THE BUTCHER OF BENARES Page 22

  ‘Don’t forget I came to Benares to die, and not to be frightened by some madman. You don’t worry about me. Just make sure this time that the killer doesn’t get away,’ said Fauja Singh.

  Hawa Singh nodded.

  ‘And don’t come to me with another bullet in your head or a Cross sticking out of your chest. I want you in one piece,’ called back Fauja Singh as he walked away from the ghat.

  Hawa Singh turned to smile at Ruby. ‘He loves me a lot.’

  Ruby had a faint smile herself, as she looked at herself, drenched and shivering. Hawa Singh took out his jacket and put it on her. These were small gestures in harsh times, and swept Ruby away in a flood of emotion. Her heart was telling her that this was the man, what the world called Mr Right. You could never be more right, she dryly told her heart.

  He was in his t-shirt, with water dripping from his hair, clothes and the bandages on his chest and arm. She wanted to hold him tightly and stay that way forever. She had never felt like this before.

  She had her share of one-night stands, but this man was something else. She didn’t want to spoil what they had by hurrying into bed. He, too, had made no demands.

  Maybe he was still too deeply in love with Kavita. Maybe he would never love Ruby. Still, she could always love him.

  Hawa Singh busied himself making calls. He instructed Sub-Inspector Gaya Prasad Sharma to take a team to bring the Naga sadhus to Manikarnika Ghat. He wanted to address and question both the Nagas and the Aghoris together on the famous cremation ghat.

  ‘The Butcher had a deep connection with the Aghoris as he had lived with them here in the cremation grounds. It’s possible that he might return there, as it could seem to him a good place to hide,’ said Hawa Singh.

  Ruby nodded saying, ‘The very smell of human flesh might also draw him there. We need to get there fast.’

  Hawa Singh kick-started the motorcycle. ‘I feel I could be the next target.’

  Ruby climbed on the pillion seat. ‘I will be right by you. Let him come. It will be easy to take him down if we’re together.’

  He looked back at her and they both grinned.

  Ruby, still wearing his jacket, wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tighter when she felt him shivering in the wind. He felt her warmth seeping into him as he sped through the narrow alleys of the town, now empty.

  A few street dogs tried to give chase, but gave up soon enough, disheartened. They couldn’t keep up with the Ghost. One moment he was there and then he was gone.

  The sound of wailing came louder and louder as they approached the Manikarnika Ghat. Smoke, a dull grey, rose from the pyres. There were more than twenty burning pyres even at that time of day.

  Gaya Prasad Sharma was already there when they arrived. He saluted Hawa Singh and Ruby, and said, ‘Sir, I have brought the Naga sadhus.’

  Hawa Singh saw Baba Ramtirath and his eleven disciples waiting for them. The blue eyes snapped as Ramtirath told him, ‘We are trying our best to co-operate with you, but don’t mistake co-operation for weakness.’

  Hawa Singh walked towards Baba Ramtirath saying, ‘I won’t. I want you to know we now know who the Butcher is. It’s just that he escaped us.’

  Hawa Singh shouted to Gaya Prasad, ‘Sharma, search the entire ghat and the cremation ground inch-by-inch. And bring out all the Aghoris and Doms. He could be hiding here among them.’

  Gaya Prasad and team started rounding up all the Aghori tantriks, sadhus and Doms, including the Aghori leader Neelambar Nath, who was deep in some sort of pooja.

  Dom Raja Sanjeet Choudhary, dressed in black, was supervising the cremations. Gaya Prasad recognized him and asked him to move out of the cremation grounds along with all the other Doms.

  ‘We cannot leave the cremation halfway like this,’ Sanjeet protested.

  Gaya strode up to him, grabbed him by his neck and dragged him away. ‘Next time I won’t talk,’ he growled. ‘I’ll burn you all in these pyres.’

  Hawa Singh and Ruby moved cautiously through the crowd of Aghoris, Naga sadhus and Doms, now together on the ghat. The Nagas and the Aghoris, similarly ash-smeared, stood apart from each other. The Doms stood out from the crowd as they were the only ones clothed.

  ‘Sir,’ Gaya said to Hawa Singh,’ we have searched the entire place. It doesn’t look like he’s here.’

