The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3 Read online

  Her body was calm, her face expressionless, her eyes blank.

  But her hand flew to her hair.

  And something clicked in Darya's head.

  Her father called on her way back. She parked the jeep on the side of the road and answered.

  ‘Yeah, Pa?’ she said. She was in no mood to talk, especially not with her father right then.

  ‘What're you doing?’ her father asked.

  ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘We received the things you sent home,’ he said.

  ‘Great,’ Darya said and chewed on her lower lip, waiting for him to continue.

  ‘What's wrong?’ her father asked.

  She relaxed. He mustn't know. Not yet.

  Softening her voice, she asked, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘No comment about how much work was involved and that we should be grateful to you for taking time out to be there, etc., etc.,’

  Darya laughed weakly, brushing some hair away from her face. ‘You were unwell, and it was only —’

  ‘Darya, what's the matter?’ her father asked.

  She sighed. ‘Okay, fine,’ she said. ‘I went to meet Veronica.’

  ‘Who?’ her father asked, puzzled.

  ‘Your brother's paramour,’ she said sourly.

  A sharp breath. Silence. Static.

  ‘Pa?’ she asked, wondering if the connection was off.

  ‘Why, D?’ he said, through gritted teeth. ‘I told you not to.’

  ‘I had to find out,’ she whispered.

  ‘Find out what?’ her father said, his voice rising in anger. ‘Why can't you just listen to what I say?’

  ‘Because for once, Pa, you are wrong,’ Darya replied, her tone matching his. ‘Your brother is no angel. He lived in with her, never marrying her and left her and his own son nothing. Nothing! No money at all.’

  ‘Darya, what are you shouting for?’

  They fell into an angry silence. Darya counted her breath and tried to calm down.

  ‘What did she want?’ her father asked finally.

  ‘Nothing,’ Darya said grumpily. Then with thinly veiled censure—‘That boy is your nephew, by the way.’

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ her father said. ‘From the beginning.’

  She told him.

  Cars whizzed past as she talked. Passers-by threw her curious glances. A stray dog sniffed at the tires.

  She finished.

  A prolonged silence on the other end.

  ‘Well, at least something came out of all this,’ her father said eventually.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Darya asked.

  ‘You met her. And they know now they can get nothing from Pari's death.’

  ‘We have to help them, Pa,’ Darya said softly, pleading. ‘She doesn't have much.’

  ‘We don't either,’ her father said.

  ‘Maybe if we sold or gave Sea Swept up on rent....’

  ‘Yes, maybe,’ her father said, but she heard the evasiveness in his voice.

  ‘Your bother was no saint, you know,’ Darya said.

  ‘Farideh was already dead,’ her father said irritably ‘And now he's dead too. Why don't you let them rest in peace?’

  ‘How can you not care about this, Pa?’ Darya asked. ‘The boy is his blood. It doesn't look like he treated them very well either.’

  ‘I doubt she had much going for her anyway,’ he said.

  Darya did not reply. She was disappointed by her father's behaviour.

  ‘Are you getting the papers with you?’ her father asked.

  ‘Uh, huh,’ Darya said.

  ‘Come home soon. Your mother misses you,’ her father said. ‘I don't know how you're able to stay away from the office for so long. Is everything all right there?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied shortly.

  ‘And what about Spandan?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘Like always,’ Darya replied.

  ‘You're behaving oddly, Darya,’ he said. ‘You've stopped talking to your mother. Such a long holiday you've taken. Spandan is calling us instead of you. Naturally, we are getting worried.’

  ‘I'm fine, Pa’ in a voice, she hoped was firm and reassuring enough. Then searched in her mind for a topic to distract him with. ‘By the way, Constellation has a temporary resident... a bookstore owner named Aaron Dorji,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Aaron Dorji.’

  Her father was silent for a minute. Then, ‘Have you met him?’

  ‘Yes,’ Darya replied

  ‘How's he?’ her father asked.

  ‘Nice enough,’ Darya said.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. But didn't seem done.

  Darya waited.

  Then finally, ‘Darya, I need you to do one more thing.’

