Unwanted

Written by Nisha Wadhwa

Rajkumar Deshpande was due to retire in a month. He thought he had enough reasons to be terrified of retirement but duty, it seemed, wasn’t through with him. He was staring at future nightmare one-hundred-and-ninety-nine.

At fifty-six, Deshpande had neither the time nor the stamina for fieldwork. His days were spent in administrative work, budgeting and networking. He had managed to find a tiny slot in his schedule to play golf with his brigadier friend. He was about to sit in the cart when he got a phone call. His best inspector had had a case of dehydration.

Thimmegowda promised to return to work the following day but Deshpande knew all about dehydration. It would take a week for the man to recover even if he managed to show up a couple of days later.

It was difficult for Deshpande to refrain from lecturing his team on matters of the health but he had to hold his tongue. Fieldwork involved long stakeouts, and Thimmegowda’s partner was a woman. Thimmegowda restricted water intake out of respect for his partner when restrooms weren’t easy to find.

Shortly after, he received another call. With a sigh, Deshpande decided to suit up. It looked like the case was going to be open and shut. No point in assigning another officer just for paperwork. It would give Thimmegowda something to do while he recovered.

“It’s a clear case of suicide.” Sub-Inspector Meena Mendoza, Thimmegowda’s partner, informed him.

Mendoza was young, smart and perceptive. Nevertheless, this simple case would put her toughness to test.

Deshpande stared at the body hanging from the ceiling fan. A stool lay skewed on the floor. It had to have been kicked by the deceased—a woman named Shilpa. Also present in the room were the coroner and personnel from forensics. Just outside the threshold of the bedroom stood the relatives of the deceased. A wailing husband, a sister-in-law who comforted the husband, and a mother-in-law who appeared inconvenienced.

The coroner looked at Deshpande. He gave him the signal to bring Shilpa down. There was nothing to see here.

“Due diligence must be done,” he said to Mendoza. “Victim was married for eight months, yes?”

“That’s right.”

He walked to the door to talk to Shilpa’s family.

“We’ll need a list of transactions that took place during the wedding.” Deshpande said to the mother-in-law.

Radha Mogra was a regal looking woman even though she was dressed in a simple cotton saree. Her hair was done neatly, her face was powdered, and Deshpande caught a whiff of floral fragrance.

His eyebrows crinkled in thought. The woman wore perfume at home. The house had four bedrooms. The family owned a BMW and a big SUV. And yet, the new bride had taken the extreme step of ending her life.

“Listen here, Officer.” She pointed a finger at him. “My son married Shilpa out of his own will. If you’re suggesting we took dowry, I’ll have you know we did no such thing.”

Shilpa’s husband looked up, his face a picture of dejection.

“I loved my wife!”

“He’s right, Officer,” said the sister-in-law. “Shilpa was diagnosed with depression.”

Radha Mogra grunted at the mention of the word ‘depression’.

“You have something to say?” Deshpande’s tone was firm.

“No.” She made a face, clearly reluctant.

“Go on.” Deshpande insisted.

“I’m just saying this generation has found new ways to escape responsibilities!” She tipped her chin, unafraid of being challenged.

“Depression is real,” Kanika, the sister-in-law muttered.

At this, Radha Mogra crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

“We’ll find out how real her depression was,” Deshpande promised. “There were transactions during the wedding, yes?”

“You make it sound like a business deal!” The husband, Ajay, clenched his fists.

Deshpande ignored him and maintained eye contact with Radha Mogra.

“We cannot stop parents from giving gifts to their daughters.” Radha retorted.

“We need a list.”

Mendoza spoke up. “Did Shilpa work?”

“No,” said Radha. “Neither did she cook.”

“Ma! We have a cook!” Kanika protested.

Deshpande glanced at the young woman. While Kanika wasn’t as indifferent as her mother, she didn’t seem that distressed either.

“I’m just trying to express how comfortable her life was,” said Radha. “She didn’t have reason to be depressed!”

Deshpande exchanged a look with Mendoza. He could tell Mendoza wanted to oppose the woman but refrained because she was out-ranked.

“She was depressed because of trauma, not because of poverty.” Ajay argued.

“You knew about her medical condition, then?” Deshpande asked.

“Of course. Like I said, I loved her.”

“What’s this trauma you’re referring to?” Mendoza asked.

“She never really spoke about it but I could tell it terrified her.”

“You took her word?” Mendoza was sceptical.

“Wouldn’t you, if you loved someone?”

“First, I’d get to know them,” Mendoza muttered.

“Do you have the details of the doctor who diagnosed her with depression?” Deshpande intervened.

“I suggest you discuss her medical history with her parents.” Radha replied.

The drive to Shilpa’s parents’ house was long and slow. Traffic, dust and heat were getting on Deshpande’s nerves.

He glanced at Mendoza. Her eyes were locked on the traffic ahead, her face tense. Deshpande could tell working with the Deputy Superintendent was making her nervous. So far, she had managed to remain composed. He felt confident she would round up twice his achievements in half the time.

He wondered if marriage would be an impediment in her career advancement.

Mendoza had been procedural in her approach to the Shilpa Mogra suicide case. He didn’t expect her to share her thoughts on the case—that would be unprofessional—but he had to wonder how much being a part of the homicide division would affect decisions in her personal life.

Deshpande didn’t usually spend his time analysing his deputies. The fact that he was so close to retirement and that numerous marital crimes awaited a young Mendoza was making him philosophical. Also, Deshpande was the father of two grown daughters. The subject of marriage was more personal than he cared to admit.

Deshpande’s daughters were beautiful, accomplished, and completely opposed to the very idea of marriage. The older one complained that there were no men anymore, only man-children, whatever that meant. The younger one had grown up watching too many true crime shows. She was convinced marriage could be a threat to her very life!

Having examined almost two hundred corpses, Deshpande couldn’t question their cynicism, but he was a father after all. So, he did what any good parent would do. He went behind his daughters’ backs to look for alliances.

The reality check he had received had been devastating. Not only was he starting to understand the concept of open marriages, he was also taken aback by the rejection he faced at the hands of families. Him! He was the recipient of two bravery awards from the government. He had a hand-written letter of appreciation from the President herself. And yet, he couldn’t find one suitable boy for his beautiful and accomplished daughters.

