Letter
Mahesh pressed his pillow over his ears as sharp knocks battered the door. Muffled voices and laughter rose from outside his hostel room, and the knocking grew louder. With a groan, Mahesh sat up in bed. From the level of racket, he guessed that his neighbors were gathering for their Saturday cricket match. He was about to get the door, but the memory of his dream kept him glued firmly in place.
He pushed his hair back, drawing a shaky breath. An old man had stood on the banks of the Ganges, his face obscured by shadows beneath the moonlight. When Mahesh had called out to him, the man had swung to face him, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the darkness. He’d reached out to Mahesh with a trembling hand.
“Please,” the man had moaned in a haunting voice. “Help me.”
Mahesh had woken up with a start, his stomach sinking as he’d tried to place where he’d heard that voice before. So familiar . . .
“Wake up, you lazy oafs!” a voice laughed through the door.
After stealing a glance at his roommate, who was still fast asleep—or at least pretending to be—Mahesh dragged his feet to the door and swung it open.
His hallmate stood smiling, a group of rowdy teammates chatting and shoving each other behind him.
“Ah, I knew you were awake! Could we borrow some water bottles and clean T-shirts for the match this morning?”
Mahesh smiled, shaking his head in exasperation. “Believe it or not, some of us actually enjoy sleeping in on the weekends. Okay, come on in.” The request wasn’t unusual. Neighbors in the student housing complex often shared such necessities, and he knew they’d do the same for him. As the players flooded in, grabbing what they needed, Mahesh’s hallmate leaned against the doorframe.
“Hey, did you hear about that retired professor who died recently? He taught at Delhi University, and a few of my classmates knew him from before they transferred here. They are saying he passed away under mysterious circumstances.”
Mahesh furrowed his brow as he dodged a scurrying cricket player. “Which professor?”
His hallmate shrugged. “I don’t recall his name. There are plenty of theories going around regarding his death, but I won’t bore you with rumors.” As the other players scrambled out of the room, he shot Mahesh a smirk. “I’d invite you to watch the match, but I know you’re not interested in cricket. I can’t fathom how you can even call yourself Indian. It’s downright unpatriotic!”
Mahesh chuckled. “Hey, I play sports! I love to run, and I’ll remind you that I’m the reigning chess champion here at JNU.”
His hostel mate rolled his eyes, grabbing a shirt and a water bottle for himself. “You can hardly call chess and running sports, but sure. Thanks again for this!”
Mahesh gave him a nod, and the players cheered and whooped as they made for the field. As Mahesh latched the door shut, he wondered which professor his neighbor had been referring to. Did Mahesh know him from his time at Delhi University? As he shuffled across the room, the passport on his desk, half hidden beneath his latest crossword puzzle, caught his eye. A smile tugged at his lips.
He had finally received his student visa to study abroad. Although the approval letter had arrived nearly three months ago, the visa process had dragged out longer than expected. Now that everything was in order, he was leaving for the United Kingdom in two weeks to pursue a PhD in history. Anxiety mixed with excitement when he thought of the upcoming journey, but he was ready.
His eyes then roved to his roommate, Bharat, whose sheet was still pulled up to his nose. Mahesh couldn’t fathom the guy’s ability to sleep through that ruckus. Or maybe it was a ploy to avoid answering the door. After getting dressed, he opened the curtains on his side of the room. Bharat groaned as sunlight flooded in. He let out a curse and pulled the sheet over his head. But it was too late. It was a summer morning in Delhi, after all. The dingy ceiling fan only served to circulate the same sweltering air around the tiny space.
Their room, like all university hostel rooms, barely had enough space for their belongings. Many students tucked their luggage under their beds to hold the overflow of stuff from their cramped closets.
As Bharat tossed and turned on his mattress, Mahesh braced himself for the barrage of insults coming his way. He wasn’t disappointed. Bharat was known for his colorful language and used it remarkably well when he was irritated. He was a good friend, so Mahesh just brushed it off.
