For Venkatachalam Suri and Dhwani Nagendra Suri, always

This story takes place in 1920s Bangalore, so a few of the words may be unfamiliar.

If you don’t know them, Kaveri’s Dictionary on page 285 will tell you what they mean and how to pronounce them. It also explains a bit about the geography and history behind this book.

And please peruse Janaki’s Adventures in the Kitchen for a mid-afternoon meeting of The Bangalore Detectives Club on page 289 for some delicious Indian recipes, adapted to modern times and inspired by the food in Into the Leopard’s Den.

1 Prelude to Murder

Bangalore, 2 April 1922

The moon appeared through the clouds, its pale silvery light shining through the open door, glistening onto the old iron box. Below the box, the edge of a broken lock peeked out. A mouse scurried into the hovel, sniffing around the lock, disappointed to discover there was no food inside.

The door of the ramshackle hut creaked as it swung in the wind. Calling it a door was a stretch—it was a few boards of rotting wood, held together by rusty nails. Kupamma had tried to block the gaps through which the frigid night air whistled, with a makeshift curtain her husband had made from discarded gunny sacks. Rags of cloth, cobbled together from bits of old saris and torn petticoats, were wedged into the gaps between the wood. But today, there was no stopping the wind; the intruder had left the door ajar.

The draught was cold and furious. Little swirls of air rose up from the floor, blowing dust into her eyes, mouth, the bleeding wound in her scalp. An ant crawled on the floor, pausing when it encountered the trail of sticky blood, twitching its antennae and cautiously investigating the foreign substance.

Kupamma’s hand fluttered a few inches from the ground and fell back onto the dirt floor. She hated ants. Each morning, she neatly swept the floor with a coconut broomstick, sprinkling water from the mud pot, and evicting the insects. She turned her fading gaze to the pot, now lying broken in the corner. Destroyed by her intruder, who still raged through the hut—tearing down the flimsy cupboard her daughter had built for her from empty crates, flinging her aluminium vessels to the floor.

Life had lost its savour three months back, after her husband died. The thief had done her a favour by bringing Yama to her doorstep. She didn’t care that she would soon be dead. But why did the intruder seek to destroy what little she owned? Her daughter had wanted her pot, but now it was broken. Anger rose in her, hot and sour, along with a small, hard knob of satisfaction. She had hidden what the thief was looking for. It would never be found. Kaveri would find it.

‘Where do you keep it? Tell me!’ Her visitor let forth a volley of oaths, leaning over Kupamma’s crumpled body. Spittle landed on her face but she kept herself from flinching, eyes closed, breathing as shallowly as she could manage. Best if her assailant believed she were dead.

‘Why won’t you tell me where you hid it? I didn’t want to kill you,’ the thief pleaded, voice shaking. She opened her eyes, just a tiny slit, to see. The thief had collapsed onto the dirt floor, body shaking, head buried in the ground. She knew the intruder only meant to threaten her. Frightened, she’d stepped back and tripped, her head hitting the grinding stone. But her assailant could have called for help, taken her to a doctor, instead of leaving her here to bleed out her life on this floor. ‘If you had just given it to m—’

The intruder’s voice stopped mid-sentence, and Kupamma dug her nails into the dirt floor, sensing the sudden satisfaction in the voice. She watched as the indistinct figure got up, moving with purpose towards the patch of earth below the now-broken cupboard, where the ground was a different shade. Grabbing her iron ladle, the intruder used the handle to dig into the loose earth, then threw it aside, scrabbling at the earth with bare hands, scooping mud up in grubby palms and flinging it aside. Inch by inch, the small box Kupamma had buried below ground was exposed. Grunting in satisfaction, the intruder yanked the flimsy wooden box out and broke it, seizing the book within.

She moaned in fear. The intruder gave a queer, high-pitched giggle, stuffed the book in a bag, and walked over to Kupamma, bending low. She could feel the thief’s hot breath on her neck.

She opened her eyes, meeting the thief’s stare with defiance. So she had lost, and he had won. When her entire life was a litany of failures, what did one more signify? She would not give an unkind thief the satisfaction of seeing her afraid.

‘You should have given the book to me,’ the intruder said, more quietly this time, sounding weary as Kupamma’s heavy eyelids closed. ‘I only wanted to threaten you. If you had told me where you had hidden it, I would have taken it and left. But now it’s too late.’

The hazy figure was silhouetted in the moonlight, looking down at Kupamma’s motionless body. ‘You gave up your life for nothing.’

In the quiet of the night, the sounds made by the intruder carried on the breeze, out of the hut, past the deserted grounds, towards the side of the lake, where a group of urchins were playing daya katta. They looked up from their game, turning their faces towards the hut, hesitating. The old woman chased away anyone who came close to her hut—except for her married daughter, who visited her daily. They had all faced the sharp end of her coconut broomstick.

The noise came again. Throwing down their dice, they argued with one another about who should go. Finally, they all got up, moving cautiously towards the hut, holding hands for courage. The boys saw a figure clad in white slipping away from the shack, running across the field. Seeing it vanish behind a tree, one of the boys shrieked, ‘Bhootha, bhootha! Ghost!’ They ran, scattering in their haste to flee the accursed space.

Only one ragged urchin, smaller and more intelligent than the rest of his friends, lingered, frowning at the thicket of trees behind which the ghostly figure had disappeared. Bhoothas didn’t wear sandals—at least, not in any of the tales he had heard. He retraced the figure’s steps, moving with purpose towards the hut.

The old woman pulled a scrap of paper out of her blouse and clutched it in her fist. Her daughter had brought a magazine article to show her this morning. Of course, Kupamma couldn’t read it—but she had cut out the painting of the young lady, Kaveri Murthy, intending to seek her out and ask for her advice.

The magazine said the woman detective helped everyone. And she didn’t charge any money. That was good. Every rupee that Kupamma had saved over the past two months, with so much difficulty, had been spent to pay for her recent travel. The much-anticipated trip, which began with so much happiness, and ended in this—a hurried return home, a fear-filled wait, and just as she was beginning to relax, thinking that she was safe—the final attack. She looked at the broken aluminium box, which had held the last coin she possessed. Without money for a funeral, would they throw her body in an unmarked pauper’s grave?

She heard a sound and looked up. A small boy wearing a grimy pair of shorts stood in front of her. Blinking her eyes, she tried to focus on him, but his image was fading. He reminded her of her son, when he was small. So many years ago, before she lost him.

Her eyelids were heavy, closing. She opened them again, blinking. Had God returned her son to her? ‘Will you bury me now?’ she asked him.

The boy squatted next to her, taking her palm in his, smoothing out her wrinkled skin with gentle fingers.

‘Son, find this girl Kaveri,’ she urged, struggling to speak. She opened her palm to show him the young woman’s photo. ‘Tell her to find my killer…’

Her voice trailed away, but she kept her eyes on him.

The boy crouched on his haunches at her side, not knowing what to do. He gripped her hand, shivering a little and looking away from the wicked wound on her head, the trail of blood that had made a sticky pool on the floor.

She caught the boy’s gaze, telling him fiercely, ‘I didn’t die for nothing.’

‘Of course not,’ he soothed, rubbing her palm gently, feeling helpless.

In a few moments, that seemed to him to stretch for a very long time, she drew her last shuddering breath, her gaze still fixed on him.

Gently closing her eyelids, he muttered a swift prayer, the only one he knew. May Garuda keep you safe and carry you to Lord Vishnu in heaven.

After taking the crumpled scrap of paper from Kupamma’s hand, the boy ran out of the shack. He ran swiftly, his bare feet moving noiselessly and with purpose, towards the place he considered his second home. The moon lit up his path, as the cold wind cut through his flimsy vest.

In her bedroom, Kaveri climbed on a stool to pull a set of books off the top shelf. She was packing her favourites into a box, clearing space in the bedroom. The box was packed with books and other githerments—a new word Kaveri had encountered in her dictionary and was determined to use. She looked at the pile of gifts in the box, given to her in lieu of the fees she refused to take, from a number of grateful clients. Bags of dried coconut from the farmer whose runaway son had been rescued by Kaveri and bottles of goat ghee from the man from Majjigepura, whose missing goats she had recovered, sat cheek by jowl with the exquisite needlepoint cushions crafted by the women whom she had rescued from the ashram where they had been trapped. They would all be moved to her favourite shed at the bottom of her garden, which doubled as a study and the location of the Bangalore Detectives Club—clearing out space for the nursery, which she planned to set up in a corner of their spacious bedroom.

She closed the box and returned to her desk, completing a half-finished letter to Ramu. I miss you very much, she concluded. Your loving wife, Kaveri.

She stared at the moon through the iron grills that secured her window, absently clicking the cap of her pen against the table. The moon climbed steadily, heavy in the Bangalore sky. It looked just like a droplet of yellow-white ghee would look if she floated it on ink.

Would ghee float on ink?

She wished her husband was here. Only Ramu understood the odd thoughts that popped into her mind. Her sister and school friends had made fun of her, so she had long gotten into the habit of keeping her thoughts to herself. Until she married Ramu. If he had been with her now, they could have taken her ink bottle downstairs, rummaged in the kitchen for some ghee, taken a dropper from his medicine kit, and tested out her theory.

Kaveri shifted restlessly on the chair, wondering if she should go down to the kitchen and try it, but then decided against it. Now that she was pregnant, and with Ramu out of town, Bhargavi athe insisted on keeping her bedroom door, just opposite Kaveri’s, open at night so she could hear if Kaveri needed her. Fortunately, she was a deep sleeper and it took a lot to wake her.

Kaveri frowned, tapping her fingers on the window. She appreciated the love and concern behind her mother-in-law’s obsessive care, but increasingly, these days, she felt stifled. Especially without Ramu there to buffer her from his mother’s tender ministrations.

Silly goose, she scolded herself. If she missed Ramu so much in three weeks, how was she going to manage without him till June, another three months away?

She heard a skittering noise. Someone was throwing pebbles at the glass. At this time in the night? Kaveri stood up and peered through the window, looking into the garden. A bandicoot darted out from behind the henna bushes lining the wall, rolling a half-eaten guava in front of her. She smiled, turning away, and then stopped when she heard a low whistle.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked softly, opening the windows and peering down.

An urgent voice whispered from below:

‘Kaveri akka? It’s me, Venu. Open the kitchen door.’

Hoping that Bhargavi had not heard their conversation, Kaveri tiptoed quietly down the wooden stairs that led to the ground floor, avoiding the treads that creaked. She drew back the bolts on the side door, stepping out to the garden. Venu, their milk boy, stood there, shivering in his sleeveless vest and flimsy shorts.

‘Why are you out so late? And where is the sweater that Uma aunty knitted for you?’ she demanded in a cross whisper, placing her shawl around his thin shoulders. ‘It’s not safe for a child your age to be wandering the streets of Bangalore alone. There are all kinds of dangers around.’

‘I’m not a child, akka.’ He drew himself up to his full, short height. ‘I am eight years old. And you know I deliver tea and bajjis to the police station at midnight when they work late. Ever since you got to know that you’re carrying, you’ve been trying to mother me and everyone else in sight.’ Venu wrapped the shawl more tightly around himself.

She looked at him shrewdly, noting the pallor in his face, the slight shake in his voice. In his young life, Venu had seen a lot of violence, helping her with many of her previous cases. He worked for Inspector Ismail, ferreting out information that even the most hardened criminals often didn’t know. Though young, he didn’t rattle easily.

‘What happened?’ she pressed gently, pulling him close. ‘You’re shivering, and it’s not from the cold.’

He leaned close to her, talking rapidly in a low voice. The wind blew around them in little gusts, carrying their low voices away. The moon shone gently down on them, and the bandicoot retreated into the bushes with his guava, a little cross at having his midnight feast so rudely interrupted.

A few hundred kilometers away, in the mountains of Coorg, the moon made its first appearance in the sky, making a swift escape from the clouds. Ramu let out a relieved grunt at the soft light, illuminating the path ahead of him. He scrambled down a rocky cliff, surrounded by tall grasses, holding his hospital bag high in one hand, hefting a big bamboo lathi in the other. At every step, he banged his lathi on the path, alerting the snakes to his passage. Snakes could not hear, but they could sense vibrations through their body. And like most wild animals, they preferred to avoid humans.

He had been up all night, helping to deliver a baby safely. It was a breech delivery, made worse because the girl’s mother-in-law refused to let a strange man see or touch her—never mind that he was a doctor. If only Kaveri had been there to help him—but his mother would never agree to let her leave Bangalore when she was pregnant.

Perhaps he should have spent the night in the farmer’s home, as the proud new father urged him to do. But his mother glared at Ramu when the farmer issued the invitation, still not ready to forgive the new doctor for his temerity in throwing her out of the delivery room. Ramu hadn’t wanted to spend a night under the same roof as her, drinking the coffee she would grudgingly make for him in the morning. In the darkness cast by the trees, those objections seemed childish.

Gripping the stick even tighter, he heard a deep-throated purring sound, a soft rumble. Leopard. Ramu stopped, trying to calm his breath, fighting the urge to take noisy gulps of air. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, and wondered if the big cat could hear it too. Everyone in the village was talking about a leopard who had been seen in the forest at night. Rumours said the beast had attacked small dogs and cattle, carrying them away to devour at leisure. Mothers had taken to locking their children indoors after sunset.

He should have brought the lantern. He should have stayed back in the farmer’s house.

Hair prickling, Ramu opened his bag, fumbling for his matches, gripping his stick with his elbow. The roar came closer, and he stopped, pressing his back against a large boulder, trying desperately to quiet his breath.

The wind blew the musky scent of the animal toward him. He prayed to his patron saint, Raghavendra Swami, that the wind didn’t change direction, letting the animal smell him.

The birds had grown silent. Even the crickets had abandoned their incessant chirping. Ahead of him, a rat snake slithered across his path, scales glistening in the moonlight. The unwashed smell of leopard grew closer, stronger. Ramu pressed a hand against his nose, stifling an urge to sneeze.

A loud whistle split the air. No leopard could make such a sound. He stood on his toes, straining to look past the tall buffalo grass into the distance. But the moon had retreated into the clouds, and it was dark again.

The leopard’s growl reverberated through the forest, followed by another whistle, long and melodious. A long, lithe shape burst out of the grove of trees ahead of Ramu, clearing the road in one swift move, and crashing through the dried brush on the other side. The moon came out again, lighting up the ground ahead of him, and Ramu ran out onto the road. For a brief instant, he saw—no, surely, that couldn’t be?—a figure wearing green, running alongside a white leopard, far ahead of him.

He quickened his steps, changing direction, almost running towards the lights of Lakamma’s bungalow in the distance. There had to be a sensible explanation.

2 Too Hard for Footprints

Venu sipped the tea which Kaveri had quickly prepared for him, wrapping his hands around the hot steel tumbler to absorb its warmth. He still looked distressed, Kaveri thought, but at least he wasn’t shivering quite so much now.

He seemed to be finding it difficult to begin, and she waited, impatient, but trying not to show it.

‘We were playing cards in the Sampangi maidan grounds a couple of hours ago,’ Venu said eventually, draining the last drops of sugary tea and licking the tumbler to pick up the remaining crystals of sugar. ‘We heard shouts from the hut in the corner.’

‘What hut?’ Kaveri interrupted. ‘After the circus left in January, I thought the grounds were empty.’

‘An old ajji called Kupamma moved in, two months back. In February. She threw stones at us when we came too close, so we usually left her alone.’ Venu gave her a quick sideways glance. ‘When we heard loud noises and went close to the hut, a ghostly figure came out of the hut. It was in a loose white dress, like the kurtas that Inspector Ismail wears, and it disappeared behind the trees. The others thought it was a ghost and ran. I went inside alone. I couldn’t save her. It was too late.’ He bit his lips, not wanting Kaveri to see the sudden tears that filled his eyes.

‘Did she have a fever, or an upset stomach?’ Kaveri asked, giving him a quick hug. ‘I wish she had not kept you all away. Your team of boys helps everyone. You could have taken her to the hospital before she got too sick.’

Venu put a hand on her forearm. ‘She was old, but very healthy. She worked in five homes as a maid. There was a large gaping wound on her head, and I saw some blood on the grinding stone in a corner of the hut. She must have hit her head there. It would have taken a long time to bleed as much as she had. The man I saw, the one who disappeared behind the trees, must’ve pushed her. He destroyed everything in her hut, broke it to pieces.’

‘Oh no.’ Kaveri put her hand to her mouth.

He lifted up his shirt and reached into the waistband. He took out a small pouch and opened it, handing her a crumpled sheet of paper, torn at the edges. It was sticky, smeared with blood.

‘Haven’t I taught you better, Venu?’ Kaveri demanded in a heated whisper, refusing to take the paper from him. ‘You can’t remove anything from the hut. It’s a crime scene, best left untouched for the police.’

‘I went to the police station on the way, before I came here, and alerted Inspector Ismail. He said he would go there immediately. He told me to bring this to you.’ Venu looked at her, his eyes too old in his young face. ‘Kupamma ajji pressed this into my hand before she died, akka. She gave me a message for you. “Tell Kaveri to find my killer”.’

Kaveri took the piece of paper he thrust at her, letting out a startled gasp when she recognised her face, drawn by an artist to accompany an article on her in the women’s magazine Saraswati. Kalyanamma, the writer who had founded the magazine, had profiled her last week, talking about all the cases that the Bangalore Detectives Club had solved. After the article appeared, she had been deluged with frivolous requests for help, regretting that she had ever agreed to speak to Kalyanamma. Until now…

‘She asked me for help… and she didn’t even know me.’ Kaveri’s voice cracked, as she looked at the torn fragment of paper.

Venu tugged at Kaveri’s arm. ‘In an hour, the sun will come up, and people will start to move about. The old woman’s daughter visits her in the morning, bringing food. When she finds her mother dead, she will raise an alarm. Inspector Ismail asked me to bring you to the hut immediately. He wants to talk to you.’

Kaveri hesitated, looking up at Bhargavi’s bedroom window. She could hear loud snores. Her mother-in-law was fast asleep, unlikely to wake till morning.

She bolted the kitchen door and hurried to her car with Venu, driving quickly down the deserted streets, reaching the Sampangi grounds in about fifteen minutes. She parked behind a large peepal tree, and followed Venu across a dirt track to the ramshackle hut. A light shone inside.

She bent down to inspect the area just outside the hut and heard a voice. ‘You won’t find any footprints here, Mrs. Murthy. The ground is too hard.’ Her friend Inspector Ismail stood at the entrance of the hut.

His face was grave as always, but she could hear the smile in his voice, which the Inspector reserved for her. Ismail often said Kaveri reminded him of his eldest daughter. ‘In your condition, I did not want to call you out at night. But I was curious to know why the dead woman asked for you personally.’

Venu tugged at her arm, pulling her into the hut. Kaveri switched on her torch, her eyes filling with tears when she saw the old woman’s body on the floor. She bent down, shining the light on the dead woman, observing everything—from the bloody wound on her head, to her faded sari with its frayed edges, neatly darned with thread. Her torch lingered on Kupamma’s feet, on the black thread tied around her ankles for good luck, noting the extra toe on her right foot.

‘I have never seen her before, Inspector. I don’t know why she asked for me. But no one should have to die like this. No one.’ Her voice broke, as she directed the torch across the floor, the light lingering on the shattered pot, the broken cupboard, the hole in the ground that had held the wooden box.

‘Last month, there was a series of attacks on old women living alone in slums and modest homes. We found the killer only by accident, after four women had been killed. We caught him pickpocketing, and he confessed to the murders during interrogation. He had done it to pick up a little extra petty cash,’ Ismail said.

‘Do you think someone else is targeting old women?’ Kaveri asked, her voice shaking.

‘I don’t know,’ Ismail said soberly. ‘It is not easy for us to get at the truth. Everyone is suspicious of the constables. But you have a way of getting them to open up. We need your help with this case. Especially since the old woman asked for you.’

Ismail squatted on the ground, picking up the broken box and showing Kaveri that it was empty. ‘The killer was looking for something. Kupamma must have buried it in this box and hidden it here, but the man seems to have dug into the ground and found it.’

‘Money?’ Venu asked.

‘Unlikely,’ Kaveri objected. ‘If the killer was after money, he would have targeted a bungalow.’ She moved towards the box but stumbled, her foot catching on something round and loose.

Venu caught her before she fell. ‘Be careful.’ His panicked whisper was loud in the silence of the night, and Kaveri hushed him. ‘If something happens to the baby, Ramu anna will never forgive me.’

‘I just stepped on something, Venu,’ Kaveri reassured him, picking up a small onion and tossing it aside. The torch in her hand shook, the light falling on something lying in the corner, something that glinted.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, moving in its direction. But Ismail held up his hand, stopping her. ‘Best to stay away from the dark corners. There may be snakes and scorpions.’ He handed his torch to Venu, who retrieved the shining object, showing the two of them what he held in his hand. A coin purse made from red velvet.

Ismail took the purse from him, opening it and taking out a two pai coin. ‘Almost empty.’ His face twisting with pity, he looked at the bare hut with its pitifully limited possessions.

‘The Women’s Gala,’ Kaveri exclaimed, grabbing the purse from him.

Ismail raised his bushy eyebrows.

‘Miss Roberts held a fundraiser for the Gala last month,’ Kaveri explained. ‘I know she only ordered half a dozen of these purses, because Ramu told me. He helped her and his supervisor, Dr. Roberts, plan the fundraiser. She distributed them as thank-you presents to her elite sponsors. We were the only Indian family to be given a purse. How on earth did Kupamma get her hands on one of these?’

Venu took the purse back from Kaveri, turning it over in his hands. ‘There’s a label inside.’ He handed it back to her, his face falling a little. ‘It’s in English. I can’t read it.’

Kaveri ruffled his hair, consoling him. ‘You thought of looking for a label. You are becoming a very good assistant detective, but you stopped coming home for classes. If you resume your classes, I can soon teach you to read and write in English too.’

Venu puffed up his small chest, catching Ismail’s approving smile. For most people, one raggedy urchin looked like another. Only Inspector Ismail had had the intelligence to look beyond their dirty faces and torn clothes to see bellies distended with hunger—and bright minds thirsting with the need to do something. Like Kaveri, Ismail was a fan of the Sherlock Holmes series and took inspiration from the Baker Street boys. His network of street urchins, like Venu, could fan out across the city, going unnoticed. They could climb trees and look into windows, hang around on street corners to keep a watch on the goings-on. And now that Kaveri had taught Venu a few basics of detection, such as how to collect fingerprints, he was eager to do much more.

Ismail shone his torchlight on the purse, while Kaveri squinted at the label. ‘This came from Green’s Store,’ Kaveri said.

‘The one on South Parade? Kupamma’s daughter works there,’ Venu announced.

‘Mrs. Green has only one assistant. Don’t tell me Kupamma’s daughter is Hiramma.’ Kaveri stared at Venu. ‘I get all my swimming costumes and sari blouses stitched by her, but she has never exchanged a word with me. I don’t think she likes me.’

‘Hiramma doesn’t speak to anyone. Like her mother, she mostly keeps to herself,’ Venu explained. Then his eyes lit up. ‘You promised Anandi akka that you would take her out in disguise, to practise her skills. You could take her to Green’s Store, investigate how Kupamma got the purse and investigate the killer.’

‘Is Anandi still determined to set up her own shop as a detective?’ Ismail’s smile was instantaneous, his teeth flashing white in the darkness of the hut. He was very supportive of the young woman who had reinvented her life since meeting Kaveri, in September the previous year—from battered wife to housemaid, and now manager of a shelter for other abused women.

‘Yes, and Shanthi akka has agreed to let Anandi use the garage in the shelter to launch her office,’ Kaveri said. ‘After Kalyanamma’s article appeared in Saraswati, I have been deluged with requests to track down unfaithful husbands and runaway daughters. If Anandi sets up her own detective practice, maybe people will stop bothering me and go to her.’ But then she frowned. ‘There’s no point in taking Anandi to Green’s Store. Surely Hiramma won’t be at work today, after learning about her mother’s death.’

Venu shook his head at her. ‘You’re doing it again.’

‘What?’ She cast him a swift look.

‘Thinking like you, who lives in a big house, with cupboards full of money—not like one of us. Do you think Hiramma can afford to stop working, even for a day?’ Venu scowled.

‘I thought Mrs. Green would give her a day off,’ Kaveri said defensively, but her voice trailed off. Venu was right. Mrs. Green was hardly the kind of person to be overcome with compassion at the news that Hiramma had lost her mother. ‘Mrs. Green won’t allow us to speak to Hiramma. Anandi and I will wait for her to go to lunch, then approach her. It won’t seem so conspicuous if we’re in disguise. But I hope she agrees to speak to us.’ Kaveri’s voice was small. She hated to think of poor mousy Hiramma, having to deal with a long day of work after finding out that her mother was brutally killed.

Ismail looked up at the sky. ‘It will be daylight soon, Mrs. Murthy. The constable will be here shortly, with his fingerprinting kit. The man is a gossip. It is best if he doesn’t see you. I don’t want him to tell anyone else that you are working on this case, in case you put the killer on his guard.’

3 Monkeys and Bananas

Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the large rain tree, the specks of dust dancing like dervishes in the silhouetted rays. The red mud formed a thin film on the freshly whitewashed walls of the shops that lined the sides of South Parade, Bangalore’s most famous shopping district.

A group of elderly Indian men squatted in the shade of a thorny thicket, focused on the cards they held in their hands. Their dark skin, liberally coated with castor oil to protect them from the sun, glistened in the heat, the starched brilliant white of their shirts contrasting with their purple and yellow Madras check lungis. One of the men threw down the cards in his hand, scooping in the pile of coins at the centre, as the group broke out into raucous laughter, trading friendly insults.

Under the heat of the morning sun, the flyers announcing a discount on diamonds had begun to peel away from the front of the jewellery shop, their edges looking crumpled and dispirited. A small boy, wearing torn shorts and a tattered grimy vest, was working on the flyer, singing a Kannada folk song about a clever monkey, as he applied sticky rice paste from a bucket as fresh adhesive on the edges of the advertisements.

He looked down the road, his smile fading as he saw a short woman walking in his direction, wearing a black cotton sari. Her eyes were red rimmed with sorrow, her cheeks streaked with tears. Slowly, she made her way towards a shop selling expensive silks, a big bungalow with a steep red-tiled roof and intricate V-shaped wooden monkey-top frontage.

The boy dropped his can on the road, bending down to pick it up. He whistled loudly and tunelessly as he crouched, casting furtive glances towards the dark side alley that led into the conservancy lane behind the street, his taut body relaxing when he saw two figures uncurl from the wall at the end of the alley.

Hearing him whistle, the shop owner turned, bellowing insults when he saw him squatting on the road. ‘Venu, you useless son of a donkey. Am I paying you to sit down and whistle while the others work?’

Venu sprang to his feet, running back to the window, deftly swerving to avoid the blow that the shop owner aimed at him in passing. Dipping his brush into the pot of rice paste, he ducked his head to hide the look of satisfaction on his face. His signal was sent and had been received.

The woman in the black sari hurried towards the shop, quickening her steps as she looked at the time on the large clock tower. No one paid any attention to her—except for a pair of flute sellers standing at the entrance to the side alley, idly tossing a coin back and forth to each other. The plumper of the two stood silent, readjusting the heavy belt laden with flutes around her protruding belly. ‘Press your moustache in, Anandi,’ she whispered to her companion. ‘The glue seems to be coming off.’

Kaveri and Anandi watched as the wind blew the red soil into a tiny, animated whirlpool, scattering bits of leaves onto the cart that moved slowly down the street. The driver listlessly cracked his whip against the hide of one of the animal’s bullocks, trying to make them move faster. But his waterskin was empty, and his voice too hoarse to carry. Ignoring him, the animals came to a standstill.

A sour-faced Englishwoman dismounted from the cart, tossing a couple of coins to the driver. She walked past the card players, adjusting her large hat with its basket of faux fruit, and headed for the elegant red-and-white building with a large hoarding that announced NEW FABRICS FROM ENGLAND, JUST 4 ANNAS A YARD. The disapproving lines on her face relaxed into a smile.

Setting the paper bag she carried on the railing, she moved closer to the shop window, admiring the velvet on display. A monkey jumped down from the roof, clutching its infant to its belly, and advanced towards her with purpose. The Englishwoman backed away with a small, ladylike shriek, gripping her hat tightly.

‘It’s not interested in your hat, Miss Roberts. Monkeys are clever creatures. It knows the fruit is fake—it’s after the paper bag with bananas for its child. Throw away the fruit, and it’ll leave you alone.’ The voice was feminine, and spoke in English, but there was no one else on the street, apart from the card players, all men.

The Englishwoman picked up the paper bag, clutching it to her stiffly starched bosom. The monkey pulled back its lips, baring a set of small but sharp-looking teeth. She shrank back, throwing the bag of bananas on the pavement. The infant jumped off its mother’s belly, deftly scooping up pieces of squashed fruit and stuffing them into its mouth.

Mrs. Green rushed out from the shop, shooing the monkeys away with a large umbrella.

Calmer now that the animals had been chased away, Miss Roberts studied the street. ‘Who spoke to me?’

Miss Roberts heard a soft giggle, quickly stifled. Turning, she peered into the alley from where the sound had come, pince-nez precariously poised on her long nose. ‘These men don’t speak English. I must be hearing things…’ she muttered, seeing only two flute sellers wearing scruffy shirts over lungis.

Mrs. Green led her inside the shop, avoiding the slippery banana peels on the pavement. ‘This dratted street is full of monkeys. And the sun is so hot, it plays tricks with the imagination. Can I offer you some passion-fruit sherbet? I have several yards of that gorgeous blue velvet you ordered for the Doctors’ Ball. And we have some gorgeous patterns, just in from Paris.’ The women’s voices grew fainter as they disappeared inside the shop.

‘You need to be more careful, Anandi,’ Kaveri scolded. ‘A detective can’t let her disguise slip, even for a minute. What were you thinking, speaking to Miss Roberts?’ She kept her voice low as she pulled Anandi back into the alley. ‘The purse that Miss Roberts distributed for the Gala was discovered in Kupamma’s hut, and Inspector Ismail is investigating that connection. If Dr. Roberts were to hear that we were hanging around South Parade dressed as men, he might jump to the conclusion that we are spying on his sister, and think she is implicated in Kupamma’s murder. He would be furious. My husband might lose his job.’

‘I am sorry, akka,’ Anandi said ruefully. ‘When I saw Miss Roberts getting terrified of something as commonplace as a monkey, I just wanted to help.’ She bit her lip.

Kaveri relented, looking at Anandi’s crestfallen face, and gave her a manly pat on the shoulder. ‘Let’s walk. People will get suspicious if we stand in the same place for too long.’

They paused outside the shop front, peering through the glass. Mrs. Green fawned over Miss Roberts as she opened bolt after bolt of silk for her inspection. Hiramma scurried behind them, neatly folding the untidy bundles of cloth and putting them away on the wooden shelves behind the counter.

Kaveri pressed a hand to the small of her back. Then, realising the gesture was too feminine, she rolled back her shoulders, leaning against a small tree for support. ‘Just how long is Miss Roberts planning to shop?’

As she spoke, Miss Roberts emerged from the store accompanied by Hiramma, laden with bags of cloth. Kaveri exchanged amused glances with Anandi. Dr. Roberts was going to be presented with a huge bill this month.

They stepped back, as Mrs. Green helped the elderly British woman climb into the bullock cart. When her gaze fell on the flute sellers, Kaveri looked away, staring at her feet. Bangalore’s now-famous lady detective could walk freely on South Parade, placing orders for bespoke jewellery and tailored swimming costumes. But a native street vendor was at the bottom of the pecking order and ought not to meet a shopkeeper’s gaze so directly.

The cart disappeared from view, and Mrs. Green crossed her arms in front of her formidable chest, glaring at Hiramma.

‘Hira!’ she raised her voice. ‘This is the last time I will tolerate this kind of nonsense. You came half an hour late today.’

Hiramma bowed her head submissively as Mrs. Green advanced on her, wagging her finger. ‘Miss Roberts wants you to go to her home now and start on her fitting. Mind you get there on time now, don’t dawdle on the way. And pack your bags. You need to stay there this whole week to get Miss Roberts’s new dresses stitched by Saturday, for the Doctors’ Ball.’

‘But…’ Hiramma said uncertainly, looking miserable. Mrs. Green paid no attention to her, shouldering past her hapless employee roughly as she went back into the shop. Hiramma stared into the distance, seemingly unaware of the tears trickling down her cheeks.

Anandi clenched her fingers around the flute, glaring at Mrs. Green’s retreating back. ‘Doesn’t she know that her assistant just lost her mother?’

‘She doesn’t care,’ Kaveri said in a sad voice as she looked at Hiramma’s helpless face. Mrs. Green had always seemed very welcoming to Kaveri, willing to look through new swimsuit patterns with her in the latest issue of Vogue, or design daring new styles of sleeveless blouses. ‘Inspector Ismail told me once—if you want to see what a man is really like, watch how they deal with their inferiors, not their superiors or equals in society.’

Anandi gave a hoot of laughter. ‘I could have told you that when I was six, when I started working with my mother as a housemaid.’ Then she watched Kaveri readjust her shirt, pulling it down. Her eyebrows creased with worry. ‘Let’s go home, akka. It’s too hot, and you need to put your feet up.’

Kaveri gave an exasperated snort. ‘How can we go home now? Hiramma will be out any minute. I wish you would all stop treating me like a baby. Only Venu deals with me like he did before. His sister-in-law worked until the day she delivered her baby. He doesn’t think I am a piece of cut glass that needs to be wrapped in cotton wool and kept at home in a golden cage,’ she said, recklessly mixing her metaphors. ‘That’s why he called me last night.’

‘You said you were sleepy,’ Anandi objected, but when Kaveri gave her a mulish look, she didn’t say anything more.

They waited in the shade of a scrawny neem tree. After a couple of minutes, Hiramma came out of the shop carrying a small bag, from which the end of a tape measure poked out. They followed her bowed figure as she steadily disappeared from sight, staying a safe distance behind her as she left South Parade and turned into Cubbon Park, walking towards Miss Roberts’s home. As she walked, Hiramma’s pace became slower, her steps more dispirited, until she passed a stone bench. She collapsed onto it, burying her face in her hands. Her thin shoulders shook with suppressed sobs.

‘It feels like we are invading her privacy,’ Kaveri said, holding back.

‘But this is our best chance, before she disappears into Miss Roberts’s house,’ Anandi said, moving forward.

They sat down on the opposite bench facing Hiramma, who tensed, giving them a frightened look. It was not done for two strange men to sit opposite a single woman in a deserted space like this. She grabbed her bag, standing up.

‘Hiramma, it’s me, Kaveri Murthy. And this is my friend Anandi.’ Kaveri spoke quickly in her normal voice, putting out a hand to stop her from fleeing.

Hiramma gave her a startled look. ‘You?’ She inspected Kaveri, her gaze lingering on Kaveri’s stomach. Hiramma had taken her measurements only last week, when Kaveri had come into the shop to order a new swimming costume.

Then her face hardened. ‘You are the last person I wanted to see today. My mother is dead because of you.’

4 A Pauper’s Grave

Hiramma, how can you say that?’ Seeing Kaveri fumble for words, Anandi took over the conversation. ‘We are only trying to help you.’

Hiramma scoffed, pointing a sharp, accusing finger at Kaveri. ‘I should never have given my mother that magazine article with her photograph. I told my mother that Kaveri would help solve her problems. Instead, she was attacked and died unprotected.’

‘I didn’t even know that she wanted to consult me.’ Kaveri kept her voice gentle, realising that Hiramma was in pain, lashing out at the nearest person. ‘If she had only approached me, or you had, I would have tried my best to help.’

Anandi whispered in her ear, ‘Ask her what problems her mother had.’ She ignored Anandi, keeping her eyes focused on Hiramma. Unless she earned the woman’s trust, they would not be able to get anything from her.

Hiramma looked down, shuffling her feet. ‘My mother didn’t have the money to consult you. She said she had spent all her savings. She asked me for a loan, but I didn’t have any spare money either.’

‘I do it for justice, not money. I will do my best to find her killer and see that he is punished,’ Kaveri promised, her voice grim with intensity. ‘But you have to give me some information, to help me.’

‘Not now.’ Hiramma backed away from them. ‘If I don’t reach Miss Roberts’s house in time, she might phone Mrs. Green and ask where I am. I can’t afford to lose my job. I need to pay for my mother’s funeral.’

‘The hospital will pay for that, as they do for all those who die without any savings,’ Kaveri said impulsively. Anandi glanced at her, guessing correctly that Kaveri would pay for the funeral herself. The hospital had no such scheme, but Kaveri sensed that Hiramma was too proud to accept charity.

Hiramma’s face relaxed. ‘My mother was worried that they might need to bury her in a pauper’s grave.’ She scrubbed her face with her sari pallu, clearing away the worst of the tear stains. ‘But how did you know my mother had died?’

Kaveri reached out, placing a hesitant hand on Hiramma’s stiff shoulder. ‘Venu told me about it. He was the one who found her, early this morning. She spoke to him before she died.’

‘What?’ Hiramma swayed, almost collapsing.

Kaveri sat down next to her, supporting her with one arm, as she quickly told her what Venu had seen. ‘Your mother was clutching my portrait in her hand when she died.’ Remembering the bloodstains on the paper, Kaveri squeezed her eyes shut briefly.

‘I am sorry for raising my voice at you.’ Hiramma’s bottom lip trembled. ‘I have been feeling guilty for not being able to lend my mother money, so she could visit you. One of our customers left a copy of the magazine in the shop. She was talking to Mrs. Green about you. That’s when I learnt that you are a detective. I took the article to my mother and showed her your sketch, told her where you lived. She was planning to visit your house as soon as she could scrape together some money.’

‘Why?’ Anandi burst out. ‘What reason did your mother have for wanting to see a detective?’

Hiramma gave a helpless shrug. ‘My mother has been acting strange lately. Until recently, our life was very normal. Suddenly last week, my mother informed me that she was going on a trip. She refused to tell me where she was going, or why—only repeating, again and again, that she would be back in a month, with big news for me. But she returned in three days.’

‘When did she return home?’ Kaveri asked, taking out her notebook.

‘On Sunday.’

‘This Sunday, twenty-sixth March?’ Kaveri wrote it down. ‘Did she say anything to you, explain why she came back so soon?’

‘I could make out something had scared her very badly, but she refused to talk about it. Amma had a nervous twitch in her jaw and barely ate. She jumped at noises, as though she expected someone to come after her. I asked her repeatedly to tell me what was going on. I pleaded, shouted, but she wouldn’t tell me anything. When I showed her your photograph and told her you were a famous detective who came to my shop for fittings, she looked hopeful for the first time.’ Hiramma’s voice broke.

‘Do you have any idea where your mother disappeared to for three days? Perhaps a relative’s house, or a friend?’ Anandi asked.

‘I’m an only child, and we have no relatives. My parents were reserved people. They never left Bangalore. I don’t remember them ever speaking to their neighbours or making friends with others.’

‘Your father? Is he alive?’ Kaveri interrupted.

Hiramma gave her a sad smile. ‘My father died three months ago. That was when they lived in the pete. A month after he died, my mother packed up her few possessions and moved to the Sampangi grounds, saying she couldn’t afford the rents in the pete.’

‘Couldn’t she stay with you?’ Anandi asked.

Hiramma’s eyes filled with pain. ‘I wanted her to. But I live in a one-room house, with my husband, daughter, and brother-in-law. My brother-in-law got into a huge argument with me when I told him that my mother was coming to stay, and he hit me.’

‘Your husband didn’t intervene?’ Kaveri asked her, shocked.

Hiramma’s mouth twisted. ‘My husband is scared of his brother and too afraid to support me. His brother keeps company with some very bad men. He has changed a lot in the past few months. I still asked my mother to come, but she saw the bruises and must have realised what had happened.’

Anandi sat on Hiramma’s other side and held her hands tightly. Kaveri watched the two women, her own eyes shining with tears. Anandi had been hurt by her husband many times, so badly that they had once feared she might die.

Tears streamed freely from Hiramma’s eyes now, and she spoke faster. ‘I don’t know why she couldn’t stay in the pete. She would have been safe there, surrounded by people, but she had become obsessive about saving money. She moved to the Sampangi ground because it was free, building a hut for herself with the scraps of wood left behind by the circus performers.’

Kaveri exchanged glances with Anandi. ‘Was there anything suspicious about your father’s death?’

Hiramma shook her head. ‘My father died of old age. His health had been failing for a long time.’

‘Hmm.’ Kaveri kicked at the ground, thinking hard. ‘Could your mother have got into a fight in any of the homes where she worked?’

‘Impossible. My mother’s employers all thought highly of her.’ Hiramma’s voice rang with pride. ‘She was old, but strong. When my father was ailing, she had to take care of him, and only worked in two houses. After he died, she took on three more jobs, going to a total of five houses. That’s when I started bringing her a tiffin carrier packed with food every morning. I realised that she was too tired to even cook for herself most days.’

‘She must have been saving up for this trip you spoke about.’ Anandi placed a gentle hand on Hiramma’s shoulder.

Hiramma gave her a sad smile. ‘Then she must have travelled quite a distance. She had saved a lot of money, close to two rupees in two months. She kept it in a purse, but it was empty when she returned, except for a couple of small coins.’

‘A red purse with sequins?’ Kaveri asked. ‘The one that Miss Roberts ordered from your shop, for the Women’s Gala?’

Hiramma jumped like a frightened rabbit. ‘How did you know that?’

‘I am a detective. I have my ways of finding out,’ Kaveri said, remembering Ismail’s caution that no one else should know of her visit to the murder site.

‘Don’t tell anyone.’ Hiramma sidled away from them, moving to the edge of the bench. ‘Miss Roberts ordered six purses, but I made a mistake in stitching the first one. Mrs. Green was furious and deducted money from my salary as a punishment. She made me stitch another purse and asked me to throw this one away. It was so pretty, and she had already taken some of my money to pay for it… so I kept it. I was too scared to take it home, in case she found out—but I gave it to my mother. Amma never owned anything beautiful, making do with torn saris given away by her employers. She loved the purse so much. I never saw her smile as she did the day that I gave it to her. But if you tell Mrs. Green, she might call me a thief and throw me out of the store.’

Kaveri kept quiet, her indignation against Mrs. Green mounting. Still, a voice inside her head warned her to avoid rushing to judgement. Hiramma seemed honest and aboveboard, but by now she had been in too many investigations where people were not what they seemed to be. As Inspector Ismail had told her before, when a domestic crime was committed, it was usually a family member who was responsible.

Except… what if the family member was not Hiramma but someone else? Someone who knew that Kupamma had saved up two rupees? It was a trivial sum for someone like Kaveri, but enough to attract a petty thief, someone with an alcohol addiction or a gambling debt.

‘Are you sure your mother emptied the purse herself and used up all the money in her travel?’ Anandi asked, reading Kaveri’s mind.

‘Yes, did your husband or brother-in-law ever visit your mother’s house with you?’ Kaveri followed up, speaking without thinking.

She regretted it immediately when Hiramma bristled. ‘My family may be a bit rough, but they are not thieves,’ Hiramma said, standing up.

‘Of course not,’ Kaveri soothed Hiramma.

But the mood had been broken. Hiramma glared at her. ‘I knew this was a mistake. I should never have agreed to speak to you.’ She stood up, hefting the bag onto her shoulder, and hurried down the road, refusing to look back.

‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ Kaveri said, mentally kicking herself for her tactlessness.

‘Nonsense. That brother-in-law of hers seems suspicious to me,’ Anandi said firmly. ‘What if the killer Kupamma asked you to find is in her own daughter’s house? I’m going to find out more about him.’

5 Chasing Squirrels

Kaveri and Anandi retraced their steps to South Parade. Venu met them at the alley, running swiftly down the lane, Putta loping beside him. Kaveri’s huge puppy ran straight to her, sniffing her unfamiliar costume, trying to lick the flutes with his rough pink tongue.

‘It’s time for Putta’s walk, so I went to your house and brought him along,’ Venu said proudly, as though he had fetched a rare prize for them.

‘Let’s take him and go back to the hut,’ Kaveri suggested. ‘The police must have left by now. I couldn’t get a good look at the place at night, it was too dark. I want to see if there is some clue we might have missed, however small.’

Anandi fondled Putta’s ears. ‘Look at this big baby, acting as though he’s been separated from you for years. As if he didn’t see you just this morning.’ Putta sat down and rolled over on the filthy street, displaying his soft white belly for scratches. Anandi obliged.

Kaveri groaned. ‘I just gave you a bath yesterday.’

Putta got up and shook himself, and she moved back hastily, wrinkling her nose at the sight of him, covered in dust, dry leaves, and some unidentified green goo that she didn’t want to think about too deeply.

‘Now he looks like the Ugliest Dog,’ Venu said with a mischievous smile, tugging on Putta’s leash.

‘Shhh,’ Anandi scolded him. ‘You’ll hurt his feelings.’

Kaveri walked a few steps behind, listening to them bicker affectionately, her spirits lifting. She had first encountered her darling mongrel dog when he won the Ugliest Dog competition at the annual horse, dog, and pony race, after which his owner had decamped with the prize money, abandoning Putta.

At this time of the day, with the sun almost directly overhead, everyone was inside, resting. No one was there to witness the sight of two dishevelled flute salesmen, one ragged urchin, and one smelly dog, making their way towards an immaculately shining Ford.

Kaveri unbuckled the heavy belt, placing it inside the boot with a sigh of relief. She took greedy gulps of cool water from the leather-skin bottle she had left in the car, then handed it to Anandi. Venu pulled out the large blanket they kept in the dicky for Putta, spreading it over the backseat, and pushed the dog inside.

A short while later, after tying Putta’s leash to a small tree outside the hut, they were inside, staring at the mess left by the police constable, who had spread fingerprint powder on every possible surface. Kupamma’s body had been removed, but they could see a trail of blood and a dusty outline that marked the place where she had fallen, and the grinding stone, with its edge still marked in blood.

‘How will we ever be able to find any clues now?’ Anandi grumbled as she walked up and down the hut, her arms folded across her chest. ‘You should have stayed back last night with Inspector Ismail and looked around some more.’ Anandi glowered at Venu. ‘Instead of going home and coming now—so late. We won’t be able to find any evidence.’

‘It was dark,’ Venu said defensively. ‘Kaveri akka tripped and almost fell. What if there were snakes around?’

‘I tripped on an onion, Venu. Though perhaps I was mistaken, and it was a fat, short, round snake,’ Kaveri said, trying to defuse the tension with a bad joke. Then she stopped, shaking her head. ‘Onions. How stupid of me.’ She moved around the hut, inspecting the floor.

‘There are no more onions here,’ Venu said doubtfully. ‘You don’t need to worry about tripping on them now.’

‘No, no.’ Kaveri turned to Venu, holding him by his shoulders. ‘You used to live in a hut much like this, before you saved money for a pucca house. Where did your sister-in-law keep the onions and chillis in your hut?’

She didn’t fill in the rest of the details. Only high-caste homes like hers could afford to have religious restrictions regarding food, refusing to eat strongly flavoured foods like onions, garlic, and mushrooms, because of their perceived associations with meat and impurity. The poor had little money to purchase meat or vegetables. Lacking money for oil and spices to flavour their food, they often ate plain rice boiled with salt, or a dry rotti, accompanied by a slice of raw onion and a bite of a green chilli, using the pungency to satiate their hunger.

‘We hang them from the roof, in a cloth bag that my sister-in-law made from an old sari,’ Venu said. ‘Why are you asking such questions? Every house does the same thing.’

‘Exactly,’ said Kaveri, pointing up at the roof, where a piece of rope hung down, its upper end tied to a hook, lower end dangling. ‘There must have been a bag or basket tied here, as there is in your house, Venu. Someone pulled it out and took it away, and the onions fell on the floor. It can’t be Kupamma, it’s more likely to be her killer.’

‘Why would he take a bag of onions away with him?’ Anandi asked. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

‘It’s a long shot,’ Kaveri agreed. ‘But perhaps there was something in that bag that the killer didn’t want anyone to see. Let’s look around outside and see if we can spot anything else.’

They left the messy hut, walking out and untying Putta from the tree. A squirrel darted in front of the dog and into the bushes. He dived in behind it, hind legs scrabbling for a foothold in the slippery mud. Kaveri looked at the copse of trees behind the bushes. ‘Venu, when you saw a ghostly figure leaving the hut, where did he go?’

Venu pointed to a small thicket of eucalyptus trees, a short distance from the bushes. They could hear Putta yipping joyously and bounding ahead of them, then stopping for them to catch up. When he caught sight of Anandi, Putta let out a small whine, cocking one ear at her. Then he lifted a leg, urinating against a neem tree.

‘Urgh.’ Anandi jumped back, lifting her lungi in dismay. Venu bent over double, laughing.

‘Wait,’ Kaveri exclaimed, moving past them. ‘There’s something here.’ She pointed to the heap of leaves on the ground. ‘This pile is too neat to be natural.’

Venu picked up a fallen branch from the ground, handing it to Kaveri. She stripped away the dry leaves, using the branch as a makeshift poker and sorting through the debris, her eyes brightening as she uncovered a circular patch of freshly turned earth.

She paused digging to catch her breath. Anandi took the stick from her and crouched down, taking a turn. Venu squatted next to her, using his hands to scoop out the mud. A few minutes later, Kaveri exclaimed ‘Stop! What’s that?’

She pointed to a brown, muddy piece of cloth. Venu pulled it out, and they looked at it. ‘It’s a bag,’ Anandi said, grinning at Kaveri. She put it to her nose and sneezed, hastily removing it and handing it to Kaveri. ‘Smells of onions.’

Kaveri brushed at the mud with her hands, removing as much as she could. Then she squinted at the print on the jute bag, partially obscured by dirt. ‘It’s one of Lakamma’s bags,’ she said, her voice high in surprise. ‘It has her company’s emblem on it, with the name of her processing unit in Coorg. What is it doing with Kupamma? Lakamma’s coffee is expensive, premium quality. Neither Hiramma nor Kupamma would have been able to afford it.’

‘There’s something inside,’ Anandi said, spotting a flash of white paper. She and Venu crowded around Kaveri as she pulled it out, studying the English print.

‘A bus ticket, to Mercara town in Coorg.’ Kaveri’s eyes were shining as she read it out to them. ‘Twelve annas for one-way travel. That’s one-and-a-half rupees for a round trip and matches what Hiramma said—her mother saved close to two rupees but spent most of it before she returned. Kupamma must have gone to Coorg, and something happened there that made her want to consult me—but she was killed before that could happen. Coorg may hold the secrets to finding her murderer.’

