, being attended to by a nurse. The woman recognized me at once and invited me inside. I got chatting with her. She seemed to know so much about me and mentioned all my films and dances that had become a hit. I was led inside the cottage for tea and there on the shelf I saw photographs of Kusum and this very woman. I was astounded when she admitted that she was Kusum's sister, Geeta!”

Jatin turned a quick surprised look towards Sonia, but she was concentrating completely on her friend.

Nimisha shook her head reflectively. “It was when Geeta went to her room to fetch something that the nurse bared the real relationship between the sisters. A stroke had left Geeta extremely ill and weak, years ago, and she rarely left the house. Geeta had been an exquisite dancer and Choreographer before the stroke. But after the illness, it was her sister who took advantage of her talent. Kusum was always aware that Geeta was the more talented of the two. The nurse told me how after a year, when Geeta recovered sufficiently to walk around, Kusum brainwashed the poor woman into thinking that she would always be too weak to pursue a career and that Kusum would have to take care of her all her life. Not wanting to be a burden on her sister, sensitive Geeta, despite being an invalid, had wanted to assist her. She continued to be extremely creative. The nurse explained that since her health did not permit her to actually enact each step that she imagined and designed, Geeta kept an illustration book, in which she drew all the dance poses, like a step-by-step guide with neat sketches for Kusum to follow easily. She was so creative, in fact, that each step of Kusum's that took her up the ladder of success was a product of Geeta's brain. Kusum realized that she had finally found a gold mine under her very own roof! She took credit for Geeta's dances, passing them off as her own. Kusum deliberately kept her talented sister under wraps, for fear of exposing her own lack of expertise.

“When the nurse showed me the Choreography book on which Geeta etched all her creativity, I was amazed. The book contained detailed storyboards, with camera angles and shot sizes and shot changes on exact lyrics and musical beats of all the songs Kusum had choreographed. Each song was professionally detailed on paper, paying heed to the minutest aspect. As I looked at the sketches, I could hear the song in my head and could imagine myself dancing, and I suddenly experienced immense awe and respect for the gentle Geeta—the original creator of my dances! I was also thoroughly moved and upset. I knew that I had met Geeta purely by chance and learnt this most extraordinary and fascinating truth by sheerest accident. But I couldn't let it go at that. When Geeta returned to the room, I advised her to rebel against the domineering Kusum, but she was too reconciled to her non-existence. She had no strength to go against her sister, who was at least providing her with a comfortable life.”

Nimisha sighed. “I was really shocked. If anyone realized that the brain behind Kusum's famous dance steps—those that tipped me and her to stardom—was her sister, what a downfall it would be for Kusum! All her success, everything that she'd achieved in her life, would seem fake. She would be an object of ridicule and pity and her position in the film world would be lost for good.”

“And did you tell Kusum all this?” Sonia inquired.

“Yes. I was hell-bent on seeing justice done. I felt that if Kusum had a shred of decency she would give Geeta her due, even if she could never make use of the acclaim. I asked her to give Geeta her credit, but she refused brazenly. Do you know what she said to me? ‘Upon my dead body!'—that's what she said to me. No remorse, no regrets. Just plain cold denial. We argued a lot. Perhaps Kusum thought suicide was the best way out—to die instead of face the humiliation and stigma of rejection.”

“Suicide,” Sonia repeated reflectively. “Yes, I know what you mean. K.Kusum must not have taken your ‘suggestions' kindly. You were a threat to her existence as a Choreographer. Perhaps the only way out for her was death.”

Jatin flashed Sonia a look. Something about her manner made him speculate. What was running through her mind? he asked himself.

“But this wasn't suicide, was it?” Nimisha asked astutely. “Was Kusum really murdered?”

“I personally think so. Nimisha, what did you do before you joined me at the lawn yesterday.”

“I was getting dressed, of course. Then since we were all going to leave the next day, I got busy with some packing. I had almost finished when the Vendor appeared with a basket of berries from Kusum, which surprised me. But then I felt that she was trying to pacify things between us, so I accepted the gift. I think almost immediately the Hotel Boy came calling me, saying there was a phone call for Kusum and me. But when we both reached the Manager's cabin, the line was blank.”

“Is that unusual?” Sonia asked.

“Not particularly.” Nimisha shrugged. “Fans try this kind of stuff. They obtain the number from somewhere and are content to simply hear your voice.”

“And then what happened after that?”

“I joined you and Jay.”

Sonia nodded. “I guess that's all for now. Nimisha, if you remember anything unusual—anything at all—please pass it on to me, okay?”

“I will,” her old friend promised.

Jatin helped himself to kofta curry and puris, tucking in with a relish. The sound of the Television was a little too shrill for his taste, but his boss was working and her musical taste took precedence. Personally, he would have opted for a soft, romantic instrumental while he ate his lunch. This rock band screeching out harsh vocals on the MTV would certainly wreak havoc with his digestion, giving him a stomach upset. But he would bear that. It was up to him to see that his boss worked in the most conducive surroundings away from home!

Sonia sat on the bed, four horoscopes spread out on the mattress. Chirag, Jay, Nimisha, and K.Kusum. The raucous singing seemed to grate into her head, deep down, creating abrasive scratches on her thinking. She needed to rack her brains. Fast. And the hard rock helped, jogging her numb grey cells into attention. Chirag. Gemini on the ascendant in conjunction with Venus, Mercury, Uranus, and the Moon. A director of great class, a little theatrical and melodramatic in his treatment of films perhaps, but totally committed to Cinema, in his own unique way. His horoscope revealed a very talented man, willing to do anything for his goal. Mars aspecting inauspiciously on the seventh house indicated dramatic twists on the love scene. Would he be willing to do anything for love?

Jay's horoscope, she had already seen. She spent a thoughtful minute over it, then turned to Nimisha's. Complex, creative, and constructive. Certainly not destructive. But then there was that streak—that wild streak and that constant obsession with suicides. Finally Sonia lifted K.Kusum's horoscope and stared at it. Ascendant—Scorpio. A complicated plotting of the planets. Uranus in the eighth house indicated a possibility of poisoning. But what had it been last night that Sonia had almost discovered in this horoscope? Something that had been on the tip of her tongue?

Drumbeats had now joined the guitar lead, strings reacting melodiously to the fast-moving fingers of the guitarist, and suddenly Sonia's mind began vibrating. Her feet began tapping and her fingers drummed on the table. She closed her eyes, absorbing the music and opening her mind to the wave of revelation she sensed was coming. As the music reached its peak, Sonia's eyes widened. My God! “He can't read”!

Jatin glanced at her flushed face, his hand freezing in mid-air. He recognized that look on his boss's face.

“Jatin, can you call up Sub-Inspector Pawar and ask him if there was a card on Kusum's basket? And if he can't bring it along, could he tell you what was written on it?”

“Right, Boss!” Jatin pushed his empty lunch plate aside and quickly washed his hands.

As he sped to follow instructions, Sonia lifted two horoscopes, gazing at them sadly. This whole business reminded her of the Carrom board game, where pocketing the wooden pieces was such an art. In an attempt to strike right, sometimes you flicked the striker so slow that the piece barely reached the pocket. And sometimes the timing and pressure of the flick on the striker was so perfect that the piece slid smoothly into the pocket. But very often, you flicked the striker so hard, the piece popped into the pocket and popped right out again, or the piece and the striker both fell into the pocket! Sonia sighed. That was exactly what had happened with this murder. Not only had the piece jumped right back, but the striker had been pocketed!

Jatin returned, with the Sub-Inspector in tow, looking puffed up and important. Sonia looked at them expectantly.

“Here's what you asked for,” Pawar said, and handed her a piece of paper. “I copied the words out for you, though why you need it beats me!”

Excitedly, Sonia read the words. “Thanks, this is just what I need. Have you any other news?”

“Yes, it was definitely cyanide that killed her. In the berries.”

“I know.” Sonia spoke in a resigned voice. Suddenly the glow of knowledge had left her face.

“You know?” Pawar asked.

“I'll explain in a minute. But will you excuse me a second? Jatin, can you come with me?”

“Of course!”

At the door, Sonia paused. “Sub-Inspector Pawar, can you do me a favor? Can you send a Constable to invite Jay, Nimisha, and Chirag here? I believe they are all sitting in the hotel lounge. I think we need to talk.”

To Pawar's great amazement, Sonia and her assistant hastened out of the room. Pawar stared uncomprehendingly at the open door. He momentarily wondered if he should leave, but then decided against it. Inspector Divekar had spoken highly about this girl, and something told him that he should hang on. Witness her investigating techniques with his own eyes. He gestured to the Constable standing outside and issued instructions. Minutes later, Nimisha, Jay, and Chirag trooped into the cottage.

“What's up? Do you have news?” Chirag asked the Sub-Inspector, who shrugged.

“I guess so,” Pawar said.

Silence ensued as they awaited Sonia's return. She arrived minutes later, followed by Jatin. The deep flush on her face betrayed her excited mood.

“Did you find it?” she asked Jatin.

“Yes, this card from Jay's fruit basket says, ‘To Jay, from Kusum.' ” Jatin handed her the card.

“And this one from Chirag's basket says, ‘To Chirag, from Kusum.' ” There was a glitter in Sonia's eyes, as she held up another gift card. “And this one from Nimisha's room says ‘Kusum' and the card from Kusum's room says, ‘To Nimisha, from Kusum'! It all seems as clear as rain now.”

The others stared in confusion at Sonia.

“What is clear as rain?” Jay asked, frowning.

“What does all this mean?” Pawar demanded.

“It means that K.Kusum was killed because of cyanide injected into the berries,” Sonia explained dryly.

The others gasped, but Sub-Inspector Pawar raised a plump hand. “We already know that.”

“Boss,” Jatin began patiently, “let's start at the beginning. Who killed K.Kusum?”

Sonia looked from one expectant face to another. Nimisha—anxious; Jay and Chirag—curious; Jatin—eager, as always, to know the truth. Pawar—a peculiar blend of annoyance and impatience. Worried that she had indeed got to the bottom of the matter before him.

“K.Kusum killed herself,” she announced.

“What!” Nimisha exclaimed. “Suicide?”

Sonia shook her head. “No. It wasn't suicide, Nimisha. I think it's time you braced yourself to hear the plain truth.”

The Sub-Inspector frowned. “What makes you so sure she killed herself?”

“Partly the horoscopes, partly logic, and partly her dying words—‘He can't read.'” Sonia passed him a brief smile. “It isn't difficult to surmise that it all began when Nimisha discovered that Kusum had an invalid sister, a woman who was far more talented than her. Also that each dance step of Kusum's which had led her to stardom was actually Geeta's, the sister's. Nimisha told Kusum about her discovery and demanded that justice be done. But Kusum refused. In Kusum's own words, ‘Upon my dead body!' Right, Nimisha?”

Nimisha nodded. She seemed nervous and jittery. Jay stared at the actress, digesting this bit of news. Chirag's face looked grimmer than ever. Sonia concentrated on the actress.

“What Nimisha did not know was that in demanding justice for Geeta, she was actually imperiling her own life!”

Nimisha gasped. “What . . . what do you mean?”

“You threatened to expose Kusum, to make the world aware of her incapacities, to undo what Kusum had achieved in her life. It was a life-and-death matter for a woman hard-driven with ambition. She had no choice. It was your death and her life!

“She planned it all carefully, leaving it till the last day. Her goodbye gifts. Strawberries and raspberries. To all of you, including herself. When Nana, the old man, arrived with the baskets, she deliberately asked him to buy satin ribbons. Then she quickly injected small doses of cyanide into some of the raspberries in one basket and put in a card with Nimisha's name on it. When the old man returned with the ribbons, she asked him to put the ribbons as per the names on the cards and then deliver them. She made very sure that Nana understood what she said, even though he was slightly deaf. But what she hadn't bargained for was the fact that he couldn't read! Nana did not reveal to her that he was illiterate. He put a pink ribbon on Kusum's own personal basket and delivered it to Nimisha's room. But the basket with the poisonous fruits, which was actually meant for Nimisha, was left on Kusum's table, absolutely without her knowledge.”

“You mean . . .” Jatin began, comprehension dawning on his face.

“You got it. That basket was meant to kill Nimisha, not Kusum.”

Nimisha paled. “Oh my God!” she whispered.

“This is what I think happened. Kusum left us to fetch Geeta's horoscope from her cottage. Without the least doubt that all the baskets had been delivered as per her instructions, she casually popped one or two berries into her mouth. In a flash, it had hit her that something had gone terribly wrong. She may have flashed a look at the card on the basket before stumbling out of the cottage. She realized that she hadn't long to live. She died, her last thought being the shocking comprehension that the baskets got interchanged because Nana could not read. All along, I'd been wondering what she meant. And then it struck me that she said what was on her mind as her last dying thought! That he can't read!”

“Sounds fantastic, but not impossible. But an important question is, how did Kusum get hold of the cyanide? We need evidence, you know,” the Sub-Inspector said.

“And we shall have it. First, let's talk about the cards on the baskets. These are the words on the card found on Kusum's basket. They say, ‘To Nimisha, from Kusum.' And Nimisha's basket, in her room, had a card with ‘Kusum' written on it. When I first saw it, I found it a little odd that instead of saying, ‘From Kusum' the card simply said, ‘Kusum.' Of course, it did not strike me at that particular point that that basket was never meant to reach that room. If it hadn't been for Nana's blunder, Kusum would've been alive now and Nimisha would've been dead!”

Nimisha shivered, looking as if she were really being forced to taste some cyanide!

“Kusum designed and produced jewelry,” Sonia continued. “Cyanide is often used in that business. I'm positive that the small tin that you found in her handbag contains liquid cyanide, not talcum powder! I believe that a real thorough search of Kusum's cottage would reveal the crushed needle of the disposable syringe that injected the cyanide.”

Sub-Inspector Pawar rocked on his feet with his hands in his pant pockets, indecision written all over his face. Then, with sudden resolve, he nodded briefly and whisked his huge bulk out of the cottage.

“Boss, how did you guess?” Jatin asked. “That Kusum got caught in a web of her own making?”

“Her horoscope. Something about her configuration had been bothering me. Last night and all of today, the idea kept niggling at the back of my mind—that I ought to have noticed what it was. And finally I struck the right note. There were unique combinations in Kusum's horoscope. The Lord of the first house, Mars, was placed in the ninth house with Cancer—an unfriendly star or a debilitated star—afflicted by Saturn, which also aspected the third house—the house of siblings—very unfavourably. In short, Kusum would benefit from a very talented but ill sister. Moon and Neptune facing each other, Uranus in the house of death, Sun in the twelfth house in conjunction with Mercury, with another debilitating zodiac sign, Libra—all indicated that Kusum would be responsible for her own destruction. I'd discovered that not only was Kusum a danger and threat to others, but she was also a potential death trap for herself.

“That made me look at the matter entirely differently. Nimisha's story very clearly revealed that between the two women, she made a better target for murder. Kusum had more reason to kill Nimisha than Nimisha or anyone else had to kill Kusum. Then why had Kusum ended up being the victim? Then it all suddenly unraveled like lightning. Kusum had died because her elaborate plan for murder had backfired.”

“But what if it had worked? Wouldn't Kusum have been the prime suspect?” Jay asked.

“I doubt it. Firstly, except for Nimisha, not a soul was aware of Geeta's existence, so the seed of the murder would have been buried forever. Besides, Kusum had sent the strawberries and raspberries to all of you, including herself. She could always claim that she had no idea how the cyanide reached the fruits. After all, the baskets were placed on the table near these wide-open windows. Anyone could have just hopped in and injected the poison. And not a soul would've noticed, since the rest of you were at the party on the other side of the lawn. And, at an appropriate time and place, Kusum would've disposed of the talcum powder tin and the syringe.”

A minute ticked by—a minute loaded with the churning thoughts of the people in the room. Then Chirag remarked slowly, “If it hadn't been for you, no one would've ever discovered that Kusum had, in reality, planned to kill Nimisha.”

Nimisha shivered again. “I can't believe it! That she could have gone to such great lengths, for such selfish reasons. Poor Geeta! I wonder what she will do now. No sister, no creative satisfaction, buried alive in some remote village.”

“It needn't be like that at all,” Sonia said quietly, and Nimisha looked at her in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

Sonia leaned forward and took her friend's hand. “You wanted justice, didn't you? So do it. Give the unsung Geeta her due. Find her, give her publicity, and if possible use her as your personal dance instructor. Who knows, with your support, she may bounce back to energy. And your actions may give a new lease of life to her!”

Nimisha stared at Sonia. “Sonia, you're a gem, you know that?”

“All I know is that there's someone up there who is constantly watching us. Call it a Super Power or call him God, but he has his own singular way of seeing justice done. Perhaps he has chosen you as his means. Perhaps that's why you are still here, hale and hearty—for that reason?”

Nimisha nodded, her eyes filmed over with tears. “I'll see you later,” she said huskily, and left the room.

Sonia was silent for a moment, then she glanced at the others. Chirag sat staring at the carpeted floor, deep in thought. Jay rose.

“Does this mean that we are free to leave now?” he asked.

“I think that's up to Sub-Inspector Pawar. He may have some formalities to wind up,” Sonia replied.

Chirag straightened and took Sonia's hand in a warm clasp. “Thank you. You have done us all a great favor. I can't tell you how glad I am that I hired you! Will you please send your bill to my office? This is my card.” He removed a plastic visiting card from his wallet.

“I will. Will you be leaving immediately?”

“My production manager has returned from Mumbai this morning and as soon as we settle our accounts, we shall leave. Thanks again.”

“You're welcome.” Sonia was formal. She watched the two men quit the cottage—the actor with a happy bounce in his step and the Director looking immensely weary.

Jatin smiled at her. “Boss, there's so much to learn from you!” he remarked.

Sonia turned to him and the sparkle in her eyes took him by surprise. “Oh yeah?” she asked.

The evening light was fading as Chirag headed towards his cottage. It had taken all day to settle the accounts and his production manager had left only moments ago. Jay and Nimisha had departed from the hotel. But he'd hung on, feeling loath to leave the hill station. He had dealt with the money matters with an uncharacteristic impatience, longing to retreat into his world. He felt upset and angry as he opened the cottage door. Without bothering to switch on the lights, he strode straight to his half-packed suitcase. Riffling intolerantly through the clothes, he extracted a photograph. Then slumped on the bed, sudden tears coursing down his cheeks, he buried his head in his hands.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he muttered. “But it was the only way!”

The streetlight fell on the bed, and on the smiling face of the photo. Intensity raged through his body. “Why did you leave me? Why didn't you contact me? All this hurt and pain and anger! How did you expect me to cope? And look what's happened now! I had to save her! I had no choice. I had to save her, you have to understand!”

“I think she will understand,” a quiet voice spoke, and Chirag almost jumped off the bed in shock.

“Sonia!” He rose unsteadily, as if drunk.

Sonia emerged from the dark corner of the cottage. Her face was grave, but a sympathetic gleam shone in her eyes.

“If it hadn't been for you, Nimisha would've been dead by now. You switched the baskets, didn't you?” Sonia asked softly.

“Yes, I did! I hated Kusum! She had taken my love away from me! My talented, beautiful Geeta—hidden in some dark village, away from the world, by her sister! A sister who used Geeta's illness as an excuse for her own selfish gains! I saw Geeta the day Nimisha and I were returning from the shoot, and I couldn't believe my eyes. I hadn't even known that she was Kusum's sister. I overheard everything from the garden window and I felt as if my heart would burst. What agony to discover her after all those years—her soul and body shrunk with time. My immediate instinct was to go up to her and take her in my arms. But then I stopped myself. I realized that love was no more enough. The years had created a huge valley between us. I had to cross that valley carefully and handle her with tender care; get to the bottom of the matter and return to her with answers—solutions that would set her free from her past. I said nothing to Nimisha. But I felt helpless. I knew I ought to do something, but what? I was simply looking for an opportunity to mend matters somehow—anyhow!

“These last few days, I'd overheard Nimisha confronting Kusum about Geeta, and was grateful that Geeta had a champion. I thought it was wonderful of Nimisha to take up for the poor girl. Last night, while the rest of you were at the party, I was lurking around Kusum's window just to keep an eye on her and saw her injecting poison into the berries. When she asked Nana to deliver that particular basket to Nimisha, I was stunned. I acted on impulse—without bothering to pause and think. Only one thought clamored in my head—that I had to prevent Nimisha from eating those berries. From my cell phone, I called up the manager's office. When both Kusum and Nimisha left their rooms to attend the call, I quickly climbed through the windows and switched the baskets.”

He fell silent, hugging the photo to his chest. Sonia stepped forward, took his hand, and nudged him gently into a chair. She drew another chair and sat down beside him.

“Chirag, you could've simply taken the basket and gone to the police,” she pointed out softly.

“It didn't even occur to me!” Chirag shook his head. “And even if it had, I wouldn't have wanted to. She didn't deserve to live after all that she'd done. The last straw was trying to kill Nimisha, who was doing her best for my Geeta! That really got me! I'm glad that she's dead! My only concern now is Geeta.”

“Don't worry about her, Nimisha's going to take good care of her,” Sonia assured. Her voice was calm and controlled. “Listen, Chirag, listen carefully to what I have to say. You did what you had to do. Right or wrong is really very debatable. But now there's only one course of action left for you. You must square up to the situation and take responsibility. You must confess. If you own up to the switching of baskets, a good lawyer will get you off with a light sentence. After all, you did it to save Nimisha. She owes you her life and she will say so in court!” Sonia searched his face for a reaction—either acquiescence or refusal. But there was nothing.

“And,” she added on a gentle note, “after you serve your sentence, you can rebuild your life with Geeta.”

Chirag's blank stare dissolved into myriad emotions flitting across his face. Glancing back at the photograph in his hand, he remarked, “There's no other way, is there?”

“Unfortunately no. However in the present circumstances, this is good enough, believe me.” Sonia squeezed his hand.

“But what if she doesn't want me? What if she hates me—what if Geeta hates me for what I did?”

“She won't,” Sonia replied confidently.

“How can you be so sure? It's been years since I saw her, what if she despises me?” Chirag groaned.

A hand rested on his shoulder and a soft voice spoke. “Every second of those long years has been filled with memories of you!”

Chirag looked up wildly. “Geeta!”

The frail, weak woman smiled wearily at him, but her eyes were overflowing with love. Chirag enveloped her in strong embracing arms and they clung to each other, the dam of tears bursting and sweeping away years of accumulated, stagnant sorrows.

Sonia quietly and discreetly slipped out the door, into the cool night. Sub-Inspector Pawar, Nimisha, and Jatin, who were standing outside the cottage, flashed her eager, questioning looks. Sonia brushed a hand over her moist eyes and sighed contentedly.

“You were right, Nimisha. Facts can be far more fascinating than fiction and real-life romance more romantic than in films!”

The van headed out of Panchgani, winding down the idyllic mountain road. The pink light of dawn stained the horizon, the tender golden rays slowly enfolding the entire world in their beauty and warmth.

Jatin yawned, but Sonia appeared fresh and energetic. She hummed a song as they left Panchgani behind them.

“But, Boss—” Jatin began.

“I know what you want to ask me,” Sonia interrupted. “But try to figure it out for yourself.”

“I can't. At least not this early in the day. Tell me: Could Nana read or not?”

Sonia smiled. “Yes, he could read.”

She maneuvered the van skillfully down the twisting road. “You know what first set me on to Kusum, apart from her horoscope? The basket cards. If someone had indeed murdered Kusum, why would Nimisha's basket have Kusum's name on it and Kusum's basket Nimisha's name? Which meant that at some point something had gone wrong. And when was that point? I worked my way backwards in logic. Taking Kusum's dying words, ‘He can't read,' as a base, my first step backwards was Nana and his delivery. Kusum's belief that he couldn't read meant that the baskets had indeed been wrongly delivered. And who would know this best? Obviously the person who was aware of the existence of poison in the berries. If Kusum, who had eaten poisoned berries, noticed the muddle, then she also had to be aware of the cyanide in them. Which meant, in turn, that not only did she know how the cyanide got into the berries, but also who had put it in there! Had it been someone else, she would've tried to drag that person's name in. But she didn't, because she, herself, was her own victim!”

“But you're saying that Nana could read,” Jatin pointed out.

“Yes, but Kusum didn't know that! She'd no idea that Chirag had switched the baskets. She assumed in the last few moments of her life that Nana had made a mess of the names. In fact, that was what really gave me the next lead. If Nana could read and had assured that he had delivered the right baskets, why did the cards belie the fact? In short, if the baskets were not muddled up because of Nana, as Kusum thought, then how had they been exchanged?”

