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We were thrilled with the May issue of “Dial M for Mystery” . Apart from the alliteration, we were excited about the entries we got and published. What more, some of them were even two part stories. We are letting the excitement continue for June by continuing the Mystery series.

Keep the sleuthing cap on while another serving of Mystery comes right up!

A big shout out to Karthik , who volunteered to help us with the design of the magazine!

The June theme articles are :
Unravelling A Riddle - Adithya Shrikrishna
Nobody’s Murder - Nivethitha Kumar
Who Dunnit? The Science Of Solving a Mystery – Dhivya Arasappan
Two Beans in a Pod – Arul Sirpy
The Reel Thrill – Aruni Bhattacharya
Photography - Dharini Sundaram
the Other Son of Ganges – Part 2 Matangi Mawley
Creative Writing Workshop
So It Begins – Football Worldcup – Karthik Balasubramanian
Beauty,Beast and A Murder – Anuradha Chandrasekaran

Aditya Srikrishna

Mysteries have always been made for fascinating viewing. Alfred Hitchcok, the most influential of them all made a whole career out of them. But with a theme that is often repeated, it’s easy to go haywire and spoil the larger canvas. We see that happening to almost every mystery/thriller flick coming out of India. A murder mystery needs stellar writing and tremendous hold on the proceedings as part of the director to see it through and quite literally, thrill the audience.

That is the reason why traditional whodunnits always score. There are murders and psychopathic first acts followed by the crime scene events, investigation, bureaucracy (in a more thought out story) and ultimately the resolution – the killer convicted. Here you have some set pieces to have the audience constantly interested which when overdone can lead to a migraine. The only takeaway would be the denouement. But what if it’s a true story – a spine chilling one at that – that the world has seen and followed over decades of investigation? More importantly, decades of investigation that haven’t ended. A story where you don’t have the high point of the ultimate denouement. How do you hold the audience interest there? Well, for starters, by stellar film making.

Zodiac(2007), directed by David Fincher, based on Robert Graysmith’s bestseller, is one such example of excellent film making. Zodiac is about the hunt for the eponymous serial killer who committed gruesome murders in and around the Bay area in California between the late 1960s and early 1970s. The murders spanned a large area in the state of California with police departments of several counties involved in simultaneous investigation. The Zodiac serial killer was known for his audacity with the investigative authorities and newspaper reporters, constantly sending letters and cryptic texts to them. The case is known to have been closed and reopened repeatedly over the years and to this date remains an unsolved crime in California.

The beauty of the film is in the way it is structured, constantly maintaining a murky undertone much like the ordeal the police officials and newspaper reporters go through with the case. The whodunnit recipe is rendered useless here as the audience already know that there is going to be no closure. There is no rug underneath to pull in a story like this one. The props are all within the investigation and how the whole things ties together. It’s not about who the serial killer is but about how the investigators piece the things together while holding their senses in a case as baffling as Zodiac’s. And some of the characters don’t succeed in it either. There are characters that lose their calm and there are characters whose convictions are tested.

The film starts out slow showing us the second killing in detail. This is the point where the investigators begin to take Zodiac seriously as he repeats his gruesome attacks. Paul Avery(Robert Downey Jr.), a San Francisco Chronicle crime reporter receives letters and ciphers from the Zodiac. Robert Graysmith (Jack Gylenhall) is a cartoonist in the same newspaper who shows interest in the ciphers and ends up solving it and guessing the Zodiac’s actions when they start to take him seriously. As the clues start unraveling and a determined set of investigators David Toschi (Mark Ruffalo) and Bill Armstrong (Anthony Edwards) try to nail Zodiac, we are sucked in by the sheer realism of it all. A perceived multidimensional feeling develops as we imagine ourselves being involved in the investigation. There are moments of triumph when clues are unearthed and suspects are discovered.

As the investigators hit a roadblock and Paul Avery becomes paranoid eventually turning to alcohol, the film seemingly loses pace. The effect is only seemingly because the film moves as gradually as ever but the case does not. The clues lead to no comprehensive answer, the suspects remain suspects by nothing more than circumstantial evidence and we feel the frustration of David Toschi, Paul Avery and Robert Graysmith. Toschi, wonderfully portrayed by a restrained Mark Ruffalo, is falsely implicated of forging a Zodiac letter and removed from the case. All the characters move on except for Robert Graysmith.