They’d been roommates since their undergraduate days at Delhi University, choosing to stick together while pursuing their master’s degrees at Delhi’s prestigious Jawaharlal Nehru University. Having just graduated, they were now preparing to set off in different directions. Mahesh was bound for the UK while Bharat would be returning to his hometown of Bhopal. Following many rounds of interviews, he had managed to secure a job at one of the public-sector companies there.
Mahesh gazed out the window as Bharat continued to grumble under his breath. The sprawling JNU campus was thinning out. Summer was usually quiet, with most students vacating their hostels by the first week of July. Bharat had decided to stay an extra three weeks to attend a wedding in Delhi, and to bid farewell to his friend who was going abroad, of course. Mahesh’s heart sank at the thought. They both knew that once they went their separate ways, it would be difficult to meet up again.
“Is your whole family going to be seeing you off?” Bharat asked groggily, as if reading his mind.
“Just my parents.” Mahesh swallowed hard, remembering the heated exchange they’d shared the last time they spoke. Things were tense between him and his father, but he was still eager to see them.
Bharat had put on his glasses and was now rummaging for a shirt from the pile of clothing on his desk chair. “Where are all my clean shirts?”
“The cricket players took a few.”
With a grimace, Bharat smelled the remaining shirts one by one to find which would be least repulsive.
“What’s wrong with you?” Bharat grumbled.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you wake me up so early?” Bharat asked after putting on his T-shirt.
“I’m hungry.”
“So?”
“I thought you’d like to join me,” Mahesh said with a smile.
“Unbelievable. I shudder to think what you will subject your roommates in London to.”
“Yeah, it will be tough to find someone who can sleep through a typhoon and smells like a landfill.”
Bharat threw a dirty shirt at Mahesh. “All right, we ought to head to the canteen anyway. Professor Sarkar is leaving tomorrow, and this will be our last chance to see him.”
“Right.” Mahesh nodded.
Sarkar was an English professor at JNU, but Mahesh and Bharat knew him better as their hostel’s beloved warden. His office was on the ground floor opposite the canteen and doubled as the mailroom. One wall of his spacious office featured nothing but rows of mailboxes. Mahesh knew that this was most likely by design. Nearly all the residents hailed from outside Delhi, and they often received letters from their families. A trip to the mailroom would invariably mean a conversation with Sarkar about their well-being and any problems they were grappling with in life or school.
The canteen was nearly empty when they arrived. With the kickoff of summer break, the canteen workforce was down to a few skeleton staff.
As one of the premier cafeterias on campus, it boasted a wide assortment of menu items and, more importantly, a large sitting area both inside and outside the building. When Mahesh noticed an older man with a white beard serving up food, he recalled his strange dream. He almost brought it up to Bharat but then thought better of it. His friend was famous for conjuring elaborate theories to explain the unknown, and Mahesh wasn’t in the mood.
After they picked up their egg sandwiches and tea, Mahesh stepped out to the courtyard. There, benches and picnic tables were shaded beneath a canopy of trees. Bharat followed a few steps behind, stopping and exchanging greetings with people he knew.
As Mahesh sat down and waited for Bharat, he looked around. He would miss the leafy courtyards, the sprawling campus, the canteens, and the classrooms. He hadn’t given them much thought during the last two years. But now that he was leaving, he viewed them with a sense of belonging and nostalgia. The loud thud of a tray hitting the table jarred him from his reverie.
“Did we lose you somewhere?” Bharat asked, sitting across from Mahesh.
“You know, I am going to miss this place.”
“I won’t,” Bharat scoffed, taking a big bite of his sandwich.
“Maybe I’m just feeling sentimental because I’m leaving the country.”
“It’s a good thing that you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I will miss you dearly. But honestly, there isn’t much for you in India.”
“You really think so?” Mahesh asked between sips of tea.
“My friend, this is 1980. There aren’t enough jobs for science graduates, let alone folks pursuing the arts. If you weren’t going abroad, you would have only two choices.”
“And what are they?” Mahesh asked, slightly amused.
“You either take the civil services exam to get a government job, or you earn a PhD and become a professor somewhere. Of course, in your case, you could join the family business, but I don’t see you selling clothes. Come to think of it, a government job is really not an option for you either.”