  She heard the hesitation in his voice.

  ‘What?’ Darya asked. ‘Tell me quickly. I'm parked by the side of a road and there's a lot of traffic.’

  ‘Yes, I can hear it.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Okay, listen to me carefully,’ he said. ‘I got a call from Inspector Joel Nourahno of the Canacona police station. He says he can help with getting your uncle's death certificate. He also wants to discuss a few things. He would've preferred to meet me in person because he says he has things to show me. I said I couldn't make it, but you can. The Inspector and I had met briefly during Pari's cremation but didn't get to talk much. I had to come back because of my heart condition.’

  ‘Okay,’ Darya said. She caught only some of her father's words over the noise of the passing cars. It was a good thing she'd started early for the trip to Vatkola, she thought now; she'd skipped the traffic.

  ‘Can you go by today?’ her father asked.

  ‘Where?’ she asked, alert again. What had she missed?

  ‘To meet Inspector Joel Nourahno at the Canacona police station.’

  ‘To the police station?’ Darya asked, frowning. That was going to be an unpleasant task.

  ‘Yes, please. Ask Filip to go with you, if needed,’ her father said. ‘A young girl shouldn't go alone...’

  Yet, you are asking me to go, she wanted to say but muttered instead, ‘It's okay. I'll go.’

  ‘Ask Filip to go with you,’ her father repeated.

  ‘Okay,’ she said although she had no intention of asking him. She'd ask Francis instead. ‘Okay, Pa, gotta go now. I'll let you know what happens at the station.’

  ‘Darya,’ he said quickly before she could end the call. ‘Don't bother about anything else... Veronica or for that matter anyone else. Finish your work and come back soon.’

  ‘Okay,’ Darya said.

  ‘Don't get yourself involved in things which don't concern you,’ her father murmured. ‘I am getting a very bad feeling about this.’

  Me too, Pa. Me too.

  She decided to take a detour to meet Francis at the bookstore. She realized she might run into Aaron too, and that made her strangely nervous but knew she couldn't avoid it.

  When she entered the store, both greeted her warmly.

  ‘Hello, look who's here,’ Francis said. He was standing at the back of the store, a couple of books in his hands.

  ‘Hi, Darya,’ Aaron said, looking up from the billing counter.

  ‘Hello, boys,’ Darya said, faking exuberance. Then addressing Aaron, she asked, ‘Can I steal Francis for a few minutes?’

  A shadow passed over his face, but his voice was level when he replied, ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘Are you expecting customers now?’ she asked.

  ‘I can't know in advance, can I?’ he muttered, training his eyes back on the computer. Fingers typed. ‘Take him. It's okay. I'll manage.’

  Darya and Francis exchanged glances. He shrugged. She walked outside and after a few minutes, he joined her.

  He lit a cigarette.

  ‘I didn't know you smoked,’ Darya said.

  ‘Now and then,’ Francis mu
rmured. ‘Want one?’ He offered the one he was holding.

  Darya shook her head. ‘What's with Mr. Morose inside? He was nice enough when I came in.’ And yesterday, she wanted to add. Darya was sure she had gotten away with her little escapade around the house, albeit narrowly. She didn't think he suspected.

  ‘It's going to get busy pretty soon,’ Francis explained. ‘Also, I think...’ He turned to her, his eyes twinkling. ‘I think he likes you,’ he said. When Darya's eyes widened, he repeated, this time in a mock-effeminate tone. ‘He liikkkes you.’

  Darya felt a deep blush rise on her cheeks.

  ‘Stop saying stupid things,’ she said.

  ‘It's true.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  But... was it?

  ‘Ah, who knows what he's thinking,’ Francis said, growing serious again, ‘He's impenetrable. Someday, I want to be like him. Indifferent, content, calm.’

  ‘You don't know anything about him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Francis asked, surprised. ‘And you do?’

  Darya was unsure if she should talk about her conversation with Aaron yesterday. She debated for a brief second, then decided against it. She didn't want Francis to tease her again, or think she was interested in Aaron that way.

  ‘You don't like him much, do you?’ Francis was looking at her curiously.