Graysmith gets access to police departments of other counties where the murders have taken place and he tries to put together all the information from them for his book on Zodiac. He also talks to the suspects, friends of victims etc. and is further motivated by phone calls, allegedly from Zodiac himself, where he hears nothing but heavy breathing. This is the point where nothing makes sense to us because nothing makes sense to Robert Graysmith. As he obsesses with the case, he loses his family but is endearingly ordered by his wife to finish the book. Graysmith has no hopes of a conviction for the Zodiac killer. All he says is he wants is to know who Zodiac is and look into his eyes.

If Paul Avery is unable to handle the pressure and paranoia as Zodiac’s go-to reporter, David Toschi as the San Francisco detective grows tired of the case and wants out by any means. Graysmith, left all alone in the end, has little to lose and goes on with the case. The way the film is written, as a journey for the audience over decades, through the minds of several people is what makes the film interesting and an unmatched masterpiece. When Graysmith meets up with Toschi one last time and succeeds in convincing the detective of his investigations, Toschi says just two words. The same two words linger in our minds after the movie – “Jesus Christ.”

Bright lights flashed everywhere accompanied with a weird droning sound that rose and fell. I was completely delirious and wet. I had no idea where I was and what I was doing. All that I knew was that I was lying down in what looked like the inside of a room. Was it my imagination or was the room swaying from left to right? Everytime I tried to move, I was overcome by a sharp pain that hit my right side.

Subbu opened the front door into a room littered with beer cans and covered in dense smoke. He coughed and walked to the windows, opening them and letting some light in. The smoke gradually cleared to reveal a huddled form lying in the middle of the room.

“Hey, Karthik! Get up! Are you ok?” Subbu asked, running to him.

Karthik roused himself and threw off the blanket that covered him. A strong whiff of smoke and beer emanated from within the blanket that looked like it had been never been washed.

“Ah! You finally responded to my call. Where were you all these days?” Karthik asked groggily.

“Sorry man. I was held up at work. How are you doing?”

“Not good. Not good at all. What’s the time, now?”

“Err… It is 7:00 in the evening,” Subbu said, looking at the wall clock that was covered in cobwebs.

He then walked up to a rusted stove that lay in one corner of the living room, which doubled as a kitchen and lit it. As he bustled around searching for coffee powder, he noticed Meenakshi’s framed photo on the floor. She was Karthik’s wife.

Karthik had lost his wife a couple of months ago in a car accident. The police suspected foul play but they were, quite predictably, unable to prove anything. She had been a journalist and a dedicated one at that. Her professional peak was when she busted a reputed hospital in an illegal kidney racket that had been plaguing the city for years. Even Subbu was caught in the melee that followed as he was a doctor in the culprit hospital. Thankfully, the main perpetrator was identified as the Chief of Medicine, much before the hospital suffered from any major damage to its image. He was quickly acquitted and the hospital issued a public notice of apology offering ample compensation to all the afflicted families. Soon enough, life returned to normal at the hospital, but not for Subbu or Karthik.

While Karthik went into manic depression, Subbu struggled to maintain his flow of patients. It was their 20-year long friendship that helped them make it out of it all. Well, not all but mostly.

“This coffee powder seems pretty old. When did you use it last?”

“I have no idea. The cups are on the counter,” Karthik said as he got up unsteadily and walked to the sink and splashed water all over his face.

I was pushed feet-first somewhere outside the room. I could barely make out the letters: MER CY, shining some 8 ft above me. Lights started moving once again. Suddenly, they stopped and I was thrown up in the air. I landed on something soft. My clothes were being ripped and my belongings pulled out. I thought I was getting mugged. There were screams all around punctured by the shatter of machinery being pulled. Somebody said, “Paddles!” My eyes closed over in pain.

The kettle boiled over as Subbu almost scalded his hands. He asked, “What have you been doing since the last time I saw you?”

