Bombay Flu

01

“The ‘Bombay Fever’ is spreading across the subcontinent of  India like a wildfire, swelling the holy Ganges with corpses due to shortage of firewoods for cremation. According to the Sanitary Commissioner's report of September, 1918 the maximum weekly death toll has exceeded 200 both in Bombay and Madras, however death rate in Calcutta still remains comparatively underwhelmed.”  

Even though the news was alarming enough to dumbfound both the Indian pupils and their British rulers, Mr. Lahit Mukherjee, the withstanding listener, smirked. A private investigator by profession Mr. Lahit lived by a modified version of sir Newton’s Law of universal gravitation i.e. “‘Money’ attracts every other person with a force which is directly proportional to his ‘Honour’ and inversely proportional to the square of his ‘Misfortune’.” Maybe that’s why he was renowned as the ‘Avaricious P.I.’

It was past 9 o’clock in the night, Mr. Lohit was sitting in his cabin. Gazing at smoke rings of the freshly discarded cigar, with a glass of wine in his hand he was wondering, "Would he get any new case to accumulate his credits during this calamity?" He would’ve prayed for that to the Goddess but it’d mean indirectly praying for the epidemic to end. Neither had he wanted to invade his dear dignity nor to be a so-called ‘Nationalist' or 'Satyagrahi’.

A soft knock on the cabin’s wooden door disrupted the investigator's contemplations. 

If only the liquor hadn’t spellbounded him ever so slightly, he would have never stared at the faminine figure for so long. He wouldn’t have noticed how beautifully her satin saree was pleated, how neatly her long hair was braided, or even how much of depth her orbs held. Maybe he’d have still noticed that exquisite red glistening brooch over her left shoulder.

 The lady cleared her throat, “May I come in, mr. Lahit?”

“Yes...” Replied, a staggering voice.

 Entering in the cabin she greeted him, he stood up but before he could greet her back, in a very calming yet domineering tone she said, “I need you to search for someone. Here’s his photograph.” He frowned. The picture was of a british man wearing spectacles. It was hard to define whether his eyebrows or his mustache was thicker.

The investigator was too professional to ask something personal. Moreover, he was assured that a ruthless British heart would never fancy the tenderness of some Indian lady neither would she dare to desire an Englishman.

“Miss, I need to know his whereabouts.”

“His last location was in the presidency of bombay. He’s Andrew Canning, the Grant Medical College affiliate.”

The mention of the name ‘Bombay’ amazed him this time. He shook his head. “Amid the rising death toll sometimes it’s hard to identify every...”

“He’s alive! You’re being hired to find him out.”

He was caught off guard by the certain rage in her calming voice and tranquil gaze. Wasn't this native woman too headstrong to be true? He squinted his eyes. 

“Miss, you want me to go on an investigation amid this pandemic, that too in one of the worst affected areas. Will you be able to pay for the risks?” He smirked. 

She took two hidden bundles of currency out from her shawl and placed them at the table in front of her.

After a brief scrutiny he patted those bunch of papers with utmost care.“That’s all have you got? Well, for the ‘Avaricious P.I’ it’s below the belt.”

“I’ll pay whatever amount you ask, once you find him.”

She was determined yet he’d to say, “If my source were to risk his dear life as much as you’re willing to risk your credits in this crisis!"
He sighed. "I have to face too many difficulties.”

“You don’t have to, I'll accompany you to Bombay.” The reply was so prompt, so daring that it made the ground under his feet sweep away. Earlier he had suspected this stern lady to be an infamous ‘Brahmo’. Now it's all justified. Were brahmo women really that desperate to forget their dignity and accompany some unfamiliar male? Even if they’re not so, then what was provoking this lady?

Even professionalism couldn’t refrain him anymore. "Does your community allow disgracing womanhood to such extent?”

“I’m not sure either but I’m pretty sure Mr. Lahit, a community like yours that worships women-power does teach you to respect womanhood.” she smiled warmly, as if what she just said wasn’t enough to shutter the investigator’s man ego.

“I hate being a well-wisher but still I’d like to say your search for him might go in vain. Amid this misery the british might have just fled.” He sounded monotonous .

“Please! It’s been 5 months since I’ve heard anything from him...”

A sudden hint of sorrow in that authoritative feminine voice somehow relieved an individual’s materialistic heart.

“Give me some time. I’ll inform you.”

“Thank you.”  A gentle smile appeared on her lips while he nodded pursing his lips.

“May I take his photograph back with me?”

“But..it’s needed for the investigation purpose.”

“Give it back to me for once...” 

“Here...” he was bewildered.

Stroking her fingers gently across it she sighed. “Take care of it. Good night.”

When she was to take her leave he prompted, “Excuse me, miss...your name?”

“Call me whatever you wish." She smiled over her shoulder. "I’m just another woman who awaits her lover.”

Covering herself up with the woolen shawl she left.

Word Count: 905