The boy had died sometime early the previous morning....young kid, fresh with life's promise, ready smile, juvenile enthusiasms, my neighbour's tenant.

It happened because of an unhappy love affair.the other student-tenants said.When Tarun did not emerge from his room after  they returned from their trip and wanted him to join them over a packed breakfast of piping hot dosas the boys had called the landlord.

"Siddhartha Babu, the Police are coming, will u please stay back? My breathing has almost stopped" Banerjeebabu said with an agonised voice. He was sweating I saw, fingers trembling with nervousness.

No wonder, i thought, the seething, milling, ogling crowd of padosis, their servants, bystanders almost enveloped the senses with the hubbub and heat generated in the excitement of witnessing an "event".

I nodded . " Have a glass of water, your appearance does not  look too good ."

" How can it...' he cried out in a paroxysm of strong emotion flinging his arms about." Think of the scandal!  The same room where..." he choked.

Banerjee babu's wife had died in the same room over a decade ago, and since then no member of the family had consented to live there.

Banerjee babu was never the same after that. His children left the house one by one, and ultimately he let out portions of his house to students of the near-by University as I found out on my return to Kolkata ( not Calcutta anymore thanks to the incomprehensible fashion of changing names) . Only his nephew consented to stay with him while preparing interminably for his CA exams.

" Their presence atleast gives this house a feeling of liveliness. Otherwise it was looking like a haunted house!" Banerjee Babu had said over a cup of morning tea when I called on him after returning.

We rarely saw each other, except in times of crises besieging the little neighbourhood, untouched , as yet,  by the depredations caused by the fat wallets of "builders".

Today was a day of crisis.

The Police came, as did the Doctor.

Both knew me by reputation as I had gained some modest notoriety both for my writings as well as  presence in community events.

" Can I come up with you?" I asked Inspector Basak, "I will perhaps be of some use to you in identification and background of the boy. He was my student many years ago."

"Ashun, said the inspector. "I would be glad of your presence."

A small semi-furnished room, untidy with jumbled clothing, posters of various scantily-clad screen sirens, books, and the mechanical paraphernalia associated with a student of engineering ( mini drafter, glass tops for tracing drawings, set squares, rolls of paper, the ubiquitous PC etc).

Tarun had not died easily.

Apparently he had had rum with a cola, in which he had mixed a popular soporific much liked by students.

Single glass, single body, single page on the table with the word "Sorry".

The room had a mosaic floor, while the corridor outside had marble slabs. The outside was much cleaner than the room, explained by the fact that the room was cleaned by the boy, the corridors were cleaned by the common maid. ( maids were not allowed to clean inside by Banerjee Babu " Siddhartha Babu, you never know, what scandal can happen.")

I saw that Banerjee Babu had maintained the common area well. The door was freshly painted, as was the corridor, as well as the walls outside.

Inside the room the mosaic floor was old and furroughed by the door-latch in a quarter circle, and the walls were pockmarked with nails and  boardpins,  defaced with strips of cello-taped posters and hangers from which Tarun's clothes dangled forlorly.

The smell inside the room was oppressive. Mustard oil, vomit, and the sickly sweet cloying stench of death.The oppressive heat had hastened the process of decomposition.The droning of the flies was almost macabre in its celebration of death as a nourisher of life.


The police made their tortuous inquiries, the doctor gave his opinion, the forlorn body, shapelessly bundled into a "halla gadi" was consigned on its onward journey.The mob, curiosity sated dispersed to surrounding tea stalls and "theks".

I was vaguely angry. Tarun had been a good student.

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A week later, it was the Inspector who broke.

"Apni ekbar ashben Thanay" He asked on the phone. I agreed and went.

"I am in a bit of a quandary" Inspector Basak confessed over a cup of fearsomely sweet tea.

" Tarun's death looks like a suicide, but we have found no cause," he said. "Normally we would close the case, but then, his parents have been referred by IG Saheb," he said shrugging.

" The newspaper reports have not helped matters" he continued gloomily. I sympathised.

Someone amongst the sight seeing mob had contacted the local papers who promptly started deriding the police, the lack of morals of students and started questioning the moral authority of the Chief Minister who continued to reign despotically while promising young students gave up their lives due to lack of academic opportunities. ( The pro-gov't newpapers attributed it to the degrading effects of dicotheques and rave parties). One went so far as to hint at Al Qaeda involvement in which sinister terrorist outfits were brain washing the youth into premature deaths.

Local TV channels had made sensational disclosures and counter-disclosures.

One had pursued the young girl friend of Tarun so aggressively that her hapless father had driven into a ditch in an effort to evade pursuing  journalists.

"If I do not show progress, you know, transfer orders are due and I would like to retain this posting..." His anxiety was clear. probably a lot of pressure was on him.