“But what made you suspect Chirag?”

“I didn't suspect him immediately. My first thought was that if someone had deliberately set out to murder Kusum, he would've at least taken the precaution of removing the telltale cards. That proved that this was a hasty, unpremeditated job. Then I remembered seeing Chirag coming from behind the cottages when the horoscope-reading session was on. He was the last to arrive and had plenty of opportunity to create mischief. But why would he want to kill Kusum? The motive eluded me.

“At the same time, I hit upon Chirag's horoscope. Venus, Mars, Uranus, and the Moon in the ascendant Scorpio indicated a talented man, with dramatic highs and lows in his love life. But Mercury was trapped between the Sun, Saturn, Mars, and Rahu, which clearly showed that he could be propelled towards some dangerous mistakes, even committing murder. It set me thinking. Did his love have anything to do with Kusum's murder? And then suddenly I recalled that he was with Nimisha in the village the day their car broke down, the day she met Geeta. Could Geeta be Chirag's lost love? Seemed far-fetched but it definitely provided a motive for him to kill Kusum. After all, if Geeta was his love, he could've been incensed to realize that Kusum had achieved success at Geeta's cost.

“The idea took firm hold and I simply couldn't shrug it off my mind. There had to be a connection between Kusum and Chirag. And the link could be Geeta. Chirag's love vanishing and Kusum's sister living in oblivion, no one even aware of her existence—the more I thought of it, the more likely it seemed. Also Nimisha had praised Geeta's Choreography book and how detailed her storyboarding was. Only somebody who had deep knowledge of film grammar—who had studied film—would be capable of such refined thoroughness. I also remembered that Chirag and his girlfriend were at the film institute. Somehow the connection seemed to fit. But I didn't know for sure. I knew that I had to be certain before I publicized my theories. When we both departed to fetch the basket cards from the cottages, I deliberately went to Chirag's cottage. His suitcase was open on the bed and I quickly riffled through its contents. It was sheer luck that I found the set of kerchiefs tucked in his bag. All the well-worn cotton kerchiefs had a beautifully embroidered message on them—‘To my darling Chirag, from G'! It confirmed all my suspicions that Kusum's sister was Chirag's long-lost love.

“But I still had to validate my theory with definite proof. I had to somehow get Chirag to confess his involvement in this whole affair. So I pressed ahead with my specious logic of how Kusum got trapped in a web of her own making, which was mostly true. Knowing fully well that Nana was not responsible for the basket switch, Chirag was puzzled and confused. Unquestionably he was not a thoroughbred killer and I took advantage of his vulnerable state of mind. I waited for Chirag to relax and expose his feelings in the privacy of his cottage, then tried to persuade him to come clean. Fortunately, not being a seasoned murderer and acting solely at the spur of the moment, he was more manageable than I thought he would be. I'm glad he confessed.”

“It was a good idea to ask Nimisha to bring Geeta here,” Jatin acknowledged.

Sonia nodded. “I thought it would be wonderful if Chirag could meet her again—it would change his perspective on the whole issue. Somehow it was important that she be present to boost his morale and help him regain the straight path again.”

“But, Boss, why go to so much trouble? Why not just hand him over to the police?”

Sonia smiled, as she drove the vehicle down the hill. “Because this was not a normal crime. Not a deliberate, cold-blooded attempt to kill the Choreographer. Chirag, paradoxically, killed as well as saved. Despite his hate for Kusum, I would even go a step further and say he really did kill to save Nimisha. And that made him eligible for a humane handling of the situation.” Sonia paused, then added almost to herself, “A life-and-death situation created a criminal out of a normal, ordinary man. But that had also triggered the beginning of a whole new healing process. . . .”

“You really did a great job with him, Boss,” Jatin said warmly. “You're the best Investigator in the country!”

“Who's that in the middle of the road?” Sonia asked abruptly.

A figure stood on the narrow tar road, hitching a lift.

“I don't believe this!” Sonia muttered, astonished.

She pulled up the van. Sonia and Jatin stared as a grinning Mohnish popped his head in through the window.

“Hi! My car broke down! Can you give me a lift?”

“Sonia Samarth!” a voice hailed, over the hum of loud voices.

Sonia, who was in the process of stuffing some shopping bags in the back of her van, froze. The busy Mahatma Gandhi Road was packed full on a Saturday evening. She turned to see a familiar face emerge out of the group of youngsters.

“Rita!” she exclaimed. “How wonderful to meet you after so many years!”

“Yes, isn't it? I'm surprised you even recognized me. If I'm not mistaken, you're a pretty well-known investigator now.” Rita grinned and hugged Sonia.

“Stop kidding. Tell me how you've been and what you've been up to?”

“Oh, I've been fine!” Rita's eyes twinkled. “What a whole lot of purchases! Are you getting married?”

“Of course not!” Sonia laughed. “I'm shopping for the Diwali festival. My mom is so fed up with my non-feminine professional life that she insisted I go buy myself traditional Indian clothes—especially a sari! And I'm supposed to wear the sari this Diwali, even if not a soul visits me!”

“Wow, what a mom! But it's just the beginning of October now; Diwali's at the end of the month.”

“I know, but I thought I'd shop early, just to please her. Then she'll leave me in peace to tackle my next case, whenever it happens along.” Sonia grinned.

“Good planning! I wish my mom financed such ventures!” Rita laughed. “By the way, let me introduce you to a good friend of mine.” Rita drew a woman in her early thirties to her side. “This is Kamini Rane. We live in the same Colony, though she lives in a classy bungalow and I—”

“Live in a classy apartment. Not much difference,” Kamini added good-naturedly.

Sonia liked her instantly. Five foot three, small build, and average-looking, but it was the sweetness in her face that was arresting.

“A lot of difference, I'm afraid,” Rita declared. “Kamini's the proud owner of Elegant Furnitures—the designer name in wooden furniture. Her husband, Ravi Rane, runs the big show. And I just run a small-time beauty parlor. No comparisons whatsoever.”

“Will you stop it!” Kamini nudged her friend playfully.

Sonia noticed that there wasn't an iota of snobbishness in the woman. She was genuinely unconcerned about her wealth.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you an important detail, Sonia. Kamini's cousin Vivek is an excellent Astrologer, so you two have something in common. As far as I know, very rarely have his predictions gone wrong.”

“All his predictions have come true,” Kamini added loyally.

“That's interesting. I would love to meet him one day and exchange notes,” Sonia enthused.

“Look, why don't you two catch up on old times? I've got to go, I have an appointment with the Doctor,” Kamini told them.

“Are you sure I won't be ditching you?” Rita confirmed.

“Not at all! Go ahead and have a good time. Nice to meet you, Sonia!”

Kamini stepped out of the elevator, her heart soaring with joy. Finally, finally, Vivek's prediction had come true. She was pregnant! There was another tiny heart beating inside her body. She couldn't believe it! The extraordinary phenomenon of another life existing inside her. It was finally happening to her. Motherhood was no longer just a dream, it was a reality. The big reality that she had yearned for, year after year.

She climbed into her Tata Indigo and suppressed the urge to drive like crazy back home. To disclose the great news to her husband. Ravi would go mad with happiness. She could see him now, jumping with delight. He was such a boy at times. Like his son would be. Or his daughter. It didn't matter. Boy or girl—she would love her child like no mother had. This Diwali would be a special one for all of them. She would fill the whole house with lanterns and lights, so that the mansion would attract all the joys and prosperity in the world.

Her sunny thoughts whirled on in a glorious flurry of activity, eating up the miles to her house. She parked in the drive and hastened inside the bungalow. Seeing the study door ajar, she headed straight to it, her steps buoyant and light. She was about to step into the study when she heard low voices inside. Ravi was talking to her cousin, Vivek. Not wanting to intrude, she turned away, but then stopped. Ravi's words floated clearly up to her.

“I just don't know what to do! I wouldn't dare reveal such a horrifying truth to Kamini.”

“I know, I know. But she's going through a bad patch in her life. She needs to take care. Don't you think you should warn her about it?”

“No. She's such a soft-hearted woman. Just imagine what it would do to her if she were to realize that you've predicted this terrible thing. That this is probably the last month of her life. It would kill her on the spot!”

“I guess you're right. You shouldn't. It would destroy her for sure,” Vivek agreed sympathetically.

Only a month to live? Kamini couldn't believe her ears. Could Vivek have read her horoscope wrong? No, he never did. He was always right. He'd predicted the pregnancy, hadn't he? And here she was, on the very threshold of motherhood. With the looming shadow of death eclipsing everything else. Desperation coursed through her body. Why now? Why her? Oh God! The world suddenly swam and darkness enveloped her in a big welcome wave.

“So am I actually going to see you in a sari during Diwali?” Mohnish asked, falling in step with Sonia.

“What's such a big deal about a sari? It's just another form of attire,” Sonia replied casually.

“Not just any other attire. A sari is beautifully feminine and fetching, and I have never seen you in one!”

Sonia was taking an evening walk in the picturesque Agriculture College, close to the Stellar Investigations office. Three tree-lined, long stretches of tar roads, joined in the centre to reveal the commanding castle-like stone structure of the College. A well-maintained lawn provided relaxation to the lounging students, as well as the public in the evenings. Sonia loved to walk along the road—the prolific tamarind, mango, and hundred-year-old Banyan trees forming a tunnel of thick foliage overhead. The sunrays forced their way through the gaps of the branches, creating checkered patterns on the road. Farther on, a rough path led into sorghum and sugarcane fields. Cool wind rustled through the thick, gnarled, deep brown branches, transferring the dead leaves to the ground to form a rust carpet. Sparrows chirped, filling the evening with music.

Sonia took a deep breath, raising her face to the warm golden rays and the nippy breeze.

“This is true Diwali weather. I can feel the festival in the air!” she sighed.

“I know what you mean,” Mohnish agreed. “But you haven't answered my question! Will you meet me during Diwali?”

“Only if you tell me what you were doing in Panchgani, last month, during the film shoot,” she countered with a grin.

“Ah, that.” Mohnish sighed. “Look, let's go sit down on the lawn. Then maybe we can talk some sense,” he suggested.

“Fine, but just for a few minutes.”

They selected a dry, sunny spot on the green lawn opposite the sprawling College building with its huge spires. Brisk walkers of all ages marched to the three ends of the College and then took a break on the lawn, which was also a rendezvous for friends and Pensioners. White fluffy clouds formed patterns and pictures in the deep blue sky.

“Okay, let's get this straight, once and for all,” Mohnish began. “I did not follow you to Panchgani, even though you strongly suspect so. I was there to interview Chirag but unfortunately the interview did not take place, and you can imagine why! He wasn't in the mood, so I spent some time enjoying the hill station. It was pure chance that my car broke down and I had to hitch a lift from you!”

Sonia studied the intense look on his handsome face. “You want me to believe this tale?”

“Yes,” he stated flatly. “Why would I follow you, Sonia?”

Sonia shrugged. “I don't know. I've been getting these Secret Admirer bouquets, and the worry is beginning to gnaw at me. And I had the strangest feeling when I was in the Panchgani market that someone was either observing or following me, and then you turned up!”

“I can see your point,” Mohnish conceded. “But you have to believe me when I say I don't send you those bouquets. I'm not your ‘secret admirer'—I believe that my admiration for you is transparently clear. I am proud to know someone like you.”

Sonia blushed. “Thank you,” she said simply.

“Good. That's out of the way.” He looked relieved. “Now can we talk about something else?”

“Some other time!” Sonia stood up. “I have to go home, and our few minutes are up!”

“Hey, that's not fair!” Mohnish protested. “I want to have a long hearty talk with you. Don't tell me I have to take an appointment for that?”

Sonia dusted her dress and smiled. “Fortunately, no. Honestly speaking, I'd like to have a long talk with you, too! I know absolutely nothing about you. It's really time for you to reveal some of your dark secrets.”

“Name the place and the time, and I'll be there!” Mohnish agreed with alacrity.

“Fine.” Sonia smiled.

“That's a promise?” He fixed her with a steady gaze until she nodded.

Amiably, they strolled out of the College campus.

Jatin critically studied the colorful paper lantern swinging by a hook outside the Stellar Investigations' office. It looked bright and cheerful—a true symbol of the approaching Diwali festival. Jatin loved Diwali and all that it signified in the tradition and culture of the Hindu Indians. Diwali—or Deepawali in the Sanskrit language, a row of lamps—brought out the best in him. But wasn't that what the festival was supposed to do? The five-day celebration had a traditional mythological story attached to every single day. Each day glorified a different relationship, mother and child, brother and sister, husband and wife, uniting the whole family as never before. In the basically agrarian economy of India, the festival originally celebrated the harvest period of the farmers. This had set off the tradition of worshipping Goddess Laxmi—the Goddess of wealth—to welcome wealth and prosperity into the house. It was also a time to visit friends and relatives with sweetmeats. Jatin had a long list of friends that he'd had misunderstandings with the past year. Diwali was the perfect festival, he decided, to patch things up.

The hexagonal lantern was simple but charming. It had taken him a great deal of juggling on a high stool before he could secure the lantern a place of honor. If only his boss could appreciate the effort he took over every single task she entrusted to him!

Jatin carried the stool inside. Then, dusting his hands, he went up to his boss. Sonia, he noticed, was as usual busy playing with the cat in her lap. Jatin frowned.

“Boss, the lantern is in place,” he informed.

“Good. I'll take a look at it as soon as Nidhi is ready to sleep,” Sonia responded.

Jatin's frown deepened.

“Boss, I need leave.”

“Leave?” Sonia was so amazed at the request that she almost dropped Nidhi. “Did I hear you right? Did you say leave?”

“Yes, I need leave.”

“Why?”

“Diwali's next week. I have to buy new clothes, help my family cook delicacies—okay,” he added hastily, as Sonia's expression changed, “at least, place orders for them. My little cousins are coming down from Mumbai, I need to burst crackers with them. Besides, we're not doing anything great right now. I mean, we don't have a case at the moment and I don't have much work. . . .”

“Oh yes you do, you're supposed to feed all the details of our cases into the new computer,” Sonia reminded him. “And as for not having a case at the moment, I've been thinking of taking up Mohnish's case. He's been after me for some time now and I think it's high time I paid heed to his problem.”

“Yes, but do you need me for that?”

“Why wouldn't I need you?”

Jatin shrugged. “I don't know. Of late, I've had this feeling that I'm kind of redundant and useless.”

“Are you fishing for compliments?” Sonia asked suspiciously.

“No, but actually it would help tremendously to know that my work and contribution are appreciated.”

“Your work and contribution are appreciated, Jatin. Period.” Sonia suppressed her amusement.

“But you never really listen to me!” he protested.

“I don't?” Sonia was surprised that he'd noticed.

“No. I've been telling you that you need to create an atmosphere. Show clients how busy you are by delaying appointments, maybe give a few press interviews, and not seem so desperate for work!”

“If we don't grab cases as soon as they materialize, I may have to shut down this agency. And then you'd have to go home for good,” Sonia reminded him gently.

“I know, but . . .”

“Jatin . . . how many days' leave would you require?”

“One.”

“One day. One day? You mean you plan to eat ladoos and chaklis, burst crackers, meet your cousins and family all in one day? Haven't you heard of Labor Rights? Diwali lasts for five days and you're entitled to lots of leave and—”

“I prefer not to regard myself as a common laborer,” Jatin interrupted primly.

Sonia hid a smile. “Fine, which day?”

“Perhaps Monday—first day of Diwali, or even Tuesday.”

“All right. Take Monday off but I want to see you here at nine sharp on Tuesday.”

“And you won't solve any cases before I return, right?” he asked uncertainly.

“You can't expect me to stop functioning and keep everything on hold, just because you decide to take a day off, can you?” she asked incredulously. Really, Jatin was getting more out of hand with every passing day.

“But, Boss, it's Diwali! You can't work during the most celebrated festival of the year!”

“Who says I can't?” Sonia demanded. “Do you know what Diwali means to me? Not just cleaning of houses; cooking fatty, sweet, and spicy food; and bursting crackers to welcome health and wealth into our homes. I love the thought behind it, of course, but I'd prefer to implement what it represents. I like to remember that Diwali also means the triumph of good over evil. And so I'd like to clean my mind and help others clean theirs, so as to keep everyone healthy. I'd like the light of inspiration, love, and caring to shine in my heart. And I'd like to do my karma—my investigative work—so that good truly triumphs over evil. I'd also like to work to welcome wealth in the form of experiences which would make me a better human being. And, of course, I hope that money happens along the way.” She smiled.

“In that case,” Jatin remarked hastily, “I think I'll decide later which shall be my day off.”

“Suit yourself.” Sonia returned her attention to Nidhi, but she couldn't help chuckling. She would have to be a fool to ever really be angry with her assistant. He was as committed to investigation as his complex and absurd principles permitted him to be, and she suspected that he was going to completely drop the idea of taking leave!

He left but returned almost immediately. An entirely different Jatin, flushed and excited.

“Boss! A client!”

Sonia's instinctive reaction was to quickly place Nidhi aside. Then she deliberately slowed down. Jatin was right. She had to behave like an Investigator. A mature, experienced detective with active grey cells. Not a bumbling amateur out to impress. She could afford to take five minutes to straighten out her table, close the earlier “case,” allow herself time to relax before plunging into another case. The prerequisites of a professional. Jatin watched Sonia's deliberate, slow actions with appreciation. His boss was learning; he nodded in satisfaction. Better late than never, he thought as he left the room.

When Sonia was convinced that sufficient time had elapsed, she buzzed the intercom. Her pen and notebook were on standby. The door opened and a tall lady bustled in. Sonia opened her mouth for a formal greeting and stopped, astonished.

“Rita! What a pleasant surprise! I was expecting a client.”

“I have come to seek your investigative services,” Rita replied gravely.

Sonia's brow puckered. “What's the matter? You sound so serious.”

Rita seated herself. The troubled expression on her face was at odds with her usually cheerful personality.

“Sonia, do you remember Kamini, the woman I introduced you to some weeks ago?”

“Of course I do. Kamini Rane, Elegant Furnitures. What about her?”

“I've only just got back from Delhi, I'd been away for several days. So I thought I'd go and check on Kamini. But when I went to her house, I got the shock of my life!”

Sonia leaned forward, steeling herself to hear the worst.

“Kamini was in bed—but such a different Kamini, I almost didn't recognize her. Thin, with dark circles under her eyes, listless, disinterested, and pregnant! At first, I thought it was her pregnancy which was causing all the trouble. But I'm wrong. There's something else, but she wouldn't tell me. Sonia, if you saw her, you would realize that she's wasting away. Dying, slowly but surely. We've got to do something about it!” Rita had tears in her eyes.

“Of course we will. And I will go and meet with her. But first, brief me on all you know about her. You've known her for long, haven't you?” Sonia automatically buzzed the intercom and Jatin hastened in with a pen and paper in hand.

“Several years. I knew her before she got married. We went to the same post-graduate College. Her parents died in an air crash when she was in school and she's been raised entirely by her paternal uncle, Mr. Shirkay. He has managed Elegant Furnitures all his life. It was in college that Kamini met Ravi. He was the College hero—extreme good looks but a perfect gentleman. Intelligent, too. I remember we were all quite surprised that Ravi had chosen Kamini over all the beautiful girls. Kamini could never boast good looks and she was honest and unconcerned about it. She has a heart of gold, but who bothers about that? Ravi did, though. They would act in college plays and they paired very well. Won many competitions together. I guess all those rehearsals made them realize that they were made for each other. Anyway, they didn't get married immediately. Ravi took a job in Elegant Furnitures and slowly and steadily rose up the ladder, more due to his hard work than any pulls. When it was time, Mr. Shirkay was most happy to get his niece married to him and to hand over the reins of the business to Ravi and to his son Vivek. Mr. Shirkay now lives in their native village, in the Konkan area.”

“I see.” Sonia was thoughtful.

“The couple was quite happy but for one hitch. They couldn't have kids. They'd been married for five years and still there was no child. Until a few weeks ago, when Kamini discovered that she was pregnant. But considering that motherhood was the sole aim of her life, she hardly seems excited or happy.” Rita shook her head.

“Who else is in the family?”

“Shirkay's son, Vivek—the Astrologer I told you about. Vivek has always guided Kamini with his predictions. Apparently he'd predicted this pregnancy. He works in the company, too. They all live together. In fact, Ravi and Kamini live in the Shirkays' old bungalow.”

“Can we go over to her place right now?” Sonia asked.

Rita nodded. “Right away.”

“Do you know the name of her Doctor?”

“Dr. Panchwagh on Main Street.”

Jatin looked at his boss. “Any instructions for me?”

“Yes, I want you to visit Dr. Panchwagh. Try to find out all you can about Kamini's physical condition. If he raises any objections, just say that the questions are in Kamini's best interests.”

“Right, Boss.” Jatin readily stood up.

“May we leave now?” Sonia asked Rita.

The cheery, celebratory air was very much evident as Sonia drove the van to Prabhat Road. Colourful paper and plastic lanterns hung from houses and balconies. Crowds, attired in crisp new and kaleidoscopic clothes, strolled on the streets. The festive season had taken a grip on the city.

The sprawling stone bungalow on Prabhat Road bespoke wealth and antiquity. As did the well-maintained garden, which seemed more like a small park than a private retreat. But the absence of even a single Diwali lantern made the grandeur appear bleak and unattended.

They had just stepped out of the car, when a man strode out the door. He had an athletic body, fitted into a navy blue suit; a clean-shaven face; an aquiline nose which gave him just the right amount of arrogance. Jet-black eyes rested on the two women, registering surprise.

Rita made the introductions. “Hello, Ravi, meet Sonia, my friend. She's come to see Kamini.”

“Hello! I'm glad my wife has friends to divert her mind. She's in such a sorry state that it pains me to see her like this.” Ravi's cultured voice was tinged with sadness.

“She'll be all right, now that Sonia's here,” Rita said optimistically.

Ravi looked at them with so much grief in the depths of his eyes that Sonia was startled. This man knew something, she sensed. Did Ravi know what was troubling Kamini?

“What do the Doctors say?” she asked sincerely.

“That some great tension's eating away at her heart. Something so stressful, she's shrinking and sinking. And not only is it harmful to her but it's also harmful to our baby.” Ravi almost choked on the words. “Excuse me. . . .” He brushed an arm over his eyes and hastily stepped away.

Sonia felt sorry for him. It must be terrible to long for a child, then see both mother and child under the shadow of some grave, nameless threat.

They entered into a long hall and Rita led her to a door on the left. She knocked lightly and without waiting for response stepped inside. Rita's descriptions had warned Sonia of what she would find. But nothing had prepared her for the shock. Kamini lay in her bed. She was crying softly. Her eyes and nose were red, her complexion sallow, and she looked positively ill. Not an iota of her resembled the sweet, smiling Kamini whom Sonia had encountered on M.G.Road. What could have transpired to turn a normal, healthy woman into a nervous wreck?

“Kamini! Why're you crying?” Rita hastened to her, her voice raised in panic.

“What's wrong, Kamini?” Sonia asked, in a more controlled tone.

“N-Nothing!” the wretched woman sobbed.

Rita and Sonia exchanged concerned glances. Sonia sat down on the edge of Kamini's bed. She held Kamini's hand, allowing the woman time to recompose herself. Then she said in a gentle voice, “Do you know why I'm here, Kamini? Because I heard that you were under some tremendous pressure which was destroying you. Do you want to die? To kill yourself and your baby? Because that's exactly what will happen if you don't pull yourself together.”

Kamini looked taken aback. Her face went taut and white. “No . . .” she whispered. “I don't want to die but I will die. . . !”

“What do you mean?” Sonia asked sharply.

“I will die . . . soon. I know it. . . . I hear it every day. . . . They don't want me to know, but I can't help hearing every word they speak . . .” she lamented softly.

“Who's ‘they'? Kamini, please explain! Who's been telling you that you're going to die?”

“Ravi and Vivek. Vivek has predicted it and he's always right. . . .”

“Did they speak to you directly?”

“No, I overhear Ravi talking in the study, discussing me. He loves me so much that he keeps asking Vivek for a way out! Oh, I can't bear it! Why do I have to die when everything seemed to be so perfect?”

“Listen to me, Kamini. You're not going to die. I'm an Astrologer, too, and I know that you cannot predict death! No one can. You can predict a bad health patch, but that does not mean death! Are you listening to me? Stop sobbing and stop feeling sorry for yourself. This way you will kill yourself and you'll be responsible for killing the baby, too!” Sonia's scolding tone finally seeped through Kamini's weeping.