“Pretty much nothing. I quit my job and stayed at home. I was restless and troubled. I wanted to search out the son of a gun that killed my wife and dispatch him to hell,” he thumped the sink in anguish and disappointment.

As Subbu poured the coffee, he fished out a small sachet, unobtrusively, from the depths of his jeans and emptied the contents into one of the cups. Karthik continued talking.

“There were no clues whatsoever. The police had nothing to go on with except a broken Rolex watch that was found in the car crash remains. I suspected that Meenu was having an affair.”

Karthik got up and walked to where the framed photo of his dead wife adorned his kitchen. He picked it up and looked it at, expressionless.

“Your wife? Don’t think so. She is too conservative and you guys adored each other too much. Didn’t you?” Subbu asked. He picked up the cups and walked to the window where he sat down on one of the two couches.

“Yes, we did. We sure did. So, how’s work?”

Subbu sipped the coffee and looked into the distance at the Chennai skyline. It was raining. Karthik came and sat next to him, holding his wife’s photo.

“It is not good. My sessions at the hospital are back to normal, but patients are dwindling at the clinic. Don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

Karthik leant over and patted him on his back. “Don’t worry. We are the best of friends! We can come out of it together!” He picked the poisoned coffee and held it to his lips.

There they sat, the two friends – close in happiness, closer in trouble. The clock struck 8:00 as one of them keeled over, clutching his throat.

As my vision cleared, I saw my best friend standing over me. His disgusted face left little for imagination. There were white-robed men and women all around me, checking my vitals and yelling instructions. I saw the tips of my feet. They were a jaded blue and wet.

“I couldn’t do it”, my best friend said. “I simply couldn’t do it. I don’t want to be you.”

Saying so, he walked out of the room.

As Subbu clutched his throat and fell over, Karthik got up and threw the contents of his untouched coffee outside the window.

“You sick rogue! You think you can get away with killing my wife? You think I am a moron? I know it was you who sabotaged my wife’s car. I gave you the keys some days back. It is not tough to make duplicates. We were the best of friends! You betrayed all that I believed and trusted in! How could you? Was your money bigger than our friendship? You even made me suspect my own, sweet Meenu!”

Karthik fell sobbing on the floor. His tears fell on broken glass; glass from the shattered photo of Meenu. He rubbed away his tears and looked at her face. She was very beautiful. He shook his head and walked to the telephone.

“Hospital? There is an emergency in 24, West Mada Street, T Nagar. My friend… no… a man has been poisoned.”

-Arul Sirpy

Matangi Mawley

“Let me go, Mother…”

He somehow knew after this incident that, whatever position he might be in, she would be with him. Help him. Love him, unconditionally. His mother… Ganga…

His father got him enrolled in the school. He liked going to the school. He liked having kids of his own age around him and talking to them. Not to mention that he was gifted. He could remember anything on just hearing it once. But somehow, he could not always concentrate. He could not help it. But whenever he looked outside the window, he was lost in thoughts. Sometimes he was so lost that-

“Shravan.. SHRAVAN..!”

“Ouch!”

It hurt that day. That tiny piece of chalk thrown at him with such anger, it hurt.

“Where is all your attention? Do you think this is a joke? The whole of Kashi’s kids sitting here and listening to me and my OWN son- let alone listening, doesn’t even care looking at me as I speak…”

His father was indeed very upset that day. He would not talk to his son, that entire day. And if Shravan would try talking to him, he would go away from that place. Shravan felt that he was a lone human in the entire world. There was no one else with whom he could talk to. And he had nowhere to go. He rushed out of the house and ran as fast as he could. He ran to his mother. Ganga would always be there. Flowing with such force- such raw energy! Watching her hurry towards the sea- it could make one forget all the negativities in them. Shravan sat himself on his mother’s lap, both his feet touching her surface. He wept. It was a sad day for him. The Ganges, patted him. She consoled him…

