But the press-wallahs' scoop passed up the steps of the courthouse undetected.
Once inside, Puri led Mummy, who in turn was holding Mary by the hand, down the busy corridors until they reached the door of Court 6.
Already a crowd was waiting outside, all of them jostling for position and trying to cajole the peon on the door to let them in despite the sign that stated boldly, HOUSE FULL.
For once, Puri's powers of persuasion failed. The peon would not budge. "Naat possi-bal," he kept saying.
Mummy scolded her son for his failure.
"That's no way to go about things, Chubby," she said after he had been rebuffed for the third time. "How a son of mine ended up with cotton wool in his brain, I ask you? Evidently, a woman's touch is required, na. I will take care of it."
Puri bristled. He had had grave misgivings about bringing along Mummy. But he had been left with no choice. Mary needed a chaperon and Rumpi needed to be at home to oversee the preparations for Diwali.
"Mummy-ji, please. I told you, don't do interference. I will sort it out," Puri insisted.
"Chubby, when you'll accept you don't have power over everything, na? A helping hand is required from time to time."
Mummy's words echoed those spoken to Puri by Chanakya in the dream he'd had in his office; for once, he was dumbfounded.
"What did you say, Mummy-ji?" he asked her.
She tutted impatiently. "It's time to put away your pride, Chubby. I'm your mummy, after all. I've your best intentions at heart. Right now, a woman's touch is required. Now, you two go and sit. Jao!"
For once, Puri did as he was told and took a seat with Mary on a bench a few feet down the corridor.
With all the noise created by so many people coming and going from the various courtrooms, Puri was unable to make out what Mummy said to the peon on the door. But gradually the man's demeanor softened and then tears welled up in his eyes.
Finally he signaled to the detective that he could enter the court after all.
"What all you said to him?" asked Puri.
"No time for explanations, na," she answered. "Let us say mummies have their uses after all. Now go quickly. Might be he's changing his mind. So corrupt these people are. We'll wait right here."
Inside the courtroom, the gallery was packed with spectators, all of them sitting in silent, rapt attention to the cross-examination of Inspector Shekhawat by the defense counsel, Mr. K. P. Malhotra, who was living up to his reputation as a fearsome advocate.
"Inspector, you say you found bloodstains in the accused's Tata Sumo," he was saying. "But I put it to you that this blood could have come from anyone. Another passenger with a bleeding nose, perhaps."
"There is no doubt in my mind that the blood is the victim's," answered Shekhawat.
"Surely it is the responsibility of the police to offer proofs, is it not? Two and two should always equal four. Is that not correct, Inspector Shekhawat?"
"I can provide three witnesses who saw Ajay Kasliwal pull up in his Sumo and dump the servant girl's body on the Ajmer Road," he answered.
"We will come to that in a moment," said Malhotra. "But let us first consider these bloodstains. I put it to you…"
Malhotra lost his train of thought as he read the note Puri had managed to pass to him.
"Mr. Malhotra?" prompted the judge. "Are you with us?"
"My apologies, Your Honor," answered the lawyer, looking up from the note with a bewildered expression. "I have just been informed of what could well be an extremely dramatic breakthrough in my client's defense. Might I take a moment of the court's time to confer with one of my associates?"
"This is highly irregular, Mr. Malhotra, but I will grant you sixty seconds."
"Thank you, Your Honor."
Lawyer and detective exchanged a few quiet words and then Malhotra continued with the cross-examination, taking it in a new direction.
"Inspector Shekhawat, how can you be so sure that the Kasliwal family's maidservant Mary and the body found on the Ajmer Road are one and the same?" he asked.
"Two of her co-workers identified the victim from a photograph taken by the mortuary photographer. Three part-time employees at the house did the same."
"And if Mary was alive today-let us imagine she walked in here right now, for example-those same witnesses you mentioned would be able to identify her?"
Inspector Shekhawat replied confidently with an arrogant smirk. "Without doubt."
"I have no further questions for this witness," said Malhotra. "But I reserve the right to recall him."
Shekhawat was excused.
"Your Honor, I would like to call a new witness who, I feel confident, could save a great deal of the court's time," said Malhotra as the inspector resumed his seat in the gallery to watch the rest of the proceedings.
"It is teatime," grumbled the judge.
"Your Honor, if you will allow me five minutes, I believe we can clear up this whole matter."
The judge gave his consent.
"The defense calls Mary Murmu," announced Malhotra loudly.
"Who is Mary Murmu exactly?" asked the judge.
"Mary Murmu is the alleged victim, sir, the Kasliwal family's former maidservant," replied the lawyer nonchalantly.
Malhotra's answer elicited a collective gasp. Every head in the court turned to look at the main door.
In the dock, Ajay Kasliwal stood on his toes and craned his neck to see above the sea of heads.
The door opened again and Mary stepped through it, her head covered by her pallu and eyes cast down, with Mummy by her side. Together they walked slowly through the gallery until they reached the bench and the former maidservant was escorted to the witness stand.
"State your name for the record," she was told by Judge Madan in Hindi as Mummy took a seat nearby.
Mary mumbled a response.
"Speak up, girl, and show your face!" he ordered.
She stated her name again and pulled back her pallu.
"My name is Mary Murmu," she said clearly for all the court to hear.
"Liar!" screeched a woman's voice in the gallery.
Mrs. Kasliwal was standing, pointing an accusing finger at the witness.
"That's not her!" she screamed. And then she fainted and fell to the floor.
The courtroom descended into bedlam.
Twenty-Eight
Facecream was crouched behind a shrub in the back garden of Raj Kasliwal Bhavan. It was nearly eight o'clock and pitch dark. She had been there for over an hour keeping watch at the rear of the house in accordance with Puri's orders-delivered by Tubelight when the Kasliwals were still in court.
"Boss will arrive around eight," he'd explained. "Munnalal's murderer is still at large. He might try to take out Boss. So be on your guard."
Facecream's position to the right of the servant quarters provided a commanding view of the garden and the interior of the sitting room. The curtains had not been drawn, which was unusual. But then, today was proving to be anything but routine.
At breakfast, Madam had been in an uncommonly pleasant and buoyant mood, talking confidently on the phone about how Mr. Malhotra was going to make short work of Shekhawat's case.
"It will soon be over," Facecream had overheard her tell someone.
But at around 6:30 in the evening, when her freed husband had brought her back from the courts, Mrs. Kasliwal had been completely hysterical.
"Vish Puri will ruin us all!" she'd screamed. "Don't let him into the house!"
Shortly afterward, the family doctor had arrived and given Madam a sedative that had put her to sleep. His patient was not to be disturbed, he'd insisted. The arrest and trial had exhausted her.
In accordance with the doctor's instructions, Ajay Kasliwal had excused all the servants from their duties for the evening-apart from Jaya, who'd been told to make sure there was a ready supply of cold hand towels to cool Madam's forehead and ice for Sahib's whisky.