…only the rich have keys to this city. Not scum like me.
…through many a birth I wandered, seeking but not finding the builder of this house.
Each voice hissing into the ether, shouting at the visvaya bellowing into used frequencies. The airwaves are jammed with spirits cursing and pleading. The confused, the jealous, the angry and the afraid, some making mischief, some seeking mercy.
…let’s go over together he said, and then he let me jump.
…it won’t work. We’re already dead.
…they said crying stops the dead from leaving. So I did not shed a tear.
The Mahakali enters a winding lane hidden in residential Colombo, replete with verdant trees and unexpected cul-de-sacs. The creature slows down to navigate this surburban labyrinth. The gardens below you grow larger, the walls get taller and the lanes remain empty of people.
You see the Minister’s Benz parked next to a four-storey building that looks like it once housed a governor from an empire that no longer exists. Your captor passes the car park and glides two lanes down to a familiar building with guards at the gates. It leaps to the roof of the Palace and the faces on its skin contort in agony and let out shrieks. The beast glances back at you and smiles. It looks like a beautiful woman dressed to kill.
‘Use your whispers now. Then come to the car park over there. We will need you later. Please don’t try to run. Runners never get very far.’
Cassim sits slumped at his desk, head in hands, report typed and curling over the ribbon. From the groans escaping the soundproof windows below, it appears that activity at the Palace has resumed.
On the table is Jaki’s maroon handbag, which is open and looks as messy as it usually does, making it impossible to ascertain if it has been rummaged through. Though it clearly has.
You float over Cassim’s shoulder and read the report. It states that Jacqueline Vairavanathan, aged twenty-fiv e, of Galle Face Court, Colombo 3, leaked classified state information on national radio, was a close associate of suspected JVP terrorist Malinda Almeida, and was found in possession of narcotics.
You look at the canister on the table with two happy pills left in it and Jaki’s yellow laminated national ID card propped next to it. Cassim bites his lip and stares into space. You curl beside him and spit words into his ear.
‘They will kill her and blame it on the man who typed the report. They will kill her and leave you with this bucket of shit. Get her to the gate now.’
He stands up with a start and looks around the room. He checks if the radio is on and then listens hard at the silence. You don’t stop to pause, in case you lose this whisper.
‘They will say you took bribes. That you are a rogue cop. But you are better than all this. Stanley is on his way now. If you save her, he will give reward. You will get that transfer. Because you don’t agree with death squads. You never have.’
Cassim gets up and paces the room. You do not know what he is thinking. Who knows what one must sell to the Mahakali to access another’s thoughts? In the corner is a rucksack and in it a bottle of clear liquid and some bandages. Below that is a box of surgical masks, a cap, a white shirt and black trousers. Standard issue for men who were neither army nor police.
Detective Cassim folds a bandage and douses it in liquid. You smell nail polish and treacle as he folds it in his pocket. Then he changes his mind. Throws the bandage back in the rucksack and walks towards Jaki’s cell.
When he gets there, he gasps. Jaki is awake and trying to get the gunny sack off her head, which is difficult with hands tied behind back. She jerks her body, rolls forward and grunts. Cassim unlocks the door and tiptoes into the room. Jaki hears the sound and cowers to the wall.
‘Who is that? Where is this?’
‘Please, do not take off your hood. If you see us, they will not let you leave.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘Do you have the negatives?’
‘What?’
‘Maali Almeida’s negatives. The things in that box that started this whole bloody mess.’
‘I don’t,’ says Jaki, playing blind man’s bluff. ‘Believe me, I don’t. I sold them to Elsa Mathangi. She will have them. Please can I call my uncle?’
‘Don’t take off your blindfold.’
‘I am Stanley Dhar—’
‘I know who you are.’
‘Can I have some water?’
Cassim exits the room and locks the door. You float to Jaki, wrap your arms around her and feed her what you can in frantic whispers and gasps.
‘You’ve been arrested, Jaki. Stay calm, be brave and you will be saved. Uncle Stanley is coming for you. Tell Detective Cassim this…’
The Detective returns with a teacup and a plastic bottle of water. He warns her before he takes off the sack.
‘Drink your water. Do not look at my face. I want to help you. But I do not trust you.’
She looks down with squinted eyes as he removes her hood and unties her hands. She keeps her eyes closed and does not attempt to take in the space or glimpse her captor. She holds the cup with numb hands and tries not to spill.
He watches her drink.
‘If you give me the negatives, I will release you now.’
Jaki finishes sipping and looks at the ground. She is groggy and garbled and mistakes your whispers for her own thoughts. Later she will have no recollection of what was said or to whom.
‘I know you are the one who searched our apartment. I know you are not to blame for this.’
You whisper and she speaks. Your words, from her ears to her mouth. She does not question what she says.
Cassim is silent.
‘Uncle Stanley will reward you. Uncle Stanley can get you transferred tonight. Release me and you can be released. I promise you.’
Cassim leans back and folds his arms. ‘How do you know about my transfer?’
‘I know you are a good detective. I know you are better than this. And I know you will do the right thing.’ You run out of breath, even though you have none. You feel as if you have sprinted up eight floors and jumped off the top.
‘Minister Dharmendran can deliver this?’
‘He can and he will. Please, Detective. If we stay, both of us are lost. Both of us. Help me. And we will help you.’
Fatigued and frazzled, you retire to the corner and watch. If these are your two whispers, then what will you do with your third?
Cassim lets her finish two more cups and then pulls her to her feet. Her legs buckle and she holds onto his shoulder as he drags her down the corridor. He places her on the seat in the office and pulls his report from the typewriter. He crumples it into his pocket and sticks a fresh sheet in the ribbon. He starts typing with fury.
Detective Cassim extracts the sheet and then signs in ink. He gets up and hands her a box of surgical masks and the uniform.
‘Wear the mask, the cap and this uniform. I will stamp your release forms. Don’t let the guards see your face. Be quick!’
He goes to the office to stamp the letter and puts it in an envelope. When he returns, Jaki is dressed and ready, with her clothes stuffed in her bag. The black trousers fit well, though the white shirt hangs baggy off her stooping shoulders.
By the time they reach security, Jaki can stand up straight. The guard squints at Cassim’s forged letter from the Minister.
‘Quick, quick, men. We have an appointment. Minister Cyril has signed this. You want to check with him?’
The guard shakes his head and folds the paper and looks away as Cassim leads Jaki out of the Palace.
A BMW speeds down the quiet lane and skids to a halt. Stanley clambers out in a cloud of dust in time to take hold of Jaki as she sinks from Cassim’s shoulder. He glares at the cop as he hands the keys to DD.
‘Has she been hurt?’
‘No, sir.’
‘How long was she here?’
‘A few hours, sir.’