Her head jerked up, her face wet with tears. “What should I do?” she wailed.

“Forget about the prediction and start living, at once. There's nothing wrong with you, so get dressed and go out with Rita. It's Diwali time. Go out and buy yourself something really nice—for Ravi and the baby as well. Enjoy the beautiful Diwali atmosphere outside.”

“Yes, let's go. We'll have some lunch first and then go shopping,” Rita chipped in readily.

Kamini hesitated. “I'll have to go upstairs to change . . .” she murmured.

“Why? Isn't this your room?” Sonia asked, puzzled.

“No, Ravi asked me to move downstairs, so that he could keep an eye on me. This way, when he's in the study I can call out to him if I need him. He's so very loving and caring, I don't know what I would've done without him.”

Rita put an arm around her and the two women made their way slowly out of the room. Sonia stared at Kamini's receding back in thoughtful silence. Her instincts were suddenly very finely tuned to the situation. Something was very wrong here. She'd got the same impression when she'd met Ravi in the garden. All was not well in this elegant home of the Ranes.

She stepped out of the sickroom and glanced around. A door immediately on the right attracted her attention. This must be the study. She tried the handle and the polished wooden door swung open into a paneled study-cum-library. Sonia stepped in, shutting the door behind her. A large table with a glass top occupied maximum space in the center of the room. Windows lined one side of the room and the other walls were paneled wood. Sonia strode casually to the table. A phone, an appointment calendar diary, some papers, pen-stand, a laptop, some law books. She flipped the pages of the appointment calendar. There weren't many appointments, so she assumed that this wasn't an official diary. Her hand riffled aimlessly through the pages and then slowed. A name seemed to leap regularly off the pages, at repeated intervals, in the beginning of the year. Meena Sajane. The time also seemed to vary. However, she observed that the entries got fewer. In the last month there had been only one. Sonia raised her head, her mind a warren of sudden ideas.

The door opened and Sonia stepped back guiltily. In reality, she wasn't supposed to be here.

A man in his late twenties looked equally startled to find her. Then his eyes narrowed, as he regarded her with suspicion.

“I . . . I'm Sonia Samarth. Kamini's friend,” she hastily offered in explanation.

Immediately his stance changed. “I'm Vivek and I've heard about you! Aren't you the one who's combined Astrology with Investigation?”

Sonia couldn't help feeling flattered. “Yes.”

“How wonderful to meet you! I'd a good mind to call you up one day and congratulate you on changing the whole outlook toward Astrology, which had so sadly been ruined by quacks. I'm really glad that you're doing wonders to straighten such a grossly misunderstood science. What a coincidence that we should meet like this,” he enthused.

“And you're an Astrologer, too. A very precise one, I heard.”

Vivek shrugged. “Not a professional, though. I use my knowledge in guiding family and friends.”

“Could you forecast Kamini's illness?”

Vivek looked startled. “Actually I did, to Ravi, but we didn't want Kamini to hear about it. That didn't help, though. Her health deteriorated very fast. But Ravi has been so wonderful. He's taking such good care of her. It surprised me. His devotion, his concern. We've been discussing her case every night, wondering what can be done. But it's no use. Sometimes fate is very cruel.”

“Vivek, can I take a look at the horoscopes—all of them?”

“Of course,” he agreed without hesitation. “You'll see that I'm right. They're in that drawer there on the left. I'll give them to you now.”

He strode over to the table, slid open a drawer, and from it extracted a small cotton bag. Opening the bag, he checked the contents. From the drawer, he withdrew another small plastic pouch, scribbled something on a paper, and added them both to the bag. “They're all in there. Mine, too.” He smiled.

Sonia accepted the cotton bag. “Why did you say that you were surprised at Ravi's devotion to Kamini?”

“Did I say that? Oh, it must've slipped out.” Vivek avoided her eye. Then he glanced up and sighed. “Well, I may as well—I've seen Ravi with a woman several times. I'm not saying there's anything between them, because I don't know. But I couldn't help wondering. . . .”

“Do you have this woman's name? Or her address?”

“Meena Sajane. Works as a social worker for Aajol, the Home for Old Women. And, in passing, I've noticed some fat cheques in her name, too. There are also one or two things I'd like to tell you, but not now. Perhaps we can meet later?”

“Sure, I'll give you a call.”

Vivek lifted some books from the table and followed Sonia out of the room. “Let me know what you think of the horoscopes.”

“I will,” she promised, nodding.

Rita and Kamini were descending the stairs as he crossed to them. The surprise on Vivek's face was evident.

“You look so much better, Kamini. Are you going out?” he asked.

Kamini smiled weakly and nodded.

“Good. Keep it up!” Vivek encouraged, and, whistling, made his exit.

Sonia sat in her office, listening to the melodious notes of the Basuri—the Indian flute—floating through the room. Rita had dropped her at the office and then proceeded to Kamini's favorite restaurant, though Kamini had insisted that she wouldn't be able to eat. Rita would take good care of Kamini, Sonia decided. She was a good friend.

Nidhi lolled on her pillow on the windowsill, cleaning herself with her tongue, granting her mistress the freedom to occupy herself as she pleased. Through the window, Sonia watched two green birds sitting on the electric wire. A pair of Veda Raghu—Bee-Eaters—swinging on the electric cable, totally unaware of the peril it presented. Something seemed to stir within her. A nebulous hunch. The horoscopes lay on the table, in front of her, methodical little booklets with calculations and mathematics drawn out with a seasoned hand. Essentially neat and, at first appearance, harmless. And yet, they troubled her. Something about the star combinations—Sonia couldn't place a finger on her doubt, but she felt an acute sense of frustration. It was like trying to look into vast space, sensing that something was out there. Something which eluded capture but which was transmitting tiny warning pricks to her brain. At length, with a sigh of annoyance, she thrust the booklets back into their little cotton bag and wound the top with a knot. She'd refer to them later, with a fresh and open mind and when her instinct had cropped away unnecessary matter.

Still, her mind flicked from question to question. Who was Meena Sajane and what relationship did this unknown woman have with Ravi? Why did he pay her large amounts of money? Was Kamini's state of mind curable or was she already over the edge? Could the presence of Meena in Ravi's life have anything to do with Kamini's illness? The bunch of horoscopes on the table were beckoning at her again. She touched them absently, then, on an impulse, untied the bag. There were the three booklets inside and a small packet of powder. A paper rustled against it.

Jatin walked in with a tray in his hand.

“Misal Paav!” he announced.

“Good. I am ravenous.” Sonia smiled. “What did the Doctor have to say about Kamini?”

“Not much.” Jatin spoke between bites. “He says she was very ecstatic and excited when she came to get her report. Fit and in excellent health. He can't figure out what's gone wrong in the past few weeks. He's treating her, of course, for tension and pressure. But he hasn't been able to identify her illness at all.”

“Hmm . . . I thought as much. There's nothing really wrong with her,” Sonia remarked reflectively, spooning the misal—a mixture of sprouts, onion, and puffed rice with quantities of very spicy red curry.

“Then what exactly is the matter? Do you know, Boss?”

“This is a perfect example of what blind belief in Astrology can do to you. Kamini believes that she's going to die very soon—that's what has been prophesied by her cousin, Vivek. So foolish and immature of him to voice his doubts aloud and for her to believe them! Rationality and responsibility are the two necessary accessories of an astrologer. Like all sciences, Astrology is neither complete nor precise. Used sensibly, it can do wonders. But used carelessly and blindly, it can prove to be a most deadly weapon. And that's what Kamini—” Sonia halted abruptly.

“Boss?”

She stared straight ahead. Then she closed her eyes.

“Boss!” Jatin was beginning to get worried.

“Of course! Why didn't I think of it before!”

“Think of what before?”

“Too half-baked to explain right now. Let's quickly get done with the meal. I've got to go somewhere.”

“Go where? And you haven't even gone through the horoscopes yet, have you?” he reminded.

“I will. There's something that I simply must check out first. I have to pay someone a visit.”

“But, Boss, what's the hurry? As far as I can see, there's really no case here. Just a frightened woman, who doesn't have enough sense—”

“No, Jatin, that's where you're wrong. Have you ever lighted an agarbatti—a joss stick?”

“Of course! I do it every day before God.”

“Then you must've noticed that the immediate impulse on lighting a joss stick is to extinguish the match. Very often, I feel the joss stick has caught fire enough to keep burning and I puff the matchstick out, only to realize that the joss stick hasn't lit properly yet!”

“Boss, what are you getting at?” Poor Jatin was bewildered.

“Simply that a case is like a joss stick. Our immediate impulse is to form opinions and reach conclusions, sometimes ignoring or even deliberately extinguishing the other options, just as we extinguish the matchstick without really thinking about it. But most often, it is advisable to wait for the joss stick to light. A good Investigator must mark time, wait for the joss stick to light, wait for the case to ripen. Besides, it is always useful to remember that superficial appearances are as deadly as blind faith in Astrology!” Sonia remarked enigmatically.

To Jatin's amazement, she polished off the spicy Misal Paav at super speed. Then, without further ado, she picked up her purse and the horoscope bag and zipped out of the office. Jatin shook his head in annoyance. Really, sometimes his boss simply failed to communicate. How in heavens was he supposed to keep track of her multi-layered thinking? Joss sticks. Grumbling, he concentrated on doing justice to the delicious Misal Paav.

The Lab took just a few minutes of her time. Then Sonia headed for her next stop—the Home for Old Women. She parked her car outside the gate and made her way inside. Aajol—a mother's home. How apt a name and place for all these homeless women, Sonia thought. Women in white, blue-bordered saris strolled leisurely, alone or in groups, in a tree-shaded garden. Questions swarmed in Sonia's mind. Did they miss their families, were they happy, had they come here of their own volition, had this lonely life been thrust on them by their children so that they had no choice but to spend the rest of their lives here? She experienced a twinge of sadness at the growing trend in India. She couldn't imagine parting with any member of her family. But to deliberately subject old parents or grandparents to the horrors of a lonely, bondless, life of a home was so humiliating. It was a true pity that sometimes it was the only course open to these old people, especially when their children preferred to squander wads of money instead of love.

A plastic Diwali lantern hung from the main door of the office. Sonia pushed the iron gate and approached the Security Guard standing in his uniform at the office door.

“I'd like to speak to Meena Sajane. Does she work here?”

“Of course! She's the most active worker we have.” The guard beamed. “I'll fetch her in a jiffy.”

He hastened away and Sonia leaned against the wall, waiting. A few minutes later, she saw the guard returning. A woman in a formal white sari was accompanying him. As they strode toward her, Sonia's heart raced. The tall, slim woman with the aquiline nose, in her early thirties, was the splitting image of Ravi. . . .

The dawn of Diwali was spectacular. Every house sparkled with rows and rows of earthen lamps which glowed and twinkled in the dark. Lanterns adorned balconies and some enthusiastic houses had even put up strings of tiny, lighted bulbs. Fireworks lit the dark sky, in psychedelic patterns, as if a war were being waged overhead. Firecrackers burst in every lane, the ceaseless ear-splitting sounds now like familiar background music. Rather unwelcome music, Sonia mused.

The Samarth bungalow was like a small illuminated palace. Sonia had awoken early, had helped her mother draw floral patterns with the flowing white rangoli on the verandah. She had applied oil and utana—a paste of gram flour and scented powder—before the traditional bath. Then, wearing a beautiful, flowing red sari, speckled with gold, which showed off her figure to perfection, Sonia had enjoyed a chakli and laadoo breakfast with her parents. As daylight settled on the world, relatives began arriving, and the house became a lively park. But Sonia began to get restless.

Much to her parents' surprise, Sonia, ignoring her mom's frowns, excused herself, slipped out of the house, climbed into the van, and drove to her office.

The beautiful day had suddenly turned cloudy and lifeless, she noticed. The sky was a dull ink-grey and heavy rain threatened to make an appearance any minute. A rare occurrence during Diwali. As she stepped into the office, Nidhi meowed loudly, surprised to see her mistress this early. But after sloshing a generous amount of milk into Nidhi's bowl and dropping her pieces of the spicy chakli, her mistress switched on some music. Then she became quite busy poring over some tiny booklets. Nidhi tackled the food leisurely, but the loud bangs of firecrackers in the distance startled the cat. She rubbed against Sonia's legs for a while, then, purring her protest, she stared up at Sonia's bent face, willing her to pay attention.

“I know, sweetie-pie, I hate crackers, too,” Sonia murmured absently. “I'll turn the music on louder.”

Sonia increased the volume and settled down to work again. Nidhi meowed her complaints, but her attention-seeking gimmicks did not seem to move her mistress. Finally, feeling totally neglected and indignant, Nidhi curled up on her cushion, trying to sleep amidst the jing-bang made by the firecrackers and her mistress's music.

Suddenly, much to the cat's great surprise, Sonia stood up.

She tapped her feet with the latest Hindi song number, and as the song picked up beat, she began dancing. Nidhi eyed her lazily, then closed her eyes. This was nothing new! She had seen her mistress behave this strangely before!

Sonia swirled with the music, the pleats and the pallu of her sari twirling prettily. Finally the song ended and she halted, a glow of satisfaction on her face. She dropped into her chair and stared at the horoscopes before her. They were most intriguing. Ravi, Kamini, and Vivek. Yes, Vivek had been absolutely right. Kamini was going through the worst phase of her life. But death? Certainly not, unless . . . She paused. Her heart began a familiar tattoo as her eye fell on the other two horoscopes. There was something worth exploring here, she thought, her breath quickening. She'd been right with her misgivings. Swiftly she lifted an almanac from the shelf, leafed through its pages, made notes, then nodded in satisfaction. There was much more here than met the eye. She was dealing with an extremely clever person and she needed to keep all her wits around her. If she was right . . . She picked up the phone and dialed a number.

“Just a few days left, Vivek, just a few days! What can I do?”

“Pray to God. You've got to be prepared. Talk to her about—”

“Don't! Don't speak like that! Nothing must happen to Kamini, I wouldn't be able to bear it!” Ravi exclaimed. “How can I ask my own wife to make a will? A will is for old people, not for a young woman who's carrying a child!”

“I understand, but sometimes it pays to be practical. If anything happens to Kamini, her half of the property will come to me. Then there'll be nothing for you. All your hard work in the company will prove futile! You've got to talk to her!”

“I don't care if I don't get any share of the property! I just want my wife to live and be happy!”

In the next room, Kamini listened with bated breath. The catch in Ravi's voice brought tears to her eyes. Oh, Ravi, I love you so much, she thought. Her heart was racing and her pulse felt unnaturally fast. She fumbled for the glass of water and her tablet. Trembling, she managed to swallow the tablet. Then, with a hand on her heart, she rested against the pillows. Just two days left before . . . before Vivek's prediction came true. Ravi loved her so much, but he just wasn't practical. She had to do something about the will. Not that she knew anything about her inheritance. She'd been so happy and content marrying a handsome guy like Ravi, it had never occurred to her to check out how her money was placed. But perhaps, now, it was time to do it. Time to make a will and leave matters uncluttered and simple.

She stretched out her hand to the mobile phone.

The phone rang shrilly and Sonia lifted the receiver.

“Hello?”

“She's had a relapse, Sonia!” Rita sounded frantic. “I don't know what to do; even the Doctor feels that he's helpless if she herself makes no effort. Sonia, I'm so scared!”

“Calm down. I'll be there in half an hour,” Sonia replied.

She scribbled a note for Jatin and left it on his table. Driving on a cloudy Diwali morning to Prabhat Road was not a pleasant experience. It certainly was an unusually depressing day. Never had the first day of Diwali looked so dull. Not that it had dampened the enthusiasm of people, which was obvious with the clutter of spent firecrackers on the road. Sonia despised crackers, which according to her were a source of menace to humans as well as animals, serving the sole purpose of adding to the air and noise pollution. But it would take a long time for the youth to realize that the bursting of deafening crackers was not an act of valour but an abuse of money!

The orange-and-cream public transport busses rumbled past, almost forcing her off the road. She slowed, allowing the next bus to overtake her. Sonia sighed. Really, it was true that if you could drive in Pune, you could drive anywhere in the world!

A heavy shower, once and for all, would help lift the hazy veil that enveloped the city, she felt irritably. Then she wondered: Why was she suddenly highlighting the negative aspect of life? Was it because it was Diwali and the festival meant everything good and pure? Was it subliminally instigating within her a burning desire to purge the negative—the evil? If so, did she have it in her power to do so, Sonia asked herself.

Minutes later, she drew into the Rane drive. Still no lantern hung from their main door, she noticed idly, and hastened to Kamini's room. She'd imagined a repeat performance, with Kamini full of tears. Instead, a very different sight met her eyes. Kamini lay quietly in her bed, with Rita at her side and Ravi standing in the background. The silence in the room was almost deafening. It was the silence of impending doom.

“What's happening here?” Sonia asked sharply.

“Thank God you're here!” Rita exclaimed. “She won't listen to me.”

“I don't need to listen to anyone. I know when my time has come,” Kamini whispered.

“I've never heard such trash before!” Sonia told her. “You were getting better, Kamini, what happened to make you think like this?”

The sick girl glanced at her husband. Ravi instantly bent forward.

“Do you need anything, dear?” he asked anxiously.

“I wish to talk to my friends. I hate to ask you, but can you go out for a while?”

“Of course!” Surprise flickered over Ravi's handsome face, but he left the room immediately.

Kamini's eyes followed him out, strong affection written in her gaze.

“Okay, shoot, tell me what's the matter,” Sonia pressed.

In halting words, Kamini repeated the conversation she'd overheard that morning. Her soft voice narrated her anguish.

“Did Ravi ask you directly to make a will?” Sonia asked.

“No. He loves me too much for that!”

“So what did you do?” Sonia asked.

“I called my lawyer, Advocate Bhate, and asked him to make a will.”

“A will!”

“Yes, but he refused.”

“Refused?” Sonia's voice held sudden hope.

“He said I didn't need to make a will. Because it was already made by my grandparents and it was unchangeable.”

“Oh, I see. . . . Which means that if anything happened . . . your half of the property would go to Vivek. So Vivek was right!” Sonia remarked dryly.

Rita glanced at Sonia, with a sudden gleam of understanding in her eyes. But Kamini shook her head.

“Oh, poor Ravi, I can't even leave my property to him! Even though I know that he's not interested. He has never wanted my money. He's never bothered, never asked me anything about the way the Shirkay property is tied up or if he'll ever get a share of it. But I wish I could do something about it!”

“I'm sure we'll never reach that stage,” Sonia cut in smoothly. “Now just relax. I've gone through your horoscope and found out that there's nothing wrong with you and that nothing whatsoever's going to happen to you. You're just a little stressed out with all this emotional trauma that you've built around yourself. Everything's going to be quite fine. Trust me; can you do that?”

Kamini's eyes welled over with tears, but she nodded.

Sonia turned to her friend. “Rita, can you stay with her today?”

“Of course! I won't leave her alone for a minute,” Rita answered promptly.

“Good. Kamini, I'd like to talk to your lawyer if you don't mind. You have his number, right?”

Mr. Bhate looked at Sonia with narrow shrewd eyes, surrounded by wrinkles. His snowy hair was thick and his eyebrows bushy.

“I've been most concerned about Kamini.” He spoke in a gruff voice. “She called me with a very odd request this morning. Some cock-and-bull story about her dying in the next forty-eight hours and needing to make a will! That, too, on the auspicious occasion of Diwali! I told her it was all trash. A young and healthy girl like her—she's going through motherhood jitters—that's what I told her. But she wouldn't agree, of course. Insisted that I make a will!”

“But there's a problem, right?” Sonia asked.

“Actually, the Shirkay money is tied up quite indisputably. Kamini's father was the elder son and Vivek's father the younger son. Since it was the hard-earned money of Kamini's grandparents, they made a non-contestable will. The agricultural property in the Konkan area was equally divided between the two Shirkay sons. When Kamini's father died in an aircrash, his share of the property went to Vivek's father. Similarly all the property in the city, including the business, was equally divided between Kamini and Vivek. If anything happens to Kamini, then all the property reverts to Vivek. And in the event of Vivek's death, his share of the property will automatically go to Kamini. And nothing can change this will.”

Sonia nodded, her mind churning. It all added up. The three horoscopes and their star combinations stood like a clear picture before her eyes. And they perfectly matched her conclusions. She turned back to the lawyer.

“One last question. Are Ravi and Vivek aware of the contents of the Shirkay will?”

“As far as I know, Vivek is. But does Ravi know? I wouldn't be able to say. I've never had this kind of discussion with him, ever. He could have of course gleaned it out of Kamini, but she herself is pretty ignorant of these affairs.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bhate. You've been of tremendous help to me.” Sonia shook hands with the old man.

“I'm glad to be of help, my dear. I only hope that Kamini will be able to pull herself out of this emotional mess she's tumbled into!”

“Oh, she will, I promise you that!” Sonia said grimly.

Jatin was fooling around the office and watching Television when Sonia breezed into the room. He was about to hastily switch off the TV when he paused and stared at her.

“Wow, Boss, you look splendid in a sari!” he exclaimed. “Why don't you wear it more often?”

“Thanks, but it's not the most practical attire when you have to hop in and out of vans and have work to do.” Sonia grimaced.

“You've got another of those Secret Admirer bouquets,” he told her.

“Toss it in the bin,” she ordered.

“But it says ‘Happy Diwali.'”

“Okay, keep it.”

“What's happening, Boss?” Jatin followed her into the inner office. “You look excited.”

“We're reaching the end of the tale, Jatin.”

“You mean there is a tale here?”

“Yes. I told you, didn't I? Never go by appearances,” she reminded.

“Oh, the joss sticks—I'm afraid I'm all at sea, Boss.”

“Never mind. We've got to go out.”

“But you're just back and it's dark as night outside.”

“Don't blame me if the weather's bad and it looks like eight in the evening at three in the afternoon—a Diwali afternoon!” Sonia sighed.

“Okay.” Now Jatin sighed. “Where are we going and what are we doing there?”

“We're going to try and save an innocent woman from being forced to death!”

“You mean . . .”

“That's right. But first I must speak to Inspector Divekar.”

“But your sari . . .”

“Will have to do!”

The thunder clapped with shattering certainty and then relapsed into silence. Sonia, femininely draped in a festive sari, studied the two men seated across from her. Ravi, dressed in casual kurta pajama, looked handsome and dignified. But the anxiety on his face and his restless hands belied his calm stance. Vivek rested his hand on the table, toying with a pen, his eyes on Sonia. Jatin sat beside his boss, unsure of how to proceed, but ready for any instructions.

“I guess you're aware why I've called this meeting this afternoon,” Sonia began, clearing her throat. “I know that both of you are very concerned about Kamini. Vivek, you've predicted her bad physical phase quite accurately, though I, as a responsible Astrologer, would never ever predict death. But there are some who do it, and you did it. You told Ravi about it and both of you discussed it in this very room.”

“What are you getting at?” Ravi asked, a little impatiently.

“What I'm getting at is this: that while you two have been dissecting Kamini's moods and voicing your concerns over her health, she's been an active audience to it all. Listening to your predictions and believing them to be consummately true!”

Ravi gasped. “But that's exactly what we didn't want—for her to ever know!”

“Unfortunately your study is not as soundproof as you would like to believe,” Sonia remarked dryly. “Or ought I to say, the study is as soundproof as you would like it to be?”

“What do you mean?” Vivek asked sharply.

“What I mean is quite simple, but I will come to that later. Ravi, you claim that you love your wife a lot. And yet you lied to her. You allowed her to believe that she really would die!”

“I never lied to her. And I wasn't at all aware that she'd overheard us. I trusted the Doctor to diagnose her illness and treat her!” Ravi exclaimed.

“But why haven't you told her about Meena?”

Ravi stared at her with wide eyes. An amused smile lit up Vivek's face and he leaned forward to observe his brother-in-law.

“How do you know about Meena?” Ravi asked Sonia.

“I know a lot of things about all three of you—I have your horoscopes, remember?” Sonia shrugged. “But I repeat: Why didn't you tell Kamini about Meena?”

“I couldn't—I was too ashamed!”

“What Meena did was not your fault,” Sonia pointed out.

“No, but when we got married I hid the fact that I had . . . had a sister—a sister who'd been to prison for being caught in the Red Light Area!”

Vivek's expression changed from amusement to disappointment. A sister?

