There is a saying, “Whenever a criminal commits a crime, he is sure to shiver. For he will close his eyes and think about Inspector Vinod, who with his stupendous knowledge of world history is surely on his trail.”
Inspector Vinod breathed in the cool morning air in Sikkim, India. He had really gone to great lengths to escape those pesky sunglass sales reps, who kept asking him to endorse his product.
Suddenly he heard shrill voices raised in argument. He became tense, as prior experience told him that somebody’s life could depend on his total concentration. It usually did. Nobody died making no sounds.
He scaled a huge mountain and managing to avoid tripping over a blade of grass that grew towards the sun at an upright angle, ran to the scene of the shouting. He saw two boys tugging at a Ronaldo jersey. A small girl stood on the edge of the circle, crying.
He was suddenly accosted by a huge lady: “Help! Help! These boys will….”
She stopped. She had recognized the stately gentleman standing before her. “It can’t be…”.
Inspector Vinod raised his hand to indicate the need for silence. He didn’t want another sound to be added to the scene. Dilution of clues was a professional hazard, known to the amateur and unfortunately, often unknown to the professional. But he knew.
He strained his ears to listen carefully the two boys who kept fighting unmindful of the stranger in their midst. He went in the middle of the dust circle raised by them and separated them like Krishna did to the body of the evil Jarasandha.
“Stop”, he commanded. He looked very solemn. The two boys, in tacit agreement for the first time, supressed giggles as they saw his face.
Inspector Vinod ignored them. “What’s all this fighting about? A young boy from India and another from Bhutan fighting! What has ever happened to neighborly love?”
“No, no they are both from India.” the lady spoke. Inspector Vinod turned to her.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am the school teacher…”
“No,” said Inspector Vinod. “Any person, when agitated will always curse in his mother tongue. That boy is from Bhutan. I just heard him say, ‘Cow loving pig’ in Dzhonga. Inspector Vinod walked up to the taller of the two lads.” Where are you from, boy?”
“Thempu,” he said shamefacedly.
“Aha, from the capital, huh? Tell me what the matter is.” The other boy who had a strong Delhi accent broke in, “Don’t listen to this liar. I will tell you. He says that the Ronaldo jersey his is. It is mine. My father got it for me from Rolando’s homeland in Argentina.” He looked sullen and defiant at the same time.
Inspector Vinod smiled. What a liar! And at so young a image. If the child was the father of man, then the only transition that was happening was a vertical one. He turned to the other boy, who was looking crestfallen. “I guess this jersey is yours boy.” Inspector Vinod began to hand it over to the Bhutanese child.
Then he froze.
Something was wrong. His intuition told him.
“How did you get this boy?”
“When we were growing up in Thempu my father and I used to watch football matches on TV. My father saw this on TV and sewed one for me. I remember the date of this match too. It was August 1997 around India’s Independence day”.
“You are lying. Admit it.”
The little boy nodded his head vehemently. “No, I am speaking the truth,” he said.
“Tell me the truth or I will remove my glasses,” Inspector Vinod threatened.
“Go ahead,” challenged the little boy.
“Catch that hummingbird,” commanded Inspector Vinod. The lady ran up a small vale and caught a puzzled hummingbird. “I don’t want to look at you, boy,” said Inspector Vinod. “You will be scarred for life. But watch.”
He turned his back to all the people and stared at the hummingbird after removing his sunglasses. The two boys could clearly see the face of the bird. The bird turned its eyes wide open in shock and bobbing its head up and down a few times, never recovered. Even when Inspector Vinod released it, it tried to fly. However, all it could manage to do was stroll down to the nearest flower.
Inspector Vinod put on his sunglasses and turned to the lad from Bhutan.
“Should I write to the King about cable theft? Admit the truth now.”
The boy looked mortified. He seemed to be greatly moved by the state of the hummingbird.
“All right, I lied,” he said. “But how did you know?”
How did Inspector Vinod know?
Because of his stupendous Knowledge of World History.
“This case,” he said looking rebukingly at the lady, “should have easily been solved by a school teacher.”
The lady made circles on the dust looking at her ankles intently.
Inspector Vinod continued, “Bhutan is a strange country cut off from the rest of the world. It has never even been colonized. Even today, the King, has managed not to be tempted by tourism revenue and allows only 6,000 foreigners to visit every year. In fact, so separate has Bhutan kept itself from the world that there was no TV allowed till August 1998. So either this boy is lying or his family stole images from yonder lands via illegal satellite dishes.”
Not a peep was to be heard. Naked Truth invokes hushed silences.
“I suspect this boy prefers punishment from me rather than the King. He came clean.”
“Now, run off you two,” he said. The two boys ran away in the direction of the school. They seemed to be friends again and discussed the possible times they could play football that evening.
The lady no longer seemed chastened. She was gushing with admiration.”You are wonderful,” she said.
“That is not important,” Inspector Vinod replied. “What is important is that this jersey is returned to its rightful owner.” He looked at the young girl who had remained silent all this while. “Come here, girl,” said Inspector Vinod. She stepped up to him and took the jersey. She reeked of a clear conscience. “I saw your eyes,” she whispered into his ears and ran away happily, pulling the jersey over her head at the same time.
“Its a strange world,” Inspector Vinod said. “Technology versus culture? Who will win? I hope people are allowed to make the choice for themselves without the King applying any forceful methods. We can only continue to visit http://www.kuenselonline.com to stay updated”
He felt happy. He rolled down the hill.
The End
