CRIME FICTION
The Studs
In the Shade of Mango Blossoms: Chapter 4
The curettage didn’t take very long, but it left the 27-year-old’s fragile body in excruciating pain. Nayab wasn’t prepared for this day; no expectant mother is. An endometrial biopsy revealed that she could conceive again but not before her recuperation, which would last several months.
A constable collected blood and tissue samples from the hospital and drove back to the CID. Shards of glass and metal had been recovered earlier from the highway connecting the county hospital to a residential enclave. This piece of evidence too would find temporary lodging in the chief prosecutor’s office once the analysis was complete.
An aluminium bucket was filled to the brim with water from the municipality pump. Thereafter began the long walk back to the slum. The pump was only a half-hour distance from the bamboo hut, but the blistering pre-monsoon heat pushed it farther away.
Once home, the middle-aged sari-clad seamstress scooped some washing powder and added it to a pan of water. Before soaking her grandson’s shirt and trousers in the soapy water, she checked the pockets for any money forgotten inside them. A piece of jewellery bungee-jumped onto the concrete floor and sparkled in the sunlight. “What’s this doing in Abeer’s trousers?” wondered the woman.
“Is it alright if I ask you a few questions, doctor? It’s necessary for the case at hand or I wouldn’t have bothered you at such a crucial time,” the superintendent asked at the entrance of the maternity ward. His tone was firm yet polite. Having dealt with police cases herself at the county hospital where she worked, Nayab excused the intrusion. She cooperated as much as her health would allow and the superintendent departed satisfied.
It wasn’t as he had anticipated — the gynaecologist was unable to recall if she was missing anything. With a scowl on his bearded face, he studied the contents of a tiny zip-locked packet. The lonesome stud was recovered from the cup holder of Nayab’s car.
Soon after dinner, the on-duty nurse helped Nayab with her medications and dressed her bandages. She also fastened a fresh bag of saline to the cannula after checking the patient’s temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation level among other things. The patient’s feet were swelling so the nurse arranged two extra pillows to keep them elevated.
“Is there anything else you need?” the nurse inquired. “Yes, I wanted to ask you about my studs and gold chain. Have you or any of your colleagues seen them?” Nayab was confident the nurse would know about them, so she was disappointed to hear that she arrived at the hospital without them. “Are you sure?” she persisted, hoping for a different answer. Annoyed, the nurse insisted, “Yes, doctor, I’m very sure. I was on duty the night those two men brought you here.”
A week later, the superintendent stood quietly, facing a white oak veneer bookcase on the west side of the prosecutor’s office. He stared pensively at the forensics report in his hand. “We’re missing a vital piece of the puzzle,” said the prosecutor, breaking the ice. Both men agreed over tea and samosas that Nayab’s husband should be called in for questioning.
Emptying a pint-sized mug of molasses into a simmering pot, Mrittika kept stirring the mango pulp until her arms ached. She put the lid on, turned down the heat, and shuffled to the living room with a glass of coconut water. Her aam shotto would take another twenty minutes to cook. In the meantime, she would finish a pending job.
She tugged an envelope out of her sock drawer and kneeled on the floor beside her bed. She tore the envelope open and was surprised to see there was no paper inside. She jerked it with the open side facing downwards. To her astonishment, a piece of jewellery slithered onto a hand-knotted wool rug and shimmered in the soft ambient glow of her bedside lighting.