“It was too humiliating and I didn't want to reveal my relationship with her.”

“Even though she'd reformed and joined the Home for the Old, devoting all her life to the service of needy, lonely women?” Sonia asked gently. “I think that's unfair of you, don't you? Simply signing huge amounts of cheques to relieve your guilt won't help, though I'm sure the money was put to good use. But there's more to life than money, isn't there?”

Ravi blinked at Sonia. “I know what you mean. Maybe it's not too late to make amends?”

“I'm sure it's not.” Sonia smiled. Then she turned to Vivek. “And you, Vivek, you believe in Astrology and practice it. At first I thought you were an amateur, unaware of the powerful tool in your hands. But then I checked all your horoscopes and realized that you were a professional. Your predictions about Kamini were accurate, about her pregnancy, her bad patch. However, no Astrologer in his right mind would predict death—but you did, for a reason.”

“I only wanted to warn Ravi,” Vivek told her.

“Yes, warn him from time to time, in this very room, so that Kamini would hear every word you spoke. Kamini would believe your predictions so blindly, she would sink and die. And she would be generously helped, minute by minute, by your deliberate manipulations and discussions on her approaching demise—a surefire method of killing a woman who trusted in you. It was a unique plan—you poisoned her mind and then throttled the life out of her, little by little!”

“You're kidding! Why would I go to such lengths?” Vivek asked, almost jocularly.

“For the inheritance, of course. I'll grant you this much—you're not a professional criminal. You didn't really wish to go into a messy murder scene. But that didn't mean you didn't want your inheritance badly. So badly that you thought of a most subtle and clever plan, one which would use Kamini's trust to your advantage. You knew her better than she knows herself. You were aware of her faults, her good points, because you've known her all your life. You knew how much she relied on your word. How weak-willed she was. You were positive that if you kept brainwashing her into believing that she was going to die, you would play to her psychology and destroy her mentally and physically. If it worked, no one would ever know you'd played any role in the whole sordid affair. After all, you hadn't done a thing, physically, to injure her. There was minimal chance of anyone ever discovering any foul play. If it didn't work, you would've eventually thought of another bad astrological concoction to reach your goal.

“You even deliberately spoke of the will, cashing in on Ravi's ignorance, and knowing quite well that Kamini could not make a will. On her death, everything she owned would go automatically to you. But you did talk about it, asking Ravi to get Kamini's half of the property transferred to his name. You needed to chip away at her confidence and make her psychologically weaker by discolouring her image of her husband.”

“What crap!” Vivek exclaimed. “You're insane! Why would I do something like that to my cousin, who is like a real sister to me?”

“Because you were simply not satisfied with your half of the bequest, you were greedy and lusted for the whole inheritance. What an insidious plan it was. Slow, mental torturing, till Kamini weakened, guttered out, and died her own death!”

“I won't sit and listen to your accusations!” Vivek stood up, his face red with rage.

At that moment, the door of the study opened and Rita and Kamini stood at the entrance. Kamini's crumpled sari was trailing and tears were coursing down her cheeks, as they slowly entered the study. Vivek turned wildly to her.

“Kamini, let me explain. You've got to listen to me! These are all lies!”

“I did listen to you—every word, from the other room,” the weeping woman replied. “I believed in you, I trusted you. . . . Would you be happy if I really were to die?”

“That's it! I'm leaving,” Vivek stated emphatically.

“Before you do, listen to this.” Sonia's voice was ominously low. She held out two horoscopes. “You predicted Kamini's bad patch, didn't you, but you didn't notice one thing in it. Neither did you go through your own horoscope. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here today plotting someone else's death. You would be more concerned about your life! Uranus is in the eighth house, afflicted by Saturn and a whole lot of negative influences. It's a similar combination to Kamini's horoscope. Don't you know what your horoscopes read? Kamini's horoscope says that her brother—or even a close cousin—will soon go through the worst patch of his life. Anything could happen to him—anything! Her brother could die before her. . . . And as for your horoscope—you've got to be careful. . . . Just a few days left . . .”

Vivek froze, his face white. He snatched the horoscopes from Sonia's hands, rapidly scrutinizing them. “No . . . !” His voice was a low croak.

“Yes,” she repeated.

Suddenly discarding the horoscopes, he dashed through the door, out into the night. Jatin made as if to go after him, but Sonia shook her head.

“Let him go,” she said sadly.

Minutes later, they heard a car screeching out of the drive. The rain began in full fury just then, crashing down upon the earth in torrents. The roads would be flooded in no time—slippery and dangerous, especially in the inky blackness. . . .

“Life has a strange way of doling out justice!” she reflected softly.

Kamini ran straight into Ravi's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. He flashed a grateful, weak smile at Sonia, then led his wife out, supporting her tenderly.

Rita hugged Sonia. “You're wonderful!” she remarked quietly. “You've saved Kamini's life!”

“I only hope she's learnt never to put blind faith in anything or anyone,” Sonia said thoughtfully. Then she glanced down at her sari and brightened. “Come on, let's get going! I'd like to get back home, change into something comfortable, and sit with some nice romantic book! And Jatin, you can take rest of the day off! Go enjoy Diwali with your cousins from Mumbai, and please don't burst crackers!”

The stormy afternoon continued its downpour, silver streaks of rain silhouetted against the street lamps. Kamini and Ravi poured drinks into their glasses, snuggling down on the sofa.

“Cheers!” Kamini laughed, clinking the glass with Ravi. “Happy Diwali to both of us! And to my lucky little one.” She patted her stomach.

Her husband raised his glass and blew her a kiss. “That was some drama, sweetheart. The world's best plan! You're a brilliant actress! But you always were, weren't you?”

“Yes, I always won in intercollegiate competitions. I never thought our acting skills would prove so useful in life!”

“Vivek's gone. And even if he were to return, not a soul would trust him, let alone take his word seriously. We're safe!” Ravi laughed, giddy with success.

“For a while, I was really worried that Vivek would squeal to the police and put a stop to our well-established business. Poor fellow had no idea how he walked straight into our trap. Me and my bad patch! At least Sonia was right about that prediction—it has turned out to be his bad patch!” Kamini pealed into more laughter.

“Fool! He thought he could threaten us. He'd no idea what he was up against,” laughed Ravi. “At least our next consignment will be a smooth affair.”

“Yes, thanks to Vivek and Sonia and my best friend, Rita,” Kamini replied gaily. “Sonia—her Astrology and all her goody-goody advises. So insufferable, so pompous. I felt so angry—I was almost tempted to ask her to stop meddling and get lost! But that's not fair, is it? She was the one who really gave momentum and spirit to our plan. Sonia turned out to be our biggest asset. Right, hubby dear?”

“You bet, sweetheart,” a voice answered from the door. Both Ravi and Kamini jerked up, startled. Kamini screamed.

“Cut out those histrionics, Kamini, I'm afraid you're quite an established flop.” Sonia leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded, smiling sweetly. Behind her stood Rita, Vivek, Jatin, and Inspector Divekar.

“Inspector, please arrest Ravi and Kamini Rane for drug trafficking!” Sonia commanded calmly.

Two Constables hastened forward and snapped cuffs on the wrists of the bewildered couple.

“What's happening here? I'm an ill woman just out of bed . . .” Kamini began.

“The drama's over, Kamini dear. Learn to exit gracefully,” Vivek responded sarcastically.

“You! What're you doing here? Inspector, if you've been listening to this rat—” Ravi shouted.

“You can have your say in the court. Take them away, Constables,” Inspector Divekar commanded.

The others watched as the couple struggled but were led away by firm hands.

Inspector Divekar turned to Sonia. “You've got to explain—I'm thoroughly confused.”

“So am I,” Jatin remarked.

Sonia glanced at Vivek and smiled. “Thanks to Vivek, it's been a most remarkable case.”

“If you hadn't believed me, we wouldn't have been able to pull off our plan with such finesse,” Vivek reminded her.

“I had your horoscope, remember? I know whom to trust and whom not to.”

“You two just stop it and start right at the beginning,” Rita ordered. “I can't believe what I just saw. Where did this drug-trafficking business pop up from? I thought we were helping Kamini out of her depression.”

“I admit that I was taken in by her, too, initially. But somehow, this niggling doubt seemed to lodge in my mind—not about either Vivek or Ravi, but about Kamini. I remembered meeting her on M.G.Road. She seemed quick-witted, generous, and quite sensible. How could a levelheaded person like her believe that she would die—and then begin dying? And she made it a point to inform us, quite categorically, about these conversations that she kept overhearing. She was very cautious not to point a finger at anyone, of course, couching her sentences in martyr-soft expressions. Then I met Vivek and he hinted at some goings on at Elegant Furnitures. I didn't catch on then, of course. But when he slipped a little packet inside the Astrology bag with a brief note, I began to think I needed to see the whole picture in a different light. I sent the packet to the Lab and they confirmed that the powder in the packet was cocaine. Even then, I double-checked with the horoscopes and they indeed revealed startling features. Ravi and Kamini's horoscopes were unequivocal indicators of criminal tendencies. These two were cunning, shrewd, manipulative, and vindictive. When Vivek innocently warned Ravi to take care of Kamini, they decided to trap Vivek in his own goodwill. Weave a web for Vivek—by Vivek—and then jettison him to be ensnared. They were manipulating him so smoothly that it took him several days to realize that he was being used, am I right?”

“Yes,” Vivek agreed. “I began to think it very strange that Ravi would constantly discuss Kamini in the study, especially since I was aware that sound tended to travel to the room in which she was sleeping. It also seemed a great coincidence that Kamini should sink into a shadow at the same time as my predictions, which she was not supposed to be aware of. I found it all fishy. But I would've sounded like a cold, unfeeling, selfish person had I said that Kamini was pretending to be unwell.”

“You're right. No one would've believed you, either,” Sonia agreed. “And that was their plan—to deliberately malign you, by gradually revealing that you had as good as killed Kamini by your predictions—all for the inheritance.”

“But why?” Jatin asked, still looking confused.

“The inheritance was just a façade. The truth was that they wanted Vivek out of the way, because he knew too much. He had discovered that they were using Elegant Furnitures to import and export cocaine, and they wanted to entangle him in an attempted-murder case, discredit his name, so that nobody would believe him if he decided to expose them.”

“They'd no idea that I'd retained a sample of the cocaine packet, which I had by chance discovered in Ravi's car,” Vivek added. “It was the same packet I passed on to you, Sonia. Somehow I had this feeling that you were the right person.”

“Vivek, could you please explain how this whole thing started?” Sonia asked.

Vivek nodded. “When I first discovered that some shady business was going on under the cover of Elegant Furnitures, my impulsive reaction was to confront the two of them. I accused them of becoming a link in the chain of smuggling drugs into India. They put on an excellent act, begging for forgiveness, promising that they would immediately end all these activities. They were so genuine in their repentance that, like a gullible fool, I believed them and decided against going to the law. It was then that they began using my predictions to prove that I was deliberately weakening Kamini's will and slowly and surely killing her.”

“Why didn't you go to the police?” Inspector Divekar asked Vivek.

“I did consider it, but it was my word against theirs.”

“Right,” Sonia added. “Ravi had established a good name for himself by donating large sums to Meena Sajane for ‘Aajol.' Not only did he help her secure her position, but he also created a respectable image for himself!”

“But, it was not only your word. You had the cocaine packet as proof,” Rita pointed out to Vivek.

“Which I could've obtained from anyplace—or which could be mine, for all the police knew. While I was wondering how to disentangle myself from their clever trap, Sonia arrived and I realized that she was my one chance. With her belief in Astrology, she was the right person to deal with my problem. So I slipped the cocaine packet into the Astrology bag and wrote a note saying what I knew. I also mentioned Meena Sajane, though I had no idea what her connection to Ravi was. And I'm glad I trusted my instinct. But for Sonia, their plan would've worked!”

“It was a piece of luck that Rita asked me to get involved,” Sonia remarked. “Kamini found me a great hindrance at first, but then she decided to use me, too, expending all her histrionics on me! She was so engrossed in her role of the dying woman, so busy flaunting her acting skills, that she never suspected for an atom of a moment that I was playing along with her tricks.

“When the Lab confirmed that the powder was indeed cocaine and after I'd confirmed that Meena, Ravi's sister, was in no way involved with the couple, I confided in Vivek and we hatched our little plan. Ravi had been hinting to Vivek about the will, hoping that he would talk about it in the study, preferably in Rita's presence. Then it would appear as if Vivek really was after the inheritance. So we decided to help them along with their plan a bit. Vivek was to speak about the inheritance, but in Rita's absence. Then I decided we needed to accuse Vivek openly. Vivek would walk away, as if forever, and Ravi and Kamini would relax, feeling safe and protected. And then they'd show their true colors. Which they did immediately. Unfortunately for them, we were all here to witness the end of their nasty drama!”

“Excellent, Sonia! You've handled this case brilliantly!” Inspector Divekar looked fondly at her.

“Not me alone. It would've been impossible to capsize Ravi and Kamini's plotting without your assistance, Jeevan Uncle, and without Jatin and my never-failing horoscopes, of course.” Sonia smiled at them.

“I must thank you officially for helping me clear my name and my family's name from this mess.” Vivek spoke quite formally.

“You don't have to thank me. I did my job.” Sonia seemed a little embarrassed.

“You did more than that,” Rita spoke up. “You saved an innocent man from being accused of a crime he had never committed.”

“Not to mention the many lives you've saved by putting a stop to these drug-peddlers,” Jatin added.

“Are you guys trying to erase all the horrible things Kamini said about me?” Sonia asked with mock harshness. “You know—insufferable and pompous—that really hurt, you know!”

“It proved that she deserves the sentence she'll be facing now,” Jatin replied. “But, Boss, all those things you told Vivek, about her brother or cousin dying before her . . .”

“All a product of my highly fertile imagination. I told you: no one can predict death, and if they can, they shouldn't. Astrology's not a game—it's very serious business.”

“Got the point!” Vivek grinned sheepishly.

“Do you think we can have some chai?” Sonia asked on a more cheerful note.

“Of course!” Vivek stood up at once. “We all need it.”

“And Vivek,” Sonia continued, “it's Diwali. Could you please hang a lantern at the entrance?”

Vivek nodded. “At once!”

“Hey, the rain's stopped!” Rita was gazing out the window. A pink-and-yellow glow streaked the sky, as a weak sun peeked out of the thinning clouds.

“A real Diwali atmosphere.” Sonia sighed.

Understanding flickered in Jatin's eyes. “This is what Diwali, in its true spirit, means to you, isn't it, Boss? Good over evil, cleaning of minds . . .”

Sonia nodded at him, sharing a special moment with her assistant.

He looked at her, awe and respect stamped on his face. “I don't know if I've said this before, but, Boss, you're the greatest!”

“Thank you, Jatin.” Sonia smiled. “Oh, by the way, do you have Mohnish's number on you?”

“Sure! Do you want me to call him up?”

“Could you call him over to the office in half an hour?”

“Yes, I can, but Boss, don't you want to go home and change?” Jatin eyed the sari, which was beginning to look a sorry sight.

“Actually, Jatin, that's exactly why I wish to call him! I'd like to meet him before I go home and change!” she remarked naughtily, then laughed, as Jatin's eyes widened in shock and Rita eyed her with a suspicious twinkle.

The flickering disco lights illuminated the dancing crowd below in iridescent flashes. Music pulsed through the room and into the frenzied dancers—mostly couples, partying groups, and youngsters. Mohnish didn't particularly fancy going to discos, finding the whole scene too much below his adult taste. But Sonia had agreed to go out with him only if he took her to Frenzy—the happening disco club of the town. And he'd decided that he'd rather take her to a childish disco than forgo the chance of taking her out at all!

Now, as he sipped the orange juice, standing by the DJ counter, he observed Sonia on the dance floor. She was simply amazing! Clad in a turquoise-blue salwar kameez, she charged the place with her magnetic presence. Her body swayed and curved gracefully as the music seemed to touch and caress her. Oblivious to her surroundings, she danced as if her life depended on it, dedicating herself to the music, to the moment! The idlers on the sidelines stared at her with candid curiosity. Unaware of the interest she was attracting, she danced with complete abandon. Like wildflowers dancing with the wind, Mohnish decided.

With every passing minute, he could sense within him the rising tide of liking for Sonia. He had never before witnessed a more attractive blend of intelligence and empathy. She was clear-sighted in her goals and yet sensitive, and even her moments of eccentricity were fascinating. And last but not the least, her formidable ally, Astrology, had turned her into a trailblazer on the crime investigation scene! With her unswerving belief and tenacity, she was managing to break through the blinkered opinions and conventional notions of hard-core critics, impressing on them the importance of her pioneering investigative methods. The slings and arrows were gradually and grudgingly turning to bouquets.

The number ended and the spot lights picked her out, as Sonia made her way towards Mohnish. She looked flushed and exultant.

“That was simply great!” she gushed. “But you barely danced!”

“I told you that I have ten left feet when it comes to dancing.” Mohnish chuckled.

“If you're young at heart, you could dance with a hundred left feet,” she replied. “Do you know who—or to put it correctly—what drew me to dancing? Music—freeing me from thoughts, stress, and inhibitions and taking me on flights of fantasy, tranquillity, and meditation. Only dancing can elicit from within me the zest and zing for life!”

“So I can see,” Mohnish agreed with a smile.

“But I shall relieve you from this torture now. I'm ready to leave.”

“What? So early? I thought you liked to dance all night!”

“I do, but like some people can't hold drink, I can't hold music! I'm already intoxicated with it—if I dance any more, I'll get tipsy, and then I can't be responsible for any of my actions!”

“Hmm . . . that sounds incredibly intriguing,” Mohnish remarked, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Come on, let's go before the music begins and I'm tempted to stay after all!”

They edged their way through the crowd to the entrance. Mohnish breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped out into the winter night. A reddish glow tinged the sky, where a crescent moon nestled. A cool breeze rustled along the tree-lined road. The jazzy name of the disco, Frenzy, flashed behind them as they strolled to Mohnish's Indica.

He glanced at Sonia, a little concerned. The cold did not seem to affect her an iota. She genuinely seemed intoxicated, without having touched a drop of alcohol!

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Never better!” she acknowledged. “Thank you for taking me. I've wanted to visit this place for so long. Have you ever taken any girl to a disco before?”

“Once long ago. I'm too old now.”

“An old flame? What was she like?” Sonia asked curiously. “I can imagine you with someone tall and beautiful and chic—” Her face was still flushed and her tone was carefree.

“I'm not going to gossip about any old flames right now!” Mohnish exclaimed. “And I don't want to be enlightened about any of your ex-boyfriends, either!”

“Good, because once I get started, I won't know where to stop, and I really have to go home!” she declared recklessly.

Mohnish looked so startled that she pealed into laughter.

“Just kidding! Come on—let's go home.” She flung her arm through his in a friendly manner.

“Fine—I have to run an errand anyway. But let me warn you, the next time we go out, I choose the place and time,” Mohnish remarked severely.

“Oh, is there going to be a next time?” she asked cheekily.

“You can bet on anything there is going to be one!”

Rani turned the ignition key of her car. The engine fired, spluttered, then died. She tried again, but to no avail. Banging her hand on the driving wheel, she uttered a curse. Of all nights! It was pitch dark and the streetlights were out. It was only a short distance to home. She'd leave the car by the road and walk home, she decided.

Locking up the car securely, she stepped onto the deserted street and glanced around cautiously. Not a soul was out on the icy winter night. A cold breeze rustled the dead leaves of the Eucalyptus trees lining the street. Rani swung her warm shawl tightly round her, gripped her handbag, and began walking. Her high heels clicked on the tar road, echoing into the night. If it only weren't so dark. But an electricity power cut in Pune was a regular activity and it didn't surprise her that the entire lane was plunged into darkness. The next time she had to stay out late, she must remember to carry a flashlight.

A figure on a bicycle emerged out of the shadows, heading towards her. For a moment, Rani's spirits lifted. The presence of another human being was most welcome. But as the man drew closer, she changed her mind. Small, mean eyes flicked curiously over her. A tuneless whistle blew out of his fat lips. The man on the cycle swung toward her, overtook her, then turned around, coming very close. Rani could even smell his repulsive odour! She clutched her handbag tightly, ready to swing it straight into his face if he tried any stunts. But he cycled on past her, content at whistling a popular Hindi number. Rani sighed in relief.

They were living too far out of town, she thought for the hundredth time. Time and time again she'd told Sanjay that they should move closer to town. But he'd flatly refused. He liked the peace and solitude of the outskirts of Pune. It was fine for him. He stayed out for days on end, on business and partying, she thought bitterly. It was she who had to find activities to keep herself busy and not dying from boredom. She had to settle this issue once and for all, she decided. It was really dangerous trudging home late at night.

A twig snapped behind her and Rani wheeled around. But the lonely road stretched long and dark into infinity. She began walking again, her ears on alert. The crackling of dried leaves disturbed the silence and her mouth went dry. She stopped and, slowly, turned around. She searched the shadows. A movement behind a tree caught her eye. Rani didn't wait to find out what it was. She pivoted and ran. Her right ankle twisted, and protested with an agonizing twinge, but she ignored the pain. Her pulse raced as she ran for her life. Her chest felt as if it were squeezed tight. She could see the gate of her house a few paces away. She'd be safe once inside the gate, she thought wildly. All she had to do was reach the house before he caught up. She was almost at the gate when a hand touched her shoulder, and she screamed, struggling to get away.

“Let go, let go!” she yelled, kicking.

“Rani, Rani, stop it! It's me!”

The familiar voice sliced through her fear.

“Mohnish. Mohnish! Oh, I'm so glad to see you!” And she burst into tears, falling into his arms.

Mohnish quietly supported her, allowing her to vent her tears. Finally, she raised a frightened, wet face.

“What is it? Why were you running?” he asked.

“Some . . . one . . . was following me,” she sobbed.

Mohnish threw a quick look around them. Without warning, the streetlights flickered on. The illuminated road, with its fancy street lamps, looked pretty and quaint, nothing like the cold dark night that had met his gaze moments before.

“I can see absolutely no one,” he told her. “Are you sure you didn't imagine it?”

Rani raised soulful, moist eyes to his face. “No. Because it's not the first time this has happened.”

“What! You mean you've been stalked? Do you know by whom?” Mohnish asked, instantly worried.

Rani shook her head. “I . . . don't know. But I think it's a man. . . . I'm not sure. . . .”

“Have you told Sanjay?”

“No . . .”

“Why not?”

Rani sighed. “Let's go in.”

“Right. We need to talk about this,” Mohnish agreed grimly.

As she made her way to the door, he shut the main gate behind them, but not before he'd thrown another searching scrutiny to the shadows.

Sonia was busy working on the computer as Jatin approached her, a little hesitantly.

“Boss, did you actually go to Frenzy last evening?” he asked.

“Yes.” Sonia continued to concentrate on her work.

“I can't believe it! I've been there a couple of times with my friends—it's just the right place for youngsters. But don't you think you were a little too old to go there on a date with Mohnish? I could've easily suggested more appropriate—”

Sonia turned from the computer. “To set the record straight, Jatin, firstly, it was not a date. And secondly, I'm just about four years older than you!”

Her assistant floundered. “That's all? Why did I get the impression that there's a big age gap—or rather, a generation gap—between us?”

“Because I'm indisputably far more mature than you and am an intelligent boss, that's why! And I'd thank you not to forget that,” Sonia remarked crossly.

Jatin looked a little flustered. “Sorry, Boss, I was just trying to save you some embarrassment.”

Sonia threw him such a scalding look that he scrambled away, muttering about fetching some chai for the cold morning. Minutes later, he returned with two steaming cups and placed one on the table. Mercifully, she seemed to have regained her composure.

“Chai!” he announced.

Sonia absently took the cup and warmed her hands on it. Jatin looked over her shoulder at the site she was surfing.

“Boss, you can't imagine, I'm so glad to know we can afford the Internet facility and a mobile.”

“No point scrimping over necessities. They were must assets for Stellar Investigations. I was just waiting for some extra cash to invest in the facilities,” Sonia remarked.

“What are you surfing?”

“I'm looking up all the material available on the Owl.”

“The Owl? Oh, the international crook! Are we going to be working on finding him?”

“Wish we could. It would certainly be a feather in our cap. But it's not so easy. He's a mysterious figure, with an aura around him. Not a soul knows how he looks, where he lives. For all we know, he could be the neighbor you greet every morning! It's almost an impossibility for us to recognize him or for us to ever cross roads.” Sonia shrugged.