‘Let’s put back the mud and cover it with leaves again, in case the killer returns,’ Anandi suggested. ‘We don’t want to let him know that we have found the bag and put him on guard.’

Putta came over to them, joyfully scrabbling in the mud when he saw them digging in it. Anandi pushed him away, laughing.

Kaveri tugged at his leash, holding him with one hand, keeping a firm grip on the muddy bag which her heart told her could be one of their most important clues yet.

6 Milking Time

It’s milking time,’ Venu reminded Kaveri when they reached the car. ‘I have to go home.’

‘Stop off at the police station on your way,’ she called after him. ‘Tell the Inspector what we found.’ She gave him the ticket, wrapping the muddy bag in a large handkerchief and tucking it into her purse. ‘I’ll keep this to show it to Uma aunty to see if she knows anything more.’

Venu waved goodbye, running home to fetch his cow Kasturi. Keeping a firm hold on Putta’s leash, the two women got into the car, restraining the large dog from chasing a stray cat that had taken shelter under its bonnet.

‘We can’t go home looking like this. Your mother-in-law will throw a fit.’ Anandi sat up stiffly, looking distressed.

‘I have a plan.’ Kaveri gave her a cheeky grin as they drove past Bugle Rock, looking at the road lined with giant fig trees, decorated with bats hanging upside down from the tree branches. They reminded her of large, gloomy chandeliers.

She turned into the lane behind theirs, stopping in front of Uma aunty’s house. Kaveri’s elderly neighbour had told her she would be out for a while that evening, performing a puja at a local temple, but she would not mind if they used her garden. They disappeared behind the sheltering branches of the banyan tree to change their clothes, hidden from the road, and then returned to the car, giggling a bit as they did, giddy with relief. Now they were back in their saris, and Bhargavi would not know that they had ever been out sleuthing.

Normally one of her biggest supporters, of late Bhargavi had placed a lot of restrictions on Kaveri. She knew it was done with love, but Kaveri wished she could explain to her mother-in-law how caged she felt, stuck at home with nothing to do. The dark circles that Anandi had seen under her eyes were not because she was doing too much, it was because she was fretting too much. And Bhargavi was frequently out of the house during the day, leaving Kaveri alone with their maid, Rajammma, for company. Bhargavi’s cousin Shanthi ran a factory that produced blankets. Shanthi had recently expanded the factory to set up a second manufacturing unit and was increasingly leaning on Bhargavi for assistance.

Thrilled at receiving her matriculation degree some months back, Kaveri had planned to enroll in college, but with the baby on the way that was no longer possible. The cases she had received in recent days were far from interesting, and when she raised the idea of taking on one of the less tedious ones, Bhargavi looked so alarmed that Kaveri did not press her case. Even the ladies’ group she had founded, which met every week at her home for the women to practise reading, was on hiatus. Mala had gone with her assistant Narsamma to Mysore to close a business deal. Mrs. Ismail was also away, visiting her eldest daughter in Hyderabad. Except for Uma aunty and Anandi, she was all alone, with no one to buffer her from Bhargavi’s cossetting.

‘Maudlin wet goose,’ she muttered crossly to herself. She hated feeling so woebegone.

‘What was that?’ Anandi asked, hurrying to keep up with Kaveri. When Kaveri didn’t respond, she tugged at her sari. ‘Do you think we overdid it today? Your mother-in-law is right. You should stop all this detecting until the baby is born.’

‘I am pregnant, Anandi, not sick or diseased.’ Kaveri turned around, glaring at her. ‘Lakhs of women across India work in the fields and the house while carrying babies. I am not built for sitting still at home like a doll. I don’t know why athe expects me to stay indoors all the time. Because of her, we have to sneak out and change clothes behind a tree. A few months ago, she wouldn’t have batted an eyelid if I said I was going out even on a case at night.’

‘But Ramu anna was with you then,’ Anandi remonstrated gently. ‘Now he is in Coorg, setting up the new clinic.’

‘I wish he was here.’ Kaveri stopped abruptly, disliking the whine in her voice.

Anandi chuckled. ‘You were the one who sent him away,’ she reminded Kaveri.

‘What else could I do, Anandi, when Lakamma told me about the woman in Coorg who died in childbirth because there was no doctor? I thought it was just for a few weeks, and I could manage. I didn’t realise Bhargavi athe would become so nervous once he left.’

Kaveri’s voice trailed off when she saw Bhargavi standing at the back entrance of the kitchen, hands on her hips, her mouth set in a mutinous line. ‘Now I will get a lecture,’ she muttered.

Bhargavi bustled towards Kaveri, placing a hand on her forehead to check her temperature as she guided her into the house. She spoke nonstop in an affectionate scolding voice.

‘What took you so long, Kaveri? I came back from the factory to find you had left a note saying you and Anandi were going to South Parade to look for saris. It’s so hot outside. I could have called up the shop owner and asked him to send a set of saris home for you to select from. You shouldn’t be driving in your condition.’

Unable to face this barrage of questions, Anandi muttered an excuse about having work to do at the Women’s Shelter and melted away. Looking at Bhargavi’s anxious face, Kaveri bit back the retort that had sprung to her lips. She let her mother-in-law guide her into the house. Despite the initial hiccups that marred their relationship, they had grown very close in the past few months. In many ways, Kaveri felt even closer to her mother-in-law than she did to her own mother. She only wished Bhargavi would not fuss so much. Of course she did not intend to do anything rash, like her midnight escapades running from the police during the Prince of Wales’s recent visit.

Bhargavi settled her down on the sofa, bringing her a plate with slices of freshly cut white and pink guavas, seasoned with salt and chilli powder, and a tall glass of cool majjige. She put on the fan and placed a cool cloth on Kaveri’s forehead. Feeling childish and petty, Kaveri’s anger with Bhargavi evaporated. She relaxed on the sofa, smiling gratefully at her mother-in-law. ‘This feels good,’ she admitted.

‘You should just stay indoors for the next few months, until the baby is born. Stop all these newfangled ideas of going to college and teaching Anandi how to become a detective. You are going to become a mother now.’

The scolding in Bhargavi’s voice was overlaid with layers of affection and love. But Kaveri stiffened, the feeling of being trapped growing. She knew she should be grateful. Few women were as fortunate as her in having such a supportive mother-in-law. Bhargavi had wanted a large family, but after a number of miscarriages, had only two children—and that made her afraid for Kaveri. With Ramu gone, though, the constraints that Bhargavi placed on her movement chafed, and the weeks ahead of her loomed large and empty.

She leaned forward, spotting an envelope addressed in her husband’s familiar scrawl lying on a silver tray on the table. Her frustration melted away. ‘Did he write?’ she beamed at her mother-in-law.

‘Yes, he did,’ Bhargavi said, smiling at her. ‘You read your letter, while I heat up some frying oil in a bandale. I wanted to make some fresh baalekaayi bajjis for you. They are rich in iron, good for your baby.’ She went into the kitchen, tucking her sari pallu into her waist.

Kaveri resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at her mother-in-law. Sometimes, it seemed as though everyone thought of her as a vessel, a womb in which to carry a child. No one seemed to care if she was tired or rested, focusing only on whether the baby was being nourished.

But still… she was hungry.

She felt a flutter of movement in her stomach as her child kicked out. ‘Do you want to eat now?’

Kaveri patted the bump in her stomach, her heart melting with love. Then, placing her purse on the floor, which contained the evidence they had collected, she turned her attention to her husband’s letter.

7 Clues in the Coffee

Absorbed in her task, Kaveri did not hear the gate open and failed to notice the doorbell ring. Recently oiled, the hinges of their ornate rosewood front door swung open without a squeak.

Snoozing in a sunlit corner of the room, Putta opened an eye, thumped his tail in welcome, and went back to sleep.

‘That dog is dreaming of chasing squirrels again,’ Uma aunty said as she bustled into the room with an amused look. She stopped in her tracks, staring at the wickedly sharp blade in Kaveri’s hands. ‘What is that?’

Kaveri grinned, extending her palm to her neighbour, showing her what she carried. ‘It’s my new pen knife. Ramu got it specially made for me—see the magnifying glass at the end?’

‘To match the jewellery set he got specially made for you to commemorate your first case?’ Uma aunty held up the knife, examining it in the light. ‘It’s heavy. Is it silver?’

‘He didn’t want to give me a steel knife in case it rusted and gave me tetanus,’ Kaveri explained, taking it back from Uma aunty.

‘But why are you holding such a sharp blade? You need to be careful, Kaveri…’ Uma aunty looked meaningfully at her belly.

Kaveri snorted, quickly turning it into a cough. ‘Did you stop handling knives when you were pregnant? You still needed to cook for your family, didn’t you?’ Seeing Uma aunty’s injured look, she softened her voice and gestured to the envelope on the table. ‘My husband sent me a letter. I needed a pen knife to open it.’

Kaveri blinked back the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. It took two days for Ramu’s letters to reach her from Coorg, and two more days for her responses to return to him. By the time they exchanged one round of letters, everything they had written about had changed. How could she tell him she was physically well but the unused pillow next to hers had a Ramu-shaped dent in it that made her heart ache with longing.

Uma aunty’s face softened. ‘At a time like this, you should have your family by your side. I was telling Bhargavi only yesterday that she should tell Shanthi to stop calling her to the factory for some time.’

‘Shanthi akka needs her help at the factory too, especially since demand for blankets has exploded after the end of the Great War. Who else can she trust to handle such large sums of money, and pay her suppliers and workers on time?’

‘Married women usually go home for their deliveries. When I was pregnant, I was thankful to escape to my mother’s house, where I was pampered and looked after, instead of having to cook three hot meals for my husband,’ Uma aunty persisted.

‘Bhargavi athe looks after me well,’ Kaveri said defensively. ‘She has taken over all the cooking and makes sure I don’t do too much. Of course, I would like to see my father. But I know my mother will try to police my every move, reminding me that I am a respectable doctor’s wife and must behave like one.’ She smiled wryly, changing the subject. ‘My mother would be so angry with me if she knew what we were up to this morning.’

‘Well, what did you do?’ Uma aunty’s nose twitched. ‘I knew you were up to something today. I can see that look of excitement in your eyes.’

Kaveri laughed and tugged Uma aunty onto the sofa with her, quickly summarising the events of the morning. Coming to the end of her story, she reached into her purse, pulling out a large muddy jute bag that reeked of onions. ‘Do you recognise this?’

Uma aunty took it in her hands, turning it over curiously. ‘It’s one of Lakamma’s coffee bags. Why is it so filthy?’

‘Look at it carefully, aunty,’ Kaveri said. ‘It’s not the bag in which you or I normally get our coffee powder from Lakamma. See the print? This bag contained coffee beans. Lakamma imports coffee beans from her plantations in Coorg to Bangalore, but she doesn’t sell the beans here. She roasts and grinds them in Bangalore, and sells the powder. She told me once that she does it this way because the margins of profit on coffee powder are much higher.’

‘Lakamma is an excellent businesswoman,’ Uma aunty agreed. ‘The last time I visited her factory, a couple of weeks back, one of the delivery trucks was unloading cartons of coffee beans from Coorg. Lakamma gave me some of the beans, as a gift, to sample at home. You’re right, they were packed in bags like these. Do you think Kupamma went to Coorg?’

‘I think she did,’ Kaveri said. ‘We found a bus ticket to Mercara town inside the bag. The ticket cost was twelve annas, a small fortune for someone like Kupamma. No wonder she had to take up work in five homes.’

‘But Mercara is such a distance from Bangalore. Why travel so far?’ Uma aunty asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Kaveri said crossly. ‘Hiramma said that her parents had never been outside Bangalore before. I want to ask Lakamma if she knew her, but she’s still away on her temple tour and won’t be back for another month.’ She banged her fist on the table, setting her bangles clanking. ‘I wish I could go to Coorg, to follow up on the investigation. I could join Ramu there. He says he misses me.’

‘Gone only three weeks and already he can’t manage without his wife,’ Uma aunty teased her.

Kaveri blushed. ‘I am sure there is plenty of room in Lakamma’s bungalow for me. I have a strong feeling that the real clues to solving Kupamma’s murder are waiting in Coorg, not here in Bangalore.’

‘You should go to Coorg. You can—what do the English call it?—kill many birds with one stone. You can be reunited with Ramu and investigate Kupamma’s murder.’ Uma aunty nodded vigorously, her bun clip shaking in the air.

‘And what if I am wrong and the Coorg trip is a dead end for the investigation? We can’t let Kupamma’s murderer go free,’ Kaveri fretted.

‘Kaveri.’ Uma aunty’s voice was patient. ‘You have very few clues at this point. Only two, as a matter of fact. One which points to Hiramma’s brother-in-law, or some other member of her family, who might have killed Kupamma for her money. The other trail, which points to Coorg, seems like a more solid clue. Don’t worry about Bangalore. Inspector Ismail will continue with his investigations. Anandi and I will speak to Hiramma and investigate her family with Venu’s help.’

Kaveri stopped protesting when she heard the eagerness in Uma aunty’s voice. She had been so focused on how much she missed the activities of the Bangalore Detectives Club that she had given little thought to how bored her elderly neighbour must be feeling. Uma aunty was a core member of the club and had joined her on most of her previous adventures. Her creative energies were stifled at home by her disapproving son and daughter-in-law; she must be longing for action even more than Kaveri.

‘My mother-in-law will never agree to let me leave,’ she said instead. ‘I can’t tell her about the murder. She would throw a fit.’

‘Just tell her you miss Ramu,’ Uma aunty insisted. ‘And then leave the rest to me. I will convince her.’

Kaveri pressed Uma aunty’s hand tightly, letting go when Bhargavi came out of the kitchen with a shining silver tray, holding a plate of crisp vadas and tumblers of steaming frothy coffee.

Kaveri watched Bhargavi pour hot coffee from the tumbler into the dabara, blowing on it to cool it, and finally spoke up. ‘Your son wrote saying he wants me by his side. I would like to visit him too. I was wondering… if I could go to Coorg, stay with him for a few weeks, until his work is done.’ Kaveri waved Ramu’s letter at Bhargavi and pasted a smile on her face. Inwardly, she was quaking, waiting for Bhargavi’s reply.

‘What? No,’ Bhargavi responded instantly. ‘It’s too far away. I can’t send you there alone.’

‘I won’t be alone. Lakamma’s driver and car can come from Coorg to pick me up. And I won’t be alone in Coorg. She has a housekeeper, Janaki, who takes care of everything,’ Kaveri said hesitantly.

Uma aunty chimed in. ‘Bhargavi, stop hovering around your daughter-in-law like a hen with a chick. Don’t you trust your son to look after his wife in Coorg?’

When Bhargavi hesitated, Uma aunty added, ‘Look at this girl. She has dark shadows under her eyes. See how much she misses her husband? Your son is a doctor. Won’t she be safer with him than with you? I know you don’t want to accept it, but you have become so busy with your work at Shanthi’s factory these days that you are hardly home during the day. Kaveri is alone with Rajamma most of the time. Your face is also showing the strain of managing everything alone.’

Bhargavi’s shoulders slumped. She turned to Kaveri. ‘When you told me you wanted to stay here and did not intend to go to your mother’s house for your delivery, I was so honoured. Which other mother-in-law would be so fortunate to have her daughter-in-law say that she feels closer to her than her own mother? I feel so guilty about how I treated you when you first entered my house. I was so selfish, scared of losing my son, always finding fault with you.’ She gave Kaveri a small smile. ‘I wanted to take care of you. I have been trying my best.’

Moved to tears, Kaveri put her arms around Bhargavi. ‘You have been taking care of me. But I miss my husband. Especially at a time like this. I want him by my side, to share how I feel as the baby grows, to be with me when I feel it kick within.’

Bhargavi placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and nodded, suddenly giving in. ‘You should pack, if you aim to leave soon. We can call Ramu tonight and ask him to send the driver for you in two days,’ she said, standing up and moving towards the staircase that led to their bedrooms. ‘I will take out your warm clothes, so we can air them in the sun tomorrow.’

Kaveri gave Uma aunty a one-armed hug. ‘I never thought athe would agree. How can I thank you, Uma aunty?’

Uma’s voice wobbled. ‘You have given me so much already. You taught me how to read, showed me that I can think about what I want for myself, not just what my family needs from me. Can’t I do this much for you?’

8 The Air in the Mountains

Kaveri sat in the car two days later, her feet resting on a pile of bags, her back supported by a soft silk pillow. Lakamma’s car had arrived from Coorg late the previous night, a powerful Daimler, luxuriously upholstered in cream calfskin leather. Kaveri itched to drive it but restrained herself. She was an expectant mother, responsible for another life—it would be foolhardy to take a car she was not familiar with onto the twisting mountain roads. But she would take the wheel, she vowed. Once they arrived in Coorg, with Ramu by her side.

They drove past beautiful wayside avenues of mango trees, stopping to allow a rat snake to cross the road. Kaveri peered out the window, marvelling at the size of the snake, its trunk as wide as Venu’s skinny waist. The snake slithered onto a peepal tree draped in fresh new leaves, bright green and shining, like a newlywed bride resplendent in a green silk sari—the traditional symbol of fertility. Tendrils of pepper vine were wrapped around it—like a lover’s embrace, Kaveri thought, blushing.

Kaveri opened the carpet bag below her feet, pulling out the book she had packed for her journey. She admired the handsome leather-bound volume with gold lettering on the cover. The Manual of Coorg: A Gazetteer of the Natural Features of the Country and the Social and Political Condition of Its Inhabitants, by Reverend G. Richter, borrowed from her favourite library, the Sheshadri Memorial Library in Cubbon Park. The Coorgis were a warlike tribe much admired for their bravery, and she had been eager to learn more of the region’s history before arriving there. The book was old, written in 1870, but Ramu had recommended it to her as the most comprehensive history of the place.

And what a racy history it was. Ramu’s clinic was in Mercara, which became the capital of Coorg in 1681, established by the Coorgi king Muddu Raja. After that, the region seemed to have witnessed a never-ending history of bloody battles. The Coorgis first waged war against the Mysore rulers Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan with the help of the British, and later rose up against the British, before eventually ceding to the East India Company in 1834.

Seeing her immersed in the volume, her driver asked what she was reading. When she told him, he scoffed. ‘Why read books to learn about history? Ask us, the locals, for the real history, of how we were betrayed by everyone whom we thought were our allies. Even our last king Chikka Veera Rajendra died in England, alone and friendless.’

He slowed the car as they approached a bend in the road, gesturing to a distant hill topped with trees. ‘You should visit the Nalknad Aramane, the king’s beautiful wooden palace. It’s hidden within the forests on the top of that hill. It was built by the uncle of our last king, Dodda Vira Rajendra, the man they call the mad king. There’s a lovely little temple inside the palace, where he married his second wife, his favourite. He wasn’t mad then, of course…’ His voice trailed off.

Kaveri bit her lip, understanding his reticence. She had read of the atrocities committed by the mad king, who became insane with grief when his beloved second wife passed away, torturing and killing his subjects at will. Even the last king the driver had spoken of was no saint, as Lakamma had told her—seizing power from his aunt, who was the rightful heir, and putting her and the rest of his family to death in order to hang on to the throne. Not that any of it helped. In the end, he lost everything to the British.

‘I heard there is a secret tunnel from the fort in Mercara to the palace.’ She changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on tales of death and destruction with Kupamma’s murder still so fresh in her mind. ‘Is that true?’

The driver nodded. ‘Our last king used the tunnel to travel back and forth between Mercara and his secret forest hideout. It was active a few years back, and my father said he and his friends used it when they were children. But now it’s fallen in.’

He paused to let a troupe of monkeys cross the road. An infant hopped off the tree, jumping up onto the bonnet of the car to inspect them. Its mother jumped down from the tree and climbed onto the car, scooping him up and cuffing him around the ears.

Kaveri felt a flutter in her belly, and her heart skipped a beat as she imagined her child moving inside her womb. How wonderful it would be to finally share this with her husband.

The powerful car ate up the miles as the plains fell away from view. They climbed steadily. The open, grassy meadows and barren granite hills gave way to misty hills. Rolling down the glass, she stuck her head out of the window, greedily inhaling large gulps of the crisp, cool air. From this height, she could see thick forests draping the slopes like an olive green carpet, punctuated by bright green fingers of coffee on the gentler slopes. Embedded in the valley, small squares of emerald green paddy fields peeked out, like exquisite appliqué work on a silk sari.

There was much wealth in the mountains of Coorg. And poverty. The ups and downs of the hill country’s fortunes had left their mark on the landscape. Along the edge of the coffee plantations, delineated by the silvery-gray shade of the silver oak trees, she could see huts and hovels jutting out, black smoke rising from their chimneys. Their crooked walls and balding thatched roofs stood out like blotches against the red-tiled bungalows and the vivid green landscape. These would be where the workers lived. Ramu had described them to her in his letters. She wondered if she might find out more about Kupamma in these huts. The previous night, when she called Ismail to tell him about her plans to visit Coorg, he had encouraged her to make the trip, asking her to keep him informed, but warning her to avoid any risks.

‘I don’t want your mother-in-law to come after me, Mrs. Murthy,’ he said, but his voice sounded like he was smiling. Bhargavi and Ismail had got off to a rocky start initially, with Bhargavi disapproving of Kaveri’s involvement in Ismail’s police investigations. ‘Yet I have little choice. My superior officers would never let me come to Coorg on such slim evidence. But I have a strong feeling that the answers to Kupamma’s murders lie there, not in Bangalore.’

The driver slowed down to a stop, parking on the shoulder next to a large-leaved tree, heavy with jackfruit. He opened the car door and bent down, taking a sharp machete from the rubber mat below his feet. Kaveri stared as he cut down a large unripe jackfruit, carrying the heavy spiky fruit by its stem to the car, and placing it on the passenger seat.

‘The cook asked me to bring it with me, to make dinner,’ he explained, carefully wiping the machete with a rag before replacing it and starting the car.

Kaveri stared at the back of his head. ‘Do you always carry a macchu with you?’

‘Sometimes there are thieves on the road, and it’s good to have a weapon.’ The driver chuckled. ‘Once, a drunk man lurched out into the middle of the road with a knife and raised it at me. I had forgotten to carry my macchu, but I had a jackfruit. I used it to block his attack and hit him with it. He fell down and didn’t get up again till I had left.’ His shoulders shook as he laughed.

Weapons need not be obvious, Kaveri thought. People could be killed as easily by the sharp blade of a machete as by an innocent jackfruit. She hoped Uma aunty and Anandi were having some success with their investigations. They had planned to go to the Majestic bus depot today to ask the bus drivers if they had seen a woman matching Kupamma’s description board a bus to Mercara a little over a week before.

‘Do you know an ajji called Kupamma? She lived in Bangalore but visited Coorg recently.’ She leaned forward, tapping the driver’s shoulder.

‘There are lots of Kupammas in Bangalore, but I never heard of one from Coorg,’ he responded. ‘Why?’

‘She’s the mother of someone I know. I heard she was from somewhere around here, so I was just wondering,’ Kaveri demurred. The driver was right, Kupamma was such a common name in Bangalore, how would she ever find where her Kupamma went, or what she had seen that was so dangerous it got her killed? There was a lot of ground to cover. Even Lakamma’s plantations were spread across a large area, or so she had heard. She hoped she had not embarked on a wild goose chase.

The driver took a sharp right turn at a crossroads, and Kaveri’s heart lifted when she saw a painted sign telling them that Mercara was just thirty miles away. He slowed the car as they drove past a line of Coorgi women, babies tied to their backs, walking single file up the inner side of the mountain, carrying baskets heaped with produce for the market, many of them also carrying a small child perched on their hip. She admired their colourful saris, wrapped around one shoulder in the characteristic Coorgi style.

The car picked up speed again, accelerating past winding paths that led away from the main road towards tiny red-tiled cottages. The entrance to the paths were secured by wrought-iron gates, and Kaveri admired the intricacy of the fine work.

Ramu had written that he would meet her at the Mercara railway station and accompany her from there to Lakamma’s house. His clinic was very close to the station and surely they would be near it now. He had promised that he would keep a look out for her from his clinic window and once he saw the car, he would walk up to the station, arriving in a couple of minutes.

Kaveri’s spirits lifted when they approached the red and white building. She got out, rapidly scanning the groups of passengers standing in front of the station, her eyes seeing and dismissing the suitcases and holdalls piled up on the pavement. A man walked up and down on the platform, blowing a tin whistle loudly at a man who had jumped onto the train tracks, shouting at him to get off before the next train arrived.

Why was Ramu not here yet?

A thin man with a tired face framed by a bristling moustache came out of the door, hurrying up to Kaveri.

‘Mrs. Murthy, it is a pleasure to meet you.’ He folded his hands in a namaskara. ‘I am Lakamma’s cousin and the station master, Ganapati—Gana for short. Dr. Murthy has been called out for an emergency and asked me to take care of you till he returns.’ He gestured at the door. ‘Please, come inside and rest. We can have a cup of tea at the station, while you refresh yourself, and then go to the clinic. Your husband will meet you there in an hour.’

An hour? Kaveri’s face fell, but with the station master hovering around her, she smiled politely. She followed him inside, wondering a little about who this man was—he spoke English with ease and moved with confidence. And he said he was Lakamma’s cousin, from a wealthy family of plantation owners. Why was Gana working in a low-level job as a station master?

Kaveri patted her purse, feeling for the outline of the small, hardbound notebook she carried everywhere with her, making a mental note to ask Ramu about it later. Then she looked around as they walked into the charming little building, with its gleaming, freshly whitewashed walls and red-tiled sloping roof. The walls were covered with photographs of dignitaries who had visited Coorg, and Gana pointed out the portrait of the Maharaja in his elegant white flowing kurta and jewelled turban, standing in front of this very building, which she dutifully admired.

‘Mrs. Murthy, you must see the next photograph,’ Gana said, pointing to the image of the Prince of Wales. ‘It was taken by my cousin, just after the Prince visited Bangalore in January. Did you see him?’

Kaveri nodded, studying the sepia-tinted image, handsomely framed in elaborately carved rosewood. A booted foot elegantly placed on the carcass of a large tusker, one hand on a rifle, the Prince stared into the lens, looking handsome, cold, and aloof.

Gana’s voice boomed in her ears, fading in and out. ‘The United Planters’ Association organised a hunt for the Maharaja and the Prince in the forests. My cousin was in charge.’

Bile rushed to her throat, and she shuddered, looking away. These hunts were stage-manufactured to ensure that royal guests got their animal trophies and photographic evidence of their ‘courage’.

Gana didn’t seem to notice her revulsion. He continued speaking. ‘We located a herd of twenty-five elephants in the area and sent fifteen-hundred beaters to encircle the herd, ringing the camp with fires at night to keep them in place. We had this magnificent tusker in our sights from the beginning. On the day of the hunt, he turned rogue and tried to break away, but we drove him downstream using our tame elephants with experienced mahouts, across the river and into the stockade where the Prince stood waiting with his gun, hidden behind the tattis.’

‘What happened to the beaters?’ Kaveri asked. Ramu had told her how the unfortunate beaters and mahouts were often attacked by the enraged wild animals, while the men with guns stayed a safe distance away.

Gana shrugged. ‘Some of the other elephants broke out of the ring and attacked our men, but fortunately there were no major casualties. Just a few broken bones.’

‘A brave fight indeed,’ Kaveri said bitterly. ‘Men with guns, pitted against an elephant armed with only its trunk and tusks.’

9 Return to Bangalore, Detective Kaveri

Gana did not seem to have noticed the sarcasm in her voice. He hurried down the corridor, leading Kaveri into his office, a small but cosy-looking octagonal room with a square wooden table.

Gana seated her on the small sofa in the corner and then took his seat behind his wooden table, opening a large ledger. Waiting for the tea, Kaveri patted her rumbling stomach, searching for a topic that could distract her from thoughts of food. She peered into his ledger, trying to read the figures upside down.

Gana tapped the large book. ‘These are the census records,’ he explained. ‘The Lieutenant General asked me to prepare a list of how many elderly people there are, so we can offer them a discount on railway tickets.’

Kaveri seized the opening he had inadvertently provided, asking eagerly, ‘Is an old woman called Kupamma on your list?’ Then she bit her tongue. Kupamma lived in Bangalore, not Coorg—why would she be in Gana’s records?

The station manager appeared startled, consulting his register. ‘According to the census records of 1921, Mercara’s population is 28,795, of which 11,459 are female. I can tell you with confidence that not one of them is named Kupamma.’ He closed the book with a snap, adding, ‘It is not a Kodava name, or a name used by any of the other tribes who reside in Coorg.’

‘Oh,’ Kaveri said in a small voice, as Gana turned his attention back to the ledger. The driver had told her the same thing, but she had hoped the station master, who must know a wide range of people, might have had some information for her.

A couple of minutes later, a bearer came in, carrying a tray with tea, a plate piled high with food, and a large fruit bowl. He set the tray down in front of Kaveri, along with a pile of magazines. She browsed through them curiously, noting one of the titles, as Gana handed the bearer a pile of envelopes to be mailed out. Kodagu Weekly. Flipping through it, she raised her eyebrows when she encountered an article on Swaraj. Given the current political climate, this was a dangerous magazine to leave lying around so openly, especially in a railway station. He must trust her, then. Know that she shared the same views.

Of course, Gana was Lakamma’s cousin, and Lakamma may have told him about Kaveri before. Lakamma was a wealthy donor who had made many surreptitious donations of cash and jewellery to the independence movement.

Kaveri opened the page to an essay dissecting a recent speech of Gandhi’s, and poured herself a cup of tea, downing it in one swift gulp. The hot fluid, flavoured with fresh ginger and liberally sweetened with sugar, revived her from the fatigue of her long journey. She tucked into a bowl of thambuttu, relishing the aroma of the banana and rice pudding flavoured with cardamom and coconut, liberally dusted with toasted sesame seeds. Then she tucked into a bowl of litchis as she read the article, occasionally looking up to see Gana, still adding up numbers on a large open ledger.

Gana put down his pen, peering across the top of his spectacles at her. ‘Dr. Rama Murthy should be back at the clinic by now. The driver parked at the back of the station. Come, we can go out this way.’

They went down a long, narrow corridor and opened the back door, stepping out to the edge of a small, grassy plain. The car was parked on the grass, the driver nowhere in sight.

‘Must have gone out to smoke a beedi.’ Shaking his head and muttering about the lack of discipline in employees today, Gana set off at a brisk pace down the road, calling out for the driver. Resigned to another period of waiting, Kaveri stood next to the car, looking down at the valley below.

She heard a scratching sound and looked up, thinking that it must have come from the trees. But there were no trees in this part of the station.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a hint of movement inside the car. She pressed her face to the window and squinted, trying to see what was in there, but the sun shone down on the glass, reflecting her own image back at her.

The scratching sound came again from within the car. The car doors were closed, but the back window was open a few inches. She thought of the baby monkey she had seen a few miles back and hoped that one of those inquisitive animals had not made its way inside, becoming trapped.

There was still no sign of Gana or the driver. She looked around, spying a thick stick on the ground. Standing on tiptoe, she inserted the stick into the window, trying to touch the handle with the stick to open the door.

Kaveri let out a small shriek as a large cobra surged out of the window, its hood spread, tongue flickering in and out at her. Time seemed to slow down as the cobra slid further out of the car, rearing its hood back and hissing. She wanted to move but couldn’t, her limbs frozen, feet glued to the ground.

A cobra’s bite could be fatal. Her neighbour’s gardener had died of a snakebite only last month, leaving behind two young children.

With effort, she wrenched herself out of her stupefaction, using the stick to push at the hood of the striking cobra. Caught mid-strike, the snake overbalanced, falling down from the car onto the grass, tossing wildly.

Moving swiftly, Kaveri ran back into the safety of the station and closed the door, breathing hard. She heard footsteps and turned. Gana had returned with the driver. The two men stared at her in concern as she fought for breath, folding her arms protectively around her belly.

‘What happened?’ Gana asked, running up to her.

‘Cobra.’ Kaveri was surprised to hear her voice shaking. ‘There was a cobra in the car. It fell into the grass.’

‘I should not have left you alone,’ Gana said and kept repeating it, wringing his hands. The driver seemed more in control. He opened a wooden cupboard in the corridor, retrieving a long wooden stick with a forked end and a leather bag, and taking them outside.

‘Be careful,’ she said automatically, but she was speaking to his retreating back. Staying a short distance behind, curious about what he would do, she followed him as he approached the snake, which was coiled in the grass, basking in the sun.

He waved the forked end of the stick in front of the snake, and it immediately reacted, spreading its hood and attacking the stick. Standing at a safe distance, Kaveri caught her breath, admiring the beautiful cobra. Its golden yellow scales shimmered in the sun, its long tongue slithering in and out of its mouth as it bared its fangs, trying to lunge at the wooden stick.

In a couple of minutes, the driver had expertly pinned the snake’s neck onto the grass, holding it down with the stick so it could not strike. Placing the open mouth of the leather bag in front of the snake’s captive head with his left hand, he slowly released his hold on the snake with his right hand, pulling up the stick.

Seeing a place of safety, the snake slithered into the dark bag. The driver closed it immediately, holding it high in his right hand. He spoke to Kaveri in a reassuring tone. ‘You are safe now. It can’t harm anyone. I will release it into the forest.’

He ran down the lane. Kaveri suppressed an involuntary shiver. She could still see the bag moving and hear the faint sounds of the snake hissing and writhing inside.

Standing next to her, Gana shivered. The colour had drained from his face, and he looked as though he was about to faint.

He gave her a wan smile. ‘I was bitten by a cobra when I was very young. Those were the days before anti-venom. The woman who took care of me when I was a child was a tribal healer. She cut open my wound and sucked out the poison, spitting it out. It was the most horrible experience of my life. It took me weeks to recover; I had a high fever, nightmares. Ever since then, I have been terrified of snakes.’

The driver returned, showing them the empty bag. Seeming to get a grip on himself, Gana asked Kaveri to stay where she was and went ahead, commanding the driver to search the car and make sure there were no other snakes hiding inside.

She watched the two men, her heartbeat slowly calming down. Perhaps it was an accident. This area must be full of snakes.

The driver emerged from the car, looking triumphant. ‘No cobras here,’ he announced. She sat inside, waving goodbye to Gana, watching his anxious face slowly recede from view as the car moved away from the station. After the tension of the previous half hour, she could not wait to see her husband.

When the driver started the engine, and the car began to pick up speed, a flash of colour attracted her attention. She looked at her bag, lying next to her feet. Her pink sweater lay on top of the bag, which was wide open. It had been closed when they set out from Bangalore. She had closed it herself, after taking out a shawl to keep with her in the car.

Leery after the cobra incident, Kaveri asked the driver to stop, telling him to take her bag out and keep it on the road. ‘Be careful,’ she warned.

Looking puzzled, the man complied. He opened the bag completely, exposing the inside to Kaveri as she took a few steps back.

She peered at it, standing at a safe distance. On top of her pink sweater, someone had placed a sheet of paper with a message scrawled in bold letters. She handed the driver her silk kerchief, asking him to use it to take the paper out of the bag and hand it to her. Still holding it by the scrap of delicate silk, so that she did not obscure any fingerprints, she read the message under her breath.

Return to Bangalore, Detective Kaveri, if you want to stay alive.

10 A Whistling Ghost

I should have been with you,’ Ramu muttered. ‘But I was sent away, deliberately, by someone. A young boy came to me, saying that a man in Sakleshpura had fallen out of a tree and was badly hurt. It’s a small village of migrants, Tamilians from Salem, a mile from here, and only accessible through a dirt path. When I arrived, I found the village empty. Everyone was out working in the plantations, except for one old woman in perfect health, who seemed very surprised to see me. As soon as I realised that the message was fake, I got worried you might be in danger and returned to Mercara as fast as I could.’ He clutched Kaveri closely, as though he wanted to be a human shield around her.

Despite the warmth of the sun, Kaveri controlled a quick shiver when she noticed the grimy stains on his trousers, signs of his heedless dash through the forest. What would she have done if he tripped on a stone, or stumbled into a wasp’s nest, careless of his surroundings, intent on returning to her? He could have been trapped in the deep forest for hours, even days, with no one knowing where he had gone. Anger grew in the pit of her belly, and she welcomed it gladly. It chased away the fear and sharpened the senses.

‘Your message must have been sent by the same person who put the note in my car,’ Kaveri said, pushing him away gently to get more breathing space. ‘But why?’

Ramu waved his hand at the path to the clinic. They were standing just outside. It was a small, whitewashed building with a couple of rooms, at the end of a long, narrow driveway that led down from the main road. ‘Look at this place. It is so open. Everything is visible. If you had come here directly, as we originally planned, no one would have been able to touch the car without us seeing them. They counted on your stopping at the station to wait for me.’

He led her into the parlour of the clinic, seating her on a wicker diwan. Near the door, a large wooden coat and umbrella stand was kept in readiness for patients to divest themselves of their accoutrements before entering the clinic. A large fire crackled cheerily in the fireplace.

Kaveri unconvincingly tried to make light of the incident. ‘I doubt they intended serious harm to me. The note was meant as a warning. Even the cobra was not a real threat. If the person who left it there really wanted to kill me, they would have left the car doors unlocked. But they locked them, leaving just a small gap in one window, ensuring that the snake could not get at me. It made so much noise that I heard it well before I saw it,’ she reassured him.

He swallowed. ‘I will ask around to find the boy who came to me with the note, so we can question him. We must find out who left the note, and what they want to hide from you. That’s the best way to keep you safe.’

‘It’s unlikely to be Kupamma’s killer, don’t you think? Other than Venu, Anandi, and Uma aunty, no one else knows that I am in Coorg to investigate Kupamma’s death—not even Hiramma.’

Ramu narrowed his eyes. ‘Another murder? Kaveri.’ His voice was rough with suppressed emotion. ‘Who is Kupamma? Can’t you go a few weeks without getting involved in something dangerous?’

Kaveri winced. ‘I didn’t go seeking out a case,’ she protested. ‘An old woman called Kupamma was killed in her hut two days ago. I couldn’t tell you—it happened just before I received your letter. She took my name before she died, asked Venu for my help. I couldn’t refuse.’

She gave Ramu a quick summary of everything that had happened in Bangalore during the past couple of days, ending with Putta taking them near the spot where Kaveri discovered the jute bag. That finally brought a smile to Ramu’s face.

‘So with some training and encouragement, we might have a sniffer dog on our hands,’ he commented, rubbing his hands. ‘Well, well, who would have thought of it? Our Ugliest Dog has rare talents.’

Kaveri felt a pang of guilt when she heard the weariness underlying the humour in his voice. Her husband had overworked himself, as he had a tendency to do when she was not around to force him to rest.

Someone knocked at the door, and Ramu got up to open it, greeting a handsome-looking Anglo-Indian man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties. He handed the man a packet of medicine and closed the door behind Kaveri. ‘That’s Tom. He works for one of the biggest landowners and coffee planters here.’

Kaveri looked up at the name, taking her notebook out of her purse. ‘Let’s try and figure out who could have left the warning for me. Who are the people who seem most likely suspects to you? It had to be someone who knew I was coming here today.’

‘Most of Coorg does,’ Ramu said, biting his lip. ‘Saraswati is widely circulated here, and there are multiple copies in the library too. Many of my patients read Kalyanamma’s article on you. Lakamma’s driver told half the town that he was bringing you here this morning.’

The candlestick telephone on his desk rang, and he stopped speaking abruptly, looking at Kaveri. ‘No one ever calls me at the clinic. Only Lakamma has the number, but she’s not here.’

‘Pick it up,’ Kaveri urged, going to him.

Ramu picked up the mouthpiece, speaking into it tentatively. ‘Hello?’

‘Ramu? It’s me.’ In the earphone, the woman’s voice sounded tinny and distorted. Kaveri pressed close to Ramu, listening in. In the background, they could hear the sound of temple bells.

‘Lakamma,’ Kaveri exclaimed in delight. ‘Where are you?’

‘In Tirupati,’ Lakamma said. ‘But listen, I can’t speak for long. I am so glad I found you in Coorg. My plantation manager, Ramappa, sent me a telegram saying we are in trouble. My workers have stopped coming to the plantation because they are scared of the ghost leopard.’

‘So the news has spread,’ Ramu said. ‘I was afraid of this.’

‘News? A falsehood, spread by Colonel Boyd,’ Lakamma said scornfully. ‘Whoever heard of a white leopard.’

‘This one is real,’ Ramu assured her. ‘I saw it a couple of nights ago, when I was walking back through the forest after completing a delivery. The animal doesn’t look like a normal leopard. It’s white, instead of yellow. I thought it was a ghost too, until I heard the green-clad figure running with it whistle. The leopard responded to the signal and ran down the hill.’

‘But why are people afraid of it? Has the leopard attacked anyone?’ Kaveri doodled in her notebook, sketching a leopard running down a hill, chasing a man.

Lakamma sighed loudly. ‘You know how rumours spread. People claim that bad luck follows a sighting of the leopard. One man broke his leg while running downslope, away from it. Another woman was stung by bees after she placed her hand on a hive. Under normal circumstances, both incidents would have been dismissed as accidents.’

‘Superstition,’ Kaveri offered.

‘A costly superstition.’ Lakamma scoffed. ‘One that I can’t afford. I’m sure Colonel Boyd is behind it.’

Kaveri’s ears perked up at the repeated mention of Colonel Boyd. ‘He’s the man whom Tom works for, Kaveri. A wealthy Englishman who owns many of the plantations here. They call him the Coffee King. He moved into this part of the world two years back. Since then, he has steadily acquired quite a bit of the land, seizing most of it from small farmers,’ Ramu explained.

‘He hates me because I refused his offer to buy my property, and I am influential enough that he can’t browbeat me into submission.’ Lakamma’s voice echoed down the telephone.

‘Sounds like a nasty piece of work,’ Kaveri commented. ‘But what would he gain from this?’

‘I employ locals from nearby villages in the valley and pay them a fair salary. But like most British planters, Boyd imports labour from outside Coorg, paying them a pittance. His workers live inside the plantations and don’t have to walk through the forest. Once rumours of the leopard spread, my workers have become too scared to leave their homes in the early morning, when it is dark, to come to the plantation. They venture out only after sunrise, reaching work at around noon—that is, if they arrive at all. My berries are rotting on the bushes, and my foreman fears that we will lose the entire harvest. Find out who is behind the rumour, Kaveri—and if it is Boyd, expose his shenanigans. If you don’t, this year will be a disaster for me,’ Lakamma pleaded. ‘My manager, Ramappa, asked me to cut my temple trip short, but I can’t. I made a vow, and I have to fulfil it. It will take me at least a couple of weeks to return home. By then it will be too late to do anything.’

They said goodbye to Lakamma and put down the phone, moving to the sofa. ‘Boyd is certainly benefitting from the panic, though I don’t know if the man has the imagination to come up with something like the ghost leopard or the capability to train such an animal. He does have dangerous ambitions, though. Eventually, he wants to own the whole valley, driving everyone else away,’ Ramu said.

‘Well, he won’t drive me away.’ Kaveri placed her notebook firmly on the table. ‘Tell me more about the whistle you heard.’

‘A tin whistle,’ said Ramu, grinning at Kaveri. ‘The kind sold on street corners. My uncle bought me one when I was young, and I was in heaven, blowing on it at all times of the day, until my father confiscated it. Remind me to make sure we never buy one of these for our child.’

‘Our leopard is whistle-trained,’ Kaveri commented, sketching a whistle in the corner of a page. ‘Like the tigers we saw at the circus, who jumped through hoops of burning fire when their trainer blew the whistle?’

‘Leopards are even easier to train than tigers. Tipu Sultan kept leopards in court, with ruby collars and silver leashes, to keep people in check.’

‘Where did you hear that from?’ Kaveri asked, gently teasing him. The mantlepiece in their bedroom in Bangalore was stuffed with a hodgepodge assembly of silver cups and shields, trophies collected by Ramu in his college days, when he was an avid quizzer. Her husband’s head was stuffed with arcane pieces of trivia, which she never tired of hearing.

She tapped Ramu on his shoulder. ‘I came to Coorg with one objective, but now my tasks are multiplying. First, I have to find who Kupamma visited, and what she encountered that was so dangerous it took her life. And now a second task, to find out what’s going on with the ghost leopard.’

‘In all of this, don’t forget your most important task,’ Ramu reminded her. ‘Taking care of yourself. And our baby. No case is worth risking your safety.’

‘I will be careful.’ Kaveri placed her hand on her rounded belly. ‘I promise.’

11 Detection, Detection, All the Time

At Lakamma’s bungalow the next morning, Kaveri picked up a week-old issue of the Times of India newspaper, flipping through a front-page article titled ‘The Englishman’s Approach to Driving.’ She winced when the writer described a series of recent car accidents on steep mountain bends, and the calamitous consequences of rash driving in British India’s hill stations. Reading about a child who narrowly survived a recent crash, Kaveri sent up a silent prayer to her patron saint, Raghavendra Swami, to protect her and her child on these mountainous roads.

Kaveri pushed away the paper, seeking a way to calm herself. Ever since she tested the warning note for fingerprints and found it clean, she had been unable to relax. Whoever wrote the warning, they were seasoned at covering their tracks, wearing gloves or wrapping their hands in cloth to avoid leaving any identifying prints.

She breathed deeply and spotted the unusual orchid blossom in the crystal vase on her breakfast table. It looked exactly like a butterfly. She pulled out her sketchbook; art always calmed her.

Last night, after her long trip to Coorg, followed by the close encounter with the cobra, she had been so tired that she fell asleep as soon as they reached Lakamma’s bungalow. She had barely registered Ramu waking her, feeding her dinner in bed, and helping her back to sleep.

Completing her sketch, she put her notebook away, relaxing. The air smelt clean, like someone had washed it and hung it out to dry. Smoke rose from a single solitary cottage far below them.

‘Why is this landscape so empty of homes?’ Kaveri asked Ramu, who had just walked into the verandah. He pulled out a chair, joining her for breakfast.

‘This is a plantation village, so only the owners live here, with their staff. The workers’ homes are down in the valley. Gana and his older brother Ponnappa own the plantation in the middle, with Lakamma’s plantation to the left, or east, and Colonel Boyd’s to the west.’

Kaveri shifted in her chair. ‘Gana perplexes me. He is Lakamma’s cousin, a planter in his own right. Why has he taken up a low-paying station master job?’

‘Ponnappa and Gana worked the plantation together and shared their family home. Everything seems to have changed in early 1921, when Colonel Boyd arrived in town. Boyd wanted to partner with them. Ponnappa agreed, but Gana refused. The brothers fell out, and Ponnappa banned Gana from the plantation. He was finding it difficult to make ends meet, so Lakamma helped him get the railway station job.’

Kaveri wanted to ask more questions, but she dropped the topic, looking at Ramu. He did not look like he had slept well. His face was still ashen.

Kaveri remembered her mother-in-law’s warning to her, before leaving Bangalore. ‘Don’t keep talking about detection, detection, all the time, Kaveri. It’s not healthy for the baby.’

‘How is the woman whose child you delivered? The one you wrote to me about?’ she asked.

‘It was touch and go. Thank God she survived.’ The lines of fatigue on his face deepened. ‘The baby is healthy, but the mother lost so much blood. I gave them some money to buy meat and make mutton bone broth for her.’ His eyes flashed with anger. ‘Colonel Boyd should be horsewhipped for his treatment of his workers. They cannot take leave even for a couple of days for fear of losing their jobs—not even the pregnant women.’

‘And these people are so proud,’ he continued, rubbing his eyes. ‘They will take a few rupees from me, here and there, to purchase better food for their children. But they refuse to accept any money for themselves.’

Kaveri pushed her fist into the soft cushion in front of her. ‘There are so many employers like this in Bangalore too. Did I tell you? Last week, Lakamma finally submitted her petition to the Dewan, demanding equal pay for women workers. In most factories, women get less than half of what the men do. The children even work for free in exchange for two daily meals. Even the Dewan was horrified when he saw the data.’

‘All of this happened because women were finally allowed to join the Mysore Representative Assembly, Kaveri. Remember the day of the vote?’

Kaveri giggled. Once she’d identified the blackmailer who was trying to prevent Lakamma’s supporters from voting for her, she had asked one of her first clients—the man from Majjigepura, the village of buttermilk—to block the gate in front of the man’s house. The blackmailer had to fight his way through a herd of unruly goats and reached the meeting covered with goat hair and smelling of dung and too late to sabotage the vote.

Ramu drained his coffee, then set it down on the table. ‘I hate to leave you like this, Kaveri, especially on your second day here. But I have several urgent appointments at the clinic. Janaki, Lakamma’s housekeeper, said she would give you the tour of the house.’

‘The fog is rising from the hills. Drive quickly and safely,’ she said, giving him a small push.

She walked to the gate, watching him drive down the winding road. Soon, he was swallowed by the mist rising from the hills. The fog rose swiftly, erasing the rosebushes in the garden, and then the path beneath her feet. She shivered, pulling her shawl around her, quickening her steps towards the house. She had seen little of it the previous night and was eager to take the promised tour.

The housekeeper Janaki met her at the entrance, smiling. Kaveri followed her in, perplexed when Janaki headed straight to the bathroom. Her eyes widened when she saw the bottle of hair dye on the counter. She picked it up, studying the label. NOTHING IMPARTS NATURAL BLACK COLOUR TO WHITE SNOWY HAIR LIKE OUR MATCHLESS MORNING STAR HAIR DYE! the bottle proclaimed. So this was the secret of Lakamma’s youthful-looking hair.

Janaki was waiting for Kaveri to put the bottle down. As soon as she did, the housekeeper opened a tap with a flourish, pulling Kaveri’s hand into the stream of water.

‘Hot water? My husband told me about taps like this in London, but this is the first time I am seeing one. How does this work?’ Kaveri asked.

‘We have a hande on the roof, where we heat hot water the usual way, using firewood. A pipe comes down from the roof, taking hot water from the hande to the bathroom,’ Janaki said.

‘But how does the water get up to the roof?’ Kaveri persisted.

‘My husband, Chandru, carries buckets of water from the well upstairs, along with the wood,’ Janaki said airily.

Kaveri left the bathroom, shaking her head. It seemed like a lot of effort just to get hot water from a tap. She followed Janaki upstairs, admiring the delicate lacelike tracery on the wrought-iron staircase. Her eyes widened when she walked into the gathering hall that took up half of the top floor, its black-and-white checkerboard parquet floor tiles setting off the gracefully carved rosewood pillars.