No one wanted to marry into the family of a Deputy Superintendent of the police force. People were terrified of being implicated in a false dowry case. It didn’t help that his wife was a lawyer. She was in the real estate field but people glazed over that fact. The moment they heard the word ‘lawyer’, they assumed she was a prosecutor because of his profession.

Deshpande had never imagined he would witness respectable professions being shunned by hordes of families in his lifetime. He had come up with a solution that he thought was quite brilliant. Prenuptial contracts. Turned out Deshpande was the only one who considered his idea brilliant. Forget the prospective families, he and his idea were rejected by the matchmakers themselves.

Mendoza parked the car outside a fancy house that had tall gates.

He looked at the long list of gifts Shilpa’s parents had given her during the wedding. He felt all the more confounded.

“You’ve deposited quite a bit of money in her account,” he said to Shilpa’s father. “Not to mention, all this jewellery.”

“And a locker in a bank,” Mendoza added.

Shilpa’s husband was right. He hadn’t received anything massive directly. It was all in Shilpa’s name, locker included.

“I wanted my daughter to live comfortably.”

“You didn’t encourage her to work? Be independent?” Mendoza was baffled. Shilpa was a qualified accountant.

“She chose not to.” Her father had managed to maintain his composure thus far.

“Her in-laws mentioned she was diagnosed with depression. Was that why she didn’t work?”

The father scowled. “I’m sure they failed to tell you this diagnosis took place after her wedding. They were the ones depressing her!”

“They mentioned a traumatic event.” Deshpande pressed.

“Absolute lies!” Shilpa’s mother cried.

“We’d rather talk to the doctor.”

Shilpa’s father looked at Deshpande in shock. “You mean they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell us what?”

“The doctor died of a heart attack a month ago!”

Deshpande sipped his tea as he read the newspaper. The news had been rife about Shilpa’s parents lodging a case of dowry harassment at the time of his retirement a week ago. There was no mention of it in the local news section today. It was amazing how fast the news had moved on to the next sensational story while his officers were left to clean the mess and two families had to deal with the aftermath of public scrutiny after having lost a family member.

In the days prior to his retirement, they had discovered Shilpa’s husband had been the benefactor of her wealth and jewellery. That did not automatically classify her death as dowry harassment. Although the woman hadn’t worked, she had been smart with her money. She’d had an impressive investment portfolio.

It made no sense for her equally wealthy in-laws to kill her in the name of dowry. The facts didn’t deter the experts in the field from speculating that this was a case of harassment of some sort. It was baffling that Shilpa’s parents had made accusations against her in-laws on camera.

Another puzzling point was the absence of a suicide note. If Shilpa’s death was a murder made to look like suicide, her in-laws would have thought about planting a suicide note to absolve them of the crime. There was no note. Shilpa maintained no diary. There was little for his former team to go on.

Deshpande put the newspaper on the table and sat back in his chair. Shilpa’s phone records indicated she hadn’t been in regular contact with her family of origin. Yet, it was one of the former maids who had taken the initiative to reach out to his former team. The maid made a claim so outrageous that his team had to send her off.

The CCTV footage from Shilpa’s house proved that the girl went out every morning dressed in trackpants and a t-shirt. Her shoes were expensive, similar to the fancy brands his daughters preferred.

There was footage of her husband taking her out. While she wasn’t beaming with joy, her expressions seemed normal enough. Deshpande couldn’t figure out why the young woman had chosen to end herself.

He walked around in his empty house. His wife and daughters were at work. His older daughter, Neha, was a dentist. His younger daughter, Natasha, worked with his wife. He felt proud that Sitara’s business would continue long after she retired. Not that his wife planned to retire anytime soon.

Although phone calls from his former colleagues kept him busy, he could tell they would trickle down with time. His brigadier friend was out of the country, visiting his son. There would be no one at the club at this time. Deshpande felt desperate and despondent about the life that was ahead of him.

He spent the next two hours creating a profile on a dating website. He chose a modern sounding name and pretended to be a young female fashion designer looking for her ideal man. His hope was to redirect said man to one of his daughters.

The concept of finding social connections through the internet had been exciting at first. Deshpande would log in every morning to check his direct messages. After receiving two unsolicited pictures and three invitations to spend a day, night and an entire weekend with unknown men, Deshpande decided the world of online dating was not for him.

He paced around in his room, frustrated. His daughters had suggested he play chess online, write a book, start a true crime podcast or take up baking to pass the time.

After twenty days of chess, Deshpande had had enough. He didn’t have the talent to write a book, he wasn’t interested in reliving the horrors of his life, let alone sharing them on a podcast, and why on earth would he bake anything when electricity cost as much as it did?

His mind kept returning to Shilpa.

On a crisp Wednesday morning, Deshpande decided to at least try and find out what had happened to the woman. He decided the most logical starting point was the former maid.

During an official investigation, a detective could not encourage ridiculous theories. Deshpande had retired. He had all the time in the world to separate fact from fiction.

The maid, Kempi, had progressed in life. She had been the one to take care of her dying mother and ended up receiving the only assets her mother owned—two thick gold bangles. She sold the bangles and bought hens. Kempi was now the owner of thirty hens, and a seller of organic eggs. She lived in a small place far away from the city. It allowed her hens to run around freely.

She had betel nut stained teeth and spoke in a high voice.

“I worked in their house ten years ago Mister Sir,” she informed Deshpande.

Deshpande couldn’t, for the life of him, make her understand that he was to be addressed either as Mr. Deshpande or simply ‘Sir’. The drive through the traffic had exhausted him enough already.

He looked around the small piece of land that was practically a chicken coop. He swallowed the smell. It was a matter of minutes before his nostrils would get accustomed to his surroundings.

“What did you see there?” he asked.

“That girl, Shilpa, was possessed.” Kempi’s eyes widened in horror as she shook her head.

Ten years ago, Shilpa would have been fourteen. Deshpande cleared his throat to ask her why she thought Shilpa was possessed.

“Every once in a while, strange sounds could be heard from her room. The room would be locked. I was given strict orders to not sweep near the room when it was locked. They told me she had fits?”