“Then what's the point looking him up on the Net?”

“Educating myself on the international scene,” she replied. “It pays to be prepared.”

“Absolutely,” Mohnish endorsed, entering the office with a warm smile. “Good morning, everybody!”

“You seem quite cheerful for a cold winter morning,” Sonia observed.

Donned in a sky-blue cowl-neck sweater and jeans, he appeared as handsome as ever.

Mohnish grinned. “It warms my heart to see the two busiest souls in the world! While Pune city is huddled around heaters to avoid the chill of the cold wave, it's a pleasant difference to see you two, indoors, using all the newest technology!”

“I'll take that as a compliment, backhanded though it is,” Sonia remarked.

“No, really; it feels good to see that rain, shine, or cold doesn't hamper your determination to crack crimes.”

“Hey now that's going too far.” Sonia laughed. “What's up? You don't sound normal!” she teased.

“Actually, I'm not. I'm terribly worried.” His pleasant smile vanished.

“Worried?” the other two echoed.

“Can I have some chai, Jatin?” Mohnish settled down on a chair, realizing, too late, that Nidhi was curled up on it.

“Ouch!” he yelled. “Hey, what're you doing in this room?”

“She felt lonely sitting inside,” Sonia told him.

“She displays more dog features than cat features. She follows Boss everywhere.” Jatin chuckled, as he placed the chai pot on the hotplate.

“Good, at least you won't miss not having a dog here!” Mohnish retorted.

“So are you going to tell us what's worrying you?” Sonia turned from the computer to face Mohnish.

He nodded, accepting the cup from Jatin. “It's about this friend of mine. Her name is Rani. Actually her husband, Sanjay, is a college friend of mine, but over the years, Rani has also become a good friend. In fact, the three of us were together in college. Last night, a very strange thing happened. Sanjay and Rani live on Mulshi road, rather out of town. We're planning to organize a students' reunion next week and it was my duty to drop some names and addresses at Sanjay's place. I'd spoken to Rani and knew that Sanjay wouldn't be home, but I expected her to be there. After dropping you at your place, when I reached their house, it was locked. Rani wasn't there, so I thought I'd wait for her, since I'd gone that far. And then out of the blue, I saw Rani running for her life toward her house. I tried to stop her, but she began screaming and kicking. When I finally got her pacified, she told me that her car had broken down, so she'd had to walk. But someone began following her and she got the fright of her life. It was then that she told me that lately she's being stalked. Even during broad daylight.”

“Has she seen her stalker?” Sonia asked.

“No, but she senses him. And she's terrified. Because she doesn't know who he is, what he wants, and why he's stalking her.”

“I see . . .” Sonia looked thoughtful.

“Do you think you can meet her?” Mohnish asked. “I'm sure it would help her tremendously if another woman talks to her. She's quite a lonely woman actually; she doesn't have many friends.”

“What about her husband?”

“She confided in me last night that she and Sanjay are having problems. Which is quite surprising, since theirs was a love marriage.”

“Then of course I'll speak to her. Would you like to bring her here or—”

“I've been thinking about that. When I mentioned the police to her last night, she was most reluctant. Said she had no proof and that she didn't want to make a fool of herself. On the other hand, I don't think she should have a problem talking to you. Maybe I'll just give her a ring and ask her if you and I could drive over?”

“Do that,” Sonia agreed.

The afternoon was pleasant as Mohnish, Jatin, and Sonia drove along the winding Mulshi road. The sun wove golden trellis patterns on the pavements. The trees overhead formed kaleidoscopic figures as the leaves danced with the breeze.

“Not a very convenient place to live,” Sonia observed, as they left the main road and drove into a tree-lined road.

“Well, Rani feels the same, but Sanjay always wanted a place amidst nature. He refuses to budge from here. In fact, he went out of his way to build this bungalow.”

“What exactly does Sanjay do?”

“He's into business. Production of organic fertilizers. He's got a factory farther on down this road, so that he can commute to and fro easily. The rest of the time, he's moving around India, contacting customers and organizing sales deals. But it's tough for Rani. She's a housewife and she's got a few close friends, but they're all married. I drop in from time to time, but not very often.”

“Sounds like a lonely life to me. Doesn't she have any special interests? Perhaps a hobby?” Sonia queried.

“Not that I know of. One tends to be cut off, so far away from the city. Though she drives herself everywhere and attends an occasional party.”

“No children?”

“No, and maybe that's the real problem. If they had a kid or two, Rani wouldn't feel so alone.”

“You're quite concerned about her, aren't you?”

“To be really honest, yes, I am. I like Rani. She's a good girl. Always was. She came from a lower-class family, not very rich. But she was always so dignified. Quiet, but not self-effacing, if you know what I mean.”

Sonia studied Mohnish's face. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but do your feelings run deeper than normal here?” she persisted. She found herself waiting anxiously for his answer.

“Well, okay, I admit that I did have a crush on her, when we were studying together in college.”

“You mean she's the one you took to the disco?”

“Oh, you remember, I thought you were too intoxicated with music to remember a word that passed between us.” Mohnish grinned.

“Don't embarrass me!” Sonia blushed, as memory brought back a pleasant tingling sensation. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself last evening. So much so that she had let down her guard and rambled on unabashedly. It had been a relief to let go, but with Mohnish? Was that wise?

“Tell me about you and Rani,” she insisted before her thoughts trod in another direction. “Rani means ‘a queen'—does she still rule your heart?” she teased.

“Of course not! And there's nothing to tell about us. I dropped the idea the moment I realized that Sanjay and she were dating and were serious about each other. And that—before you allow your fertile brain to go any further—was ages ago! She's just a friend now. I don't have any special feeling for her anymore.”

“Good, because I don't believe in promoting extra-marital affairs,” Sonia said primly. She secretly expelled a sigh of relief, then wondered promptly why Mohnish's private life should be any concern of hers!

“That makes two of us.” Mohnish laughed. “Here we are.”

“What a lovely garden!” Sonia exclaimed, as Mohnish pulled the car alongside the bungalow. It was a sprawling cottage, surrounded by a huge garden. Mango and Banana trees looped around the house, interspersed with Guava and Chikkoo trees.

“Yes, this garden is Sanjay's very own personal creation. He's proud of it.”

They went in through the big iron gate. Steps led up to the white, double front doors, which opened as they approached. A tall, slim woman in her late twenties stood at the entrance. A pale pink sari was draped over an exquisite figure. Long jet-black hair fell like a silky curtain to her waist. The word wow triggered in Sonia's brain. Mohnish had forgotten to mention how beautiful his friend was.

“Hello!” the woman greeted them in a musical voice.

A beautiful voice to match the face, Sonia thought.

“Hi, Rani! Meet Sonia and Jatin,” Mohnish responded cheerfully.

They followed her into a cozy hall, furnished with plush sofas.

“I'm sorry Mohnish went to all this trouble.” Rani spoke in a lilting apologetic tone.

“Why should you be sorry?” Sonia asked her.

“Because I didn't wish him to entangle himself in my affairs,” Rani replied.

They sank onto a sofa and she sat facing them.

“Don't be silly, Rani. This is serious. Remember how frightened you were last night?” Mohnish reminded her.

Reluctantly, she nodded. “I guess you're right. Mohnish is a good friend,” she told Sonia. “A very old friend. He's the only one I trust.”

Sonia flashed a glance at Mohnish and raised an eyebrow. He flushed.

Sonia turned to Rani. “Can you tell me exactly what you've been experiencing?”

“For the last few weeks, I've had the strangest feeling that I'm being followed. Once in the market and then near the railway station. But they're usually crowded and safe places, so I didn't think much of it. But one evening on this same road, I was taking a walk and the skin on my arms prickled. I turned around and saw someone duck into the bushes. I called out, but no one responded. And then, last night, I was positive that someone was deliberately trying to scare me.”

“Interesting . . .” Sonia remarked, a thoughtful expression on her face. “And where is your husband?”

“Sanjay is out of town at the moment.”

“So you're all alone in this house when he's not here?”

“I ask the maid to stop overnight. It can get kind of scary—all alone on this road.”

“Rani, do you suspect anyone of doing this? Of trying to scare you?”

The other woman hesitated, then shook her head slowly.

“You don't know anyone who would like to play a prank on you?” Sonia persisted.

“I don't think anyone would even bother to put themselves to so much trouble for me!” The bitterness in Rani's voice was unmistakable.

Mohnish and Sonia exchanged glances.

Sonia asked, “How long is your husband scheduled to be away?”

“A couple of days.”

“And your maid is staying with you till then?”

“Yes, she agreed to.”

“Is there no place in the city that you can stay for a few days? At least until your husband returns?”

“My in-laws live in the city. But I don't see eye to eye with them.”

“In that case, all I can say is, be careful. Keep your door shut. And don't stay out late,” Sonia admonished. “And Rani, do you and Sanjay have your horoscopes made?”

“Horoscopes?” The other woman flashed Mohnish a surprised look. “Yes, we do.”

“Can you give them to me?”

“Sure, but why—”

“I'll explain later,” Mohnish interrupted hastily. “Just do as Sonia says.”

“Fine!” Rani shrugged.

Sonia was silent on the drive back home. Mohnish flashed her questioning glances but she didn't seem to notice them. The evening sun brushed the brown-green countryside with gold. A cool breeze skimmed over the bushes and trees, making them sway gracefully.

“What're you thinking, Boss?” Jatin could wait no longer.

“Rani . . . Didn't you find her too reluctant?”

“She seemed quite resigned to me—like she'd accepted what was happening to her as inevitable,” Mohnish remarked.

“Exactly. And she was most reluctant to discuss it. If I were scared to death about someone stalking me, I would immediately go for police protection. I wouldn't dillydally over issues of proof.”

“So what are you getting at?” Jatin asked.

“Nothing as yet. These are mere observations. I just thought that she was too calm. Mohnish's description of her had set a different picture before my eyes. I'd expected to find a terrified woman, ready to co-operate. Instead, I find a woman who doesn't want any help. Or should I say—a woman who shows that she doesn't need any help!”

“Maybe she knows more about her stalker than she's letting on,” Jatin said.

“Or there's a possibility that someone or something has frightened her so much that she doesn't wish to speak?” Mohnish suggested.

“You could be right. Fear plays a major role in loosening tongues or shutting mouths!” Sonia agreed. “You did take the horoscopes from her, didn't you, Jatin?”

“Yes, though she thought it most funny. If she only knew what avenues lie open when you go through them!”

“Why, Jatin! Spoken like a true friend!” Sonia smiled.

“I mean it. And I've decided that since I'm your assistant, it's also time to begin learning Astrology from you. After all, in your absence I can apply my knowledge and try some deductions.”

Sonia hid a smile. “Right,” she said, and winked at Mohnish.

An instrumental played in the background as Sonia shoved aside the clutter on her table and laid out the two horoscopes. She needed to see Mohnish's horoscope, too, she thought. After all, he was connected with Rani, one way or the other. The woman certainly was beautiful and it wasn't too difficult to fathom why Mohnish had fallen for her once upon a time. But, Sonia couldn't help wondering, did he still carry a torch for her? Unexpectedly, a shard of jealousy dug sharply into her and she was startled. Jealousy? What in heavens was happening to her? She and Mohnish were just friends! Okay, good friends. But that's all. What were a couple of outings for a guy who moved in high-power, ritzy media circles? Just that. A little bit of relaxation with a friend.

And that clinched the matter. She'd much rather work than subject herself to the meanderings of a fanciful mind!

With determination, she bent closely over Rani's and Sanjay's horoscopes. Immediately, the music beats seemed to drum a passage of clarity through her brain, turfing out unnecessary thought and helping her to concentrate on the star constellations. She ran her eye casually over the combinations. These two certainly had a very strong attraction for each other, but strong possibilities of divorce were also indicated. Or at least separation of some kind. Too bad. Sonia focused her attention on Rani's horoscope. Zodiac sign Gemini with Taurus as the ascendant. Good-looking surely. Also revealed a childhood fraught with hardships. And . . . Suddenly Sonia paused. Venus, Sun, and Mercury in the eighth house with Saturn and Mars aspecting them. What could it mean? What a strange horoscope, one of the rarest of its kind. Yes, it was absolutely clear. This wasn't just a childhood of hardships . . . it was something more. . . . And if she was right, it could mean that Rani was in terrible danger. . . . Sometimes the demons of the past overtook you and wreaked havoc with the present.

Sonia leaned against her chair, deep lines etched into her forehead. Could Mohnish do the needful for her? After all, Rani trusted him. Hadn't Rani said so herself? She must handle this with utmost care, Sonia decided. There were many, many delicate factors to consider.

It was a cold night and a mist hung over the mercury-lamp-lit street. The traffic had eased. The neon signs of the advertising hoardings flashed luminously against tall buildings as Mohnish pulled the shutter of his flower shop. He shivered slightly in his warm woollen cardigan. The boy in-charge had left long ago, so Mohnish drew down the shutter, and padlocked it. It was past nine and he was hungry. He didn't fancy going home alone and preparing some snack. Invariably, his thoughts turned to Sonia. A vision of her carefree dancing rose in his mind and he smiled. What would she be doing now? Chatting with her parents over a hot meal? She was beginning to feature regularly in his thoughts, he realized, and shook his head reproachfully.

His mobile rang and Mohnish glanced at the number in surprise. Sanjay's number? Could he be home already?

“Mohnish! Thank God I caught you!”

“Rani! Are you all right?”

“Oh, Mohnish, I'm so scared! Can you come over, please? I know it's late, but my maid hasn't turned up yet and I got this awful note. . . . And it's not signed. . . .”

The break in her voice was enough for Mohnish. “Hang on, I'll be there. And don't open the door to anyone. To anyone, understand?”

Mohnish ran to his car, his brow puckered in worry. Poor Rani! What a frightening experience for a lone woman! If only Sanjay were here to take care of her. But he wasn't even aware of the trauma his wife was experiencing. Mohnish would have to talk to him. Instill some sense into his head. Ask him to patch up with Rani, settle their problems, and relive the old magic of their marriage. Mohnish couldn't keep running to Rani at odd hours. Apart from the fact that it was not his place, it could also set tongues wagging. Which would do no good to a marriage which was already on the fire.

He navigated his way through the night traffic and headed towards the Mulshi road, wondering if he ought to call Sonia and inform her of the latest development. He decided against it. He would wait until he met with Rani and read the note himself.

The drive was long and set his teeth on edge. Cold air brushed past his face and he shivered. He wouldn't have come out this far if it hadn't been for Rani. He simply could not refuse to meet her. Not when she was so spooked. Not when she needed him.

The house finally came in sight and he pulled in along the road. Throwing the gate open, he took the steps two at a time. But before he could ring the bell, the door opened. Rani stood there, her beautiful face white and strained.

Mohnish stared at her. Blood had clotted around a deep gash on her forehead.

“Rani, what happened!” he exclaimed in alarm.

“I . . .” She could barely utter the words. “He . . . he . . . hit me!”

“Who hit you?”

But before she could answer, Rani swayed. Mohnish caught her, as she fell into a swoon.

Shaken to the core, he swiftly lifted her and carried her to a sofa. A groan escaped her lips. Quickly, he fetched a glass of water from a jug nearby.

“Drink this, please, Rani; you're going to be fine. I'm right beside you,” he entreated.

Her eyes opened at last and recognition flickered in them. Immediately, she raised herself. “What happened . . . ouch . . . my head . . . !”

“Someone hit you on the head. Just point out the first-aid kit and I'll fix that wound.”

Within minutes, he had done a neat job of bandaging her head.

“I'm so sorry, Mohnish.” Rani spoke softly. “You've been so wonderful, but I'm such a pain in the neck, aren't I?”

“Nonsense! I think you've been very brave. Any other woman would have been a mass of nerves!” Mohnish replied warmly. “But tell me exactly what happened. How did this intruder manage to get in?”

“After I phoned you, I realized that the front door was open, so I went to shut it, and wham! Something hit me so hard, I went sprawling!” Rani's voice trembled as she relived the shock of the experience.

“You're lucky he didn't come in! Or did he?”

“I've no idea. I was too stunned and in pain to notice.”

“I can understand. On the phone you mentioned an anonymous note,” he reminded her.

She nodded, extending her hand to the phone and recovering a slip of paper.

Mohnish took it and read the single line of the computer printout.

I SHALL GET YOU.

“When did you get this and how did it reach you?” he asked grimly.

“It was pushed under the front door.” Rani spoke in a dead voice.

Mohnish began pacing the floor, anger and worry pulling him apart. What a terrible thing to happen to Rani. And where was Sanjay? He was her husband. He was supposed to be here, lending support and love to his wife. Business couldn't be so all-consuming!

“I think it's time to drag Sanjay back home at once,” he remarked savagely.

“I did try his mobile. But it says that he's out of reach.”

“Damn! We've got to do something. I can't leave you alone in such circumstances. You need to be with people, not be in the middle of nowhere, alone, fighting off madmen!” he exclaimed hotly.

“Mohnish, it's really nice of you to be so concerned. But I'm fine now. And even feeling hungry.” She smiled weakly.

“Haven't you had dinner?”

“No, I was about to when I saw that note. What about you? Have you had anything to eat?” she asked solicitously.

Mohnish grinned, suddenly aware that hunger rumbled inside his stomach. “I'm starving,” he admitted.

“In that case, we're going to eat. No, I'm not listening to any protests. It's the least I can offer you, for calling you all the way here. Please, Mohnish, let me serve you some dinner.” And with that, she rose and walked to the kitchen.

The doorbell rang, and he froze. He hastened to the door and spied through the peephole.

“Who is it?”

“I'm the bai!”

Relief washed over him. He pulled open the door and Rani's maid walked in, flashing him an apologetic smile.

An hour later, well past midnight, Mohnish returned to the city. He halted at the traffic signal near Fountain Hotel, drumming his fingers impatiently on the driving wheel. A figure crossed the road and entered the hotel. It took Mohnish a full minute to recognize the man clad in a thick jacket, with his face almost obscured by the high collar. It was Sanjay!

“Can you describe this person who attacked you?” Sonia asked.

She, Mohnish, and Jatin were once again seated in Rani's house. Her face was pale and drawn, and Sonia sensed a growing concern for this friendless woman. A little blood had seeped out of the white bandage, revealing the viciousness of the attack.

Rani shook her head. “I'm afraid I can't. I hardly saw him. I was taken so much by surprise that all I saw was a blur of a blue sweater—a huge blue sweater.”

“Hmm . . .”

“Not very helpful, am I?” Rani grimaced.

“It would help if you could give some precise descriptions, of course, but don't worry too much about it. Inspector Divekar and his Constables are checking your garden for any telltale signs that may give a clue to the identity of the attacker. But try to think, Rani: Is there anyone—anyone at all—who may wish to hurt you?”

A look of concentration replaced the worried expression on Rani's face, as she dug into her memory for the slightest clue. But she shook her head woebegonely. “I truly can't think of anyone who'd wish me harm. You can't imagine how perplexed I am!”

“I don't mean just recent contacts.” Sonia tried again. “It could be any person connected to your past. Often something that happened long ago can reflect on you today. Think, Rani, think back. Perhaps there's someone associated with your childhood who may still want to get back at you? Who would want to get even for some old grudge?”

“I don't know! And my head feels as if it'll burst!” Rani exclaimed in frustration. Her eyes had an almost wild look.

Mohnish looked worried and Sonia watched her anxiously. The poor woman appeared worn out.

Inspector Divekar clattered up the steps, his face grim. He held a blue cardigan in his hands.

“We found this in the garden. It was flung over a Guava tree.”

Rani's beautiful eyes widened in recognition. “But that's Sanjay's sweater!”

“Are you sure?” Sonia asked, as she took the garment from the Inspector. It was wool of the softest kind.

“I'm positive! We bought it on our trip to Kashmir. It's his favorite sweater.”

“I think it's time to find Sanjay,” Sonia said grimly. “Have you any idea where your husband might be? Perhaps at the factory?”

“I've been trying his mobile, but he hasn't been answering.”

“Don't worry, we'll track him down,” Inspector Divekar remarked dryly.

It was when they were on their way back to the office that a question formed in Sonia's mind. She turned to Mohnish, who was beginning to carry a perpetual look of worry on his face.

“How good a friend are you of Rani's?” she asked.

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “As good a friend as any other.”

“Then why does she insist on calling you when in need?”

“She obviously feels safe around me. Perhaps she feels that she can depend on me.”

“Have you encouraged her to believe so?”

“Of course not! But why these questions? So what if she turned to me for help? It's natural, isn't it?”

“Perhaps it is,” Sonia murmured, but her tone was non-committal.

Sanjay drove towards the factory, his face dreamy and soft. Love was a wonderful thing! He loved being in love. But it was also time to set things rolling. He had deceived her for too long. It was only fair that he came out in the open and put all his cards on the table. He owed her that much. After all, they'd shared some great times together. And he wanted to cherish those memories and add new ones to them, not mess things up so much that all that remained were the charred remnants of a relationship. A brown envelope sat on the seat beside him and he patted it appreciatively. Jagdish had done an excellent job in no time. Which was good, because he really must get this over with, fast and quick.

He pulled into the drive of his factory, relishing the strong fertilizer smells seeping through the air. He double-parked beside a familiar car. Mohnish?

“Hello!” Sanjay greeted five minutes later, as he entered his office. “Long time no see!”

“Sure! Meet Sonia Samarth. An Investigator,” Mohnish introduced.

“An Investigator? How interesting!” Sanjay nodded his acknowledgement and then turned to Mohnish with a curious look. “What's brought you here? Surely—”

“First be so kind as to answer my question,” Mohnish cut in abruptly. “Where have you been and why haven't you been going home?”

Sanjay relaxed into his swivel chair, dropping his mobile casually on the table. He was hefty and his ample hair curled around his head. “I've been out of town. I just got back last night.”

“But you didn't go home last night, did you?” his old friend insisted.

Sanjay dropped his eyes. “How did you know?”

Sonia leaned forward. “Mr. Sanjay Gosavi, I think you ought to know that you're very close to being arrested for attacking your wife.”

Sanjay shot backwards, as if he'd been punched in the stomach with a water balloon. His nonchalant attitude vanished. “What the hell are you talking about? I haven't seen or been near my wife for the whole of last week!”

“Can you prove that?” Sonia asked.

“Yes, I can! I was with—” Sanjay halted in mid-sentence.

“Who can provide you with an alibi, Sanjay? It's vital that you have one,” Mohnish pressed.

“I don't understand this. Please explain. Why am I being accused of attacking Rani?” Frustration marred his handsome face.

Mohnish glanced at Sonia. She nodded.

“I'm assuming that you know nothing of this,” Mohnish told Sanjay. “You would have, though, had you been considerate enough to keep in touch with your wife!” He couldn't keep the anger from his voice. He went on to explain everything that had happened to Rani in the last few days.

Consternation registered on Sanjay's face. “A stalker! My God, I had absolutely no idea. But why didn't she try and contact me on the mobile?”

“She did, but you were out of reach. However, that's not the point, Sanjay. You should've been with her, should've been her anchor and support at a time like this.” Mohnish spoke harshly.

“Unless you're the man behind it!” Sonia said it coldly.

Sanjay took a deep breath. “Believe me, Miss Samarth, I have nothing to do with all this. I'm truly sorry that I wasn't with Rani when so much was happening, but I had absolutely no inkling.”

“Unfortunately, we have only your word for that. And given the circumstances, I'm not sure of its validity. We found your blue sweater in the garden and Rani claims that her attacker was wearing a blue sweater. We have no reason to disbelieve her.”

Sanjay thrust a restless hand through his ample hair. “The sweater that we'd bought on a holiday in Kashmir? I stopped wearing that particular sweater long ago.”

“That doesn't matter. You still have to prove that you were not at home, attacking Rani last night.”

Sanjay stared at Mohnish, an imploring look in his eyes. Finally, the factory owner shrugged resignedly. “Okay, I may as well tell you. I was with Anita, the girl I'm going to marry after I divorce Rani!”

A loaded silence ensued.

“Is that where you were last night? At Fountain Hotel with Anita?” Mohnish asked.

“Yes. We've been seeing each other for the last six months. Anita works as a manager at the hotel. We met at a party and fell in love. I've been wanting to tell Rani for some time now, but of late she's been getting more and more moody. It was impossible to communicate with her, since we always ended up having a roaring argument. Finally, I walked out of the house. I had some work in Goa. I returned to Pune last night, then went straight to Anita at the hotel. She's got a room there. And then this morning I came here, with the full intention of handing my wife the divorce papers.”