Mahesh narrowed his eyes. “Really? Why not?”
“Look at how many people take the civil services exam and the number who get in. It’s almost impossible. You may be smart, but you are not studious or disciplined enough to make the cut.”
“I appreciate your confidence in my abilities,” Mahesh said while nibbling on his sandwich. “What about the second option?”
“Doing a PhD here in India? That’s a horrible route. The student stipends are lower than the wages of the university cleaning staff, and when you do get your degree, you are looking at salaries that are hardly enough to live on,” Bharat responded as he finished off his sandwich.
“I know you’re right, but it’s not that straightforward. Even though I put my foot down about going abroad, there’s a part of me that’s scared. What if it doesn’t work out?”
“Well, you could always come back to India and try your luck here. For all you know, a degree from abroad might help you get a better academic position.”
“Yeah, it might, but . . .” Mahesh trailed off with a sigh, cringing at the thought of facing his family should he fail at his endeavors abroad—especially considering how things went down.
When Mahesh had first secured his admission in the UK, his father had been furious, wanting Mahesh to stay back and join their family’s textile business. Eventually, Mahesh had won the argument. But his father had made it clear that any hope of him joining the family business upon his return was now remote.
Mahesh had readily agreed. His siblings didn’t object either—they were probably relieved. It meant more shares of their modest business to go around. But Mahesh had certainly caused some waves in the family.
Bharat’s voice drew him out of his thoughts. “What’s bothering you?”
“It’s how things ended with my father. He wasn’t just angry. He was disappointed. I was angry too, and we both said a lot of things in the heat of the moment. Plus, if my foray abroad doesn’t work out, there would be a lot of snide remarks from my siblings.”
“Then you will just have to prove them wrong, won’t you?”
Just as Mahesh opened his mouth to reply, he heard footsteps. They both looked sideways to see Professor Sarkar ambling toward their table. They immediately got up and offered him a seat. He smiled and gestured that they should sit. Once they all settled in, Mahesh asked whether he would like something from the cafeteria.
“Oh no. I really shouldn’t. My doctor told me to cut down on my intake of tea and snacks. You know, when I was in my forties, he asked me to quit smoking, and I tried. Now, in my late fifties, he is asking me to quit all kinds of food. Have you noticed that these doctors always tell you to cut out the delicious stuff and not the bland fare like vegetables?”
“I agree, sir. It’s a conspiracy. They don’t want us to have a happy life,” Bharat responded with a smirk.
“Exactly,” the professor said before turning to Mahesh. “Anyway, I am not here to talk about myself. Mahesh, are you all set for your next adventure in London?”
“Yes, sir,” Mahesh replied, excitement lacing his tone.
“Which university did you end up with, again?”
“UCL.”
“Ah, University College London. I am guessing you chose it based on the supervisor and what your professors recommended.”
“That, and also funding, sir,” Mahesh said.
Sarkar arched his eyebrows. “You are getting a better stipend?”
“That’s right. Plus, the tuition is lower than that of Oxford or Cambridge. They are also helping me with housing, and if I share with other students, I will come out ahead even though London is quite expensive.”
“Well, I am sure you have done the math. I am happy for you. When are you leaving?”
“In two weeks,” Mahesh responded.
“Time flies, doesn’t it? I am heading to Calcutta for summer break, and I don’t think I’ll be seeing either of you for a while,” Sarkar said with a smile, glancing between Mahesh and Bharat.
“I will certainly write, sir,” Mahesh replied, knowing full well that once he was in London, it would be difficult to keep in touch with everyone.
“Oh, please do.” Sarkar shifted, as if preparing to leave. “I love receiving letters from my former students. Oh, before I forget, you have a letter in the mailbox from Benares, Mahesh.”
“I will pass by and pick it up. Thank you for letting me know.”
“Off to do my packing, then. Good luck to both of you in all your future endeavors. I hope you do well, and remember—it’s never as good or as bad as it seems. Take it from an old man. Enjoy the little things, and stay true to yourself. Try to make a difference if you can. There isn’t time for anything else.” Sarkar gave them one last smile as he turned to leave.
