Of Ma Cherí and Cherries

Romila chances upon a discovery

It was already a few minutes past 1 o'clock in the afternoon when Romila hurriedly switched off her laptop and went into the wash-room to groom herself. She had under an hour to complete her visit to the police station and to rush back and have her lunch in the bank's cafeteria. Hesitant to confront the inspector, she wondered if she should eat first and {i]then proceed to the police station.

Nah. Better get the police affair over with! She left the office and hailed a taxi to take her to Lamington Road.

" wahan jaane ko toh bees minit lag jayenge!

It will take at least twenty minutes to reach there!

" The taxi driver was clearly harried by the heat (most cabs in Mumbai are not air-conditioned).

"Theek hai! Ab chalo ...

That's all right. Now, let's go ...

" said Romila as she got in.

Just as she settled in, she felt her right foot touch something on the taxi floor. She bent down to see what it was. It seemed to be a small soft-lid bag!

"Yeh kya hai, taxiwaale?

What is this?

"

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the lady holding a small bag. He pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine. Turning around, he looked at the bag and said, "I don't know, madam."

She was about to hand it over to the cabbie when something held her back. Then, before she could do anything further, the lid just came open as it was held by just one clasp. Inside, she could see wads of Rs. 500 notes filled to the top.

Stay cool, stay cool. There seem to be a lot of money inside here ... if I take out some of them, the cabbie won't know! She kept turning over the options in her mind, but eventually, she decided to hand over the whole bag to the police.

She told the cabbie that she would hand over the bag to the police as she was about to go there. The cabbie protested, and wanted to open the bag and see what was inside, but she held her resolve, and asked him to drive.

"Tum ab chalo, yeh bag kisi aur ki property hai, usey police ko hi dena theek hoga.

You just drive. This bag belongs to someone else, and it will only be right to hand it to the police.

".

The cabbie relented, and they went on. Romila counted out the bundles - each with 100 notes of Rs. 500 each ... there were over 20! Which meant that there were a million rupees inside! She closed the clasp and held on to the bag firmly.

*******

The driver proved to be correct. The police station was painted a garish blue and yellow done over a heritage stone structure. Romila paid the cabbie and asked him to wait. She went in, the bag in one hand, and pushed the half-sized swing doors to enter the duty room.

A constable, chewing tobacco inside his mouth, approached her. He saw a fair, rather beautiful young woman with coloured hair and sunglasses; she appeared to be searching for someone.

"Yes, Madam, what can I do for you?" He stood before the lady and awaited her response.

Romila focussed on the constable and made a face as if to convey the impression that she did not like to deal with "small" people. However, time being precious, she asked him where she could find Inspector Baijal.

The constable pointed to one of the men sitting on duty behind the old, scarred wooden tables. Inspector Baijal was neatly attired and looked about 40-45 years old. He was talking on the telephone as she approached him and signaled to him to respond in her direction.

He indicated that she should sit down on one of the chairs in front of his table, and went on with the call. It appeared that he was angry, for he kept varying his tone of voice from a shouting one to one that was gruff and disrespectful. Presently, he signed off with a reminder to the other person to "keep in touch" and then got up and shook hands with Romila.

"You must be Miss Bhagat, right?" he began, and his tone was quite polite.

"Yes, I am Romila Bhagat. Why did you summon me here, sir?"

"Ah, well. Actually, we had a car accident in our locality, and the victim - a young man - has been badly injured. He has been taken to ..."

Romila's heart sank. She interrupted the inspector.

"Why are you telling me all this?" she said with exasperation.

"Please calm down, Madam," said Baijal and added, "let me complete, okay?"

Romila waited to hear the rest. Baijal banged a bell on his desk, and when a constable came over and saluted him, he looked at Romila and asked if she would like to have tea. Romila was too nervous to respond, and shook her head NO. The inspector asked the constable to bring one tea and then turned to look back at Romila.

"As I was saying, madam," he continued, one finger going up to his right nostril to remove whatever irritated him, " the victim has been taken to Sir Hurkisondas Nurottamdas Hospital. He may or may not pull through. After all, he has a few broken bones and ..."

"Please come to the point, sir." Romila was getting impatient and not a little worried. Who can it be?

"Oh, yes, well, this man had a piece of paper in his wallet in which was written your name and cell number. I assumed that he knew you and hence I called you."

"My name and cell number? Mine? Romila stared at the inspector incredulously.

"His name is Ashok Mehta, madam. Do you know this person?"

Romila's mind spun as she let out a sigh. Four years of a torrid affair ... how could she forget Ashok? From the beaches at Kovalam to the forests of Ranthambore, she had gone so many places with Ashok. He was sleazy, he was naughty, but above all, he was a very passionate lover. And then, about two years ago, she had discovered that he was already married to a German girl who worked at the consulate in New Delhi. Promptly, she had dumped him. After that, she had not heard from him or about him, and she had gradually learned to live without him. Now, here he was, once again in her life.

"I used to know him, sir, but we haven't seen each other since more than two years," she offered her reply.

"What relation is he to you, madam," asked Baijal, and his tone took on a lecherous slant.

"He ... he was ...a friend," said Romila. She pulled herself to her full height as she got off the chair.

"I have nothing to do with him now, sir, so if you will please excuse me ... I have to go back to my office."

"Wait, madam, wait," said Baijal, as he gestured to her to sit down again.

Romila sat down with a pout.

"You see, I have not called you here to trouble you, but to inform you that he had a "living will" in his pocket, and I have kept it with all his other belongings in the station till his relatives come. We have called them too, so it won't be necessary to take charge of him ... but, you see, he mentions in his will that should he die accidentally, half of all his money is to go to one Miss Romila Bhagat."

The new revelation startled Romila. She had never imagined that Ashok would have even thought so kindly about her - considering that he was married and had one son too.

"I ... I don't know what to say, sir."

"Yes, indeed. This is why I called you." Baijal smiled triumphantly.

"Where ... where is he hospitalised, sir?"

"The Sir H. N. Hospital ... it is just 5 minutes from here. He is in the Medical I.C.U."

Romila thanked him and promised to keep in touch with him. He also noted down the inspector's phone number and rushed out of the police station. She called up her office and informed the floor manager that she would not be able to return for the afternoon as something urgent had come up.

"There is one more thing, sir."

"Yes?"

"Sir, while coming here in the cab, the driver and I found this bag left inside by the previous occupant ..."

The inspector made some enquiries, summoning the driver for confirmation. After completing the legal formalities, which took over half an hour, he asked one of his constables to take charge of the bag, and thanked Romila for the public act of good conscience. He then allowed both his visitors to leave.

Romila asked the cabbie to take her to the Sir H. N. Hospital.