‘This hall can hold as many as sixty people at a time. The family was large.’ Janaki’s voice was wistful. ‘All functions were held here. That was before so many people died, taken by the plague, cholera, flu. We keep it locked now, most of the time.’

She showed Kaveri the two large bedrooms on the top floor. ‘Before I knew you were pregnant, I thought we would make one of these up for you. But you shouldn’t be climbing too many stairs in your condition.’

Kaveri rolled her eyes at Janaki’s comment as she followed her down the stairs again. Women like Janaki bore multiple children and worked throughout their pregnancies. The exercise kept them healthy. But women like Kaveri, who employed others to work for them, were expected by society to sit indolently in a chair, eating sweets and fried goodies, and refraining from housework, even from climbing stairs. While their maids and housekeepers scurried behind them all day, not seeming to notice the contrast.

She set aside all thoughts of chairs and sweets when she entered the parlour on the ground floor and saw the large musket mounted on the wall in a silver bracket. A curved silver sword and dagger hung on the opposite wall, their sharp blades gleaming with polish. Above them, a silver shield was emblazoned with the face of a snarling leopard.

‘Oh,’ she said faintly. ‘Isn’t this dangerous? To keep weapons in the open, where anyone could steal them?’

‘I forget you are new to Coorg,’ Janaki smiled. ‘Every home has a rifle here, as well as swords and daggers. On Kail Podh, after the rice is harvested, every house worships their weapons, after which the men set out on a hunt. Young men make their first kill, demonstrating that they have become adults. If someone kills a tiger, then there is a grand feast in the Ainmane, their ancestral home.’

Kaveri moved closer to the wall, carefully testing the blades of the sword and dagger. They were razor sharp. It really didn’t seem safe to her to leave them lying around so casually.

Janaki looked at her. ‘What are you thinking about?’

Kupamma’s death.

Kaveri bit back the words. Instinct told her not to speak too openly, at least not at first. It could be dangerous.

She caressed her stomach, dissembling. ‘My friend’s caretaker Kupamma grew up in Coorg but passed away in Bangalore recently. Rukmini asked me to find out if anyone here remembers Kupamma—old friends, or relatives. She is eager to get in touch with them and learn more about Kupamma’s younger days.’

‘I have lived here since I was a child, but never heard of any local called Kupamma. Why would you name your child ‘garbage’? I know some parents call their children names like that to ward off ill luck—especially when several older children have died in the family. But we don’t follow such traditions in Coorg,’ Janaki said.

The fog had lifted, and Janaki disappeared into the kitchen, which was in a separate wing projecting from the back of the bungalow. Kaveri followed her inside, looking at the capacious cupboards with their wide shelves, the shining copper and brass utensils hanging on nails hammered into the walls. A door on the side led into a spacious storeroom, lined with aluminium tins neatly labelled with their contents—rice, ragi, sugar, and various dals. Smaller glass jars on the upper shelves held spices—large, curled sticks of cinnamon bark, fragrant pods of vanilla, slivers of dried coconut, dried slices of ginger, and bottles filled to the brim with cumin, coriander, and mustard seeds. Janaki opened a cupboard door, taking out a recipe book from inside. ‘I am going to make a new type of cake,’ she said, smiling.

Kaveri smiled back, a bit surprised but pleased, thinking how unusual it was for a cook to know how to read. Her regard for Lakamma, already high, increased further.

She returned to the verandah, nibbling at a coconut macaroon from the tin Janaki had placed in her hand. A handsome barbet hopped closer to her, eyeing the biscuit she held, going ‘coootttttrrrr, coootttrrr.’ Kaveri spoke coaxingly to it, holding out a biscuit crumb, trying to entice it to hop onto her hand.

She heard the anguished sound of metal grating on metal and whirled around.

12 Mumbo Jumbo

Squatting on his haunches in front of a bed of roses, Janaki’s husband, Chandru, was applying a pair of ancient shears to the bushes, the metal blades making a horrible screeching sound as he pruned the tough stems. His face was dour and pinched. As silent as his wife was talkative, thought Kaveri.

Perhaps that was best. Imagine if both husband and wife were equally garrulous, going wata wata wata at each other.

She thought of asking him about Kupamma, then hesitated. Janaki and he might compare notes later. If they both discovered Kaveri had been asking about Kupamma, they might wonder why she was so interested in this particular woman. She didn’t want her questions to become the topic of gossip, to spread around town. If Kupamma’s killer was in Coorg and heard about her interest, it would put him on his guard.

Perhaps she could quiz Chandru about the spirit cat instead. Another peculiar observation that didn’t make sense. Without any proof that it was related to Kupamma’s mysterious visit to Coorg, Kaveri was going on instinct. Two strange happenings, so close together in space and time—wasn’t there some thread that connected them?

‘Is it safe to walk in the forests outside?’ she began in a casual tone, watching him carefully as she spoke. When Chandru grunted, Kaveri followed up.

‘Are you sure? I have heard that a white leopard stalks these forests, searching for prey.’

‘I don’t believe in such nonsense. The sun plays tricks on people’s eyesight in the mountains,’ he said in a gruff voice. ‘There are no white leopards here. It must have been a bright day. Their eyes got dazzled in the light.’

The man doth protest too much, Kaveri thought, her ears pricking. She studied the stiff lines of his back, noting the way he had angled himself so that he was out of her direct line of sight. She remembered the dour gardener in Century Club, whom she had to charm last year to help her search for a murder weapon. What kind of a topic would hold Chandru’s interest?

‘You have so many types of roses,’ Kaveri said, walking over to the lawn where he squatted in front of the rosebush patch, deadheading the overblown blossoms.

He grunted in assent, keeping his eyes averted from her, as he moved his clippers through the small patch. With rising fascination, she observed a set of rare varieties farther back—a purplish rose, almost black; a red rose with white stripes; and a rose with two different colours of petals.

When Chandru noticed her looking at these bushes, he seemed to soften, turning to face her. ‘I graft them,’ he said, pointing to a section of the red-and-white rosebush. ‘I learnt from a book by Reverend Richter, in the Mercara library.’

‘You can read?’ Kaveri’s interest was piqued.

‘I take them from the library and read them to him.’ The voice was soft, musical. It came from over her left shoulder.

Kaveri spun around. She had not heard anyone approach. Yet, there she stood, just a foot away. The girl was about sixteen years, dressed in a simple cotton sari, faded with exposure from the sun, patched and stained with streaks of mud and dotted with the remnants of dried leaves. She dug her bare toes into the grass, pulling out a weed with her left hand, and then saw the fresh patch of mud on her sari, brushing at it unsuccessfully with her right hand.

‘Chandru anna has a green thumb, but no one takes him seriously,’ the girl continued in a serious tone. ‘In these hills, all people talk about is coffee, coffee, coffee, all day long. Some people plant pepper and cardamom occasionally, but no one realises what a profit we would make if we added other produce like flowers, or fruits. Reverend Richter was one of the first planters who experimented with different ways to grow coffee and other crops in Coorg. I borrowed his Manual of Coorg from the library for Chandru. He’s now become an expert on grafting roses and is trying out experiments on coffee bushes.’ She stepped forward, confidently holding out her hand to Kaveri. ‘I am Ratna, Gana’s daughter.’

Ratna was slender and tall, even taller than Kaveri. Standing on the wet grass, the sun reflecting in a golden glow off her skin, she smiled down at Kaveri, her eyes open and full of hope.

‘Lakamma aunty says you are a famous detective. I heard you saved the Prince of Wales from being attacked in Bangalore and put a ring of drug smugglers in jail. Have you really passed your matriculation in mathematics?’ She paused breathlessly, waiting for Kaveri’s nod, and then continued. ‘I want to learn botany, but we don’t have any high schools here. I was planning to study in Bangalore, but we don’t have the money, so I am teaching myself, by getting books.’ She reminded Kaveri of a young frisky puppy that Dr. Roberts had adopted recently with irrepressible energy.

Chandru cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, but Ratna ploughed on, ignoring him. ‘I need your help to resolve a mystery.’

Kaveri stared at her for a long moment. What was it about these hills, where mysteries seemed to proliferate at every turn?

‘Is it about the ghost leopard?’ she asked, hoping she would not be confronted with a new problem.

Chandru threw down his shears on the grass, his back stiff with resentment. He pulled off his muddy gumboots then took them in his hand and stomped away, rinsing them clean at the tap at the far end of the lawn. After noisily washing his feet, he walked away, leaving large wet footprints on the tiles in the verandah, and disappeared around the corner of the bungalow, heading towards the small room at the back where he and Janaki slept.

Ratna’s words faded to a buzz, as Kaveri focused on Chandru’s retreating figure. She moved forward, blinking her eyes, focusing on the floor.

Ratna came up to her, taking her arm and bending to see what she was looking at.

‘Just an insect,’ Kaveri improvised hastily, looking up at Ratna. ‘What were you saying?’

‘I said, I don’t believe in ghost stories and other mumbo jumbo. Don’t tell me you do either. No, I want to ask you—’ she stopped, looked around hesitantly, and dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘I can’t tell you here. Even the walls have ears in Coorg. Tomorrow, come to the sacred forest, the devara kaadu, at four P.M. I will meet you inside. The priest is my uncle. We can talk in private, where we will not be overhead.’

13 Inherited Disorders

Later that night, after dinner, Kaveri and Ramu moved into the bungalow’s large drawing room. As soon as Chandru took away the last dinner vessels, Kaveri put her finger on her lips, warning Ramu to silence. She peered out of the rear window, watching him and Janaki enter the kitchen, and then closed all the windows, pulling down the thick wooden shutters and bolting the door.

Ramu looked fatigued. ‘I searched for the messenger boy who delivered the false message that sent me haring off to Sakleshpura, but couldn’t find him anywhere. There are many migrant families working in the coffee plantations, especially those owned by the British. They keep to themselves and rarely venture into town. He may be in one of those groups. If so, it’s not going to be easy to trace him.’

‘Never mind,’ Kaveri soothed Ramu, tugging him towards the telephone. ‘Let’s call Inspector Ismail. I have news for him—and you. I was waiting for Janaki and Chandru to leave.’

She dialled the operator’s number, waiting with impatience till they connected to the police station and she heard the Inspector’s deep voice.

‘Mrs. Murthy!’ She could hear the pleasure in his voice at her call. ‘Did you find any trace of Kupamma in Coorg?’

‘I started with the people closest to Lakamma, most likely to have seen the coffee beans being packed or to have noticed a stranger in the area. But both Gana, who is Lakamma’s cousin and the local station master, and Janaki, her housekeeper, don’t seem to know of her. Both insist that Kupamma is not a Coorgi name. But I saw something very strange this afternoon, which may be a clue. Kupamma had six toes on her right foot, correct? An extra small toe that stuck out on the right side?’

‘Indeed, Mrs. Murthy. Her daughter Hiramma also has the same condition,’ Ismail confirmed.

Kaveri gave a small cry of delight. ‘You are so observant. I was kicking myself for not having noticed Hiramma’s feet.’ She lowered her voice again. ‘Janaki’s husband Chandru is the gardener here. This afternoon, when Chandru finished working on the rosebushes, he washed his feet and walked down the verandah in his bare feet. I saw the wet outline of his feet on the tiles. Chandru also has an extra toe on the right foot.’

‘But what does that signify?’ Ismail sounded skeptical. ‘It could be a coincidence.’

‘Unlikely. I have seen a few patients with extra digits on their hands and feet, but it is rare and often runs in the family, like parent and child, or siblings,’ Ramu said.

‘My biology textbook had a section on consanguineous marriages, in families that have intermarried for generations,’ Kaveri added. ‘In such families, it is common to see disorders like extra digits.’

‘Or even more challenging issues like deafness or hemophilia,’ Ramu said soberly. ‘Many of Europe’s kings and queens had a problem with excessive bleeding, all because a common ancestor lacked a gene for blood clotting.’

‘Then Chandru and Kupamma are likely to be related? How old is this Chandru?’ Ismail asked.

‘Fifty years, perhaps fifty-five. His children with Janaki are grown and married,’ Ramu said. ‘Kupamma must have been about seventy. She could be his older sister.’

‘But remember, when I asked Janaki, she insisted she had never heard of someone called Kupamma, protesting that it was not a Coorgi name at all. She is definitely hiding something,’ Kaveri said, brooding.

‘Janaki and Chandru have worked with Lakamma for decades. She trusts them enough to leave her home in their care and take off on a temple tour for several weeks,’ Ramu objected.

‘Criminals come in all shapes and sizes, Dr. Murthy.’ Inspector Ismail sounded uncharacteristically hopeful. ‘I will ask my counterpart in Coorg to do a discreet background check on Chandru and tell me what he learns. Meanwhile, please be careful. Don’t approach him until I have had the opportunity to find out more about this man’s background.’ He said goodbye, disconnecting the phone.

‘Do you want to call and speak to Uma aunty, find out if she, Anandi, and Venu have discovered anything yet?’ Seeing Kaveri cough, Ramu fetched her a glass of water.

She sipped it gratefully, smiling at him. ‘I called home already and left a message for Uma aunty with Bhargavi athe. She said that Uma aunty will call us tomorrow.’

‘How is my mother?’ Ramu asked.

‘She seems too busy to miss us.’ Kaveri grinned. ‘Athe was very excited. The Army has placed a large order for blankets today, to take to Egypt.’

‘My mother, the businesswoman. Who would have thought it,’ Ramu said with some pride.

The brilliant facets of the chandelier reflected off the polished surfaces of the teakwood cupboards along the walls. Kaveri took out a large photograph album kept on the open shelf below the table and began flipping through it. Kaveri’s gaze lingered on the photographs of Lakamma’s wedding. ‘Here is another businesswoman, but one who had to struggle much more,’ she remarked softly. ‘When I see her as a young bride, I can tell the difference. She is still beautiful, but the innocence has disappeared from her face.’

‘Lakamma has had a hard life,’ Ramu responded, putting on his spectacles to see more clearly. ‘Running a large plantation empire on her own and fending off her husband’s male relatives’ attempts to take charge would not have been easy. She had to become tough. Thankfully, she was able to keep her family together, unlike her cousins. Boyd has certainly succeeded in creating a rift between Gana and Ponnappa and seems to be very close to gaining control over their lands.’

‘How did he manage that?’ Kaveri asked.

‘Boyd suggested that they get into a partnership. Gana disliked Boyd on sight. He’s a smart man, with the same instincts that Lakamma has. He refused to socialise with Boyd, or to entertain his requests. But his older brother likes the finer things in life—whiskies, cognac, and cigars. Boyd started drinking with him, then introduced him to cards. Now Ponnappa is deep in debt to Boyd and completely under his control. He joined hands with Boyd, and when Gana protested, he threw Gana out of the plantation’s day-to-day management, refusing to pay Gana his share of the profits. That’s when Lakamma got Gana a job at the station. The brothers’ feud has hit Ratna the hardest. She was supposed to go to Bangalore to take up a high school degree.’

Kaveri winced. ‘What about Ratna’s mother?’

‘She died a few years back, when Ratna was quite young. I believe she is very close to her aunt, Mrs. Ponnappa, who brought her up almost like another child. But the rift between the brothers has affected their relationship too.’

‘Poor Ratna. Why doesn’t Gana go to the police? Or to a lawyer?’ Kaveri asked.

‘Family honour and pride. As it is, everyone in town is gossiping about his feud with his brother. He probably doesn’t want to stir up any further rumours. I know he fears the impact that all of this will have on Ratna’s marriage prospects. He is looking for grooms for her, so she can get out of this mess and into a more comfortable home.’

‘Perhaps we can help the brothers reconcile and get Colonel Boyd out of their lives, so that Ratna can go to Mysore and study. She is very bright, confident. She will do well at school.’ Kaveri spoke in a rush.

Ramu reached out and took her hand. ‘Kaveri.’ His voice was gentle, but tears pricked her eyes.

She flung herself off the sofa and paced up and down the room. ‘I know what you are going to say. It is none of our business. But we can’t sit here and do nothing.’

‘Ratna asked to meet you tomorrow evening. You can speak to her then.’ Ramu got up and put his arm around her, holding her close. ‘You need a plan of action for the morning too, Kaveri. Otherwise, you will just sit in the house, brooding. Why don’t you visit the coffee processing area and speak to Lakamma’s plantation manager? You can find out what he knows about the rumours of the ghost leopard, and also follow up on the jute bag. Perhaps you will get more information on Kupamma there.’

‘Why didn’t I think of that before,’ Kaveri muttered. ‘That’s the most likely place to get news of Kupamma. Sometimes, I feel like my brain has slowed down so much.’ She mock-frowned at her belly. ‘If I am losing my wits, I hope you are gaining them, little one.’

‘You’re just tired, after your hectic departure from Bangalore, and the long travel here. You will be back to your normal sharp self soon,’ Ramu soothed her.

The gate creaked. Curious, Kaveri peeped out the window. Chandru was outside, a leather water bag looped around his right hand, and in his left hand, he carried a stout wooden stick.

An owl screeched, an unearthly shriek that made the hair on her nape stand up. It flew past her, its huge wings spread out, chasing a mouse as it darted across the lawn. The owl swooped down, snatching the mouse up in its talons. The tail of the mouse writhed, visible for an instant in the moonlight before the owl soared away, merging into the branches of the trees.

Ramu came up to her, following the direction of her eyes, watching Chandru disappear down the path. ‘Where on earth is he going at this time of the night?’

14 Respecting the Forest

We don’t just grow coffee,’ Ramappa, the wizened old manager taking Kaveri on a tour of Lakamma’s coffee estate, said the next morning, stopping on the narrow dirt path to let Kaveri catch up with him. ‘We also grow cocoa, vanilla, and rubber. And now we have planted tea in a few pockets too. Lakamma madam is always experimenting with something new.’ The pride was clear in his hoarse, cracked voice.

‘How long have you been working here?’ Kaveri asked.

‘My father’s first job was on the Mercara Estate, which Mr. Fowler started in 1854. I started working with him when I was fifteen, but I worked on my own farm well before that, beginning when I was very young, about six, accompanying my father. My family owned a few small patches of coffee in Nalknad, but we cultivated it the traditional way.’

‘What does that mean?’ Kaveri asked.

‘We knew how to respect the forest,’ he said, pointing to a giant tree next to the meandering path taking them towards the coffee plants covering the hillside. ‘Coffee came to us as a sacred gift from Yemen, brought by the Sufi saint Baba Budan when he came back from Hajj hundreds of years ago. We treat it with respect, not taking more from nature than it wants to give us.’

Ramappa stopped, picking up the branch of a tree that lay in their path and dragging it to the side. ‘Elephant,’ he said briefly, showing Kaveri the place where the branch had been sheared away from the main trunk. ‘We are in the forests that used to be their home, but it’s another excuse for people to hunt them.’

‘Shoot elephants?’ Kaveri stopped, staring at him.

‘Not on our estate, or on Ponnappa’s. But the English planters are always ready to fire their rifles—bison, boar, elephant, tiger.’ He stopped, chewing on a piece of bamboo. ‘We also used to hunt a lot, but not anymore. We have seen the number of wild animals reduce after we expanded our plantations. These days, our hunts are mostly ceremonial, and we restrict ourselves to smaller animals, like wild rabbits and pheasants.’

The path opened into a valley, and they stood there, looking out into the distance. Ramappa removed his binoculars from his skinny neck and handed them to Kaveri. She focused the lens to see what he was pointing at.

‘Is that a building?’ Kaveri peered through the binoculars. It looked like a crawling mass of plants, from which the pointed top of a white roof was sticking out.

‘That’s Fowler’s bungalow, in the middle of his estate. He was the first British planter in Coorg. We had planted coffee in the shade of the forest trees, but he chopped down all the trees and exposed the coffee plants to the sun, insisting that they would yield more. For the first few years, it worked. But these hillsides have steep slopes. Without the tree roots to bind the soil, it washed away in the rains, exposing the roots and weakening the bushes. Then the borer worm attacked, destroying the already delicate plants. That’s when the Lantana took over. It’s the only thing that will grow in that benighted soil.’

‘Near my home in Basavanagudi, so many empty plots have been overrun by Lantana,’ Kaveri said. ‘It grows on everything in sight. But how sad, to see such a beautiful bungalow and thriving estate taken over by the jungle like this.’

‘It grieves me too, but I can’t say I’m sad to see Fowler go.’ The old man spat into the trees. ‘He whipped my father once because he left a giant tree standing, despite Fowler’s instructions to cut it down. Even though my father explained he wanted to protect the tree because of the hornbill pair roosting in the top branches.’

Kaveri made an impulsive move towards Ramappa. He shook his head slightly. ‘I don’t like to talk about those days. They are long gone now. My father ran away that night with me, and Lakamma madam’s father-in-law took us in. He sheltered my father from Fowler’s wrath and gave him a job. We owe madam’s family more than we can ever repay.’ He gave Kaveri a wicked grin. ‘Old Fowler got his comeuppance alright. When the weeds took over his estate, he ran back to London, tail between his legs. I heard he lost everything on the stock exchange. Spent his last years slaving away in a paupers’ home.’

‘Good,’ Kaveri said fiercely, wondering how many such stories of suffering and brutality lay hidden from sight in these stunning vistas.

They were in the coffee plantation now, making their way through neat rows of brilliant green coffee plants. Between them, tall rows of silver oak trees stood like sentinels. The hot sun blazed down, burning her neck. Kaveri quickly retreated into a patch of shade. No wonder people spoke of the changeable weather in the hills, where you needed a monkey cap to keep out the cold and an umbrella to protect you from the sun.

She stopped to admire the ruby red berries clustered on the green stems, glowing with the fire of the morning’s sunlight. Then she noticed the piles of fallen fruit, slimy and decaying on the ground. Ramappa’s shoulders stiffened, and she heard him curse under his breath. ‘This devil-blighted ghost leopard. If the workers don’t come to work on time, the fruit will rot on the bushes.’

Ramappa turned away from the open bushes, moving towards the large, white-roofed drying shed in the distance, his shoulders tense.

Soon, they arrived at the yard, where small piles of coffee berries had been piled up into neat mounds, waiting to be pulped. Ramappa ushered Kaveri to a chair in the shade of a majestic mahogany. But Kaveri went straight to the pulping machine, watching as the men loaded the berries into the drum. ‘Can I?’ she asked with excitement, taking hold of the large handle. She rotated the drum using the handle, breaking the skin on the cherries, letting the green seeds fall out.

‘At school, I read about this bean separator in my physics textbook,’ she told Ramappa. ‘The centrifugal force created by the rotating drum spins the lighter pulp out into this channel above, leaving the heavier beans at the bottom.’

‘I don’t know about any of that,’ Ramappa grunted. ‘But the machine gets things done very fast. Because of this dratted leopard, our pickers come late to work, and leave early in the evening, while the sun is still high in the sky. There are berries rotting on the bushes. Thanks to this machine, we can process them more quickly after picking. But we still need more people to harvest them.’

‘Lakamma picked a bad time to go for a temple tour?’ Kaveri asked sympathetically.

‘The worst time for it. If madam was here, she would have never let things get so bad. She would have convinced the workers to return and exposed the villain spreading these rumours. Unless she is home soon, we will be left with very little to show for all our efforts this year.’

‘Do you believe in the ghost cat?’ she asked carefully.

‘I don’t believe in ghosts. Boyd must be behind it. Just like Fowler, he will suck the landscape dry in the name of profit.’

He swore fluently in Kannada, spitting a stream of blood red liquid into the bushes on the side of the yard. ‘I don’t know why Ponnappa doesn’t realise it. Men like Boyd can’t be allowed to roam free, causing havoc as they like. They should be chopped into pieces and fed to this leopard.’

15 Liquid Gold

The once-talkative plantation manager seemed to regret his outburst. He clammed up, giving Kaveri sideways glances filled with doubt, and trying to hurry her through the rest of the visit. Almost running to keep pace with him, Kaveri asked tentatively, ‘Do you know an old woman called Kupamma, who visited Mercara recently, from Bangalore?’

‘No,’ Ramappa responded, without turning. They entered the drying yard, and Ramappa wiped his muddy slippers on a piece of filthy sackcloth that had been placed inside the entrance, gesturing for Kaveri to do the same.

A young woman was alone in the large building with four walls but no roof. Her brown cotton sari was tied high at the waist, leaving her ankles exposed so she could move more freely. Kaveri admired her silver toe rings, shaped like a snake. They caught the sun, reflecting glints of light as she moved the coffee seeds with a sharp rake, turning them over to expose them to the sun. Her green and red glass bangles provided a rhythmic accompaniment to the movement of her arms as she plied the rake. The woman put it down, rubbing at the calluses on her palms.

Kaveri picked up the rake, experimentally hefting it. ‘This is heavy.’

Ramappa was at the far end of the shed, inspecting a pile of coffee beans for fungus. The young worker looked at him, quickly confirming that he was out of earshot, and then confided in Kaveri. ‘I have been at it since morning. We usually take shifts, but this past week, I have been the only person here.’

‘Because of the ghost leopard?’ Kaveri guessed. ‘You aren’t scared?’

She resumed raking. ‘Can I afford to be? I have mouths to feed at home. My man left me for another woman.’ She swallowed, touching the turmeric root tied to her wrist with black thread. ‘Everyone says that the cat is a troubled spirit. A pregnant leopard who was shot. Now she wanders the forests, seeking the man who killed her and her unborn child.’ The young woman held the thread around her wrist and looked at Kaveri’s belly, then quickly looked away. ‘The priest in the devara kaadu placed the black thread in front of Kaadu Ayappa and gave this to me for protection. He said the forest god would protect me. But if I ever see her spirit, I hope she will know that I am a woman with five children of my own. I am her sister; I feel her pain.’

Ramappa stalked up to them, glaring at the young woman. ‘Jaya, if you don’t have any work to do and can sit around chatting all day—then you can take leave. Go home and gossip to your neighbours.’

She folded her arms, matching his stare with a deathly glare of her own. ‘If you sack me, you will have to do this work yourself,’ she retorted, but then returned to her work, turning her back to Kaveri.

Kaveri moved a few steps away, feeling bad for having brought a scolding down on the hardworking woman. She looked around the yard, seeing heaps of coffee seeds drying under the sun, in various shades of colour from raw green to roast brown. She picked up a green seed and experimentally popped it into her mouth, spitting it out almost immediately.

Jaya burst into laughter at Kaveri’s pained expression. ‘Bitter, isn’t it? It takes a lot of work to turn these raw seeds into liquid gold. They need to dry in the sun, which takes several days of raking and turning. After that, we sort them by size and colour. Only then can we finally pack them in bags and send them to Bangalore, where they are roasted and ground to make coffee powder.’

Ramappa gave Jaya a sour look. ‘If we have any seeds to pack this year. Unless our workers start coming in to work on time, the beans will spoil with fungus, or rot on the plant.’

‘Oh.’ Kaveri’s face fell. ‘Then you don’t store the jute bags you use for packing here?’

Ramappa frowned, and Kaveri bit her lip, annoyed at herself for her lack of finesse.

‘I wanted to buy spices in the market,’ she said, thinking quickly. ‘Those bags would be useful for storing turmeric and pepper. I thought, if you had a set here, I could take one or two.’

‘They are in Lakamma’s house, stored in her garage,’ Jaya said, pausing her work again, leaning on her rake.

Ramappa frowned at Jaya again. She gave Kaveri an apologetic look and returned to her raking. As soon as she did, Ramappa walked to the entrance of the shed, opening the door wide, pointedly looking at Kaveri. ‘I have a lot of work to do.’

She took the hint and walked out, turning to see Ramappa leave—a small, wizened figure, slightly bowed at the knees. He had been friendly, until his outburst about Colonel Boyd. Or was it her question about Kupamma that set him off?

She heard a soft cough and turned, seeing Jaya hurrying up the path to her.

‘You should speak to the priest in the temple. He knows everything that goes on here. He can answer all your questions.’ Jaya looked back over her shoulder at Ramappa, who was still at the end of the shed, looking out the window. ‘I must go,’ she whispered, hurrying back in.

16 Stabbing at the Window

Kaveri decided to abandon sleuthing for the time being, and returned to the house. Her lower back ached, and her footsteps were heavy.

She trudged towards her room but stopped in the doorway when she heard a hammering sound.

‘Ooooh.’ Kaveri gazed at the most utterly delightful creature she had ever seen—a brilliant purple bird tapping at the glass window, in a rhythmic tat-a-tat. Her weariness fell away.

‘It’s a sun bird.’ Janaki bustled into the room, carrying a tray with lunch—slices of steamed rice kadubu, coconut chutney, and beans paliya. ‘He thinks his reflection is another male, a competitor. When there are no guests here, I keep the blinds down, so he can’t see himself in the glass. But when people come, I have to keep chasing him away, so he doesn’t injure himself by stabbing at the window.’

‘Have you tried pasting strips of paper on the inside? That would break up the reflection, and he won’t get confused,’ Kaveri suggested.

Janaki regarded her with awe. ‘So many visitors have stayed in this room and seen this bird. You are the first to come up with a solution. Can you… do you…’ Her voice trailed off, and she looked away, her eyes fixed on the sunburst pattern carved into the top of the door to the bedroom.

Kaveri dug her fingers into her palm. Could this be the breakthrough she was hoping for? Was Janaki going to tell her how Chandru was related to Kupamma, and why Kupamma came to Coorg?

But the older woman remained silent, now tracing a design on the floor with her left foot. Her silver toe ring dragged along the floor, making a small clinking noise that grated on Kaveri’s ears.

Kaveri had learnt much since taking on her first case last year. A few months back, she would have peppered Janaki with questions, finding it difficult to tolerate the silence. Now, she remained quiet and looked away from Janaki, who had picked up a feather duster, applying it to the glass panes on the doorframe. Dipping the slices of kadubu in the chutney, Kaveri ate them one by one, relishing the combination of the tangy tamarind and coconut chutney that accompanied the steamed rice kadubu, and the slivers of coconut inside the rice.

It was easier to unburden yourself to a stranger if you didn’t have to look them in the face.

Janaki finally spoke. ‘My friend wants to consult you. On his employer’s instructions, her husband affixed his thumbprint onto a piece of paper, but now thinks that he should not have agreed to it.’

‘Lakamma would never ask Chandru to fix his thumbprint on something illegal,’ Kaveri protested.

Janaki dropped the duster, backing up to the door.

Kaveri gave her a reassuring smile. ‘You aren’t talking about a real friend, are you? You keep reaching into your sari, to touch your mangalsutra.’ Kaveri touched her own chain of black beads, worn by every married woman. ‘Are you afraid that Chandru is in danger?’

Janaki buried her face in her hands, weeping noisily.

Kaveri placed a gentle hand on the older woman’s shoulder, propelling her into the chair. Through Janaki’s sobbing, Kaveri could discern a few words ‘thumbprint… paper… danger… lose job… could die…’ Suddenly, Janaki sat up straight, drying her tears with her sari. ‘I have told you everything, and now I feel better. You will help me, won’t you?’

‘I didn’t understand everything completely,’ Kaveri replied cautiously. ‘Can you tell it to me again?’

‘We took a loan for our daughter’s marriage and needed some extra money to repay it. Last month, Chandru took up a second job, the night shift as a security guard on Colonel Boyd’s plantation.’ Janaki gripped the edge of the bed tightly.

‘So that’s why he leaves the house at night. We saw him at the gate yesterday. Isn’t he scared of walking through the forest?’ Kaveri demanded.

Janaki scoffed. ‘My husband was born in these forests. He is of the Kuruba tribe.’ She spoke with pride. ‘We may live in pucca homes now, but Chandru’s mother raised him in the jungle. He knows how to walk barefoot without making a sound, how to stay upwind so his scent doesn’t carry to the animals.’

Kaveri’s ears pricked. ‘Does Chandru’s mother live with you? What about his siblings?’

Janaki looked visibly startled. ‘Chandru and I lost our parents many years ago, soon after we got married. He is an only child, without siblings. Why are you asking all this?’

Another dead end. Kaveri’s mind buzzed with questions. Was Janaki telling the truth? She longed for Ismail to return her call and tell her what he had found out about Chandru. Or for Lakamma to call again, so she could ask her directly. If only Lakamma had not decided to go on a temple tour now, of all times.

Janaki was staring at her, waiting for a response.

‘I was just curious, hearing about a family that is so comfortable in the forest. The leopard scares me,’ Kaveri said. ‘One of the women working on the plantation told me that it is the ghost of a mother who lost its child. It roams the forest, seeking revenge on people.’

‘We don’t hold with these stories of ghosts and spectres. Besides, Chandru hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary in the forest.’

She’s lying, thought Kaveri, observing how specifically and carefully Janaki framed her response, her hands trembling.

‘Then what is Chandru scared about?’ Kaveri asked.

Janaki gulped noisily. ‘Colonel Boyd asked him to put his thumbprint on some papers one night.’

‘What papers?’

‘Last Sunday, the Colonel asked him to come to his house at midnight. The Colonel is very strict about punctuality. Chandru arrived a few minutes early, so he squatted down in the bushes with a bottle of rum, to pass the time. Soon after he arrived, he heard a sound and looked up to see Ponnappa opening the gate. Chandru was going to call out to him, but then he saw he was swathed in a large black shawl, covering his face, as though he didn’t want to be recognised. Chandru was scared and decided to remain in the bushes.’

‘How can he be sure it was Ponnappa?’ Kaveri interrupted. ‘It was night, and you say his face was covered.’

‘Yes, but Chandru identified him immediately. When he was young, Ponnappa had a small accident. Even now he drags his right foot slightly.’

‘Alright. Then what happened?’ Kaveri pressed.

‘He knocked on the door. The Colonel opened it, and he went inside. Chandru saw the lights go on inside the Colonel’s study and heard them speaking in low voices but couldn’t make out what they said. A little while later, the light in the Colonel’s bedroom went on. Finally, at midnight, Chandru knocked on the door. The Colonel opened it.’

‘Where was Ponnappa?’ Kaveri was intrigued.

‘Hiding somewhere. The Colonel made it a point to tell Chandru that he was alone, and Chandru did not refute him. Then the Colonel took Chandru into his bedroom. The room was as hot as an oven, Chandru said. It was a warm day, but the fireplace was lit and the blaze fierce. He began to sweat. The Colonel showed him a piece of paper lying on the table. He covered it with a book so that the writing was hidden, and only the bottom was visible.’ Janaki’s voice was rich with bitter amusement. ‘He didn’t need to go to so much effort. My husband can’t read.’

Kaveri regarded her with sudden interest. How come Janaki was educated but her husband illiterate? Usually it was the other way around.

‘Go on,’ she urged.

‘The Colonel told him to affix his thumbprint onto the paper. When he took his hand away, he touched the book that covered the document by accident, and it slipped a little, uncovering the top of the page. He used to work in the government office at Mercara. He recognised the stamps on the top of the page and the shape of the letters. It was a land agreement.’ Janaki’s eyes were fearful.

‘As soon as the Colonel saw his eyes on the stamp, he turned on Chandru. He grabbed him by his collar, almost lifting him off the floor, dragging him towards the fireplace. The fire spat sparks at him. Chandru was terrified, pleading for mercy, but the Colonel did not relent. “If you tell anyone what you saw, I will kill you,” he said, before eventually releasing him.’

Janaki’s head jerked from side to side, the silver bells hanging from the hairpin in her thick black hair jangling. ‘We have discussed it so many times but cannot understand any of it. Why would Ponnappa and the Colonel meet in secret, when they work together all day? And why did the Colonel ask Chandru to put his thumbprint on a land agreement but warn him not to tell anyone about it? It must be something to do with Ponnappa and Gana’s lands. The Colonel has already done so much harm, tearing apart a family that was so united. Chandru and Gana played together as children, and he has helped us through difficult times. Chandru would cut off his right hand before doing anything to harm his family. I wanted to go straight to Gana and tell him everything. But Chandru is terrified of the Colonel’s temper. Especially after he saw him whip one of his workers who brushed past his girlfriend, touching her by mistake.’

Kaveri winced. ‘We don’t know that this has anything to do with Ponnappa’s plantations,’ she said, trying to reassure Janaki. But as she spoke, Kaveri’s voice trailed off. What else could it be? A secret meeting between the two men, their asking Chandru to come at midnight to add his thumbprint as a witness—it had to be connected to their estates. But Janaki was right—why ask Chandru to attest a land agreement in secret, unless they wanted to do it without Gana’s notice?

Janaki chewed her lip. ‘Ever since that night, Chandru has not been able to sleep. At night when he is guarding the house, he sees Boyd watching him, brooding. He is terrified of the Colonel. But he can’t quit the job. We need the extra money.’

‘When did he go to the Colonel’s home?’ Kaveri asked.

But Janaki did not respond. After unburdening herself to Kaveri, she seemed eager to avoid further questioning. Murmuring about having work to do, she almost ran out of the room.

Kaveri opened her notebook, writing down everything Janaki had told her. Janaki’s distress was genuine. But she had been hiding something.

When Kaveri asked Janaki about the ghost leopard, she had jumped to answer a shade too readily, asserting that Chandru was not frightened of it. Even Ramu, who did not have a superstitious bone in his body, had been spooked when he encountered the beast. It was impossible that Chandru, who walked through the forests every night, was not afraid of encountering the spectral cat—indeed, claiming that he had not even seen it so far.

Kaveri rocked back and forth in the rosewood rocking chair. All these events seemed linked to Boyd’s arrival, too much so to be pure coincidence.

When she first arrived in Coorg, these wooded landscapes had felt like a sanctuary from Bangalore, where everyone had expectations of her. But there were dark undercurrents in these woods.

She thought of Janaki, telling her how Boyd had once had a man whipped for brushing against his girlfriend. Of Lakamma’s contempt for Boyd. And of poor Gana, a wealthy plantation owner forced to work as a station master to make ends meet, because his brother had been influenced by the Coffee King.

What had Ramappa said? She wrote it down in her diary, underlining the words.

‘Men like Boyd can’t be allowed to roam free.’

17 The Sacred Forest

A few minutes before four P.M., Ramu and Kaveri drove up the small mud road that led to the sacred forest where Kaveri had agreed to meet Ratna. The road was slippery and dark, with the trees overhead forming a canopy that shut out much of the light. Ramu drove slowly, his eyes on the path, while Kaveri rolled down the windows, sticking her head outside and inhaling the wet mossy smell of the rainforest. As they climbed, the trees grew taller, massive trees with trunks the size of an elephant, jutting out of the steep valley below and towering above them. In the distance, a flying squirrel leapt from branch to branch, its winglike extensions floating to the side like sails—a flash of red and brown in the green-canopied sky

Ramu slowed the car to allow Kaveri to watch the squirrel. Lost in the marvels of the rainforest, Kaveri almost missed the flash of yellow silk behind the trees. She heard a man’s deep growl and a woman’s delighted laugh, and grabbed Ramu’s elbow. ‘Stop. What was that?’

The car had just turned around a bend in the road. Ramu looked at her eager face and slowed the car, parking it in a small clearing that overlooked the valley.

‘That’s Tom’s voice. Boyd’s supervisor and odd jobs man. Do you remember, you met him at the clinic the other day when he came to pick up a prescription for the Colonel?’ Ramu said. ‘Let’s go. You told Ratna you would meet her in the sacred forest at four P.M.’

‘Just two minutes,’ Kaveri urged. ‘I want to know what Tom is doing, hiding inside the trees. It’s a strange place to take a woman. There will be snakes, perhaps leeches too.’

She got out of the car and walked to the bend in the road, with Ramu beside her. They could hear the sounds more loudly again—laughter and teasing, followed by silence, and then… Kaveri stared at Ramu, startled.

‘They are kissing in the trees.’

‘Why else would a man and woman seek out such an inaccessible place?’ Ramu pulled his wife close, laughter in his eyes. ‘Should we follow their example?’

‘What, when we have a perfectly comfortable home to go to?’ she said hotly, batting his hands away. Then she saw the twinkle in his eyes.

‘Don’t tease me. I want to find out who Tom has taken into those trees.’

They did not have long to wait. In a couple of minutes, Tom emerged from the trees with a woman, his left arm slung around her shoulder. The woman giggled as Tom nuzzled her neck, rubbing his face in her golden hair. As Kaveri gazed at them, fascinated—she had never seen a man and woman kiss in public before—the woman pulled Tom close for another lingering kiss. She was short and blonde, and her hair was a mass of curls that fell below her slender waist. Her yellow dress clung to her body like a second skin, and her golden bangles clattered musically on her arms as she finally lowered them.

‘Boyd’s girlfriend, Clara,’ Ramu whispered in her ear. ‘No wonder they chose this place to meet. This road leads only to the sacred forest, and no Westerners use this place.’

Tom picked up a bicycle which he had left leaning against a tree, mounting it and taking Clara up in front of him. Ramu and Kaveri watched them cycle away, their bodies fused into one, Tom’s green silk shirt merging into the trees.

‘Well, I didn’t expect that,’ Ramu said, leading Kaveri back to the car. ‘Tom is playing with fire, and so is Clara. Unlike his employees, Boyd is very generous to his girlfriend, but if he ever discovers what Clara is up to with Tom, she is in for a rude shock. Boyd has been called to the police station and cautioned before. He has a habit of horsewhipping his workers for minor faults.’

‘And such a man is allowed to roam free?’ Kaveri asked bitterly.

Ramu looked at her, sympathy in his eyes, but did not respond. They drove up the hill, arriving at the grassy meadow outside the Kaadu Aiyappa devara kaadu. He parked the car below a large bael tree, just outside the sacred forest.

Kaveri took off her chappals and left them in the car. Footwear could not be worn within the sacred forest. She pointed to the cycle parked against the tree, a pair of delicate sandals placed neatly below.

‘That must be Ratna’s. Will you wait in the car? If she sees you, she will be less likely to speak freely.’

Kaveri held her breath. They had argued about this all the way up the hill.

Ramu held her gaze for a long time. ‘Alright,’ he finally exhaled. ‘But make sure you tell her that I am waiting for you outside. And promise to shout if you feel the slightest bit alarmed.’

‘I promise,’ she said, patting his hand then getting out of the car. The mud trail to the forest looked dark and forbidding. She took a deep breath, fortifying her courage before bending her head to walk through the arch at the entrance.

The trees loomed above her, their drooping branches slithering across her skin as she walked inside.

‘Ratna? Are you here?’ She stumbled across the stony path, half blind in the dim light. Frogs croaked in loud chorus, accompanied by the sawlike scraping sound of the crickets, the harsh reverberations ricocheting in her ears.

A tall figure surged out of the darkness, flinging its arms around her. Kaveri half stifled a scream, turning it into a glad gasp when she recognised Ratna.

‘You scared me.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Ratna said ruefully. ‘You came so late, I was wondering if you would come at all.’ She tugged at Kaveri’s hand, guiding her down the narrow path in the middle of the trees lined with stones. In a few steps, they were in the middle of the forest, in an open clearing. A large granite boulder took shape from the shadows at one end, grey and forbidding. Terracotta forms were piled up in heaps at the base of the rock. Kaveri approached the boulder cautiously, her eyes gradually adjusting to the lack of illumination. Coins were strewn in front of the figurines. She recognised the shapes, mimicking hunting dogs, wild boars, and leopards. Each of the pottery offerings was anointed with kumkuma.

‘Offerings to Kaadu Aiyappa, Lord of the Forest,’ Ratna explained. ‘He is an expert hunter. People come to this temple to ask him for a special blessing and leave these as offerings.’ She pointed to the far end of the clearing; a garland of jasmine flowers was placed on a large ant hill, its sacred trishul adorned with arasina and kumkuma, the golden yellow of the turmeric and the scarlet of the vermilion shining on the bronze trident in the sun. ‘Outsiders don’t normally pray at this temple.’

‘Who uses it then?’ Kaveri asked, watching as Ratna cleared away the debris left behind by previous worshippers—discarded coconut shells, half-burnt incense sticks, dried flowers and leaves. She worked swiftly, using both hands.

‘It is used by our clan, the members of our family from one Ainmane. The priest is my uncle, Appa’s cousin. I told him I wanted to speak to you alone, and he agreed. My mother used to offer her services here, cleaning the shrine daily. After she died, I took over her responsibilities. During the day, no one else comes here, so it’s the best place for us to speak privately.’ Ratna spoke at high speed, but she kept her voice low.

‘I asked my husband to wait outside,’ Kaveri acknowledged, remembering Ramu’s warning. The air inside the sacred forest was cold, and she shivered slightly. ‘Is your priest here? I want to speak to him.’

‘Why?’ Ratna spoke abruptly.

‘I wanted to ask him about the ghost leopard. A woman who works in Lakamma’s estate told me to ask the priest if I wanted more information.’

‘Which woman?’ Ratna demanded. ‘What’s her name? Our priest doesn’t speak to outsiders, she must know that. He has taken an oath.’

Kaveri changed the topic quickly, not wanting to mention Jaya’s name and implicate her. ‘You are ambidextrous, Ratna? That’s interesting. Very few people can use both their right and left hands as comfortably as I see you doing.’

Ratna nodded absently, her eyes darting around the clearing, inspecting their surroundings. Seeming satisfied that no one else was nearby, she led Kaveri to a patch of grass with a few boulders, sitting down on one of them and tugging Kaveri down next to her. Kaveri perched on the edge of the rock, uneasy at the sudden silence. The monkeys scampering on the tree next to her had stopped their play, the mothers scooping up their infants and swinging from branch to branch, disappearing from sight. Even the frogs and crickets had fallen quiet.

The hairs on Kaveri’s neck stood up, and her insistence that Ramu stay outside seemed foolhardy. Would he even hear her if she called him from this distance? She edged closer to Ratna, stretching forward to take hold of a stout stick that lay a few inches ahead of her.

As suddenly as the blanket of silence had fallen across the forest, it gave way. The forest vibrated with the call of crickets and frogs once again. Ratna seemed oblivious to these changes, seeming puzzled when she looked at the stick in Kaveri’s hands. After bringing her to this isolated location, she seemed hesitant to speak, studying Kaveri’s face as though wondering if she could trust her.

Kaveri’s stomach rumbled, and she cast a quick glance at her watch. She wanted to get out of this eerie forest and return to Ramu’s comfortable, solid presence. Besides, she wanted her evening snack. With reluctance, she put down the stick, keeping it close to her, and took hold of Ratna’s hands.

‘Why did you bring me here—what did you want to speak to me about?’

Ratna seemed restless. She let go of Kaveri’s hands and took off her wooden hair clip, letting her hair fall to her waist. She tossed the clip from hand to hand. ‘Do you know about the partnership between my doddappa and Colonel Boyd?’

‘Only a little,’ Kaveri said cautiously, wanting to hear the story from the young girl’s perspective.

‘A few months ago, Colonel Boyd approached my doddappa to propose they merge both plantations into one working unit. Our estates have large devara kaadu, and the Colonel wanted us to cut them down, along with the other forests surrounding them, and plant coffee in those areas. Appa warned Boyd not to touch our sacred forests or cut down our trees. He had heard of what Boyd did in Ceylon, destroying the forests and ruining the lives of many plantation owners in his greed for profits. He worked their plantations hard and their workers even harder, increasing the yield for a few years, but destroying everything in the end. We take care of our workers so well. Some of these families have worked with us for generations. What will happen to them now that Boyd and Tom have taken over the day-to-day functioning?’

‘Surely your uncle knows all of this,’ Kaveri objected. ‘Why didn’t he listen to your father?’

Ratna clutched her hair clip so tightly that it snapped. ‘Boyd sneered at Appa, telling him he was a dullard who would never amount to anything. Doddappa took Boyd’s side. I couldn’t believe it. Appa and Doddappa used to be so close. When Appa refused to work with Boyd, Doddappa threw him out of the plantation.’

Kaveri removed the broken hairclip with its sharp, jagged edges from Ratna’s clenched fist, afraid the girl would hurt herself with her jerky movements.

Ratna didn’t seem to notice. ‘Those forests do not belong to my uncle alone. They are my father’s as well—mine and my cousin’s too. Even the birds know us and will eat seeds from our hands. I tried to explain this to him, but Doddappa doesn’t listen to me. He thinks I am just a small child.’ With a red nose, and her face all scrunched up, Ratna looked like she was about six. She gulped noisily.

‘This is a family matter of yours. I cannot interfere,’ Kaveri told her gently.

‘You have solved so many complicated cases—nothing is impossible for you.’ Ratna cast Kaveri a look of complete hero worship. ‘Lakamma told us everything about you—how you uncovered a drug smuggling ring and saved the Prince of Wales from attack in Bangalore.’

Kaveri groaned inwardly. ‘Stories are always exaggerated. Real life doesn’t work like that. Detective work is full of danger, real danger. It is not some kind of romantic effort where you ride into a tense situation like a knight errant, waving a sword.’

Ratna was not listening to her words of caution. ‘Anyway, it’s too late. I don’t think you can break up my uncle’s partnership with Colonel Boyd.’

‘Then why did you call me here?’ Kaveri asked, frankly bewildered.

‘To prove my father’s innocence. Someone is trying to kill Colonel Boyd. But it is not my father,’ Ratna said fiercely.

18 A Series of Attacks

Colonel Boyd’s life is in danger?’ Kaveri reached out and took Ratna’s hands in hers again. ‘But why are you coming to me to help him? You just told me you hate the man.’

She was shocked to see tears in Ratna’s eyes.

‘I do hate him. But he thinks—or at least, he is going around telling people—that my father is responsible,’ the girl burst out. ‘I only found out about it recently. I wanted to go to the library, but my cycle was punctured, so I was waiting for my father to come home from the station to help me mend it.’

‘And then?’ Kaveri asked, watching Ratna swallow and pause.

‘I heard the two of them fighting in front of the gate last week, their voices raised loudly. Doddappa accusing my father of trying to kill Colonel Boyd. Apparently, he had vomited after eating his breakfast and was quite ill.’

‘Why blame your father? Colonel Boyd could have eaten something that disagreed with him,’ Kaveri said angrily. She had not even met the Colonel, or Ponnappa, but she already disliked them—both of them.

‘Doddappa said it’s not the first time that the Colonel has been in danger. Two days before that, when the Colonel was out on his rounds at the plantation, someone left a scorpion under his chair. Fortunately, his supervisor Tom noticed it before the Colonel entered the room and killed it with his boot. And a week before that, the Colonel had a narrow escape, when he was walking on the road and a cart rolled down the slope. Again, it was Tom who saved him. He was walking with him and heard the scraping sound of the cart gathering speed on the road. He pushed the Colonel down, and the cart narrowly missed them.’ Ratna shuddered. ‘Tom scraped his arm so badly he was bleeding for two days. Your husband treated him.’