Deshpande nodded to express his understanding.

“But it was not fits. My distant cousin had fits. People don’t look like they have seen the devil three days after they’ve had fits.” Kempi tipped her head in defiance.

“Hmm.” Deshpande was thoughtful. “Did her brother or sister have a similar problem?” Shilpa was the oldest of three children.

Kempi shook her head. “No.”

“Did you see a doctor or a priest around?”

Kempi thought for a moment. “There was a priest,” she replied. “Scary looking fellow.” She shuddered.

“How so?”

“Never smiled. Always stared. I could tell he didn’t like my presence in the house.” Her eyes narrowed as she remembered him. “His eyes were hollow. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Was he young or old?”

Kempi’s head bobbed as she tried to explain he was beyond young but not yet middle aged.

“How was Shilpa otherwise? On the days when she wasn’t locked up?”

Kempi’s head bobbed again. “She was okay, I guess. Quiet girl. Rarely spoke.”

Deshpande recalled that Shilpa’s sister-in-law had said the same thing about her. Shilpa spoke less and kept to herself. It had sounded strange to Deshpande’s ears. A person keeping to herself in her own house.

He thanked Kempi and checked the time. He could make it home before any of his family members arrived. He wanted to avoid their questions and subsequent comments on his nosiness.

It took him three days to track down the priest. Deshpande was proud to have done so without having to question the family or liquidating favours his former colleagues owed him.

The priest was indignant.

“Not all of us are frauds!” He glowered at Deshpande. “I was trying to help that child.”

Deshpande looked into the man’s eyes. Kempi was right. They were dark and dead. He couldn’t be blamed for assuming the man was evil.

“What were you helping her with?”

“I was trying to drive out the evil spirits that had started controlling her body.”

Deshpande closed his eyes for a second.

“Evil spirits?” he questioned, chewing on his lower lip so he wouldn’t blurt out a cutting remark.

“She used to get nightmares,” said the priest. “Wake up screaming and crying and just… trying to fight an invisible enemy. There was no reason for her to behave like that.”

“Did you ask her?” Deshpande was sceptical. If there was one thing he knew, it was that there was a reason for everything.

“Of course I did!” The priest was indignant again. “I even conducted a hypnosis ritual to elicit the information out of her.” He shook his head. “She wouldn’t say anything. It was as though the devil got her tongue.”

“You mean cat.” Deshpande couldn’t help himself.

The priest was confused. “What?”

“Never mind. So, you couldn’t get information out of her and assumed she was possessed by evil spirits?”

“That was my conclusion, yes.”

“Did she respond to, uh… treatment?”

“No idea.” The priest shrugged. “Two months after I was invited by the family, they said her nightmares had stopped. I didn’t have reason to be around.”

“You don’t know if she responded to treatment but the nightmares stopped. That means whatever you did was effective, right?”

“I don’t comment unless I verify.” The priest was firm. “You have to understand, my services don’t come cheap.”

“They’re a well-to-do family.”

“That doesn’t mean they wanted to spend all their money on me.”

Deshpande started to leave but the man stopped him.

“You know, it did occur to me years later that I could have been wrong.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Let’s say I have a better understanding of human nature now.” He pursed his lips. “Her problem could have been psychological. I hope they terminated my services because they decided to take her to a doctor. A good doctor.”

“The girl committed suicide.” Deshpande reminded him.

“Well, in that case, bad doctor.” The priest frowned.

Deshpande decided to call in a favour after all. There was no point in taking a pile of uninvoked favours to the grave. He invited Thimmegowda to the Officer’s Club for a drink.

Thimmegowda parted open a jumbo cashew nut, checked to see if there was anything inside, and put it in his mouth. He chewed the cashew nut and kept his gaze on his glass of whiskey. He had worked with Deshpande for two decades. He figured he had earned the right to ask what his ex-boss was up to. Now, if only he had the courage to voice his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Deshpande studied Thimmegowda.

Thimmegowda had been posted to a rural area when he was new to the force. The rural area had cashew nuts, sure, but he had been warned that the cashew nuts might have developed worms. That was the reason he had started examining cashew nuts before eating them. He was yet to find a worm in his cashew nuts but that didn’t stop him.

Deshpande was certain the high-grade jumbo cashew nuts supplied to the Officer’s Club would have zero worms. Now, if only he could convince Thimmegowda that someone had probably meant it as a prank all those years ago.

“We have closed the investigation,” said Thimmegowda. “Only court appearances are pending. I’ve asked Mendoza to handle them. The amount of influence Shilpa’s in-laws have, I think the case might be closed soon. They might even sue her family for defamation.” He watched Deshpande from the rim of his glass.

“I thought you’d be enjoying retirement, sir,” he said cautiously.

Deshpande whirled his drink.

“On the force, a case is a case,” he began. “There is no time to think. The lessons we learn are fleeting moments of thought, lost once another body is found.”

He looked up at Thimmegowda. “I’m unable to shake the feeling that there’s more to see than what we have been shown. Why would a seemingly nice girl, who had no problems whatsoever, do this to herself? Death by hanging is brutal and the modus operandi is common in dowry harassment cases.”

“She was mentally unwell.” Thimmegowda shrugged, thinking about the farm he had planned to invest in so he could grow tomatoes after he retired. That was ten long years away.

“Is that what both families are claiming?” Deshpande asked.

Thimmegowda took the last sip of his drink. “Yes.” He put the glass down. “Shilpa’s parents denied knowledge of her needing any kind of counselling but changed their minds when they were shown documentation. They tried to accuse their in-laws for mental torture because Shilpa, apparently, had never needed assistance with mental health. Shilpa’s in-laws presented friends who claimed Shilpa was disturbed. Messy case. Taking it to court was the wrong decision.” He shook his head.

“Well, someone had to take the blame for Shilpa’s death and it wouldn’t be her family of origin.” Deshpande commented. “Did her in-laws tell us why they lied about the psychiatrist?”

“Wanted to avoid embarrassment is what they said at first. When we threatened to give them the third degree, they confessed they had started believing Shilpa was unlucky.”

Deshpande, who was about to take a swig, stopped midway. “Unlucky?”