“Thank you, sir,” Mahesh and Bharat replied in unison.
After Sarkar left, a few classmates stopped by to wish Mahesh well on his new adventure as he and Bharat finished their masala tea.
When the last classmate left, Bharat shot Mahesh a snarky smile. “See? Now you’re the star attraction simply because you are leaving India to study abroad. You’ve become such a hotshot.”
“Jealous, are we?” Mahesh teased.
“Totally.” Bharat laughed. “So, what’s with the letter from Benares? Do you think it’s Karan?”
“Must be. I don’t know anyone else there,” Mahesh responded, feeling a prick of curiosity.
Karan was a friend from their undergraduate days at Delhi University. They’d all hailed from out of town, so after the first year of college, they’d rented an apartment together. While Mahesh and Bharat moved on to JNU after graduation, Karan returned to his hometown of Benares to take charge of the family’s hospitality business. They tried to stay in touch, but over time, they had drifted apart. Then, six months ago, Bharat and Mahesh received an invitation to Karan’s wedding in Benares.
Like most traditional Indian weddings, it had been an elaborate affair. Fortunately, Karan had managed to carve out some time to spend with Bharat and Mahesh despite the madness surrounding all the ceremonies. During those few hours together, they’d felt like they were back in college again. After that, there hadn’t been any other correspondence besides the occasional cards during festivals.
“Well, let’s check out that letter,” Bharat said, getting up.
“Yeah. Maybe he is having a kid or something.”
“Or maybe his wife ran away, and he is finally free,” Bharat blurted gleefully.
“Honestly, Bharat, I sometimes wonder what goes on inside that head of yours,” said Mahesh with a smile.
“It’s definitely one of the unexplored wonders of the world.”
It was a short walk from the cafeteria to the mailboxes at Sarkar’s office. The usual hustle and bustle of the hostel had given way to a more laid-back atmosphere. Some students had piled their luggage in the courtyard just outside the main entrance, waiting for their rides to the railway station or airport. The building housed nearly three hundred students, most of whom had already left for summer break.
Stepping into the mailroom, Mahesh quickly emptied his mailbox. There were a few flyers and then the letter from Benares. Mahesh scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. It was not from Karan, but from a gentleman whose name he didn’t recognize. Mahesh showed the sender’s address to Bharat, who shrugged.
“I don’t know who this is,” Mahesh said, still sorting through his confusion.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Mahesh carefully opened the envelope, making sure not to rip anything that was written on it. A single sheet of paper lay folded inside. The letter was handwritten in an exquisite script, but the message itself was short.
Mahesh’s mouth went dry as he scanned the letter. Devesh Tripathi, a retired professor who’d taught at Delhi University, had passed away a few weeks ago. He’d left a box with Mahesh’s name on it, along with some papers and books. As for the box, the writer, Hari Das, gave no details of the contents.
Mahesh lowered the inscribed paper. This had to be the professor his hallmate had mentioned. Since the letter contained nothing personal or confidential, Mahesh handed it to Bharat.
His friend took his time reading it and then handed it back to Mahesh. “This gentleman, Hari, was a friend of Professor Devesh Tripathi?”
“That’s what it seems.” Mahesh read the letter once more, this time slowly and carefully.
“I remember that guy, Devesh. Wasn’t he the fellow who ran the magazine and was crazy about crossword puzzles?”
Mahesh nodded. “One and the same.”
“I didn’t think you knew him that well.”
“We weren’t very close, but I did interact with him for magazine-related things during our undergraduate studies. But since he taught biology, I never had any classes with him.”
Devesh had run the monthly magazine flawlessly, making sure that funds were allocated for printing, the editorial board gave their blessing on the content, and the monthly editions were published in a timely manner.
The one section of the publication that Devesh had personally labored over was the crossword puzzle. The man had loved creating and solving them. He would spend hours putting together two elaborate puzzles for each edition. Mahesh had shared Devesh’s enthusiasm for crossword puzzles, and they would often pick up papers and journals to solve them together.