  It was 5.45 am. The sky was lightening. The boats were still anchored. The river appeared undisturbed, but reminded Hawa Singh of a crouching monster, waiting with a gaping mouth to swallow everything.

  On the opposite bank there was total darkness. Above the hill there rose the ominous fort of Ramnagar. Hawa Singh suddenly swung around to Ruby. ‘He must have gone to the Fort,’ he said.

  Just then, the SSP, carrying a clay cup of masala tea, walked up with his troop. ‘Did you find him or not?’ he asked, without preamble.

  Hawa Singh was already on his way. ‘He is not here,’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘We are going to the Fort. He could be hiding there.’

  The SSP thought for a moment and said, ‘We’ll have to disturb the king for that—but I suppose that has to be done. Let’s go there together.’

  The SSP and his men got back into their jeep. Hawa Singh started his motorcycle and was about to ride off when a sight caught his eye. A bright light of yellow, orange and crimson cut through the grey sky.

  A large Cross spread against the wall of Ramnagar Fort was burning bright, its flames leaping high.

  To the many Aghoris, Naga sadhus, pandits, boatmen and other devotees, it looked like a sign from the Kashi Naresh in defiance of Christianity. It seemed that Maharaja Abhay Narayan Singh had burnt the Cross to show the supremacy of Hindus. It was his message to all of Benares that the king was with them, in their common religion, and against all others.

  They didn’t see the crows coming out to hover so unusually early in the day. They couldn’t distinguish the smell from that which rose from the burning pyres nearby.

  Only a Dom would recognize that smell. It was the stench of burning human flesh that came from the other side of the Ganges, from the burning Cross on the wall of Ramnagar fort.

  It was Dom Raja Sanjeet Choudhary who hesitatingly drew Hawa Singh’s attention to it. ‘There’s a body on that flaming Cross,’ he whispered to him hoarsely.

  The Butcher had struck again.

  Hawa Singh shouted to the policemen, ‘Everyone at the fort!’

  *

  6.30 am, Ramnagar Fort

  The cross was hanging from a heavy iron chain and by the time the police team pulled it up, it was more than halfway burnt. The wood had turned black and the police had to pour water to douse the flames.

  Hawa Singh was one of the few policemen who could withstand such a horrific sight. Even Ruby turned her face away and fought against nausea.

  A body was nailed to the Cross that had charred beyond recognition. The flesh had melted and at some places clung to the wood. The skin, muscles and tissues were gone. Only some bones remained.

  The SSP vomited, emptying his guts of all the samosas and kachoris he had wolfed down earlier that morning. He couldn’t bring himself to go near the Cross.

  It became difficult to stand there without covering one’s nose. But Hawa Singh had blocked all his senses, relying only on his mind’s eye. He pulled on latex gloves and bent close to the body. He could distinguish the skull, but there was no trace of skin and tissue where there should have been a face. A few lumps of skin had coagulated at the throat.

  None of the policemen dared approach. Ruby stood alone to one side, watching Hawa Singh at work. She wondered how he could bear the sight and smell.

  Hawa Singh continued with his work. He could see a few strands of cloth hanging on the skin near the chest. There was a gaping hole in the centre. ‘The heart has been removed,’ he announced. The SSP kicked at the wall filled with rage.

  Hawa Singh bent even closer to the body and sniffed. ‘It’s hospital spirit,’ he called out. The SSP only nod
ded, holding a handkerchief to his nose.

  Hawa Singh signalled Ruby to come closer. She tied a hanky around her face and hesitatingly went to him. ‘You need to block your thoughts,’ he reprimanded her. ‘It’s just a body. So take a deep breath and calm down. I need your help.’

  Ruby slowly inhaled and the stench from the burnt corpse filled her lungs. She coughed wildly.

  ‘Focus! Focus on the smell, like its evidence. There are traces of hospital spirit in it, smell that.’

  Ruby shut her eyes tightly. This time, Hawa Singh yelled at her. ‘There’s hardly anything left here. You’ll have to look.’

  She slowly opened her eyes. She saw Hawa Singh carefully remove a fine layer of burnt tissue that had mixed with the cloth fibres.

