Mad World: A Shiv Pandey conundrum

Inspired (in part) by The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Might have, on second thoughts, some adult content. Discretion advised.

Part 1 of 2:

It wasn’t exactly ten when the doorbell of Number 9, Brahma Apartments rang in its shrill, jarring note, putting the proceedings in the whole residential block to a standstill. Mr. Shiv Pandey, jolted from his dreamless sleep, scrambled to his feet to tend to the rather untimely guest.

Jogging to the door, he stopped short of opening it, assimilating the sensory inputs scattered around him like hints waiting to be picked up. He knew, in less than an instant, the identity of the man (yes, positively a male) waiting for him on the other end. Boastful of his uncannily enhanced sense of deduction, he dug inside his crumpled all-purpose shorts and punched quick commands on his mobile phone without so much as glancing at it. A message alert sounded on the other side of the door and Mr. Pandey soundlessly unlocked the door, without opening it an inch.

A dapper young man in formal overalls walked in, wearing a look of utter bafflement on his face. Eyes widened and mouth half-open, he managed a smile even as Mr. Pandey hugged him tight, exclaiming, “Khan, good as ever!”

The young visitor returned the hug with similar enthusiasm, his round face still bearing vestiges of astonishment.  Coming out of the squeeze, he asked, “but sir, how did you...”

“Know you were you?” Mr. Pandey offered, beaming at his ex-student.

“Yes! And I thought I’d be the one to surprise you, sir.”

“You commit the fundamental folly of underestimating your teacher, Imtiyaz. I see you haven’t changed a bit in 4 years: impatient, indifferent to authority and brilliant with the five senses, not so much with the sixth. But wait, what have we here? You’re engaged and you wanted to surprise me about it, as is obvious from the absence of the engagement ring, which most probably rests in the breast pocket of your giveaway-of-a-shirt!”

Imtiyaz gave out a long hearty laugh.

“I see you haven’t changed in the least, sir! Still your old Sherlock Holmes self, shooting out insanely accurate deductions like they’re math tables. But how did you have my number after all these years? And engagement, how did you get there? How did you even know it was me at the door?”

“No rocket science, I just happen to know too few people in the world. I have been keeping track of all you bunch of rowdies from the Police Academy days, through Awasthi. I prefer not to initiate personal contact but keep your contact details handy, just in case. About it being you, well, it was pretty evident from the full, long and forceful bell-press that it was someone with a regimented personality, someone whose profession demands them to be stern and disciplined, not to mention masculine. And since I have no visitors on Sunday mornings except my newspaper guy who visits monthly, I was pretty sure it was one of my students from the academy.  The absence of a scent or the awkward shifting of footwear when one stands stationary only corroborated my speculations. It also ruled out the plurality of the visitors, since there weren’t any hushed conversations to be heard, nor a general air of occupation of space by human presence. I narrowed down to you because none of the other boys were as much in awe with me as you were; they took me for a nutcase, like the whole world does as of today.  It was a fairly safe assumption in the end…Now don’t just be standing there, come in, make yourself at home!”

Awestruck, Assistant Superintendent of Police Imtiyaz Khan made his way inside in slow strides, his eyes fixed at his mentor.

“You’re a sorcerer! I don’t blame the boys for being intimidated around you. You can pass off as a soothsayer for all I know, sir.”

Shiv only smiled, making Khan sit on the least shabby beanbag in the small-sized drawing room. He fetched him water from the kitchen, and the duo filled each other in about each other’s lives and how they had changed or remained the same over the course of 4 years of their not being in touch.

Imtiaz Khan had been one of the most promising aspirants in Shiv’s batch of pupils at the National Police Training College, back in 2008. His scores in physical and mental tasks had surpassed many a great alumnus who had passed out of the prestigious institution. His dogged pursuit for excellence had sprung from a lifelong desire to change the system from within; an almost childlike enthusiasm coupled with the ardency of youth and the wisdom of the aged.

Shiv Pandey, on the other hand, had been far from the ideal police aspirant back in his youthful heyday. Before his brief stint at the police academy as a mental trainer, he had been a tall, gaunt and selectively lethargic 20-year old police trainee who had grown up too soon for his own sake. His intelligence and observational skills were, more often than not, mistaken for arrogance and complacence. His teachers mocked his reluctance to partake excessive physical labour but were appreciative of his prodigious command over matters of the mind. Never known for moral uprightness, his career in law enforcement had been cut short ignominiously when he was found guilty of sexually assaulting a corpse while working undercover as a morgue assistant. Even after spending 6 months of incarceration and paying a hefty fine, he had chosen to remain silent on his shameful fall from grace. Facing widespread ire from media and the public, he disappeared from his regular social haunts and restrained himself to a life of a recluse.