That day, his mother helped him realize something. Shravan was more like his mother. He found her in him, her free spirit. Shravan saw the Ghats around. Then he felt his mother’s soft touch upon his feet. He felt her say- “Do you think I flow within these man-made boundaries? These stones, these bricks? Do you think they hold me back? No. I am all around. Look around, son. Look beyond the stones. See those sinners washing their sins? They think all their sins turn into puffs of smoke when they wash themselves in me. Fools. I flow on them, over them. But I never am inside them. These walls, the Ghats- they are physical. Ganga flows into lives, into minds. That is my strength, strength that these mortals can never bear in them, a strength known only to a few. I can only be trapped in minds. Like I am bound in you, by your love…”

Every day, Shravan would spend all his time thinking about what lay bethe other son of ganges matangi mawley yond his world? Sometimes, he would watch the television at his neighbor’s place. All those strange places and strange people would capture his imagination. They were so different from his world here. He wanted to go away. See those people. Meet them.

One day, he told his father about his desire. His father listened to him, patiently. He then said, “Shravan, you belong here, in Kashi. Those strange places are not for us. Those places would never like people like us, visiting them. Those places would never be good to us. Your life is here, son. Kashi knows you. The soil knows your scent. The air around has seen you grow up. The walls around have seen you lose your first teeth. Your mother, Ganga, flows here. Not anywhere, but here. I am here… You understand”?

He understood. He understood that his mother was in him. Ganga’s spirit in him, urged him to know himself. Identify his soul with hers. He understood that, he needed to leave…

And he left. He remembered the night he left, very well. His father was asleep. He had managed to tie up some of his things in a bundle. He touched his father’s feet while he was asleep. He left the house and went to bid farewell to his mother. He took her in his hands and placed her on his forehead. Somewhere inside his head, he had a feeling that this had happened before, this initiation. He was just about to leave- when his mother took his bundle from him. He tried to take it from her. But she would not give it back. It was as though she was pleading him not to go. Perhaps there was something out there that would harm him. It was as though she held him by hand and did not allow him to leave.

He made her understand that he was ready for it. He was ready to see the world beyond here. He was like her, he made her understand. Just like her, Ganga. He convinced her to let him go. He also promised her, that he would come back to her one day,Some day. He felt her hand pat his feet, gently. His mother let him go…

(..To be continued. Part 3: “In a new world…”)

Arul Sirpy JP

03:30 AM

“Screech!”

“Squawk!”

Two abysmally out of sync sounds broke the silence of the night. A few minutes later, silence reigned once again.

11:03 AM

Krithika’s Dad opened the door solemnly. His smiling face betrayed a hint of trouble. I stepped into the house, smelling a rat.

It was worse.

The scene was something straight out of an Agatha Christie novel – an Indian version perhaps. All eyes were fixated on the floor. Most of them, I guess. Krithika was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the hall on the floor. Her hands cradled a lump of what looked like white elephant droppings. She was staring at it. Shreya, the ever good-looking Shreya, stood clutching a pillar clad in a full-sleeved churidhar. Who wears a full sleeved churidhar in this heat, I wondered as I flicked off a drop of sweat that threatened to invade my vision.

My best friend and roommate, Venky was standing at the kitchen door. He was looking guilty as hell. He had had a queer past with Krithika (let’s call her Krits). After graduation, just before he left for the States, he proposed to Krits. It was a cliché, so to speak. All that he got were emotional slaps in the form of “Sorry, I have never thought of you that way” and “Let’s be friends, ok?” and so forth. It was hilarious to the rest of us.

Krits Mom was the only one who seemed to moving anything close enough to be called a muscle. She yelled at the servants to take my luggage and clean up the mess immediately. Weirdly, enough her hollering was punctuated by almost isochronal snores. I traced the source to an easy chair, where an old man in a shawl, presumably Krits’ Grandpa, was sprawled like a dismantled tepee. He was blissfully oblivious to all. A small mound of broken walnut shells inside a betel pestle sat on his paunch, which swung up and down with each breath.

Krits’ Dad finally spoke, “Anand, (Krits’ fiancée) had sent a parakeet from Singapore, the day before. Today morning, it was found strangled to death. That’s why…” His voice trailed off, with good dramatic effect.

AHA! A case for the brilliant, swashbuckling, awesome (insert other good adjectives here) detective – Krish!

