The Intrigue

He lay on the floor. His body arranged neatly. His shirt straightened as if by a loving hand. His brown locks falling on his forehead, covering up the wound inflicted by the gun. He must have been a handsome man when alive, in his early forties. His eyes looked unseeingly at the ceiling, his face frozen in an expression of surprise. A woman knelt beside him, weeping uncontrollably.

"Cut ! " The director's voice restored the normal chaos to the sets as everyone started to prepare for the next shot. The actress got up, dusted her knees, looking at the director enquiringly, " Mr. Suresh, was the shot good ? " Then, after noting his absent minded nod, she turned to her co star. " C'mon, Vij, get up." As she extended a helping hand, something stopped her in her tracks. The hole that covered his hair, was not visible, but a small dark red trickle, still oozing ominously, was spreading on the floor. As she bent to peer closely, she looked at his face, ashen now, then screamed and scrambled to her feet. Within seconds, the entire disbelieving set was crowded around the actor. For he was not play acting anymore. Never would. He was dead.

 Inside his dressing room, the wife sat, staring blankly at the walls. Simone appeared bewildered, in shock. Having been married just three months ago to the man of her dreams, she was the object of great sympathy. Her face though swollen with tears, was still unbelievably pretty. Black curls framed a small heart shaped face. Great luminous eyes, sparkled like champagne, her small upturned nose crinkled when she smiled. Love at first sight. He had been the handsome hero. She, the famed, powerful, directors daughter. A match made in heaven.

Hysteria having finally subsided, Richa, the main female lead sat in her dressing room. Her face was streaked with mascara, sweat and tears having wreaked their havoc on her face.
"The shot required me to race into his room after i hear a gunshot. When i run onto the stage, i see him lying on the ground dead," (here she paused and broke into sobs ). Recovering again, after a sip of water, she continued. "I sink to my knees in disbelief, then weep long and loud in shock. I did just that. I heard the sound of a shot and after counting fifty, I was supposed to run up to the bedroom from the hall below,  i ran onto the stage. Seeing him lying on the floor, i was concentrating on my part, and rushed forward to complete the scene as i had been told to do. I.. I did not realise that he.. he was actually dead. It was only after the director cut the scene, that i realised that there was something very still, unnatural in the way that he lay on the floor... That he was not getting up, or moving.." With this she dissolved into tears again. Patting her shoulder consolingly, the detective moved away from the room, into the corridor, where the wife sat. Towering over her stood her father, a giant of a man, belligerantly barking orders into his cell phone...

Dear readers,
 Here i leave you. Tantalised i hope. Enough to complete the story ? Just give me the killer and the motive. Or else i will . But only after i receive a few solutions to this christiesque mystery. Go on. The cleverer the answer, the more votes you get.. Clue ? It has to be one of the characters already introduced.


And now for the solution.

The detective, Binod, sat back with a sigh. Why couldn't the murder be as simple as my dear reader suggests, simple . Straight out of CID. For the simple reason that there was no proof of the motive.

Recreating the events of those crucial hours had been difficult. The man had seemingly been absolutely alone when he had shot himself. Then the obvious conclusion was to be a clear cut case of suicide. If only the hole where the bullet had entered had been on the right sight. It wasn't. The man was right handed, as vouched by hundreds of ardent fans who had his autographs. So the hole should have been to the right . How would a right handed man put a gun to the left temple to take his life ? So maybe it was not as clear cut as the murderer wanted it to be. The problem lay in unearthing the witnesses. For the present suffice it that  all everyone knew was that he had committed suicide.


"Can I come in sir," the quiet voice belonged to the man who was responsible for the stage lights. "Ah yes, " Binod looked up to see a small neat looking man, fortyish, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, standing at the door. "Sit down, Satish. " He sat looking a trifle nervously at the detective. "According to your statement here, you were sitting on a small platform above the stage, from where you had a birds' eye view of the stage." Leaning forward, Binod looked into his eyes. Was it his imagination or did he see a slightly alarmed look in them, before he looked quickly away. "Tell me what you saw."