“I never could stomach the charges levelled against you, sir, and you never talked about them! I followed the case very closely but didn’t have the heart to contact you…” said Khan, in between sips of tea Shiv had prepared for the two of them. He seemed eager to broach the topic.

“I remained silent, yes,” replied Shiv, retrospectively. “There’s a sound reason to that, Imtiyaz. All the allegations were true. I was wrong; the world, right.”

“But then, did you really…?” his words trailed off, more out of his inability to imagine an individual of such high stature to indulge in an act so lowly, than anything else.

“Yes, I did. I did attempt to ‘touch’ the body of a deceased female in what the society thinks was an inappropriate manner. All I can say in my defence is, I got carried away. I should have been more mindful of the moral hypocrisy that prevails over the collective consciousness of people in our day and age.”

Bewildered by his reply, Imtiyaz banged his cup of tea down on the table. His image of Shiv Pandey as an ideal individual was shattering before his eyes. All throughout the much publicised court case, he had hoped, nay, known deep down that it was a setup, that his much-revered mentor had been framed by someone who swore his downfall. Despite all the circumstantial evidence, he was convinced that Shiv Pandey was innocent. But hearing not only a confession, but also a self-righteous defence straight from the horse’s mouth came as an incalculable shock. He spoke, when he did, in a tone which surprised him more than Shiv.

“Excuse me sir, but what you did was perversion of the highest order. I am still not able to believe how you’re so casually passing it off as something you did because you got ‘carried away’. The only thing that stops me from giving you a piece of my mind on how badly I feel about sexual assaulters is the immense respect I have held for you, till now.”

The strong bond of friendly informality that the student and teacher had developed over the years suddenly seemed to strain and wear. Taken aback but still holding a placid expression, Shiv said, “Listen to me, Imtiyaz. I understand that your set of moral values does not even begin to accept my act as normal, let alone one to be pardoned. But believe me; I am not apologetic for what I did for a reason. I know that necrophilia is considered a monstrosity, a heinous sexual aberration in the modern world, and it’s not as if I have no morality left. I value human rights to be the most sacrosanct of all enforceable guidelines attached to our day today life. Please, hear me out for what it’s worth, then you’re free to decide whether you want to continue to stay in touch with me or not.”

Reluctantly and gradually, Imtiyaz’s initial inhibitions about sharing the same space with a sexual pervert seemed to ease and he calmed down, somewhat ashamed at his kneejerk reaction. He did not say anything, waiting for his mentor to say what he had in mind. Shiv, sensing the void of silence, seized the moment to explain himself.

“Imtiyaz, I look at life and death very objectively. I don’t see why there has to be a seamless connection between the two. Life is something we still don’t truly understand, and if I am to be believed, we never will. But one thing that appears evident is that death is nothing in itself, just the absence of that ‘something’ called life. It is similar to the working of, say, a mobile phone. As long as it’s functional, it’s functional 100%. When it withers off with passage of time, or due to a breakage of its parts, it just ceases to be. There are no ‘levels’ to it. I view life similarly: when we die, we die. None of our original self remains in the dead mass we call ‘our’ dead body. It’s akin to a crumpled leaf or an inanimate pebble we go out of our way to trample or kick when walking down the road. I believe that human rights are only applicable to living people, not the dead. I wouldn’t care if my body is stripped or humiliated or amputated or desecrated after I cease to be, for the simple reason that I’m dead! I feel nothing, see nothing, sense nothing, hear nothing! Why should it matter, then, if I derive sexual satisfaction at the expense of something that’s simply not living anymore? Pardon my language, but it’s as absurd as imprisoning someone for pleasuring themselves with a dildo.”

Imtiyaz looked at him with mounting disapproval. “What do you mean ‘why should it matter?’ Are you out of your mind? You think what you did was right?”

“Think about it for a freaking second, Khan! Try to un-learn all the pseudo-moralistic trash they’ve glutted your mind with, and then pass a judgement. What I did on-duty was wrong because I did it on-duty, not because the act was inherently wrongful, at least not from where I see it,” pleaded Shiv, almost shouting.

At one moment, Imtiyaz Khan’s face was contorted with lines of disbelief and misgiving and on the immediate next, they seemed to relieve and his face relaxed. He emitted a long, almost maniacal laugh that took Shiv completely by surprise. He started to speak something, but he was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Excusing himself, he took the call. The conversation was clearly dominated by the person on the other end, the only replies coming from Imtiyaz being “yes sir” and “sure sir, now’s better than ever”. He walked to a corner of the room, his voice trailing off.