‘Three in a row? This does seem like a coordinated attempt on the Colonel’s life,’ Kaveri agreed. ‘But why blame your father? I’m sure a man like the Colonel has many enemies.’

‘Everyone hates him—except, I suppose, his girlfriend. I don’t know why they are so fixed on Appa as the culprit. Doddappa said that the Colonel wanted to go straight to the police station and file a complaint against my father, but Doddappa convinced him not to. He told him he would speak to Appa and get him to stop. Except, Appa never did anything to the Colonel.’

‘You shouldn’t worry,’ Kaveri said. ‘Without evidence, even the police can’t do anything to your father.’

‘My father made a big mistake. He was so angry when Doddappa joined forces with him, that he threatened to kill the Colonel. He shouted at him in the market and told him to watch his back. Everyone heard him. Will they arrest Appa?’ Ratna spoke thickly, her nose blocked with tears.

‘Your father may have a motive, but to arrest him, they also need to show he had the opportunity.’ Kaveri saw Ratna’s confused face and explained. ‘I mean, he could have pushed the cart down the hill unnoticed. But it’s not as easy to gain entrance to the Colonel’s office unnoticed and add poison to his breakfast, or place a scorpion on his chair. Especially in the morning, when the estate must be full of people. He would have been seen.’

Ratna tugged at the edge of her plait. ‘I think the Colonel staged all the attacks. He wants to get rid of my father and take over our plantation. Right now, Appa still has a half share in it. I don’t think the Colonel was ever in danger. He is just playacting. Don’t you think it is suspicious that Tom, his right-hand man from Ceylon, saved him each time?’

‘Tell me about Tom,’ Kaveri said, seizing the opportunity. ‘What kind of a man is he? Do you think he is loyal to the Colonel?’

‘Loyal? Far from it.’ Ratna scoffed. ‘I don’t know if I should tell you this, it’s someone else’s private matter…’ her voice trailed away.

‘You mean Tom’s affair with Clara?’ Instinct told Kaveri to take a blunt guess.

Ratna jumped, seizing Kaveri by the shoulders, holding her so tightly that her fingers dug into Kaveri’s arms. ‘How did you know?’

‘Probably the same way that you did.’ Kaveri gently extricated herself from Ratna’s grip. ‘I saw them just now, when we were on the way to the temple. That’s why we got delayed. Do they come here often?’

‘All the time,’ Ratna said darkly. ‘I think it’s indecent, what they are doing. Defiling a sacred forest with their tawdry love affair. And Clara is as rotten inside as she is beautiful outside. You should see how rude she is to my doddamma when they meet socially, always commenting about her dark skin. If it were anyone except the Colonel, I would feel bad for him, being saddled with such a woman. But pretty women are his weakness, they can’t do a thing wrong as far as he’s concerned. Clara flaunts a new set of jewels practically every month.’

Then Ratna gave Kaveri a hopeful smile. ‘Look at me, blabbering on, telling the detective what to look for. I find it all confusing, but it will be child’s play to you. You have already uncovered so much so quickly. I want you to come home and talk to my father privately. Come to our side of the house. Only, don’t tell him I came to you and told you all of this. He has forbidden me from sharing this with anyone.’ She clasped Kaveri’s hands tightly. ‘But don’t go to Doddappa’s side of the house.’

‘I don’t think…’ Kaveri began cautiously.

Ratna’s face crumpled, and she pulled her hands away. ‘You won’t help me?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Kaveri said, wondering how she could calm this impetuous girl. ‘First, your father has to be willing to speak to me. I can’t just visit your house without an invitation from him.’

Then something that Ratna said niggled at Kaveri. ‘Why did you say “come to our side of the house”? I thought you all lived together.’

Ratna turned away, her hair swinging like a curtain over her face and obscuring her expression. ‘Doddappa partitioned our house into two sections and threw us out of the main area. He gave us one room on the side, in which we cook, sleep, and which I use to study.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Kaveri said instantly.

Ratna grimaced. ‘In the evenings, when my father and uncle are at home, we follow their rules. But during the day, things are almost normal. I cook and sing songs with my doddamma, and play hopscotch with my cousin. Only, in the evening, we have to be careful to tidy up everything and make it seem like no one entered.’ She took Kaveri by the shoulders, earnestly peering into her eyes. ‘My aunt, cousin brother, and I are fed up with this stupid feud, but we can’t do anything. Appa is very hurt by what my uncle did and refuses to enter their part of the house. And my uncle—well, we can’t follow his stupid rules. If my cousin and I were separated, we would die.’

Kaveri suppressed a smile at Ratna’s dramatic tone. How it must be, to be so young and so passionate, and yet to be laughed at by others. She remembered how frustrated she had been when people dismissed her at that age, refusing to let her speak, brushing her aside like they would flick an ant off the table.

Ratna already regarded her as a real-life heroine. Even if her ideas were unformed and her approach naïve, Kaveri would have to tread very carefully to avoid pricking her confidence.

‘I told my father to make sure one of his men was with him at all times from now on. So if there are any further attacks on the Colonel, he can’t be implicated. He will have an alibi,’ Ratna said, breaking the silence.

‘What do you know of alibis?’ Kaveri asked, amused.

‘We performed a school play last year, Gowramma’s Dowry. It’s in the library, you should read it. It’s based on a true story of the last Coorgi princess, who died mysteriously in England. Did you know that our last king also took his favourite daughter, Gowramma, to London, making her a ward of the Queen?’ Ratna asked.

‘Really?’ Kaveri asked, her senses quickening at the scent of another mystery, and a historical one at that. ‘How did she die?’

‘No one knows,’ Ratna said. ‘She had a small daughter, but her husband disappeared soon after she died, with his wife’s jewels. Queen Victoria had baptised Gowramma, acting as her godmother, renaming her Victoria Gowramma. The Queen also promised her father that she would marry an Indian prince. They say Gowramma was very beautiful and had many suitors, but she could not snag the Indian prince. She married an Englishman much older than her and died soon after she gave birth to a girl. The play is the writer’s imagining of the night Gowramma died. In it, she decides to make a gift of her dowry of jewels to her lover but is killed just before her assignation with him. Her husband is one of the prime suspects, but so is her lover, and her best friend, but they all have alibis, so the Queen hires a detective to search for the real killer. It was very exciting.’ Ratna’s words came faster and faster, running together in her excitement. ‘You should read it sometime. There are copies in the Mercara library. Have you been there?’

‘Not yet, but I plan to go,’ Kaveri said. ‘I have almost finished the books I brought with me from Bangalore.’

‘You should try the bullock cart lending library,’ Ratna suggested. ‘That will be easiest for you. The librarian fills it with a selection of books in Mercara on Tuesdays and Saturdays, and then sends it across Coorg. The cart can reach even the most remote plantations, and we all use it. You can even send a note back with the driver, asking for a specific book, and the librarian will forward it on to you during the next trip,’ Ratna said, following it up with an immediate question. ‘Will you come to my home tomorrow?’

‘Not tomorrow,’ Kaveri responded cautiously. Her spirits lifted at the thought of a bullock cart library, but she wanted to be careful about what she promised to Ratna. This was turning out to be a most complex case. She had to speak to Ramu, and learn more about what was going on, before she could decide. Ratna’s face fell, and Kaveri added hastily, ‘I’m a bit tired, and need to rest before I can move around.’

Ratna gave Kaveri a fierce hug, seeming to accept her excuse. She walked close to Kaveri, holding her hand and swinging it as they emerged from the exit. Then Ratna picked up her cycle, waving goodbye to Ramu and Kaveri before pedalling away at high speed.

Kaveri leaned back in the seat with an audible groan of exhaustion as Ramu started the engine.

‘Are you alright? You took so long with her,’ Ramu asked.

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, ‘just tired and hungry. Mostly bemused, though. I feel like a small but formidable whirlwind picked me up, tossed me around, and then put me back down.’

‘Ratna has that effect on people,’ Ramu smiled. ‘I like her, though.’

‘I do too,’ Kaveri replied drowsily. ‘I have so much to tell you, but I’m too sleepy now.’

She closed her eyes, but sleep was elusive. Questions floated in her mind, like filaments of silk from a silkworm. Kaveri had so many stray clues, fragments that drifted like threads in the wind. Could she gather them, weave them together to create a tenable story—before they blew away?

19 Biriyani and Fish Curry

Back at Lakamma’s, in their bedroom, Ramu folded his arms, sitting back and regarding her with an incredulous stare as she wound up her summary of the conversation with Ratna. Then he burst into laughter. ‘Only you can come to Coorg for the first time, one fine day, and—just like that—pick up two new cases to investigate, by evening, on the second day after your arrival.’

He fended Kaveri off as she tried to give his stomach a mock-indignant poke.

‘It’s like a puzzle,’ she said more seriously. ‘But I only have some of the pieces intact. Many are missing. And a few pieces have been distorted. Janaki and Ratna have told me what Chandru and Gana told them, but what really happened, and who can we trust to tell us the truth? I wish Lakamma was here. She knows all these people well.’

‘Did you ask Ratna about Kupamma?’ Ramu asked.

‘I forgot,’ Kaveri said, biting her lower lip. ‘I wanted to, but in the excitement of seeing Tom and Clara together, and hearing everything else that Ratna wanted to tell me, it slipped my mind. I wish I could rely on my memory the way I used to before I became pregnant.’

The clang of the telephone interrupted her. She jumped, looking at Ramu.

‘That must be my mother. This late in the evening, who else could be calling?’ he said.

‘Athe?’ Kaveri spoke into the telephone.

‘Kaveri? Is that you?’ Uma aunty’s voice was shrill with excitement. ‘I could only get away from home now. I have so much to tell you. Venu is with me. We have made a lot of progress, checking alibis. With Inspector Ismail’s help we used the autopsy report to assess the approximate time of death.’

Ramu raised his eyebrows at Kaveri, leaning over to talk into the phone. ‘Uma aunty, you have been my neighbour for as long as I can remember, and you never gave me the slightest hint that you had any of these outside interests. Now you are talking of alibis and autopsies as breezily as if you spent your life in a police station or a hospital.’

‘Ask your wife, she is responsible for this,’ Uma aunty responded pertly. ‘Now stop interrupting me. Inspector Ismail summarised the autopsy report for us. Kupamma died from the loss of blood from a head injury. She fell on the grinding stone and had a flesh wound that bled heavily. Given her age, the doctor estimates it would have taken about an hour for her to bleed out the way she did. If someone had taken her to the hospital earlier, she would be alive today.’

‘Venu, you found Kupamma at two A.M., and she was still alive then. You saw the killer run away. So the killer must have confronted Kupamma, maybe pushed her so that she fell on the stone, somewhere around one A.M.,’ Kaveri said, making a note in her book. ‘Excellent work, Uma aunty.’

Uma aunty gave a pleased cough. ‘Anandi visited Hiramma’s home, on the pretext of taking some fruit for her from their jackfruit tree. She lives with her husband, in-laws, and three-year-old child. Anandi got into a casual discussion with Hiramma’s mother-in-law about the night of Kupamma’s death, and her mother-in-law confirmed that Hiramma was sleeping soundly that night, with her child next to her. So we can cross her off the list.’

‘I want to trust Hiramma, but this can’t be the reason why,’ Kaveri argued. ‘You know how many times I have left the house at night to follow up on a case, and Bhargavi athe has no idea. Ask her, and she would swear that I was home all the time.’

There was some static, and when the disturbance cleared, Venu was speaking.

‘People like her don’t live in big bungalows like you, Kaveri akka,’ he said. ‘Hiramma sleeps on a dirt floor in her one-room shack with her husband, child, father-in-law, mother-in-law, and that horrible brother-in-law of hers. If you have to leave the hut even to go to the bathroom, you have to step across everyone, waking them. The area she lives in is packed with huts. How could Hiramma slip out at night and make her way to Sampangi grounds to kill her mother without raising an alarm in the neighbourhood?’

Kaveri squeezed her fists tight, annoyed and ashamed of herself. Venu was right. She had seen the cramped living conditions in which people like Venu and Hiramma lived. Yet she was unable to understand the reality of their lives.

‘We should answer these questions first, at least to our own satisfaction, so that we can avoid haring off on wild goose chases,’ Kaveri said defensively.

‘You are mixing your metaphors, Kaveri.’ Ramu squeezed her hand gently, knowing how she was feeling.

‘Hiramma is very anxious about her mother’s funeral,’ Uma aunty continued. ‘When her father died, they had to bury him in a pauper’s grave, along with others from different castes. Kupamma appears in Hiramma’s dreams every night, asking about the plans for her funeral.’

‘I told Hiramma that the hospital will pay for it. She is too proud to take the money from us directly, but if we say that it is from a general fund, I think she will accept,’ Kaveri told Ramu.

‘The police will release her body tomorrow, after the autopsy. But she will not have enough money to pay for a spot in Lakshmipuram cemetery, and for a gravestone,’ Uma aunty continued. ‘And Hiramma still frets that her mother will not have the grand funeral she desired. After a lifetime of living off the scraps from other’s homes, Kupamma wanted to treat everyone to a grand celebration. She dreamt of her casket being pulled by a horse and carriage through the neighbourhood, with a musical band with drums and trumpets walking ahead. She had even planned the menu. Mutton biriyani and fish curry for everyone. But she died before she could save up enough for it.’

‘I will leave word with my staff at the hospital to give Hiramma as much money as she needs,’ Ramu promised. ‘We will ensure that Kupamma gets the funeral she worked for, the celebration she deserved after a long life of hard work.’

‘Thank you,’ Kaveri said to her husband softly. Then she spoke into the receiver again. ‘Venu, did you see anyone loitering near the entrance to the grounds that day, anyone who might have seen the people who entered and left?’

‘You mean an eyewitness,’ Uma aunty responded promptly. ‘I used the correct word, didn’t I? I remembered it from the Sherlock Holmes book you read to us during the detective club meetings.’ Her voice was filled with pride. ‘Venu and I found a man who runs a tea shop on the road leading to the Sampangi grounds. He keeps his shop open all night, serving yele-adike, bananas, and tea to the sweepers and drunks. It was a Sunday, so the sweepers were on leave, and the drunks were home with their families. Sundays are dull nights for him, but he lives alone, so I think he keeps it open to have something to do. Anyway, he said that no one approached the grounds that night except for Venu and his friends. And you and the Inspector, of course. He noticed your car going past the shop, at around four A.M., and Inspector Ismail’s arrival shortly before yours. But he is confident that no one else went into the grounds that night or returned from it in the early morning until Hiramma came, and the police constables.’

‘Where did the killer disappear to after killing Kupamma then?’ Kaveri asked. ‘He couldn’t have evaporated into thin air. He’s not a ghost, but a flesh and blood murderer.’

‘What are you saying, Kaveri?’ Uma aunty’s voice crackled over the telephone again.

‘I think the killer hid somewhere that day, on the grounds, where we could not see him. Then he left, later that evening, after all the hullabaloo died down, mingling with the rest of the people who come and go around dusk—the grazers, firewood collectors, sweepers who visit the Sampangi grounds. No one would have noticed him in the crowd.’ Kaveri shivered slightly. If she was correct, that meant the killer may have been watching them while they investigated.

‘There is a large banyan tree. He could have climbed its branches and sat there all night without being spotted. There’s also a large boulder, a bande kallu. He could have squatted behind the rock too,’ Venu confirmed.

‘Look around the banyan tree and behind the rock to see if you can spot any signs of someone who hid there. See if they left any clues to their presence,’ Kaveri said.

‘Speak to the shopkeeper as well. Ask him if he noticed anyone come down that road during the afternoon or evening, after Kupamma’s murder,’ Ramu added.

‘We will go as soon as it is daylight tomorrow,’ the older lady promised.

Venu piped in. ‘I can take her at six in the morning, when I leave for my milk rounds with Kasturi.’

‘As long as Kasturi doesn’t trip me up with her hind legs,’ Uma aunty grumbled. Kasturi, Venu’s beloved cow, was a wicked kicker and didn’t take kindly to strangers.

Ramu and Kaveri grinned at each other as Venu spoke up, nobly defending his beloved cow.

‘You should sleep early, and rest well. Tomorrow will be a long day for you, Kaveri. Our health camp is from ten to noon,’ Ramu said after they disconnected the call, looking up at the cuckoo clock.

‘I will be there,’ Kaveri promised. ‘I hope the news that your wife will sit with you in the examination room will help convince some of the more traditional families to send their young women to the camp. I’m looking forward to it, as I can also learn some more biology.’

‘Uma aunty sounds very excited,’ Ramu commented, as they switched off the lights and climbed into bed.

Kaveri gave Ramu a watery smile, gripping his hand. ‘Last week, on her sixtieth birthday, Uma aunty told me that she feels like her life has restarted all over again.’

‘Of course it has,’ Ramu agreed. ‘Her son and daughter-in-law constantly tell her that she is old and should sit at home. But ever since she became part of the Bangalore Detectives Club, a whole new world has opened up.’

‘I hope she is careful tomorrow,’ Kaveri fretted. ‘If we are right, then the killer is a very intelligent and careful person. Someone who plans well ahead and doesn’t like to make mistakes.’

Ramu nodded. ‘It was only by accident that Venu found Kupamma so soon after she was attacked. The murderer must have expected that the death would be discovered only later the next morning, when Hiramma arrived with her daily tiffin. Perhaps he even planned to pin the murder on defenceless Hiramma.’

‘Not defenceless anymore,’ Kaveri reminded him. ‘Now she has us to uncover the truth.’

20 An Accidental Encounter

The next day, worn out by her participation in the health camp, Kaveri curled up on the sofa bed in Ramu’s waiting room and took a short nap. She woke at one, noticing the large sign that hung in the bay window, announcing that the clinic was closed for lunch.

Ramu was entering patient records into a large register and looked up when she entered his room.

‘Are you hungry, or can you wait a short while, Kaveri?’ Ramu asked. ‘Boyd called, asking if he could meet us in half an hour. He asked specifically for you.’

Kaveri made a face. ‘After all the awful things I’ve heard, I’m not looking forward to meeting him. Why is he coming here?’

‘I think Boyd wants to consult you,’ Ramu said, opening the smaller of the two tiffin carriers that Janaki had packed. ‘Your fame has spread far and wide, Mrs. Murthy. Even here in distant Coorg. What do we have here? Guavas with chilli powder and salt, delicious. Just what I needed to tide me over for a bit till we can eat.’

‘You eat.’ Kaveri pushed his hand away when he tried to feed her. ‘In the past two days, Janaki has given me so much food that I am stuffed to the gills. What strange expressions these English people use, though. I’m not a fish. I don’t have gills.’

Ramu gave her a cheeky grin. ‘And I am very glad you’re not. Imagine how odd our child would look with a human head, flippers for hands, and a tail instead of a leg. Or would she have a fish face with human hands?’

Kaveri wrinkled her nose, leaving him with the guavas and his register as the noisy ceiling fan whirred and clicked above his head.

The sound of a horn blowing, fast and impatient, pierced through her thoughts. She ran to the door, seeing a silver Rolls-Royce speeding down the road to the clinic.

The driver was moving too fast, pressing on the horn. Kaveri flinched as the car hit the wrought-iron gate, buckling when it encountered the masonry pillar—and then, only then, coming to a halt. The screeching sound of crumpling metal grated, and she covered her ears with her palms.

‘Kaveri!’ Ramu rushed out, his voice unsteady with panic. He stopped as soon as he saw her, a look of relief spreading over his face.

‘Outside,’ Kaveri urged him, pointing to the car. A small group of men were running down the road, towards the destroyed vehicle. Ramu hurried to them, taking charge of the situation.

Standing back from the crowd of men who were prying open the door of the car, Kaveri saw the limp body of a suit-clad Englishman—in his sixties, from the look of him, with lines of grey threading through his thick black hair—being lifted from the car. Next to him in the passenger seat was a middle-aged man slouched in his seat, a dazed expression on his face. He looked like an older version of Gana, Kaveri thought. This had to be Ponnappa.

The British man, with his spiffy suit and closely cropped hair, must be Colonel Boyd. He groaned as they pulled him out. Ramu directed them to place him on the soft, thick grass of the lawn just next to the car.

Kaveri inched forward, inspecting Boyd from one side. Boyd’s suit was askew, but the expensive pinstripes and the half inch of shirt cuff that protruded from below the sleeve of his coat proclaimed wealth—this must be a bespoke stitched suit. She could not see any blood on him. But did he have a concussion, or any broken bones? The car must have hit the gate very hard to make such a noise.

Ramu placed his fingers on Boyd’s wrist, feeling for his pulse. When Boyd opened his eyes and tried to lift his head, Ramu pressed him back, shining a torch into his eyes. ‘Relax, Colonel,’ he assured the man. ‘You seem to have had an accident, but you appear unharmed. You need to stay in this position for some time before you can sit up.’

One of the bystanders helped Ponnappa extricate his elongated body from the car’s crumpled seat. Another man hurried over with a chair for him. Bracing his back for support, Ramu quickly moved to the car and gently levered Ponnappa into a sitting position.

Colonel Boyd closed his eyes and seemed to lapse into unconsciousness. The crowd of people at the clinic gate had grown. Passersby stopped, perhaps motivated by the desire to help, but Kaveri suspected most of them were driven by curiosity.

She caught her husband’s eye and jerked her head towards the path. He gave her the slightest of nods, watching from the corner of his eye as she slipped away, walking up the path in the direction of the gate.

21 Acceleration and Torque

Avoiding the slippery stones, Kaveri walked on the grass, holding her sari high above her ankles to avoid the tall blades, wet with mist. Chandru wore gumboots everywhere; she would go to the Mercara market and purchase a set for herself.

Kaveri reached the car, with its crumpled bonnet hugging the mangled gate, and all thoughts of footwear flew from her mind. The bonnet moved easily in her hands, surprisingly smooth. She lifted it up, peering inside at the brakes, but could not see any wires out of place.

She ran her hands over the front of the car, feeling its dents and scratches. The metal was scraped clean of paint where it had hit against the sharp spikes of the gate. Doubt tugged at her mind but refused to surface. Kaveri knew from past experience that the best way to deal with these signals of unease was to stop focusing on them and turn her attention to something else. When her mind’s inner eye was ready to share what it had seen with her, and the inferences it had drawn, the thoughts would resurface from her subconscious.

A few months back, someone had cut the brakes on her car. With no other way to bring the speeding vehicle to a stop on a road congested with traffic, she had been forced to crash it into a tree to avoid hitting a group of noisy schoolchildren gathered at a coconut vendor’s stall. If the brake transmission lines in Boyd’s Rolls-Royce had been cut, wouldn’t she smell oil leaking from the drum? But then, she didn’t know what the interior of a Royce looked like.

Such a beautiful machine. What a pity it would be if the garage was unable to repair it. Kaveri opened the door, inhaling the sweet tang of wood and old leather. She missed her beloved Ford, which she had left behind in Bangalore.

Boyd was a wealthy man, yet drove his own car—like she and Ramu did. Kaveri could not understand why anyone would hand over something as gorgeous and exciting as a car to someone else, paying them to take the wheel instead.

She gave one last regretful look at the mangled Rolls-Royce, hoping it could escape the junkyard. Then she walked out onto the road, searching for any additional clues.

A few steps ahead, higher up on the slope, she could see the marks of rubber on the tar, where the car had taken a turn at high speed onto the side street that led to the clinic. She walked ahead, her eyes scanning the road.

A group of workers passed by with their characteristic swaying gait, carrying headloads of bricks. They watched her curiously, as she bent down to investigate an innocuous-looking pile of desiccated leaves and twigs. The road was lined with trees on both sides, and there were leaves all around. But there wasn’t a tree branch over this spot.

A horsefly whizzed past her. She batted away the large insect, and it went to the pile of dry leaves, making its signature high-pitched buzzing sound. Horseflies were usually found beside dung, or wet patches of mud. Kaveri watched the insect, studying the exact location where it hovered. She took a stick and poked it into the heap of leaves.

The large fly made a cross sound, darting away.

Spotting something white and round peeking through the pile where she had poked, Kaveri pulled it out, using the stick to remove the covering of leaves. A mound of sticky rice was below the leaves—so that was what had attracted the fly. She crouched down, using the stick to dismantle the rice heap, and discovered a large pile of rusty nails hidden within the rice. Someone had carefully placed them here, ensuring that the base of the nail was stuck in the gummy rice with the sharp edges exposed upwards.

Kaveri stood up, brushing off the strands of grass and leaves that clung to her sari. Someone had taken the trouble to fix this wicked trap and hide it. If it were not for the horsefly, she would never have found it. But thank goodness she did. Any cars that came down the road would be in danger.

She quickly dismantled the setup, picking up the sharp nails and wrapping them in her kerchief to dispose of, after checking for fingerprints—though she doubted she would find any. The rice had stuck to every inch of the nails, leaving no space for fingerprints.

What was it that newspaper article she read—‘The Englishman’s Approach to Driving’—had said? When a car accelerated at high speed down a mountain slope and took a sharp turn, it became unstable because of a sudden change in the torque.

Kaveri retraced her steps, going to the back of the car, crouching down to inspect the car’s wheels. There were two large nails embedded in one of the back tyres. But these nails couldn’t have come from the pile of rice she had spotted. That pile was undisturbed, covered by leaves.

She returned to the road, inspecting the surface closely, keeping a lookout for traffic. There were two more hidden traps—and a fourth exposed trap, the one which had damaged Boyd’s car. She removed all the nails and added them to the bundle in her kerchief, before walking back to the clinic slowly, her mind churning.

The clinic was normally closed at this time for lunch. Someone must have known that Boyd intended to visit the clinic during the lunch break and set a trap for him.

A little voice spoke up in her head. What if the accident had been intended for her? So many people had seen her in the clinic that day. They had never found out who her unknown enemy was, who had placed the warning note in her bag. What if the same person had set up the traps, intending to harm her by sending the car crashing into the clinic?

No, that seemed like too much of a stretch—even if the car had collided with the walls of the clinic itself, it couldn’t have harmed her, as she had been seated inside. The trap must have been set for the driver of the car, that is, Boyd. That meant… it meant that Ratna was right in saying that multiple attempts had been made on the Colonel’s life. But had Gana set it up, as Ponnappa claimed? Ratna had insisted that Boyd had orchestrated the attacks on himself, but that didn’t seem likely. He appeared to have been badly hurt. Would he have taken such a risk?

Perhaps there was a third person behind all of this—the attack on Kupamma, the threatening message, the attacks on Boyd, and the ghost leopard. If so, it had to be someone clever enough to have avoided suspicion, perhaps someone they had not even thought of adding to their list of suspects. But who would have a motive for such disparate acts? This case was far more perplexing than any that Kaveri had encountered so far. Nothing made sense.

22 The Coffee King

Kaveri retraced her steps to the clinic, eager to see if Boyd had recovered consciousness and was able to speak.

She pushed the gate open, not surprised to find the crowd of eager helpers had dissipated. Ramu was always annoyed at the tendency of people to cluster in crowds around an accident scene. He wanted the victim to have fresh air, peace, and quiet to recover, and she was sure that he would have sent most of the inquisitive gossips swiftly on their way.

She walked into the examination room, pushing open the heavy door. Boyd lay on the bed, while Ramu examined his heartbeat with a stethoscope. Completing his examination, he supported Boyd with his arm, raising him to a sitting position.

‘You seem fine, Colonel,’ he said, giving Boyd a reassuring nod. ‘I thought you might have fractured your leg, but it is just a bad bruise. By God’s grace, the car’s bonnet took most of the force of the impact, leaving you mostly unscathed. But how did the accident happen?’ He introduced Kaveri, as Boyd reached for his suit jacket that was lying on the back of a chair.

Kaveri came forward to stand by her husband’s side, watching Boyd button the top of his shirt and smooth down his jacket, noting his erect back, his military carriage, even after such an accident. This was a man who liked to be in control of situations—even in a doctor’s office.

‘Do you have any enemies? Someone left a booby trap for you. Sharp nails, hidden within a heap of leaves,’ Kaveri explained after greeting Boyd.

She hadn’t noticed Ponnappa sitting in a chair in the corner, until he moved. Ramu led Kaveri to him, introducing her to Gana’s brother too. Ponnappa did not seem to register the introduction. He shifted, lifting stricken eyes to Kaveri, responding only to what she had said earlier to Boyd. ‘A trap? No. That doesn’t seem possible. He would never do something like that.’

‘He?’ Ramu asked. Ponnappa swallowed, tugging at his collar. Ramu brought him a glass of water and he gulped it down in one long swig. He refused to meet Ramu’s eyes, speaking in a rush.

‘I mean, no one would do something like that. It’s impossible.’

Boyd swivelled on the bed, supporting himself with one hand on the mattress, raising his voice. ‘Egad, man. Why are you prevaricating? You know who it is.’

Kaveri pressed her arm against Ramu’s, hoping the two men would say more.

But the seconds ticked past. Inside the room, a gecko made a clicking noise, stalking a spider in a corner of the ceiling. She watched the spider scuttle away to safety, taking refuge in a small crack in the wall.

Boyd and Ponnappa remained stubbornly silent.

At last, Ramu spoke. ‘Shall I drop you at your home, Colonel? You are simply banged up a bit, nothing a day’s rest can’t cure.’

Boyd nodded. ‘You can come home with me, Ponnappa. Your wife will be horrified if she sees you in this condition. My man Tom will help you clean up and drop you home.’

Boyd’s house? Kaveri glanced at Ramu. Her stomach was rumbling, but she spoke to it sternly, telling it to pipe down. She badly wanted to see the house of the man that Lakamma referred to as the Coffee King. Only then would she be able to visualise the layout for herself—the garden where Chandru had hidden in a bush, and the room where Boyd forced him to act as a witness for an unknown document.

Seeing the eagerness in her face, Ramu agreed. ‘Kaveri and I can drop you off and head back to the clinic.’

He called two men in from the road to help him carry Boyd to the car, carefully handing him into the backseat. Ponnappa got in beside him. A short while later, they drew up outside Boyd’s bungalow. Ramu went in to fetch Tom, while Kaveri inspected the home.

How English it seemed, quite different from Lakamma’s bungalow. For one, the decorations made with rice paste on the outside of the house were missing. Janaki had told Kaveri that every Coorgi house had these designs stamped on the walls and pillars, freshly painted each year to celebrate the new rice harvest. The sheaves of rice that decorated the front door of Lakamma’s house as thanksgiving to the Gods for a good harvest were also missing from Boyd’s bungalow.

Boyd’s home also had a long verandah running around the front of the house, but it was completely enclosed in glass. A circular projection jutted out from the centre of the enclosed verandah, also covered in glass. It reminded Kaveri of the Albert Victor Glass House in Bangalore’s Lal Bagh, which, in turn, was modelled on the Crystal Palace of London—although this was a miniature version. From the outside, she could see a large conservatory, filled with pots of all sizes, covered with flowers in riotous colours. Through the glass windows, she caught a glimpse of a bedroom with a fireplace. Perhaps this was the bedroom that Janaki had spoken of.

Boyd noticed her interest. Puffing out his chest, he spoke with pride. ‘Mine is a modern home, with the latest conveniences, paying attention to order and cleanliness. In most native homes, the kitchen is connected to the scullery, letting in the noxious fumes, causing poor health. My kitchen consists of a single room without a scullery, and a direct entrance leading to the garden area behind, so fresh air can come in. I’ve even furnished the kitchen with a Wilson range, and a built-in chimney to keep out the smoke. Would you like some ginger tea? It’s flavoured with honey from my own garden.’

Kaveri’s ears pricked up at the mention of the Wilson range. She longed to step inside and inspect the built-in chimney, understand the physics behind its functioning. But Boyd’s casual dismissal of the poorly equipped ‘native’ homes stung, and she did not want to seem too eager. She demurred, rejecting the offer of tea, but covertly inspecting the conservatory from where she stood in the garden. It was an elegant solution to raise flowers in Coorg, where one inclement gust of wind or squall of rain could destroy months of effort. And yet—how much more naturally beautiful was the slightly more messy lawn in Lakamma’s home, with its attendant bugs and butterflies. No insect would ever be able to enter this caged conservatory to enjoy the pollen and nectar, the bounty that nature so generously offered.

This was not a garden but a zoo—a zoo that caged plants, instead of animals. In a flash of insight, she understood why a man like the Coffee King would be so hellbent on cutting down forests to plant coffee bushes, maximising efficiency and profits over long-term sustenance. This was not a man who understood how nature worked. Or people. With the kind of attitude he displayed, and his casual arrogance and air of superiority, Boyd must have many enemies.

The wind picked up speed, and the pale white flowers adorning the datura bushes, lined up like soldiers along the side of the garden path, began to sway in the breeze. How beautiful they looked, like inverted chandeliers, the bell-shaped petals tipped with pink flaring out like the pleats on a ballroom skirt.

How could something so beautiful be so deadly? The seeds and flowers, soaked and ground, or dried and smoked, could lead to fever, delirium, difficulty in breathing, even death. Small wonder that it was popularly known as the Devil’s Trumpet. Kaveri thought of the book of plant poisons at home, which Ramu had ordered for her specially from England. Why did Boyd have so many datura plants in his garden?

Seeing her fixate on the datura bushes, Boyd flushed, hurrying to explain. ‘When I was in Ceylon, the tribals taught me how to use the plant. They gave me a concoction to ease my pain when my arm was broken, and they had to set it. I smoke it occasionally, when I am feeling stressed. It helps to ease my aches and pains.’ He looked sheepish and defiant all at the same time.

‘That’s insane,’ Ramu said, confronting him with a raised voice. Kaveri stared. Her husband was rarely angry. ‘You have no idea what you’re meddling with. Tribals in these areas know how to use the plant, but it requires immense skill. You’re playing with fire, Colonel. Don’t come to me for help if you get burnt.’

Boyd’s face flushed a choleric red, and he blustered, trying to intimidate Ramu. But Ramu held his ground, speaking to him in a low but fierce voice. Hearing a buzzing sound, Kaveri looked up, spotting the beehive on the mango tree in Boyd’s garden. She watched the large honeybees cluster around the datura flowers, drinking deep from the nectar, and then flying away to alight on another blossom. Her book had said that the honey derived from the datura plant could also be harmful, leading to hallucinations and, in some cases, death. Didn’t Boyd know the risks of using honey from his garden?

She shivered, looking away into the distant horizon, where the rolling tree-topped hills stood out amongst the green valleys like paradise. The spectacular landscapes of Coorg were quite like the datura. Misleadingly fresh and inviting—but death lurked beneath the surface.

23 You Can’t Mend Everything

It was sabotage, then,’ Ramu said to Kaveri, cupping his hands around the cup of tea she poured from the teapot. At home the next day, sitting in Lakamma’s drawing room, they were discussing the accident.

Kaveri handed a plate of ginger biscuits to Ramu, taking one for herself. ‘I wonder if it was directed at Boyd, or at someone else. Is the local Swaraj movement still active here?’

Ramu grimaced. ‘It was active until last year. But like many other parts of the country, the activists are in jail, or in disguise, on the run from the police, after the Chauri Chaura massacre. Why are you asking?’

‘Gana had a magazine on his table, Kodagu Weekly. I flipped through it the first day I was here,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t believe how openly the contributors criticised the British government.’

‘I’m surprised Gana left it out in the open. It’s censored and has a press ordinance against it. Lakamma subscribes to it too, but she keeps hers well hidden. It’s edited by two Coorgis, Pandyanda Belliappa and C. M. Poonacha, both part of the freedom struggle. But why are you asking me all of this, Kaveri? Did you read an article in the magazine that seems to connect to Boyd, or provide a reason for engineering the accident yesterday?’

‘I just wondered if the nail traps were aimed at Boyd, or indiscriminately meant for anyone who drove past—the act of a disgruntled saboteur, perhaps. Most car drivers in Coorg would be English plantation owners.’ Kaveri picked up another biscuit, debating whether to eat it or put it back.

‘That seems a bit far-fetched, Kaveri,’ Ramu said. ‘If it was an Indian who wanted to target the British, this was a poor way to do it. How would they know which car would be coming down the road? Some Indian planters own vehicles too. Lakamma has a car, and so does Ponnappa.’

‘It was just a stray thought. But I think you’re right. The traps were not targeted at anyone driving on the main road.’ Kaveri traced a pattern on the carpet with her toe. ‘None of the four traps I found were in the centre of the road, where they would have been placed if the saboteur wanted to target those cars. They were on the left side, at the turning that leads into the clinic, which means they were placed there by someone who knew that Colonel Boyd was coming to visit you at that specific time.’

‘Many people would have known,’ Ramu said. ‘Boyd and Ponnappa must leave messages with their staff when they head out anywhere, so that they can be reached in case of an emergency at their plantations. And everyone knows my clinic usually remains closed between one and two for lunch. Ergo, the person who engineered the attack could have done so without fear of targeting anyone except Boyd.’

The clock chimed, and Ramu looked up. ‘Five already? Wasn’t Uma aunty supposed to call you this afternoon?’

‘Yes, it’s unlike her to be so delayed,’ Kaveri said, going to the telephone. ‘I’ll call Bhargavi athe and ask if she can pass on a message to Uma aunty. I want to know if aunty and Venu visited Kupamma’s shack again and if they found any more clues there.’

She dialled the telephone, speaking to her mother-in-law. ‘Unwell? Oh no…’ She put the receiver down after saying a hurried goodbye to Bhargavi, and turned to Ramu. ‘Uma aunty’s grandson had diarrhoea, and they had to admit him to the hospital. She’s there with him now.’

‘Is the boy alright?’ Ramu asked.

Kaveri nodded. ‘Thank goodness, yes, he is. Athe said he was getting discharged this evening.’ She looked at the clock and looked away. ‘At this rate we will never make progress on finding Kupamma’s murderer.’

‘Call Ismail, Kaveri,’ Ramu suggested. ‘He was going to find out more about Chandru.’

Kaveri dialled the number for the Wilson Gardens police station in Bangalore. After a short conversation, she banged the receiver down on its stand, turning to Ramu. ‘There were a series of robberies in Whitefield last night. The constable said Ismail left a note for me, telling me that he will be away for at least a couple of days. Perhaps I should accost Chandru now and ask him what he knows about Kupamma.’

‘If you speak to Chandru now, you’re going in blind. Wait for a couple of days,’ Ramu cautioned. ‘He’s a taciturn man. Inspector Ismail’s counterpart in Coorg might have some valuable information that could act as a lever, compelling Chandru to open up to you.’

Kaveri nodded reluctantly. The cuckoo clock struck again, chiming the half hour, and she and Ramu got up. Ponnappa had invited them for tea at 6.00, but they had lost track of time. She quickly changed out of her crumpled sari into a light green organza, embroidered with green and blue butterflies along the border—Anandi’s exquisite handiwork—and hurried into Lakamma’s Daimler, Ramu taking the driver’s seat and steering the car towards Ponnappa’s home.

Despite the size and steadiness of the car, it swung from side to side as they negotiated the steep hairpin bends that led them up to the hills. Along the road, the drooping white stems of the Areca palm, graceful as a chandelier, swayed in the wind like a welcoming troupe of dancers. The fresh green coconuts piled up along the road for sale caught her eye, but there was no time to stop for coconut water.

‘I wonder why Colonel Boyd wants to consult me,’ Kaveri said. ‘If he asks me, should I take on his case? I don’t like the Colonel, and I think what Ponnappa is doing—cheating his brother of his inheritance—is despicable.’

‘Do you want to turn back, Kaveri? I can call him from Lakamma’s home and make our excuses.’

‘No.’ Kaveri let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I know I will hate myself later if we do that. It’s against my dharma as a detective to turn away anyone who comes to me for help. Besides…’ she turned hopefully to Ramu. ‘If I find out who is really behind these attacks—now that we have evidence that someone is trying to kill the Colonel—we can prove that it’s not Gana. And wouldn’t it be wonderful if Ponnappa then apologises to his brother, and there’s a reconciliation?’

Ramu looked at her, the sympathy in his eyes making her eyes water up. ‘I know you want to fix the world, Kaveri. But sometimes, you have to accept that you can’t mend everything that is broken.’

They stepped outside and walked up to the large gate. Kaveri admired its delicate wrought-iron work with flowers and leaves, as Ramu pushed it open. She walked in, inspecting the large metal machine, like an ungainly funnel, just inside the gate. ‘What’s that?’

‘A coffee bean peeler.’ Ramu grinned. ‘I knew you would like this. Ponnappa and Gana’s father, who was also the cousin of Lakamma’s husband, was a well-known agriculturalist. He invented this machine in 1891. You place the coffee beans in here’—Ramu pointed to a large triangular chute—‘and turn the handle like this’—he turned the winding crank—‘and the de-husked coffee falls down into this tray.’

‘How clever.’ Kaveri clapped her hands. ‘Lakamma’s processing unit had a similar machine. But why keep it in front of the house?’

‘It’s a tribute to the machine that made the family fortunes. The Mysore Dewan encountered Ponnappa’s father on a field trip and was very impressed when he demonstrated the prototype, which he had the foresight to patent. The Maharaja ordered several machines, sending them to coffee estates across the landscape. The money that the family made from the sale was used to purchase several hundred acres of land. That’s how they became one of the largest coffee estate owners in northern Coorg.’

‘An Indian planter who patented a machine in 1891. I wish I could have met him,’ Kaveri said wistfully, as they opened the gate and made their way along the small grassy pathway that led up the hill, ending in a large white bungalow. A wide cement balustrade, painted in red and white, curved gracefully around the house.

She admired the bungalow, with its horizontal row of rooms behind the wide-open verandah which ran all along the front of the house and around the side. This was a house of opulence. Wealth was visible in every detail, from the massive teak pillars that held up the verandah, to the carved rosewood easy chairs and side tables set out in the verandah for guests. Kaveri had thought the ceramic floor tiles in Lakamma’s bungalow to be the prettiest she had ever seen, but the Attangadi tiles in this floor were even more beautiful, their green-and-white glazed surface bordered with a delicate pattern in the shape of a four-leaf clover.

But then she saw the fractured wall bordering the verandah towards the end of the row of rooms, broken open like an ugly bleeding gash, destroying the ceremonial stencilled pattern on the walls and pillars. A thick misshapen bamboo screen had been placed next to the break in the wall, creating a barrier that separated the last section of the verandah. Wooden crates had been piled up to create makeshift steps to access the single room behind the barrier. A single sheave of rice hung forlornly above the doorway of this room, its size and appearance contrasting with the garland of sheaves that adorned the main door of the house.

Ratna had told her that Ponnappa and Gana’s ancestral home had been split into two living spaces, but this partitioning seemed brutal, almost obscene in the way it defiled the beauty of this once-elegant home.

Kaveri sensed a flash of movement from the side and turned. Ratna was hiding behind a tree in the garden. Ratna put her finger on her mouth, gesturing for silence and retreating out of sight.

They walked up the wide steps to the ornately carved rosewood front door. Ramu banged on it using a heavy brass knocker in the shape of a snarling lion’s mouth. Almost immediately, Ponnappa opened the door, as though he had been standing right there, waiting for them to knock.

The dishevelled man she had seen at the accident scene had disappeared, giving way to an immaculately dressed person. This close, she smelt the rose-scented soap he had used and saw the thick gold strap of his wristwatch. Kaveri restrained a smile, remembering what Ramu had told her. ‘Ponnappa likes the fine things of life.’

Ponnappa’s hair shone with pomade, his silk shirt shining in the light from the crystal chandelier on the ceiling. Only his forehead, wrapped in a cotton bandage, revealed that he had been in a car crash the previous day.

His wife was decked up like a bride, Kaveri thought, assessing the jewels that flashed on her fingers, and the gold bangles stacked on her wrist. Her gaze lingered on Mrs. Ponnappa’s face. She was like a heroine in the movies, one of the most beautiful women Kaveri had ever seen, with a long oval face, aristocratic aquiline nose, and large fish-shaped eyes. Except those eyes were far from expressive, resting on Kaveri with a blank expression, devoid of any interest.

Mrs. Ponnappa greeted Kaveri civilly, but her eyes then flicked to Ramu, again with the same curious lack of expressiveness. Kaveri’s eyes fell to her sari, a gorgeous red Kanjeevaram, shimmering with gold zari thread. Large Burmese-cut rubies adorned her slender neck, and she wore a diamond and ruby gold belt around her waist. Not the normal attire one wore to receive guests, especially considering her husband had been in an accident. Then she looked behind Mrs. Ponnappa, towards their son, Kartik, standing a couple of feet back. Even this boy, who seemed to be above twelve years, tall and lanky for his age, was overdressed. He seemed sulkily uncomfortable, tugging at the starched collar of his formal white shirt. Yet of the three, only the boy seemed to show what he was thinking on his face, his scowl contrasting with his mother’s impassive face and father’s crocodile smile.

‘A strange family,’ Kaveri whispered to Ramu.

A few minutes later, they were seated on the large leather sofa in Ponnappa’s drawing room. Placed on a small stool in the corner of the room, a massive bronze idol of Lord Shiva in a classic dancing position commanded their attention. Appreciating the exquisite silk carpet and the jade and ivory Buddhas on the intricately carved rosewood peg tables, Kaveri thought privately that she rather preferred the handmade beaded curtains that hung in the alcove that separated the puja room, the room of worship, from the main family space. She noted the gray-and-cream crocheted lace antimacassars that lay across the backs of the upholstered sofas, protecting them from dust and spills. Those were not purchased from a shop. Someone had made them by hand, with care.

‘This is beautiful.’ She traced the lace with her hand.

‘Pieces of frippery. Busywork, keeps my wife occupied.’ Ponnappa snorted. Kaveri stared at Mrs. Ponnappa in disbelief, wondering how she would respond to this piece of open rudeness from her husband, but the older woman avoided her gaze.

The silence grew heavy. Where had Ratna disappeared to? Kaveri looked outside but couldn’t see her anywhere.

Kaveri could feel a spiral of hunger rising from the pit of her belly. Before she left, Janaki had peeped in from the kitchen holding a fresh batch of koovaleputtu, rice cakes steamed with grated coconut and jackfruit pulp, but Kaveri had declined, thinking she would be offered a sumptuous snack here. Her mouth watered, thinking of the plate of food she had declined, and the freshly made ghee that Janaki had served along with it.

Ramu shifted on the sofa next to her, and Kaveri stifled an urge to stand up and wave her arms like a demented windmill, just to see how they would react. Instead, she turned to Ponnappa. ‘How are you feeling now?’ she asked him politely. Perhaps this strange family just didn’t know how to conduct a polite conversation with strangers.

‘I am well, very well,’ he said.

‘As am I. All thanks to your husband.’ Colonel Boyd stood in the front doorway, his hand resting on an ornately carved cane, his clipped voice ringing with authority. Mrs. Ponnappa stiffened, and Kartik stared at the new guest with ill-concealed hostility, but he did not seem to notice.

‘Ah, here you are, Colonel.’ Relief seemed written on Ponnappa’s face. ‘We were waiting for you.’

‘My home is not safe to talk. Too many people around. That’s why I arranged for us to meet here.’ Colonel Boyd sat ramrod straight on the curved settee, staring intently at Kaveri. ‘They say you are a detective. Are you any good?’

Without waiting for her to answer, he continued. ‘I most certainly hope you are. Because someone’s trying to kill us both.’

24 A List of Accidents

Ratna’s head appeared above the windowsill to the back of the room. She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at Ponnappa and Boyd, whose backs were to the window.

The wooden shutters were down, but the thick glass windowpanes were closed. Mrs. Ponnappa cast a quick look outside, whispering something to her son. He slouched over to the window frame, pulling back the bolt and leaving it partly open. Kaveri remembered what Ratna had told her—Mrs. Ponnappa and Kartik were on her side. They had made it easier for Ratna to listen in on the conversation.

Ratna winked at Kaveri. Kaveri hastily looked away, pretending to admire the handsome wooden carving on the wall. Boyd’s sharp gaze was on her, and she did not want him to turn around and spot Ratna.

She took out her notebook, holding Boyd’s gaze. ‘Tell me why you think someone is trying to kill you.’ She flipped through it, opening it at the page where she had noted down what Ratna had told her about the attacks on the Colonel, wanting to compare the two descriptions.

‘It all began two weeks back, on a Sunday,’ Boyd said. ‘The nineteenth of March. I always take a constitutional walk after my morning tea, at six in the morning. Some bounder had left his vegetable cart unattended at the high point of the road. It careened down the slope, missing me by a few inches. A few yards further and I might have tumbled off the side of the mountain. As it is, I had a limp that lasted for a week.’

‘Do you know whose cart it was?’ Kaveri asked, wondering why he made no mention of Tom, who—from Ratna’s account—had taken an injury to save his employer. But Boyd seemed like the kind of man to take people for granted, especially his employees.

‘I never found the owner,’ he said curtly. ‘I asked my servant boys to impound the cart and to let everyone know that the owner could come to me. Carts are damned expensive. But no one claimed it. That’s why I don’t believe it was an accident. If it was, someone would have turned up to collect it.’

Untrue, Kaveri thought, sketching a cartwheel with spokes in the margins of her notebook. If it was indeed a careless farmer or vegetable vendor, the man would have been too frightened to approach the Colonel. But she kept her thoughts to herself.

Boyd crossed his leg over his knee, shaking his boot. Flecks of mud fell onto the expensive Kashmiri carpet in the centre of the room. A faint crease appeared between Mrs. Ponnappa’s eyebrows. It would be difficult to remove the mud stains from the carpet, Kaveri realised. She and Ramu had left their shoes outside in the shoe rack on the verandah. But English people often refused to follow the basic customs and courtesies that marked Indian households.

‘What were the other incidents?’ she asked.

‘A poisonous scorpion was left on my chair a few days later. Fortunately, Tom spotted it just before I entered the office. Some idiot of a cleaning fellow had left the windows wide open. Anyone could have accessed the room. And then, a couple of days back, something was off with my lunch, and I couldn’t keep anything down for a whole day.’

Ponnappa’s son shifted in his seat, brushing against his mother’s arm. The heavy bangles on her wrist clattered, and Ponnappa gave him a sharp look.

‘Kartik, go with Amma to the kitchen. Help her prepare tea for our visitors,’ Ponnappa ordered his son. Without a glance at her husband, Mrs. Ponnappa got up, gliding away to the kitchen. Kartik followed his mother, dragging his feet, pulling back the curtain that separated the dining space from the drawing room. Kaveri looked inside, curious to catch a glimpse of the rest of the house. She could see a large, thick wooden table. Mounted on the wall behind the table, a massive shield took up half the space, with an equally massive pair of curved swords also fixed on the wall below the shield. The coat of arms on the shield seemed very similar to the one in Lakamma’s house. Of course, they were cousins.