  He lifted the remnants of a hand and showed it to Ruby, ‘What do you see here?’

  The skin had burnt off but she could clearly see that one of the fingers was missing.

  She wanted to say it out loud but Hawa Singh stopped her midway. ‘We need to turn the body. For that, we’ll have to remove the nails.’ He called for a hammer.

  Gaya Prasad Sharma came running with one. He and Sharma took out the long nails with the hooked end. The body was finally free.

  Hawa Singh signalled once again to Ruby. They were ready. Slowly and very carefully they started to turn over the half-burnt skeleton.

  ‘Be very careful, the bones have become brittle and the entire body could crumble into powder,’ cautioned Hawa Singh.

  They managed to turn over the body. A part of the back was still covered by cloth. Hawa Singh skilfully peeled the cloth away. There was skin underneath. He could see the skin was covered with scabs. He got up and faced the cowering policemen standing at a distance.

  ‘What?’ demanded the SSP. ‘Who?’

  Hawa Singh exhaled and spoke softly, ‘Kashi Naresh Maharaja Abhay Narayan Singh is no more.’

  CHAPTER 37

  They mounted vigil on Ramnagar Fort and the entire staff was put under house arrest. The museum was closed and the king’s personal guards kept an eye out for trespassers in the Fort. They all had a photograph of Manvendra and were on the lookout for that distorted face.

  Hawa Singh had his jacket back on, and smelt the trace of perfume Ruby had left in it. Ruby herself was dressed in black slacks and a sweater, her curves defying the sombreness of her outfit. The policemen on guard at the palace couldn’t take their eyes off her.

  They walked into the Darbar, the public hall in which the king met commoners. Its grandeur was awesome, with intricate pillars supporting the high ceiling, the large paintings hanging on the walls, the rows of exquisitely carved wooden chairs and, at a raised level, the majestic throne of silver.

  It was said that the original throne was made of gold. The British invaders stole it and replaced it with a cheaper replica in silver. There was an elaborately embroidered hand-pulled fan cloth poised over the throne that used to be pulled by one of the king’s most trusted servants. There was another throne close by, to the left, meant for the queen, and another on the right for the crown prince.

  The Durbar was where Maharaja Vibuti Narayan signed the Instrument of Accession to India on 15 August, 1947. On that day, Benares merged with the new Indian state of Uttar Pradesh. With that, Maharaja Vibhuti Narayan Singh’s short reign officially came to an end, although he would maintain his title for many more years.

  Hawa Singh and Ruby found nothing of consequence in the Durbar. Walking through a corridor hung with portraits of past kings, they reached the door of Saraswati Bhawan.

  Something made him want to go inside again. He knew that this was the vault that contained so many mysteries. Abhay himself had shown Ruby and him around, pointing out his vast collection of antiques and ancient manuscripts.

  His eyes roamed, once more, over the many guns, royal carriages, the four-barrelled pistol, the mutilated coins, paintings and manuscripts sealed inside moisture-proof glass shelves. Ruby scrutinized the miniature paintings on the walls and the many handprints in yellow dye.

  The handprints belonged to members of the royal family starting from the first king of Benares. She realized that the yellow colour came from turmeric paste, worn on auspicious occasions. The name of the owner was written below each handprint. She could see the mark left by Maharaja Balwant Singh’s enormous hand, and those of other kings whose names she couldn’t pronounce.

  Hawa Singh peered at the glass shelves. He saw the original hand-written manuscript of Tulsidas’s Ramayana, a manuscript of the Manu-Smriti, the original Hanuman Chalisa, the quill used by Tulsidas, a few leaflets believed to belong to the original Vedas, and other texts in unknown languages yet to be deciphered. It was a treasure house.

  On one wall, Ruby was mystified to see a rusted iron knob in between some paintings. She looked at it curiously, put her hand around it, and turned it.

  There was a slow scraping sound. The wall parted, giving way to a smaller vault inside. ‘Abhay never showed us this!’ Ruby told Hawa Singh when she called him over to look.

  It was an ultra-modern vault, with a numbered lock and of solid, impregnable steel. They tried to unlock it with numerous permutations and combinations. Nothing worked, not even after they’d been working on it for four hours.

