"And Bobby, sir?"
The detective rubbed the end of his moustache between his fingers in a contemplative fashion before answering.
"Seems like he and his mother will never speak again, Madam Rani," said Puri sadly. "He's sworn he'll not so much as be in the same room with the woman."
His secretary sucked in her breath and said, "Hai, hai."
"Mrs. Kasliwal's actions were certainly deplorable. Which one of us could forgive her in our hearts? But Bobby's actions, although innocent, were hardly decent. Such a well brought up and educated young man should have known better, actually. There is a right and proper place for physical relations and it is between husband and wife only. When young people go straying outside those boundaries, there can only be hurt and misfortune."
"Quite right, sir," said Elizabeth Rani.
Puri tucked a pen he'd been using into the outside pocket of his safari suit next to two others.
"India is modernizing, Madam Rani, but we must keep our family values, isn't it? Without them, where would we be?"
"I hate to think, sir," she said.
"Well, Madam Rani, that will do for now. Place the file in the 'conclusively solved' cabinet. Another successful outcome for Most Private Investigators, no?"
"Right away, sir."
Elizabeth Rani returned to her desk, closing the door to his office behind her.
Puri leaned back in his chair and looked up at the portraits of Chanakya and his father on the wall, both of them wreathed in garlands of fresh marigolds. Putting the palms of his hands and fingers together, he respectfully acknowledged them both with a namaste.
With Diwali, the festival of lights, the biggest holiday in the Hindu calendar, due to begin the next day, Puri gave his staff the afternoon off and asked Handbrake to drive him to the airport to pick up his youngest daughter, Radhika.
He could hardly contain his excitement as he waited outside the arrivals hall. It had been three months since he'd seen his chowti baby, the longest they'd ever been separated. He'd missed her sorely.
As the other passengers emerged from the building, pushing trolleys piled high with baggage, and taxi-wallahs vied for their custom, the detective stood up on his toes, trying to peer over the heads of the crowd gathered around the exit.
When he finally spotted Radhika, her young, eager face searching for his among the banks of strangers, he felt a lump form in his throat and cried out his nickname for her: "Bulbul! Bulbul!"
"Hi, Papa!"
Grinning from ear to ear, she skipped forward, flung her arms around him and gave him a kiss and a big hug.
"By God, let me look at you," he said, holding her by the shoulders and giving her a fond, appraising look. "So thin you've become, huh! They're not feeding you at that college or what? Come! Mama's making all your favorites and she can't wait to see you. Mummy-ji's at home, also. Both your sisters are arriving tomorrow."
He took hold of her trolley and they headed into the car park to find Handbrake and the Ambassador.
"So, all OK?" he asked.
And from that moment until they reached the house, Radhika regaled him with everything that had happened to her in the past few months.
"Papa, you know we've been learning…"
"Papa, you'll never guess what my roommate Shikha said…"
"Papa, something amazing happened…"
"Papa, did you know that…"
Puri sat basking in her youthful enthusiasm and innocence, succumbing to her infectious laughter. Occasionally, he reacted to her anecdotes by saying things like, "Is it?" and "Don't tell me!" and "Wonderful!" But for the most part, he just sat and listened.
By the time they pulled up in front of the gates and Handbrake honked the horn, he felt that the weight he'd been carrying on his shoulders-the weight he'd become so used to-had vanished.
Like millions of other Hindu, Sikh and Jain households across India, every inch of Puri's house had been cleaned ahead of Diwali. In the kitchen, all the cupboards had been emptied and the shelves wiped down. The marble floors had been scrubbed and scrubbed again. Dusters had swished away cobwebs. Special lemon and vinegar soap had left all the taps, sinks and mirrors gleaming. And all the wood in the house had been lovingly polished.
The exterior wall that surrounded the compound had been whitewashed and a cracked tile on the porch replaced.
Rumpi had also been busy making preparations for entertaining all the family members and friends who were expected to visit them over the next few days.
Gift boxes of dried fruit, almonds, cashews and burfi had been packed and wrapped, and then stacked in one corner of the kitchen. Monica and Malika had been preparing huge pots of chhole and carrot halva, and deep frying batches of onion and paneer pakoras. And Sweetu had been sent to the market to buy bagfuls of "perfect ice," savoury matthis and oil for the diyas.
Puri's remit (he knew it only too well but Rumpi reminded him more than once) was to buy all the liquor, firecrackers and puja offerings-in the form of coconuts, bananas and incense-that would be made to Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth.
It was also his responsibility to pick up new decks of playing cards and some poker chips. No Punjabi Diwali could be complete without a bit of friendly gambling. And if this holiday was anything like last year's, they were in for at least one all-night session of teen patta.
After dropping Radhika at home, Puri went to the nearest market. He found it packed with people rushing around buying last-minute items. The shops were decked with colored lights and tinsel decorations. Devotional music blared from the temples. Every few seconds, bottle rockets whizzed and exploded overhead.
He returned after dark to find Rinku's Range Rover-license plate 1CY-parked in the driveway.
Before entering the house, Puri gave Handbrake his Diwali bonus and enough money to get an auto to Old Delhi railway station. By mid-morning the following day, he would be home with his wife and baby daughter in their village in the hills of Himachal.
"Thank you, sir," said the driver, beaming with happiness. "But, sir, one thing you promised me. The first rule of detection. What is it?"
Puri smiled. "Ah yes, the first rule," replied the detective. "It is quite simple, actually. Always make sure you have a good aloo parantha for breakfast. Thinking requires a full stomach. Now you'd better be off."
Puri saw Handbrake to the gate and made his way inside the house.
"So we've got out first visitor, is it?" he shouted as he stepped into the hallway.
He found Rumpi, Mummy and Radhika sitting with Rinku having tea and sharing platefuls of pakoras.
"Happy Diwali, Chubby!" Rinku said, greeting Puri with a hug and the usual matey slap on the back.
"You too, you bugger. Let me fix you something stronger."
"No, no, I've got to be off," said Rinku. "The traffic to Punjabi Bagh will be murder."
"Just one peg! Come on!" insisted Puri.
"OK, just one," replied Rinku who never needed much convincing when alcohol was on offer. "But you're going to get me into trouble."
"Then we'll be even!"
The detective poured both Rinku and himself generous glasses of Scotch, and soon they were telling Sardaar-ji jokes and splitting their sides with laughter.
Forty minutes and several more pegs later, Rinku stood to leave.
"Baby Auntie, have you seen my car?" he asked Mummy, his eyes twinkling.
"No, I must see what everyone is talking about," she answered, gamely. "Just I'll fetch my shawl. Such cold weather we're having, na?"