We went to Laxmi Kutir ( Banerjee Babu's residence ) together.

On the way Inspector Basak discussed his findings.

The death had occurred due to a lethal dose of  sleeping pills.Forensics had detected no signs of foul play other than the high dose of sleeping pills and alcohol.

The pharmacies  which had supplied the pills had been traced and the shop keepers did not recall who had purchased the pills ( despite maintaining a register). All they could say was that it was not a known person.

The personnel present in the house (at the time of death as per the forensics surgeon) were  Banerjee Babu himself , his nephew Surajit , and the servants ( Driver Ratan, Cook Kaberi, general handyman Ramesh and Maid Uma)..The four fellow students were all away attending a picnic of their batch. tarun was senior by two years and had stayed in his room.

The students had returned early in the morning from their trip to a class picnic (followed by teenage revels at a friends house) and the entire household were in various stages of undress in their respective quarters in the early dawn.

All movements were accounted for. None of the tenants had entered the floor on which Tarun had his room since that was on a different wing.

I looked at the table and brooded, Inspector Basak asking questions of an apprehensive  Banerjee Babu.

" My life has become miserable" he said with an expressive grimace." what with the gawking strangers, ghoulish busybodies, my servants all want to leave and the depredations of the Police..." He looked shaky.

I soothed him as best I could.

" let us call all the people together and see if something comes out" I told the Inspector. He caught on at once. Basak was no fool.


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On the following weekend all the dramatis personae gathered together.

As previously arranged, the Police were absent from the room, which was on the ground floor, overlooking the small garden and the gate.

A squeaking fan overhead provided a swirling supply of warm air.

" The essential story is that  Tarun died as a result of an over dose of sleeping pills."

There was a stirring in the room.

"Now why would he do that? We do not know. " I said. " He was a good student, a dutiful son, and had no abnormally bad habits". I paused.

" You say he had an unhappy love affair. Fine. Would he kill himself without extensively writing down the reason? I have never known a failed lover so terse, so laconic as this."

" And why should he drink a strong and harsh drink for having his sleeping pills?" No one moved. They looked up at me waiting.

"Hence I conclude that if he drank he drank it on the presence of someone." I declared looking at the group closely.

" And that someone is the murderer."I said flatly.

" How is that possible/" cried Banerjee Babu rising up from his chair, " The door was locked from inside and Tarun was all alone, there was no one in the wing", he was almost wringing his hands in agitation .

"Pease sit down". i almost snapped at him. " All will be plain". Banerjee Babu sank back opn his seat .

" After we conclude that he drank it with someone, we have to confront the objection that the door was locked from inside." i looked at them intently.

"However, all closed doors that seem locked may not be locked."I spoke deliberately.

" So, if someone has murdered, he has also ensured that a closed door looks like a locked door, and for that, he would require the absence of Tarun's friends while he alters the door.Who amongst all present has the ability to make those changes and not be discovered?" I looked directly at one particular pair of eyes.

In a sudden flurry of motion he threw the tray of tea he was serving at me and ran towards the door.

" Got him!" said Inspector Basak from the gate as the wriggling figure was pulled inside by the plain-clothes men  outside.

"You are caught Ramesh, and so is your master" I said looking at  Surajit." You may also discover that he killed his aunt" I told Inspector Basak. Surajit looked at me hatred boiling in his eyes.


********************************************************************************************************


" Siddhartha Babu, how did you know that Ramesh was the murderer?" Banerjee babu was oscillating between curiosity and grief.

" Ramesh was the tool. Surajit was the murderer" I replied composedly.

"But..." " Listen", I interjected. " Surajit and Tarun became friends.in the midst of their drinking bouts, Surajit hinted that he knew how your wife died".

" And that was the beginning of the end for Tarun, though he might not have known it." I continued.

"Initially the door used to have a small hole though which a wire was connected to the latch at the bottom of the door." I said."I distinctly saw the grrove on the floor where the latch used to drag until the door closed and the latch would slip into the hole and thus secure the door. However, when the wire was pulled from outside, the latch would come out and the door could be opened." I concluded.

" Yes, yes! I remember" Banerjee Babu said. " But I did not see it this time." he interjected.

" Banerjee babu," I said, " It's time you took up the reigns of your household again." " You stopped coming into this wing, letting Surajit take care of all maintenance through Ramesh".

"He killed your wife using the same contrivance, and he killed Tarun likewise".

" How did you know?" Banerjee Babu asked .

" When I smelt the faint odour of paint I examined the door and the groove. It was apparent that there was a carefully covered up hole in the door that had been sealed with putty and painted over and slightly soiled to match the condition of the wall and floor outside.  That's when I knew !"

"But why did he kill my wife?" Banerjee Babu cried.

"You know why" I told him regretfully.

Inspector Basak stepped forward.