Six Suspects by Vikas Swarup Read Free Book Online Page A

consult the torale ,' replied
Melame. 'Today we will all be busy with Talai's funeral. But let us
have a full Council meeting tomorrow morning. Spread the word
quietly. We will meet inside the forest, at Nokai's hut, where the
prying eyes of the welfare staff will not be able to spot us. That
welfare officer – what's his name, Ashok – is particularly nosey.'
    'Quite right, Chief. He has been taking an unhealthy interest
in our tribe. The children have nicknamed him Gwalen – Peeping
Tom,' Pemba laughed.
    'I think he is more dangerous than a snake. Ensure that he
doesn't get wind of our plans.'
    'Yes, Chief.' Pemba bowed his head.
    The forest was a palette of greens, brushed with patches of pink
and white. Climbing orchids burst from branches and clumps of
pink lilies poked up here and there like anthills. Triangles of
Deodar trees stood like sentinels against the sky. The jungle
thrummed with the sounds and scurry of life. Clouds of
mosquitoes hummed their monotonous song. Invisible parakeets
and parrots cried out from tree branches. Cicadas screeched from
shrubs and bushes. Monitor lizards and snakes slithered through
the underbrush.
    Melame stood in a little clearing under the shade of a lofty garjan tree, directly in front of the medicine man's hut, and
surveyed his flock. The women were busy as usual, making tassels
of nuts and sea shells, gathering firewood or braiding their hair.
The men were working on a log with their adzes, trying to fashion
a canoe.
    Melame breathed in a lungful of fresh air, still redolent with
the aroma of morning dew, and looked longingly at the tree-lined
vista in front of him. This little stretch of forest was the only
surviving patch of green on the island. The settlement in Dugong
Creek was littered with tree stumps. Every day ramshackle trucks
loaded to the brim with timber rumbled down the Little
Andaman Trunk Road, which ran along the island's edge, slowly
denuding the island of its forest cover. Virtually every part of the
island was now dotted with rice fields and coconut plantations.
This was the islanders' last refuge, the only place where they could
still hear birdsong and be themselves, naked, free and alive.
    'Is the bait ready?' the chief asked Pemba, who nodded and
pointed to a large earthen pot lying at his feet. Melame, looking
satisfied, tapped on the door of Nokai's conical hut, thatched so
low that it could only be entered by crawling.
    'Go away,' the torale shouted from inside. 'Nokai has been
having bad dreams. He cannot step out of his hut.'
    Melame sighed. The medicine man was a reclusive, reticent
oracle who hardly ever ventured out of the forest and was notoriously
difficult to please. But without his powers of medicine and
magic, the tribe couldn't survive. He could stop a storm simply by
placing crushed leaves under a stone on the shore; he could divine
a gathering illness from the lines on a man's face, and advise a
carrying woman whether she would give birth to a boy or a girl
simply by tapping her belly. The torale alone knew how to avoid
malicious spirits and propitiate friendly ones, how to protect the
clan during a lunar eclipse and what to do to counteract a curse.
Melame was convinced that short of bringing a dead man to life,
Nokai was capable of working any miracle. So he persisted, holding
up the earthen pot.
    'See, Wise One, what have we brought. It is turtle meat,
absolutely fresh. Pemba caught it just yesterday.' Melame opened
the lid, letting the smell of the meat waft into the hut. If Nokai
had a weakness, it was for turtle meat.
    The bait worked. Presently the door of the hut opened and a
wizened hand snaked out, grabbed the pot and dragged it inside.
After a long interval the door opened again and the torale gruffly
invited them in. Melame and Pemba slithered through the
opening.
    The hut was quite spacious inside. It contained a single raised
sleeping platform in the centre. The ceiling was decorated with all
kinds of objects – animal skulls,