“Divorce papers!” Mohnish exclaimed. “Do you know what that will do to Rani? She's already suffering so much!”

“Do you have the papers with you, Mr. Gosavi?” Sonia asked.

“They're in my car.”

“Could you fetch them, please?”

“Right away.” Sanjay rose readily.

The moment he was out of the room, Sonia bent forward and picked up his mobile. To Mohnish's astonishment, she flicked it open and speedily ran through the numbers. The mobile was back in its place before Sanjay returned with the papers.

“Here they are.” Sanjay handed Sonia a sheaf of official documents.

Sonia flipped through them, then passed them on to Mohnish.

“So you're serious about this relationship with Anita,” she remarked. “Is there any particular reason why you don't wish to continue your marriage to Rani?”

“To be honest, when we got married, we were very much in love. But we had different likings, our ideas and concepts varied; in fact, it turns out we have nothing in common. Rani became possessive and moody and she began throwing tantrums. Actually, there are so many things that didn't work out. And finally it dawned on me that we were simply not suited,” Sanjay explained.

“Mr. Gosavi, I want to ask you something very private. Something which you as a husband would know. Do you know if, as a child, Rani had any particularly unpleasant experience? I mean, I know that she came from a poor family, but was she in any way molested? . . .” Sonia paused delicately.

“It's strange that you should ask, because not a soul under the sun is aware of this. Rani told me about it on our honeymoon. Yes, as a child she used to live in a lower-middle-class chawl—you know, a building with one-room flats and common toilets—and there was an uncle living next door. Once when Rani was about fourteen, she was alone in her flat. And this guy tried to force himself on her. She raised a cry and was rescued in time, but it left her extremely paranoid about men.”

A small silence followed as Sonia digested the bit of news. So she'd been on the right track. The scratches on a building were not formed in a day, she thought. . . . The past demons did tend to catch up with the present. . . .

“Do you know where I can find this man?” she asked.

“I know the place, since Rani once pointed out her old house to me. It's in Gokhalenagar. But his name . . . I think he's called Bhajimama.”

“Bhajimama? What an odd name!”

“Apparently he would bring fried onion bhajiyas for all the children in the building to eat, so they nicknamed him Bhajimama.”

“Right. Thank you, Mr. Gosavi, you've really passed a valuable piece of information on to us.” Sonia stood up.

“Are you going to Rani now?” Mohnish asked Sanjay.

“I can't. I promised Anita that I would break up with Rani and never enter the house as long as she's there!”

“I don't believe this! Rani is facing such grave danger—someone has attacked her, for God's sake! And instead of being with your wife and taking care of her, all you can think of is your lady love! You're despicable, Sanjay, and I'm truly glad that Rani's rid of you!” Mohnish threw his old friend a scalding look, unable to control his anger anymore. He strode out of the office without a backward glance.

“I'm so glad you dropped by,” Rani told them. “Because I have another of these letters that I wanted to show you.”

She held out another computer printout.

Seated on the sofa, Sonia and Mohnish read the bold, printed lines.

TO-NIGHT. I'LL GET YOU!

Sonia glanced at Rani. There was deep fear in the other woman's eyes. She was looking at Mohnish, an unspoken appeal on her face. A wave of sympathy swamped Sonia. Fear can cripple the best of people, and Rani was just a lonesome young woman. Poor Rani. She had a lot to face before she extracted herself from this mess.

“When did you get this?” she asked, gesturing at the printout.

“It was slipped under the door a while ago,” Rani explained despondently. “I'm getting quite used to it by now.”

“Don't!” Mohnish exclaimed. “Don't talk as if this is going to continue all your life.”

Rani looked at him resignedly. “I wish that were true,” she whispered. “I wish I knew that I would get out of this situation without getting hurt.”

“Of course you will!” Mohnish took her hand in his.

Sonia stood up abruptly. “Do you mind if I look around the house?”

“Not at all.”

“Can you just tell me what is where, so that I don't get lost?”

“The kitchen is on your right and there's a guest room on the left. Upstairs are three rooms. One is our bedroom, one is Sanjay's study, and the other is a spare room.”

“Thanks. I'd just like to check them out, if you don't mind.”

“Go ahead.”

Sonia made her way upstairs. Her mind was in a whirl. Mohnish and Rani were so comfortable with each other. Rani was truly leaning on him for support, and Mohnish was only too eager to lend it. They seemed to really hit it off well, like the mouse clicking on an icon. Now, why did that analogy crop into her mind? She looked down at the anonymous note in her hand. A computer printout. Someone who had access to Sanjay's sweater and a computer. A sweater which he claimed he'd stopped wearing long ago. Had Rani given the sweater away to someone and then forgotten the fact?

Sonia opened doors and peeped into rooms, feeling more like an intruder herself. Somehow she felt uncharacteristically uncomfortable moving through Rani's house. As if she ought not to. But that was surely ridiculous. This was a question of Rani's life. Anything could happen if she did not get to the bottom of this affair . . . and soon. She pushed open another door and surveyed the room. A computer setup on a table caught her attention. Sonia slipped into the room and shut the door behind her.

“Poor Rani, I'm beginning to get really worried about her,” Sonia commented, as they drove toward the city.

“I know. I am, too,” Mohnish agreed. “And to think that Sanjay is going to drop her like a hot potato just when she needs him most!”

“Mohnish, these things happen. Marriages either work, or bust up. That's life,” Sonia reminded. “And we don't really know who is to blame in their breakup. There's no point you getting all worked up over it!”

“I can't help it. Rani is suffering so much! It must be tough, learning that someone is trying to hunt you down for no rhyme or reason.”

“Maybe there is a reason,” Sonia murmured. “Perhaps this visit to Bhajimama will provide us with the motive.”

“You mean you suspect Bhajimama of having something to do with the stalking? But that incident happened years ago!”

“It's an extremely likely answer, although I shall refrain from forming definite opinions right now.”

They drove on in silence, both deep in thought. Sonia stole a look in Mohnish's direction. His firm jaw was set in a grim line and his brows were knitted in a reflective frown.

“Don't worry, she'll be fine.” Sonia spoke softly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I hope so. Of course, the fact that Inspector Divekar's men are on guard outside her house now makes me feel a whole lot better. But I can't help feeling tremendously sorry for her, especially now that I know that Sanjay is going to drop his bombshell.”

“I know what you mean. This is Gokhalenagar, right?”

Mohnish turned into a lane with narrow buildings on either side and stopped by a grocery store.

“Excuse me, can you tell me where Bhajimama lives?” he asked the storeowner, in Marathi.

The storeowner looked at them in surprise. It was not every day that two sophisticated people asked for a drunkard like Bhajimama! “Oh, he must be at home, drunk and asleep.” The storeowner laughed, but readily pointed out the well-worn chawl building and floor.

Within minutes, Sonia and Mohnish were in a corridor, knocking on a dilapidated wooden door. The paint was peeling so badly through the rotten wood that there were gaps in the door. It was a while before it was opened by a very unsteady hand.

“Who's it?” a coarse voice demanded.

Mohnish thrust the door open and they stepped inside a room which reeked of country liquor. A single iron bed occupied the cubicle.

A man in his fifties, with a white stubble and a lean face, glared back at them.

“Who're you?” he demanded.

“Police!” Mohnish rasped.

The man gaped.

“What have I done, Saheb?” he asked unsteadily, but fear rose in his eyes.

“Tried to rape a young girl and then tried to blackmail her,” Sonia remarked.

“What . . . what are you talking about? I've done no wrong. I don't know no girl!”

“Of course you do. We're talking about Rani, the girl who lived next door!”

Bhajimama's face blanched. “I don't know what—”

“Stop it! Don't pretend you know nothing about this. You attacked her two nights ago, didn't you?” Mohnish added, stepping forward. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

The drunk cowered in fright. “Attack . . . no . . . I didn't! I haven't seen Rani in years, Saheb! I don't even know where she lives now!”

Mohnish held him by the scruff of his torn collar. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Saheb, I know nothing about this girl. Why should I attack her . . . please believe me, Saheb!” Bhajimama begged.

Sonia tapped on Mohnish's arm. “Let him go,” she commanded quietly.

Mohnish released the collar and the old man went staggering backwards. “If I ever discover that you went anywhere near Rani, you'll be in lock-up, remember that!” he warned.

“Never, Saheb. Never, I swear!”

The moment they stepped out into the corridor, Bhajimama slammed the door on their back. Mohnish and Sonia ignored the sound and headed to the van.

“What happened? Why did you ask me to stop?” Mohnish asked Sonia, puzzled and still angry.

“Because he was speaking the truth. That man cannot be the stalker. A person who can barely stand on his two feet cannot be a stalker. And he's certainly not in a position to use a computer and send computer-printout threatening notes! I doubt if he's ever sober!”

“But I thought . . .”

“We just came here to confirm my doubt,” Sonia explained.

“I don't understand—”

“You will, soon. Can we drive to my office?”

It was dusk by the time they reached F.C.Road. Sonia sat in silence during the drive, a finger twirling a lock of hair. Mohnish thought it wise not to disturb her. By now, he knew when something was on her mind. The moment they parked, she jumped out of the van and ran inside.

“Jatin, don't disturb me for a while. Mohnish, do you mind?”

“Not at all, just go ahead and do what you have to.”

He watched in fascination as Jatin switched on the music system and loud beats rocked the office. Sonia settled down at her table, laying out two horoscopes before her. She studied them with the concentration and intensity of a cat observing its prey. She seemed totally unaware that she made a very pretty picture. At length, she glanced up, and the excitement on her face caught Mohnish by surprise. Without a word, she moved to the computer in the outer office and connected to the Internet. In a moment, she was surfing and gathering information. Suddenly, Mohnish's mobile rang.

Sonia swung around in her chair towards Mohnish. “Wait! Don't answer it yet!” she exclaimed.

Mohnish paused in his action. “Why?”

“Because that is Rani calling. Now listen carefully. . . .” Sonia's voice was urgent as the mobile continued to ring insistently. “Be very careful what you say to her. She's going to ask you to come to her house. She's scared and panicky. Soothe her down. Tell her you'll be there any minute. That you're on your way. Tell her that you care for her well-being—which is not a lie—that you want her to be safe and sound. Will you remember all this?”

Mohnish nodded, astonishment written all over his face. “Hello?” he spoke into the mobile.

“Mohnish! Thank God I caught you. I thought, with the phone ringing for so long . . .”

“Rani, what is it?”

“Mohnish, can you please come here? I'm so frightened!” Rani's voice was quavering.

“Of course I can, but what's the matter? Are you okay?”

“I will be, the moment you arrive. I . . . I can't stand this anymore, this fear, this stalker . . .”

“Don't worry. I'll be right there!”

“I think he's at the door, Mohnish, I heard him . . . I don't know what I'll do. . . .”

“Rani, keep the door locked and don't do anything rash!”

“Mohnish . . . I feel so alone. . . . He's knocking . . . someone's at the door. . . .”

“Don't open it! Call out to the Constables standing outside, they'll help you! And I'm on my way! Rani, remember I care for you, you're a good friend of mine, so don't worry. I'll be there in a jiffy!” Mohnish switched off the mobile. “She's terrified!”

“I know,” Sonia told him. “Jatin, get the mobile. While we're on the way to Rani's, give Inspector Divekar a call and ask him to fetch a Doctor, we may need one. Come on, let's go!”

“What's happening! How did you know it would be Rani on the line?” Mohnish asked as the three hastened to the van.

“I'll explain everything later. First, we have to reach her house, and fast. She's in grave danger!” Sonia's serious tone brooked no further questions.

They hopped into the van and Mohnish speeded out of town. Jatin made quick calls on the mobile. The winter night was dark and foggy but Mohnish maneuvered the vehicle skillfully through the traffic and mist. Silence reigned as the mounting tension of the moment seemed to grip all three of them.

“I hope she's okay!” Mohnish muttered under his breath. “If only she weren't living so far out!”

“I know. Just pray that she's safe,” Sonia responded, her voice grim.

Time crawled and the road seemed endless. Jatin glanced repeatedly at his watch and then at his boss. She seemed remarkably collected, and yet concern clouded her face. The mobile trilled melodiously into the silence, startling them. Mohnish snatched the handset.

“Rani?”

“I think . . . he's in the house. . . . What do I do?” Her whisper was barely audible.

“Rani, I'm just round the corner, be brave! Did you call out to the Constables on guard outside? Call them!” Mohnish spoke urgently into the phone. “Rani! What was that?”

“I don't know, I think he broke a window. . . .”

The phone went dead.

“My God!”

“What's wrong?” Sonia asked, alarmed.

“He's in the house!” Mohnish put his foot on the accelerator.

The van turned into the Eucalyptus-lined road and sped toward the Gosavi house. The cottage was enveloped in a veil of mist. The moon shone eerily over it, casting a hazy blue glow.

The van screeched to a halt by the footpath. Mohnish rushed out and was about to push the gate open, when Sonia pressed a restraining hand on his arm. “Wait, Mohnish.”

She beckoned to the two Constables on duty, who had moved towards them.

“Did she call out to you for help?” she asked them.

“No, Ma'am. Is there a problem?” The Constable looked concerned.

Sonia nodded, then turned to the impatient Mohnish. “Listen, Mohnish. Only you will go up to the front door and ask Rani to open it. Don't let her know that all of us are with you. It's important!”

“But why?” Mohnish cried impatiently. “This is no time for games, Sonia!”

“I'm aware of that,” Sonia retorted gravely. “Just do as I say if you care for her and want her unharmed!”

Mohnish took one look at her flushed face, then nodded. He strode up to the front door and rang the bell. “Rani? It's me, Mohnish!”

Silence.

“Rani?” Mohnish's voice held an urgency. “Rani!”

“Is that you, Mohnish?” a faint voice asked from behind the door.

“Yes, I'm here! Open the door!”

“I . . . I can't! He's here!”

“What! Open the door!”

A splintering of glass echoed through the night.

“Rani!” Mohnish yelled, panic coursing through his veins.

He banged on the door, and suddenly it moved. He pushed it open and ran inside. Rani was standing with her back to the window. Her hand held a shard of glass.

“I've been waiting for you, Mohnish. Oh, for so long! Why didn't you come earlier?”

“Drop that glass! You'll cut yourself!”

“Yes, I will, but only then will you come to me and take me in your arms, you'll care for me, you'll love me . . .” she whispered.

Mohnish froze at her words. What was she talking about?

“You will love me, won't you?” she asked, her eyes wild and her hair streaming behind her. She looked like a beautiful apparition in a white sari.

Mohnish stared at her, hesitation outstripping his panic. A voice spoke into his head. Sonia's voice. Say yes! Say you care for her!

“Yes . . . of course, I will. Rani, you're my friend and I . . . I care for you. Drop that glass and come to me.” Mohnish struggled to keep his voice level.

Rani smiled, a chill, ghostly smile. “I knew that this was the only way. . . .”

A sudden sound from the broken window made Rani whirl around. In a flash, a figure had swept forward from the door and knocked the glass out of Rani's hand. Another figure rushed ahead and grasped her hands. Someone turned on the lights. Rani twisted around and stared at the faces surrounding her. Sonia, Jatin, Inspector Divekar, the Constables, and a man in a white coat. And Mohnish, standing stunned beside the door. Her sight dimmed and she crumpled in a faint into the arms of the Inspector.

“This is what is often called the Munchausen syndrome,” Sonia explained.

“Boss, I'm so confused that I still can't make head nor tail of this affair,” Jatin admitted, handing out the cups of chai to Mohnish and Inspector Divekar.

Mohnish accepted the cup absently, his expression still incredulous. He shook his head, as if attempting to clear the muddle it was flooded with.

“I just don't understand. I mean, what's the point?” he asked, bewildered.

“What is the Munchausen syndrome?” Inspector Divekar asked, quite sensibly.

“It's a disorder wherein a person pretends or imagines being sick or ill so as to gain attention. Sometimes such people create stalkers and even inflict injuries upon themselves to gain sympathy. In this case, Rani was so much in love with Mohnish and wanted his attention, love, and caring so intensely that she created this whole affair of the stalker and the attacks. Because somewhere at the back of her mind, she was convinced that he would love her only if she presented this sorry picture of herself. And it was working. Mohnish was getting more and more concerned and involved with her,” Sonia explained, flashing him a quick look. “Often this rare condition can be a result of neglect in childhood. Or if the person has undergone a childhood trauma. In Rani's case, her experience with Bhajimama left a big scar. Her need for love and caring simply could not be satiated by Sanjay, so she turned to Mohnish.”

“But if this disorder is such a rare occurrence in people, how did you guess that Rani was suffering from it?” Mohnish demanded.

“First, Rani's horoscope. Mars and Uranus in the fifth house with Virgo clearly indicated that something terrible had happened in Rani's childhood—an injustice—something in relation to a man. If that was not all, Venus, the Sun, and Mercury in the eighth house were aspected by Saturn and Mars. It was a very strange combination of planets. Such a person is eccentric and a liar and can do anything to herself—it is usually interpreted as a suicidal tendency, but I read it as a self-traumatizing, self-destructive behavior. Besides, the Lord of Virgo of the fifth house was in the eighth house, which meant that her mental health was also questionable. Initially, I was puzzled, uncertain whether to work along my theory. After all, it's not every day that you find people inflicting wounds on themselves to create sympathy. But I was also unwilling to forgo the idea without testing it. I was in a dilemma. I couldn't just get up and voice my suspicions. It had to be illustrated with proof. To say that someone was suffering from the Munchausen syndrome and was inflicting wounds on herself could destroy a person for life. I realized that I had to be careful and sensitive to the whole issue!

“I also found it extremely odd that not once did Rani of her own volition come to me. Neither did she go to the police, which, given her claim, would've been the obvious solution.

“It was when I searched Sanjay's mobile for Rani's number that I realized there was no sign of the number of calls she claimed she'd been making to him. Also, I made a printout on Rani's computer at her house and discovered that the two notes she'd got were printed on the same printer. Which set me thinking. If Rani deliberately wished to fool us all—for example, if she wished to frame Sanjay or was angling for the property—she would certainly use more cunning. She wouldn't use the computer in the house or fling Sanjay's sweater out in the garden. Which meant that she had a shortsighted goal—Mohnish. And that she wasn't really equipped mentally to chalk out an elaborate plan. Which set me right back on my original conclusions, that Rani was dicing with death. It didn't take me long to figure out what really was happening after that, or to recognize my theory as a fact.”

“It's unbelievable, isn't it?” Inspector Divekar sounded amazed. “Such a beautiful and sane woman, deliberately hurting herself . . .”

“A victim of loneliness. And a desperate craving for love.”

“But is she going to get well?” Mohnish asked.

“She's at the right place, in the hospital. But whether she shall ever be totally cured of this disorder is something only the Doctors can tell,” Sonia replied gravely.

“But why didn't you tell me? A hint or something?” he asked, frowning deeply.

“For the simple reason that you would've found it hard to believe me. You were completely taken in by her, and had I said this whole business is made up, you would've thought me crazy. And secondly, it was paramount that you sound absolutely genuine and concerned every time she called you. Even the slightest suspicion on her part of your doubt would have most definitely resulted in something terrible happening to Rani. To reconvince you, she would've gone to any length, even damaging herself permanently. It was a risk I couldn't take. I had to leave you in the dark regarding her real condition.”

Mohnish nodded. “And here I was, wondering what kind of games you were playing! When the games were actually being played by Rani! She really had me utterly fooled!”

“Sometimes pain is the only secret you want to share, but it's the one thing you cannot pass on. You can neither live nor experience the pain of others, nor can you share it,” Sonia reflected.

Mohnish sighed. “Sonia, I'm sorry—”

“Oh please!” Sonia brushed off the apology. “You were going crazy with anxiety, I could see that.”

“But I ought to have trusted you.”

“You will the next time, when your emotions are not as clouded as they were in this case,” she assured, with a faint smile.

“Hey, hold it! Rani is a friend and only a friend. Please don't overtax your brain with romantic notions!” Mohnish warned, the dimple on his cheek showing up.

“Well, let's hope that she recovers from her illness and starts over again.” Inspector Divekar finished off his chai and stood up. “Sonia, good work.”

“I wish I could say so, too. I can't help feeling kind of incomplete about it all. And I'm truly sorry that I can't help Rani, in the real sense,” Sonia said wistfully. She did not add that she was grateful to Vedic Astrology for providing different dimensions to a study, even the complex workings of the human mind. It was her one solace in the entire case.

“It's now the Doctor's job to help her not yours, beti. Anyway, call me if you need anything!” Inspector Divekar strode out of the office.

Sonia gazed after his receding back. Jatin discreetly exited from the room. Mohnish regarded Sonia with a compassionate smile.

“Thank you, Sonia,” he said quietly.

“Thank me? For what?” She felt foolish. Her momentary jealousy over the sick Rani seemed like a crime now. How petty and stupid of her to begrudge the lonely woman her treasured meetings with Mohnish!

“For finding the right place for her—the hospital. At least she'll get the treatment she deserves and not be thrown into jail for hatching a plot of her own death.”

Sonia's throat constricted with sudden unshed tears. “Poor Rani!”

Mohnish swiftly moved forward and held Sonia's hand comfortingly.

Nidhi put out a paw and played with the tiny silver bell hanging on the Christmas tree. As the bell swung, the cat cocked her head and stared at it. Sonia laughed.

“Don't you dare contemplate pulling off my decorations,” she warned the cat, as she placed a star on top of the tree.

“You really meant it!” Mohnish exclaimed, observing the activity in the inner room of the office.

“Meant what?” Sonia asked over her shoulder.

“That you celebrate Christmas, although you are a Hindu. I remember you specifically added that to your long list of likes in our second meeting!” Mohnish settled into a chair.

“Doesn't the tree look beautiful? Nidhi loves it, too!” Sonia stepped back and admired her work. “I've asked Jatin to fetch some thermacol for snow.”

The three-foot tree in a medium-sized earthen pot was placed on the multi-coloured Panchgani carpet, beside the window. Laden with silver and gold paper frills and curls, the fir tree looked charming. Gifts, wrapped in glossy paper, nestled at its foot, and tiny ones even hung from the branches.

“It's amazing! You take this as seriously as a true Christian.” Mohnish couldn't hide the surprise he felt. “How did this come about—I mean, you celebrating Christmas?”

“Oh, it's a long story. You wouldn't be interested.” Sonia turned from the tree and lifted the curious Nidhi, before the cat was tempted to fiddle with any more bells.

“Try me,” he offered.

“Okay!” Sonia seated herself in her chair and Nidhi immediately curled up in the warmth of her lap. “I studied in a convent school, where nuns taught us. I was in the first standard when my teacher explained how Santa Claus comes home on Christmas Eve and brings presents for good children, stuffing them into their stockings. I was curious. I went home and asked my parents if that was true. My mom confirmed it and suggested that I try putting up my stocking on Christmas Eve. I was a little anxious because I was not a Christian, but my mom assured me that it made no difference to Santa. A good child is a good child! So that twenty-fourth, I brought a tree and decorated it and put up my socks. At the stroke of twelve, I cut a cake for Jesus and prayed. Then I tried to sleep, but I was so excited that I lay awake for hours hoping to meet Santa. But of course, I didn't. Then on Christmas morning, I saw these gifts around the tree and I was so happy! After that, I celebrated Christmas every year, and Santa never failed me. I really and truly believed in him. As I grew up, I went to church on Christmas Eve and prayed—I still do sometimes.”

Mohnish gazed at the serenity that had stolen over her face. “But that wasn't really Santa, was it?” he prompted.

“No, of course not. It was my mom. She was so good at making me believe in Santa. She would hang up strings of sweets with Dad's help and later I could even write letters to Santa. I tried to be especially good the whole year, just so that Santa could visit a Hindu household.” An amused smile lit up Sonia's face. “I was in the eighth standard when a friend declared that Santa did not exist. I challenged her, insisting that he did and that he visited my house every year. She laughed at me and called me a baby. It was then that I realized the truth. I cried and cried! I was heartbroken! It was not just the gifts. It was my total belief in a father figure, in magic, in the rewards of being good. . . . My mom had to work hard at consoling me. She explained to me how Santa and the concept behind him could live on. We could give each other gifts and continue our very own Christmas. This would be the time of the year when we would think of others, give them what they need in the form of gifts, and spread peace and harmony. I love the month of December. It heralds the arrival of Christmas, the season of peace and harmony. I truly love it.”

