The Koel's Melancholia

Not Again!

I have to wait for about twenty minutes on a rickety couch outside the room, and I can't help but overthink. Thoughts and theories run around my brain, and I shake my head violently to ignore them. Someone looking out from the other end of the road might think I am losing my mind, which would probably be true.

Sagar comes out after a preliminary interrogation which has been going on for hours. All the guests and the helpers had been bought in for that, with the result that it is almost afternoon. We haven't eaten anything in a long time, nor slept, and it is starting to show on our faces.

"So, Dolma refuses to say much, and we have reasons to believe she is the culprit. Now, I know you think she is your friend, but you have just met her," he takes a seat beside me.

I am exhausted, and what he says is true. So, I nod.

"You're right. Though, I do think there is something missing in this whole scenario. But, of course, it is your job, and I  am sure you'd be able to solve this case in a jiffy."

"We might. The real reason being that this place is tiny, and suspect list is very small. If this was Kolkata, God forbid, I might have had another punishment transfer," he chuckles.

"You have had a punishment transfer?" I look at him with my mouth open.

"Yeah, it was this big drug and murder case, and the culprits were operating right under our noses. I got information on some big businessmen and an investment banker, and they got the wind of it. I was transferred to a small village near Kolkata," he sighs, and then hitch up a bold smile on his face. "But enough of this Police business, let's get you back home. You look dead on your feet."
He's right. I do.
"Yeah, I'm really hungry. I will probably get something along the way, I'm just too tired to cook," I groan.
"Well, in that case," he hesitates a little, and then continues, "how would you like to come over at my place? It's not very far, and I like to cook."
"Oh, sure," I say, somewhat flushed.
I wait on the muddy pavement outside the premises of the Sengupta mansion, my eyes straying away. It has rained heavily from the last evening and in the morning, and there are mud puddles everywhere. I don't care about splashing my clothes anymore, I have a feeling inside my stomach that it is already stained with something much horrifying- blood.
A loud honk forces me out of my reverie and I realise Sagar is waiting for me in his jeep. I hop up and he drives away.
Not much time passes before we're entering a well-maintained Cantonment area, and he continues inside. Sagar's place is beautiful, not too big but spacious quarters, and gorgeous furniture. I look around in awe, it doesn't look like a bachelor's place.

There are expensive looking carpets on the floor, and lots of paintings on the walls. I point towards them.

"Did you make these?" I ask him.

"As a matter of fact, I did," he replies.

"They are gorgeous!" I gape at them.

He blushes, then shakes his head. "Thanks. Anyway, you should better get changed; you can borrow a few of my clothes," he points towards the bedroom which has an attached bath in addition to the common one. "I'll cook something for us. Are you allergic to seafood?"

"No. But don't go to too many troubles for me, keep it simple," I tell him.

"It's no trouble," he smiles, and walks inside the kitchen.

I riffle through his desk and pulls out a white T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Washing the trauma and the stress of last night's evening under the warm water, I pull them up. I am tall, but the clothes hang loose and big on me.

I enter the kitchen to find Sagar in full swing. There are already two pots steaming on the stove, and he is busy preparing some kind of orange sauce with what smells like chicken broth.

"Care for a glass of wine?" he asks.

"I could do with one, actually," I sigh, "it has been an exhausting day."

"I understand. I have been on this Force for almost four years, and I thought that I was immune to fear. But this one murder has shaken me to the core," he takes a deep breathe, "I never imagined something like this happening in such a serene town like Simlabari, and especially to a person like Babai. If there was a single person I was sure of being honest and nice, it was him."

I can feel myself shaking a little, but it's definitely not of cold. Sagar looks at my face and seems to realise that it is not the moment to talk about these things.

"Pakhi," he says, "can you please bring out the wine bottle from the fridge, and take them to the dining room? Dinner will be ready in about five minutes."

I do as I am told, and I am pouring the golden wine in the glass when Sagar comes scurrying to the table holding a pot. He brings in the other one and I help him bring the plates. Then, he serves the food.

The basmati rice steaming in the pot smells of cumin as he loads spoonfuls on our plate, and then open the other one. Lobsters, with orange, thick gravy and begging to be devoured like I haven't seen food in all my life. It takes so much self-control to do exactly just that. The food tastes delicious, almost as if it was ordered from a high end restaurant.

"My goodness, Sagar! What else do I need to know about you? An Inspector, an artist, and such an amazing cook," I gape at him.

"Lots of things. You haven't even touched the tip of the iceberg," he smiles, mischievously, "and I am so glad you like the food."

After dinner, he invites me over for a game of sudoku. It's tempting, but I have to leave.

"Sorry, Sagar. I really want to, but it's getting late," I apologise.

"Why don't you stay here tonight? It's drizzling outside, and you can take the spare bedroom on the left," he says.

"There's a spare bedroom? Where?" I ask.

"Just near this washroom," he walks to the place, but I still can't see any other room, "come forward."

I walk a few steps and find another corridor leading to a room, almost invisible to the guests.

"Wow, who designed this house?" I admire.

"Isn't it cool?" he asks, "This is one of my favourite rooms to work in, but it's a little messy. I'll just clean it up, and then you can have it."

"Alright," I say, still looking at the dark room with my mouth open.

"What about the sudoku competetion, huh?" he asks.

"Of course, I am in," I grin.

Twenty minutes in, I have a full grid.

"SU-DO-KU!" I yell.

He laughs, "My puzzle was harder than yours."

"Was not," I scowl.

"Alright, Madame. You won," he says, "Sleepy yet?"

"Not really, I would like to watch the rain for a few minutes. You go to sleep if you want, I need to process a lot," I tell him.

"I am not sleepy, either. Do you mind if I come with you?"

"No."

We go to the verandah and sit side by side. The drizzle has turned into a steady downpour, and the drips sounds like music to my ears. An incessant flow of notes, low on the spectrum, riffling through the pages of my past and present, and brings a little brighter, though doubtful,  tomorrow.

Sagar sits beside me, silent as the night, but his presence feel as loud as the sound of the rain: comforting, and safe. We sit there, not talking, for almost three-quarters of an hour, yet, I feel like I could go on like this forever, not a care in the world.

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