Thimmegowda shrugged again. “What can I say, boss? They quoted the psychiatrist’s death as proof that Shilpa was cursed.”

“That’s a bit preposterous, isn’t it?”

Thimmegowda nodded. “The thing is, they were uncomfortable with all the gifts Shilpa’s parents had given her. It was almost as if they never wanted to hear from her again. There were two festivals in the eight months that Shilpa was married. There was little contact between the families. They live in the same city! The in-laws started wondering if there was a reason her parents had been so eager to get her married off.”

“So they concluded she was cursed?” Deshpande couldn’t help but think of Kempi and the priest.

“That’s what they believed.”

“I see.” He glanced at Thimmegowda. So far, the man had been forthcoming with information. He took a chance.

“This psychiatrist,” he said, “Did you manage to get access to his diagnosis?”

Thimmegowda opened another cashew nut. “He had given an initial diagnosis of depression. From what I gathered, he suspected there was a deeper problem. He was considering hypnotherapy.”

Deshpande remembered the priest had tried to hypnotize her, and hadn’t succeeded. Perhaps the doctor had better techniques.

“I suppose it has to do with the trauma her husband mentioned. Was there any talk of that?”

“No one knows,” Thimmegowda replied, getting restless. He had promised his wife he’d be home for dinner.

Deshpande sensed the man’s impatience and asked for the bill.

“Did her case not get forwarded to another doctor?” he asked while they waited.

“It was in the process,” Thimmegowda replied. “But she passed before that.”

“Are we certain this doctor’s death was by natural causes?” Deshpande asked as he paid the bill.

Thimmegowda looked at his ex-boss begrudgingly. The man was thorough, to say the least. Thankfully, he had worked with him long enough to expect some of that obsession with detail.

“It was ruled a heart attack,” he replied. “He was a heart patient. As per his traditions, he was cremated,” he added before Deshpande could ask where the body was.

“Too late for an autopsy, then.” Deshpande quipped.

The days dragged on. Deshpande started going on morning walks to pass the time. He read the newspaper from end to end. He tried watching some of the shows his younger daughter raved about. The shows, mostly crime fiction, reminded him of the unsolved mystery of Shilpa’s death.

Although Deshpande had handled one-hundred-and-ninety-nine murders in his career, he hadn’t solved them all. He had sixty cold cases to his name. A few had bothered him, yes, but none as greatly as Shilpa’s suicide. He supposed it was because Shilpa’s suicide was his last active case?

His gaze wandered to a family photo hanging on the wall. He thought he looked like roasted yam in that picture. His wife looked beautiful and both his daughters were smiling genuine smiles. It was one of those family trips where the happy memories outnumbered the arguments.

He wanted his daughters to smile and laugh all their lives. It was the tragedy of his last case being that of the death of a new bride that was eating at him. His only tasks in life were to make sure his daughters were well taken care of. He couldn’t do that when Shilpa’s death remained a mystery.

Much to the bewilderment of his wife, Deshpande volunteered to get a health check-up. He insisted on going to a particular hospital. He couldn’t tell Sitara it was the hospital in which Shilpa’s psychiatrist had worked. Instead, he accepted the possibility of his wife starting to think he was going mad.

He had scoped out the hospital when he had gone for the health check-up the previous day. He insisted he would get the reports himself although the hospital was a ten minute drive from Neha’s dental clinic. Sitara had mumbled something about petrol being as expensive as electricity.

Deshpande had just started snooping around when he ran into a person he recognized—Shilpa’s brother. He was wearing a white coat.

He looked at the young man quizzically.

“I’m a first year medical student, sir,” the young man informed him. His name tag read Parag. Deshpande couldn’t get used to the fact that the younger generation preferred first names even at work. He shuddered at the thought of having to address Mendoza as Meena. He tried to remember Thimmegowda’s first name.

“Sir, are you alright?” Parag asked.

Deshpande licked his lips. He didn’t want this young chap to think he was having a stroke.

“Yes, yes. I’m alright. I need to visit the restroom.”

It was only when Deshpande looked around before skipping the turn to the restroom did it occur to him that Parag had seemed nervous. Decades of experience told him it wasn’t the anxiety of being a first year medical student. Also, he needed a better plan than wandering aimlessly in a big hospital.

Deshpande’s medical report indicated he was borderline diabetic. He grumbled about having to spend all that money only for his daughters to breathe down his neck about his sugar intake. He reminded himself that he lived in the age of food delivery. Now, all he had to do was think of a way to get rid of the extra trash.

It took him a week to realize he didn’t have to have anything delivered. All his family members worked. He could get out of the house whenever he wanted without having to explain. Even if he did have to explain, he was a grown man who could get bored in the house and go out for a drive!

It would be another week before Deshpande would realize that the Officer’s Club was as good as an excuse as a drive in the traffic.

He managed to get in and out of his house a couple of times before he dared to visit a bakery near the hospital where Parag worked. He had managed to remember the name of Shilpa’s psychiatrist in the meantime. The fact that Shilpa’s psychiatrist worked in the same hospital where her brother had been assigned was interesting.

He had checked the time line, too.

Shilpa had been visiting Dr. Dutta for a month before the medical colleges assigned students to hospitals. Dutta had died a short month after Parag had joined the hospital. This was too much to even be termed as coincidence. Even more ridiculous was the fact that Thimmegowda’s first name continued to elude him.

It took two more attempts of hanging out near the bakery for Deshpande to find and make conversation with another psychiatrist who worked at the hospital.

He learned that Dr. Dutta suspected Shilpa had witnessed something horrific when she was young. Whatever she had witnessed was locked deep in the recesses of her mind. It would take more than one session to gently coax it out.

Deshpande started to wonder what Shilpa could have witnessed when the doctor lowered his voice.

“You’re investigating her death, correct?”

“Unofficially.” Deshpande whispered.

“That doesn’t matter to me. I think Dr. Dutta was starting to make progress,” he revealed.

“Oh?”

“Shilpa had started getting nightmares again.”

“Again?”

“Yeah,” said the doctor. “She used to get nightmares when she lived with her family of origin. They had stopped soon after she got married. They resumed once she started seeing Dutta.”

“Was Shilpa’s case going to be assigned to you?” Deshpande was curious to know how this doctor knew so much about Shilpa’s case.