“Wow! What a fascinating story.” Mohnish expelled a slow sigh.

“I've never told this to anyone,” Sonia added, a little abashedly.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.” Mohnish held Sonia's gaze.

“This year my parents are out of town, so I thought I'd celebrate the festival in the office, which is the day after tomorrow. It will also be Stellar Investigations' first Christmas. I have a present for the office, as well!”

“Boss, does that mean we have to buy presents for you, too?” Jatin entered, with a box of thermacol.

“No compulsions,” Sonia assured him, although she'd noticed that her assistant had already hung up a colored parcel on the tree. “And anyway, it's the thought that counts.”

Mohnish's mobile trilled. He took one look at it and rose. “Well, I've got to get going.”

“Be here on Christmas morning to open your present,” Sonia reminded him lightly.

“I will. Bye.”

Sonia glanced out of her bedroom window. The man was still on the same spot. Reading a newspaper and leaning casually against a Banyan tree. She frowned. She felt positive now that he was keeping a watch on their bungalow. Attired in casual blue jeans and a grey shirt, he'd been standing under that tree for the last hour. She didn't like it one bit. Who was he and what did he want?

Ten minutes later, she stepped resolutely out of the house and reversed the van out of the garage. At the gate, however, she paused, deliberately looking in the direction of the tree. The man had vanished. Thank God. Perhaps she'd been wrong after all. The overtime work of her skeptical detective mind, she realized.

Jatin was already in the office, intently reading a book on Astrology. He greeted her with a bright smile.

“Good morning, Boss!”

“Good morning.”

“Firstly, Mohnish was here. He waited for you for quite a while in your office but finally left. I think he's added a gift to your tree! And secondly, your active admirer has sent you another bouquet of fresh, sweet-scented roses!” he reported with a grin. “I've left it on your table.”

“Thanks.” Sonia nodded.

The bouquet looked inviting and pretty as it sat waiting to be appreciated. Sonia hung up her handbag and glanced at the card.

There's so much I want to say,
So much I must tell you.
For me, it's a year—a day
When I don't see you!
How long will this go on?
When will the sun shine?
Will I never see dawn?
Will you never be mine? . . .

Sonia stared at the lines of the poem, printed in a beautiful hand. It was signed “Your Secret Admirer.” She frowned.

She'd received roses before of course, each with a card signed “Secret Admirer.” Despite his denials, she'd assumed that the sender was Mohnish. But for the first time, she was disturbed. The poetic lines were poignant. If meant in earnest, they could spell trouble. She shook her head, smiling. Now she was taking this a bit too seriously. It was meant to be just a joke and she ought to treat it as one. She picked up the bouquet, so as to move it near the window, and as she did so, her eye fell on a white envelope and a leather wallet beside it. She flicked the wallet open and realized at once that it belonged to Mohnish. He must have forgotten it on the table. She shut it immediately. For a moment, she was tempted to riffle through its contents, but tamped the thought. She laughed. Her curiosity was certainly playing dangerous games today. Her personal interests were infringing on her investigative ethics. She took up the envelope instead and extracted a single sheet of paper. Surprise speared through her as she read the scrawled, handwritten words. Midnight. The Owl.

The Owl? In Mohnish's handwriting? What did it mean? Apparently, he'd forgotten both his wallet and the envelope while waiting for her. Sonia sat down at the table, her mind churning out a combination of ideas and answers. What did she know about Mohnish? Nothing really, except that he was a journalist, appeared on and off on Television, and owned a flower shop, a garage, and a photo studio. But he hardly ever seemed to be working. And he hardly ever appeared to write! He materialized at her office when his heart pleased and vanished just as mysteriously. And she still had not forgotten how he had appeared in Panchgani, where she'd attended the film shoot—almost as if he were following her. Mysterious. The word lingered in her mind. It was time to take a good long look at Mohnish's horoscope. She'd taken it from him weeks before with a view to studying it, but had never got down to it. Now was as good a time as any.

She opened the drawer and extracted a cream booklet. Moon sign Sagittarius with Scorpio in the ascendant. Sun in the first house in conjunction with Jupiter, Mercury, Neptune, and Venus. That's where his good looks came from. Not to mention a highly imaginative brain, courage, and dynamism. It also indicated a great deal of success and fame. But on the flip side, Saturn also aspected the first house. It certainly revealed a streak—a cunning streak. Uranus or Harshal in the eleventh house. Strange array of friends—eccentric, whimsical, dubious? Sonia paused. Mohnish's horoscope had told her more than she'd have ever discovered from him. One thing was for sure, there was more to this man than he let on. Which provided her with the perfect motive to try to strip away the hidden layers of Mohnish Rai.

A little distraught, Sonia fondled Nidhi, who was basking in the winter sun. The cat was more interested in pawing the silver bells on the Christmas tree, to see them swing, than in paying attention to her troubled mistress. Sonia moved her hand over the little cat's steel-studded leather collar and wondered for the nth time who the little animal belonged to.

Jatin bustled in, looking positively excited.

“Boss, there's a guy outside who looks like a film star! In fact, I'm quite sure he is a film star. He's too handsome not to be one!” Jatin gushed.

Sonia was amused. “Doesn't sound like a client to me.”

“Client or not, it's worth meeting him,” her assistant proclaimed.

“And what happened to all those fancy ideas of postponing appointments for a week, creating an image . . .” Sonia teased.

“Exceptions to every rule, Boss. This is one, mark my words. This guy spells business,” Jatin prophesied.

“Fine, send him in.”

Sonia automatically adjusted her lemon-yellow kameez and duppatta. The upsurge of her inherent curiosity amused her. Knowing how finicky Jatin was, she was all the more keen to meet this definition of film-star looks.

The door swung open and she glanced up. A pair of sea-green eyes set in a lean, fair-complexioned face studied her. A strong chin and thick brown hair, swept backwards to reveal a shapely forehead. Veering on mid-thirties; more than six feet tall, with a perfect body which emanated dynamism; a presence. The stranger almost took Sonia's breath away.

“Hello!” His voice was deep and cultured and laced with the faintest accent. “Sonia Samarth?”

“That's me!”

“Varun Thakur.” He proffered his hand.

She took it. It was an unimpeachable and flawless handshake. Firm, friendly, and warm.

“Please sit down and tell me what I can do for you,” she offered.

Varun drew a chair. “Thank you. I must admit that I've come here on impulse.” He had a pearly set of teeth. And a dazzling smile. Jatin couldn't have been more right. He really was a specimen of good looks.

“Impulse?” Sonia raised an eyebrow.

“Let me explain. I'm heading the Orphan Children's Centre in the South Asia region and we are planning a big function, with plenty of competitions for children. I want you to be the Chief Guest.”

“Chief Guest!” Sonia remarked, astonished. No one had ever invited her to be one before.

“And that's not all. I was wondering if you could design a game for the children—you know, the treasure hunt kind?” His smile widened disarmingly.

“A game? I'm afraid I'm not good at such things,” Sonia admitted.

“Oh, don't worry, I'll help you. And there's another thing,” he added almost apologetically. “Two of the teenagers from the Orphan Centre have fallen in love and are very determined to get married. I've kept them on hold, saying that we should at least match their horoscopes. But as luck would have it, we don't have their horoscopes. I was wondering if there's any way of finding out if the two are compatible?”

“Yes, there is. But unfortunately, I don't do matchmaking. I use my Astrology knowledge exclusively for resolving crime-related issues,” Sonia explained.

“Oh, I'm aware of that. I just felt that since these are orphans you would make an exception. . . .” His green eyes were on her.

Sonia hesitated. It wasn't an odd request. People often came to her asking her to match horoscopes. And she had always refused. But just this time, an unbending of strict rules for a good cause . . .

“Well, okay, but this truly would be a special case,” she warned, her smile softening her words.

“Good! I knew you would help.” He sounded relieved. “The function is scheduled for the New Year eve and I was going to suggest that we meet once before that, if it's convenient for you, of course. At my office, preferably, so that we can discuss the game and the horoscopes.”

Judging by the drift of the conversation, Sonia had the distinct feeling that she was being relieved of major decisions. Very smoothly and quite intelligently. But, amazingly, she didn't mind.

“And lastly . . .”

She sat back, smiling. “I should've guessed that wasn't the end of it.”

“It's not, because now I've come to the most important part of my visit. I need you to find something for me.”

Sonia leaned forward, her interest quickened. At last, some real business?

“Some months ago a friend of mine left some valuables for safekeeping in my custody. He was going abroad, and since he lived alone, he did not wish to risk leaving them in his house.”

“Why didn't he opt for the bank?”

Varun flashed another smile. “He . . . didn't want to . . . for obvious reasons, like tax hassles, I guess. Anyway, a while ago, my house was broken into and his valuables were stolen from my safe.”

“What else was stolen?”

“Surprisingly, nothing else.”

“Were there other . . . valuables in your safe?”

Varun nodded. “That's what really struck me as odd, but I was too panicky to think about my stuff when his was stolen.”

“Did you go to the police?”

“No, of course not. No one was supposed to know that the valuables were with me—how could I call in the police and expose . . . my friend? It would've been a breach of trust.”

Sonia stared contemplatively at Varun. What a strange story. And one with conspicuous and glaring gaps. She had an uncanny feeling that he was intentionally omitting details. What had he edited out?

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

Varun's green eyes held an anticipatory glint. “I've heard that you can solve almost anything with the help of horoscopes. Perhaps you can help me? Help me locate these valuables? I'm quite desperate, because my friend is scheduled to return in a couple of days and I'm at a loss how to face him!”

His earnestness was charming. But the gaps in his story continued to trouble her. Should she or shouldn't she?

“What exactly were these valuables?” she asked finally.

Varun hesitated, then looked at her candidly. “Diamonds.”

Sonia just about managed not to gasp. Diamonds? “I think you ought to go to the police,” she stated flatly.

Varun was silent for a minute. Then he said in a quiet, dignified voice, “Miss Samarth, would you believe me if I said that I have more faith in you than the police? Somehow I have this gut feeling that you're just the right person for me!”

His words startled Sonia, and involuntarily she blushed. Hastily bending to slap away an imaginary mosquito, she steadied herself. What was wrong with her? Here was a client—a handsome one—and she was reading all the wrong meanings into his sentences! Was it time for her to find a good decent boy and settle down?

“Mr. Thakur, I'm not so sure I wish to take up your case. I honestly feel that the police would be better equipped to handle it than I. But even so, I wouldn't be able to really assist you with accurate directions to the diamonds. And there's a huge possibility that I wouldn't be able to help you at all!”

“Now you're being modest.” He flashed his teeth. “I trust you explicitly to handle this problem, and let me assure you that even if you take all week to make up your mind, you shall still remain my first and last choice. I refuse to go to anyone else.” His voice was dispassionate and implicit but the sharp edge to his words brooked no further argument.

He stood up abruptly. “I'll give you a call on your mobile, around four. And please remember—you being a Chief Guest has no bearing, whatsoever, on your decision about my friend's valuables.”

It was only after he'd left that Sonia realized that she had neither his contact number nor address. And that no one, except her parents, Jeevan uncle, Jatin, and Mohnish, had her mobile number. She sat rooted to her seat, nonplussed.

“But, Boss, a case is a case,” Jatin argued.

“I know, but it's my moral duty to check out if he's genuine and that I'm not supporting some shady activity.”

“He sounds like an influential guy, working for a good cause. Could prove to be useful in providing us with more clients later,” Jatin reasoned.

Sonia had to accept his logic.

A vision of a person playing a card game known as Rammi rose before her eyes. She was the observer, watching a player with thirteen cards in his hand. From her side, it appeared as if the player were selecting random cards from the lot in hand and replacing them arbitrarily with the other cards in his hand. But from his side, the player was actually arranging the thirteen cards in sequential orders of color and number. Different viewpoints? Different motives?

Now, why had that thought crossed her mind? Who was the player? As usual, the workings of her mind stumped her. Her brain spoke a language of its own, dredging out answers from the unfathomable subconscious and unveiling them for her to read. But regrettably, they were often unintelligible truths to her, since she was almost always incapable of deciphering the code.

Sonia sighed.

What an unpredictable day it was! First, the man she thought was spying on her house, then Mohnish's cryptic written words, then the bouquet with its enigmatic message. And now Varun, with his peculiar requests. Were these incidents an overture to something? She grimaced. She ought to take a look at her own horoscope. Why not? she thought. With a laugh, she flicked open her handbag and extracted her horoscope. Their family Astrologer had marked out her horoscope in full detail. She enjoyed studying it from time to time and analyzing the way her life was progressing. Zodiac sign Sagittarius with Pisces on the ascendant. Progress on the career front was indicated. Some fantastic opportunities were about to fall straight into her lap, she realized. Lots of money. Oh good, she needed that. Some more dimensions to her career. Her eyes flew over the twelve houses and suddenly halted. How had she missed this? Jupiter was favorably aspecting her seventh house along with Venus. A time to fall in love? Now, in the midst of her burgeoning business? Her eyes narrowed. It was a strange period on the personal front. Uranus was going to provide some startling interactions with the opposite sex—on a personal level as well as in her professional life. Sonia shut the booklet. Excitement spiraled through her. She couldn't wait to see what was going to happen!

Varun sat across the table, looking quite handsome in a navy blue shirt and cream trousers. True to his word, he'd called around four and Sonia had agreed to meet him. His sea-green eyes reflected the colour of the shirt and a gleam of triumph shone in their depths. Sonia ignored his gaze. She was already too finely tuned to his presence to appreciate the color of his eyes and his overwhelming physical appearance.

“Mr. Thakur—”

“Please, I insist on being called Varun,” he cut in.

“Okay, Varun. You've made some remarkable requests, all of which are totally at odds with my customary schedule. I don't quite know why, but I've accepted most of them.”

“Thank you,” he replied gravely.

“I'm also not very certain that you've been completely honest with me, regarding the diamond business. Have you?” She searched his face.

He dropped his eyes. “Unfortunately, I can't be very expressly clear about it,” he admitted.

“Which is most irregular. Precisely the reason why I need to state that it's mandatory that no shady business be involved in it. If there is, I refuse to help,” she stated bluntly.

“Sonia, rest assured. My problem is personal and entirely aboveboard. I promise to explain it all to you, once the diamonds are found.”

Jatin popped his head in through the door before she could reply. “Boss, do you need me?”

“No thanks, Jatin. But we'd like some chai.”

Jatin's eyes gleamed. Chai, as usual, meant business.

“Have you brought your horoscope?” she asked her new client.

Varun slipped a sheet of paper across the table. Sonia ran her eye over it. Zodiac sign Leo with Sagittarius as the ascendant. The star combinations indicated a dynamic, successful, powerful person. Cultured, talented, and disciplined. Stubborn, famous, and . . . and—yes—shrewd and cunning. Saturn in the fourth house aspected the Sun in the first house.

Varun's gaze was glued on her, intent and concentrated. And yet, in a flash, a bland expression replaced the intense one and Sonia almost wondered if she'd imagined it.

“Are you very famous?” she asked him. “Your horoscope indicates world fame after the age of thirty.” She cast about in her brain, hoping his name would ring a bell, but no memory seemed to tinkle.

“In my own field and in my own small way,” he replied.

“Are you a person who would go to any lengths to achieve his goal, however negative? There are some cruel shades to your character—”

“Why are you asking me these questions?” he interrupted harshly. “You're supposed to help pinpoint the location of those diamonds!”

“You're obviously sensitive to some issues,” Sonia answered evenly. “But it's my policy to confirm that the horoscope is correct. Often the birth date and time are wrong. It is always wise to double-check with the character of the person or the incidents in his life.”

“Well, this is my horoscope and I can vouch for its accuracy. Now can we get on with it?”

Sonia bristled. “Look Varun, either we do it my way or we don't do it at all!”

Immediately, his stance changed and he smiled contritely. “I'm sorry. It's just that I'm so tense. Half the time I'd been worrying whether you'd say yes . . . and now somehow with all this dissection of my horoscope, I'm worried that . . .”

“That I might disclose some skeletons in your cupboard?”

“Right.” He shrugged, then smiled.

Sonia opened a file and withdrew a blank sheet of paper. On the sheet, she drew the rectangle with the twelve empty houses of a horoscope. Varun observed her with a great deal of interest.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm making another horoscope, which I call a ‘questionoscope.' It's a horoscope based on your query. Now rephrase your question exactly the way you want to.”

“Will I find the diamonds and where will they be?” Varun replied instantly, curiosity stamped all over his face.

She opened the current almanac and filled the houses with the star signs and planets. Pisces as the Moon sign with Cancer on the ascendant. Sun, Mars, Mercury, and Jupiter in the first house with Cancer. She plotted out all the planetary positions in Revati Nakshatra—Revati star constellation.

“Based on your question, I've formed a horoscope which shall give us some, if not all, the answers,” Sonia explained.

Jatin arrived with the chai. He placed two cups on the table, threw a glance at the horoscope, and immediately switched on the music system. The husky, euphonious notes of a ghazal singer flowed in the background. Very quietly, Jatin receded from the room.

Varun watched the entire action with frank interest. Sonia's head was bent, a finger twirling a lock of hair. Totally engrossed in the square before her and the planetary positions which were speaking to her in a different language. At length, she glanced up. There was a puzzled expression on her face.

“I don't understand,” she said finally.

“What is it? Am I going to find the diamonds or not?” Varun asked nervously.

“Yes. Moon, in Pisces, is a planet of the mind and Jupiter aspects it favorably. So your desire will be fulfilled. You are going to find the valuables, within twenty-four hours.”

“Thank God! Where are they?” Relief washed over his anxious face.

“I can't tell you the exact location, of course. But I can say this much: since the horoscope was charted in Revati star constellation and the Lord of the sixth house—Mars—is in the first house, we can safely assume that the valuables are to your east. And—this is what I don't understand—the four planets in your first house indicate that the gems are very close to where you are!”

Varun looked startled. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. It's amazing and, as far as I know, quite impossible, but that's what this horoscope indicates. Your diamonds are very close to where you're sitting at this very moment.”

“Do you mean in this office?”

“In the office, maybe in the street to your east, I don't know. You'll have to look.”

They stared at each other, incomprehension on their faces.

“That's all I can tell you. But in twenty-four hours, you'll be back here to inform me that you found them!” Sonia concluded.

Varun smiled. “I like your confidence. And you've most certainly relieved my mind. Thank you so much.” He rose to leave.

Nidhi meowed loudly at that moment, stretching herself lazily, and Varun turned in surprise.

“A cat!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, she lives here.” Sonia moved towards Nidhi and fondled her lovingly.

“I love cats,” Varun said.

“Oh really? You can touch her, she's quite gentle.”

Varun stroked the cat, who instantly arched, rubbing herself against him and allowing herself to be petted.

“She's healthy and well cared for. The collar suits her. Did you put it on her?”

“No, she came with it. Someone evidently pamperd her once upon a time. She simply arrived one evening and stayed. I call her Nidhi.”

“It's obvious that you love her a lot.” Varun turned appreciative eyes on her, and Sonia blushed.

“I like animals,” she told him.

“Good, I like animals, too. By the way, do you think you can drop by my office tomorrow, to discuss the rest of the requests I made?” he asked, with a twinkle in his sea-green eyes.

Sonia laughed. “You mean the Chief Guest, game, and matchmaking affair!”

“That's right. We can talk over lunch.”

Sonia hesitated for a fraction before she accepted.

He scribbled an address on a sheet of paper. “Half past noon?”

“I'll be there,” she promised. “And I hope you have some good news for me by then.”

“I'm sure of that. And, oh, I almost forgot to give you this!” He extracted a cheque from his pocket and handed it to her.

Sonia glanced at the amount and her jaw dropped. “But this is . . . !”

“It means I value what you did for me, by going against your principles and your gut instinct. The least I can do is pay for what I think it's worth.”

“But . . .”

“Until tomorrow, then?” He pressed her hand in a warm clasp and was gone.

Sonia stood beside Nidhi, patting her absently. Her gaze dropped once more to the cheque in hand. What an enigmatic man! Intriguing! There seemed to be two strong forces working at odds in him. Positive and negative. It was these same alternating forces which seemed to simultaneously attract and repel her. He'd effortlessly managed to work around her arguments, and cajoled her into dealing with his problem. Had she trod on her own toes, in overriding her misgivings and reservations? Only time would tell.

M.G.Road was alive on Christmas Eve. Windows displayed elaborate decorations of Christmas trees, flowing with crepe paper, stars, and angels. The whole street was lit like daylight and the crowds jostled merrily. With every passing moment, the holiday mood seemed to spike, in the beautiful winter night.

Sonia pushed her way through the people and out of the store. She had just finished buying her last gift and was pleased with herself. For a few minutes, she strolled on the pavement, watching the activity around her a little wistfully. The rippling enjoyment of the crowds was a sure sign that religion was never a bar for Indians to enjoy festivities. In fact, they needed the slightest excuse for merry-making with friends and family. Alone, but in the midst of hundreds of people, Sonia couldn't help feeling slightly isolated. If only her parents didn't have to attend a business emergency out of town. . . . But she was being silly. They would be back the next afternoon.

A huge Santa arrived in a cart with wooden reindeers, and the youngsters screamed. He jangled a large bell and threw sweets from his big red bag. The children jumped around in glee, trying to collect the sweets. Sonia thrust through the shouting youngsters and caught a few toffees in her hand. She waved to the smiling Santa, who waved back. It cheered her enormously. The wave of loneliness waned.

She was just about to climb into her van when her cell phone rang.

“Boss!” Jatin sounded breathless. “I'm afraid someone's broken into our office.”

“What!” Sonia could barely hear over the din. “How do you know?”

“I was passing by and saw the light on. At first, I thought you were working on something. But I found the door forced open and the lights on!”

“I'll be there right away,” Sonia informed him.

Her mind was racing as the van slowly edged out of the busy M.G.Road. What would anyone want in her office? She carried no case papers, nothing that was so secretive that it merited a theft. Perhaps it was a minor thief looking for petty cash. But she hardly kept more than a few hundred rupees in the office safe. Once off of the busy street, her van roared into action and she was zipping past the night vehicles at record speed.

Jatin was in the outer office, going through papers and files.

“Anything missing?” she demanded as she strode into the room.

“Absolutely nothing!” Jatin sounded bewildered.

“The cash?”

“All intact.”

Sonia sighed. “Thank God. The office seems in pretty good shape. For a minute I imagined it in its worst possible state.” Then she walked into the inner office and stopped short. “Where's Nidhi?”

Jatin shrugged. “May have gone out for a walk.”

“Nidhi!” Sonia called out. “Spss . . .”

“Boss, she'll return,” Jatin said patiently.

“I don't think so.” Sonia's voice trembled. “Look!”

Some of the balls from the Christmas tree were crushed. And there were drops of blood on the tiled floor.

“My God, what's happened!” Jatin exclaimed.

What exactly had transpired here? Had Nidhi attacked the intruder and had he injured her? Was the poor creature hurt? And, most importantly, where was she? Sonia sank into a chair, her legs giving way. Let Nidhi be okay, God, let her be safe, she prayed. Jatin thrust a glass under her nose and she accepted it gratefully.

“I'm sure she's fine, Boss. Even if she's a little hurt, she'll nurse herself. She'll be back here in no time to demand her share of the milk.”

“I hope to God that you're right. We wait until tomorrow. If she doesn't turn up, I'm going to launch a massive hunt for her.”

“Right,” he agreed. “Though I still fail to understand what the thief wanted in this office.”

“Maybe he thought he'd find some meaty documents. Anyway, I'm glad nothing's gone and I hope Nidhi returns during the night and that she's safe and sound.”

“She'll be all right, don't you worry.”

“We should report the break-in. Do you think you could handle that?”

“I'll file a report at the Police Station on my way back home. Don't worry, I'll manage everything. Should I lock up now?”

Sonia nodded. She felt confused, worried, and disoriented. Suddenly, life seemed to be playing tricks with her. And she didn't like the way matters seemed to be slipping out of her hand and out of her control.

Jatin had his mobike, so Sonia bid him good night and slowly drove homewards. Where was Nidhi? If only she knew for sure that the little cat was safe. The Church loomed on her left and instinctively she braked. A glance at her watch revealed that there was still time before people arrived for the midnight service.

