A true story about Niranjan Takle's investigation into Judge Brijgopal Loya's death, Who Killed Judge Loya is available in India here.
I was Editor. Here is an excerpt:
The resto-bar looked the same as before, and Dr. P sat on the same corner table as his birthday. My fingers twitched with anticipation. This time, I had set off a good fifteen minutes earlier, to ensure no one was tailing me. If P had found the post-mortem report, he and I would be marked men. As a wise man said: I could not be over-cautious enough.
We smiled. We shook hands. I sat.
"I have a surprise gift for you,” he said right away. He pulled out a small bunch of papers and casually handed them across the table.
“This is the post-mortem report of one Brij Loya, a Judge from Mumbai.”
I was stunned.
“He was the VIP I was talking about. I still remember the day. There were quite a few people outside, waiting for the post-mortem to get over. One of the persons was also a Judge. He was constantly crying like a child. 2-3 guys were trying to calm him down. They were desperate that he calmed down.”
Suddenly, P’s voice dropped to a whisper. I leaned over, despite trying my utmost to not appear uninterested.
“Listen, the post-mortem report was not written by the doctor who signed on it. It was given to him, and he signed it. And the whole thing was done in such a rush, that even a photographer and videographer were not called to record it.”
I went through the papers briefly. Someone had corrected Loya’s name from Brijmohan to Brijgopal. The body, it said, was handed over to a maiyatacha chulatbhau—a paternal cousin.
“Who did these corrections?” I asked. “Who was this chulatbhau to whom the body was handed over?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t happen in front of us. I mean, I saw a person take the body and help put it in the ambulance, but I don’t know his name. The crying man tried to go near the body, but others were stopping him. He was limping.”
I noted down things like ‘paternal cousin’ and ‘limping man’ in my diary. Dr. P suddenly became stiff. His tone changed.
“Never mention my name. I don’t want any trouble.”
“No yaar, never,” I said quickly. “I’m not working on this story. My beat is politics, not crime. I had just overheard about such a post-mortem, and happened to ask you about it. That’s all.”
To downplay the fact that I was hunting for this evidence for nearly half a year, I casually stuffed it in my backpack along with the diary. We changed the topic to the dinner menu and reservation. I kept the bag near my foot and poked it intermittently, to ensure it was still there. We enjoyed Saoji mutton and good, lengthy conversation. Time passed. We even ordered desserts after dinner. However, at this point, my stomach rumbled like a tidal wave, and I didn’t touch it. Regardless, I showed no hurry to leave, although I wanted to photocopy the report as soon as humanely possible.
After dinner, Dr. P and I took a leisurely stroll at a nearby chowk. He awkwardly stopped at a nearby bus stop.
“Sir, let’s sit here for a while.”
We sat. He requested me to pull out the post-mortem report.
“Promise me that my name will never come up,” he repeated, taking the report from my hands. “I know you are not a crime reporter, but I can understand a journalist’s curiosity.”
I held his hand. “I promise. This is my word to you as an elder brother, and I will honour it till my death.”
P smiled. He walked me through the report, explaining terms like ‘rigor mortis’ and ‘dura’. Before he handed the report to me, he tapped his finger on it until the nail turned white.
“A good forensic science expert will tear this apart and conclude, without a single doubt or hesitation, that this was a murder.”
“Oh my God.”
Dr. P gave me a grave look.
“Sir, I have seen the atmosphere when the body was brought to G.M.C. The hurry. The tense surroundings. People talking on phones in every corner. Every pair of eyes piercing all the doctors. The limping man, crying like a child.”
He and I were silent for a while. The bus stop, the passers-by, the night sky and all of Nagpur City had evaporated around us. Only the report existed, only the report was real.
“Tomorrow, I’ll get you the forensic report and histopathology report. There are suspicious discrepancies in those too,” P said.
But tomorrow never came. That was, alas, the last time we spoke. Dr. P soon blocked me on WhatsApp, never answered my calls and fled the city for a place I won’t disclose. Till this day, I pray for his well-being, and remain eternally indebted for his courage toward me, Judge Loya and India.
Date of publication: 9 May, 2022
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