"Sir, I...I already told your detective, I was taking a toilet break, after I had finished my end of the work. It was only a rehearsal after all. I... I left soon after Vijay entered the stage. I.. I am diabetic you see. I need to er.. go often."

"What did he look like, any signs of nervousness, desperation ? "

The technician shifted uneasily on his chair. "No, sir. Not that  I saw. He was concentrating on the script that he held in his hand. Absorbed in reading it.

"What about the pistol ? "

"I thought I saw it in his hands. He seemed to be twirling it around in his hand."

The detective sat back in his chair, making a few notes. "Anything else that you might have noticed ? Who else was on the stage apart from him ? "
"I didn't see anyone else, sir."

"That's it then. You may go. " This time the relief on his face was palpable. He rose hurriedly to leave.

"Just a moment. You said you saw nothing. Perhaps you heard something ?" The tension on his face was back. He sank down onto the chair. " N... Nothing , sir. Nothing !"

"Then why are you so nervous ? Why did you sit down again ? " The detective's voice grew stern. Loud.

"Tell me what it was that you heard. A conversation, a noise ? Tell me !"

"I...It..It was maybe my imagination.." Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. " as I was leaving the stage, I heard someone  climbing the stairs to the stage.  It's made of wood and there are loose boards from years of wear and tear. I remember being surprised, only Vij was supposed to be on the stage. Then I heard a small thud, and a soft curse. As if someone had dropped something. Unfortunately I was in too much of a hurry to think too much of it. I left." He looked down embarrassedly.
   
"Who do you think it was, did you hear the voice ?"

He paused at the door, turned and replied slowly, " It sounded like a female voice. I thought it was probably Richa since she was due on stage next. " Having said that, he realised the enormity of the implication and swabbing at the copious amounts of sweat on his face, he stammered," i...i.. don't mean it THAT way, of course, just just a guess sir. No, no it cant have been her, just my imagination." Still shaking his head, he quickly retreated thru the half open door.

Binod sighed. Getting up from his chair, he paced the room, brow furrowed in concentration as he reflected on what he had heard. A knock on the door had him sink back into his chair.

The Authority Figure

Crash !

The noise reverberated in the stillness of the afternoon. Awoken from her siesta, she bounded towards the kitchen, from where the noise had come. As she burst thru the door, her eyes widened in disbelief, no! shock! The chicken curry she had laboured over all morning lay strewn over the floor. As she swung around to berate the maid, she saw instead Ammaji, her mother in law, eyes dilated in horror, palm held over mouth as if to stifle a scream, cowering in the corner. Taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart and boiling mind, she took a wash cloth, bent over the mess and started mopping up. Once there was space enough to walk out, and her urge to shout had subsided a little, she stood up. "Koi nahi, maaji. Chaliye aap kamre main under." As she took the old ladies hand, she could feel her it trembling within hers. She herself was feeling angry, then sorry in turns for both of them. "What happened, Maji.?" she couldn't resist asking, keeping her voice low, her initial fury abating at the old lady's distress. "I...I thought..I ought to help you.. You.. you have guests for dinner, and all that cooking to do.. I make those curries.. always.. so.." she trailed off apologetically. "I'll manage, ma. You relax. Just lie down for a while. " so saying she helped the old lady to her bed, helped her lie down. As she turned to leave, maji caught her hand, the look in her eyes made her cringe with sorrow, sympathy, hell.. pity. "I'm of no use now no, beta. What will you do now that i spilled all of it. I so wanted to help, you know.." she tailed off, a tiny tear spilling from her eyes, and trickling down the wrinkled cheek.....

The marriage rituals had just gotten over. The young bride, looked a trifle warily, at the imposing figure standing at the threshold, surveying her almost critically, waiting to welcome her into her new home. Tall and statusque, she stood. Clad in a blood red saree, Durgaesque, huge bindi over big kohl lined eyes, she was easily the most authoritative figure in the room. The most striking too. The archtypal Mother-in -law. As the young bride met her mother in laws eyes, she swallowed. How on earth would she fit in. But as the mother in law helped her cross the threshold, she saw her eyes mist, and somehow she was reasssured.