She parked the van by the road and headed into the Church. Her steps echoed inside the monument, which was lit up with hundreds of candles. Sonia made her way to the first pew and knelt down. For a moment, she stared up at the illuminated statue of Jesus Christ, a tear gathering in the corner of her eye. Then clasping her hands together, she bent her head. And prayed, with her whole heart and soul, for Nidhi—for the wonderful, special cat, who was now an inseparable part of her life. The red-yellow glow of the candles; the deep tranquilizing silence; the aura of reverence emanating from every nook and cranny of the graceful stone structure; and the magic of Christmas Eve filled Sonia with peace. She raised her head and her eyes were shining, her faith restored. Nothing could happen to Nidhi!

With a lighter step and a more relaxed frame of mind, she climbed into her van. The moon shone in a crescent as she drove past the shopping complex which held Mohnish's flower shop. And then she spotted him. Just outside his shop, in deep conversation with another man. Mohnish, at this hour? Astonished, Sonia drove on. She parked the vehicle along the pavement, under a tree. Twisting in her seat, she observed the two men intently. They talked for a while, then went inside the shop. Sonia glanced at her watch. It was a quarter past eleven. Suddenly she recalled Mohnish's envelope. What had it said? Midnight. The Owl. A grim determination swept over her. Something was very wrong here. Mohnish was surely up to something. The Owl. What did he have to do with the Owl? She remembered the times when he'd passed on tidbits on the International Crook. He'd been most curious as to her operative methods and had asked more than once if she could hunt down the Owl with the aid of a horoscope. Now, in hindsight, she found his questions too demanding and inquisitive. How was Mohnish connected with the Crook? Well, it was time to zero in on the answers.

Half an hour passed. The traffic had thinned and Sonia grew cold. How long could she sit waiting for them to come out? With sudden resolve, she stepped out of the van and locked it up.

Darkness hung over the Flower Shop, shrouding any hint of activity or life. She approached the door cautiously and peeped through the glass. Silence. Not a mouse stirred inside. But she had distinctly seen the two men entering the shop, she thought. Was there another exit? Had Mohnish left by another door?

There was no point hanging around here in the middle of the night. It would be wiser to confront him tomorrow, she decided.

That night, Sonia found it extremely difficult to fall asleep. The recent happenings were rife in her mind. So much had happened in a day. Sleep seemed to evade her. Finally, around dawn, she dozed fitfully, only to be disturbed by the cell phone again. She awoke startled and lifted the phone, straining her eyes to figure out the number.

“Hello?” she asked in a groggy voice.

“Sonia, sorry to wake you up this early, but I need to meet with you,” a familiar deep voice said.

“Varun!” She was wide awake at once.

“Glad you recognized me. Look, I'm going jogging up Hanuman Tekdi—the hill behind your office—and then I'm flying to Mumbai to catch a flight to New York. But I must meet with you before I leave. Do you think you can join me on the hill?”

“Now?” Sonia asked incredulously. “It's five-thirty in the morning!”

“I know. You can make it, right?” His tone was almost a command.

“Really, Varun, you're an odd man! Imagine asking someone out at this ungodly hour! What's so urgent?”

“I'll explain, at the top of the hill, in half an hour.” The phone went dead.

Sonia muttered under her breath. This was the strangest rendezvous she'd ever had. She felt groggy and unslept and totally misfit for any adventure. But, nevertheless, she slipped out of bed and splashed cold water on her face. She dragged on jeans and a warm white sweater. Serve Varun right if she looked messy and tired.

It was a beautiful dawn. A pink glow was staining the sky and the breeze was nippy and fresh. Sonia breathed in deeply as she parked her van at the foot of the hill and began her ascent. All she needed after a sleepless night was rigorous morning exercise. Thanks to Varun. What in heavens could the guy want at this hour?

It took her twenty minutes to climb up the hill. She passed early walkers, mostly senior citizens, appropriately dressed to keep the morning chill at bay. Youngsters in their tracksuits, jogging for fitness, and children, along with their grandparents. Pune city sprawled as far as the eye could see all around her, the lights winking like tiny stars in the fast-dawning light. She reached the top and stopped for breath. She felt alive and tingling with good health.

A figure in a cream tracksuit approached her. Even if the orange of dawn hadn't revealed those classic features to her, Sonia would have recognized that tall athletic physique and spring of energy in his step.

“Good morning!” she greeted.

“Merry Christmas! Glad you could make it.” Varun's face lit up with a charming smile. “Should we sit on that rock there?”

She followed him to a rocky ledge which overlooked the whole of Pune and squatted down beside him. The saffron ball of sun was creeping up along the horizon. Cool breeze riffled through her hair, caressing her perspiring cheeks. She couldn't really believe that she was having this early-morning date with Varun, a guy whose existence until yesterday was as foreign to her as an unknown planet.

“Okay, I'm all ears,” she prompted.

Varun turned to her and smiled. “Impatient. I can understand. It's rather unusual to call someone up Hanuman Tekdi, right? But since I had to cancel this afternoon's appointment due to some urgent work, and there was no way I could depart without one last meeting, I had no option but to invite you here.”

“Does that mean that you've found your diamonds?”

“Yes, I've found them. And exactly in the direction you mentioned. Sonia, perhaps you're not aware, but you have an art, a rare gift. I've known Astrologers who make unforgivable predictions, gross mistakes, with not even the remotest chance of the predictions ever coming true. But you're different. Not only do you know your work, but you also possess a strong instinct which you pay heed to. And that is a good combination. Instinct is the genesis of any true feeling. And you feel for people, for your profession, and for Astrology. That is what makes you so unique and so precious. I marvel at your steadfast singular devotion to your cause. Frankly, it kind of kindles a similar reciprocating glow in my heart and weaves a spell around me. You can make a difference to the world, Sonia.”

“Thank you, Varun, I'm flattered. I just don't know what to say.” Sonia felt a pale blush stealing over her hot cheeks.

“Sonia, I'm aware that you hardly know me, but I'd still like to say this: Will you marry me?” Green eyes fastened onto Sonia's honey ones.

She stared at him, stunned. Was this some kind of a joke? But the intensity of his blue-green gaze had set her heart racing.

“You're kidding, right?”

“No, I'm not kidding. And I don't want you to answer me immediately. Take your time. I'll call you when I return to Pune next.”

“But you don't know me at all! I mean . . .”

“I feel as if I've known you all my life! And poetry apart, I know more about you than you can imagine.”

She studied his profile, as he looked out at the beautiful landscape. A marriage proposal from a guy she'd met less than twenty-four hours before? Sure, he was the most handsome man she'd ever come across. Successful, intelligent, and wealthy. But she had to consider the negative and positive forces that she'd glimpsed in his horoscope. She knew nothing about them. Common sense buffeted against emotion, willing her to ignore her increased heartbeats.

He suddenly rose. “I've got to go. Think about it, Sonia, and don't be hasty in refusing my proposal. Take as long as you wish, I'll be waiting for you. And don't ever feel lonely. The sun will shine and we will see dawn. . . .”

Sonia's head shot up sharply. He stood for a moment, smiling enigmatically, and then he was gone. Sonia watched him descend with nimble, easy strides and then turn into a cream blur, to merge into the hillside. She felt cold and frozen, as if all the warmth in the world had suddenly deserted her. “The sun will shine and we will see dawn. . . .” And would his next words have been you will be mine? Those lines from the bouquet . . . Had he sent those flowers? Or had he simply repeated the lines he'd read by chance in her office? She ought to have asked him, but she'd been too shocked to hear him utter lines from the mysterious poem. She shook her head, nonplussed.

Sudden hasty footsteps made her turn around. To her great surprise, she saw Inspector Divekar and Mohnish running towards her.

“Hi! What're you doing here?” she called, astonished.

“Who was that guy with you?” Mohnish asked, gasping for breath.

“That was Varun Thakur, my new client,” Sonia replied, puzzled.

Mohnish and Inspector Divekar exchanged quick glances.

“You're lucky no harm's come to you. And I've been the world's worst fool! Why didn't I suspect, why didn't I keep a watch on you?” Inspector Divekar muttered breathlessly.

“What are you two talking about?” Sonia cried impatiently. “What's happened?”

“You've been interacting with the world's most dreaded criminal. Remember I told you about him? No one knows his real name or how he looks. He's smart, extremely intelligent, speaks several languages fluently, and has successfully given wide berth to the police for the last five years! His specialty is diamonds,” Inspector Divekar said.

Sonia gasped. “You mean . . .”

“Some months ago, the famous royal diamonds were stolen from the Kerkar Palace. There was only one person who could dare attempt that theft. The Owl. The diamonds just seemed to vanish into thin air. The police have been gunning for him for a long time and were on the lookout for the valuables. They were bound to come out sometime for sale. But they never did.”

“No, they were stolen from him, too. And now he's found them, thanks to me and my Astrology!” Sonia remarked glumly.

“Oh, come on, how were you to know that Varun Thakur is The Owl?” Mohnish said. “I spoke to Jatin yesterday and he told me about this handsome hunk of a man who was your new client.”

“And I didn't suspect a thing at that time. I didn't think, though I had the tip-off the night before last, that he's . . .” Inspector Divekar halted abruptly.

“He's what?” Sonia turned to him.

“He's taken a great fancy to you. Reliable sources wised us up that the Owl has been collecting information about you for a while now and would try to get in touch with you soon. So we secretly kept a watch on your house, quite positive that even he wouldn't dare show up at your office in broad daylight. But I was wrong. When one of my men, Suresh, saw you leave this morning, he immediately contacted me, and I sensed that something was wrong. So we followed you here. I met Mohnish at the foot of the hill and he accompanied me. Suresh is, at the moment, keeping an eye on your van. I even called the cell phone, to warn you, but there was no reply.”

“I left it in the van when I climbed up the hill.”

“We saw you sitting on the ledge and we realized at once that something fishy was going on!” Mohnish told her.

“Can we go home? I haven't slept all night and this morning . . . I'm worried about Nidhi,” Sonia interrupted, a wave of fatigue swamping her.

“Of course,” Mohnish agreed readily, but he threw a quick glance towards the Inspector. His brow puckered with worry. “Are you sure you're feeling okay, Sonia?”

“Just tired. I think I need my bed,” Sonia assured him. She couldn't tell him that she felt like a duffer. She choked down the sudden tears that threatened to reveal her weakness. Conflicting emotions surged inside her. Anger bubbled like molten lava, along with a crazy desire to burst into laughter. She was gradually coming to grips with the fact that she'd just been proposed to by the Owl! Ought she to feel flattered? Honored? Or ashamed? Sonia Samarth—the levelheaded Investigator, who prided herself on always being at the helm of affairs, on finding her way out of every dilemma, had been neatly tricked by Varun. He'd chatted her up, dropped a few wonderful-sounding praises, and like a gullible novice, she'd fallen for his trap. So much for coolheadedness.

The funny side of the situation surfaced and laughter finally rose inside her. She'd thought that Mohnish was involved in some shady activity, that he was perhaps even the Owl himself, when all along she was being taken for a lovely long ride by Varun Thakur, the real Owl! She ought to feel flattered, she decided with a grin, as she drove back home. No girl on the right side of law had ever been proposed to by a dynamic diamond thief on the wrong side of law. What remained to be seen was if she would accept his proposal. The diamonds . . . Suddenly, an idea began forming in her head. Where had he found them? And why had her office been broken into? It had to be Varun, of course. Since she'd so categorically hinted at the office as a prospective hiding place for his diamonds, it was as good as an official invitation to ransack the place. And he'd certainly grabbed the opportunity, without losing precious time. Wherever he had found the diamonds, she'd led him straight to them. She sighed. Regretfully, no law stated that Astrology only worked for the good of mankind. It could also work for criminals. She'd have to live with the stigma of having assisted the Owl until she had a chance to settle the score.

Her cell phone rang and she parked the van on the side of the street. The number seemed unfamiliar.

“Hello?”

“Sonia, by now you're well versed with my true identity, right?” a deep voice asked.

“Varun! Or should I call you the Owl?” Sonia replied sweetly, dispensing with formalities.

“The Owl? Now, why should you call me that?”

“You are the famous International Crook—the Owl. Don't waste your breath denying the fact!”

“Okay, I won't, even if I'm not the Owl. Call me whatever you wish—the Owl or the Lark, it's all the same to me. But be rational, how could I reveal my real intentions to you? Admit it; you would've never helped me find the diamonds. Instead you would've laid a trap to catch me and haul me over to the welcoming arms of the police,” he drawled into her ear.

“You're absolutely right. I have no relish for ever associating with a criminal,” she stated emphatically.

“I know, you're a good soul. But we have some unfinished business, you and I.”

“Where are you calling from?”

He laughed. “I'm halfway to the moon! But don't worry, I shall never be too far away from you. And I'll keep in touch. Remember what I told you. Don't be hasty in refusing my proposal, even though now you know what I do for a living. We'll make a formidable combination—with my brain and your gift. . . . Think about it.”

“You really have some cheek! How can you even dream of such a match!” Sonia flared up. “You and I have nothing in common.”

“Oh, yes we do. We resonate with each other perfectly. We're both fiery, stung by commitment, spurred on by our love and feeling for people, hurtling toward a goal—”

“In opposite directions,” she chipped in.

“Sure, for the moment. But one never knows when the borders will be crossed,” he drawled enigmatically.

“I, for one, don't wish to be enlightened on that, either!”

“Not yet, perhaps, but one day you will. You're like a glowworm, Sonia. You glow best and shine best in the dark. With me,” he said significantly.

Sonia paused, unable to react. Glowworm . . .

“I really don't care an atom for your opinion of me.” She finally found her voice. “What I'd like to know is why you broke into my office? I don't care a damn about your trinkets. I just want to know where Nidhi, my cat, is!”

“Nidhi's a nice name.” The smile in his voice was obvious. “But actually her name is Chinky. And she's my cat. But since I've been away on and off, I think she preferred to find a permanent home of her own.”

“Your cat!” Sonia exclaimed in disbelief. “You're lying!”

“Credit me with some honesty, Sonia. Just because I have a criminal record, it doesn't mean that every word I utter should be treated with the utmost suspicion.” Varun sounded hurt. “I love Chinky, but professional obligations made me neglect her. And I was truly amazed when I found her in your office. That's when I became convinced that we're destined together. Because my cat had already chosen you!”

“But you didn't come to me looking for your cat, you were searching for the jewels,” Sonia pointed out.

“Yes, the diamonds, which were in Chinky's collar. I'd kept them there for safekeeping. Unfortunately, before I could remove them from their hiding place, she took matters into her own hands. She didn't like my continued absence, so one day she just vanished.”

“And now you've taken her! Where is she? Is she hurt? There was blood on my office floor.” Sonia couldn't keep the anxiety from her voice.

“She's fine, don't worry about her. She just didn't like being woken from her cozy sleep and so she clawed my man quite badly. Well, Sonia, I've got to go. Thank you for everything. I'll be in touch.”

“Wait . . . !” But the line was dead.

Varun Thakur, or whatever your name is, if anything has happened to Nidhi, you're going to pay for this, Sonia thundered. She turned the ignition key and drove home, her thoughts racing at supersonic speed.

Sonia paced restlessly. She'd taken a brief nap, but hating to sleep in on Christmas Day, she had returned to the office.

Jatin and Mohnish observed her silently. Past experience had taught them both that she took her mistakes very seriously. They impinged upon her sense of justice. Anger, along with a sense of helplessness, seemed to be on the rampage. She wouldn't be at peace until she had divested herself of her fury and frustration.

“Boss, does that mean you're not going to be a Chief Guest anymore?” Jatin asked innocently.

Sonia stopped pacing and glared at him. Then she burst into laughter. “I'd forgotten that! My chance of being a Chief Guest! The best part is that he seemed like such a gentleman. He was sweet-talking me and I allowed him to sweet-talk me.”

“Then you're lucky. Because he's known to be a man of few words and more action,” Mohnish remarked dryly. “I'm just glad that you came to no harm.”

“I don't think I was in any kind of danger, Mohnish. In his own way, he was quite genuine,” Sonia admitted.

“Genuine!”

“Yes, he didn't lie out and out. He did tell me about the diamonds. And I could read the negative traits in his horoscope.”

“Great!”

“And he paid a very fat cheque for the lead on the diamonds,” Jatin reminded them. “Not to forget the fact that he's so handsome.”

“I can't believe this. You two are actually defending the Owl!” Mohnish couldn't hide his disgust.

“He wasn't the Owl for us. He was Varun Thakur—attractive, charming, and intelligent, and as honest as he could be. And you know what's strange, he sounded quite surprised at being called the Owl!” Sonia recalled.

“He would be, of course,” Mohnish retaliated. “You don't expect him to come out in the open with his true identity, not after weaving an aura of secrecy around himself for years?”

Sonia frowned in contemplation. “It wasn't that kind of a denial—not the hot, defensive kind. It was more a casual brush-off, almost as if it weren't important, as if he really had no inkling of what I was talking about.”

“There he goes, fooling you again,” Mohnish commented grimly. “Varun Thakur is the Owl. There's not the least doubt about it!”

“I hope you're right. Anyway, enough about him. I've learnt my lesson. No falling under the spell of charmers. My main concern now is Nidhi and how to find her.”

“But he's taken his cat back, he told you so,” Jatin said. “We always knew she belonged to someone. She was too well trained and well fed to be a stray. But to think that she belonged to the Owl!”

“Stolen Nidhi and deposited her God knows where, while he jet-sets to all ends of the world!” Sonia began pacing the floor again. “I'm going to find her.”

“In the meanwhile, Boss, can we open our gifts? I thought you wanted to celebrate Christmas today,” Jatin complained.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Yes, of course, let's go ahead and open our gifts.”

“And I took the liberty of ordering us some steaming hot Idli Sambar for breakfast, from Vaishali, the restaurant down the street. It should arrive any minute now,” Jatin informed her happily.

They gathered round the fir tree, which seemed to be patiently awaiting attention with its boughs draped in gold and silver. Sonia handed Mohnish and Jatin their gifts.

“You first,” she told her assistant.

The childlike excitement on Jatin's face made Sonia smile. He impatiently tore open the wrapper and extracted a box. Then whistled loud and slow.

“A cell phone!” he cried in amazement. “Why, Boss, thank you! But . . . but do I deserve it?”

“Come on, Jatin, this is no time for a belated display of humility. Of course you deserve it! You are the best assistant anyone could ever want!” Sonia said warmly.

“Thank you, Boss.” Jatin's voice betrayed the deep emotion he felt. “Now let's see Mohnish's gift.”

With a sheepish grin, Mohnish unwrapped the slim, gold-speckled, glossy parcel. The transparent box inside revealed a silver-coated pen. “What a wonderful gift for a journalist, to remind him of his duties!” Mohnish laughed, his dimple deepening prominently. “Thank you, I really appreciate the gesture.”

“Now, Boss, open my gift,” Jatin insisted, then waited anxiously for Sonia's reaction as she removed the paper from the package.

“An appointment dairy!” Sonia exclaimed, pleased.

“I want the diary to be full of appointments in the coming year!” he declared.

“For once, I agree wholeheartedly and indisputably with you! Thanks a lot, Jatin.” She flashed him a disarming smile.

“Is it finally my turn? My gift for you is waiting on the tree,” Mohnish chipped in.

Sonia unhooked the small colored package from the top of the tree. She unstuck the cello tape, and a plastic, elongated box slipped out of the paper. A beautiful studded bracelet nestled on purple velvet. Jatin whistled in appreciation.

“It's beautiful!” Sonia gasped. “I hope it's not—”

“Real?” Mohnish completed with a grin. “Don't worry, it's not. Do you like it?”

Sonia placed it around her wrist and the stones shone like real diamonds. “I love it, thank you!”

The glint in Mohnish's eyes revealed his pleasure at her acceptance.

“Now, I have three more gifts,” Sonia announced. “One for the office, one for my Astrology, and one for Nidhi.”

She extracted a big bronze Om—the sacred Hindu syllable—from a cardboard box. “This is for the outer room. We shall hang it up on the wall for good luck. And this new yellow shelf is for my almanacs—for Astrology—my magic elixir in problem solving! As for Nidhi's gift, I shall wait for her to return before I open it.”

“And here comes the Idli Sambar from our favorite restaurant, Vaishali. I'm starving!” Jatin announced.

The South Indian dish made of steamed cake of rice and black grain with a curry of grain, vegetables, and spices to go with it was served in deep dishes by the Restaurant Man. It was while they were tucking into the hot breakfast that the doorbell sounded.

“I'll get it.” Jatin slipped outside.

Mohnish glanced at Sonia, his gaze contemplative. “You liked him—the Owl—didn't you?”

“He was different,” she admitted.

Mohnish pursed his lips. “And you'd like to meet him again?”

“Of course! But at the moment, I'm not thinking of him. Neither am I thinking about what you were doing at midnight in your Flower Shop.”

“Flower Shop!” Mohnish appeared startled. “You mean last night? Oh, that was a friend—”

“We'll talk about that later,” Sonia interposed. “My top priority is to find Nidhi.”

“Boss, there's another Christmas present for you!” Jatin's excited voice called out.

Sonia and Mohnish hastened out. Jatin stood with the office door open. A small cage stood on the threshold. Protesting meows emerged from the cage.

“Nidhi!” Sonia cried out in joy.

She ran to the cage and swung open its door. Immediately, the cat rushed out and bounced up to the table, purring and complaining. Jatin placed milk before her, and within seconds the bowl was empty and sparkling.

“Thank God she's home.” Sonia sighed happily, dropping a kiss on the cat's silky forehead and scratching her behind the ears. Her collar was missing. She turned to Jatin. “Who brought her here?”

“That's a mystery, since there wasn't a soul around. But I found this note tucked into the handle of the cage.”

Sonia accepted the piece of paper, her heart suddenly beating faster. She recognized the handwriting at once. Scrawled in a beautiful hand was a message.

Merry Christmas! The best gift I can think for you is my love—Chinky. You may call her Nidhi. I know that you will take good care of her. Until the sun shines and we see dawn together . . . your secret admirer.

Sonia stared at the words and couldn't help experiencing a ripple of pleasure. She handed the note to Mohnish, who read it with a frown.

“That solves another mystery. Now, for Nidhi's present, which I specially went and bought this morning!”

Jatin sped to the inner room and produced a colorful parcel. Sonia unwrapped it. A blue velvet, beaded, fancy collar! She wound it lovingly round the cat's neck. Nidhi meowed in appreciation. Sonia lifted Nidhi and hugged her.

“Yes,” Sonia murmured, “we shall meet again, Varun Thakur. Whether you are the Owl or not, we shall most certainly meet again.”

She looked at Mohnish and Jatin and flashed a scintillating smile.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ever since she can remember, Manjiri Prabhu wanted to be a writer. She has been writing since the age of seven.

With a Ph.D. in Film and Communication, by profession Manjiri has been a television producer for the last seventeen years, having scripted, directed, and edited over two hundred programmes. She has penned two romances and a nonfiction book on films titled Roles: Reel and Real. She has written the stories, scripts, and dialogues for full-length feature films. She has also worked as a freelance film critic for Indian newspapers, reviewing English, Hindi, and Marathi films. She is currently working on her second mystery, The Astral Alibi.

Manjiri Prabhu lives in Pune, India, and her major concern is animal welfare. She strives for the care and protection of street dogs and cats.

She can be reached at:

www.manjiriprabhu.com

MURDER IN THE STARS

With determination, she bent closely over Rani's and Sanjay's horoscopes, running her eye casually over the combinations. These two certainly had a very strong attraction for each other, but strong possibilities of divorce were also indicated. Or at least, separation of some kind. Too bad. Sonia focused her attention on Rani's horoscope. Zodiac sign Gemini with Taurus as the ascendant. Good-looking, surely. Also revealed a childhood fraught with hardships. And . . . suddenly Sonia paused. Venus, Sun, and Mercury in the eighth house with Saturn and Mars aspecting them. What could it mean? What a strange horoscope, one of the rarest of its kind. Yes, it was absolutely clear. This wasn't just a childhood of hardships . . . it was something more . . . and if she was right, it could mean that Rani was in terrible danger. . . . Sometimes the demons of the past overtook you and wreaked havoc with the present. . . .

Sonia leaned against her chair, deep lines etched into her forehead. Could Mohnish do the needful for her? After all, Rani trusted him. Hadn't she said so herself? She must handle this with utmost care, Sonia decided. There were many, many delicate factors to consider.

THE COSMIC CLUES
A Dell Book / October 2004

Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved
Copyright © 2004 by Manjiri Prabhu
Horoscope illustrations copyright © 2004 by Hadel Studio

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Dell Books, New York, New York.

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ISBN-13: 9-780-44033-5-108
ISBN-10: 0-440-33510-8

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