Kaveri realised that all the three men had fallen silent, waiting for her to speak.

‘Each of these incidents, alone, could have been accidental. But taken together…’ Kaveri pursed her lips. ‘Someone is trying to harm you.’

‘That’s right.’ Boyd slapped his hand on his knee. ‘Someone has it in for me. I know who it is, but you won’t believe me even if I give you the name, because I don’t have any evidence. Yesterday, the blighter almost succeeded.’

She observed the worry in Ponnappa’s eyes. ‘It can’t be anyone I know,’ he rushed, looking back at the doorway through which his wife had exited the room. ‘Of course, some people we know are very annoyed with us. But being angry with someone is very different from wanting to kill them.’

His voice sounded high, his assertion dramatic and unconvincing. Even Boyd gave a skeptical harrumph.

‘There’s no point in hiding from the truth, Ponnappa,’ Boyd advised. ‘I’m sure none of us wants to believe that someone hates one or both of us so much they’re willing to attempt murder. But the fact of the matter is that something fishy is going on.’

Ponnappa fiddled with the strap of his gold watch, speaking almost to himself. ‘I can’t believe it of him. He was always such a friendly child, so fond of me.’

‘Why don’t you just come out and say it?’ Ramu, who had been sitting quietly all this time, spoke up. ‘You’re afraid that your brother is behind these accidents. Do you really think he is capable of murder?’

25 Time for Scotch and Soda

I think he is,’ Boyd growled. ‘But Ponnappa refuses to acknowledge that his brother could be capable of something like this.’

Ponnappa sat stiffly, looking at the floor while Boyd glowered at everyone, daring them to refute his assertion. Kaveri once again read the notes she had transcribed after her conversation with Ratna two days ago in the sacred grove. According to her, Gana said Ponnappa blamed him for the attacks on Boyd, but perhaps Ponnappa had thought better of it. Certainly, he was now sticking up for his brother—though he wasn’t doing a very convincing job, she thought with some despair.

She glanced over at the window, wondering how Boyd’s accusation had affected poor Ratna. She stood at a corner of the window, eyes brimming with tears, swiping at her face with the back of her hands.

Poor Ratna. Kaveri exchanged glances with Ramu, looking away from the window.

Ponnappa and Boyd stopped talking, and it fell to Ramu and Kaveri to keep the uncomfortable conversation going. Ramu reached into his briefcase, pulling out a set of bandages, handing one set to each of the men. ‘New stock from Bangalore,’ he said, with a smile for Kaveri. ‘My wife brought them for me from Bowring Hospital. They’ve just arrived from London, a new patent from Statham & Co. Porous rubber and elastic bandages, ideal for wrapping sprains, without the usual sweating and itching.’

The men fell into a discussion of the best way to bandage a sprain. Kaveri looked up eagerly at Mrs. Ponnappa when she brought in the tea, serving them in delicate porcelain cups from a silver tray. But her relief was short-lived, evaporating when she looked at Mrs. Ponnappa’s dull face, and her son’s glum expression. They must have heard the accusations against Gana from the kitchen. Mrs. Ponnappa hadn’t even served any food. Kaveri’s stomach protested again.

They picked up and exhausted the normally reliable British topic of the weather, addressing their comments to Mrs. Ponnappa, who responded punctiliously, but without any real warmth. Then Kaveri and Ramu sat at the edge of their uncomfortable carved-rosewood chairs, looking at each other, wondering when they could make an excuse to leave.

After hearing Boyd’s accusation, Ratna had disappeared from the window. In unspoken agreement, they downed their cups of tea swiftly, refusing a second cup in unison. Kaveri’s stomach was rumbling audibly by then, and she wanted to get home to Janaki’s delicious food.

Boyd got up with them. ‘I’ll head home now. Time for my scotch and soda.’ He said goodbye to Ponnappa and Kartik, but his gaze lingered on Mrs. Ponnappa. She looked past him, focusing on the wall in front of her. Boyd stalked out of the room, back stiff. Only the slight limp in his gait and the twist of his mouth betrayed that he was still in pain from his recent accident.

Kaveri walked out with Ramu, deciding to come back another day to speak to Mrs. Ponnappa when her husband wasn’t around. Perhaps the woman would speak more freely without Ponnappa’s oppressive presence, revealing more about the brothers and their feud.

When they went outside, Colonel Boyd was waiting for them on the verandah. ‘I hope you will take my case,’ he said to Kaveri.

‘I will,’ she agreed. ‘But on my terms. My job is to uncover the truth, not to give you a result that makes you happy. I won’t manufacture evidence for you or be your accomplice in implicating an innocent man.’

Boyd stared at her for what seemed like a long time, his bushy eyebrows drawing together in a penetrating frown. She matched him stare for stare.

Then he held out his hand, cementing their deal with a brisk handshake. ‘I’m a blunt-speaking man myself, Mrs. Murthy, and I appreciate your plain speaking. We will deal well together.’

‘Do you know an old woman called Kupamma? She visited Coorg, from Bangalore, a week or so before I arrived,’ Kaveri decided to ask Boyd, retaining the embroidered version of the truth she had used with Janaki. ‘Kupamma was my friend’s caretaker, and my friend is looking for her. She seems to have disappeared, but no one knows where she went.’

Colonel Boyd looked puzzled. ‘I can’t say it rings a bell. But, dear lady, if you want to help your friend, then I will ask around.’

Kaveri stifled a sigh of disappointment. Why was it so hard to find any trace of Kupamma? Had she visited Coorg?

Crash. They heard the sound of breaking glass, and Kaveri jumped. Inside, Ponnappa’s voice was raised in a shout. Boyd seemed unaffected by the noise. He gave Kaveri an odd two-fingered half-salute and walked away.

She and Ramu hurried to the front door.

Ponnappa grabbed Kartik’s arm and twisted it, pointing to the shattered fragments of glass on the ground. ‘Do you know how expensive that vase was? If you work night and day for a year, you will not be able to pay me back for it.’ He cuffed his son around the ears.

Kartik rubbed his ear, protesting. ‘You knocked over the vase.’

‘Because you fell on me. Pushed me.’ Ponnappa cuffed him again. Tears dripped from Kartik’s eyes onto his nose.

‘I’m sure he didn’t intend to break the vase,’ Kaveri said loudly, looking in the direction of the kitchen, hoping that Mrs. Ponnappa would come out. Why was she not here, protecting her son? ‘Kartik is young and made a mistake. It could happen to anyone.’

Ponnappa turned on her, the anger in his eyes so fierce that she took a small step back. Ramu put a supportive arm around her. Her normally mild-mannered husband could not tolerate violence against children or animals.

Ramu held out a hand to Kartik, ignoring Ponnappa completely. ‘Your ear looks swollen. That injury will have to be looked at. Come closer, let me see if it needs treatment.’

Kartik froze, cupping his ear with his hand, looking like a frightened rabbit as he stared at his father and then Ramu.

Gradually, the anger on Ponnappa’s face faded, replaced by a smarmy grin. ‘I guess I lost my temper,’ he conceded, patting his son on the shoulder.

Kartik flinched, moving back from him. Ponnappa kept calm with an effort, but Kaveri could see a thick vein throbbing below his jaw.

‘Let me look at that,’ Ramu said again to Kartik, holding out his hand. He spoke in a gentle tone, as one would speak to a frightened child, all the while pointedly refusing to acknowledge Ponnappa’s anger.

Kartik stepped away from his father, walking slowly towards Ramu and Kaveri. When he reached them, he suddenly bolted, running down the steps and out of the gate, disappearing from sight.

26 Magical Powers of Detection

As soon as they reached Lakamma’s bungalow, Ramu asked Janaki to fetch food for his ravenous wife. He sat next to Kaveri as she greedily tucked into a plate of akki otti, tearing off pieces of the flat bread–like ovals made from rice flour, and dipping them into the sweet-and-sour kaadu maanga curry, made with the wild mangoes Janaki had collected from the forest that morning.

A butterfly fluttered past, settling down on the saucer in front of Ramu, flapping its riotously coloured red-and-gold wings. It lapped greedily at a drop of sugary coffee, and he broke into a rare smile.

Kaveri saw the butterfly too but paid it no attention. She pushed away the plate, her shoulders drooping. ‘I don’t understand what is going on. Boyd thinks Gana is trying to kill him, and Gana thinks Boyd staged the incidents to implicate him—both can’t be true.’

‘Someone is definitely trying to harm Boyd. Let’s run through our cast of characters,’ Ramu said, ticking off his fingers. ‘Chandru. Janaki. Gana. Ponnappa. Mrs. Ponnappa. Ratna. Kartik.’

‘Not Ratna or Kartik,’ Kaveri objected. ‘They are only children. Mr. and Mrs. Ponnappa don’t have a motive. Boyd is worth more to Ponnappa alive as a collaborator.’

‘Alright then, let’s list the people with motives. Gana has hated Boyd ever since he made his brother turn against him. Chandru and Janaki dislike him because he forced Chandru to place his thumbprint on an unknown document with a revenue stamp, and threatened to kill him if he revealed this to anyone. Ratna—yes, Kaveri, you can’t leave her out just because you like her—she has the same motive as Gana.’

‘You left out all the workers that Boyd has bullied and exploited,’ Kaveri said. ‘There could be dozens of them.’ She stared moodily at Lakamma’s royal blue carpet, kicking at the fringes.

Janaki came in, carrying a tray with fresh coffee. Ramu jumped up to take it from her, pouring a cup for Kaveri. She took a large hot sip.

‘I needed that,’ she said, leaning her head back against the soft cotton cushions, suddenly feeling completely exhausted. ‘Everyone seems to be counting on me to solve their problems. They believe I have magical powers. As though I have to just look at a criminal and deduce the truth.’

‘Your reputation can be a very useful tool, you know. If people think you have magical powers, they will be nervous around you, especially if they have guilty secrets to hide. In their fear, they may let important information slip,’ Ramu said gently.

‘I hope so. Look at all the secrets I’m trying to ferret out.’ Kaveri counted them off on her fingers. ‘First, I must find Kupamma’s killer. Second, Lakamma wants me to find the truth about the ghost leopard who has been stalking the roads at night, so her employees can come to work without worrying about being attacked by wild beasts or malevolent spirits. Third, Janaki asked me to find out what was in the document on which Chandru affixed his thumbprint, so that they can inform Gana if Ponnappa and Boyd are out to cheat him. Fourth, Ratna wants me to save her father from being falsely implicated by Boyd in the attacks on his life, convinced that the Colonel is out to seize their share of the estate. And fifth, Colonel Boyd wants me to find the person trying to kill him, which he thinks has to be Gana. Have I left out anything?’

She eyed the akki otti. ‘I can’t eat it all. Will you have the last piece?’ She pushed the plate towards him.

Ramu bit into a piece of chilli and coughed, his eyes watering. He reached for a glass of water, and Kaveri thumped him on the back.

‘Tell me more about the partition between the houses,’ she asked, once he stopped coughing. ‘Ponnappa and his family live in such a large, luxuriously furnished house, and Ratna told me she and her father have just one room in which they cook, eat, and sleep. What an awful thing to do to them.’

‘You can’t blame Ponnappa alone,’ Ramu said. ‘He is weak and impressionable, and Boyd—well, you have seen how forceful he is.’

‘And charismatic,’ Kaveri added unwillingly. ‘When he shook my hand and looked into my eyes, I had the strangest urge to trust him.’

‘He didn’t get where he has without being able to manipulate people. I suspect Boyd doesn’t know quite how to deal with you, though.’ Ramu sounded amused. ‘He is used to dealing with women who are bits of fluff, using their femininity to coax and cajole jewels and money out of him. Lakamma discomfited him, especially when she told him off in no uncertain terms. But I doubt he will do anything to offend you. He needs you too badly.’

Kaveri sighed. ‘I wish I didn’t have to help someone I disliked so much. But tell me. When did they break up the house?’

‘About two months back,’ Ramu said. ‘Until Boyd entered their lives, people say Gana had been Ponnappa’s shadow, following him everywhere, doing anything he asked of him. When Gana disagreed with him, Ponnappa would get furious. He took Gana’s questioning of Boyd as a personal affront, assuming that Gana was also challenging his role as elder brother and family patriarch. That’s when he banned Gana from the management of the plantation and cut off his allowance. He tried throwing Gana and Ratna out of the house but couldn’t. Under the law, Gana has a right to live in the family house, which was built by his father. Gana went to the police commissioner to enforce his rights. But the law only specifies that Gana should have a share—it doesn’t say how the house should be partitioned between the two.’

‘And since Ponnappa now controls the flow of income and wealth, he divided the home to give his younger brother a single room, keeping everything else for himself,’ Kaveri said in a fierce grumble. ‘If Gana was a killer, I’d have thought he’d have a go at his brother first, wouldn’t you?’

Ramu let out a bark of laughter.

Kaveri continued, more soberly. ‘Poor Ratna has been affected the worst. I felt so bad for her today, at the window spying on our conversation. She must be so frightened for her father.’

‘And angry, Kaveri. The day before you arrived, Mrs. Ponnappa asked me to come to their house to treat Kartik for a cold. His father had refused to let him see the doctor, dosing him with a pick-me-up Kola tonic which Ponnappa also uses—he imports it all the way from Calcutta. She came to me in secret, after a few days when Kartik’s cold seemed to be getting worse, asking me to come in the middle of the day when her husband would be out in the plantation. I took my inhaler with me and made him inhale a dose of chloride of ammonium, after which his cough improved substantially.’

Kaveri nodded, fidgeting slightly. She loved hearing about Ramu’s medical cases in detail, but today she was eager for him to get to the point. ‘After inspecting him, I went to the kitchen to wash my hands.’ Ramu interlaced his fingers with his wife’s. ‘Ratna pulled Kartik in, shouting at him. “Appa found a school for me in Bangalore, but your father refused to pay for my fees. I could kill him!” I was behind the half wall that screened the washbasin, and I don’t think they saw me.’

A chill fell over the room. The sun had set, and Kaveri shivered. ‘I don’t know if I can judge her. How would I have reacted if I had been pulled out of school at sixteen because my uncle had taken all our money?’

‘Coorg was supposed to be a break from everything else for you. But it has turned out to be quite a stressful time. Threatening notes, deadly snakes, car crashes.’ Ramu gave her a rueful look. ‘And I have been so busy. I feel like I haven’t taken you anywhere.’

‘Let’s go to the Mercara market tomorrow,’ Kaveri suggested impulsively. ‘I wanted to buy myself a pair of gumboots.’

‘I will hang a sign on my clinic door asking people to come back after lunch. We just need to hope there are no emergencies. Knock on wood.’ Ramu rapped his knuckles on the chair.

27 Tramp, Tramp, Go the Horses

I will have to take the car, Kaveri. I know I promised to take you shopping today.’ Ramu’s voice was apologetic, but he was already hurrying into their bedroom. ‘Someone has just run up with a message from Mercara. A Jenu Kuruba honey hunter has fallen out of a tree. Someone from his village came running into town to ask for a doctor, and I’m the nearest one. I need to leave quickly. But Ramappa’s brother has a tonga. I will ask him to take you to the market.’

‘Don’t worry about me. That will work perfectly,’ Kaveri reassured him as Ramu restocked his briefcase with cylinder-wound dressings and plaster tapes on spools, from the stock she had brought from Bangalore.

A couple of hours later, she was in the tonga, heading to the market after finishing an early lunch—carrying two large cloth bags that Janaki had dug out from one of Lakamma’s cupboards. She needed more than gumboots. In her hurry to get to Coorg, she had packed her old cotton blouses, but realised she couldn’t fit into most of them only after she arrived. She had put on weight during her pregnancy. Thankfully she had remembered to bring the small parcel Mrs. Green had delivered containing new silk sleeveless blouses, gorgeously embellished with Anandi’s embroidery.

Ramu had not yet seen her wear them. She hummed a happy tune under her breath, thinking of the look of appreciation he was sure to give her.

The horse uttered a peculiar sound, somewhere between a cough and a sneeze, and Kaveri looked up, breaking out of her reverie.

She caught a glimpse of the high peaks of the mountains as the road wound around a curve. They had been on the road only a short time, yet already the clouds had parted. The sun emerged from behind the hills, bathing the plains below them in clear blazing sunshine. The thickly forested slopes lay below the plains. From the distance, through the shimmering air, smoke rose from fires set within the grassy hills, where the brown stubble from the remnants of the rice fields was being cleared away to make way for the next harvest.

‘Do you work for Lakamma?’ she asked the driver. That was all the excuse he seemed to need to begin talking, entertaining her with a flow of chatter as the horse picked its way carefully down the steep, winding slopes, the cart slowing as it took the hairpin bends. Kaveri spotted a brilliantly coloured orchid in the valley. She bent down to take a better look and gasped when she saw the edge of the road, cut out from the steep rock, fall away, exposing jagged shards of stone.

Trying to ignore the treacherous-looking slopes, she focused on the driver. Moving past stories of his childhood and early days, he had now started telling her something hilarious his wife’s mother’s uncle had done last Deepavali.

Kaveri oohed and aahed at appropriate moments, her eyes drifting to the steep drop below her. She placed her fingers in the anti-nausea mudra recommended to her by Bhargavi and tried to pay attention to the driver’s story, keeping her eyes focused on her fingers as the horse continued its swaying climb.

Thankfully, the market was close. The driver jerked on the reins of the horse, slowing it down as the tonga negotiated a sharp and steep bend, and the narrow road opened into a large grassy meadow on the top of the hill. Women sat with colourful piles of jasmine, chrysanthemum, and rose flowers in bamboo baskets, weaving garlands in red, pink, yellow, and white for customers to purchase, offering them to the small shrine in the corner. They had arrived at the Mercara market.

Kaveri climbed down from the tonga, looking at the stalls packed with colourful English fruits—plums and peaches, crisp long cucumbers and sweet carrots, piled in untidy heaps. There were stalls with colourful lungis; embroidered blouses; knitted sweaters and woollen caps; lace doilies and coarse kamblis made of goat’s hair; stout gumboots; and frivolous-looking chappals. At one end, a blacksmith shoed horses, while on the other side, a shoemaker worked on a broken pair of sandals. Kaveri felt like a child in a toy shop.

Spotting a locksmith’s large and well-stocked stall, Kaveri made a beeline for his shop. She had always wanted to purchase a set of lock picks, but she could hardly approach a locksmith in Bangalore. In no time at all, rumours would spread across the city, and everyone would know that lady detective Mrs. Kaveri Murthy had a set of equipment that allowed her to open locks on demand. She could imagine the consequences—a long queue of young men and women outside her door, asking her to break into their lover’s home and retrieve letters they regretted writing. She knew Sherlock Holmes had taken on cases like this, but as much as she admired the great detective, that was not a path she wanted to take.

A voice interrupted her. ‘Mrs. Murthy?’

She groaned inwardly. That imperious tone could belong only to one man: Colonel Boyd.

‘Isn’t this a lovely marketplace?’ Boyd strode up to her and turned to Tom, walking a few steps behind. When she saw him with Clara at the forest, Tom had been wearing a green silk shirt with a scarf tied carelessly around his open throat, every inch the debonair lover. Today, in the market, he was a perfect businesslike employee, wearing a white cotton shirt buttoned to the collar over a pair of pleated black trousers, with black patent leather shoes. She raised her eyebrows when she noticed his heels. He was not as tall as he seemed on first sight then—only a man who wanted to give the appearance of height.

Seeing Kaveri, Tom gave her a deferential nod. Boyd shot him an irritated look. ‘Still here, Tom? Your hearing must be going. I told you to visit the butcher and ask him for a quotation. We need to get the choicest cuts of pork for my party. And ask him to send his swiftest supply boys. Make sure they know the consequence for delays.’ He raised his voice. ‘Step on it, man.’

Tom reddened, turning away. Boyd watched him making his way through the increasing crowd, scowling at his retreating back. ‘Impossible to get decent staff these days. Tom has been with me for years. But even so… he seems to be acting strange lately. Damn the man’s impudence.’

He turned back to Kaveri, pumping her hand with enthusiasm. ‘May I offer you a cup of tea?’

There was no way to escape without being impolite. Besides, she was curious to know why Boyd had sought her out again, when they had spoken just the previous evening.

Kaveri followed Boyd as he shouldered past people, brushing them roughly aside. The crowd parted to give him a wide berth, shooting hostile looks at him. For her, they seemed to have no anger, only curiosity accompanied by friendly smiles. She nodded and smiled back, walking behind Boyd until they arrived at a small tea shop at one end of the market. The elderly woman who ran the stall was extremely wrinkled, more than anyone Kaveri had seen. Her earlobes hung low, down to her cheeks, heavy with the weight of several pairs of ornate silver earrings. Kaveri admired the silver choker around her neck, inspecting the snake tattoos on her arm with curiosity.

The woman gave her a friendly nod, setting two small steel tumblers filled with piping hot tea in front of them, along with a plate of noolputtu, steamed rice noodles, with a fragrant baimbale curry. Kaveri ate a spoon of the curry, lingering over the tender, fermented bamboo shoots. She could taste the tamarind and coconut paste in which it was cooked, with a mix of ground chillies, garlic, and onions—but there were other spices in there too, less familiar to her. Coorgi food was so different from what she was used to in Bangalore, and so very tasty. She would have to ask Janaki to write down some recipes, so she could prepare these dishes when they returned to Bangalore.

A formation of cranes flew above them, their wings gently flapping in the wind. Kaveri sucked in her breath, looking at the vista below, the misty hills shimmering and the gentle glow of the sun lighting up the trees in the valley.

‘Don’t you just love the space that Coorg offers?’ Boyd said. ‘It’s not as large as it seems, you know. Just sixty miles from north to south, and forty miles from east to west, but it’s so unlike Bangalore and Mysore, dreadfully crowded places. I came here to escape what I find most loathsome—propinquity to one’s fellow creatures.’ He smiled at Kaveri’s startled look. ‘I’m not a misandrist, Mrs. Murthy. But propinquity almost always brings with it the issue of noise, you know. The measured tramp, tramp, tramp of the big carriage horses seems to beat into one’s brain in Bangalore.’

Kaveri studied him as she sipped her tea. She had been too hasty to dismiss the man as a caricature evil figure, based on everyone’s accounts of him. But there was something about Boyd, his palpable energy and the intelligence that shone from his eyes, which both repelled and fascinated her. For the first time, she began to see how a man like Boyd, with his magnetic personality, could influence a weaker personality like Ponnappa to join him, abandoning his own brother.

Even here, Boyd had adroitly manipulated the situation, leading her to the edge of the market and away from potential eavesdroppers. He ensured she was seated with her back to the market, with the vistas of Mercara spread below her, singing praises of the scenic views to her. All the same, it did not escape her notice that Boyd had taken the seat opposite her. He sat facing the marketplace, his intelligent eyes raking across the stalls behind her. He wanted to give her the impression that he was focused on their conversation. But she also sensed that this was a man who missed nothing that was going on around him.

‘Have you found out anything?’ Boyd asked her abruptly.

28 An Invitation to a Party

Anything about what?’ Kaveri asked sweetly, deciding two could play that game. She had the satisfaction of seeing him look distinctly irritated, before he composed himself, giving her a gruff smile.

‘I mean, did you find out who tampered with my car?’

‘I haven’t had a chance. It’s been such a short time.’ She softened her statement, keeping her voice low and admiring. ‘Surely a man like you, with your connections, would have some idea of who it could be.’

‘I don’t have to guess.’ Boyd’s voice was uncompromisingly blunt. ‘I know it’s that dreadful little man, Gana. Ponnappa’s a smart man, he likes the good things of life. He knows the importance of expanding plantations to scale up production. These local owners don’t know how to do things efficiently. They’ve tried to adopt modern technologies, created the United Planters’ Association to lobby for low taxes. But business just isn’t in their blood, not like it is for us Englishmen. We’re naturals.’

Boyd’s eyes flashed with enthusiasm. ‘You’re a scientific woman, I hear. I like to work with data. My Indian friends…’ he paused, the visible sneer in his voice making Kaveri stiffen. ‘They believe in sticking with traditional approaches. They use cattle manure, can you believe it? We can’t moulder in the past. I use Reverend Richter’s approaches of analytical chemistry to test the soil. My studies say that the best manure comes from mixing burnt earth, bones, fish, and oil cake. And I use imported Strawsoniser spray engines to treat the afflicted plants.’

Always interested in new machines, Kaveri’s ears perked up when she heard him mention a Strawsoniser spray engine. She yearned to ask him if she could see the machine but refrained with reluctance. Boyd had not yet brought up the main reason he had asked her to tea, and she wanted to get this information out of him.

Boyd was now staring into the distance, his eyes fixed on something behind her. She turned around, seeing Tom making his way to them followed by a small boy—one of the ‘supply boys’ Boyd had spoken of so dismissively, she presumed.

Boyd returned his attention to Kaveri, drumming his fingers on the table. He swallowed a huge gulp of tea, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. ‘I wanted to know if you figured out who’s behind the leopard.’

Intrigued, she leaned forward. ‘No. Why?’

She heard Tom’s footsteps, close now. He approached their table, and Boyd waved him back with an imperious shake of his hand. The overloaded boy stood next to him, shifting his heavy parcel of meat from one arm to the other. Tom stepped back a couple of feet but made no motion to help the boy.

‘I have spent a long time hunting in these landscapes. I’m a good shot. I know how to construct a machan and use a goat as bait, how to hide my scent from being carried on the wind. If you come into my house, you will see a number of my trophies, tiger and leopard skins, and bison, boar, and sambhar heads. Many of the villages around ask me to get rid of their man-eating tigers. I stopped hunting because of an incident last year. Last month, I stumbled across a female leopard when I was driving home. She growled at me and jumped at the vehicle, so I shot her. She died immediately. I didn’t know why she was so aggressive, until her cubs darted out from the undergrowth. They were young, perhaps six to nine months, not yet old enough to fend for themselves.’ His eyes darted nervously across her face. ‘It’s bad luck to kill a mother with her cubs. I wouldn’t have done it had I known.’

Kaveri felt sick to her stomach. ‘You left the cubs motherless? Didn’t you try to feed them? If they didn’t know how to hunt independently, they would have starved, died by now.’

‘My bearers tried to catch them, but they disappeared into the jungle,’ he said defensively.

‘And you’re suggesting the killing of the leopard is related to the attempts on your life?’ she said in a heated voice, still agitated at the thought of what he had done, so casually.

‘You don’t know how these native fellas work in these tribal places, with voodoo dolls. I’ve seen their like before in Ceylon. Someone must have spoken to my bearers and found out that I killed the leopard, then called on its dead spirit. You know they can carve a wooden doll, paint it like a leopard, and then do some mumbo jumbo chants, and resurrect its ghost. Last week, someone put a crude wooden replica in my room, placing it on my bed. But I don’t scare easily. My pistol is always with me.’ Boyd’s voice was full of bravado, but his hands trembled.

Kaveri looked away from him, disgusted at hearing him talk so casually about killing the leopard and orphaning her cubs. She folded her arms over her body, hugging herself tightly.

The old woman, seeing their plates and cups emptied, walked over to them, asking for her payment. Boyd pulled out his purse and threw a few coins onto the table. After unburdening himself to Kaveri, he seemed keen to leave, his eyes shifting from side to side as he spoke in a rush of words.

‘I say, Mrs. Murthy, I hope you won’t take anything we spoke about too seriously. Sometimes, I think the heat is playing tricks on me. I wish I was back in England, away from this accursed land.’ His back was ramrod stiff, as he surveyed the landscape, once again the commanding man of authority. ‘I am throwing a party in a week’s time, to celebrate my new collaborative venture with Ponnappa. I hope you and your husband can come. I’ll ask Tom to bring over the invitation.’

Without waiting for a response, he gave her a small military bow and walked away, barking an order at Tom. The supply boy spat at his retreating back before sullenly following, dragging his footsteps. Kaveri watched them make their way through the crowd, mulling over what Boyd had told her.

Her garrulous tonga driver was standing at the fruit stall, deep in conversation with someone. Was that Gana? At this distance, she couldn’t see clearly. Kaveri pushed her way through the crowd, trying to keep them in sight.

A man carrying a headload of potatoes blocked her way, unloading his wares at the vegetable market. She swiftly negotiated around the mound of spuds, but by the time she had extricated herself, the two men had disappeared from sight.

Her child kicked in her belly, its restlessness reminding her that she had come to the market for a purpose—not to sleuth, but to shop. Firmly, Kaveri squashed all thoughts of detection into a corner of her brain and retraced her steps to the locksmith. After that, she visited the stall with embroidered lace. Anandi would love a new set of handkerchiefs.

An hour later, Kaveri carried several bags on her shoulder, walking slowly to the tonga. Unable to resist the market, she had bought too much, laden with gifts for her mother-in-law and all her friends in Bangalore. She had even found a gorgeous ceramic milk jug for one of her first and favourite clients, the goatherd from Majjigepura, the village of buttermilk.

The sun was lower in the sky now, and it would be dark in a couple of hours. The shops in the market were beginning to close, calling customers, hurrying to complete the last few sales of the day before leaving for their homes.

She looked at the two men standing near the tonga. The driver was with a man who had to be the temple priest. He wore a saffron shawl draped around his shoulders, and a necklace of tulasi beads. She remembered a casual comment by Ratna: ‘He is my father’s cousin.’ Small wonder that the two men looked so much alike that Kaveri had mistaken him for Gana.

She walked up to them, smiling tentatively at the priest, her mind churning furiously. Hadn’t Ratna insisted that the priest would not speak to her, that he had taken a vow not to speak to outsiders? But here he was, chatting with the driver.

The priest greeted her. ‘Namaskara. You came to my temple, but left before we could speak.’ He peered at her, sensing her obvious confusion. ‘Is something wrong?’

Kaveri shook her head. There must be some reason Ratna had lied to her, but she didn’t want to tell the priest. She would ask Ratna when they met next.

‘Can I speak to you in private?’ she asked the priest, pointing to the stone bench a short distance from the tonga.

29 A Ghostly Encounter

The priest readily assented, walking by her side. They reached the bench, and he turned to Kaveri. ‘What is it?’

‘Do you know anything about the ghost leopard? Jaya, who works for Lakamma, told me to ask you.’ Kaveri watched him closely, wondering if he would hesitate.

But he responded readily, even though he sounded troubled. ‘The leopard comes to my forest at night, to take shelter at Lord Ayyappa’s feet. It is a young one, I think it has lost its mother.’

‘The Colonel told me that he killed a leopard that charged at him last month. It left behind cubs. Could this be one of them?’

‘Very likely. The others may have died,’ the priest said sadly. ‘It’s difficult for wild animals to survive in the jungle, especially when they are so young. Our traditions forbid hunting a mother with young cubs. It takes them a year or two to become independent enough to hunt and survive on their own. But outsiders often don’t realise, or don’t care.’

‘Not a ghost then?’ Kaveri pressed.

‘Of course not. Though this leopard is not golden but pure white. An albino. That may be why people think it’s a spirit. Real ghosts don’t need to be fed.’ He showed her the small tiffin carrier in his bag. ‘It’s too young to hunt yet. I come to the market daily to purchase fresh mutton and leave the meat near the shrine at night. It is gone by morning.’

‘I think the leopard was there when I visited the temple to meet Ratna,’ Kaveri said. ‘The forest went quiet for a few minutes, and I thought I heard a rumbling sound.’

The priest chuckled. ‘It keeps trying to hunt but hasn’t been successful so far. When it feints at a frog or a snake, the monkeys raise the alarm call, and the forest goes silent. It happens often.’

‘My husband came across the leopard last week, but there was someone running next to it. Someone with a whistle,’ she clarified. ‘Do you know who that might be?’

‘I heard a whistle too, two nights ago. Loud sounds carry far in the hills, especially at night, and I was on my way back home at midnight. But I couldn’t tell where it came from. I have only seen the leopard in the forest.’ The priest looked at her with his kind eyes. ‘I don’t know anything else about it.’

Kaveri believed him. This was the first person she had spoken to who seemed to have nothing to hide. Everyone else she had met in Coorg seemed to harbour secrets of their own.

A thought struck her. ‘Do you know an old woman called Kupamma?’

‘No,’ the priest said immediately.

She groaned. ‘No one seems to have seen or heard of her. And yet… I am convinced she came here. Perhaps she went by a different name?’

‘What does she look like?’ he asked.

‘She must have been about seventy. Short, very thin, with completely white hair.’

‘There are thousands of old women like that in Coorg,’ the priest commented dryly. ‘Even my grandmother looks like this.’

Kaveri smiled. ‘And mine. But Kupamma had one distinguishing feature, an extra toe on her foot.’

‘On her right foot? An additional small toe?’ the priest asked. When Kaveri nodded, he said, ‘I have seen her. She came to my temple last week, only for a day. I was surprised that she seemed to know her way around, drinking water from the forest spring, and washing her sari under the waterfall at the back. Not many know about these areas anymore. I spoke to her, and she told me she used to live here, many years ago. She said she used to clean the temple. I have worked at the temple for twenty years and have never seen her, so this must have been even before that, when my uncle was the priest.’ He looked at Kaveri. ‘Did you say she is from Bangalore?’

‘She was from Bangalore,’ Kaveri told him. ‘She is dead now.’

The priest gave her a startled look. ‘She seemed perfectly healthy when I met her.’

‘Someone killed her, pushed her head against a stone one night in Bangalore, and then left her to bleed to death. I have been searching for her killer ever since. I suspected she came to Coorg recently. But until now, I couldn’t find anyone who could tell me about her visit here.’ She refrained from telling him anything else. The priest seemed trustworthy enough to her, but what if he relayed their conversation to someone else?

‘I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything more,’ the priest said ruefully. ‘After that day, I never saw her again.’ For an instant, he looked fierce. ‘May God guide your way and keep you safe as you search for the killer.’

She thanked him and walked back to the tonga, climbing in slowly. Her feet hurt. She leaned back against the seat, as the driver tugged on the reins. The driver turned around and looked at her and then turned back to the road, remaining silent. The cart swayed gently from side to side as they moved on, lulling her into a light doze. Her eyes closed, she did not notice the mist rising all around them, or the steps of the horse slowing as the driver picked his way carefully through the undergrowth, less and less visible each second.

Kaveri opened her eyes only when the tonga jerked and came to a stop, hearing the driver mutter a coarse oath. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, peering out.

They had climbed down one hill and up another. The light of the setting sun was dim, and the road ahead was wreathed in mist, forming ghost-like shapes that writhed in front of them. The horse bucked and snorted, tossing its head in agitation, as the driver struggled to hold the reins steady.

The man held up a hand. ‘Listen,’ he said in a hoarse whisper.

Kaveri turned her head from side to side, but she couldn’t hear anything.

They stood stock still for another couple of minutes. She wondered whether she should urge the man to move ahead. But something had spooked the horse. It had quietened, but still tossed its tail, and she could hear the sound as it blew air heavily through its nostrils.

And then she heard it. A large rumbling roar that echoed through the woods, reverberating in the stillness. Only then did Kaveri realise what sounded so strange—the complete silence. Just a few minutes before, the forest was noisy, with frogs croaking, the harsh strrup-strrup of the cicadas, and the trills of the birds. Now, all was quiet.

‘Leopard,’ the cart driver breathed, turning back to Kaveri, his eyes wide and fearful.

Kaveri placed her hand on her belly, her eyes darting back and forth, trying to pierce the mist. The priest had said it was harmless, but what if this was not the same leopard but a different one, perhaps even a man-eater? Would the big cat attack?

Another roar, even closer. She heard sounds of an animal moving, crashing through the undergrowth. The hair stood on the back of her neck, and she bit her lip, tasting blood as she gripped the seat with both hands. She looked out of the tonga, spotting a large stick of deadwood lying on the road a short distance away. Should she take the chance and step out to pick it up? Perhaps it would be useful to fend the leopard off.

A shadowy lithe form, about three to four feet in length, crashed through the thickets in the slopes above them. It was white, not yellow, and Kaveri relaxed, the priest’s words ringing in her mind. The albino cub had not yet learnt to hunt.

The animal jumped onto the road, a few yards ahead of the tonga. The driver gave a small whimper, and the ghostly leopard froze in place, staring at them for a long minute. When the animal looked directly at her, Kaveri lost all fear of it, its yellow eyes like orbs meeting hers like a kindred spirit.

A piercing whistle broke through the silence. Was that what Ramu had heard? It didn’t sound like a child’s tin whistle to her. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she had heard it before.

The brush at the edge of the road parted. She rubbed her eyes, trying to see clearly. Two figures jumped onto the road. She craned her neck, but at this distance, she could not make out their features. Were they men or ghosts? Fear rose in her again, and she forced it down, remembering what Ramu had said to her. Whoever heard of a ghost using a whistle?

The two men stood next to the leopard cub, their long white clothes billowing in the wind, their hands on the animal’s white fur. The mist was thick, obscuring their features. Only the yellow of the cat’s eyes shone through, cutting through the mist like the fog lights on Lakamma’s Daimler.

The smaller of the two men placed his left hand on the leopard’s neck, caressing the thick fur. The large cat rubbed its cheek against the man’s hand, as he raised a small object to his lips with his right hand, whistling again. Kaveri strained to see through the fog. Something about the man’s gesture caught her attention, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.

The leopard leapt into the mountain, followed by the two men—bounding upwards almost vertically from exposed rock to boulder, until she could see them no longer, swallowed alive by the spectral mist.

30 A Cold Trail

Kaveri amma?’ Janaki called, peeping out from the kitchen door as soon as Kaveri returned from the market. ‘There was a phone call for you an hour ago. Someone called Uma. She asked you to call her back immediately.’

Uma aunty? Kaveri hurried inside the drawing room, pulling down the windows and locking the door. She ignored Janaki’s startled face, intent on making the room as soundproof as possible.

‘Did you find anything?’ Kaveri asked Uma aunty as soon as she got her on the phone and affirmed that her grandson Raju was well.

‘We did.’ Uma aunty’s excitement trickled through the telephone. ‘Venu and I spoke to the tea-shop owner this afternoon.’

‘Was he able to remember anything?’ Kaveri chewed her lip. ‘The trail of Kupamma’s killer is growing cold. It has been quite a few days already.’

‘The day that Kupamma was killed, he saw a man walk past his shop around three P.M. The sun was still high in the sky, but the man had wrapped himself in a blanket, covering his face and neck with a large woollen muffler. It was such a strange sight that it stuck in the tea seller’s mind.’ Venu’s voice came through the lines, tinny but clear.

‘Could he recognise the man if he came across him again?’ Kaveri asked hopefully.

‘No, the man kept his face well hidden. But he was tall and carried a large canvas bag on his shoulder.’

‘The killer came to Kupamma’s hut one night and left the area late in the afternoon the next day. If he spent these hours in hiding, he must have brought food and drink to sustain him.’ Kaveri gave a small jump of excitement. ‘When you saw the figure slip out from Kupamma’s hut, Venu, did he carry a bag?’

‘I’m sure he didn’t. I would have remembered it,’ Venu said instantly.

‘He must have had a bag with food and water. He couldn’t have left it on the ground. The ants would have swarmed around it, or the dogs. It’s more likely that he tied it to a tree branch or stuffed it into one of the crevices in a nearby tree. Venu, you said he looked tall. There are very few trees close to Kupamma’s hut, but do you remember that tall Eucalyptus near the bushes? Check in the tree. That’s the one place we didn’t look. See if you can find anything. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s worth trying.’

‘I will go tonight and call you tomorrow morning,’ Venu promised.

Too keyed up to sit and read, or lie down, Kaveri paced up and down the verandah, looking at the black-and-white tiles, remembering how Chandru’s wet footprint had drawn her attention. She called the police station again, but Ismail seemed to be stuck in Whitefield, with no way for her to reach him.

She heard the gate open and looked up to see Ramu driving in. He got out of the car and brushed ineffectually at his trousers, caked with mud. Then he seemed to give up, walking up to the verandah and collapsing into a chair, leaning his head back.

‘Is there something to eat, Kaveri? I skipped lunch.’

Kaveri hurried into the kitchen, asking Janaki to bring in a fresh pot of coffee, with some food.

‘Is he alright? The man you tended to?’ Kaveri asked as soon as she returned.

‘Yes, thank goodness, though he had me worried for a while. I asked him to sleep in the clinic for a couple of days, so we could keep him under observation, but he insisted on returning to his forest home. Many of these tribes do not like coming into town.’

‘Why would they?’ Janaki said, startling Kaveri. She looked around to see the housekeeper carrying a tray heaped high with food. For a woman as large as she was, Janaki moved surprisingly quietly, her bare feet traversing the red oxide floor without making a sound.

Janaki seemed unaware of Kaveri’s wary stares at her. She set the tray down, pouring them hot cups of strong, milky filter coffee, and handed Ramu a plate with thick slabs of brown ghee cake with yellow butterscotch icing.

He bit into a slice, swallowing half of it in one gulp. ‘This is excellent, Janaki.’

Kaveri set her cup aside, eager to return to the conversation. ‘What do you mean, “why would they come into town”?’ she asked Janaki.

‘The townspeople treat the Kurubas and other tribals like dirt. They call them insults—like forest monkey, wild dog, pig. Accuse them of smelling bad, being filthy. Lakamma is an exception—not all of us are fortunate enough to have employers like her.’

‘You and Chandru are Kurubas, aren’t you?’ Ramu asked Janaki, in between devouring a third slice of ghee cake and licking the yellow icing off his fingers.

Kaveri leaned forward, avidly studying Janaki’s face.

‘My husband is a Kuruba, but I am from a land-owning caste.’ Janaki’s body tensed. She gave them a half-defiant stare, as if assessing their reaction. Then, relaxing when she realised that they didn’t appear to be shocked or disapproving, she continued. ‘We met at the bus stop. He was on his way to work and I to the high school where I was studying. We struck up a casual conversation, but the bus conductor blew it up into a huge scandal—the audacity of the low born Kuruba tribal who dared to sit next to the upper-caste girl.’

‘Then what happened?’ Kaveri gulped. In yesterday’s newspaper, they had covered a case where an intercaste couple who had eloped was found by their parents. The boy was brutally beaten by the girl’s family, almost killed, but the police rescued the couple in time, sending them to a safe home and arresting her family for attempted murder. The newspaper had enclosed a photograph of the boy, who looked half-dead. When Janaki and Chandru met, which must have been at least a couple of decades ago, the situation would have been even worse, society’s norms even more rigid than they were in today’s more modern times.

Janaki’s voice was bitter. ‘My uncle and parents went to his house and beat him, threatening his parents that they would destroy them. His family disowned Chandru and fled the village, terrified of what might happen to them. My parents took me out of school and fixed my marriage with a much older man, who had been married twice already.’

‘How did you get out of that?’ Ramu asked.

‘Chandru was already working in Lakamma’s house as a gardener by then. He told her, and she was furious. She came to my house and asked to meet me on the pretext of giving me some good advice. My parents agreed, but instead of telling me to listen to them and marry the man they had picked out for me, she told me how to escape. I followed her instructions and climbed out the window late at night, when everyone was sleeping. Lakamma waited for me outside and took me and Chandru to the Kaadu Aiyappa temple on the hill, where she had asked the priest to wait for us. He married us at midnight.’

When Janaki smiled, the years fell away, and Kaveri briefly glimpsed the mischievous young girl she must have once been.

‘How clever of her,’ Kaveri said, her pride in Lakamma growing. ‘Didn’t your parents look for you later, though?’

‘They sent the police, filing a complaint with them that Chandru had kidnapped me against my will. But Lakamma had already prepared the ground, explaining the background to the British commissioner of Coorg over a cup of her finest coffee. When the police came home to arrest Chandru, they found the commissioner in this house, sitting in this very parlour. He sent the police back to my house, to threaten my parents with arrest. Said that he would throw them in jail if they persisted with their false claims.’

‘Then what happened?’ Kaveri asked, trying to keep Janaki talking, looking for an opening to ask her about Chandru’s relationship with Kupamma. There was no point in waiting for Ismail to call with background information on Chandru anymore, not when the trail was growing colder by the day, and she was becoming increasingly despondent of ever tracing Kupamma’s killer.

Janaki patted her on the knee. ‘I dropped out of high school after that. It wasn’t safe anymore. I was scared my parents would take me back by force, even though the commissioner offered me a police escort. I started working for Lakamma soon afterwards, first as the cook’s apprentice.’ She grimaced. ‘I didn’t even know how to cut an onion, let alone make anything fit to eat. But the cook was a kindly woman and taught me everything I know now.’

‘Where is Chandru now?’ Kaveri asked, eager to speak to him and ask about Kupamma.

‘In the plantation. We’ve been going there early each morning to help Ramappa pick the berries. I return to cook and take care of things here, but he stays back. There is so much work to do, and though we have spoken to the workers, they still refuse to turn up at the plantations.’ Janaki gave an irritated huff. ‘They are so superstitious. If this continues, Lakamma will not be able to drink coffee from her own plantation next year.’

She picked up the tray, piling the empty plates and coffee cups on it. ‘I don’t know why I am wasting time telling you all these old stories. That was so long ago. Our children are grown now, and my parents are no more. There is something about you that makes people want to tell you all their secrets.’

Kaveri took the tray from Janaki’s hands, gently but firmly putting it back on the table.

‘You still haven’t told me all your secrets. You and Chandru are hiding something very important from me. How do you and Chandru know Kupamma?’

‘Who is Kupamma?’ Janaki sounded genuinely perplexed. ‘I have told you everything. What do you think I am hiding from you?’

‘Kupamma is the old woman I was looking for.’

‘Your friend’s caretaker? I remember now. But I told you, no one by that name came here.’

Something about the way she phrased it struck Kaveri, and she stopped. ‘No one by that name, perhaps—but do you know her by another name? An elderly lady in her seventies, thin, with a long nose.’ She watched Janaki carefully. ‘And an extra toe on her right foot. Just like your husband.’

Janaki retreated, her back to the wall. Then she slid down the wall, collapsing to the ground. ‘But that… that lady is not Kupamma. She’s my mother-in-law, Rangamma.’

‘Rangamma? Your mother-in-law is alive, Janaki? On the day I met you, you told me that both of you had lost your parents,’ Kaveri asked her, horrified.

‘We hadn’t seen my in-laws since the day that they both ran away from Coorg, after my family threatened them. Then suddenly one day last week, she turned up at our house, with a bag of fruit for us. She told us that Chandru’s father had died, and as long as he was alive, he had forbidden her to return to Coorg, still terrified of what my parents would do to him. She spent a day with us, but then she disappeared again. I didn’t even know where she had lived all these years, or where she disappeared to once again. Chandru was very disturbed to see her. He was distraught when they abandoned him. When she came back, he didn’t know how to express his emotions, so he just didn’t speak to her. I think that must be why she went away again, dejected.’

Janaki got up, catching Kaveri by the arm. ‘You told me that she is your friend’s caretaker. That means you know her address. Can you give it to me? Chandru has been feeling guilty ever since she left, for not being more welcoming of her. His mother came back after all these years to speak to him, and he drove her away. Tell me where to find her. We will go and apologise, bring her back with us.’ Her voice shook.

‘I don’t know where she is,’ Kaveri said helplessly, not knowing what else to say. ‘My friend hasn’t seen her for some time.’

Janaki burst into sobs. ‘Don’t tell my husband she is in Bangalore. I know he will go there immediately and spend days searching for her fruitlessly. It is such a large city. Unless we know where to look, we will never find her. And he is growing old. His health will not take it.’ She grabbed the tray, almost running with it into the kitchen.

Ramu gripped Kaveri’s hand, pulling her back against him and speaking softly in her ear. ‘This case is getting curiouser by the day, Kaveri.’

‘We keep moving one step forward, and then one step back,’ Kaveri grumbled. ‘So Kupamma—I mean, Rangamma—is Chandru’s mother. Not his sister, as we thought. That means Hiramma has a brother she doesn’t know about.’ She broke into a smile. ‘That will make Hiramma so happy. I know she feels alone now, after her mother’s death.’

‘Janaki and Chandru don’t seem to know that Kupamma is dead, though,’ Ramu cautioned. ‘Do you really think that she left Coorg because her son did not speak to her?’

‘That doesn’t fit with what Hiramma told me,’ Kaveri said. ‘That Kupamma seemed terrified after returning from her trip, jumping at noises. And wanted to consult me about something.’ She massaged her forehead. ‘Was I right to hide the news of Kupamma’s death from Janaki? I feel terrible about it.’

‘I know,’ Ramu soothed her, rubbing her back. ‘But we can’t tell Janaki, as she will tell Chandru, and the news will spread. Right now, very few people in Coorg know about Kupamma’s death in Bangalore—apart from us, and the killer, if they are also in Coorg. We don’t want the news to spread to everyone. That knowledge is a valuable advantage for us to have.’

‘Assuming Janaki is telling us the truth.’ Kaveri shivered. ‘Everyone is hiding something.’

31 Are You a Sorcerer?

That night, Kaveri wailed as she slept, drawn-out quivering screams that reverberated in the large room with its high ceiling. Ramu tried to soothe her, but she flailed at him, hitting him in the chest and shouting. Her ankle hit the side of the bed and she woke with a jerk, sitting upright and looking around, blinking. Her eyes cleared and she looked at Ramu, who rubbed her back.

She groaned, getting up and walking to the washbasin to splash water on her face.

‘I dreamt I was trying to make my way through a party at a masquerade. One of the masks shielded the killer, but I didn’t know who. I started to rip the coverings off their faces, but then I discovered that all the guests at the party were my old friends from Bangalore. Mrs. Reddy, Mrs. Ismail, Uma aunty. Their faces transformed into leopard visages. They began to snarl at me, baring their teeth. They surrounded me, blowing whistles and deafening me with the sound. Uma aunty came closer to me and growled, “How dare you think that I might be the killer?” I could feel her hot breath on my face and closed my eyes, terrified of what she would do to me.’ Kaveri took a glass of water from Ramu, drinking it in jerky gulps.

‘My English teacher in school was fond of saying “someone is walking over my grave,” Kaveri. I think this case is getting to be too much for you. You’ve been feeling like this for some time now,’ Ramu said, his voice shaking slightly. ‘I was wrong to bring you here. I think you should go back tomorrow. This much agitation is not good for you, or for our child.’