Bharat locked eyes with Mahesh. “Strange that someone would contact you on his passing.”
“Well . . . ” Mahesh started, but he was interrupted by Bharat.
“As I recall, we did see Devesh briefly at Karan’s wedding. He looked different from when we knew him during our days at DU.”
“You’re right. He was more subdued, and he seemed exhausted, frail even,” Mahesh remarked.
“Do you think he was ill at that time?” Bharat wondered.
“I don’t know. I spoke to him for a moment, and then he went home with his nephew.” Mahesh hadn’t wanted to pry into his affairs. Inquiring about one’s health could be sensitive. “I remember that he left early. It is rather strange that he would leave a box for me, though.”
“Well, there are a few numbers here. We can call those to find out more. This doesn’t look like a hoax to me,” Bharat said, gesturing to the letter.
“I agree,” Mahesh mumbled.
“The letter asks that you pick up the box in person, which seems a bit much. You could always ask this gentleman, Hari Das, to mail the contents to you.”
“I suppose I could, but the tone of the letter is rather insistent that I retrieve it in person. Don’t you think that’s a strange request?”
“All this is extremely weird,” Bharat said. “Maybe he left you some secret treasure or hidden wealth or tons of money.”
“Enough. Really, Bharat,” Mahesh said, casting him a glare. The letter contained nothing to suggest any sort of windfall for the recipient. But then, why leave him anything in the first place? As they both sat down to ponder their next move, Mahesh recalled his time with the professor.
Devesh hailed from Benares and was unmarried. After retiring, the same year Mahesh finished his BA, Devesh had moved back to his hometown. Word was that he had gone to live in the small ancestral home that he shared with his nephew and his nephew’s wife. After that, they had never heard from Devesh again, which was not unusual. Mahesh figured that if indeed Devesh were to keep in touch with any of his students, it would be those he had taught.
When they ran into him at Karan’s wedding, Devesh had said something about recovering from an accident or a fall that had happened a few months earlier. The last thing Mahesh remembered was the professor being helped by his nephew toward the exit of the reception hall. He had turned around and waved at them with a sad smile.
“I think we should give this Hari Das a call,” Bharat said finally.
Mahesh nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.”
“Are you seriously considering going to Benares?”
“Based on this, no. Let me talk to his friend and then his nephew. I can decide after that.”
“Yeah, makes sense. At least they can tell you what’s in the box and whether they can just mail it to you.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Mahesh said, feeling unsure.
“You still have two weeks till you leave for London. You could always go there and come back. You could meet up with Karan and stay at one of his family’s guesthouses, or maybe he could put you up at his home.”
“That’s true, though I’d prefer the guesthouse option. They live in a large joint family, and if I stayed at his place, I would constantly be dealing with people. The guesthouse would be good for Karan too. That way, we could talk more freely.”
“Yes, there’s that.” Bharat stroked his chin in thought. “Do you want to call from my uncle’s travel agency? It will be cheaper, and if you decide to go, you can buy your railway ticket from there at a discount.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?” Mahesh asked with a grin.
“It sucks that I won’t be able to go with you. Even if this amounts to nothing, I’d have loved to meet up with Karan and do some sightseeing in Benares. But I can’t skip my cousin’s wedding, especially with my parents here.”
“I understand. Don’t worry. If I decide to go, it won’t be for more than a week.”
“All right. Let’s get moving then,” Bharat said.
They exited into the courtyard, where they saw a few taxis parked out front. Mahesh and Bharat stepped onto the road leading out of the JNU campus. Although the weather was sweltering, the canopy of trees lining the street provided ample shade.
Leaving the sprawling campus, they headed for the nearest bus stop. They didn’t have to wait long and were soon on their way to Delhi’s South Extension Market.
Figuring he’d reread the letter while they rode, Mahesh dug into his shoulder bag. But instead, his fingers brushed the corner of another paper. He pulled it out and realized it was a crossword puzzle. Funny. He didn’t remember ever starting this one. As he scanned the puzzle, his eyes fell on number seven, across. A four-letter word for the inevitable future. After thinking for a moment, he smiled as he penned in the answer. Fate.