  ‘What the hell could possibly be inside?’ Ruby asked, after they’d exhausted themselves.

  ‘It has to be something very precious. We’ll just have to open it,’ said Hawa Singh.

  ‘The steel is tough. We won’t be able to even drill through it. What we need is a master safecracker,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Abhay’s obsessions lay in astronomy and astrology. It has to be something related to that,’ hazarded Hawa Singh.

  Ruby shrugged. ‘Maybe the code is his date of birth.’

  Hawa Singh smiled and casually set the numbers, 211058, not really expecting any results. But they heard the faint sound of gears inside the lock coming into position.

  He had once arrested a master thief in Karol Bagh, from whom he’d picked up a few tricks of his trade. Hawa Singh had learnt from him the basic techniques of opening locks. Hearing the sound of the gears inside, Hawa Singh knew that he had got the first six digits right.

  ‘What would the rest be?’ Hawa Singh tried to think.

  ‘Astrology and astronomy go together,’ said Ruby.

  Hawa Singh looked at her, not understanding her meaning.

  ‘To make a horoscope chart one requires the date of birth and the time,’ said Ruby.

  ‘I have no idea about the time of his birth,’ said Hawa, nonplussed.

  Ruby put her hands on her hips and thought hard. Then she looked around. ‘The horoscopes might also be here.’ She started looking around the larger hall. ‘They have preserved the handprints, portraits and even clothes of all the kings. Their horoscopes should also be a part of the royal collection.’

  They looked around desperately.

  In one of the glass shelves she found some texts written in Sanskrit and called Hawa Singh over. ‘Look here.’

  He hurried up to her and saw, with rising excitement, the many horoscopes of the royal family rolled up in bundles. He picked up a gun in the hall and, using its butt, broke the glass case open. He opened one bundle after another, and finally, there was one with ‘Abhay Narayan Singh’ written on it.

  He opened it to find a rolled-up chart that went down to his feet. He looked feverishly for the time of birth. It was 10 am and the day was Sunday.

  Hawa Singh ran back to the vault and entered the number 211010. The gears moved inside again. There was a click. Then it all stopped.

  Hawa Singh gave Ruby a disappointed look. ‘Nothing.’

  Ruby grabbed the handle on the vault and pulled at it angrily. The vault opened without a sound. They had hit the jackpot.

  They felt like children who had won at a game, and hugged each other in triumph. Inside the vault was another glass case, also moisture-proof. And inside that was what looked like an ancient manus
cript. The writing here, too, was in Sanskrit.

  There was one word he read clearly—‘Bhrigu’.

  CHAPTER 38

  It was 7.30 pm, dark again, and windy. A light rain fell. One of the news channels had said that it was zero-degree Celsius in Benares that night. The weather forecast had warned of heavy rain and intense cold. They had advised people not to venture out as there was even the possibility of a hailstorm.

  It was a full-moon night, and the Ganges roared, its waves rising high, but dark clouds prevented the moonlight from penetrating downwards.

  They were sitting in the library of Benares Hindu University. Around them Shri Vishnu Shastri, Baba Ramtirath, the SSP, ACP Shishir Jha and Sub-Inspector Gaya Prasad Sharma. The library doors were locked from outside so that no curious student or teacher might come in accidentally. All the lights were switched off within. All, that is, except a table lamp, which illumined the cylindrical glass case near it. Everyone stared at the manuscript sealed inside.

  ‘There is a legend in Benares,’ said Shri Vishnu Shastri, looking up, ‘that said that the original manuscript of the Bhrigu-Samhita lay with their kings, passed from one to the other. It said that the kings protected it with their own lives, and never revealed their secret to even the closest members of their families.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’ asked Hawa Singh.

  ‘Because, like I said, it’s a legend,’ said Vishnu Shastri. ‘So many stories keep floating around in Benares about the royal family. You don’t know which is true and which is not.’

  The SSP cleared his throat to make his presence felt. ‘Let’s not wait any more.’

  Hawa Singh picked up the glass cylinder and tapped it against the edge of the table. It was a hard wooden table, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on the glass case. He hit it harder but the glass still didn’t crack.

  Hawa Singh examined it with care. ‘This looks like tough glass. It could be bulletproof.’