‘No.’ Kaveri grabbed at his arm. ‘That was not someone walking on my grave, it was my subconscious trying to tell me something. I think I have the solution to at least one of my puzzles. Can you rearrange your schedule to accompany me on a visit tomorrow? I don’t want to go alone.’

‘I will come anywhere you want me to,’ Ramu said, making her lie down and putting a thin cotton sheet on her. ‘Sleep now.’ He sang to her softly, an old lullaby his mother used to sing to him when he was a child. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep, feeling safe and comforted.

The next morning, Kaveri and Ramu drove up to Ponnappa’s house at noon, taking the long route to his bungalow via his office. Kaveri breathed a sigh of relief when they drove past Ponnappa, standing outside his office, deep in conversation with one of his men. They had timed their visit correctly. At this time of day, Gana would also be at the station, and they could speak to the rest of the family without interruption.

When they walked in, Ratna was working in the garden, trimming the rosebushes. She smiled at them, and then looked over Kaveri’s shoulder, waving. Kaveri turned to see Kartik, standing on the steps, quietly watching them. His face seemed more relaxed than when they had last met him, the semipermanent scowl she’d seen before now absent.

‘You came to visit me, as you promised,’ Ratna said happily. ‘Come inside and have tea with us. Did you find out who is behind the attacks on Colonel Boyd?’

‘Don’t pester them, Ratna.’ Mrs. Ponnappa came out of the front door, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

‘She’s actually smiling at us,’ Ramu whispered to Kaveri.

Kaveri stared at Mrs. Ponnappa and then quickly looked away, hoping she had not seemed too visibly surprised. Like Ratna, Kartik’s mother was also wearing a simple cotton sari, crumpled, with turmeric stains on it. Gone were the gold bangles and the heavy necklace. She wore a simple mangalsutra strung with black beads around her neck, and green glass bangles on her arms. Her blouse was cotton, not silk—but in a pattern similar to the one she had worn when Ponnappa invited them over. Long, almost to her waist, with full sleeves and a high collar. Despite the peculiar blouse, she seemed much younger, less like a mannequin.

Ratna bobbed up and down on her toes, looking expectantly at Kaveri.

‘Sorry, Ratna. I spoke to Colonel Boyd, but I haven’t been able to find anything that could help you,’ Kaveri said.

‘I told you they won’t be able to help us,’ Kartik snapped at Ratna, his scowl reemerging.

‘Kartik,’ his mother admonished him gently, coming down the steps and placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t be rude.’

He stiffened. ‘If they didn’t have any news for us, why did they come here? Just to taunt us?’

‘We came to ask about the leopard,’ Kaveri said, watching him closely. ‘I wasn’t sure if I would find you here, but then I remembered the priest saying that he feeds the leopard meat once a day, in the evening. And you take it out hunting only in the evening and at night.’

Kartik took a step back, teetering on the edge of the verandah. His mother reached out, supporting him by the elbow. She stared at Kartik and Ratna, her frightened eyes darting from one face to another.

‘Are you a sorcerer?’ Ratna asked Kaveri, the clipper slipping from her hands to fall unheeded into the mud. ‘How did you find out?’

‘Find what out? Kartik, Ratna, what have you done?’ Mrs. Ponnappa’s voice was shrill. She stepped forward, placing her arms around both children, looking at Kaveri fiercely as if daring her to take them away.

‘I am no magician,’ Kaveri assured them. ‘Yesterday evening, when you took the leopard hunting, you crossed the road in front of me. I was in the tonga, and I don’t think you noticed me. I saw you both with the leopard. You were wearing long, white, flowing shirts, so I mistook you both for men.’ She turned to address Ratna. ‘Something struck me about the way you moved. Then I remembered that you are ambidextrous. That’s what seemed familiar last evening, when you patted the leopard with your left hand and blew on the whistle with your right.’

‘That’s not evidence,’ Mrs. Ponnappa objected, still holding the children tightly. ‘You can’t prove anything based on something so flimsy.’ But her voice shook, and she glared at Kartik and Ratna. They looked down at the ground.

‘Last night, I also remembered where I had heard that whistle,’ Kaveri responded. ‘I recognised the two-note call it made. It’s the type of whistle used at the station, isn’t it? On the day I arrived, one of the engineers stood on the platform, blowing a similar whistle to stop a man who jumped onto the tracks.’

‘No…’ Ratna objected, shaking her head so vigorously that her plaits swung from side to side.

Ramu stepped forward. ‘Do you know how scared the villagers are, Ratna? They think the albino leopard is a ghost that attacks children and steals their souls. All of Lakamma’s workers are terrified, refusing to walk through the forests to reach her plantation. Because of you, she has no workers and is at risk of losing her crop this year.’

‘But it’s just a cub,’ Kartik spoke heatedly, defending his cousin. ‘It’s too young to harm anyone. We are only trying to teach it to hunt.’

Ratna placed her hand on Kartik, calming him. She released herself from her aunt’s grasp, moving forward. ‘I didn’t know that Lakamma aunty’s workers were scared of the leopard. It’s harmless. Its mother died before she could teach it how to hunt. The priest feeds it once a day, but he can’t do that forever. Once he stops, if it hasn’t learnt how to hunt for wild game, it will start to attack the villages for food, picking up cattle and dogs, and maybe even children. I found a book in the library, written by a man in Africa who raised two motherless cubs. It describes how he taught them to hunt. Kartik and I have been trying to follow his methods. Yesterday, when you saw us, we were celebrating. For the first time, the cub brought down a rabbit, all by itself.’ She gave Kaveri a proud grin.

‘That’s good, Ratna. But you weren’t only trying to teach the leopard cub how to become independent. You were also trying to get back at Boyd, weren’t you?’ Kaveri asked gently.

Before Ratna could respond, Kartik spoke fiercely. ‘Why shouldn’t we? He’s responsible for everything that’s happened, the fight between our fathers, the division of our houses, everything. The Colonel killed the cub’s mother, and its sibling died of hunger. It started to come to the temple, and we were the first to bring it food. We took some meat from home for a couple of days, but then Appa found out and hit me, and we had to stop. Finally, Ratna akka got the idea of telling the priest about the leopard. That’s when he started to buy meat and feed it.’

‘We wanted Boyd to get a taste of his own medicine, to suffer for what he had done,’ Ratna added. ‘He wants to cut down our sacred forests and convert them into coffee. We hoped to scare him away from the forest. That’s why we kept taking it onto the road and leading it towards his plantation.’

‘Did you put a leopard doll in his room?’ Kaveri asked, thinking of how frightened the Colonel had seemed when he told her that story.

Kartik nodded. ‘We wanted to scare him away from Coorg. One evening, Appa and the Colonel were at home, drinking and talking, and I overheard the Colonel telling my father of his adventures in Sri Lanka. He seemed to believe in all these stories of black magicians and voodoo dolls. That gave us the idea. A branch of our mango tree had fallen down in our garden. I used it to carve a crude leopardlike shape, and we placed it in his room, covering it with black thread, so that he would think someone was practising witchcraft on him.’

His mother shook him slightly. ‘And why didn’t you tell me?’ she demanded. ‘It’s unsafe in the forests after dark. There are so many wild animals there.’

‘Chandru was with us,’ Kartik assured her. ‘Chandru reared a leopard cub when he was much younger, with his grandmother’s help. The book that Ratna akka told you about gave us the initial idea, but we couldn’t have done it without Chandru. He taught us how to take the leopard safely into the forest and showed us which parts of the forest to stay in, which paths we could safely walk on without danger.’

‘So that’s why Chandru walked away and Janaki changed the subject whenever I spoke about the ghost leopard,’ Kaveri said. ‘And that’s why they have been spending so much time working on the plantation, in addition to their work at the house. I’m sure they feel guilty for helping you, and inadvertently being the cause of these rumours. You have to set this right.’

Kartik and Ratna nodded. ‘But how?’ Ratna asked. ‘Lakamma aunty has been so kind to us. We didn’t realise that this would create problems for her. We would never have done this if we had known.’

Kaveri thought rapidly. ‘The only way is to expose the truth, but slowly. Start by letting a few people know about the leopard cub. Tell them its history and make them feel sorry for the motherless and abandoned cub. Don’t tell anyone that the cub spends so much of its time in the sacred forest. Some people may try to kill it. But let a few trusted villagers see the cub with you once or twice. Once people realise that it has attached itself to you, that it is no ghost, they will understand that it is quite harmless.’

‘Kartik’s father should not know that he is involved in any way.’ Mrs. Ponnappa grabbed her son, holding him tightly as he squirmed.

‘I agree,’ Kaveri said, thinking of how roughly Ponnappa had cuffed his son for a minor slipup.

‘I will take it on myself,’ Ratna addressed her aunt. ‘Doddappa will be furious with me, but I will keep away from him for a few days.’

‘Appa will find out. He always does. And then he will come after me.’ Kartik pulled away from his mother and stormed into the house, brushing past Kaveri. Mrs. Ponnappa did not hear him, but Ratna did.

‘I will kill Doddappa if he touches you again,’ Ratna said under her breath.

‘Hush.’ Mrs. Ponnappa put her hand over the young girl’s mouth, her eyes moving back and forth between Kaveri and Ramu.

32 Slumming with the Natives

The next week passed by at a snail’s pace. Kaveri finally spoke to Ismail once he returned from Whitefield. After speaking to his counterpart in Coorg, Ismail confirmed that the story Janaki had told Kaveri, about her elopement with Chandru, and the feud between their parents, was correct in its essentials. Kaveri tried to speak to Chandru, but he spent most of his time at the coffee plantation helping Ramappa, hurrying away whenever he saw Kaveri.

Fortunately, Ratna’s efforts at habituating Lakamma’s labourers to the leopard seemed to have worked. She asked Janaki to spread the word, and the housekeeper did so very efficiently, seeming relieved not to have to keep up the pretense of being ignorant about the leopard’s antecedents. The coffee pickers were back to work, and Janaki told Kaveri that they were making up for lost time and wages, working around the clock, picking even in the night, to the light of Petromax lanterns organised by the ever-efficient Ramappa.

Pleased at having saved Lakamma’s coffee harvest, Kaveri still fretted that she was making no headway on Kupamma’s case. Her brainwave of asking Venu and Uma aunty to explore the area around Kupamma’s hut, including the tall trees, did not yield the evidence she had hoped. They had found traces of the attacker having lingered near the tree, and scrapes on its bark indicating he had climbed it, spending time on one of the branches. But they failed to find any clues to his identity.

‘You can’t solve everything, Kaveri,’ Ramu had comforted her. ‘Kupamma’s murderer seems to be a planner, someone who anticipates every detail in advance. Most murderers are rattled enough to leave some clue to their identity. But this person seems very well organised, even able to hide from the police. Ismail’s constables have not been able to find a trace of a potential killer who travelled to Bangalore from Coorg by bus or train on the right dates.’

‘But I came to Coorg to find Kupamma’s murderer,’ Kaveri responded sadly. ‘The other puzzles were given to me much later. Yet I am no nearer to finding her killer. Nor have I found the perpetrator behind the attacks on Colonel Boyd. Unless… perhaps we will find out more at his party. Perhaps the killer will be there too. If he slips up, makes just one mistake…’ She sighed, looking at Ramu. ‘That’s all I need, just one slipup.’

Finally, the day of the party dawned. Kaveri and Ramu left the house at seven, Kaveri taking the wheel as she had longed to do, driving the short distance to Mercara Club in Lakamma’s Daimler. She pulled down the window, enjoying the feeling of the crisp, cool breeze against her hair, relaxing for the first time since she had arrived in Coorg as the powerful car thrummed under her hands.

Strung around the trunks of the large fir trees in the lawn, and wound around the balustrade, strings of red and green lights sparkled against the backdrop of the club lawns. Behind the lawns, a large square building loomed ahead of them, painted in an attractive combination of white-and-red vertical stripes. A moth-eaten stuffed leopard in a glass cage gazed out at them from the portico, its mournful eyes tugging at Kaveri’s emotions. ‘That’s the clubhouse,’ Ramu pointed out. ‘The dining room is in the centre, and on the left side, the kitchen and storeroom. There are a couple of guest rooms behind the main building, with attached toilets. I’ve spent the night here once when I was called out on an emergency. Two British officers got into a drunken fight. One of them broke a beer bottle on the table, slicing open the other man’s wrist with the jagged edge. I sat up with him all night, fearing we might lose him, but fortunately he had the constitution of a horse. He’s back to playing polo now, winning matches.’ Ramu shrugged.

On the perfectly trimmed green grass, clusters of cane chairs held clutches of people. Kaveri raised her eyebrows at the composition of the groups. British planters with other Englishmen, Indians in another group, Anglo Indians in uneasy formations at the edges of the lawn. She spotted Boyd and Ponnappa in one of the few mixed-race circles and pointed them out to Ramu.

‘Isn’t that Gana, standing next to the tree in the corner?’ she said slowly. ‘What’s he doing here?’

Ramu blinked. ‘I don’t know. Did the brothers reconcile?’

‘Unlikely. See how he’s standing, arms folded, glaring at Ponnappa and Boyd,’ Kaveri said.

She turned back to her husband and caught her breath. How handsome he looked in his tuxedo. It was unusually formal for him. Ramu had grumbled when she had adjusted his tie, muttering that it was too tight around his neck. She had refused to give in, handing him his cufflinks, which she had commissioned to match the gold magnifying glass chain and earrings he had gifted her to commemorate her first case. It was the first time he had worn them.

‘The cufflinks suit you,’ she said, patting him on his cheek. After adjusting her pearl and emerald choker, and taking hold of the gossamer-like organza pleats of her sari, Kaveri picked her way carefully across the grassy lawn, making a beeline for the table with snacks.

‘Didn’t you eat only ten minutes ago?’ Ramu teased. He took her sequined gold clutch, which held her precious case notebook, and handed her a plate, watching indulgently as she piled it high with wafer-thin tomato and cucumber sandwiches, sponge cake, and crisp puffs. The vegetarian food was on one end of the lawn while the meat—the famous Coorgi dishes such as roasted crab and pandi curry—were on a separate table at the other end.

‘I couldn’t eat well the past few days, after I made that trip to the market. The swaying tonga made me so nauseous,’ Kaveri reminded him. Then, seeing the concern on Ramu’s face, she changed the subject. ‘Did I tell you? This morning, when I visited the Mercara library searching for books on leopards, the librarian directed me to their collection of National Geographic magazines. I found a very interesting article on albino animals. Some animals are naturally born without pigmentation. It’s unusual, though.’

She stopped, hearing a high-pitched giggle.

‘What I wouldn’t give for a necklace of emeralds like that one.’

Kaveri turned to see who had spoken. The tables had been set up behind the trees, and she peered through them, hidden from the people on the lawn by the foliage. In front of a small two-room building with a red-tiled sloping roof, a slender Englishwoman brandished a whisky glass high, her words slightly slurred. She was short. Her green silk dress shimmered in the moonlight, its fringe fashionably cut to stop a few inches short of her knees. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she smoothed it back.

Kaveri gave Ramu a sideways glance, wondering what he would think if she abandoned her saris and took to wearing dresses that were low cut in the bosom and high cut at the legs. She sighed. Ramu might not have a problem with it, but she knew she would not be able to—not after years of conditioning from her mother, who had drummed it into her head that it was scandalous for a woman to show her cleavage or flash her legs.

She patted her stomach, whispered to her child, ‘If you are a girl, I will make sure you can wear anything you want—trousers, skirts, even half pants.’

Ramu heard her whisper. ‘And what if it is a boy? You know, we men are at a disadvantage. You can wear men’s clothes, but I am stuck in this boring outfit.’ He pointed to his black-and-white tuxedo. ‘Women have a much larger palette of colours and designs available to them.’

Their conversation was interrupted by another giggle from the women standing just a few yards away.

‘Play your cards right and maybe the Colonel will buy you another set of emeralds, Clara.’ Another woman, older and plumper, cackled, digging her in the ribs with her elbows. ‘You know he signed the contract today. Though I don’t know how he could bring himself to slum like this, joining hands with one of the natives. Still, I’m sure his money won’t be tainted, will it, darling?’

The woman in the green dress poured the rest of her drink down her long throat. ‘I’ll make sure it isn’t,’ she promised huskily. ‘As long as Tommy doesn’t see us, it’s fine. He cornered me yesterday, after I had gone out to meet the Colonel.’ She ran her fingers down her arm. ‘I still have the bruises. That’s why I had to wear long sleeves.’

‘It’s just a few more days. The Colonel is besotted with you, old fool that he is. These emeralds must have cost a bomb.’ The older woman caressed Clara’s necklace. Kaveri’s eyes widened at the square green stones, set with delicate chains of gold. The largest gem was the size of a small egg. It would be worth a small fortune.

‘Tom is a skilled lover, but too jealous. And the Colonel is generous, but his lovemaking makes me sick. I can’t wait to be rid of them both. In a week or two, I can sell these jewels and get out of here. I’m going to be on the next boat to England.’

‘Bottoms up.’ The women clinked their glasses, quaffing down their drinks, licking the last drops.

‘Up for another?’ the older woman asked.

‘Always.’ Clara giggled, putting her glass down on the table. They weaved their way back to the bar, the younger woman leaning on the older for support.

‘The old Colonel certainly knows how to make enemies,’ Ramu said dryly, watching them go. ‘There doesn’t seem any shortage of people who might want to murder him. And now we can add his manager Tom to the list.’

‘Don’t.’ Kaveri wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. ‘The more I know about the Colonel, the less I like him. I wish I hadn’t agreed to take his case on, even though I know I did it only for Ratna.’

‘You don’t have to talk to anyone right now,’ Ramu said, trying to comfort her. ‘Let’s stay here, behind the trees. No one knows we have arrived. I doubt they will notice our absence.’ He started to tell her a funny story about one of his patients, coaxing a laugh out of her. Her racing pulse began to slow, her forced smile giving way to a real one.

People thronged the tables, emptying the food, as Kaveri and Ramu stood under the tree. The crowds started to thin out as people took their leave.

Ramu looked around. ‘When Boyd spoke to me on the telephone yesterday, he insisted that we stay back after everyone left and join him for a small celebratory dinner inside the main hall later. “Just a few of us, only close friends,” he said. “I wish you and your wife would attend. I feel safe with her.” ’

They could see a few small groups of people on the lawn, exchanging notes before they parted. Address books were pulled out of pockets, and phone numbers exchanged on slips of paper. She heard the rustling of silks, and the clanking of bangles, as women were tugged into hugs, kissing cheeks and promising to stay in touch. Expensive perfumes wafted into the air, mingling with the fragrance of roses and jasmine.

Boyd was sitting at a table at one end of the lawn, looking around anxiously. Ramu pulled out his pocket watch, showing it to Kaveri. It was almost nine P.M.

‘We should join him,’ Kaveri said with reluctance. ‘I feel like I owe it to Kupamma to protect Boyd. Even though I know it doesn’t make sense.’

33 A Legacy Destroyed

Ramu put an arm around her as they walked towards the table where Boyd sat with Ponnappa. Her sixth sense tingled. Something was very wrong about the atmosphere on the lawns. The air throbbed with violence and resentment.

Kaveri jerked back, pulling at Ramu’s hand. He stopped, giving her a questioning look. She squashed the voice of doubt in her head, moving ahead. Perhaps she was just being hormonal.

Boyd’s face lit up when Ramu and Kaveri approached. He stood up, abruptly pushing his chair back. It collided with the table, and whisky sloshed from the overfull crystal decanter, trickling onto the grass. Kaveri put her hand to her nose, trying not to recoil from his breath, reeking with the stench of stale alcohol.

‘Meet my bodyguard,’ Boyd said, vigorously shaking Ramu’s hand. His voice was slurred. ‘My personal watcher. This is the young lady who will save me from any harm. Harm from the likes of that young man there, eh?’ He gestured with his glass.

Boyd’s voice was filled with bluster, but his eyes gave him away, darting back and forth from Ponnappa to Gana, who sat a few feet away from them, his gaze swivelling around the lawn.

Ponnappa helped Boyd to sit down and gestured to a waiter in a white uniform, who rushed over with a fresh supply of ice. He spoke in a low voice to Kaveri and Ramu. ‘We signed the deal today. I managed to convince my brother as well. I have promised him a share in the new company that the Colonel and I formed. I also agreed to set aside some money for Ratna’s dowry. I think the threat to our lives is now over.’

Ramu watched him picking at the edges of the bandage on his forehead. ‘If you will excuse my saying so, you don’t look very relieved,’ he commented.

Kaveri gaped at Ramu. Her husband was usually diplomatic, especially in public venues. So she was not the only one feeling on edge today.

Ponnappa turned back to Boyd, pretending not to have heard Ramu.

The air was still and quiet. Sweat ran down Kaveri’s back. Ramu opened the top button of his shirt and tugged at his tie, trying to get some air.

A crack of thunder tore through the grounds, followed by a brilliant glare, as lightning flared in the sky. Great fat drops of rain began to fall onto the lawns. ‘Inside!’ Boyd bellowed over the noise of the thunder, heading toward the entrance to the club.

Ponnappa limped awkwardly, hobbling as fast as he could towards the building. Gana followed behind, making no effort to assist his brother.

Ramu tugged at Kaveri’s elbow, urging her in. Kaveri pulled her sari pallu over her head and ran inside with him. They stood in the shelter of the portico, watching as Colonel Boyd wandered back out into the rain, looking confused. He collapsed, sitting heavily on the grass. ‘Tom! Where are you, Tom? Infernal fellow. Never there when you need him.’

Tom ran to him, his face pale, pushing a key into his pocket. ‘You called, sir?’ His voice was deferential, as always, but the look he shot his employer was poisonous. Ramu narrowed his eyes at Tom, but Boyd didn’t seem to notice.

‘Take me to my room,’ Boyd said abruptly. ‘I feel sleepy.’ He lay down on the grass, closing his eyes.

‘He’s drunk himself to the point of unconsciousness,’ Ramu commented. ‘Tom, let’s get the man inside. He will get pneumonia if we leave him there.’

‘We can’t bring him in here,’ Tom objected, pointing to the dining room. ‘He will make a mess inside. I’ll take him to the guest rooms—they’re at the back of the building. We usually keep one reserved for him, in case he wants to spend the night,’ Tom said, looking meaningfully at Ramu.

In case Boyd wanted to spend the night with Clara, you mean, Kaveri guessed. The same woman who was two-timing him with you. Clara had left the party with her friend, along with the other guests. Had they seen Boyd sozzled and decided to slip away?

‘We can leave him in the guest room overnight, to sleep it off. He usually gets like this when we have a party at the club,’ Tom said again, making a disgusted face.

‘Stay here, Kaveri. Tom and I will take him to one of the rooms,’ Ramu said.

‘You’ll get soaked,’ she protested.

‘The waiters and club staff seem to have gone home for the day. Tom can’t carry him all the way to the room alone. I’ll dry soon enough if I stand next to the fire,’ he reassured her, turning to Tom. ‘Shall we?’

They helped Boyd stand, supporting him on both sides as they half pulled, half carried him away. Kaveri stood in the portico, watching them slowly progress to the guest rooms behind the trees.

Heading inside the main dining hall, Kaveri took a few steps but stopped when she saw the sawed-off elephant leg holding a planter with a potted plant at the entrance. She shuddered at the grisly sight, averting her eyes from it, and went in, but halted again when she saw Ponnappa and his brother engaged in a heated conversation, unaware of her.

Gana pushed his older brother, and Ponnappa stumbled, placing a hand on the wall to support himself.

‘Just look at you,’ Gana sneered. ‘Consorting with a man who is so drunk, he is unable to stand straight. Appa would have been so ashamed to see what has become of you. You have destroyed his legacy.’

‘What legacy are you talking about?’ Ponnappa’s face was red, as he limped closer to Gana, raising his voice. Flecks of spittle flew from his mouth, spraying all over Gana’s white shirt.

Gana stepped forward, refusing to give ground to his brother. ‘I should never have agreed to come to the party. You said you wanted to reach a settlement with me. But what kind of agreement can we arrive at when you insist on staying with a degenerate like Boyd? You threw us out of the house for him.’

Ponnappa pushed his brother. ‘I should never have agreed to share some of the estate with you. It has made you greedy.’

He reached into his coat pocket and took out a thin sheet of paper, its light green colour and the red stamp on top marking it out as a registered deed. Brandishing it at Gana, he taunted him. ‘I can still tear this up, you know. Leave you without a penny, as you deserve.’

‘How dare you go back on your promise to me,’ Gana demanded, lunging to grab the document.

Ponnappa fended him away, holding the paper out of reach. ‘I was wrong to invite you to the party. I thought I would be kind to you, offer to give you a small share so that we could make peace. But you don’t deserve anything. I’ll destroy you. You’ll come crawling on your knees to beg me to save you from the pauper’s home.’

Gana stared at Ponnappa, breathing heavily. Then, with an angry shout, he sprung for the table, where a heavy wooden carving board lay next to a pile of roast pork legs. With one swift move, he pulled the sharp carving knife out from the board, stabbing his brother in the thigh.

Ponnappa went down, his head hitting the wall with a sickening crack. Gana made a strangled sound, stepping forward as blood flowed from the flesh wound on Ponnappa’s leg, staining his trousers scarlet.

34 Not Fit to Live

Kaveri let out a loud scream, looking out towards the entrance to see if anyone would help.

She heard footsteps running up to the door. Tom was standing at the portico. He looked inside, taking in the scene, and entered quickly, soaking wet, dripping on the floor.

‘Step back.’ Tom pulled a gun from his pocket, pointing it at Gana.

‘Put that revolver down,’ Kaveri said, astonished. ‘This is a job for the police.’

Tom held his ground, keeping the gun fixed on Gana. ‘Can’t you see, he’s a dangerous man. We need to train the gun on him until the police put him in handcuffs.’

Ponnappa moaned, moving on the ground. He opened his eyes, looking up at them. ‘No police,’ he pleaded. ‘He is my brother. I can’t let my only brother go to jail.’ He looked at Tom, his eyes beseeching.

‘He attacked you,’ Tom said, refusing to give ground.

‘Think of the scandal.’ Ponnappa turned to Kaveri. ‘It’s not just him, our whole family will be affected. No one will marry my niece.’

You should have thought of that before defrauding them of their inheritance, Kaveri thought, but decided against speaking her thoughts aloud. Ponnappa was finally talking rationally. Perhaps the attack had shocked both brothers back to their senses and would prompt them to give up their quarrel.

‘Take him to the storeroom outside, down the corridor,’ Ponnappa told Tom. ‘You can lock my brother in, keep him there till the morning. Think about it, see if you can give him a chance. If you’re still not convinced, you can hand him over to the police tomorrow.’

Gana collapsed into a chair, staring at his brother. He had not said a word since stabbing Ponnappa.

‘Please,’ Ponnappa pleaded again, turning to Kaveri.

‘We can lock Gana in the storeroom now and think about what to do with him later,’ Kaveri decided. ‘But you need that wound examined. Where is my husband?’

‘He’s with the Colonel, making him comfortable. He will be here soon,’ Tom said. He waved his revolver at Gana. ‘Get up. Move!’

Gana stood up, swaying slightly.

Kaveri went to Ponnappa, looking at the knife in his leg, the red stain spreading on his thigh. She put out a hand to touch the wound delicately, and Ponnappa screamed in agony. ‘Don’t.’

She stepped back.

‘Is he… Will he be alright?’ Gana’s voice shook. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt him badly. It’s just… I was so angry. I didn’t know what I was doing.’

Tom prodded him in the back, and Gana turned away, shuffling out of the door. After the two men left, Kaveri stood near the door, wondering whether she should go to Boyd’s room to find Ramu.

Tom took Gana to the storeroom at the end of the corridor, a few feet away on the right of the dining room. She heard the sound of the bolt being pulled back and Tom saying something to Gana in a loud voice. Then the door of the storeroom shut with a bang. She heard the bolt being drawn again and the sound of the key turning in the lock.

Tom came back, panting a little. ‘Mrs. Murthy, can you speak to Gana? He is hysterical. He’s babbling about being sorry, not deserving to live anymore.’

‘Speak to him,’ Ponnappa bit off his words, grimacing as he clutched his thigh. ‘He will listen to you.’ He saw Kaveri hesitate. ‘He didn’t mean to attack me. He was like that even as a child, with a nasty temper, but it is short-lived. After his anger fades, he will become even more irrational, blaming himself. Can you reassure him that I will be alright—that it was only a flesh wound, which will heal?’

Kaveri agreed unwillingly, accompanying Tom down the corridor towards the small boxy storeroom. The door was locked, but she peeped in through the grills set in the window. Gana was sitting disconsolately on a chair. He jumped up when he saw her, rushing towards the window, his hands clasping the iron bars. With his tear-streaked face and crumpled collar, he looked a far cry from the immaculate station master who had greeted Kaveri when she arrived in Mercara.

Looking at Kaveri like a bewildered child, Gana began to weep again, burying his face in his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to,’ he gasped between sobs. ‘I was just so angry. I didn’t mean to. I deserve to die.’

‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ Kaveri said sharply. ‘Remember that you have a daughter at home. Ratna depends on you.’

She heard footsteps and wheeled around, very thankful to see that Ramu was back. He hurried up to them in the corridor.

‘What happened?’ he asked urgently, staring at Gana, locked inside.

Before Kaveri could explain, Gana collapsed into hysterics. He laughed and cried, his words bubbling over one another.

‘Who locked him in?’ Ramu asked Kaveri, fighting to be heard above Gana’s high-pitched babble.

She quickly explained the situation to him, as Tom stood outside, ineffectually trying to make Gana stop talking, waving the revolver and threatening him to no effect.

‘This won’t work,’ Ramu said. ‘Open the door.’ He put out his hand.

Tom hesitated, slowly taking the key out of his pocket and giving it to Ramu.

‘Cover me,’ Ramu said briefly, pointing to Tom’s gun. He opened the door, grabbed a pail of water in the corridor, and threw the water on Gana.

Gana stopped, taking a shuddering breath. He gaped at Ramu, rubbing his wet collar. For a while, there was silence. Then he started to cry again, quietly, in a despairing manner. His voice grew shriller again, its volume steadily increasing, till he was screaming once more.

‘I am not fit to live,’ Gana said, looking around wildly. He spotted a glass bottle lying on the floor. Before Ramu could intervene, he had broken it on the ground. He brandished the sharp glass like a weapon, slicing his wrist open.

Blood spurted out, spraying on the wall. Gana’s eyes rolled back and he fainted, collapsing on the ground. Tom shouted, dropping his revolver.

Ramu muttered an oath, taking off his coat and using it to sweep the shards of broken glass aside.

‘If we don’t staunch the bleeding, he will bleed to death,’ he said, his voice urgent. ‘Give me some cloth. I need to make a tourniquet.’

Kaveri tore a long strip from her sari pallu, thanking her stars that she had worn a delicate organza today, instead of a heavy Kanjeevaram silk, which would have been impossible to tear. Ramu tied it above Gana’s wrist to stop the blood flow, and she tore another piece of cloth, using it to mop up some of the blood on her husband. Ramu’s cuffs were soaked in blood, and he waved her away. She looked at the thin red stream flowing into a depression in the centre of the room, forming a growing puddle on the floor. The small storeroom, already stuffy, was saturated with the metallic stench of blood. She retched, then controlled herself, putting her sari to her nose and breathing through it.

Gana moaned slightly. He had recovered consciousness and was staring at Ramu with deadened eyes.

‘Sit here.’ Ramu pulled Gana up, propping him against the wall. He followed Ramu’s instructions meekly, crossing his legs like an obedient schoolchild.

Ramu inspected the bloodied floor. ‘We can’t leave him here. He needs to lie down. He’s lost a lot of blood and must be very weak now.’

‘There’s another guest room, next to the Colonel’s,’ Tom suggested. ‘Shall we take him there?’

‘Let’s do that,’ Ramu agreed. ‘Kaveri, you stay here. The rain has stopped, but the ground is slippery. Can you go to the dining room and see if Ponnappa needs help?’

The two men lifted Gana to his feet, supporting him on both sides and leading him out of the storeroom into the corridor. Kaveri bolted the door while they waited for her. The red party lights still shone on the grass, flashing on and off, eerily matching the colour and shape of the blood stains on Ramu’s cream-coloured shirt cuffs.

From the distance, they heard the unearthly scream of a hyena calling, half giggle, half squeal. Ramu saw Kaveri shiver and climbed onto the wall, looking around.

‘It must be far away,’ he said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

Kaveri gave him a wavering smile.

35 The Night Is for Animals

Kaveri hurried to the dining room, wondering if she would find Ponnappa conscious or not. But when she opened the door, she saw he had pulled the knife out of his leg and was using it to cut through his boot. She hurried towards him, helping him to remove the boot from his swollen foot.

Ponnappa grimaced when she finally removed it. He leaned back against the wall with a groan, propping his foot, which had ballooned to twice its size, on a cushion that she gave to him. Kaveri bent down, inspecting his injured leg. Ponnappa’s grey trousers were stained with blood, where the knife had penetrated the cloth, but the stain was not spreading. That was good.

She rolled back the trouser, exposing the bloodied skin. ‘The wound doesn’t appear to be very deep. It will probably require a couple of stitches, but fortunately the knife has avoided major arteries. You should recover completely,’ she told him. ‘Your swollen foot will take some days to return to its normal size, though.’

Ponnappa ignored her ministrations, asking, ‘What was that sound? Is Gana alright?’

‘He broke down for a while, but is alright now,’ Kaveri said, dissembling. She decided not to tell him that Gana had harmed himself. ‘They have taken him to another guest room, next to the Colonel’s, to rest for the night.’ She looked at the relief on Ponnappa’s face and decided she was right to hide the complete truth from him. Awful though his conduct had been, Ponnappa seemed to have had a change of heart after his brother stabbed him. Perhaps the shock had brought him to his senses. He had enough to worry about without adding one more thing to the mix.

Kaveri stared incredulously at the bloody knife next to Ponnappa, suddenly registering its import. ‘Did you pull that out yourself?’ She had assisted Ramu with an emergency surgery one night, after a group of factory workers got into a drunken brawl. He had to pull a knife out of a man’s leg, and even though he dosed him liberally with rum before pulling out the knife, the man fainted with pain.

‘I’ve done it before,’ Ponnappa said. ‘When I was much younger, on a hunt, my friend intended to stab a wild boar but caught me in the leg instead. That’s why I have a limp. But I was more fit then, and better able to handle the pain. This time, I fainted when I pulled it out. I came to, screaming in pain just before you entered the room. My leg was swollen, and the boot was pressing down on it. If you hadn’t come in then to help me, I would still be struggling to remove it.’ He gave her a strained smile.

Kaveri shuddered. ‘You are very brave to attempt this yourself. But why is your foot swollen so badly? The knife was in your thigh.’

‘I must have wrenched my ankle when I went down.’ He squeezed his eyes closed. ‘Does your husband have his medical kit with him? I could do with a painkiller.’

‘He will be here soon,’ she promised, wondering what was taking Tom and Ramu so long.

She heard footsteps, hard and quick, on the stone path, and Tom burst in, chest heaving, as he fought for breath, struggling to form words.

‘The Colonel… it’s the Colonel.’ Tom’s voice shook as he forced the words out, collapsing heavily onto the couch. Ponnappa struggled to get up and fell back to the ground, holding his ankle and wincing in pain.

Ramu came in, looking shaken. ‘Don’t move, Ponnappa. You need to stay still.’ His gaze took in Ponnappa’s engorged foot and the mutilated remains of the boot.

‘But the Colonel, he may need help. What happened, man? Speak up,’ Ponnappa shouted at Tom. But Tom only stared at him.

‘Sit here and keep watch over Ponnappa, Tom. Kaveri, come with me,’ Ramu said, moving to the door, but she was already behind him, holding his hand as she walked gingerly over the slippery mud. It must be important, for Ramu to risk taking her through the same path he had refused to allow her to walk on just minutes before.

The hyena called again, sounding more distant this time. Kaveri shivered, remembering the folktales her grandmother had told her when she was young about hyenas who apparated through locked doors and snatched children.

She pinched herself. This was not the time to recall scary bedtime stories. Those were just a way for her grandmother, exhausted at the end of the day, to get the children to stop running around, scaring them just enough so they would dive into bed and close their eyes.

Well, she was not a child afraid of walking outside at night. Not when there was a kerosene lamp close at hand and the reassuring solid form of a building, with its stout masonry walls, looming ahead of her in the darkness. She followed Ramu, quickening their pace now that they were on solid ground, heading towards the guest room where the lights were on. What had happened to Boyd?

Ramu stopped her outside the room, placing a gentle hand on her arm. ‘Brace yourself, Kaveri.’

He led her in, moving aside so that Kaveri could see Boyd. He lay on the bed, eyes wide open, unblinking, staring at the ceiling. Ramu’s lips moved, but she could not hear what he said. She put her index fingers in her eardrums and shook them, trying to get rid of the buzzing sound that filled her ears, as she stared at the small round hole on the right side of Boyd’s forehead. Kaveri moved closer, bending down to inspect the exit wound, surrounded by black soot. Boyd’s right hand had fallen to the side, hanging below the bedframe. Just below his hand, on the ground, lay a small revolver.

Ramu tugged at her arm, pointing to a note on the table.

I thought I could, but I was wrong. I can’t take it.

The note was written on a half sheet of paper, held down by a paperweight.

‘A strange note, incomplete. Do you think he killed himself?’ she asked Ramu.

‘It seems so. But why would he take his own life, just after a party he threw to celebrate a successful partnership with Ponnappa?’

Kaveri nodded. Something about Boyd’s body, the way he lay on the bed, seemed off to her. What was it? She went to the bed again, looking at the gun, and stepped back, squinting at it.

Then she caught Ramu by his shirtsleeve, pulling him close.

‘Boyd was left-handed. He could not have killed himself, not by firing into his right temple, which would have meant holding a gun in his right hand.’

Ramu stood still, staring at her.

36 Waiting Is Unbearable

Still shaken from the horrific events at the club two days back, Kaveri emerged from the bathroom, wet hair wrapped in a towel. She walked over to the calendar with a black fountain pen, marking a little cross over the previous day’s date. It was a new ritual she had started when she found out she was pregnant, counting down the days until her child was born.

Mercara lacked a mortuary, and the United Planters’ Association had to commandeer a lorry, sending Boyd’s body to Bangalore where Ramu arranged for the autopsy to be completed in Bowring Hospital. The local constable, a man clearly overwhelmed by the idea of investigating the death of a powerful British planter, had taken a few peripheral notes, writing laboriously with a thick pencil into a fat notebook. But the Planters’ Association had raised a hue and cry about the death of one of their most prominent members, insisting that an experienced policeman be deputed from Madras to solve the case.

Kaveri fretted, unable to adapt to the unaccustomed inactivity after the hectic events of the previous few days. She lit a lamp in the small altar in the puja room, praying to her patron saint Raghavendra Swami. Let it not be a bigoted British policeman from Madras who takes up the case. The local constable had seemed inclined to take the easier route, throwing Gana or Ponnappa in jail. In time, perhaps he would eventually settle on one of the waiters, once he discovered that Ponnappa and Gana had alibis. And even though most of the staff and cleaners at the club had left by the time it started raining, a few of them were still in the kitchen, washing dishes. They were the most powerless.

She walked up and down the hall, nibbling at her nails. Then she spotted the gramophone on the rosewood side table, perched awkwardly amidst a display of cut-glass vases and a large crystal jug with a set of carved glasses.

Dr. Roberts had a similar machine in his home and had played music from Chopin and Mozart for her. She had made polite noises of appreciation, finding it difficult to tell him how overwhelming she found the music to be. How could anyone focus on so many different instruments playing tunes at different scales and tempos at the same time? Kaveri much preferred Indian classical music, where you could listen to one singer, at the most accompanied by a percussionist or a single violin.

She rummaged through the stack of records next to the gramophone, finding a 78-rpm record by a singer whom Kaveri had long wanted to listen to. Gauhar Jaan was from Calcutta, an Armenian who had later converted to Islam when her mother married for a second time. Kaveri’s father had been to a concert in Madras where Gauhar had performed and had been captivated by her skills in both dancing and singing. How wonderful it would be if someone discovered a way to record the dance too, so that people like her could watch a performance given in a distant city, like Madras, sitting in the comfort of their homes. Perhaps, if she could go to college, she would be able to invent such a machine.

Kaveri shook herself, refusing to give in to despair, as she sometimes did when she wondered if motherhood also heralded the end of her dreams to study further, and teach. She pulled the record out from its cardboard sleeve and placed it on the gramophone, winding the machine. Then, wrapping her arms around herself, she whirled around the room, the tension in her body slowly easing as Gauhar Jaan’s sensuous voice seeped into her skin, erasing the terrible memories of Boyd, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, with that dreadful bullet hole in the side of his forehead.

The gramophone wound down and Kaveri took the needle off the record, sitting on the sofa and wiping her face. Janaki came in, carrying a plate of crisp fried panniyaram with coconut chutney.

‘How is Ratna?’ Kaveri asked. ‘And Kartik?’

‘Mrs. Ponnappa is keeping the house running, trying to make sure things are as normal as possible. Ponnappa and Gana are resting in bed, and she and the children are tending to them. But if I know those two children, they will soon become restless, needing to get out into the forest, back to the leopard.’ Janaki looked weary. ‘No one will be at peace in that house until Boyd’s murderer is found. Even though Gana has an alibi, people are already beginning to whisper, saying that he may be innocent of this murder, but what about all the previous attempts?’

Kaveri slumped on the couch as Janaki dusted the drawing room. The joyous feeling she’d had while listening to the music evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. She nibbled at the panniyaram, her stomach churning from her discordant thoughts. Too keyed up to take the daily afternoon nap her doctor had ordered, she brought out her notebook, updating her notes from both cases, listing out all the unanswered questions, creating a table of suspects, motives, and alibis.

Then she fell into an uneasy sleep on the sofa in the drawing room, waking up when Ramu came in.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Kaveri’s appetite was low, and she had asked Janaki to make them a light meal of drumstick saaru and rice, accompanied by a simple dish of cabbage paliya, lightly spiced, with freshly grated coconut.

Janaki left a plate of mangoes on the table. Kaveri took the central section, stripping the skin away with her teeth, sucking the pulp and depositing the cleaned seed back on her plate. Ramu, more fastidious than her, neatly sliced the mango and ate the pulp with a spoon, keeping his hands clean.

Kaveri got up with a sigh of satisfaction, washing her sticky hands in the porcelain sink. ‘Any news from Madras? Has the policeman they deputed come to Coorg? The waiting is almost unbearable.’

37 Motive and Opportunity

Patience is a virtue worth cultivating, Mrs. Murthy.’ A deep rumbling voice came from the dimly lit verandah outside. A most familiar voice, a dearly loved one.

Kaveri gave a shriek and hastily dried her hands, throwing the wet towel on the sofa and running into the corridor to greet her beloved friend Inspector Ismail.

She drew up as she got close to him, badly wanting to throw her arms around Ismail and give him a hug, but stopping herself just in time. She did not want to offend his sense of propriety—however close a friend, the Inspector would be horrified at the thought of embracing a young woman outside his family. She gave him her sweetest smile instead, watching contentedly as he shook hands with Ramu.

‘I received word of a smuggling case in Mysore, and had packed my bags, ready to leave, when I received a telegram from Coorg. Despite its commercial importance, Mercara doesn’t have a senior administrator or police station. The British resident of Mysore doubles as the chief commissioner of Coorg, and lives in Bangalore, managing the local government and the high court of Coorg from a distance. He asked me to report to Coorg and take over the case. When I heard the murder took place in Coorg, I had a feeling the two of you would be involved, so I set out immediately.’ Ismail’s white teeth flashed in the moonlight.

The large policeman was dressed in another of his voluminous kurtas. He pulled out a small steel dabba from his pocket, offering a mix of walnuts and dates to Kaveri.

‘And we are so happy that you did.’ Ramu shook Ismail’s hand again, looking like years of fatigue had rolled off his shoulders. Kaveri realised, for the first time, what a toll the last few days had taken on her husband. She knew he had been worried about her. She could sense it in his restlessness, the way he looked at her when he thought she was unaware, the time it took for him to fall asleep at night—and in the way he held her when, at last, he lapsed into sleep. But with Inspector Ismail around, he looked lighter, standing more freely.

Kaveri took a deep breath of the jasmine-scented night air, realising how tense she had been feeling too. It was good to have the Inspector here. With his help, she was far more confident that they would be able to make inroads into the case.

After Ismail had a quick dinner, they sat on the front steps, looking at the moon. ‘Are you staying with us?’ Kaveri asked hopefully, taking in the small suitcase that he had placed on the front verandah.

‘Lakamma asked me to use her bedroom on the first floor. Why, Mrs. Murthy? Are you afraid I will cramp your style, hinder your ability to investigate?’ His voice was affectionate, as he studied her.

‘I would like to see you try,’ Ramu commented.

Kaveri swatted her husband with her sari pallu, laughing. The Inspector had often mentioned how she resembled his oldest daughter, whom he was very fond of. He was a strict man to his subordinates, feared by criminals, but he was especially indulgent with her.

The Inspector pulled a notebook out of one of his many pockets, switching on the hurricane lamp next to him, and writing in the lamplight.

‘I stopped by the police station and picked up the file with all the details we have so far from the constable. Where is your notebook?’ Ismail waited for Kaveri to flip to the pages of her notes. ‘What do you have so far?’

‘It’s very confusing.’ Kaveri exhaled. ‘On my very first day, I found a warning waiting for me. Someone had placed a cobra in my car.’

‘What?’ Ismail looked up. ‘Who was it?’

‘I never found out,’ Kaveri said. ‘I examined the note for fingerprints but couldn’t find any.’ She quickly summarised the many cases that she had taken on, including the investigation of the ghost leopard, and the attacks on Colonel Boyd. ‘Ponnappa was convinced that it was Gana, but Ratna insisted that Boyd had staged it himself. Most of the incidents had taken place in Boyd’s office, or nearby, with his workers all around. It would have been difficult for Gana to slip in and out unnoticed.’

‘It must have been someone else who had it in for the Colonel,’ Ismail said. ‘Was there anyone who disliked him?’

‘Most of Coorg,’ Ramu responded dryly. ‘He was a womaniser and bully who made enemies as quickly as he made money.’

‘If Boyd had not been so greedy, wanting to acquire all the land in Mercara and turn it to coffee, I wonder if he would be alive today,’ Kaveri said. She stopped and swallowed.

‘We can continue this tomorrow.’ Ismail looked at her with concern.

‘No, let me finish telling you this, or else it will play on my mind all night,’ she insisted. ‘Boyd created a rift between the two brothers who, by all accounts, were once so close. The night of the murder, Ponnappa waved a deed in front of Gana, telling him that he had planned to give him a share of the estate but could still rip it up. Gana was taken by surprise when Ponnappa taunted him. That’s when he seemed to lose control, picking up the knife to stab his brother.’

‘Their fight seems to have shocked both brothers back to their senses,’ Ramu commented. ‘When I visited them at home today, they were sitting side by side on the sofa when I entered their house. A team of men were hard at work outside, repairing the break between the two parts of the home. A reconciliation seems to have been affected.’

‘Hmm,’ said Ismail dryly. ‘I don’t trust these sudden changes of heart.’ He turned to Kaveri. ‘Can you find me a large sheet of paper?’

They went into Lakamma’s study. Kaveri rummaged in the cupboards, emerging triumphantly with a sheet of chart paper in a tight roll. They tacked the sheet up on the large corkboard mounted on one side wall, and Ismail drew a table on it, with three columns, labelling them ‘Suspect,’ ‘Motive,’ and ‘Opportunity.’

‘Boyd was a nasty piece of work, by all accounts,’ Ismail said, taking out a piece of betel nut from a box in his pocket, and chewing it. ‘But even a man such as he has the right to receive justice. Who were the people with motives?’

‘Boyd’s girlfriend, Clara,’ Kaveri responded immediately.

‘But why would she want to kill the Colonel?’ Ramu objected, turning to Ismail and explaining. ‘He was the goose that laid her golden eggs. We heard her talk to a friend at the party. She was wearing an expensive necklace that was a gift from Boyd. She said she was going to sell it soon and use the money to purchase a ticket back to England.’

‘Tom was her lover,’ Kaveri said, her words running over each other in her excitement. ‘Ramu and I watched them together one day, and Ratna said she has seen them together frequently. We overheard Clara telling her friend that Tom had become increasingly jealous of Boyd, and even threatened to throttle her.’

‘Tom may have had a motive to kill Boyd but no opportunity,’ Ramu reminded her, pointing to Ismail’s chart. I left him alive in his room, barely fifteen minutes before I went back again and found him dead. Tom was with you in between; he didn’t leave your sight long enough to get away and kill Boyd.’

‘Yes, we must cross Tom off the list, along with Gana and Ponnappa,’ Ismail said. ‘I will ask my men to trace this Clara and her friend, and speak to both of them. Who else should we track?’

Ramu looked at Kaveri, and she looked away, studying the floor.

‘You mustn’t let your prejudices and preferences affect how you view the evidence, Mrs. Murthy,’ Ismail prodded gently. ‘I will not be able to solve this case without your help. You and Dr. Murthy know these people and have access to them in a way I will never be able to match. If you keep things from me, then how can we find the killer?’

She gave an unwilling nod, going to the windows and closing them, and throwing the bolt on the door. ‘It could be Chandru—or Janaki, I suppose. Though I think they are—were—too afraid of Boyd to do anything.’

‘What about Mrs. Ponnappa? She is a strange one,’ Ramu said. ‘I don’t know what motive she had, if indeed there was one. But I had the distinct impression that she disliked the Colonel. Didn’t you?’

‘I did too,’ Kaveri acknowledged. ‘But I don’t see why she would hate him so much as to want to kill him. Unless it was because she wanted to protect the children. She seems fiercely protective of Kartik and Ratna.’

‘What about those two? Ratna and Kartik? They don’t have alibis,’ Ismail pointed out.

‘They are only children,’ Kaveri said, horrified.

‘Ratna is sixteen. Old enough to kill someone,’ Ismail pressed. ‘We have an eyewitness who saw her shouting at her uncle near the library, threatening to mow down the Colonel with her cycle. I hear she has a nasty temper.’

Kaveri’s head drooped. ‘It doesn’t make any sense. And I feel like I have failed Hiramma. We haven’t found any leads to Kupamma’s murderer in Coorg, or in Bangalore. Do you think the two are connected?’

Ismail responded to the exhaustion in her voice. ‘We have no evidence to link them so far. But it is too late to discuss this further tonight. Let’s resume tomorrow.’