Tucking the puzzle back into his bag, he let his mind wander to Devesh Tripathi.
“Did you know Devesh was an amateur poet?” he declared after a short while.
“No, I wasn’t aware,” Bharat said and leaned back in his seat.
“He never published anything in the college magazine. The rest of the students and staff often wondered why. Some of us asked him, but he was always coy with his responses.”
“Did he share them with anyone? Like, did anyone actually read his stuff?”
“Not that I recall. He told us that he used to go to these poetry festivals. You know, Kavi Sammelans. Maybe he recited something there,” Mahesh replied.
Bharat shook his head in disbelief. “As I said, I still find it strange that he would ask someone to contact you after he died.”
“I agree, especially since we were never that close.”
“Well, I mean . . . from what we know, he was a bit off.”
“How so?” Mahesh was curious, knowing full well that Bharat would concoct some strange, convoluted theory.
“Think about it. He was a single biology professor who wrote poetry and was crazy about crossword puzzles. Any one of those things probably isn’t a red flag, but taken together, it feels a bit eccentric.”
Mahesh chuckled. “It’s a good thing you are not studying psychology. I don’t think any of that is weird.”
“Or maybe his poems were just so bad that he didn’t want to share them with anyone.”
“Honestly, Bharat. The guy is dead. Show some respect.”
“I am. I’m only talking about his poetry, not him.”
“The letter doesn’t mention how he passed away,” Mahesh said, remembering his hallmate saying something about mysterious circumstances.
“Well, all I know is that he really, really loved those crossword puzzles, and you were also into them. Weren’t you part of a club or something?”
“Yes, the Lexico club. Lexico was the original name for Scrabble,” replied Mahesh, “and Devesh always shared tips and tricks to play the game and solve puzzles.”
“And as far as you know, that’s the only thing you had in common?”
“That’s all I can think of,” Mahesh said. He turned to gaze out the window. The summer sun was piercing through the glass, making for an uncomfortable bus ride. Luckily, it wasn’t long before they got off at one of the main intersections of the market. Their destination was a short walk from there.
Bharat’s uncle ran a successful travel agency, garnering a lot of business from students and their families from out of town. He didn’t seem to mind his nephew’s occasional requests to let his friends make calls. Long-distance rates were high between cities in India, and students were always on a tight budget. Mahesh had met the man quite a few times. Apart from some annoying habits, such as chewing tobacco and lecturing anyone who disagreed with him on politics and cricket, they got along well.
When they arrived, a few agents were busy attending to clients, and Bharat’s uncle was barking away on the phone behind a wide desk at the far end of the store. The air-conditioned office was a welcome respite from the heat outside.
Upon spotting his nephew and Mahesh, the old man waved them over and pointed to the chairs across his desk. After he hung up, he gave them a warm smile. He had a small, round stature beneath a balding head, but his stoic expression hid a man with a big heart who lavished his family and friends with gifts during Diwali. Though a shrewd businessman, he was generous with his wealth and donated to many charities. Bharat often wondered aloud to Mahesh whether this was a ploy to eventually enter politics.
“How are things going with you two? Ready for your summer break?”
“Yes, uncle,” Bharat and Mahesh responded, their voices overlapping.
They talked briefly about JNU and Mahesh’s trip to London for higher studies before guiding the conversation to the purpose of their visit. One of the staff brought them some lassis and samosas. Before letting Mahesh use the phone, Bharat’s uncle gave him a long lecture on how he should conduct himself in London, how to go about seeing the town, and the various pitfalls of Western culture. Mahesh listened intently without arguing. After a few minutes, he retreated to a small desk with a phone to make the calls to Benares. Meanwhile, Bharat kept his uncle occupied with never-ending discussions about Bollywood and an upcoming cricket series between India and the West Indies.
Mahesh’s first call was to Hari Das, the man who had sent him the letter. Hari picked up after a few rings, and Mahesh introduced himself.
“Yes, I was expecting your call, and I am glad you contacted me,” Hari said. His voice sounded like that of an older gentleman.
