Raju, the sweeper, knew something was wrong when Mrs. Sujani, the always alert old lady, did not respond to his first doorbell. By the day end, the apartment manager was persuaded to open the apartment with the emergency key in the presence of Yamuna, the neighbour; the account writing nephew who came everyday; the chowkidar and Raju.
The scene of dead lady, sprawled on the living room floor, was a novel experience for most unlike the police who came with technology driven bureaucracy, quizzed and concluded – it was a case of suicidal death.
“The old lady could not bear the suicidal death of her only daughter, a few months ago. Now the family was gone, with her husband meeting an accidental death years ago.” Such was the general consensus among the few family members who gathered to do the final rites of the departed lady.
The police were late next day, after due sign off of the case. They were woken up by the popular local TV channel with a copy of the letter of Mrs. Sujani, titled “My Will” which became a public notice of sorts, awakening the whole society.
“ I, Mrs Sujani, gift all my crores of rupees, to the one who finds out who has murdered me. I don’t trust many people but some have made my life especially miserable.
I don’t trust Yamuna, my neighbour, who thinks I have wronged her by breaking her marriage . I did the correct thing by showing him how his wife had an affair with the colleague.
I don’t trust my nephew but I have to rely on him for managing my money, tax and accounts . I hold the secret which would destroy him and his family life .
I don’t trust my husband’s relatives. They were always after the ancestral money, which is rightly only ours. My husband committed like a fool.
I never trust the likes of Raju and his friends, the chowkidar and panwalla. He knows I have caught him on my CCTV snooping at my cupboards and tinkering with the safe where I keep the cash.
I don’t trust my broker, Manish. I have large claims of pending interest which he had promised.
I always distrusted Mukesh, the travel agent. He trapped my daughter and she killed herself in the name of his love! Such stupid words he uses.
My doctor husband, whom I warned against trusting people too much, died because of the careless mistake of his apprentice, who should have correctly performed the small surgery and followed his instructions. I hold him to his confession, although he says God has forgiven him .
Find the murderer. I wont have peace till then.”
There was mad rush everywhere to solve Whodunit ?
The Street sellers had a colourful way of telling the tale.
“For easy money, you, smart person, twiddle your mind
For rarely will you ever see a puzzle of this kind.
The old dragon guards her treasure well
You need to dig patiently into her thinking deepwell.
Blame it on Others, she believed in
For most have lots to hide, within.
Mess up your maths, play the probabilities
Detective Dilavar‘s delusions do stack up, if you imagine many possibilities.
Come one, Come all before time tells all
The old lady played with 7 lives, before the 8th made her fall.”
Detective Dilavar’s version :
“The Mastermind deduced
The Life’s pains, the Old Lady, induced .
She watched and waited for hearts to falter
She, then, swooped like a vulture, to alter.
There was Yamuna, whose guilt-ridden diary she had stolen
There was the nephew, whose affair with her sacked nurse, she had hidden.
There were the husband’s relatives looking
For his many gift letters, unposted and in her shelves, lurking.
Through the manager, she spread the fear among all Raju-likes
Beware, she has Eyes on all your types.
The broker Mukesh stank like a can of worms
His failed promise notes, were readied, to launch criminal storms.
The apprentice was eaten up all these years, over that forced veil
A source for her to extract the many black meals .
She planned for 7 deaths, through poisoning
Alas, none succumbed at her scheming .
That night she vowed, none should forget her
She consumed the poison meant for her, never
And rolled the 7 faced crooked dice, to drag down them 8 forever.