Oh, I am Krish, by the way. And yeah, I did not strangle the parakeet if you readers think I am going to give so big a twist to this rather sober tale.

16:08 PM

All of us sat sipping hot coffee around the dining table. There was a marked level of suspense hanging in the air. Everyone was thinking of the same thing. One of them had to be the killer. Who was it? Who did the fowl deed?

Actually, nobody was the least bit chafed over who did it. They were just pondering how to pacify Krits who was down in the dumps. I meant – down in the lumps. Contrastingly enough, Shreya was glowing. Or was it just me?

My first suspicion was Venky. He was the one who had the biggest motive. His main purpose in coming here for this get-together was to ask Krits once again, to marry him. Her marriage to Anand had been arranged by her parents. Given the level of idealist theories that she used to spew around, we were completely convinced that she did not want to have any say on whom she got married to. Since Venky is my best friend, I decided to properly screw him over.

“Venky strangled the parakeet”, I stated matter-of-factly.

“No he did not. I’m sure”, Krits interjected even more matter-of-factly.

“WHA…??!! If there’s anyone whom you should be sure, it must be ME! Venky obviously still loves you! He has all the reason to kill the poor lump of elephant droppings!” I blurted out, quite deliberately.

“I know and I don’t care. But he did not.” It was said in a quiet, almost coy voice.

It took time for the sleuth to register and process that expression. And when it did, I went berserk. No wonder she knew it was not him, because she was with him last night!

Quelling my jubilance, I decided to look at the other possibilities. Shreya could not have done it. She is too beautiful. I sincerely do think, that is a good enough excuse since the only motive could have been jealousy. But Shreya had everything that Krits has and more. All counterpoints to this argument are tripe. I shifted my thoughts to the others in the house.

Krits’ Mom came inside. “You guys, ok?” she asked. “Yes, Aunty”, I chorused singly. Dolt.

When she left, I started thinking along her lines.

“Hey, could it be your Mom? She could have seen you guys last night *TALKING*. She must have tried to pin the deed on Venky so that you would leave him forever. Possible?”

“Impossible. They would have noticed.” I was brushed aside by Shreya.

End of discussion.

I dipped the crackers into the coffee and bit into them. They tasted delicious. They were like Vicodin. Wait a minute: Crackers – walnuts – parakeet, something clicked.

“Hey Krits, does your Grandpa use a nut-cracker to break the walnuts?

“No. He does it himself.”

I ran out, Archimedes style albeit with my clothes on. I went straight to Grandpa and lifted his shawl. There were bloodied parakeet feathers all over him.

“VỐILA!!” I said in my best French accent. Everybody clapped. I proceeded to give my pithy explanation.

“The time when the murder was discovered was around 11:00 AM. If Grandpa is sleeping until now, the only possible reason is that he could not sleep well last night. It is most probably because the blasted parakeet was screeching away. He decided to feed it some walnuts to shut it up. One thing led to another and he had no other go but to do away with the poor bird. He is strong enough too, since he does not use a nutcracker to break his walnuts. It was child’s play for an old man”, I finished with a mini-joke.

And that was that. Nobody wanted to mess with an 80-year old man with the small talk of birds, gifts and long distance relationships.

18:45 PM

Soon it was time to leave. We went to the pet store and Venky bought another parakeet for Krithika. She loved it. Then we discussed at length on how to tell her parents about Krits eloping with Venky. I liked to think that Shreya was proud of me. I was driving her back to Chennai.

We waved our goodbyes, wishing luck to the couple. I started the car and we were off. As we turned into the highway, I turned to Shreya and smiled at her. She smiled back.

“I know you were the one”, I said quietly.

Her face turned pale. “How..? When..? Did you see it..?”

“No. It was the churidhar. You were wearing a full sleeved churidhar because you were scratched when you were trying to strangle the poor bird. You also had a head bath after that to clean all the blood from yourself. That was why you were glowing early morning. Later, I had a chat with the servant. Grandpa’s shawl was used to clean the place today morning. That is how the feathers and blood came into the picture.”

“But why would I do it?”