“I had started looking into it but her husband said they were planning to change doctors.”

“Oh?”

He thought about his next words. “Mind if I do some guesswork? I could be totally wrong.”

“Not at all. Anything you say will be helpful.”

“And anonymous?”

“And anonymous.” Deshpande promised.

The doctor let out a slow breath. “I think they were planning to discontinue Shilpa’s treatment.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Her husband was somewhat hostile. I figured her nightmares bothered him.”

Deshpande couldn’t outright ask for Dutta’s notes.

“You know quite a bit about a case that you didn’t get to work on,” he commented casually. “Dutta must have been a compulsive note taker.” He looked at his watch to give the impression that he wasn’t really interested in officially breaking the law.

“Oh, I don’t have his notes,” said the doctor, assessing Deshpande. “Outdated files are kept in the record room.” His eyes crinkled in thought. “I think they stay there until they rot.”

“I see.”

“Access is restricted, of course.”

“Of course.”

Deshpande selected the dullest shirt he owned and paired it with tailored black trousers. He combed his hair neatly and found a surgical mask he could use. He had already memorized the names of a few specialist doctors who worked in the hospital.

Once again, he used the excuse of having to go to the restroom to slip out of the reception area. He extracted his policeman ID card and clipped it the wrong way to his trousers. There was no access card attached to his ID, of course. That had been taken away when he had retired. But with a card clipped to his trousers, people might pause to wonder if he was, actually, a hospital employee.

It took him a few minutes but he found his way to the record room. It was at the end of a corridor. Entry required an access card. The good news was it was unmanned. Even better, the camera was pointed at the corridor. He could enter the record room undetected.

It was almost lunchtime. Hospital staff had to have lunch quickly, and they had to cover for their colleagues. Deshpande waited at a corner for a suitable target.

Five minutes later, a ward boy appeared. He seemed disgruntled, and was in a hurry. Deshpande charged towards him. They collided.

Deshpande had applied enough force that the ward boy, who was already in a hurry, lost his balance. Deshpande reached out and held him so he wouldn’t fall.

“Have you lost your mind, man?” The ward boy yelled once he had regained his balance.

Deshpande started to mumble an apology but the ward boy stopped him.

“This is restricted ar…”

Deshpande began coughing in a sickly manner. He made a show of gasping for air through his mask.

“Bron… bronchitis…” he managed to whisper.

The ward boy’s eyes widened. “You shouldn’t be here. Are you here to see Dr. Malik?”

Deshpande pressed his chest and nodded.

“Second floor.”

“Can I…” He pointed at a bench.

“Sure, sure,” said the ward boy. “Rest here if you must but be gone before I’m back from lunch.”

Deshpande nodded again.

Once the ward boy was out of sight, Deshpande returned to the record room. He didn’t think access to this room was restricted. Anyone with a general access card should be able to enter. He was right.

While not as dusty as he had expected it to be, the record room was chaotic. Thankfully, the wiring was part of the main electrical system. The motion sensors lit the room as soon as he entered. He put on his disposable gloves.

Since Dutta had passed recently, he didn’t think the folder that belonged to him would be shoved to the back of a shelf. He put his hands on his waist and looked around.

It was difficult to differentiate the old folders from the new ones in the bright light. A few seconds of observation revealed the spots and cracks on the surfaces of files that had resided in the record room for months. It took a minute more for him to spot the folder named Dutta.

He rummaged around and found the file named Mogra. He opened it to be sure it belonged to Shilpa. In it were handwritten notes detailing Dutta’s sessions with Shilpa. He extracted the sheets, folded them neatly and pocketed them. He placed the file in the folder, opened the door and walked out confidently.

He dropped the access card close to the bench he had pretended to rest on, threw his gloves in the dustbin and exited the hospital, pleased with himself.

A terrifying sight awaited him at home. His older daughter, his wife and his younger daughter stood in a semi-circle in the living room. Their arms were crossed and they were glaring at him.

He couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong. He had finished his lunch soon after they had left, which was shortly after breakfast. There was no way for them to know how long he had been gone. Unless… No, they wouldn’t.

“What?” he asked, hoping he sounded as stern as he did with his deputies.

“Where were you?” Sitara barked.

No matter how stern he sounded, his wife managed to find a tougher tone in a volume that was ten decibels higher.

“Can’t a man go out to have juice?” he tried to sound as accusatory as he could.

Sitara stepped forward menacingly.

“Didn’t take you a year to start having an affair!” Sitara’s accusation resonated with emotion.

Deshpande blinked in absolute confusion. Affair? Wherever did they get that idea from?

Before he could respond, his younger daughter, Natasha, shouted from her position in the now broken semi-circle.

“Who is he?”

Deshpande’s hurriedly prepared response disappeared from his throat.

“What?” he reacted instead.

“Really, Raj,” Sitara began, “After all these years. You think you know a person.” She blinked rapidly, and Deshpande could see her eyes were filled with tears.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We found your online dating profile!” Natasha shouted.

Deshpande closed his eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

Neha spoke up.

“Pretending to be a woman to trap men and then forgetting to log out of the account? Really Dad, I thought I had taught you well.”

Deshpande opened his mouth but Natasha beat him to it.

“Don’t try to lie!” she shouted again. “We checked the CCTV. You have been sneaking out of the house almost every day!”

“Stop shouting, Natasha.”

“You stop ordering my daughter!” Sitara fired back. “You left an hour after we left this morning but the lunch has been eaten. What are you, packing tiffin for your lover?”

“Alright!” Deshpande roared. His yelling scared Natasha but the situation called for it. “Sit down all of you!”

Reluctantly, he explained what he had been up to since his retirement. The three women were quiet.

“Earlier, I could afford to push my thoughts away,” he explained. “Suppress my feelings and move on to the next case.” He stared off into space, his gaze hard.

Shilpa and Ajay had belonged to wealthy families. And yet, he was haunted by the image of a young woman who was older than his younger daughter and younger than his older daughter.

He looked at his daughters, then at Sitara. His wife seemed to understand.

Natasha got up and sat next to him. “We’re sorry we doubted you, Daddy.”

She put her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair.

