An Invitation to Die: A Colonel Acharya Mystery by Tanushree Podder; An Excerpt

As Colonel Acharya begins his investigation, he finds that things are not what they seem. So, how will he find the culprit? An excerpt from An Invitation to Die: A Colonel Acharya Mystery by Tanushree Podder.

It was an unusually cold and windy night. The angry grey sky with its water-laden clouds continued to grumble throughout the day. By evening it had made up its mind and a heavy downpour with squally winds attacked the town. The gale made trees bow with reverence and littered the street with debris. Water gurgled down the asphalt into already overloaded storm drains. Loud and unreserved thunderclap punctured the thick evening silence.

At 8.30 p.m., after a frugal dinner, Laxmi settled down in front of the TV to watch her favourite soap. She raised the volume to offset the roar of the natural elements. It was her favourite time of the evening when movies and soap operas gave wings to her imagination and she lost herself in the make-believe world presented by the idiot box.

Snug in an age-softened quilt, her feet tucked under her, Laxmi Badola lolled on the lumpy couch, watching the drama unfolding on the small screen. An emotional woman, she was moved by the heroine’s misfortunes, and let the tears flow down her weather-beaten cheeks.

Someone knocked on the door. Her attention momentarily diverted from the soap, she tried to listen. I am imagining things. She shook her head. Sometimes the wind played tricks. The knocking reached her ears once again. Lowering the volume of the television, she tilted her head and cocked the ears to confirm if someone was really rapping on the door. This time, she heard it clearly. The knocking continued. Insistent. Louder. Surprised, she looked up at the clock on the wall.

It was a few minutes past nine and she wasn’t expecting any visitors. Few people ventured out on a wild night full of wind and rain. It was unlikely for someone to knock on her door at this time of the night, unless it was an emergency.

Who could it be? Had someone lost his way? Or was it a neighbour in trouble?

Reluctantly, she roused herself from the couch. Pushing aside the comfortable quilt, she padded towards the window and parted the curtains to peer outside. The woman could see no one. The street light, yellow and vaporous, cast a weak light on the deserted road. A wind-tossed branch of the pine tree tapped on the bedroom window. Laxmi willed the person to go away.

She debated against the thought of remaining silent. What if I did not open the door? The visitor would go away after a few attempts.

Just as she had decided to remain unresponsive, she heard the determined rapping. It must be someone in need. I will have to open the door.

‘Who is it?’ she raised her voice. There was no response. She had definitely heard a loud knock on the door. So why was the person not responding to her question?

‘Who’s it?’ she demanded in a shaky voice. A feeling of uneasiness gripped the woman as she waited for a reply. All she heard in reply was yet another clap of thunder. ‘I will not open the door till I hear a reply,’ she announced in a loud voice. ‘Whoever you are, answer my question.’

A muffled voice came in response to her demand.

The knock was repeated. Louder and insistent. She pussy-footed to the door and cocked her head against it, trying to catch a reply. Outside, the wind continued to howl. All she could hear was its keening.

‘Why don’t you reply? What do you want?’ Laxmi asked in a voice tinged with anxiety.

‘I have something for you,’ the reply came in a barely audible voice, a loud thunder drowning the words. The drumming sound grew louder as rain pummelled the tiled roof of her cottage.

Laxmi caught a few words. Could it be a gift from Badri, her son-in-law? Her anxiety evaporating, she relaxed a little.

‘A gift?’ she asked, her eyes lighting up in eager anticipation.

Although Badri rarely visited her, the scoundrel sent her an occasional gift through friends who passed through Ramsar. Sometimes a sari, sometimes a warm woollen shawl, or a fancy purse he had bought during one of his trips to the city. Once, during Diwali, he had sent her some money to buy herself a gift. The gifts, however, were few. In the twelve years he was married to Laxmi’s daughter, he had sent her a sari on a few instances. In the first two years after the wedding, there had been a gift each year which petered down to one in two years, and then to one every five years. Not that she blamed him. With a modest job and so many mouths to feed in the family, there was little money to spare. Her daughter, of course, had no say in the matter.

It must be an unexpected gift from the son-in-law. The festive season was just a few weeks away. Perhaps he wanted to make up for the past lapses. Maybe he had been waiting for a friend to pass through the town. It had to be a very close friend. No sane person would deliver a gift on a night like this, but she was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She would provide Badri’s friend with a modest meal if he had not eaten, Laxmi decided.

‘Have you come from Bageshwar?’ she asked, trying to confirm the joyful news.

Laxmi heard a faint murmur in response to her query. Sighing, she opened the door and screwed her eyes to stare at the tall man standing outside. She could not figure out who it was. It was dark outside. The hood of his jacket pulled low over the head, to protect from the rain, made it difficult for her to see the face.

He was soaked to the skin. The visitor paused for a moment to stub out the cigarette in the bougainvillea pot next to the door. What a thoughtful person, Laxmi watched appreciatively as he wiped his shoes carefully on the doormat.

A gust of wind blew a sheet of rain into the room, making him hurry inside and shut the door quickly. His back turned at her, the man stood near the door and shook off the raindrops that clung to his clothes.

Poor man, he is totally soaked, and all for my sake. ‘Wait here, while I will fetch a towel,’ she instructed, rushing towards the bathroom.

His back was turned to her as Laxmi returned with the towel. ‘Here, wipe yourself dry before you catch a cold. In the meantime, I will get some hot ginger tea for you.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said. Pushing back the hood from the head, he turned to face her. ‘I won’t be here for long.’

A slow smile curled his lip upward, giving a boyish look to the face. The smile didn’t reach his cold eyes. Something was terribly wrong. Laxmi’s breath quickened and her heart hammered with unease.

‘Who...who are you?’ Laxmi stepped back, stammering. Her eyes widened with fear. A warning bell clanged in the brain. The man could not be one of Badri’s friends. Her fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into the palm. Her legs twitched, fighting the impulse to whirl around and sprint out of the house.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he moved towards her ominously. Stepping back, she collided with the television. It fell from its perch on the rickety table with a loud crash, the glass screen splintering into fragments.

Excerpted with permission from An Invitation to Die: A Colonel Acharya Mystery by Tanushree Podder published by Harper Black.

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