Life had not been easy. Easily the authority figure, nothing happened in the home, that was not approved by her. From the everyday menu, and the household accounts, to the naming of her grandchildren, and the welcoming of guests, she was second in command. Always the 'bahu raani ', she thought bitterly. Young and educated she strained at the leash. Many a conflict arose because her husband would not hear of separating from his parents. After one such row, she was summoned into the presence of her father-in-law. A mild, gentle man, she never heard him raise his voice with anybody. He had long ago relenquished the house to his efficient wife, acting as mediator or judge only in rare circumstances.

"Beti, are you happy here ?" was his first question. She looked up, shocked. "Yes, baba, why wouldn't I be?" "Are you sure you wouldn't like to live in a separate household," The question came from the shadows. The voice was that of Maaji. She looked up stricken. "No ma. It's just that.." She paused. "No one ever asks my opinion or lets me make even small decisions. I feel i am of no use, I exist in name alone...She stopped, thinking she had gone too far, her outburst would be misconstrued as rebellion. "I see. Would you like to come to work at the office ?" The question took her by surprise. "Yes, oh yes baba ! " Her face lighted up as she looked at them. "From tomorrow. Would you like to work in liasion ? Or some other department of your choice ? So it was agreed and so life took a new turn for the 'bahurani '...

Life became easier. She easily took over her role as business woman, earning the respect of the men folk in the house. Her mother inn law however remained just that. Home was her territory plainly, as she continued to be the ultimate authority consulted for all things big and small.. Sometimes there was a stand off between them, subtle, simmering differences. For the sake of peace, the younger always retreated, by doing so relinquishing whatever little authority she did have.

The death of babuji, came as a great shock. Having come to know him well over the years, she had grown to love him for the gentle, understanding, father who always sought her opinion and consent on all business matters that she dealt with. Greater than her shock was that of her mother in law's. She went into a deep mourning from which she emerged after the mandatory four months. Having come to terms with her loss, she was now determined to transfer her affections to her son. Hawk like she oversaw his meals, his clothes, even berating the children if they ate what had been left for him.. This led to friction between the two women, the younger resenting the older still more, now that she was encroaching on her territory.. At the slightest hint of a dispute, the older woman's eyes glimmered with unshed tears, hurriedly causing the younger to retreat. Emotional blackmail was not something she could handle.

The heart attack when it came was sudden. The hospitalisation and the ensuing rest period affected the house drastically. She had to leave the office, and take over household duties, which caused her great anguish, for by now, her office was her refuge, her second home. Mundane duties of the home had her frustrated. The dowager, even though sick, tried to enforce her own opinions and methods of working, which irked the bahu even more. Each was frustrated and cried great tears, alone in their rooms. The former at having to leave her bastion, her home. The latter at having to juggle home and mother in laws tantrums and dictates. Even the servants, kept reverting to the elder lady not wanting to get into her bad books.

Slowly, the wheels of time rolled along. The old lady got back onto her feet. Admit it or not, her authority helped greatly to restore some semblance of normalcy. She took over the supervising of the kitchen, which freed the younger woman to work from the home, for which she was grateful, but still unwilling to let go of all authority. There was a compromise of sorts, a slow reversal of roles. Perceiving her as as the paymaster, the household now looked upon the younger as the ultimate authority. Slowly the older lady backed off, retreating into her prayers, only sometimes battling the winds of change. Her relationship with her bahu was cordial but distant. The finely etched line of formality always keeping her at arms length..

With a sigh, she bent over the stove. Having restored the old lady to her room and wiping her tears, for the first time in her life she had hugged her. They cried together, then having reassured her she could substitute the curry with a daal, she had hurried back to the kitchen. As she worked feverishly to restore order, she couldn't help but reflect.. Hadn't she always sub consciously battled to win the old lady's affections, her respect. To be regarded and treated as an equal. Maybe she had never truly appreciated her. Maybe the spilt curry was a small price to pay..