“Nothing in your story explains why you created a profile on a dating website.” Neha pointed out.

Natasha sat up straight and looked at him. “Neha is right.” To her sister, “You’re a better detective than I am.” She looked at Deshpande again, waiting for an explanation.

Deshpande wanted to pull his hair out. With his teeth gritted, he admitted to having created a fake profile to scout for potential sons-in-law.

One good thing about being caught in the act was he didn’t have to worry about giving explanations to his family anymore. Shilpa’s case had moved his daughters so much that they had forgotten to lecture him for interfering in their lives.

Relieved, Deshpande sent them all to work the next day and began reading Dutta’s notes.

Dutta believed Shilpa was suffering from general depression and anxiety. He had prescribed mood stabilizers. However, deeper into the sessions, he began suspecting Shilpa wasn’t simply anxious. She was borderline neurotic. She had learnt to hide the extent of her fears on matters as simple as branded shoes wearing out before their guarantee period.

It seemed to Deshpande that Shilpa was living in a fog. She couldn’t discern which matter required serious consideration and which incident was just part of being human. She seemed to dread life itself.

Deshpande folded the sheets of paper and sat pondering.

The combination of trauma, nightmares and neurosis had to have a point of origin. Whatever had caused the unrest in her mind had also driven her to take the extreme step of ending her life. Deshpande was certain there was no police investigation required in the Shilpa Mogra suicide case.

Deshpande was no longer a policeman. He was a husband and a father. The father in him wanted answers.

He read everything he could about the sensational case. The judge had dismissed the case a month ago. There were few updates after that. Only one journalist from a small outlet was following the case. His last article on the case was about closure. It seemed to Deshpande that everyone had accepted Shilpa was gone and were picking up the pieces of their lives.

He closed all the tabs and stared at the blank window on his laptop screen. The dating website he had created a profile on still appeared on his shortcuts. Although Deshpande used apps on his smartphone, he believed an activity as serious as creating a profile required a bigger screen.

He told himself that he would remember to delete browser history. He even tried it out. The shortcut to the dating website disappeared from the default screen on the browser.

He opened another window, just in case, and typed the address of a popular social media website.

He needed to create an account if he was to snoop through profiles. The idea of a Deputy Superintendent having social media accounts had seemed ridiculous to him when he was in service. He was reluctant to create a real account. He used the same fake details that he had on the dating website.

Ajay hadn’t been active for a few weeks. Either he had been advised to stay away from social media until the case against his family was closed or he was really grieving his wife. Deshpande chose to believe the latter.

Lata Mogra also had an account on social media. She chaired the residents’ committee in her area. She was responsible for the maintenance of the local park.

Shilpa’s father, it seemed, was a fan of famous quotes. His last post was a quote by Haruki Murakami about death being a part of life.

Deshpande found the social media profiles of Shilpa’s sister and her brother. They were private.

He was considering sending a request to both of them when the doorbell rang. Surprised, Deshpande went to open the door.

It was his daughter, Neha.

“It’s a slow day, Dad. I took the day off.”

“Is everything alright?” Deshpande followed her to the living room, concerned.

“Just a headache.”

“Shall I oil and massage your head?” he asked.

Neha scowled at him. She softened after a moment and said, “If you don’t mind.”

Her eyes drifted to the laptop screen. She groaned.

“Not Shanaya Raichund again.”

‘Shanaya Raichund’ was Deshpande’s idea of a modern name.

“I was investigating.”

Deshpande had decided to send a friend request to Parag.

“Is this the medical student?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I think he might accept a request from another doctor,” said Neha.

“You mean he can reject my request?” Deshpande was shocked.

Neha rolled her eyes.

“Shanaya Raichund sounds suspiciously filmy,” she said. “And fake.”

“Didn’t stop the fellows on the dating site.” Deshpande muttered and stood behind Neha, ready to massage her head.

The doorbell rang again.

“What is this, a supermarket?” Deshpande grumbled and opened the door.

It was their next door neighbour. She peered into the house.

“I thought Sitara was home.”

Neha glared at Parvati Aunty. She knew very well that the pink scooter belonged to Neha.

“Um… she’s at work,” Deshpande replied, flustered. He was not used to house calls. He wasn’t sure if he should offer tea. Invite her in, perhaps?

He turned to Neha. She was sitting firmly on the sofa.

“Oh, Neha? How are you?” Parvati asked.

Deshpande thought her tone was smug.

“Fine, Aunty.” Neha stood up. “I’ll ask Mom to call you when she returns.”

“No problem. You didn’t go to the clinic today?”

Parvati didn’t seem interested in coming inside. Neha didn’t seem interested in going outside. Confused, Deshpande stepped back.

“Half day.”

“Oh.” Parvati’s eyebrows raised. “My Ananya doesn’t get half day.” She turned to Deshpande. “She had to compensate for the two hours she took to get a check-up.”

“Ub..buh…” Deshpande blathered. “Is she alright?”

“She’s pregnant.” Neha filled in, still standing put by the sofa.

“Oh… Uh, congratulations.”

“Five months!” Parvati gloated.

She glanced at Neha when she realized her words weren’t having the desired effect on Deshpande. Neha parted her lips in a smile as fake as Shanaya Raichund’s profile.

Parvati quickly excused herself, leaving a wide eyed Deshpande at the door.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Ananya is as old as me.” Neha replied.

Once again, Deshpande was confused.

“Parag has accepted my request. We can now see his profile,” said Neha.

Thirty minutes later, Neha put her phone down. It was time for lunch. Surprisingly, her headache was gone. She supposed the strength in her father’s fingers came from bashing one too many crooks.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked Deshpande.

Deshpande mixed his rice and thought about it. Parag’s profile had pictures of a few milestones in his life, outings with friends and a few posts about life as a medical student.

“I haven’t thought about it,” he replied.

“I hope you’re not expecting a confession on social media,” Neha joked.

Deshpande didn’t know what to say to that.

“Murders are not that easy to solve,” he managed to say.

“It was a joke, Dad. Anyway, this was a suicide. The only confession one can expect is from Shilpa’s ghost.” she snorted.

Deshpande started to tell her death was not a laughing matter but stopped.

“Open that profile again,” he said.