“It was not Krits’ Mom who saw them together last night. It was you. You wanted to force them to tell about themselves to her parents. You succeeded partially; but you could have done better.”

“Why did you not say all this there?”

“And let your plan go to the dogs? I believed in you. More so since, I love you. I’ve always loved you.” I stopped the car and looked at her.

She demurely smiled and said, “I know”.

Anuradha Chandrasekaran

“Kill me to-morrow: let me live to-night!”, she wailed.

“I’m innocent believe me! I have loved no one but you… Alas I’m helpless! How shall I prove to thee my unwavering faith?” pleaded the lady clutching his hands, whilst sitting up on her bed. For one moment, there seemed to be a flicker of hope for her, his features seemed to soften. But then the very next moment he took his hands to her throat and strangled her until there wasn’t any life left….

The curtains closed

Emma was backstage waiting for her husband. She was as excited as she had been when they had put up their first theatrical show together. Ah too many to count now! And yet here she was, those eyes that had enthralled many as Desdemona on stage could not contain its happiness. This was their longest running successful play.

“You were absolutely fabulous honey”, said her husband, in all smiles as he was coming in after having said his word of thanks to the public. At times people asked her how she loved a man who strangled her on the stage every single day for almost a year now. Her reply to most of it was “At home I’m Emma and he is Steve. We are not Othello and Desdemona anymore”. She wondered why people just did not understand the simple fact that they were acting

“I have booked tickets for our beach trip to Florida. We are going to have one fun summer after all this hardwork”, said Steve. Her eyebrows furrowed a little; she looked at herself in the mirror. “You look just as you did when I first laid my eyes on you 20 years back” said Steve reassuringly. “You liar!” she said mockingly throwing her hair brush at him.

“Miss Emily is on the line, Steve” , announced Dawn , his secretary and a lady who has been in love with her screen idol since her teen years

“Jealous? After all these years? Dosent sound a bit like you honey. Anyways I will make sure she finds someone else from our production house more attractive than this 55 yr old man”, replied Steve laughing it off. He knew very well about his wife’s temperament and did not want to bother her mind right now with such trivial things, atleast not until all the things he had planned for her went right.

Another day same scene

Othello is in wild fury, consumed with jealousy, walking over to kill his sleeping wife , consumed by passion, amidst her pleas, he strangles her, until words… why even breath stopped escaping that mouth. But just one thing did not happen. She did not wake up once the curtains closed.

A scream, a noise, someone was crying out “She is dead! She really is dead!”

He froze, he couldn’t move, he looked as though someone had rooted him to the ground. The guards were closing in on him. The crowd was shocked not because there was a murder but more because they had been in the audience watching a murder happen and had done nothing whatsoever to prevent it. It gave them goose-bumps to even think about what they had just witnessed.

“But I did not kill her! I did not… I loved her… She has been my wife for 20 years… why would I kill her in front of a such a big crowd and even imagine to get away with it, Officer?”, demanded Steve. All that the Officer said was, “she was alive until your hands went around her throat. And I have more than a thousand to swear what they saw in court. I’m sorry sir; you are going have to come with me”

Steve could do nothing. Dawn was standing next to him. She held his hand reassuringly and said that she would call their attorney and do all that she can to take care of things. His eyes and ears somehow did not register anything going on around him. His wife, the woman he had loved al his life was dead. That was the only thing going on in his mind. He was not worried about himself. He was worried for her.

The crowd dispersed silently. The television sets screamed telecasting news about the murder of this little known actress. Crime analysts were discussing about the psychology of the killer.

Dawn turned off her televison. She was tired. Could Steve have done it? She asked herself. “Ofcourse he had done it! I saw him. Could a thousand eyes be wrong?”. Yet having known him and loved him for so long she couldn’t come to terms with it. She had arranged for the attorney to fly in the next day. She had made all arrangements possible to help Steve. Yet was she helping a murderer? She couldn’t help wondering herself.

“Sir I’m going to have to let you go” said the officer stiffly.

“She was poisoned”

This murder mystery will be continued. Catch our next issue to find out who the killer is! Think you know who it is? Leave a comment and see what the author thinks