  ‘Nah, he is strange. I find it hard to trust him.’

  ‘He doesn't feel the same about you.’ Francis grinned. ‘For sure.’

  Darya made a face. ‘Listen, are you doing anything this afternoon?’ she asked.

  ‘Why? Do you want to catch lunch?’ Francis asked. Stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I only have half of a cigarette, see? And only three in a day.’

  ‘Good boy,’ Darya said, distractedly. ‘I have to go to the police station. I was hoping you could come with me.’

  Francis looked at her in surprise. ‘Police station? What for?’ he asked. ‘Am I talking to a fugitive? Could I get in trouble?’ He raised both his hands in mock surrender.

  Darya swatted him playfully. ‘It's not me, you idiot. It's about my uncle. The inspector-in-charge of the Canacona police station is going to help us get his death certificate.’

  ‘Wasn't your uncle cremated a month ago? Why didn't you rather do it then? Death certificates are fairly easy to get,’ he said.

  ‘My dad fell sick. He wasn't doing too well anyway and then Uncle Pari died. Dad had a heart attack and he had to fly back for a bypass.’

  ‘There are hospitals in Panjim,’ Francis said.

  ‘He doesn't trust...’ She bit her lip, realizing the implication of the words she had almost said. Hadn't Veronica said something similar about Paritosh? How different were they really, the two brothers?

  She grimaced. Then, after pausing a beat to collect herself, she said, ‘He preferred to have our family doctor treat him.’

  ‘So, you've got to do all the dirty work now,’ Francis commented.

  ‘Yeah. Have to clean up the mess. So, tell me.’ Darya looked up at him. ‘Are you free?’

  ‘Have to ask the boss,’ Francis said, tilting his head towards the bookstore. ‘This week's been erratic. We haven't had much in sales.’

  ‘You'd be gone two hours at most,’ Darya said, a silent plea in her voice.

  ‘I want to, Darya, but—’

  Just then three women walked past them on their way to the store. Francis dipped his head at them and said he'd join them in a few minutes. Darya noted with a pang of jealousy the wide, flirty smiles they exchanged.

  After the women entered the store, Francis turned to Darya and said, ‘Tell you what. Let's split now. The boss won't like me out for so long. Once these women are gone, I'll ask him as nicely as I can. I'll try my best. Pinkie promise.’ He held up his little finger. She tapped his with hers half-heartedly.

  ‘I can go in now and ask,’ Darya offered.

  ‘I'll do it,’ Francis said. ‘We can't have him think you call the shots around here now.’

  ‘What's there to be so scared about?’ Darya said petulantly. ‘You're not his slave.’

  ‘Darya,’ Francis said, his tone pacifying but firm. ‘We have to do it the right way. I work here, after all.’

  ‘Okay,’ Darya replied, in a small voice.

  ‘I'll call you in an hour,’ Francis said. He raised a hand to flick a curl of hair away from her forehead. Darya felt the brush of his warm skin. Some of her cheer returned.

  ‘Do you have to go today?’ he asked. ‘What about the weekend?’

  ‘I imagine even the police take weekends off,’ Darya said.

  ‘What's the man's name?’ he asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The inspector.’

  ‘Inspector Joel Nourahno,’ Darya said. ‘Canacona police station.’

  ‘I'll try my best to make it,’ Francis said, giving her a gentle push. ‘Wait for my call.’

  Darya spent the next hour browsing the racks of a grocery store down the street. She stocked up on milk, spices and a few dozen packets of Maggi. As she was loading the jeep with her purchases, she received a message from Francis.

  Boss says no, sorry. Store full of people

  She pursed her lips and sent him a weepy emoticon.

  He wrote back. Will make it up to you. Stay safe.

  She didn't like this at all. Had Francis really tried hard enough? Or had Aaron simply decided to keep him back to get some morbid pleasure out of it.

  He was hard to understand, Aaron. Francis too; because if he really cared enough, he would've tried harder.

  That... that was another thing she was thinking about. She and Francis had gotten too close, too soon. It was a thrilling and welcome distraction, but they'd known each other only for a few days. Maybe it was too soon to ask favours of him.