Neha unlocked her phone and showed him Parag’s profile. One of the posts in Parag’s account was about a cadaver becoming possessed and attacking the medical student dissecting him. In his description of the picture, Parag insisted ghosts didn’t exist.

He scrolled down to another picture from a couple of years ago. A younger Parag stood in front of a ramshackle bungalow. The bungalow was rumoured to be haunted. Parag’s description read that ghosts were a figment of fear.

Why would Parag go out of his way to challenge a belief for no reason?

Deshpande had no authority to question Parag. Even so, Parag looked like the kind of guy who would respond only when threatened with the third degree.

Threatened.

Deshpande was certain a mere threat would undo the fellow.

Obviously, Deshpande couldn’t threaten him. He wondered if he could blackmail him. He started following Parag.

After a week of following him, Deshpande concluded Parag’s life was too hectic and boring for evidence of crime to show up. He was, after all, a student.

He decided to test if the student had a conscience.

It wasn’t that difficult to engineer a series of coincidental run ins. Parag left home at a certain time, took the same bus to college, had lunch in the canteen, and a cup of tea at a stall outside his college before heading home. On the days he went to the hospital, he worked shifts but almost always visited another tea stall outside the hospital.

The first time Parag noticed the old policeman was in the college canteen. The man was already having lunch. He wasn’t sure whether to speak to him or not.

Deshpande caught Parag’s eye and waved casually. By the time Parag brought his lunch to the dining area, Deshpande had already left.

Two days later, Parag caught sight of Deshpande at the bakery opposite to the tea stall outside the hospital. Deshpande was talking to Dr. Singh, the psychiatrist who was supposed to takeover from Dr. Dutta. Again, Deshpande caught Parag’s eye, waved and turned his attention to whatever Dr. Singh was saying.

The third time Parag saw Deshpande, he was certain the old policeman was on a mission to drive him crazy. He had no way to prove it though. The man was already sitting in the bus he took to college!

Parag decided he was going to confront the old policeman if he saw him around again.

Nothing happened for the next three days.

On Thursday afternoon, Parag started to feel relieved. The appearance of the policeman must have been a coincidence, after all.

He went to the tea stall and ordered a ginger lime tea.

“I’ll have the same,” said a familiar voice.

Parag froze for a moment. He turned around slowly to see Deshpande smiling at him.

“I’ll pay for your tea.” Deshpande handed the money to the cashier.

He handed Parag his glass of tea. Parag followed him quietly to a parapet wall nearby.

“This is about Shilpa, isn’t it?” Parag asked, once they’d sat on the wall and sipped their tea.

“Why do you say that?” Deshpande’s eyes sparkled with glee.

“You’re practically harassing me.” Parag snarled.

“There, there, son. A series of coincidences can hardly be termed harassment.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ll take whatever you want to tell me.” Deshpande tilted his chin as he studied the expression on Parag’s face. “A confession, perhaps?”

Parag glared at him. His glance shifted to a few of his classmates who were watching his interaction with the old man. They were far enough to not hear what was being said but their faces reflected curiosity.

“My sister offed herself.” He managed to maintain his composure.

“I’m sure she didn’t wake up one morning and decide to ‘off’ herself.” Deshpande’s gaze was stern.

Stern enough to make the young man gulp.

“Listen, I haven’t committed any crime…” he began.

“Aha! But you have done something?”

Parag looked around. “Let’s go to the park nearby.”

“Will you promise to leave me alone if I tell you?” Parag asked, once they were seated on a bench.

“Not if you’ve broken the law.”

“I haven’t broken any law.” Parag breathed out and stared at the ground for a long moment.

“Shilpa witnessed an accident when she was thirteen,” he began. “Looking back now, I don’t think it was an accident. Basically, she saw a train run over a man.”

“Gruesome sight, that,” Deshpande commented.

“Yeah. I didn’t understand then. But I do now. It changes you. Watching a living, breathing human one moment and then there’s a bunch of limbs strewn all over the place.”

“Spare me the details. What does this have to do with you feeling guilty about her death?”

Parag looked at Deshpande in shock. “What do you mean… guilt?”

“You tell me.”

He breathed in through his teeth. “Guess all those years as a policeman teaches you to sniff out emotions.” He stared at Deshpande. “Bet you loved giving men the third degree.”

Deshpande patted Parag’s back. “You will feel better if you get it out of your system, son.”

“Fine.” Parag gritted his teeth. “I heard my mother and my aunt have a conversation one day. Shilpa was getting nightmares about the incident. Mom was concerned. She wanted to take Shilpa to a doctor. My aunt advised against it because the doctor would recommend a head doctor who would then medicate Shilpa or give her electric shocks.” His eyes roamed the park as he spoke.

“My aunt convinced Mom that Shilpa would definitely go crazy if she was taken to a doctor. Mom suspected Shilpa was already losing it. Aunt started lecturing my mother on how no one would want to marry a mad girl.

“Seven-year-old me thought this was a good subject to have fun. I played a few pranks and convinced my sister she was being haunted by the man’s ghost.”

“At seven years old?” Deshpande was baffled.

“It’s not easy to get into medical college.” Parag shrugged. “You have to be born smart.”

“A little too smart,” Deshpande muttered.

Parag glared at him.

“I’m guessing Shilpa’s nightmares worsened,” Deshpande prompted.

“Yeah. They got so bad, Mom decided to call a priest. But then the neighbours started asking questions. Mom was quite worried. I have another sister, you know?”

“I see.”

“I was a mischievous kid in general. My school principal recommended I be sent to boarding school. By then, my parents were worried about me too.”

He looked down, and Deshpande could tell he was ashamed.

“I never admitted to anyone that Shilpa was losing her mind because of me. When I returned the following year, I learnt she had figured it out. She couldn’t understand how I could have been so cruel to my own sister. I saw firsthand how terrified my mother had become of letting Shilpa go anywhere. Mom was afraid Shilpa was… born abnormal. Like, unlucky.” He clenched his jaw.

“Did you tell them the truth?”

Parag looked away. “I assured Shilpa I would… but when the moment came… I couldn’t.”

Deshpande’s glare was unyielding.

