“But why exactly did these people murder others?” said Nisha.
Santosh tapped his fingers on the conference table excitedly. “The word thug actually means deceiver,” he began. “In fact the English word thug is etymologically derived from the Hindi word thag. The Thugs traveled across India in groups. They pretended to be pilgrims, traders, or soldiers and would mingle with fellow travelers, patiently gaining their trust and confidence. Thugs would often travel for days and miles with their targeted victims, cautiously waiting for an opportune moment to strike. When travelers least expected it, usually during camping hours at night, the leader of the Thugs would give a signal for the massacre—or thuggee—to begin.”
“What sort of signal?” asked Nisha.
“The leader would usually ask someone to bring the tobacco,” said Santosh. “This phrase was a signal to the other Thugs that the looting and killing could begin.”
“‘Bring the tobacco’? Are we now dealing with a reborn thuggee cult?” wondered Mubeen.
“This is not the work of a Thug,” replied Santosh.
“Why?” asked Nisha. “How can you be so sure?”
“Thuggee beliefs forbade them from killing certain classes of humans. Women, holy men, musicians, lepers, and foreigners were not considered legitimate targets. Our first victim—Dr. Kanya Jaiyen—was a foreigner, and both victims were women.”
His team digested the information. “How were the Thugs vanquished?” asked Nisha finally.
“Due to the efforts of a Bengal Army officer—Sir William Henry Sleeman,” answered Santosh robotically. “He devoted his life to the annihilation of thuggee. By analyzing murder sites, Sleeman and his troops predicted future attack locations. His men used the Thugs’ own modus operandi against them. Disguised as traders or pilgrims, the officers would stick around at predicted attack sites, waiting for a band of Thugs to draw near. They would be ambushed the moment they tried to attack. Information obtained through the interrogation of prisoners was also used to plan every ensuing operation. By the end of the nineteenth century, the British were able to declare that all Thugs had been exterminated.”
“Had they actually been finished off?” asked Nisha.
“Many have wondered if the British were too quick to pat themselves on the back,” said Santosh. “How a secret brotherhood that had withstood centuries could be annihilated in such a limited window of time has remained a puzzle. While it is true that mass murders and graves are a distant recollection, in some far-flung provinces of India rumors still persist about yellow-sashed wanderers who befriend travelers with their engaging smiles and chatter.”
One voice in the room had stayed absolutely silent. Its owner remained seated at the conference table, his face now ashen white. A build-up of sweat on his forehead had begun to trickle down his face in spite of the air conditioning. Hari Padhi attempted to maintain a calm expression as he digested the information offered by Santosh.
Chapter 17
IT WAS EARLY evening when Nisha entered the offices of the Afternoon Mirror in the old Fort district of Mumbai. She passed through the hustle and bustle of the newsroom to a glass-walled office that was occupied by the newspaper’s editor, a chain-smoking woman in her mid fifties.
Ignoring the fumes and the disconnected smoke alarm, Nisha strode in and introduced herself. After perfunctory pleasantries had been exchanged, she opened up a notes tab on her smartphone and began to ask questions.
“Were there any recent threats against Bhavna?” she said. “Anyone upset by anything that she had written?”
“Not that I can remember,” answered the editor, taking a deep drag from the Virgina Slim that dangled from her lips. “Last year she wrote an article about teenage pregnancies at a famous Mumbai girls’ school. The principal was very upset and stormed into her office. That was a while ago, though.”
Nisha held out a photograph of the man who had been caught on CCTV leaving Dr. Kanya Jaiyen’s hotel room. “We believe that this man may have visited Bhavna at her home on the morning she was killed. Does he look familiar?”
The editor studied the photograph carefully and eventually shrugged. “You can’t see his face.”
“Even so …”
“Sorry, it doesn’t ring any bells. I don’t think I have ever seen this man before. I could give you a list of the names and phone numbers of contacts that Bhavna had scheduled to interview over the next few days. Maybe it could throw up a match?”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” replied Nisha. “Anything that you can tell me about her personal life?”
“As far as I know, it was quite normal,” said the editor. “She wasn’t married but was seeing a guy—a decent bloke. She introduced him to me during our last New Year’s office party. A banker, I think.”
“Were they getting along? No fights?” asked Nisha.
“Not that anyone in this office was aware of,” said the editor. “As far as we could tell, she was on her way to eventually marrying the chap. She was working late during the last few days because he was on an overseas trip.”
“What was the latest story Bhavna Choksi was working on?”
“Ah, now that I can’t tell you, I’m afraid.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
The editor exhaled smoke and smiled wanly through the cloud. “A bit of both, Mrs. Gandhe. Bhavna had a workstation and I dare say we could boot it up and have a look at her files, but we’re a newspaper. To be helping … you’re not even the police, are you? To be assisting a law enforcement agency such as yourselves, well, it would seriously compromise our editorial integrity. Unless …”