“Sir, can you tell me anything about the contents of the box that the professor left for me?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t. Devesh’s only instructions, written in a letter to me, were to notify you to pick up something he has left for you,” Hari said.
“Oh. Is there anything else pertaining to me in the letter?”
“It just states that you should pick up the box, and he would appreciate it if you did so in person,” Hari said before letting a silence stretch between them.
“Where is the box now?” Mahesh asked.
“With his nephew, Laxman, who he was living with,” Hari huffed, and Mahesh detected a sharp change in his tone. “You must collect it from him soon. I don’t think he is going to keep it for too long.”
“His nephew didn’t share the details of the contents with you?”
“No, he told me that the box was meant for you, and he would hand it over only to you. He also said that if no one came to collect the box, he would just throw it away. That guy is a piece of work! I never liked him. He never took care of Devesh properly,” Hari grumbled with a tinge of disgust.
Mahesh tried to move the conversation along. “If I do come to Benares, can I visit you?” he asked.
“What do you mean ‘if’? Devesh left this for you. You must come and pick it up. His students were all he had, and this was important to him!” Hari boomed.
Mahesh was taken aback, but Hari and Devesh had obviously been close friends. It was natural for Hari to defend his dying wish.
“I’ll be there on Monday, sir,” Mahesh said. “I will come by your place after I have settled in.”
“Do you have a place to stay in Benares? If not, you can stay with me.”
Mahesh was again surprised, this time pleasantly. “Thank you, but I have a friend who lives there. I will see if I can stay with him. If I need your help, I will certainly ask.”
“Please do, and I look forward to seeing you on Monday. Have a safe trip.”
“Thank you,” Mahesh said before hanging up.
He had wanted to ask more about how Devesh had died, but he was wary of extending his conversation as Bharat’s uncle was keeping an eye on him.
Mahesh brought out a little notebook where he had written Karan’s number. Luckily, it was Karan who picked up. Mahesh quickly told him that he would be taking the overnight train on Sunday and would be in Benares for a few days. Karan gave him the address and the street number of the guesthouse where he could stay, adding that he would pick him up at the railway station on Monday morning.
After hanging up, Mahesh felt a swell of relief. He glanced back down at the letter, finding the second phone number, the one belonging to Laxman Tripathi. He dialed, but there was no answer. Mahesh put down the receiver and headed back to where Bharat and his uncle were seated.
After he quickly relayed what had happened, Bharat’s uncle called an agent over to take down Mahesh’s details. He then instructed the agent to book a train ticket for Sunday night from Delhi to Benares. While the agent was busy making the reservation and Bharat’s uncle was on the phone with some tour operators, Bharat pointed Mahesh to a desk a little farther away where they could talk in private.
“It’s a good thing you are going. You and Karan can have some fun, even if this box turns out to be useless. I am just jealous that I can’t be with you guys,” Bharat said, finishing off his lassi with a long sip.
“It would have been nice to reach the nephew, Laxman, as well.”
“Well, you can give it another shot before we leave.”
“Yes. I must thank your uncle.”
“And you should thank me too. Had you not known me, you wouldn’t have met my uncle.”
“Right. How could I ever forget?” Mahesh said with a smile before adding, “thank you.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Even if you forget, I will remind you,” Bharat said, and they both broke into laughter.
A moment later, the agent who had made the train reservation came over. He handed the ticket and details to Mahesh, who gave him the required payment. The ticket wasn’t expensive, and he had purchased a nonrefundable, second-class sleeper berth. He checked the booking to ensure everything was in order and then headed over to Bharat’s uncle’s desk. Mahesh thanked him profusely, and once again, the man offered Mahesh some unsolicited advice on the pros and cons of living abroad. Thankfully, his phone started ringing, and once he returned to his customers, Bharat managed to whisk Mahesh toward the exit. His uncle waved them goodbye from afar, now back to bellowing orders on the phone and to everyone around him.
“Do you want to give Devesh’s nephew another go?” Bharat asked.
“I’m not sure. I am going there anyway. I just wanted to make sure that Laxman will be there when I stop by to pick up the box, that’s all.”