Shiv had been rattled; his past suddenly lay bare once again, bringing with it the ignominy, the shame he had spent years burrowing deep in the crevices his mind. He had always kicked himself for being too vulnerable to provocation. No matter how loosely acquainted a person was to him, he had the self-destructive habit of opening up to them even if they seemed the least bit interested in what he had to say.  Presently, he felt insecure after having confided in Imtiyaz all that he had. Shiv knew for a fact that he was a thorough gentleman, and that telling him about his necrophilic episode would not lead to any more disgrace than he had already earned. Nevertheless, he had a niggling feeling that the sanctity of a student-teacher relationship had been irrevocably breached; never would Imtiyaz look up to him and hold him in reverence as he had done 4 years back. The realization of this made Shiv regret his actions more than anything else.

Imtiyaz’s call ended and he returned to Shiv. An uncomfortable silence punctuated the scene, both of them disengaged and distant. It was the younger man who broke the lull.

“It was boss. He wants me back in an hour’s time, some new affair he wants my looking into-”

“Tell me, Khan,” Shiv cut in, “what was the purpose of your visit here? Why suddenly, after 4 years? Is there something you want to say or declare, as your demeanour suggests?”

“Well, yes,” he replied, choosing his words cautiously, “you were right about the engagement. I don’t know how you deduced it the moment you saw me, but yes, I am engaged and I did want to surprise you. But you can’t have everything,” he added with a newfound jollity, “my engagement ring is not in my breast pocket, it’s here!” he reached into the back pocket of his trousers. Before he could complete his action, the doorbell rang for a second time. In contrast to the last time, the ring was short, rushed and impatient.

“I’ll get it,” announced Shiv as he sprang up and started for the door. The bell rang again, this time accompanied by an urgent rap on the door.

“Open up, Mr. Pandey! I…need help!” Spoke a man on the other side, in a distressed heavy voice.

Exchanging a mutual look of incredulity with Khan, he pulled opened the door in a swift, stiff action.

A tall burly man with long black hair stumbled inside, smelling of vomit and looking up at Shiv with bloodshot eyes. Quick to grab the stranger’s shoulder, Shiv struggled to walk him inside. Aided at once by his protégé, he managed to make him seated on the nearest couch. The stranger seemed to be babbling with paranoia.

“They…they’re out to kill me…the cops, they too! Rigged my food... Detective, help! Please, Mr. Pandey…don’t tell cops…” muttered the stranger in slurred speech before collapsing on the ground, before either Pandey or Khan could get a hold of him. A small puddle of yellow vomit gradually formed on the floor where he had toppled over headfirst. He wore a wheatish tweed jacket and a faded pair of blue jeans soiled with untidy brown splotches.

Shiv bent down and checked his vital signs. Double-checking the pulse, he laid the stranger’s chubby wrist to ground and shook his head gravely at Imtiyaz.

“Dead.”

Imtiyaz sprang up with surprise. His manner became alert and vigilant, but the look of shock on his face remained. Shiv stood up from his squatting position, his eyes darting around, absorbing the scene. He scurried to the door and peeped outside to look out for any fleeing assailants. 

“Check the body for ID, Imtiyaz. Get your forensic guy, whatshisname, Dr. D’Mellow to arrange for an inquest.”

“Shall I call the…erm, cops?” said Imtiyaz.

The two looked at each other, weighing what the man’s last words had been and what conventional wisdom would suggest.

“No,” he replied after a thought, “I wouldn’t like to. But I have only half a say on this, since you also are a witness of the crime. I am willing to believe, for the moment, that the police could have an involvement in it. I’m not ruling it out. Plus, this man, whoever he was, decided to come to me over visiting the nearest police station. Why? There must be a sound reason, and I find myself duty bound to know it.”

“But surely he was in a state of delusion when he said what he did!” retorted Khan. “I’m certain he wasn’t in control of his words, they were hardly intelligible. I think we ought to follow protocol, sir.”

“You do that, Khan. I’m doing what I think is right: get to the bottom of this tragedy before notifying the alleged perpetrators of the crime. Are you with me, or do we have a conflict of interests here?”

The men stood locked in gaze, intense and unwavering. A moment passed, and the air was silent except their deep breathing. Again, it was Imtiyaz who gave in with a sigh.

“Alright, I won’t. I won’t call the police, despite me being one of them,” he said, bending to check the body, “but only as long as we’re working on it. The moment we hang the boots on our little investigation here, I’ll hand it over to my colleagues, sir. You have my allegiance till then, sir.”

“Well appreciated, Imtiyaz,” replied Shiv. “But, ‘we’? I thought I was the only private detective here!” He spoke with jocularity.

“In that case, I’ll be your Watson, Mr. Holmes,” Imtiyaz said with a slight smile. The two men shared an unlikely laugh, and the strained bond between them seemed to have found renewed reinforcement, even if in the hour of tragedy. 

(To read the conclusive part 2, click here)