‘Will you tell us everything you find out?’ Kaveri asked, unable to stop herself. She couldn’t forget how hurt she had been when the Inspector shut her out so completely on their previous case a few months back, in January, when the Prince of Wales’s visit was threatened by sabotage. She knew that had been for her own safety, but it still rankled.

‘I will,’ Ismail promised. ‘I have wired to Madras with some queries. By tomorrow evening, I expect to have received a few responses. Then, the day after tomorrow, I plan to call in some people for interviews. You can be my notetaker. Did you bring your genius machine with you?’

‘My portable Remington typewriter? Of course. With it, I can keep pace with your interrogation, however fast you go.’ Kaveri perked up, smiling at the Inspector as she left the study.

38 If a Man Isn’t Safe in His Own Club

Please find out who did it,’ the president of the Mercara Club said to Ismail and Kaveri two days later. ‘I can’t believe one of our own members was attacked in our own rooms. Is nothing sacred these days?’ He shook his head sadly. ‘If a man isn’t safe in his own club, then I don’t know where he would be.’

‘We will do our best,’ Ismail promised, shaking the president’s hand before heading purposefully towards the dining room, where Gana and Ponnappa had their big fight. He stopped in the doorway, looking at Tom, who stood near the window, his back to them, staring out at the garden.

‘Tom has been with Colonel Boyd for many years, and I wondered why. So I sent a wire to Ceylon yesterday for some information on him.’ Ismail waved a folder at Kaveri. ‘I will go in hard. Watch his expressions carefully. See what he says, and what he seems to hide.’

When he heard them walk in, Tom turned away from the window, greeting them with a nervous smile. Ismail responded with a curt nod, telling Tom to sit in the hard wooden chair. Ismail took the comfortable sofa opposite him, and Kaveri sat down in another well-upholstered chair, setting up her typewriter on a small tea table.

‘The Colonel was a hard man,’ Tom said, drumming his knuckles on the arms of his chair. Kaveri inserted a fresh sheet of paper in the Remington, typing rapidly. ‘When he drank, which was every night, he turned abusive. The filth that came out of his mouth then!’ Tom gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘No one else would have stuck with him.’

Ismail was watching him keenly. ‘Why did you?’ he barked suddenly, and Tom jumped.

‘What?’ Tom asked nervously.

‘If he was such an abusive employer, why not leave him and work for someone else? An experienced overseer like you must be worth his weight in gold. How much did Boyd pay you?’

Tom shifted in his seat, looking away. ‘Not enough,’ he muttered.

Ismail opened the file on his lap, riffling through the sheaf of papers inside. ‘I can tell you exactly how much he paid you. It wasn’t enough. And yet, you stayed. Why?’

Sweat poured down Tom’s face, and he took out a large, grimy handkerchief from his shirt, dabbing at the sheen of perspiration. ‘He was my boss. I had been with him for ten years.’ He looked wildly around at the windows and door.

‘I can explain why.’ Ismail’s voice was hard, relentless. He waved a telegram slip at Tom. ‘You had a gambling habit, and Boyd knew it. He helped pay off your debts more than once. In fact, before you moved here, you got into an argument one night, beating a man so badly he almost died. Boyd bailed you out, and you jumped bail—with his cognizance. He helped you acquire new identity papers and took you to Ceylon. You’re not Tom Martin, are you? Your real name is Timothy Mare—you were Boyd’s batman when he left the Army. You kept the same initials and picked up a new name similar enough to yours that you wouldn’t slip up.’

Kaveri stared at Tom. She could see from his ashen face that it was true.

‘But as time passed, you became embittered. Boyd paid you a pittance and extracted work from you with a hard fist. We also know that you had begun an affair with his latest girlfriend, Clara.’

Tom shrank back. ‘It was all over with Clara,’ he said sullenly. ‘She got what she wanted from the Colonel. He had ordered a new set of emeralds for her, and they arrived from Madras last week. She planned to leave him soon. She had already broken up with me.’

‘That must have made you so angry. What if Boyd exposed you to the police? You would have no other way out except to get on that boat, with her. I have a confession note here, which I found locked away in Boyd’s safe. Signed by you, the note admits that you have been stealing from Boyd, small amounts here and there, to fuel your continued gambling habit. You even got Janaki’s husband Chandru to gamble with you, luring him with promises of earning enough money to pay back his loans, didn’t you? Until Janaki came after you with a rolling pin, threatening to haul your hide through the road in public view?’ Ismail waggled his eyebrows at Tom. ‘And then, with no way out, you killed Boyd.’

‘I didn’t,’ Tom burst out. His panicked eyes scanned the room, like a mongoose trapped in a cage. ‘I couldn’t have. I was with Dr. and Mrs. Murthy all the time. Why don’t you look at the others? Do you know what the Colonel tried to do with Janaki and Chandru’s daughter? One night, when she was coming home from school, he tried to force himself on her on the dark path. She tripped him and ran home screaming. He didn’t know who she was. All the native girls looked the same to him. But Chandru never forgot. They got her married quickly, sending her to a distant village for her safety. Why do you think Chandru took up a job with the Colonel after this? He could have worked anywhere as a security guard if he needed money. You should check their alibis.’

‘I don’t need to. Because you know who did it,’ Ismail suggested. His voice had dropped low. It was persuasive, coaxing. ‘Tell me, man.’

Tom’s face closed up, his lips retreating into his face as though someone had sewed them shut.

He is hiding something, Kaveri realised. She spoke to him. ‘This is a dangerous game, Tom. You’re playing with fire. The killer has tried many times and missed. But now, they’ve struck blood.’

A sneer passed over Tom’s face. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying,’ he said, so contemptuously that Kaveri started. ‘You think you can prance into the planter’s life, you with your silks and organza, your pretty city ways, and fancy machines.’ He pointed dismissively to her Remington. ‘What do you know about the ways of life, Detective Kaveri?’

Kaveri jumped up, standing over Tom. Ismail watched her, bemused, as she demanded, ‘Detective Kaveri? Where did you get that phrase from? You’re the man who left the cobra in my car on the day that I arrived, and the warning note telling me to leave Coorg.’

Tom’s face turned sullen. ‘I did no such thing,’ he muttered. Then he turned to the Inspector. ‘What’s she doing here anyway? She’s not part of the police, only a private detective.’ He pronounced the last two words with a sneer, and Ismail’s face darkened.

‘It would be better for you to respond to Mrs. Murthy here in this room. Unless you would like me to drag you down to the police station and force the truth out of you?’ Ismail spoke slowly, pausing between words.

‘I don’t have anything to say. I didn’t write that note. You have no proof,’ Tom persisted.

Kaveri sat straight, speaking confidently. Inside, her heartbeat like the fluttering wings of a butterfly, reminding her that she had no proof. ‘I have the note with me. It has your fingerprints on it.’

‘I didn’t leave any prints. I used a—’ Tom broke off abruptly.

‘You slipped up. I found a partial thumbprint on a corner of the paper. We can use this to throw you in jail,’ she said, meeting Ismail’s eyes. The policeman knew that there were no fingerprints on the paper—but Tom didn’t.

Ismail stood, looming over Tom. ‘Why did you try and kill Mrs. Murthy with the snake? That’s enough evidence for me to throw you in jail for at least a year. Any magistrate will convict you based on this evidence.’

Tom shrank back into a corner, suddenly crumpling, looking deflated. ‘Don’t put me in jail. I will confess, apologise, put it in writing. But don’t put me in jail. The last time I was in a cell, in Ceylon for a gambling debt… I have claustrophobia. I still have nightmares about it.’ He folded his hands in appeal, looking at Kaveri. ‘I wanted to leave the Colonel’s employment and emigrate to America, where I could make something of myself. The Colonel refused to let me go. He told me that you were a well-known detective, threatened that he would expose my past to you, have me investigated, and placed in jail if I tried to leave. I didn’t want to kill you, only to frighten you back to Bangalore, so that I could get away from the Colonel. That’s why I rolled up the windows after putting the cobra inside, and locked the door, so you wouldn’t be bitten.’

Kaveri looked away, sickened. Sensing her discomfort, Ismail spoke again.

‘That’s enough for now, Tom. You can go. But remember, we have evidence that can put you in jail. Don’t try and leave town. I’ll have men posted at the station and every crossroads. One of my men will keep watch over you at the plantation too. Don’t even think of trying to give us the slip.’

When Tom left, the Inspector closed the door and sat down heavily opposite Kaveri. ‘I’m sorry you had to listen to that,’ he said quietly.

Kaveri made a dismissive sound. ‘I’m hardly going to be hurt by the likes of him.’

‘That’s the indomitable Mrs. Murthy spirit,’ Ismail commented. ‘You remind me so much of Lakamma. She must have been as tough as old boots when she was younger.’

Kaveri laughed, feeling more cheerful. It was hard to remain depressed or continue to feel afraid in Ismail’s gentle presence. She riffled through her notebook, looking at the page where she had copied down Ismail’s suspects chart. ‘What did Boyd’s girlfriend Clara say?’

‘Her alibi checks out, and so does that of her friend. After the party, they were completely drunk, and Clara’s friend was unable to walk straight. One of the other British guests drove them to his house, making up a bed for them for the night. He vouched for them. Clara was up half the night vomiting. His wife sat up with her, sponging her face with a cold towel.’

Kaveri stabbed her pencil into her notebook. ‘Everyone seems to have an alibi. This case makes no sense.’ She studied her notes, focusing on a sentence. ‘Do you think it’s true? What Tom said about Janaki and Chandru’s daughter?’

‘Boyd had a reputation of being quite the womanizer. And not all of it consensual.’

‘And yet Chandru took up a job with Boyd as a security guard. Why would he? It does seem suspicious.’

Ismail’s face was grim. ‘We’ll pull them in tomorrow for questioning. Let’s see what else we can pull out from the testimonies.’

39 Turmeric and Pepper

When Ismail and Kaveri returned to Lakamma’s house for lunch, there was an army of people on the lawn in front of the bungalow, and on the verandah that ran around the house. Farm implements were stacked in a pile on the tiles on the verandah, kept on straw mats to protect the tiles from scratches. A bare-chested worker picked up a machete, sharpening the wicked-looking blade on a rough slab of stone. Sparks flew as the knife was honed, and Kaveri moved a few steps away, hurrying past the man.

Groups of workers poured streams of ruby red chillis, golden corms of turmeric, and peppercorns glistening red, green, and black out of gunny sacks, piling them into small mounds on the red oxide floors. Two tall young women carrying heavy wooden pestles moved rhythmically around a stone mortar filled with dry turmeric. They sang as they rotated around the stone, pounding their pestles to the rhythm of the song, crushing the corms into golden dust. Kaveri came closer, inhaling the fresh woody aroma of turmeric powder.

A wizened old lady sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a dosa grinding stone between her legs. She gripped the stone with her feet, chipping dents into it with a hammer and flint, stopping every few seconds to dip the sharp edge of the flint in a small chembu of water.

‘Harvest time, and it seems like they’re also spring cleaning,’ Kaveri said.

Ismail grimaced. ‘I hate it when my wife does this. It’s impossible to clean the grinding stone completely. The dosa and idli batter Janaki grinds for our breakfast is going to taste of stone dust for the next few days. The sacrifices I make for my work.’ He groaned theatrically.

Kaveri gave him a sideways glance, smiling slightly. When she had first met him, she thought the large policeman was very forbidding. But his intimidating exterior was a façade maintained only for criminals.

Ismail and Kaveri had jointly decided it was best if she stayed out of this interview so she didn’t jeopardise her growing closeness to Janaki. Once inside, Ismail headed to the drawing room and Kaveri went to her room for a short nap.

A short time later Kaveri came out of her bedroom. She peeped into the drawing room and saw Ismail was still speaking to Chandru and Janaki. She could hear fragments of their conversation floating out of the room. ‘Why don’t you ask her?’ That was Janaki’s raised voice. She heard Ismail’s lower rumble, but nothing from Chandru. He seemed so taciturn, unlike his talkative wife. Many couples were like that. One spoke all the time, and the other stayed silent.

She looked up as the door flung open and Janaki burst out, stalking towards the kitchen. Chandru stayed behind for a few minutes and then came out, his face as closed and uncommunicative as always. He went back to his beloved rose patch, seeming to prefer it to human company.

A small green vine snake wriggled across the lawn. Its emerald skin glistened in the sunlight, casting green shadows on the kadappa stone, reminding her of Clara’s emerald necklace. Was Clara on a boat back to England? And what would she do there—find another man to paper her nest, or learn to stand on her own feet? She was attractive, but her kind of beauty was only skin deep. It would fade with age.

She heard Ismail’s rumbling voice on the telephone and poked her head in, seeing him put down the receiver. He emerged from the drawing room, signalling to Kaveri that she should follow him to the kitchen garden behind the house. It was a spacious yard full of vegetables, and they walked to the far end, where they could not be overheard from the main house.

‘What did Janaki and Chandru say?’ she asked him as soon as they reached the garden, eager to know if he had found out anything more.

‘Janaki did most of the talking. She challenged me for questioning them, insinuating that it was because they were poor and powerless.’

‘How dare she?’ Kaveri clenched her fists. ‘She must have heard about you from Lakamma. Even I told her about you. She knows you are not a typical policeman.’

Ismail’s face relaxed into a small smile as he studied Kaveri’s indignant face. ‘I have dealt with women like her before. Janaki was trying to make me defensive so that I would stop pressing her. People like her live hard lives and have learnt to get by on their wits, challenging authority to wrangle concessions from them. I stayed calm and refused to respond to her accusations, repeating the same question over and over again. Eventually, Chandru broke. That’s what I was waiting for—I knew he was their weak spot. He told me angrily that I should leave him alone and question Ponnappa’s wife instead.’

‘Why her?’

‘He claims that Boyd was besotted with her, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with him.’

‘Is there anyone whom Boyd left alone?’ Kaveri complained. ‘What an awful man. But a woman like Mrs. Ponnappa is so beautiful. She must have many admirers. Do you think she was sufficiently bothered by Boyd to take the risk of killing him? I don’t see how a woman like her could have slipped onto the club premises and shot him, unnoticed by us. I saw everyone who attended the party. I didn’t come across her anywhere.’

‘What do you think of Mrs. Ponnappa?’ Ismail asked her. ‘Does she have the guts to kill someone?’

‘When I first met her, she seemed like a paper doll. She spoke when her husband asked her to, sat when he ordered her to sit, glided away to fetch tea when he told her to. Even when he was hitting their son, she never came to see what was happening, didn’t rush to defend or protect him. But when I met her the second time, she seemed so different, protective of the children. I can’t figure her out. She seems to have two completely different personalities. But now that I know of Boyd’s obsession with her, it seems to make sense. Perhaps she was just being very guarded in his presence.’

Ismail bent down and tugged two carrots from the soil, scrubbing them free of mud with water from a bucket. He gave one of them to Kaveri, biting into the other. ‘People are not like vegetables, Mrs. Murthy. I have yet to meet a person who did not have an opinion of their own. If she does not speak in certain company, either she is hiding something or being controlled by someone else, someone with secrets of their own. Do you know what Chandru told me?’

‘About Mrs. Ponnappa?’

‘He told me to ask her why she lit a fire in her garden during the afternoon, in summer. Apparently, the day before the party, Chandru had gone to Ponnappa’s house. Ratna had asked him to bring one of the grafted rose cuttings for her. He says he smelt smoke and went into the garden—there was a fire, built up from large logs of mango wood. He became suspicious. No one burns mango—it is too valuable, as it can be used to make furniture. So he took a stick and poked around inside. Then he saw fragments of a book.’

‘What book?’ Kaveri demanded. Then her face fell. ‘He won’t be able to tell us. Chandru can’t read.’

Ismail nodded. ‘The book was almost completely burnt when he arrived, but he did recognise the binding, which had not completely burnt. Chandru says it is a library book. Only they use that particular kind of binding to cover their books, in orange and white fabric.’ He threw the last piece of carrot into his mouth, crunching noisily.

‘Then let’s go to their house immediately,’ Kaveri said, looking at her watch. ‘What are we waiting for?’

‘I called Mrs. Ponnappa just now. She denies it entirely, saying that she didn’t light the fire. She admits that she saw a patch of burnt grass in her garden but insists that a vagrant must have entered their compound at night,’ Ismail said.

‘Another dead end,’ Kaveri said bitterly. ‘That is, if you believe her.’ Then she brightened. ‘A visit to the library could help. The librarian might be able to tell us if any books are missing.’

‘It would be best if you go to the library alone, Mrs. Murthy. If I join you, we will attract unwanted attention, and if this burnt book does have something to do with the case, then we will put the murderer on alert. No one will question your visit, especially if you pretend to be there because you want to pick up a mystery book. Meanwhile, I will make my way to Ponnappa’s house to examine this patch of burnt grass for myself. Maybe you or I will strike a lode of gold that will lead us to the murderer.’

He flicked an ant off his sleeve, looking at Kaveri with grave, sleepy eyes. ‘You know as well as I, what happens when a man or woman develops a taste for murder. If my hunch is right, and the same person is responsible for Kupamma’s murder and Boyd’s, then they have tasted blood twice. We need to catch them before they strike a third time.’

40 Tuskers and Turtles

Kaveri parked the Daimler in the shade of the grove in front of the Mercara fort. She looked at the large mango tree, her mouth watering at the sight of the hundreds of mangoes weighing down the branches, some green and small, others large and swelling, tipped with ripening gold. A small monkey jumped from the top of the tree to a lower branch that was drooping under the weight of its fruit. The monkey swung back and forth on one mango until the stem gave way and the fruit dropped down to the ground, along with the monkey. It grabbed the fruit and scampered away to a safe distance from her, nibbling on its precious prize.

She drank in the sight of the fort, tall and majestic, the flecks of silica in the granite walls glistening in the sun. Guarding the rampart, two masonry elephants looked mournfully into her eyes as she walked past, their resplendent white tusks seeming to shimmer in the sunlight, as if to say, This landscape was once ours. What remains now? Only brick and stone.

Hero stones lined the walls she hurried past, etched with figures of prominent men and women, their fading inscriptions revealing lost tales of brave warriors and noble sacrifices. A small stone turtle, embedded in the kadappa stone path, gave her a mournful look as she passed by. Go on, ignore me, it seemed to say to her. I know I’m not as important or interesting as the tuskers at the entrance.

She bent down to rub the turtle shell and then hurried on, looking at the sky. It was early afternoon, and she had no idea how long the library would be open. The fort, with its majestic beams and red-tiled roof, caught her attention. What a contrast it made, with its long corridor and dozens of rooms neatly lined up. Why did a king need so many rooms, anyway?

The long, whitewashed building was a decided contrast to the small Gothic church next to it. She peeped into the empty building, admiring the stained-glass windows in the large tower, and the large organ chamber in the chancel. A group of young people, dressed in white robes, were climbing into the vestry, readying themselves for choir practice, she supposed.

One of them must have sensed her presence. He turned, giving her a curious stare. ‘Can I help you?’

She backed out regretfully. She would have loved to take a tour of the church, but there was no time. Ramu would be home for tea by five, and she wanted to share what she had found with him.

She tore herself away, hurrying around the buildings towards the small bungalow which housed the library within the fort compound, as she indulged in a small daydream. How nice it would have been if they could convert the palace into a library. It could hold thousands of books—no, tens of thousands, maybe lakhs of them. She would convince Ramu to take up a job in Mercara and spend her days happily ensconced in the library, entertaining her baby with a silver rattle in her left hand, turning pages with her right.

She had arrived at the entrance. With a small sigh, Kaveri abandoned her daydream, took her slippers off outside, and walked into the cool, large room with its high ceilings. Placing her feet on the shining red oxide floor, she gazed at the rows of open wooden bookshelves arranged along the sides of the room, inhaling the wonderful scent of dust and old paper. It was like being in a treasure house full of jewels, only even better.

In the middle, a number of people were seated at plain wooden tables. A few older men held newspapers high in front of them, their faces hidden behind. Away from them, seated at separate tables, younger boys and girls—students, she guessed—were making notes on sheets of paper, with piles of books stacked in front of them.

The librarian gave her a friendly smile, his spectacles wobbling at the end of his nose. ‘What can I do for you?’

Kaveri hesitated, not quite sure what to ask for. ‘I’m new here,’ she began.

‘You are Dr. Rama Murthy’s wife, the famous detective,’ he said in a rush. ‘Can I get you anything? We have copies of Saraswati if you want to read your interview.’ He beamed at her.

‘No, thank you. I have the magazine,’ Kaveri said politely, wondering where to begin her search, when she did not know what she was looking for.

‘What are your most popular books?’ she asked.

‘We have a complete collection of the books of Arthur Conan Doyle—the entire Sherlock Holmes Collection—and Lady Molly of Scotland Yard by Baroness Orczy. I placed an order after reading your interview in Saraswati, where you mentioned these detectives as your inspiration.’ He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Isn’t it awful, about Colonel Boyd’s death? Are you here to investigate? Our crime books are at the end of the room, on the left side.’

A little sickened by his ghoulish excitement, Kaveri declined, then thought better of it. If the book that had been burnt was connected to the murder, then it would likely be in the crime section. She walked over to the shelf of mystery books the librarian had pointed out. They were tightly stacked, one against the other, with hardly any space between them. She looked at the shelves closely, beginning at the top left, and making her way down, looking for visible gaps that might indicate a book was missing.

The librarian followed her, pulling out a stool for her to sit on. ‘Did you explore the fort? It was first built using mud bricks and wood by Mudduraja, the king who made Mercara his capital, in the seventeenth century. The Mysore king Tipu Sultan rebuilt it in stone, and the British later added a beautiful Gothic church. Our students have an amateur drama troupe. They regularly put up plays inside the church. The last one was a murder mystery.’

Mentally trying to tune him out, Kaveri paused in the act of inspecting the middle shelf, caught by something he had just said. ‘What mystery?’

The librarian took off his glasses and peered shortsightedly at Kaveri. ‘It was a Kannada play, a reimagining of the tragic end of the last Coorgi princess, by S. Muralidhara Rao. Have you read it?’

Kaveri stayed quiet, not wanting to tell him that she had already heard of the play from Ratna. She wanted to know how this talkative man would describe it.

‘The playwright is not as well-known as he should be. A pity.’ The librarian sucked in his stomach, pulling up his pants, and squatted, looking at the Kannada books, which occupied the bottom row of the shelf. ‘Where is the book? Gowramma’s Dowry… it should be here.’ He pointed to a dusty gap at the end of the shelf. ‘We have two copies. One was issued to the drama teacher, but the second should be here. Why is it missing? It was an excellent production. All the ladies and young people participated—Ratna, Kartik… even Lakamma and Mrs. Ponnappa.’

‘Mrs. Ponnappa?’ Kaveri asked, thinking of the burnt book.

‘The women didn’t act, of course,’ the librarian explained. ‘It would not be seemly for them to come onto the stage. But Lakamma helped design the set, and Mrs. Ponnappa made all our costumes. The playwright is a young man from Mysore, not very famous. He came to Mercara in January and worked briefly in the school, teaching the children who put it up. He printed the book himself and donated two copies to the library.’

Kaveri closed her eyes, trying to recall her conversation with Ratna in the devara kaadu. What exactly had she said about the play?

It’s in the library… Gowramma is killed, and there are multiple suspects, so…

‘The queen hires a detective.’ Kaveri concluded her sentence aloud, making the librarian jump slightly. He regarded her with a startled look, moving back. ‘Where is the book?’

‘It doesn’t seem to be here. That’s very strange.’ The librarian got up, frowning, and hitched up his pants again. He went back to his desk, pulling out the index cards. Kaveri followed him. ‘Muralidhara Rao printed three copies for us. We kept two here and sent one copy to the Sheshadri Memorial Library in Bangalore, which is our head library. This card indicates that one book is still here. It hasn’t been issued. Just yesterday, we finished spring cleaning the library and reshelved all the books. It should be on the shelf.’ He frowned.

‘Could someone have stolen it?’ Kaveri suggested, her excitement mounting.

‘No one would steal a book.’ The librarian’s jaw dropped open. ‘Why would they, when they could just borrow it from us?’ He looked frankly horrified. ‘But it is a slim book, so perhaps it is mis-shelved and no one has realised. I will tell the staff to look out for it and to give it to you when they find it.’

‘What does it look like?’ she asked him.

‘It is a thin book, bound with the same hardcover library binding in which we keep all our books.’ He was beginning to stare at her very peculiarly. She stopped, deciding not to push it.

Giving the librarian an abrupt farewell, Kaveri turned away, almost running out the door in her eagerness to go home and share this with Ismail and Ramu. Perhaps this was the loose end she had been looking for that would help them make sense of the case. She hurried towards the car, fingers crossed at her side, hoping her clue would not turn out to be another dead end.

Near the church, a familiar pricking of her neck warned Kaveri that she was being followed. She kept walking without slowing, counting to herself. Three, two, one. She swirled around suddenly. Two figures, familiar looking, darted around the back of the church. She followed them as fast as she could, not daring to run on the uneven ground, littered with twigs and stones, for fear of falling. Ramu had warned her a couple of days back that she needed to be careful to maintain her balance as her pregnancy advanced and her stomach began to protrude further.

By the time she reached the back of the church, they were far away, running down the road in the distance. A boy wearing half pants, and a girl in a half sari, her plait swinging wildly as she hopped onto a cycle. The boy boosted himself behind her, and she pedalled away energetically. They quickly dissolved into a cloud of dust.

‘Ratna and Kartik,’ Kaveri said, panting. She placed a hand on the church wall as she fought for breath. Had they followed her to the library?

She got into the car, driving home as fast as she dared on the narrow, twisting roads. As soon as she arrived at Lakamma’s bungalow she hurried inside, flinging the drawing room door open with a loud thud, startling Ramu and Ismail who were deep in conversation. She quickly told them about her visit to the library.

‘I’m sure the answer lies in that play,’ Kaveri said stubbornly. ‘Ratna said something about everyone in the play having alibis. Oh, if we could only read the book.’

‘Why don’t you ask Ratna?’ Ramu suggested.

She gave him an annoyed look. ‘Ratna and Kartik followed me today, after my library visit. They could’ve easily eavesdropped on my conversation with the librarian. If Ratna wasn’t doing anything she wanted to hide from me, why move so stealthily and cycle away so quickly? I don’t think she will tell me anything now.’

‘She may be protecting someone,’ Ramu said. ‘Perhaps her doddamma, whom she said she is very fond of.’

Ismail raised his hand. ‘The family is very tight knit. I visited them this afternoon, to ask about the book, but everyone clammed up, claiming they didn’t know anything about the book, or the fire. Even when I showed them the burnt patch of grass. Ratna and Kartik were there when I visited, so I may have struck a nerve when I told them it was a book from the library that had been burnt. Otherwise, why would they have pedalled down to the library so quickly after I left. Did you visit the library immediately as you arrived?’

‘I walked around for some time in the fort grounds before I went in,’ Kaveri admitted, reticent to share her daydream of converting the palace to a library with anyone but her husband. ‘That would have given them some time to get there.’

Ismail nodded, rubbing his hands together. ‘Despite my dull beginning at Ponnappa’s house, I ended up having a most productive afternoon. I was just beginning to tell Dr. Murthy my news when you entered. I sent the constable to search Colonel Boyd’s home again, looking everywhere—in the fireplace, under the carpet, in the tree branches, leaving no area unsearched. He found this in Boyd’s spare bedroom, which Tom sometimes used to occupy. It was hidden in the fireplace, with two unburnt logs placed on it.’

Ismail handed a piece of carbon paper to Kaveri. Ramu came up to her, peering at it over her shoulder.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘It’s a carbon copy, an impression of a typed will. One in which Boyd leaves everything to Tom. We matched it with a machine in Boyd’s home office, a machine with a misaligned ‘a,’ and confirmed that the original letter was typed on that machine. When the constable sent me a message, I got a search warrant and took two men with me to Tom’s home. He was at the plantation, so we broke open the lock and searched his rooms. We found another draft of the same will, and a paper on which Tom had evidently been trying to fake Boyd’s signature, practising it several times. It was inside Tom’s cupboard, inserted into one of his wrapped towels.’

‘What?’ Kaveri stopped pacing and collapsed heavily on the sofa. ‘But… but that makes no sense,’ she spluttered.

Ramu broke in. ‘It seems to be too convenient, as if someone was trying to frame Tom. If Tom was trying to forge a new will, which had Boyd leaving everything to him, why leave an unburnt carbon copy in the fireplace? And trial out a forgery of Boyd’s signature but leave drafts in his room, in readiness for a police inspection? I’m not attesting to Tom’s morals. He may be a petty thief and a man on the make. But he’s too intelligent to make silly mistakes like this.’

‘This is good news.’ Ismail beamed at them. ‘Don’t you see? Our problem so far has been that we are up against a most intelligent killer. I am increasingly convinced that the same man was responsible for Kupamma’s and Boyd’s murders, given the success with which he has covered his tracks in both instances. But this forgery is unsophisticated, hasty. It tells me that we have our man rattled. Now is the time to turn up the pressure. I have asked my men to go to Tom’s rooms and bring him in for questioning.’

41 The Most Common of Poisons

Ramu convinced Kaveri to sit down with him on the verandah and have a cup of tea, taking out a pack of playing cards from the cupboard. Ismail busied himself with his files, updating his notes at the table next to them.

‘Not a word about the case for the next hour, Kaveri,’ Ramu insisted. ‘You need a break. Otherwise, you will explode from the stress.’ They played a couple of rounds of a new game that had just become popular amongst the doctors in Bangalore, Rummy. Ramu let her win the first round, grinning at her when she scolded him. The second round was more evenly matched, but Kaveri finally threw her cards down to announce herself the winner, crowing in satisfaction when she showed Ramu her perfect sets.

When they returned to the drawing room, she looked at the clock. ‘Bhargavi athe should be back from the factory now. Let’s call her and ask her to get hold of Uma aunty. The librarian said that a copy of the play was sent to the Sheshadri Memorial Library in Bangalore. Perhaps aunty can retrieve it for us.’

But the phone rang and rang, and she put it down, frowning, dialling again after a couple of minutes.

‘My mother must be at the factory. Wait for another hour and then call again, Kaveri,’ Ramu suggested.

‘I have to do something. Otherwise, I’ll go mad. Why is it that there have been two murders now and I have not been able to find who did it?’ Kaveri said fiercely.

The phone rang, and she hurried to it. Her voice wobbled. ‘Uma aunty? I was just trying to reach you.’

Hearing her speak, Ismail put down his file and joined them in the room. The two men pulled up chairs next to her, listening in as she held the speaker between them.

‘We found something left by the killer, Kaveri. It was a small steel tumbler, the kind you use to drink water or tea, in the tree—just as you suspected. We had searched there before and didn’t find anything. Today, Venu explored it again, more thoroughly. He climbed up to the higher branches and shone a torch around. The steel glass caught the light and reflected it back to Venu. It was tucked deep into a crevice between two high branches.’

‘Fingerprints,’ Ismail said immediately. Kaveri repeated his words into the receiver.

‘Constable Shirrin came with us. He found some prints. He says they’re quite clear, and you should be able to use them to identify the culprit.’

Ismail thumped the table, rattling the telephone. ‘That’s the mistake we were waiting for our perpetrator to make, the error that can crack the case wide open. Ask Shirrin to send me the prints in a sealed envelope through Lakamma’s driver.’ He had taken the speaker from Kaveri and was talking to Uma aunty directly. ‘We can compare it with the fingerprints of all the men here.’

‘Venu said the man he saw was tall,’ Ramu reminded Ismail. ‘That rules Chandru out. But it could be Mrs. Ponnappa too, or Ratna, dressed as a man. They’re both quite tall.’

Kaveri shook her head. ‘I know their recent behaviour has been very suspicious, and we should add them to our list. But do you really think a young girl like Ratna would be able to go all the way to Bangalore alone and kill Kupamma without any help? I don’t think Mrs. Ponnappa would be able to spend a night away from home without people talking either. Remember, she has a husband and a young son.’

‘Her husband may have sent her. We know Ponnappa has a hold on his wife,’ Ismail reminded her.

‘The mention of Ponnappa reminds me, we have to get the play,’ Kaveri said, speaking into the phone again. ‘Uma aunty, are you still there? Can you do one more favour for us?’

‘Of course, Kaveri,’ she said eagerly.

‘Tomorrow morning at ten, as soon as the Sheshadri Memorial Library opens, please ask if they have a copy of the Kannada play, Gowramma’s Dowry—by S. Muralidhara Rao. The librarian in Mercara said that they sent a copy to the main library.’

‘You want to read a play now?’ Uma aunty asked. ‘Why?’

‘It’s too difficult to explain over the telephone, aunty. I will tell you everything when we meet,’ Kaveri promised. ‘This is urgent. We will send Lakamma’s driver to Bangalore, and you can give him the play. Put it in a sealed box, along with the fingerprints. I don’t want the driver to know what is inside—he may tell others, and we want it to stay a secret.’

‘I will send it in a suitcase, pretending that it contains clothes that you left behind in Bangalore,’ Uma aunty said, sounding excited at the idea of playacting in front of the driver. ‘If he leaves Coorg tomorrow morning, he will reach Bangalore by late afternoon. I will keep everything ready for him, but you know how unsafe these mountain roads are at night. He can leave the next day, day after tomorrow early in the morning. He will be with you by late afternoon.’

The doorbell rang, and Ismail left the drawing room and headed for the front door. A constable stood at the entrance. He spoke urgently to Ismail.

Kaveri ended the call and put down the instrument, fretting a little. ‘I hope no one else has issued the book,’ she said to Ramu. ‘How can we sit and wait for the driver to get here when there are two murders to solve?’

‘Three.’ Ismail’s voice shook with suppressed anger as he entered the room. ‘Three murders, not two. That poor sod. He didn’t stand a chance. I told him to reveal what he was hiding to us. If he had only listened, he would be alive today.’

‘Not Tom.’ Kaveri sat up, startled. Ramu stiffened, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly.

Ismail nodded, looking wearier than she had ever seen him.

‘My men couldn’t find Tom anywhere on the plantation, not in his office, nor on the grounds. They eventually tracked him down in his room. He lay on the carpet, covered in vomit. Stiff and cold. Someone must have placed poison in his tea. It had spilt onto the floor, and there was a dead fly there, in the middle of the puddle. Tom’s eyes were dilated. From that, and other observations of the body, my men said they suspect he ingested datura.’

‘The most common of poisons,’ Ramu added. ‘You will not believe the number of cases of datura poisoning I treat each week.’

‘That’s right,’ Ismail agreed. ‘Its toxins are easy to distil. I have seen cases where people have mixed the seeds into sweets or rotis. There was even one instance where a man pounded the seeds into a paste, boiled and strained it to create an infusion, and added it into his victim’s drinks. Someone could easily have done the same to Tom, adding it in his tea.’

Kaveri stared at the two men, her mind whirling wildly. ‘But that’s the plant in Boyd’s garden. The one from which he used to prepare hallucinatory potions. Do you think someone broke into his supplies?’

42 Three Mistakes

You must be wondering why we have gathered you all here today,’ Ismail said, addressing his audience outside the Ainmane, Ponnappa and Gana’s sacred ancestral home, two days later. The Inspector was resplendent in a black silk kurta and pyjama, with gold buttons at his wrist cuff and neck. He looked formidable, looming over his audience.

The priest had arranged for them to meet at the Ainmane, but the house was sacred, reserved for use by the Okka, the extended family, for their prayers and rituals. They sat just outside, in the open verandah at the front end of the house. Through the open door, framed by the stag head mounted over the entrance, Kaveri could see the rectangular central hall where all family ceremonies were held.

Ponnappa had hopped up the steps to the verandah, using his crutch to make his way in an ungainly fashion to the wooden bench that ran along the inner wall of the verandah, facing north with his back to the door. He scratched at the edge of the plaster cast which entombed his leg from knee to ankle. His wife helped him sit and then took Ratna’s hand, leading her to the east side of the verandah. They sat cross-legged on straw mats spread on the floor, to the right side of Ponnappa. Gana followed them, sitting next to his brother on the bench. He motioned to Kartik, who sat down between them, scratching his neck, looking miserable.

Kaveri went over to Ratna and her aunt. ‘Why are you sitting on the floor?’ she demanded.

‘Women are not permitted to sit in the Ainmane,’ Mrs. Ponnappa said immediately. ‘I was only allowed to sit on the bench on the day I entered this family, as a new bride.’ She added in a soft voice, ‘I will be laid out on this bench when my time comes. My body will be placed on it, for my family to pay their last respects.’

Ratna shuddered, clutching her aunt. ‘Don’t say such things,’ she pleaded. Mrs. Ponnappa patted her on the back, her face sombre.

Janaki and Chandru came in, squatting on the floor to the left of the brothers, on the west side. Kaveri and Ramu sat down on two large stools that Ismail had brought in, facing Ponnappa and Gana, forming a rough circle with them and the other suspects.

The large policeman stood near the entrance to the verandah, with a couple of constables carrying long revolvers stationed just behind him. He had positioned them so they would be visible to everyone, she realised.

At the back of the hall, in a small niche in the southwest corner, a lit silver lamp glowed softly. The priest kept the lamp lit through the year, refilling the oil and changing the wicks twice a day. The flame symbolised the spirit of the ancestors of the Okka, the founders of the family. Framed portraits of Gana and Ponnappa’s parents hung above the niche. The suspects seated in the verandah faced away from the sacred flame and the portraits, but they seemed very aware of them, studiously avoiding looking in that direction. The Ainmane was a place of righteousness, and everyone—including the murderer, especially the murderer—would be worried. That was why the priest had recommended that they use this place. Their suspects were more likely to spill the truth here, with their ancestors watching over them.

Kaveri had gone to the sacred forest in search of the priest the previous day, hoping that she would find him there to ask him to come to their assistance. He had instantly agreed, collaborating with them to plan out every last detail of today’s interrogation.

‘This cannot be allowed to continue,’ the priest had said, his hand on the leopard’s fur. He had been feeding the cub when she walked into the forest. ‘The murderer must pay for their sins.’

She sent up a silent prayer to the ancestors of the Ainmane, hoping that they would use their influence to make the murderer confess. They had little proof. Only a confession would suffice to put the perpetrator in jail. She opened her notebook, making a sketch of the room, studying the faces in front of her. Ismail had told her to focus on their eyes. People could more easily control their faces and bodies, but the expression in their eyes often betrayed them.

Everyone fell silent, looking at the cuckoo clock mounted above the main door as it chimed, counting out the time. One, two, three… six. Six P.M.

They had planned to assemble at two, but there had been a traffic jam on the road, and it had been three P.M. by the time Lakamma’s driver had arrived with the play in hand. Kaveri had grabbed it from him with a quick thank you, along with the envelope containing the fingerprints, and had taken the play to the drawing room. She raced through the pages, summarising the plot to Ismail and Ramu as she read. By five P.M. she had finished, and by five thirty Ismail had sent his men to round up all the suspects and bring them to the Ainmane.

‘It seems clear who did it, and now we have some proof too, at least of the person who killed Kupamma—thanks to the fingerprints,’ Ismail said somberly, after she had finished describing the play. ‘But we still don’t have any proof that will stand up in a court of law about who killed Boyd and Tom. This is a prominent case, and everyone’s eyes will be on the case of the Coffee King’s death. I can’t arrest the murderer unless I have clear, incontrovertible evidence.’

‘But we can’t afford to wait any longer,’ Kaveri exclaimed. ‘Three people have now been murdered.’

‘Let’s get them together and interrogate them as a group,’ Ramu had suggested. ‘We can pretend we have more evidence than we do and try to scare the killer into confessing.’

Kaveri fretted now, looking at the group. They had managed to gather everyone together. But would they be able to intimidate the murderer into confessing?

Kaveri doodled in her notebook. Janaki shot her a look filled with fear, and Ratna pressed her aunt’s hand.

They think I am writing something down, she realised. Something about what I see in front of me that implicates the killer.

She hated to put on an act like this. But if there was ever a time that she needed to willingly take on the larger-than-life role of the all-knowing detective that people thought she was, it was now.

‘Let’s go over the facts of the case,’ Ismail said, a little more loudly than required. His voice boomed off the walls, reverberating in the large room. ‘Two brothers—Gana and Ponnappa—once close, were separated by greed. Their plantation was failing. Boyd was the master manipulator. He had inveigled his way into Coorg society, gambling with some, offering huge monies to others. In a short period of time, he had acquired a sizeable plot of land. But that wasn’t enough for him. He set his eyes on your property.’

‘And my older brother, who swore he would always take care of me and my daughter, cheated me. He signed everything away to Boyd, leaving me without the money to run my kitchen. To get my daughter married.’ Gana shot Ponnappa a venomous look.

Kaveri whispered in Ramu’s ear. ‘I thought you said the brothers had reconciled?’

‘They seem to have fallen out again.’ Ramu’s voice was dry.

‘That money was for my education, not my marriage.’ Ratna’s voice was sullen. She appealed to Kaveri. ‘Appa found a place for me in Bangalore, in a girls’ hostel, so I could complete my matriculation. But Doddappa refused to pay for it.’

Kaveri and Ismail looked at each other. Another piece of the puzzle filled in.

Ponnappa glared at Ratna and she flinched. His wife put an arm around her, supporting the young girl.

Ponnappa stared at his wife, but she looked away, keeping her arm around Ratna. He picked up his crutch and lashed out, hitting it against her leg. Mrs. Ponnappa’s hands began to shake. Kartik’s sullen expression changed to worry. He got up, ignoring his father who tried to pull him back, and sat down on the other side of his mother, his hand tentatively touching her sari pallu. Ponnappa picked up his crutch again, glowering at Kartik. Ramu walked over to Kartik and stood in front of the boy, kicking the crutch away. Ponnappa’s hands tightened on the stick, and he muttered under his breath, refusing to meet Ramu’s eyes as Mrs. Ponnappa pulled the children closer to her.

Kaveri glanced at Ramu. Their plan was working. They were beginning to rattle the assembled suspects.

‘But the two brothers were in the clear, with unmistakable alibis,’ Ismail continued. ‘You were not the only enemies that Boyd had. Janaki and Chandru had an old family enmity with him. Still, Chandru agreed to take on a midnight job for Boyd. Why?’

‘We needed the money,’ Janaki burst out, her eyes swivelling desperately around the room. ‘He was the only man willing to give my husband a night job. You can’t pin it on us just because we are poor.’

‘Silence!’ Ismail snapped, and she shrank against the wall.

I hate this, Kaveri thought suddenly. But they couldn’t stop now.

‘I’m not pinning it on you. There was another suspect, whom I haven’t mentioned so far.’

The room went quiet.

‘Who?’ Ratna asked finally, twisting her hair restlessly around her finger.

‘Tom,’ Ismail said carefully.

A chorus of relieved sighs resonated across the room. ‘It must be Tom,’ Ratna announced. ‘I knew he was fooling around with Boyd’s girlfriend Clara. I saw them a few times, when Kartik and I went into the forest. They didn’t know we had come across them.’

Kaveri watched the room. Everyone seemed relieved when Ismail mentioned Tom, their shoulders relaxing, their bodies sagging, betraying the sudden release of stress. Everyone—except the killer, who knew Tom was dead. That person remained stiff, tense.

‘You forget that Tom had an alibi,’ Kaveri commented. ‘He was with us the entire time.’

Kartik let out a small cry, subsiding immediately when his father gave him a harsh look.

Mrs. Ponnappa pulled her son close. That’s her weak spot, Kaveri thought, studying her. She’s walled herself off from everyone and everything, even her own emotions. But she can’t separate herself from the children.

Tension built in the pit of her stomach, and she took a series of deep breaths, trying to relax.

‘Where is Tom?’ Ratna asked suddenly. ‘If we are being questioned, why isn’t he here?’ Her voice was thin, the tendons of her jaw clenching, visible on her strained face.

‘Because Tom’s dead,’ Ramu said quietly. They had managed to keep Tom’s death a secret for the past two days, spreading the false news that they had arrested him and kept him in jail for questioning. Only the murderer knew that he was dead.

Ratna flinched when she heard Ramu’s response. She pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees, curling into a tight ball. ‘Another death?’ Her voice was a faint whisper.

Mrs. Ponnappa took Ratna into her arms, holding her tightly. Kartik leaned against her like a lost lamb, and she pulled her son into a hug along with Ratna, her legs stretched across the floor, heedless of the dust that coated her expensive silk sari. Her ruby bangles clanked against the floor, and she moved her hands impatiently, ignoring the small stone that popped out of its setting.

A mother lioness protecting her cubs, Kaveri thought, meeting Mrs. Ponnappa’s fierce gaze. The mask of indifference had stripped away, turning the woman she had dismissed as a lifeless paper doll into a vivid, breathing human being—one who would mow anyone down if they threatened her children.

‘How did Tom die?’ Janaki asked hesitantly, getting up and walking towards Mrs. Ponnappa. She picked up the fallen ruby, placing it in Mrs. Ponnappa’s hands, then returning to her original position next to Chandru on the floor.

‘By datura poisoning,’ Ramu said. ‘We also found evidence that he was trying to fake Boyd’s signature on a will that made him the sole inheritor of Boyd’s entire estate.’

‘So he was the killer.’ Janaki let out a relieved laugh. ‘You have been playing with us from the start. You just need to find out how he murdered Boyd.’

‘That’s easy,’ Ponnappa drawled in his superior voice. ‘He must have killed Boyd when he left him in his room, and then came back to us. The alibi was faked.’

‘The alibi was indeed manipulated,’ Ismail agreed. ‘Clever of you to figure that out.’

Ponnappa’s chest swelled. He looked pompously round the room for approbation, but his brother glared back at him, and everyone else refused to meet his eyes.

‘But Tom wasn’t the one who faked it,’ Ismail continued.

‘Why do you say that?’ Janaki asked, almost shouting. ‘You found Tom with a faked will and a suicide note. Let him be the killer. Everything will be over, and we can go on with our lives as usual.’

‘Tom was not the killer,’ Kaveri told her. ‘He hid the faked will in an obvious place where anyone could find it. Whatever else you might say about Tom, he didn’t lack intelligence. And you forget—he had an alibi for the time that Boyd was killed.’

‘So maybe he had an accomplice,’ Janaki said, her voice still raised.

Ismail held up his hand, motioning her to silence. ‘Kaveri is right. Tom had an alibi. And that was the killer’s third mistake.’ Ismail paused, pouring himself a glass of water, stretching out the tension.

‘The third mistake? What were the first two?’ That was Gana, white faced.

43 Fifteen Minutes

The second mistake was in stealing a book from the library,’ Kaveri said, receiving a small nod from Ismail. ‘The killer made the error of being too cautious, by taking an important clue out of the library and burning it. If they had left it in the library, we wouldn’t have paid any attention. But when they started the fire on a hot day, they attracted Chandru’s attention.’

As one, the entire room turned their heads, glaring at Chandru. He stood up, back to the wall. ‘I only told the truth,’ he said, so quietly that Kaveri could barely hear him.

They could feel the tension in the room now, building into a tight knot.

She, Ismail, and Ramu had planned what they would say, rehearsing it a few times before calling everyone to the Ainmane. They had only one shot at this, and it had to be perfect.

Ismail scratched his ear, and she nodded. This was the signal they had planned together. At this point in the interrogation, she and Ramu would take over, while Ismail guarded the exits. She turned around, searching the garden for the priest, but could not see him anywhere. She hoped he would come on time. Their plan would not work without him.

One of the constables whispered to Ismail, and Ismail gave Kaveri a thumbs-up sign. So, the last piece of evidence they had asked the man to check on had also fallen into place. Surely by now, the killer must have realised the game was up?

If they didn’t, they would now, as soon as she took out her trump card, wrapped in a cloth bag, lying in her lap.

‘There were too many suspects, and the best ones all had alibis. We couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. But when we discovered the missing book, we knew who it must be,’ Kaveri continued.

‘It was Tom,’ Janaki insisted, jumping up to support her husband. ‘I don’t know why you have brought us all into this room. Why are you creating all this drama?’

‘Tom left Boyd and came back into the dining room of the club when you and your brother were fighting,’ Ramu said, taking up the story. He turned to Gana. ‘Then, you stabbed your brother in his leg. Tom took you away and locked you up, and came back to get Kaveri, because you frightened him, threatening to kill yourself. She left Ponnappa in the room, with the knife still in his leg, and came to you. I joined you both and watched as you went into hysterics, cutting your wrist.’

He turned to Kaveri. ‘How long would all of this have taken?’

‘At least fifteen minutes,’ Kaveri said.

‘During this time, Gana and Tom were in our sight. Only one man wasn’t with us. He sat alone, in the club’s dining room. Fifteen minutes would be sufficient for a man to jump out of the window, run to Boyd’s room, and kill him, wouldn’t it? But the killer was rattled by his urgency. In his rush to shoot the Colonel and return to his room unnoticed, he shot Boyd with his right hand, and then placed his revolver on the ground, making it seem like Boyd shot himself.’

‘And that was your first mistake. If you had shot Boyd in the left temple, we might have believed the fake suicide note you left on the table. But Boyd was left-handed. He would never have used his right hand to shoot himself.’ Kaveri pointed at Ponnappa.

Everyone turned to look at Ponnappa.

‘Are you insane? How can it be me?’ Ponnappa pointed irritably to his leg, bandaged in its cast, and turned to Ramu. ‘You treated me yourself. I had sprained my leg. How could I have run to Boyd’s room, killed him, and run back in such a short time with a swollen leg?’

‘By faking your alibi.’ Kaveri opened the bag, taking out the book. She held it up, showing them the cover.

That was the signal Ismail was waiting for. He rapped out an instruction to one of his constables. The man handed the rifle to Ismail and hurried down the steps, moving into the shadow of a large banyan tree. She heard the sound of an owl hooting from the tree. Behind the Ainmane, another owl hooted in response, and her spirits lifted.

‘A storybook,’ Ponnappa scoffed.

‘A master tale from a young playwright that gave you the seed of an idea,’ Kaveri said, waving the book at him. ‘Gowramma’s Dowry is a play that your son and niece performed in January. It’s the story of a beautiful princess, wealthy and very lonely, deceived by a dastardly plot. Her elderly husband and young lover were in on it together. Everyone thought the two men were bitter enemies, but they jointly planned her murder from the start. The men pretended to have an argument. Her lover stabbed her husband with a fake knife. In the short time it took to take the shooter away and lock him up, her husband ran to the next room and killed his wife. Then he returned and stabbed himself in the leg, this time with an actual knife. Creating a real injury to cover up the false one, and manufacturing an alibi.’