“Go ahead then,” Bharat said, pointing to the phone on the desk nearest them.
“I think we should ask your uncle again.”
“Make the call, and I will go ask him. Don’t worry about it.” Bharat hustled over to his uncle’s desk. From their body language, Mahesh gathered that Bharat’s uncle didn’t mind and was more preoccupied with the agents huddled around his desk.
Mahesh quickly dialed the number. A woman picked up on the other end.
“I am trying to reach Mr. Laxman Tripathi. My name is Mahesh Pal, and I believe there is a box in my name from Professor Devesh Tripathi.”
“Oh yes,” the woman replied. “Laxman is not here at the moment. I am his wife, Rani. We can send the box over to you. You live in Delhi, right?”
“That’s right,” Mahesh replied, “but I have booked myself a trip to Benares and will be arriving on Monday. I can pick up the box in person.”
“Oh,” Rani replied. Mahesh couldn’t make out whether there was a shade of disappointment in her voice.
“Mrs. Tripathi, I will be staying with a friend for a few days. If you are going to be there on Monday, I can come by and pick up the box,” Mahesh said.
He could hear some noise in the background, and then, after a brief pause, Rani spoke again. “My husband just returned home. You can speak to him now.”
Then, another voice, serious and demanding, said, “This is Laxman Tripathi.”
Mahesh again politely explained his plans. As he spoke, he was met with complete silence on the other end. When he finished, there was a brief pause before Laxman replied, “So, I see you have spoken to Hari Das.”
“Yes, sir. He is the one who wrote to me about the box.”
“Of course,” Laxman sneered, “my uncle’s so-called friend.”
Mahesh was at a loss for words. After a moment, he decided to break the silence. “Is it okay, sir, if I pass by on Monday to pick up the box?”
“Sure, why not? Come by. You really shouldn’t have to come all this way. We could have just sent you the box. There’s really nothing in it—some newspaper cuttings of sports events and crossword puzzles. It’s useless stuff that my uncle used to dabble in.”
“Right.” Mahesh noted that Laxman’s voice was now much calmer and more subdued.
“What time will you be coming?”
“My train arrives in the morning. I could be there in the afternoon or evening, whichever works best for you, sir.”
“It has to be evening, after six. I should be back from work by then,” Laxman confirmed.
“Certainly. I will come by after six, then.”
“Do you have our address? Did Hari include it in his letter?”
“Yes,” Mahesh replied.
“It’s a wasted visit. Your choice, though. Rani tells me that you are visiting a friend. Well, if you were going to be in Benares anyway, then yeah, it makes sense to collect it in person.”
“Thank you, sir. I will see you on Monday evening.”
After hanging up, Mahesh suddenly felt tired. But at the same time, the conversation had left him intrigued.
Bharat had meandered back to where he was sitting. “How did it go?”
“Strange,” Mahesh said softly, his voice trailing off.
“How so?”
“It almost seemed that this guy didn’t want me to come to his place to pick up the box. He was fine mailing it to me, though.”
“Weird. Did he tell you what’s in it?” Bharat asked.
“That’s the other thing. It seems he has gone through the contents. From what he said, it’s mostly newspaper cuttings and crossword puzzles.”
“Wow, is that what you are going all the way to Benares for? To pick up this sort of junk?”
“I’m not sure. I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.”
“Well, you can tell me all the gory details on the bus back to JNU. Let’s get out of this place,” Bharat said as they approached the door.
“Sure.” Mahesh nodded and turned to Bharat’s uncle, waving to him once again before exiting the office.
On the bus ride back, Mahesh relayed to Bharat in great detail his short conversations with Hari Das and Laxman Tripathi. For once, Bharat gave Mahesh his full attention without interrupting.
When he finished, Bharat nodded slowly. “We’re clearly missing something. Either way, I think going to Benares to pick up the box is the right decision.”
Mahesh hummed his agreement, but as the bus rolled along, he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something in the tone of those brief phone conversations didn’t sit right. He just couldn’t put a finger on it. Although it was nearly forty-five degrees Celsius outside, Mahesh felt a chill crawl up his spine.
