Banquet on the Dead Read Online Free Page A

the right edge of the house and curled out of sight behind it.
    ‘Yes,’ he said, agreeing wholeheartedly with his initial assessment. ‘It is a big house.’
    ‘It’s a recent construction,’ said Nagarajan. ‘There used to be an open plot here up until four years ago. The family used to live in that tiled house over there before this was built.’ He pointed at the gate.
    ‘Shall we take a walk, miyan?’
    They got off the ledge and ambled across the road to the front gate. Hamid Pasha limped over to the still-new nameplate and fingered it gingerly. ‘It is never a good thing, is it, miyan, to name a house after a living person? It is the fastest way to kill them, it is! No? You do not believe me? Name me one person—just one —who has lived to a ripe old age after having a monument named after him. You cannot! Do you know why? They do not exist. If you ask me, why does one have to name buildings? And if you really have to, why not name it after a dead person? Mara hua kutta ko kaun maar sakta hai ? Who can kill an already dead dog, hai na? ’
    Nagarajan did not respond to the question. He pointed at the smaller building with a tiled roof to the left of the house. ‘That’s where the servants live.’
    ‘And that is where the family used to live until four years ago?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Who all live here?’ Hamid Pasha asked, following Nagarajan who had begun to walk along the compound wall.
    ‘All of them. The old woman, her three sons, her daughter, and their respective sons and daughters.’
    ‘ Hai Allah . Itne saare ?’ So many?
    ‘Only the daughter’s eldest son and his family live here. She has two other sons and a daughter. They come and go.’
    The grey compound wall was smooth to the touch. It stood at a height of eight feet. At the top of the wall there were broken pieces of glass in different colours—mainly yellow and green—embedded into the concrete.
    ‘The well is situated just beyond this wall,’ Nagarajan said.
    ‘These people do not seem to like having visitors,’ said Hamid Pasha, looking up at the glass pieces.
    ‘Oh, they’re not that bad. Like all rich people, they think everyone wants a piece of them. If you ask me it’s just fear.’ He pointed at a small heap of sand and concrete that lay on the path. ‘They were getting it repaired here, I think. This is where the contractor’s son heard the woman as she fell over.’
    Hamid Pasha frowned at the wall, then at the heap of building material. He thoughtfully chewed on his paan and spat out a mouthful. ‘I think, miyan, that you should tell me what exactly happened on the day—as they say, begin at the beginning and end at the end.’
    ‘It happened three days ago, on the second of March,’ said Nagarajan, ‘The body was found at five-thirty in the evening in the well by Praveen, the younger son of Venkataramana. Venkataramana is Kauvery’s youngest son.’
    ‘The only one that got married?’
    ‘Only one among the sons, yes. The time of death was placed by the doctor at five to eight hours beforehand, so that gives it a window from nine-thirty to twelve-thirty.’
    Hamid Pasha asked, ‘But you said someone heard the woman fall over?’
    ‘Two people, actually. One is Ashok, the son of the building contractor. He was working right here and he distinctly remembered the woman’s scream followed by a splash. The other fellow is Nagesh, the gardener’s son. He was levelling some land and planting some beansprouts by the side-gate, and he heard her fall over too.’
    ‘Both report the same time?’
    ‘Slightly different, but that is to be expected. Ashok says it happened at one, and Nagesh swears it happened at five minutes to one. Close enough, I’d say. Both are absolutely sure that it was the woman’s voice. They knew her well.’
    ‘And the family? Anyone heard her?’
    Nagarajan shook his head. ‘No, all of them were either resting in the house or were outside attending to work. None of them heard her.