Everyone in the room was staring at each other, suspicion written on their faces.

‘Why are you talking about a children’s play now? You’ve gone stark raving mad,’ Ponnappa said, banging his crutch on the ground.

A growl sounded from the garden. The unmistakable sound of a leopard. Ratna and Kartik looked at Kaveri, but she shook her head, warning them to keep quiet.

‘What’s that sound?’ Ponnappa asked nervously. The growl came again, closer. Gana stood up, looking around for the source of the sound. A large cat, ghostly white, loomed in the garden, next to the banyan tree.

‘The ghost leopard!’ Gana exclaimed. ‘But that’s not real.’

‘You are in the Ainmane,’ Kaveri reminded him. ‘Amidst the spirits of your ancestors. Lakamma told me that your father was a great hunter. Perhaps this is one of the beasts he killed, returning to the Ainmane, summoned by your father’s spirit. Do you think he would be happy at how you have defiled the family honour?’

‘You are talking complete nonsense,’ Gana said, looking around wildly for support.

‘Am I?’ Kaveri moved closer to him. ‘We thought you and your brother were deadly enemies. But you planned this all along, didn’t you? Whose idea was it?’

From the corner of her eye, she could see the priest retreating through the trees, his hand on the albino leopard cub’s back, his work done.

Ratna got up, going to her father. She touched his hand. ‘Say it wasn’t you, Appa,’ she begged. ‘Please. Tell them it isn’t true.’

Gana shrank back from her touch. ‘It was my idea,’ he sobbed. ‘Don’t blame my brother. He should not be cursed for my sins. It’s all my fault.’ He dismissed Ratna’s panicked gasp, looking only at his elder brother.

‘Be quiet,’ Ponnappa snapped. ‘They don’t have any evidence. Be quiet, you fool.’

But Gana ignored Ponnappa’s plea, placing a protective hand on his brother’s arm. Ratna retreated a few steps, staring at her father as if she could no longer recognise him.

Kaveri glanced at Ramu. Gana was the weak one. The one who cracked. But she felt no triumph, staring at Ratna’s shell-shocked face, and at Kartik and his mother, huddled together for comfort. She was bone tired, ready to collapse.

‘Boyd thought he was so clever, tricking people into handing over their lands to him at a pittance. I told my brother—why don’t we trick him?’ Gana was talking faster and faster now, spittle coming out of his mouth. Ponnappa reached out to grip his brother’s hand, making no further attempt to stop him.

‘Boyd had more money than he needed and had no children to pass his lands on to. Why should we leave him with so much money? My brother told Boyd that he had cancer. Pretending to be afraid of what would happen to him, he tricked Boyd into signing an agreement—whoever died first would leave the property to the other. He told Boyd that he trusted him to take care of my sister-in-law and Kartik after he died. Boyd was sweet on my sister-in-law, but she rebuffed all his advances. My brother knew he would jump at any opportunity to get closer to her.’

Mrs. Ponnappa pressed a hand on her stomach, as though she was going to be sick. Kartik put an arm around her, glaring at his father.

‘Why drag my husband into your mess?’ Janaki confronted Gana.

‘We needed a witness who would not spill the beans. I drafted the agreement with Boyd on stamp paper, and he got Chandru to affix his thumbprint on it. Boyd knew that Chandru would keep quiet if he threatened him.’ Ponnappa responded, gripping his brother’s hand tightly.

‘He was a greedy son of a bitch, arrogant enough to think that everyone else was either too afraid to naysay him or too venal to oppose his plans. He never even realised that we were playing him for a fool. We couldn’t figure out how to kill him without suspicion falling on us, though. Then we were invited to the play. As soon as the curtains came down on the show, we exchanged glances, knowing we had found the way ahead.’ Gana sounded almost gleeful now, babbling as though filled with the urge to tell them how clever their sordid scheme had been. ‘We stayed up for hours that night, discussing how we could adapt the play to our needs, disguising it so that no one would suspect. The only loophole was the existence of the play itself. We had the copy the teacher issued, which we burnt in the garden—but there was another copy in the library. When we heard you were coming, we knew we had to be alert. If you came across the book, you would find us out.’ He glared at Kaveri.

‘Your cleverness was your own undoing,’ Kaveri told him. ‘There are so many books in the library. Why would I have picked up that specific one? It would have been like finding a needle in a haystack. You pulled the needle out and handed it to me.’

Gana slumped on the bench and began to cry. Ponnappa wrapped an arm around his brother, holding him like a child as he wept on his chest.

‘That night, before we met you in front of the dining room, you must have slipped a sleeping draught into Boyd’s drink. In a few minutes, you knew he would fall unconscious.’ Kaveri looked at Ponnappa.

‘As soon as Boyd was taken to his room, you and Gana staged your fight. Gana pretended to stab you with a fake knife,’ Ismail added. ‘You took it from the drama supplies, didn’t you? After reading the play, I asked one of the constables to go to the teacher’s house and get him to check their drama supplies. The constable confirmed that the retracting knife they used for the play was missing. He searched your office and found it hidden inside your study. You must have kept some fake blood or red ink in a pouch strapped to your leg. Then you ran down, killed Boyd, came back, and stabbed your leg, wrenching your ankle for extra effect just before Dr. and Mrs. Murthy returned. The perfect alibi.’

‘I don’t want to believe it,’ Ratna said, gulping noisily. Gana sat up, looking at his daughter, the reality of his situation finally seeming to register.

‘I did it for you,’ he said, holding his arms out to Ratna. ‘So that you would have enough money to study, as much as you wanted.’

She recoiled, her eyes filled with tears, walking blindly towards her aunt and collapsing into her arms.

Ponnappa laughed, a high, mirthless sound. ‘We planned to fix Boyd’s murder on Tom. At one point, we thought that Boyd was becoming suspicious of me. That’s when we faked the attacks on him, each time making sure that Tom was somewhere close by, able to rescue Boyd in time. I even sat with Boyd in the car after we set up the traps on the road to your clinic, so that I would be in the accident too and Boyd wouldn’t suspect me. But Tom’s a clever chap. After Boyd died, he sat down and figured it out. He had no evidence, of course, but he had the audacity to threaten us, saying he would go to the police and tell them what he suspected, unless I handed him enough money to get on the next boat to England. He wanted to reunite with Clara, you see. Gana wanted to give him what he asked for and send him away. But I knew that once we paid, we would keep on paying. Blackmail never ceases, until you get rid of the blackmailer. It was the only reasonable thing to do.’

Ismail gave Ponnappa a hard stare. ‘What I can’t understand is why one of you killed Kupamma. There’s no point lying about that murder, you know. We found fingerprints on a steel tumbler the killer left behind in the tree branches.’

A strangled cry came from Gana. Janaki gave a convulsive jerk, her mouth opening and closing silently. Chandru gaped at his wife.

‘Ratna gave us the key to solving that piece of the crime,’ Kaveri said. ‘She said her father went to Bangalore to look for a school for her.’ She turned to Gana. ‘No wonder Inspector Ismail’s constables couldn’t find any traveller from Bangalore to Coorg, either by bus or train, who matched the description of the killer. They were looking for a passenger, but the killer was the station master, whom no one thought to suspect—hiding in plain sight. You didn’t go to Bangalore to look for schools for Ratna, did you? You discovered that Kupamma came from Bangalore and went there to get rid of her. What did she see that was so dangerous to your plans that you had to kill her?’

Ratna got up again, almost screaming. ‘No! Appa, tell her she is lying. Tell me you didn’t. You couldn’t have killed that old woman. She was Chandru’s mother.’

Chandru stared at her for a long second. Then he leaped across the verandah, going for Gana. He picked up Gana, grabbing him by the collar and shook him, pushing him against the bench. Ponnappa tried to shield his brother, but Ismail was at his side immediately, holding Chandru away from Gana with a firm but gentle grip.

Chandru’s chest heaved up and down. ‘What did you do to my mother?’ he asked, lunging towards Gana again. ‘She took care of you and your brother as children, just like she cared for me.’

Ismail snapped his fingers and a constable rushed up to them, pulling Chandru away. Gana stood up, smoothing down his shirt and backing away from Chandru, his face averted.

‘I didn’t know Rangamma athe had been killed.’ Janaki wept noisily. ‘Why did you harm her? What did she do to you?’

‘She overheard us talking,’ Ponnappa said, the lines on his face deepening. ‘When we were young, Rangamma took care of us, helping my mother with the housework. One day, she and her husband disappeared from the village and we never heard of them again—until she came across us one night recently. Gana and I had taken the play from the schoolteacher’s room, using it to rehearse how we would kill Boyd. We needed every inch of our plan to be perfect. We had kept the play aside on a stone and were acting out our plan, timing ourselves. Suddenly, Rangamma came up to us, telling us how happy she was to see us after so many years. She picked up the play, asking what we were doing. We didn’t know how much she had overheard or understood. I threatened her, only to make sure she didn’t tell anyone. But she took fright. She ran away with the book in her hand. I chased her through the forest but lost sight of her amongst the trees. In the morning, when I went looking for her in Chandru’s house, I found that she had already left. No one seemed to know where she had gone. We had to find her, to get back the play. Otherwise, weeks and months of planning would have gone for nothing. If Boyd found out we were planning to deceive him….’ He shuddered.

‘How did Gana know where she lived in Bangalore?’ Ramu asked.

‘I told him.’ Ratna’s voice was shaking. ‘We were in the sacred forest together, cleaning the shrine. I didn’t know she was Chandru’s mother. We were chatting as we worked, and she told me she lived in Bangalore, in the Sampangi grounds. Appa and I were talking later that day, and I mentioned it to him.’ She stared at her father with loathing. ‘You told me you were in Bangalore to find a school for me—and you cheated me, using me to kill an old, helpless woman.’

‘She was not helpless,’ Gana shouted. ‘I didn’t want to kill her. I only wanted to take the play back, but she refused to give it to me. I searched the whole hut to find it. If she had only given it to me when I asked, I would have left her alone.’ He looked around wildly. ‘Besides, I didn’t kill her. She fell down and hit her head on a stone.’

‘She died from that head injury,’ Kaveri said grimly, her anger mounting at Gana’s casual dismissal of his role in the old woman’s murder. ‘If you had taken her to the hospital when she fell down, she would have survived. You let her bleed to death. Rangamma was so scared of Janaki’s family that she spent thirty years in Bangalore without coming to Coorg. Do you really think she would have returned to Coorg again to accuse you of murder? If you had left her alone, I would not have investigated her murder and traced the trail to Coorg. If you hadn’t burnt the play, building a large fire on a sunny day, Chandru would never have poked around in it and discovered it came from the library, and I would never have thought of speaking to the librarian. You dug the trap for your own capture.’

Still brandishing their rifles, the constables walked up to the two men, placing them in handcuffs. One man covered the brothers with his gun, and the other put them in handcuffs. Kaveri gripped Ramu’s hand as they watched the constables drag the brothers down the steps, pushing them into a police vehicle with grills, locking them in.

‘It’s over.’ Ismail took off his cap, walking over to Mrs. Ponnappa and the children. Janaki and Chandru were standing with them, looking shell-shocked. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss. But it’s over now.’

44 A Peaceful Life

Four weeks later, suitcases packed, Ramu and Kaveri followed the driver, watching as he loaded their bags into Lakamma’s Daimler.

Lakamma, who had driven to Coorg the previous night after completing her temple tour, stood beside them, chivvying the harassed-looking man. ‘Secure the holdall with more rope,’ she ordered, tugging at the suitcases. ‘This needs to be tighter.’

Kaveri gave her a small smile. ‘I wish you could return to Bangalore with us. Even though I know you have a lot of work to do.’

Lakamma snorted. ‘Thanks to these foolish, kindhearted children, who wanted to save a leopard cub, I almost lost my entire crop. But how can I blame them? In their place, I would have done the same thing. They are as kind as their fathers are greedy. Greed drives men to folly. Gana and Ponnappa should have been content with what they had, instead of wanting to take Boyd’s properties for themselves.’

‘None of this would have happened in the first place if Boyd had kept his hands to himself and hadn’t lusted after other people’s women or their properties.’ Janaki’s voice was bitter as she emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of silver tumblers brimming with hot, sweet coffee.

‘I wish you had trusted me,’ Lakamma scolded her lightly, blowing on the froth to cool it. ‘If you had told me that you owed the moneylender and he was harassing you, I would have given you the money. Why did you make Chandru work for Boyd, of all people?’

Janaki looked away. ‘You told us not to borrow from him. But the story of Boyd’s fondness for my daughter had spread by then. We found her a good family, but the broker who arranged the marriage asked for a lot of money, threatening to tell her father-in-law of the rumours if we didn’t pay him off. Where else could we find the money?’

‘From me.’ Lakamma patted Janaki on the arm. ‘Next time, you come to me. I would have threatened the broker with the police, put the fear of God in him. He only attacked you because he knew you were vulnerable.’

Janaki sniffed and nodded, her eyes watering.

‘Let’s talk of happier things,’ Lakamma said firmly. ‘Those times are behind us now. Your daughter is pregnant. You are going to be a grandmother.’ She looked at Chandru, squatting next to his beloved rosebushes, trimming them again. ‘Well, you and your surly old coot of a husband. I hope it will improve his disposition.’ She pulled Janaki into a fierce embrace. ‘Time will heal everything. Death is a part of the cycle of life, and so is birth. Name your granddaughter Rangamma. And if it is a boy, call him Rangappa, in your mother-in-law’s honour.’

Kaveri congratulated Janaki, then went to the car and opened her suitcase. She took out one of her new saris, an ornate Kanjeevaram silk which she had brought with her to Coorg but had not had a chance to wear. She pressed it into Janaki’s hands. ‘A gift for your daughter.’

Janaki smiled, patting her hands. ‘I will miss you,’ she said. ‘Be sure to call me when your son is born.’

‘Daughter,’ Ramu said firmly, coming up behind them.

Kaveri wrinkled her nose at Janaki and Ramu but smiled. ‘Son or daughter, we will call you—and we will tell the baby that he or she has another set of grandparents in Coorg. As soon as we can, we will bring the child to Coorg to meet you,’ she promised.

Janaki wiped tears from her eyes as they got into the car, and she stood waving until the vehicle disappeared from sight.

A short while later, they arrived at Gana and Ponnappa’s house. Kaveri looked at the de-husking machine, standing in its usual place outside the house, with sadness. Using only his wits, their father had invented and patented a new piece of technology, generating enough wealth for multiple generations to live in reasonable comfort, if not luxury. In the very next generation, the brothers, motivated by greed, had lost it all. Now it was up to the third generation, Ratna and Kartik, to restore the family’s wealth.

‘How clean everything looks,’ Ramu commented when they opened the gate.

The grass was cut, the hedges trimmed. Fresh mud, mixed with manure, was piled around the trees in neat circles. The nasty gash that divided the two sides of the house had been filled with cement and painted, the broken balustrade of the verandah repaired and touched up. Someone had redone the rice paste decorations, repairing the ones that had been destroyed and revoking their lost symmetry.

Mrs. Ponnappa was working in the garden. She put her spade down, looking at them as they walked towards the house. The high-necked blouse with full-length sleeves she had worn was no longer in sight. Nor was the heavy Kanjeevaram sari and elaborate jewellery they had seen her in previously. In a plain cotton sari, creased and muddy at the fringe, she looked even more beautiful than she had seemed to Kaveri when she first met her, when Mrs. Ponnappa was decked up like a bride.

Ramu’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the bruises on Mrs. Ponnappa’s arms, just below the sleeves. Kaveri placed a gentle finger on the older woman’s neck, examining another irregular blue-black blotch.

‘From the day we were married, my husband was possessive of me,’ Mrs. Ponnappa told her. ‘If I looked at another man, if he even suspected that the thought of another man crossed my mind, he beat me. I was no better than his other trophies, a doll to adorn and show off to the world. The blouse and jewellery helped to hide my wounds from the outside world. As soon as he went to jail, I donated my silk saris to a charity. I sold my ornaments and all the silver plates and glasses in the house, the artefacts and statues. We used some of the money to repair the house and will invest the rest of the funds back into the plantation, to restore it to its original condition, replanting the trees that Boyd cut down and reviving the devara kaadus he destroyed.’

‘I haven’t been able to sleep for the past few days, thinking of what we did to you,’ Kaveri said.

‘Don’t feel bad,’ Mrs. Ponnappa said. ‘It was their fault, not yours. I heard them, late at night, when they thought I was asleep. Gana slipped into our part of the house, and he and my husband plotted in the kitchen. Not about the murder—I would never have kept quiet if I knew about that, not even for a man as horrible as Boyd. But now, the snatches of conversation I heard make sense. They were talking about how to stage the fake attacks on him.’

‘Their complexity was their downfall. There were too many moving pieces in their plan. It was sheer luck that took them so far. But then luck turned against them,’ Kaveri said. Privately, she thought it was the priest who was responsible for their change of fortune, taking the side of justice even against the members of his own family.

‘You did us all a favour,’ Mrs Ponnappa insisted. ‘Even Ratna, although she has been hardest hit. She was so close to her father. Fortunately, the Bishop Cottons Girls School, one of the best in Bangalore, agreed to take her in and admit her into the hostel. One of my gold chains was enough to pay for a year’s fees. Ratna wrote me a long letter from her hostel, which arrived yesterday. I was worried about her, but she says it is good for her to be busy—her studies help her keep from obsessing about what happened.’ Mrs. Ponnappa pulled out a sheet of paper from her blouse, covered with closely scribbled lines on both sides, handing it to Kaveri.

Kaveri rapidly scanned the letter, summarising it for Ramu. ‘Ratna says she is going to study botany in school. Her teacher has arranged for her to take special classes with the Lal Bagh Horticultural Society. There, she will learn modern methods of agriculture which she can bring back to Coorg.’

‘I told her she has to stay in school till her graduation. Then she can come back and take over the plantation from me,’ Mrs. Ponnappa said. ‘Kartik has no interest in the plantation. He wants to be an actor and work in theatre, but his father never let him explore his interest. I have told him he can do whatever he wants with my full support. Ratna has big plans for the family enterprise. She wants to expand the rose garden, experiment with grafting to create new varieties, and then export the flowers to Bangalore. She says that floriculture is the new future and will fetch us more money than coffee. I want her to expand our rice fields as well. Rice is so important for us in Coorg. Each year, when we observe the first signs of the paddy ripening into seeds, we tie a knot in the stalks to ensure the grain doesn’t slip away from us. We decorate our homes with patterns made from rice flour, and our doorways with garlands made from sheaves of rice, to thank the Gods for bringing prosperity into our homes. When my husband and his brother broke the wall, they destroyed the pattern of prosperity. We have restored it now.’

Her tone was indulgent. ‘Once Ratna returns, I plan to retire. I will put up my feet and work on my embroidery. For the first time in many years, I have a chance to enjoy a peaceful life, and I intend to take it.’

45 (Temporary) Peace and Quiet in Bangalore

1 September 1923

I wish I had a camera,’ Uma aunty said, staring at Ismail as he swayed on the dance floor next to his wife. ‘I can’t believe the Inspector is dancing.’

Kaveri held Uma aunty by the shoulders, twirling her around, almost bumping into Mrs. Ismail. She stepped back, regarding them with her signature sleepy-eyed smile. Kaveri grinned back. Mrs. Ismail was exactly like her husband. She seemed large and lethargic, and used her appearance to good effect. But neither husband nor wife missed a thing around them.

‘It’s a party, aunty. Lakamma wants us to celebrate the launch of her new range of coffee powders in style. How can we do it justice without you?’ Kaveri coaxed her as Uma aunty demurred.

‘Kaveri!’ A sharp voice broke through the crowd, and Bhargavi appeared before them, frowning. ‘Get back to your chair immediately. Your child could be due any time. You should not be taking risks like this. Are you alright? Do you want me to get you a glass of water?’

Kaveri turned to Uma aunty and pulled a face, but she followed her mother-in-law obediently off the dance floor, sitting down in a comfortable, well-upholstered cane chair, accepting the glass of sugarcane juice that Bhargavi snagged from a passing waiter.

Bhargavi left to look for a plate of fruit, and Ramu made his way over to her. ‘My mother is fussing too much, isn’t she? Should I speak to her?’

‘I am alright. Really. After our overwhelmingly exciting adventures in Coorg, I have had my fill of venturing out on my own. What I crave most is some peace and calm, and Bhargavi athe’s pampering.’

Ramu ruffled her hair gently. ‘Don’t get too used to it. Once the baby is born, you will soon be up to your usual shenanigans with Amma, Uma aunty, and me chasing after you, trying to keep pace, passing the baby like a parcel between us.’ He sobered, giving her a serious look. ‘We have to find a different rhythm of life once the child is born, Kaveri. You are going to be a mother soon, and I a father. We have a responsibility to our child, not to—’

‘Not to go haring off on a wild goose chase,’ Kaveri finished his sentence, looking mischievously at him. They both burst into laughter, watching Bhargavi stop, plate in hand, accosted by a member of the royal family.

Kaveri stopped laughing, looking penitently at Ramu. ‘I will be careful,’ she promised. ‘I didn’t do anything rash or risky this time in Coorg, did I? I am already doing things differently.’

Uma aunty heard the last sentence, panting slightly as she came up to them, after dismounting from the stage-turned-impromptu dance floor. ‘Yes, this time we did all the adventuring—Venu, Anandi, and I.’ She looked very pleased with herself.

‘All’s well that ends well.’ Kaveri relaxed into her chair, patting Uma aunty’s hand. ‘We managed to track Kupamma’s killer. And Lakamma brought Janaki and Chandru to Bangalore to meet Hiramma.’

‘Hiramma was born to Rangamma and her husband after they moved to Bangalore. Did she know she had a brother in Coorg?’ Uma aunty asked Kaveri.

‘She had no idea and was so happy to meet Chandru. After Kupamma’s death, Hiramma believed she had been orphaned, left without family, but she has now found an entire family of relatives, including a niece who is just about to have a baby. Hiramma will be a grand-aunt soon, once Chandru and Janaki’s daughter gives birth.’ Kaveri laughed. ‘And thanks to your efforts, aunty, Hiramma was able to gather enough money to give her mother the grand sendoff the old lady desired. With biriyani and a band.’ Kaveri hugged the older lady.

Uma aunty coughed but looked pleased. ‘I organised it, but you contributed the money,’ she muttered, trying to hide her embarrassment at being praised, and swiftly changed the topic. ‘Tell me, Ramu, what gift have you planned to give your wife for solving this case? After the first case, you got her the chain with a magnifying glass locket and matching earrings, and for the second case we gifted her a formal posed photograph. For the third case, magician Das gave her a miniature portrait on a grain of rice, and you bought her a portable Remington.’

Kaveri turned to Ramu expectantly. ‘What have you been hiding from me?’

Before he could respond, she gasped, clutching her stomach.

‘What is it?’ Bhargavi ran up to Kaveri, abandoning her royal guest mid-conversation. Ramu supported her with his steady arm, and Uma aunty massaged her back.

‘I think…’ Kaveri gasped ‘… ow!… I think… the baby is coming.’

46 The Cycle of Life

Around noon the next day, Kaveri sat up on the bed in Bowring Hospital, her arms wrapped around a bundle of baby. The child slept, her small lips moving, as Kaveri watched her. Was she dreaming?

She patted her daughter’s soft cheek, planning the letter she would write to Janaki. ‘You were wrong,’ she would tell her. ‘I have a daughter. My husband is so happy. And so am I.’

‘Is she sleeping?’ Ramu tiptoed in, staring at his daughter with utter love. Kaveri looked up at him, her heart melting. She had never seen her husband look so soft and protective.

With one hand, Ramu rubbed his daughter’s soft feet gently. From behind his back, he took out his other hand, showing Kaveri what he held in it.

‘An envelope? What’s this?’

‘Your gift, which you asked me about yesterday,’ Ramu said, then scooped up his daughter so Kaveri could take the envelope. She opened it eagerly and scanned it.

‘I found a mathematics and physics tutor for you in Mysore, Kaveri.’ Ramu beamed. ‘I know you were worried about taking our daughter to Mysore in a few weeks and the restrictions your mother will impose on you. Your college entrance exams are only a few months away. So I spoke to your father and arranged for this. When you go home, you will be able to go for regular lessons to the teacher’s house. He lives in an annexure to the Maharani’s palace. Your father will speak to your mother and ensure that she agrees to look after the baby and allow you to go.’

Kaveri hugged Ramu fiercely, being careful to not squish their daughter. ‘This is the second-best gift you have given me.’

‘Second best? What’s the first best?’

Kaveri pointed to the baby as she began to stir, her tiny toes curling and uncurling. She reached out, and Ramu placed the baby back in Kaveri’s arms. ‘The past six months have shown me how fragile life is. Look at Kupamma, Boyd, Tom.’

‘It’s the cycle of life. Death is followed by birth,’ a voice said.

Kaveri looked up, surprised to see Hiramma standing tentatively at the door. Ramu waved her in, and she tiptoed towards the bed, staring at the baby, who had opened her eyes, staring back at this new person.

‘I brought something. A small gift, to thank you for everything you did,’ Hiramma said, holding out a small parcel wrapped in a spotlessly clean piece of cloth.

She unwrapped the cloth, showing Kaveri the pair of dented brass anklets carefully wrapped inside. ‘My mother believed in you, and you—you kept her faith, and mine.’

A tear rolled down Kaveri’s face, falling on the baby’s foot. Startled by the unaccustomed feeling of water on her skin, the baby started to cry, a soft gentle sound. Kaveri rocked her again, holding her close, eyes on Hiramma.

‘I don’t have much, but whatever I have is yours,’ Hiramma continued. ‘These brass anklets were given to me by my mother. She wore them when she was a child, and I did as well. I want your daughter to wear these now, with my mother’s blessings.’

Kaveri smiled mistily at her as Ramu cleared his throat, opening the anklets and putting them around his daughter’s tiny ankles, then hooking them closed. They watched as the child kicked her legs and then stopped crying when she heard the sound of the tiny bells, looking at her feet.

‘Death and birth. The cycle of life,’ Kaveri agreed softly.

Kaveri’s Dictionary

ainmane

Coorgi ancestral clan house

ajji

grandmother

akka

older sister, honorific used to address an older woman

akki otti

flat chapatis made with rice flour

amma

mother

anna

older brother, honorific used to address an older man

annas

a unit of currency—in British India, 16 annas equalled one rupee

aramane

palace

arasina

turmeric

ashram

hermitage

athe

mother-in-law

baale

banana

baalekaayi

raw banana

baimbale

bamboo shoot

bajji

deep fried fritters

bandale

saucepan

bande kallu

stone boulder

bhootha

ghost

chappal

slipper

chembu

a pot, usually made of brass, used to store water

dabara

a small, flat-bottomed steel vessel with a rim, used (with a steel tumbler) to serve tea or coffee

dabba

steel vessel with a lid

devara kaadu

sacred forest

doddamma

aunt (‘big-mother’)

doddappa

uncle (‘big-father’)

hande

large boiler, containing water which is heated by firewood

Jenu Kuruba

indigenous community of honey collectors

Kaadu Aiyappa

Lord of the Forest

kaadu maanga

wild mango

kadappa

a type of stone used as pavers

kadubu

a steamed dumpling–like dish made with rice flour

Kail Podh

traditional festival of Coorg

kambli

blanket

Kanjeevaram

a town in south India famous for its silk sarees

koovaleputtu

steamed rice cake with banana or jackfruit

kumkuma

vermilion

kurta

a long-sleeved, loose-fitting collarless upper garment worn across large parts of South Asia by men and women

lathi

large, heavy stick

lungi

a loose piece of unstitched cloth worn around the waist by men

macchu

sickle, machete

majjige

buttermilk

mangalsutra

a traditional black bead chain and locket worn by married women

murukku

a crisp, salty snack made from deep-fried lentil batter

namaskara

respectful greeting

noolputtu

string hoppers

Okka

patrilineal family unit

paliya

vegetable dish

pallu

the loose end of a sari, usually draped over the shoulder

pandi

pig

panniyaram

crisp, pan-fried dumplings from rice and lentil flour batter

payasa

an Indian sweet

pete

city

puja

prayer

ragi

finger millet

saaru

sour and spicy watery dish made with lentils

swami

honorific title of a holy man or woman

tatti

a screen made of bamboo or reeds

thaatha

grandfather

tonga

horse cart

trishul

trident

tulasi

holy basil

vada

salty fritters, made from lentil flour

Yama

Lord of Death

yele-adike

betel leaf with betelnut

Janaki’s Adventures in the Kitchen

Many of the dishes that Janaki prepares use the same spices that are in Kaveri’s kitchen back home in Bangalore, but the food tastes different, because of the addition of local condiments such as Coorgi vinegar, and the all-pervasive Anglo-Indian influence. Here are a few of Janaki’s favourite recipes. You can prepare them individually or serve them all at once for a multicourse feast—begin by giving your guests glasses of almond milk, followed by akki otti with wild mango curry, accompanied by a couple of spoonfuls of tomato and raisin chutney on the side. Next comes the steamed rice with pandi curry, after which the meal concludes with a light, crunchy-sweet helping of baale murukku.

Badaami paalu (Almond milk)

This refreshing drink can be served steaming hot in winter or chilled in summers, and is traditionally served in small steel tumblers. You can convert it into a vegan recipe by swapping out the cow milk for oat, rice, or any other milk of your choice (except soy).

Serves 4

Ingredients

A couple of threads of saffron

750 ml milk (whole milk is best, to complement the richness of the almonds)

100 grams whole almonds, soaked in water for a few hours, then peeled

3–4 cardamom pods (or ⅛ teaspoon cardamom powder)

½ cup sugar

Recipe

Soak the threads of saffron in two tablespoons of warm milk in a small saucer for half an hour to make saffron milk. While the saffron is soaking, grind the peeled almonds into a fine, smooth paste using a teaspoon or two of water as needed. Remove the skin of the cardamom pods and pound the seeds into a fine powder using a pestle and mortar—or substitute with ⅛ teaspoon cardamom powder, if available (do not add more cardamom powder than specified, as it can overpower the taste).

On low heat, slowly boil the remaining milk for about half an hour, stirring often to prevent burning, until it thickens slightly. Add in the saffron milk, almond paste, cardamom powder, and sugar. Cook for another five minutes. Remove from the heat. You can decorate this with organic rose petals before serving if you wish. This milk is rich and sweet, so Kaveri advises serving it in small portions.

Tomato chutney with vinegar and raisins

Inspired by English condiments like vinegar, this recipe provides an Anglo-Indian twist on the more fiery, less sweet south Indian tomato chutney that Kaveri’s mother-in-law prepares in Bangalore, which they mix with rice. This chutney is served with sandwiches, salads, roasted meat, and anything else that catches your fancy. Kaveri likes it so much that she devours it plain, in gigantic spoonfuls.

Serves 4 people, or one pregnant Kaveri

Ingredients

2 tablespoons of ghee

2 inches of ginger root, freshly peeled and grated

2 green chillies (de-seeded if you don’t want this too spicy), finely chopped

1 teaspoon fennel seeds

1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds

1 teaspoon black onion (kalonji) seeds

1 teaspoon red chilli powder (can be substituted with paprika, if you want it less spicy)

1 teaspoon cumin powder

1 teaspoon mustard powder

1 cup sultana raisins (don’t use black raisins, only the golden ones)

3 cups very ripe, soft tomatoes (don’t use the very sweet kind—preferably tomatoes that are slightly sour), chopped into medium-sized chunks

2 teaspoons salt (or to taste)

2 tablespoons of jaggery (can be substituted with brown sugar)

½ cup white vinegar (the normal kind—don’t use rice wine vinegar, balsamic vinegar, apple cider vinegar, or any of the other fancier varieties)

Optional: 1 tablespoon arrowroot powder

Recipe

Place ghee in a nonstick or well-seasoned cast-iron pan over medium heat. When it’s sizzling, add the grated ginger root and chopped chillies and roast for one minute on moderate heat, then add the fennel, fenugreek, and onion seeds, and roast for another minute until they are golden and the air is fragrant with the aroma of roasted spices, but make sure they don’t burn. Add the chilli powder, cumin, and mustard powder, and turn down the heat, then quickly add the raisins and stir for another minute on low heat until they plump up to become tiny golden pillows. Then add the tomatoes, salt, and jaggery. Stir and cover. Cook for about fifteen minutes, occasionally opening the lid to stir and mash the tomatoes with a wooden spoon to release the juices and turn them into a chunky paste. Add half of the vinegar, stir to mix, and cook for another couple of minutes—then taste. Add more jaggery, salt, vinegar, or chilli powder as needed to balance the flavours (this is a matter of personal taste).

Finally, if you want to thicken the mix, add a tablespoon of arrowroot powder—Mrs. Ponnappa swears by this, but Janaki prefers to avoid using it.

Store in an airtight glass bottle or steel vessel in the fridge—it keeps for a week but rarely lasts that long.

Kaadu maanga curry (wild mango curry)

Janaki prepares this from wild mangoes, which Chandru collects from the forests of Coorg. But when Kaveri returned to Bangalore, armed with the recipe, she modified it for use with cultivated mangoes—that’s the recipe I provide below.

Serves 4

Ingredients

½ kg (about 1 pound) small, ripe but firm mangoes—you will need about 5 or 6 individual fruits (if available, select a naturally sour variety and avoid the excessively sweet ones)

2 teaspoons chilli powder

2 teaspoons turmeric powder

2 teaspoons salt

200 grams (about 1 cup) jaggery

200 ml (about ⅚ cup) water

3 tablespoons of any flavourless oil

1 teaspoon mustard seeds

1 dry red chilli, de-seeded and broken into smaller pieces

2 fresh green chillies (optional), slit or sliced

2 stalks fresh curry leaves (8–10 leaves)

½ teaspoon fenugreek seeds

A pinch of asafoetida

2 teaspoons coriander powder

1 teaspoon cumin powder

2 tablespoons fresh coriander leaves

Recipe

Make a long slit in the mango skin, and carefully peel away the skin, leaving the mango seed and pulp intact (warning: this can be messy). In a small bowl, mix together the chilli powder, turmeric powder, and salt. Massage the de-skinned mangoes carefully with the mixture, pressing very lightly so the pulp and juice don’t drain away. Set them aside in a bowl.

In a pan, add jaggery and water. Cook until the jaggery dissolves, and then slightly thickens to form a thin syrup. Set this aside.

In a cast-iron or nonstick pan over medium heat, add the oil and then the mustard seeds. Once they pop, throw the pieces of red chilli into the hot oil along with the green chillies, curry leaves, fenugreek, and asafoetida. Cook for one minute, stirring to ensure that nothing burns, and then turn down the flame and add the coriander and cumin powder. Add the mangoes, and any juice remaining in the bowl, and stir carefully in the hot spiced oil (making sure not to press down on the mangoes) for a couple of minutes. Then add half of the jaggery syrup. Cover the pan, and cook for about twenty minutes, stirring every once in a while. Taste, and add more chilli powder, salt, or jaggery, if needed, to balance the taste, as per your personal preference. Garnish with fresh coriander leaves before serving—and remember not to eat the mango seeds, though you can lick them clean first—it’s messy but very tasty. Kaveri likes her wild mango curry to be sweet, but Chandru prefers his curry fiery and spicy.

Akki otti (rice pancakes)

A standard Coorgi staple at meals, this dish is a favourite of Inspector Ismail, who asked Janaki to write down the recipe for his wife.

Serves 4

Ingredients

3 cups cooked rice (if you’re using leftover rice, which Janaki sometimes does, make sure you warm it first, to make it easier to cook with). If the cooked rice seems like it holds a lot of water, spread it out on a large plate and leave it under the fan for half an hour, so it dries out a bit.

Salt to taste

2 tablespoons of any flavourless oil

½ cup rice flour, plus a little extra for dusting and rolling

Recipe

Mash the cooked rice, add the salt, a teaspoon of the oil, and only as much rice flour as you need to make it bind together. Adding extra flour (as you will need to do if the rice is too moist) can make your rice pancakes tough and inedible.

Divide into 8–12 equally sized balls of dough, and cover with a wet cloth to prevent them from drying out. Using a greased surface, pat the dough balls one by one into roughly circular, roti-shaped circles.

Take a thick-bottomed iron griddle, or a nonstick tava pan, and add a tiny bit of the remainder of the oil to grease the surface before cooking each akki otti. Cook the circles of dough, the akki otti, first on one side and then another for 2–3 minutes (just like you would cook a pancake), pressing it down with a wooden spoon to make sure it cooks evenly on all sides. If you have a gas flame and know how to do this, you can even cook it over the open flame so it puffs up.

Tastes best when hot, soft, and freshly made.

Pandi curry (pork curry)

No Coorgi feast is complete without this traditional dish. Each family has their own recipe, and this is Lakamma’s, which she taught Janaki. Kachampuli, Malabar tamarind, gives this dish its characteristic flavour. It can be ordered from specialty shops, but if you can’t get your hands on it, substitute with tamarind pulp.

For Inspector Ismail, Janaki prepares a different version of this dish—a fish curry that is lighter on the spice mix and kachampuli. The fish is cut into thick slices, roasted in the oil, and cooked on a slow flame with the rest of the ingredients, adding a little bit of rice powder at the end to thicken the gravy (in this case, only add about ¼–½ of the spice mix and ½ of the kachampuli, or even less depending on the type of fish used).

Serves 4 with generous leftovers which taste even better the next day

Ingredients

1 kg (2.2 pounds) pork, diced into cubes, with fat (ideally, with the skin, too)

1 teaspoon turmeric powder

Pinch of salt

Spice mix (ingredients on next page)

3–4 tablespoons sesame oil

1 inch ginger, grated

10 cloves garlic, finely chopped

2–4 green chillies (you can omit this if you want to reduce the spice level)

2 stems curry leaves (about 15 leaves)

2 large, strong-flavoured onions, diced or cut into thin slices

1 teaspoon red chilli powder (increase if you like, but don’t omit this—you need some heat to balance out the rest of the spices)

½ cup water

Salt to taste

1–2 teaspoons kachampuli (or tamarind paste)

Spice mix

½ tablespoon cumin seeds

½ tablespoon mustard seeds

1 tablespoon coriander seeds

¼ teaspoon fenugreek seeds

1 inch of cinnamon bark

3 cloves

10 black peppercorns

Recipe

Massage the pork with ½ teaspoon turmeric powder and a bit of salt, and set aside.

Prepare the spice mix—this takes a bit of time but is worth the effort. Dry roast the cumin seeds in a heavy-bottomed pan over low heat, stirring frequently, until the seeds turn dark brown and the fragrance is heavy in the air. Remove from the pan and place on a cool surface. Individually roast the mustard, coriander, and fenugreek seeds one by one, and remove to the cool surface, mixing together after they cool. Finally, roast the cinnamon bark, cloves, and peppercorns lightly (these three spices can be roasted together). Remove and cool. Mix all the dry roasted spices together and grind into a fine powder using a spice grinder or a mortar and pestle.

Heat the oil in a large pressure cooker, and gently fry the ginger, garlic, green chillies, and curry leaves (remove the stems). Then add the diced onions and fry for about five minutes, until translucent. Throw in the pork with ½ cup water, and add the chilli powder and remaining turmeric powder, along with salt to taste. Pressure cook for 2–3 whistles—you want the pork to be soft but not squishy. If the meat appears to be very tender, you don’t need to pressure cook it and can simply cook it in a large pan with the lid on.

Once cooked, remove the lid and add the spice mix, along with 1 teaspoon kachampuli (or tamarind pulp). Cook over low heat, keeping uncovered and stirring often. Taste and add more salt or kachampuli, if needed.

Serve with akki otti or steamed long grain rice (not basmati).

Baale murukku (fried bananas with rice flour)

This is one of Kaveri’s favourite snacks. After she got the recipe from Janaki, she cooked it for Uma aunty—who enjoyed it so much that it’s now a staple at their table too.

Serves 4

Ingredients

5 large ripe bananas

¼ cup rice flour

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour (or maida)

2 tablespoons fresh grated coconut

2 tablespoons white sesame seeds

1 teaspoon cardamom powder

3–4 tablespoons jaggery powder

A pinch of salt

2 cups vegetable oil (for frying)

Icing sugar (optional)

Recipe

In a bowl, mash the bananas into a pulp, and add in all the ingredients, except the oil and sugar. Mix well. You should get a soft and sticky dough. Add oil to a pan and heat until sizzling. Scoop dough into rounds, using a small scooper, and drop into hot oil. Fry until dark brown. Remove and drain excess oil. Dust the murukku with icing sugar and enjoy!

Historical Note

The historical setting of Coorg in April 1922 is largely accurate, with a few exceptions. The unfortunate story of Victoria Gowramma, one of the last princesses of Coorg, who died in England—goddaughter to Queen Victoria—is sadly true. The play about her life that I describe in the book is fictional however, as is the playwright. Also, you will find no train station in Mercara—there was none in the 1920s either. I have taken authorial liberty to include it in, for the station plays an important role as a fictional plot device. Coffeepudi Lakamma is modelled after Doddamane Sakamma, a young widow who took charge of her husband’s large plantations and became a well-known coffee entrepreneur in Bangalore in the 1920s. She set up a coffee shop and processing unit which supplied the rich and famous of the city. Doddamane (Big House), her magnificent city home in Coorg, is still beautifully maintained, and Lakamma’s fictional plantation home is based on its structure. The de-husking and de-pulping machines that fascinate Kaveri were real, labour-saving inventions of the time, and I am indebted to my readings of the ‘Dewan’s Speeches,’ the ‘Mysore Administrative Reports,’ and the Gazetteer of Coorg by Reverend Georg Richter for these and other details of coffee cultivation, such as the use of Strawsoniser spray engines. For details of Coorgi inheritance law, I am indebted to the ‘Mysore Law Reports of 1892,’ edited by G. F. Travers-Drapes. For details of the administration of Coorg in 1920 (by the Mysore resident who doubled as the chief commissioner of Coorg), I consulted many of the earlier cited references, as well as the archives of The Hindu newspaper.

Coorg went through a massive landscape transformation in the second half of the nineteenth century, with its forests sacrificed for the commercial expansion of coffee. Until the 1820s, coffee was largely the ambit of smallholder farmers who grew small batches for local consumption. From the mid-1820s onwards, European growers made steady inroads into the forests of inland Mysore and Coorg, taking over entire hills and valleys. Traditionally, some patches of forest were preserved as sacred forests, or devara kaadus, often with a temple or a sacred grove within. These sacred forests were biodiversity reserves and refuges for wildlife, as recorded in this book. European planters denounced these traditional, low-intensity approaches of local cultivators as inefficient and slothful, but many aspiring British planters also cleared and abandoned vast tracts of forested land in their search for quick profits. Over the years, thanks to grants and other support from the Mysore government, European and British coffee production steadily expanded in Coorg, with much of the coffee produced being exported. After 1900, the explosion of coffee production in Brazil led to a sharp decline in India’s exports—but by then, the British had succeeded in creating a domestic market for coffee in South India.

Donald Stewart—described in Gold, Sport and Coffee Planting in Mysore (1894) by Robert Henry Elliot, another coffee planter of some repute—moved from Ceylon (Sri Lanka) to Coorg and ordered his managers to cut down every single tree in the forest to focus on coffee. The ensuing dramatic change in environment and microhabitat led to the explosive growth of the borer insect, destroying his coffee plants. I had Stewart in mind when I described Ramappa’s father’s humiliation by Fowler—one of the first British plantation owners in Coorg who founded the Mercara Estate in 1854. Sadly, experiences such as Ramappa’s were not uncommon. British plantation owners amassed great wealth at the expense of labour imported from impoverished regions of interior Mysore and the Madras Presidency, as well as the west coast of India—they flourished, while their workers laboured away, earning a pittance for their hard work.

The mountains of Coorg were—and continue to be—rich in wildlife, and leopard attacks and animal hunts were a frequent occurrence in the 1920s. The elephant drive that Gana describes to Kaveri—where a herd of twenty-five elephants was pinned in a small part of the forest for a week by 1,500 beaters using fire and gunfire so that the royal visitors could bag a prize catch—is true, though I have taken liberties with the date. It was not organized in 1922 for the Prince of Wales’s visit, but instead took place in 1929. As reported by the Times of India, the hunt was organized by the Maharaja of Mysore and his family for the visit of Lord and Lady Irwin, the Maharaja of Jodhpur, the Maharaja of Benares, the Maharani of Cooch Behar, and Sir Charles and Lady Todhunter. Though the twenty-five elephants broke through the barricades and escaped, sixty-three elephants and three bison had also been imprisoned in a nearby stockade as a backup, ensuring that the royal guests and visiting nobility didn’t leave empty-handed.

The Coorgis (or Kodavas) are a striking community, and I have tried to describe the richness of their homes, traditional cuisine, clothing and jewellery, customs and rituals, and other aspects of their daily life in the pages of this book. But the hills and valleys of Coorg are beautiful beyond description and merit a visit in person.

Acknowledgments

As always, I must begin by acknowledging the editorial inputs, brainstorming advice, and constant companionship of my husband, Venkatachalam Suri, and our daughter, Dhwani Nagendra Suri, who have been a part of the journey of The Bangalore Detectives Club series throughout. Their love and support are baked into every page of these stories. Dhwani was born just a few months after Kaveri Murthy parachuted into my head, in mid-2007, demanding that I write a story about her—it has been so lovely to watch the series come to life alongside my daughter, as she added her strong feminist perspective. And without Chalam—my inspiration and sounding board for well over thirty years—none of this would have been possible.

This book is also for my grandmother Thungabai, who tied knots into her sari to remind herself of the many things she needed to do—her early version of the digital calendars we now find so indispensable! While she was unable to continue in school for long, her love for plants has woven itself into the fabric of my own identity as an ecologist. And as it is for every book I write, this is also for my father, CV Nagendra, an avid reader himself, for whom I started writing books when I was nine. I just know he’s burning the telephone lines up in the sky, calling his friends to tell them his daughter wrote this series!

The stories of the remarkable women archived in these pages is my tribute to all the even more impressive women who lived in times past, including my great-grandmothers Ammanithai Ammalu and Padmavati Bai, as well as the real-life women who inspired characters in the book, such as Doddamane Sakamma (also known as Coffee Pudi Sakamma), Kalyanamma, and many others. Defying societal restrictions to forge their own path, they blazed the way for generations to follow—as Kaveri, Anandi, Bhargavi, Mala, Mrs. Ismail, Shanthi, Uma aunty, and the other women of the Bangalore Detectives Club are doing in these pages.

Family stories, reminiscences, and recipes shared by my mother, Manjula, have been essential to my writings. They provided me with an intimate view into the lives of women and men who lived more than a century ago, impossible to get from books and maps alone. Since Bangalore’s history is an area of professional research for me (as part of my day job as an ecologist), I also benefited from a treasure trove of information on colonial Bangalore. I am indebted to a number of archives, including the Karnataka State Archives, the Mythic Society, the Indian Institute of World Culture, and the British Library, as well as online archives, including archive.org.

For my research in Coorg, I was most fortunate in being able to visit and spend time at The School Estate’s homestay with my family—a perfect setting for some atmospheric research into the past. The School Estate is a heritage plantation bungalow built by Reverend Christian Georg Richter—a German missionary who came to Coorg in the mid-nineteenth century, served as inspector of Coorg Schools, and wrote the influential Gazetteer of Coorg. The bungalow and homestay are owned by Mr. K. K. Aiyappa and his wife, Rani, and ably administered by Ganesh Shashidhar. Their hospitality and generosity made our trip unforgettable. Ganesh Shashidhar took us around their coffee plantation and showed me some of their older equipment, affording me a glimpse into how these areas might have looked a century back. Mr. Aiyappa shared his wife’s family recipes, showed us through the older parts of his home, and lent me a collection of historical books on Coorg. He also organized trips for us to his aunt’s ancestral home, the Nadikerianda Ainmane, and I am very thankful to NK Ramesh for showing us around the house and sharing the history of his family with us.

When I wrote book two in The Bangalore Detectives Club series—Murder Under a Red Moon—I was fascinated by the little I had read online about a woman coffee manufacturer and entrepreneur of the 1920s, Doddamane Sakamma (or Coffee Pudi Sakamma, as she was popularly known)—a child widow who adopted her husband’s brother’s children and raised them as her own, ran a flourishing coffee business that served the Maharaja of Mysore, and was one of the first women elected to the Mysore Legislative Assembly. Inspired by her, a new character was born—Coffee Pudi Lakamma, who has been in books two and three, and also plays a major role in this book. After Murder Under a Red Moon was published, I came to meet a number of Sakamma’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren, who have been similarly generous in sharing their memories and information about this very remarkable, trailblazing woman. I am especially grateful to Sunita Rao and Sanjeev Basappa. Sanjeev took us to Sakamma’s home, the aptly titled Doddamane (Big House)—one of the most beautiful homes I have ever seen, and so evocative of past history that it instantly made its way into this story, of course in fictionalized form.

Priya Doraswamy, childhood friend and incomparable agent, has been the best advocate for the series that I could ever wish for. And I truly lucked out with a dream team of publishers at Pegasus Books in the US, with terrific support provided by Claiborne Hancock, Jessica Case, Meghan Jusczak, and insightful editorial input from Victoria Wenzel and Maria Fernandez—as well as the dedicated support of the Hachette India team, including Thomas Abraham, Riti Jagoorie, Anupama Manral, and Raghu Nandan.

Above all, I am deeply thankful to the number of readers who have reached out to me over the past two years from locations as far-flung as Australia, India, Canada, Singapore, UK, the US, and many other parts of the world to share their love of Kaveri, Ramu, and the rest of The Bangalore Detectives Club crew, exchanging so many of their own stories in turn. I have made so many friends on different continents thanks to these books—your support and enthusiasm keeps me afloat!

About the Author

Author photo by Venkatachalam Suri

HARINI NAGENDRA is a professor of sustainability at Azim Premji University, Bangalore, India. She has received the Elinor Ostrom Senior Scholar Award as well as the Cozzarelli Prize with Elinor Ostrom from the Proceedings of the U.S. National Academy of Sciences. The Bangalore Detectives Club, Murder Under a Red Moon, and A Nest of Vipers are the first three novels in her Bangalore Detectives Club mystery series, which are all available from Pegasus Crime.

ALSO BY HARINI NAGENDRA

The Bangalore Detectives Club

Murder Under a Red Moon

A Nest of Vipers

INTO THE LEOPARD’S DEN

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Copyright © 2025 by Harini Nagendra

First Pegasus Books edition July 2025

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