“Shilpa was accused of being delusional. Either that, or she was a liar. In spite of all this, my sister managed to complete her Bachelor’s degree. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t get rid of the stigma she faced at home.” He glanced at Deshpande. “In our own house.”

“Clearly, none of this was enough for you to come clean.”

“Call me a coward but I can’t face my dad’s anger or my mom’s tears.”

“So you let your sister bear the brunt of a traumatic event and a series of cruel pranks.”

“I feel bad about it every day, sir.” He paused to stare at his knuckles. “Her nightmares stopped. My family was relieved when Shilpa decided to get married. Then, I got a seat in a medical college here. I moved back home.”

“That’s when her nightmares started again?”

“As fate would have it, I had a cold. I had wrapped myself in a blanket and was drinking a hot cup of tea when she came to the house. She freaked out. Seeing her in that state, Mom lost her temper and said a bunch of mean things. I think that was the last time she came home.”

Deshpande took a deep breath.

“She started seeing a doctor,” he said.

Parag shook his head. “That turned out to be even worse. She was already descending into depression. That was not the time to remember the specifics of all she had seen at the railway tracks all those years ago.”

“Radha Mogra had a few thoughts on that.”

Parag closed his eyes. “I guess Shilpa suspected her mother-in-law would succeed in convincing her husband to leave her. Our family had already failed to be compassionate about the incident all those years ago. There’s no way Shilpa would come to us in the event of a divorce.”

Deshpande thought about all the money and the gifts Shilpa had received at her wedding. Surely, she could have gathered the courage to start her life again?

“I understand how hurtful society can be…” he began.

Parag cut him short with a look. “No, you don’t.”

Deshpande started saying he did understand but the look in Parag’s eyes stopped him.

“It wasn’t others. It was us. When your own people abandon you, your mind retreats to the dark alleys of hopelessness. Shilpa faced repeated, relentless attacks on her confidence. Mother was always afraid she’d do something that would bring embarrassment to the family. It’s hard to climb out of such deep trenches.”

Deshpande didn’t know what to say.

“I know it looks like a little too less a little too late but you have to believe me. I did try talking to her. Said I was on her side. But by then, she was so worried about her marriage… Our mother tried so hard to make sure Shilpa did not seem crazy, only for Shilpa to get married into a family that was convinced she was crazy. Not to mention, unlucky.”

Parag’s eyes were brimming with tears. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

Deshpande’s steps were slow and heavy as he made his way home. He had disembarked a few stations before his actual stop so he could walk. Walking cleared his mind.

As devious as Parag had been in his childhood, he couldn’t be convicted of a crime. Besides, it wasn’t his stupidity that had driven Shilpa over the edge.

He was also convinced Dr. Dutta’s death was an accelerant to the deterioration of Shilpa’s state. It was unfortunate the doctor was a heart patient. Deshpande was fairly certain Dutta’s death was from natural causes.

He paused to take a deep breath. He was certain neither Sitara nor he had made their daughters feel as rejected as Shilpa must have felt. Rejected to the point of feeling unwanted, and for no fault of her own.

Yet, there were times during the last few years when arguments with his daughters seared his heart. He wasn’t hurt as much by their words as he was by the sense of betrayal they felt towards him. Crushed by the resentment in their eyes.

He thought back to the day Parvati had dropped by the house. How she had been gloating about Ananya being pregnant while also working a tough job. He remembered Parvati’s animosity towards Neha when both girls were growing up. Neha had always been the better student at school.

Although Neha had swiftly changed the focus to Parag’s profile that day, Deshpande hadn’t missed the look of dejection in her eyes. He hadn’t understood then, but he did now. It hurt his daughter to think she had let him down.

But she hadn’t let him down. He was, in fact, proud of both his daughters. But what he had expressed the last year or so was mostly disappointment. Disappointment so strong that Neha had started considering moving to another city. It was her attachment to Natasha that had stopped her from doing so.

At times, Deshpande would insist that all he wanted was for his daughters to be well settled. Sitara would point out that when executed under pressure, any event can become unsettling. Deshpande was guilty of feeling strong resentment towards his wife for not being more traditional.

But Shilpa’s family had been traditional. Like any family that desired a good standing in society, they had pushed prickly problems under the rug. The compulsive desire to appear perfect had taken a toll on the relationships within the household.

Deshpande wanted no such thing for his family. He genuinely wanted the women in his life to be happy. He was certain his daughters were normal enough to value a peaceful family life.

Perhaps he should worry less about the future and cherish the life he had now.

Deshpande noticed Sitara’s car and Neha’s scooter were parked outside their house. Strange. All three of them couldn’t have finished their work early. He rushed to his house, hoping everything was alright.

“Surprise!!!!” The three women greeted him. They were all dressed up and wore party hats.

Deshpande was flustered.

“It’s your actual birthday tomorrow!” Sitara reminded him.

“Oh. Well, yes.” Deshpande bumbled.

“We’re having a party!” Natasha squealed.

“But you just said my birthday is tomorrow!”

Neha walked up to him and locked her arm in his.

“There’s another surprise!” Her eyes gleamed with joy.

“It’s the first time we know for sure that you will be present with us to celebrate your birthday,” said Sitara.

“Yes! Remember Daddy, in 2015, we had to celebrate your birthday without you!”

“Right.” Deshpande smiled awkwardly.

That evening in 2015, he had been called to investigate a double murder. Neither his wife nor his daughters had made a fuss. They hadn’t even interrogated him. They simply understood.

“So, we’ve taken the celebrations a step further and planned a weekend getaway!” Neha revealed.

His heart overflowed with joy upon seeing the excitement on Neha’s face. In all his years as a police officer, he had spent countless nights away from his family. He had missed many special occasions. Many times, his duty had made his daughters cry for the father they missed. Nevertheless, they always welcomed him when he returned.

Deshpande couldn’t understand what had got into him during the last few years. Haranguing his daughters to do the things that would create a false sense of safety for him. He felt disgusted with himself.

“Dad!” Neha’s voice brought him back to the present moment.

“We will be going on this weekend trip, right?” Doubt flickered in her eyes.

Deshpande blinked his disgust away and smiled at his daughter.

“Of course,” he replied. “Now, where’s my cake?”