  Also, he shouldn't be flicking curls off her face.

  She was an independent girl, she told herself sternly, independent and strong. Isn't that what she had come to reclaim in Goa? Her sense of self-worth. She didn't need a man to do it for her again. She was enough, on her own.

  She pushed away the thoughts in her head and focused on the road. It took her an hour to reach Canacona.

  The Canacona police station was a snippet of the imposing police headquarters at Panjim; Darya would've missed the nondescript building had she been going any faster. She noticed a signboard that announced a police station was close by and slowed down. After a few metres, and hidden behind a clutch of trees, she saw the two-story building. It had a red tile pitched roof and yellow walls, both badly in need of paint. The lawn in front was overgrown. Half a dozen people were lounging on it—constables and locals—some drinking tea, some smoking and some both.

  Heads turned when Darya parked the jeep by the gate. A constable ran out to help, but she waved him away. Hopping down, she asked, ‘I'm looking for Inspector Nourahno. Where can I find him?’

  ‘Eating. Go and sit inside. I will tell him. He will call you.’ He pointed to the main door of the building.

  Once inside, Darya rolled up the sleeves of her dress, wiped the seat of a metal chair and sat down expecting a long wait. The old ceiling fan rotated languorously above, and she worried the heat might make her give up and leave. Luckily for her, Inspector Nourahno seemed to favour short lunch breaks and showed up soon enough.

  ‘Hello Darya,’ he said, extending a dry, calloused hand for her to shake.

  Darya marvelled at the man standing before her, his rumbling voice at odds with his gaunt frame. His grey hair was cut Presley style—pompadour with sideburns. He had kind but watchful eyes. But most impressive was his handlebar moustache—like a circus lion tamer—spread over a pair of wide lips. He looked about fifty years old. She noticed a budding potbelly.

  ‘Inspector Nourahno,’ she said, shaking his hand. ‘I came to get my uncle's death certificate.’

  He nodded and gestured her to follow him.

  ‘I don't have the certificate. I can help you with the form
alities,’ he said. ‘Your father and I had talked when he was here for your uncle’s cremation.’ He turned to her. ‘Filip and I are schoolmates. We've known each other for a long time,’ he said. ‘Your uncle's death wasn't a police case, but I visited at your father's request. I think he knows Filip well.’

  Darya was puzzled. ‘Why did my father request the police?’

  ‘That's the thing I wanted to talk about,’ the inspector murmured. ‘I wanted to talk to your father actually.’

  ‘I can fill in for him well enough,’ Darya said brusquely.

  ‘That's not what I mean.’ The inspector turned to smile at her. ‘My daughter is the same as you, always ready to take offense. Your father was Paritosh's brother and I expect he would have known his... err... situation better.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Darya asked as she tried to keep pace with the man ahead of her.

  ‘Some things we found... well... just look out of place,’ he said.

  A shudder ran through her.

  Was it the way he'd said out of place or a cold draft had passed through the narrow passageway?

  They crossed a row of dust-caked windows and rooms overrun with furniture and files to reach what looked like the largest room in the building. Inside were a couple of mesh chairs, a metal table, and walls crammed with metal cabinets of a moss green colour.

  Darya pulled out a chair and sat down. The inspector sat facing her across the table. Between them were an IBM desktop computer, an empty In and Out file stack and a metal pen stand with a miniature calendar.

  He rested his elbows on the table and looked at her.

  ‘You're making me nervous,’ Darya said, shifting in her seat.

  ‘Let's start with the death certificate.’ He bent down and took out a sheet of paper from one of his desk drawers. ‘This application form is from the Registrar of Births and Deaths. What you need to do is, fill this and file it in the Canacona Taluka. Their office is ten minutes away. Constable Gowda will take you. I've already spoken to the registrar and it shouldn't be a problem getting this done quickly.’

  Darya nodded. She took the sheet from him, folded it, placed it on the table, and waited.

  The inspector leaned back in his chair. Then directly addressing what was playing on both their minds, said—