In Your Blood I Run, page 27
‘No, it was never me but I could have stopped her … and I didn’t.’ Marc brought his hand down over his face, as if rubbing from it what it had seen.
‘That night, we were going to drive Sara home. She had told Ratan not to come but unknown to me, Eden sent him a message that Sara needed him. I took Sara aside that night at the party, into the palace grounds and convinced her to stop the blackmail. Told her how much I loved you, Richard, that I would go away if she needed me to. She backed off almost immediately. She said she had no evidence, nothing. She said she would speak to Eden and tell her to back off too. Eden had put her up to it. She had seen us together once, kissing. Eden had convinced Sara this was their chance to blackmail us. Take all the money they could and go back home to England and live as independent rich women. They never planned to tell anybody on us. I left her there smoking a cigarette and went back in to talk to Eden. I couldn’t find her anywhere’.
‘… it was you I saw running across the grounds?’ Ratan asked Eden, in disbelief. It still didn’t make sense.
‘Much as I would love to chat like my cheating husband here, I must be getting on. Lavanya, throw me that packet, will you?’
‘Eden, Sara was going to stay back, wasn’t she? She had changed her mind about leaving. She told you the evening before and you wouldn’t have it. That’s what drove you over the edge. That’s when you sent that message to Ratan. Picked up my book that she had given you to read for the play you were staging with Judith Wilkins at the Gaiety Theatre. You found Sara later that evening, right after Marc had spoken to her. She must have been happy to see you, her one true friend and co-conspirator. Before you slit her throat …’
‘Shut up and throw me what’s mine!’ Eden screamed, shaking with anger.
Lavanya spoke fast but she was thinking even faster. ‘It is yours and you can have it, I don’t need it, but before you go, admit you made a mistake, pinning it on Ratan, won’t you? When he didn’t stay to get caught by the police that night you killed Sara, Ratan made sure your troubles had only begun, am I right? Much as you hate Marc, he shielded you, he had little choice, but he did. He hoped like you, that if the police suspected Ratan and caught him, all your problems would be over. You would get better, you would stay, everything could be managed. There was no need to tell Richard, who could barely get over Sara’s death. Let him too, think it was Ratan who had killed Sara, but when Shyam didn’t want to give his friend up …’
‘Eden, why did Shyam have to die?’ Ratan asked quietly. He realized what Lavanya was doing.
‘Oh I don’t know, Ratan!’ Eden said, beyond exasperated. ‘Could it be because the poor bastard thought he could give us the wrong information about you and get away with it?’ Eden hissed.
‘Eden, it wasn’t Shyam, it was his wife Cheeni who told the police that Ratan was hiding at the farm. That Ratan would be leaving for the bus station at dawn, I was going to tell you it wasn’t Shyam but by then …’ Marc interrupted, inching towards Eden.
It had been Cheeni. The face at the window that night Ratan was leaving their farm. Plotting. Scheming. Little did she know how horribly wrong it would all go. He remembered the shock of finding Shyam following the trail of his own blood. Then he remembered how Shyam had seemed to hold on to him. How he had opened his tightening fist to find a gold button, the flash of which he had seen in Sara’s study too, the night he had gone in to look in her desk drawer. On Marc’s shoes. As Marc took another step to go towards Eden, Ratan knew it was Marc who had killed his friend, not Eden.
‘GIVE ME MY PACKET! NOW!’ Eden screamed, red in the face. Marc took another step.
‘Eden, who killed Shyam? I know it wasn’t you.’ Ratan said as he gripped his gun again. Eden stopped, she looked at Marc, daring him to speak. Marc looked at Richard who too, was looking at him, disbelieving, wanting to be reassured. Marc closed his eyes.
‘Oh darling, are you going to let this august gathering here believe it was li’l ol’ me again who took Shyam’s life? Richard, I may be a butcher’s daughter, I may have learned how to use a cleaver. I did kill Sara, there is no denying it, but the love of your life isn’t innocent either, he is a liar, he is the one who …’
‘Eden! Stop, please, stop, let me. Richard, it was me, I killed Shyam. I had no choice,’ Marc was looking desperately at Richard. ‘When the police did not find Ratan at the bus station, I went to the farm to talk to Cheeni. Shyam was completely unaware of what Cheeni had done. Cheeni denied it all, said she had never taken any money for the information and I had to threaten to kill her when the fool threw himself on me …’ Marc said, ‘and the gun went off .’
‘Right then, this is all very touching but I have a ship to catch,’ Eden looked at Lavanya, her teeth set in a snarl. ‘Lavanya, are you giving me my packet or do you want to die too, love?’
Give it to her, Lavanya, Sitara said. She spoke from behind Eden. From the fire that had engulfed her, cleansed her, given her the freedom she had now.
‘You can have it. I don’t want to hold it any longer.’ Lavanya walked a few steps towards Eden and threw it at her. And into the fire.
Eden turned to see the packet curling into thick black strips as the flames began to engulf it.
Then she lunged at Lavanya, whipping the knife axe from behind her.
And both Ratan and Marc fired their guns.
Outside the tent, a tigress, waiting, pacing up and down the open cages, with the animals still inside them, started walking away into the forest.
Acknowledgements
Roy Daniels, my friend in the skies, who glutted my shelves with books and kindled that odd bookish ambition.
Ramesh Srivats, who read an early awkward draft and drove in the Bangalore rain to sit in my terrace and talk about it.
Paritosh, who did re-reads in between scrubbing for surgeries, and made regular check-ups on my word count for the day.
My pad in Bangalore, where the light slanted just right, where I could prowl around at odd hours, unquestioned, where the writing came easier.
Anuja Chauhan, who talked me into finally letting go and so warmly introduced me to her publisher.
Swati Bhattacharya and Sumita Kaul, my cheerleaders, who listened with great responsibility to numerous renditions of the amorous night.
Anu Menon, who not so gently pushed me into infusing into the story some much-needed legal drama.
Manisha, who spent a holiday in Greece reading and then sitting by the phone answering long probing questions.
Pia, who gave her wise and often hilarious counsel when I was stuck and didn’t know one word from the other.
Ravi, who passionately championed the book without letting anyone know he had not really read it.
Jiya, who listened uncomplainingly as I read aloud (but offered unsolicited advice on my pronunciation).
Doggess Nuri, for just being there, sometimes warming my feet and at other times flipping my laptop shut.
Aashi, Rachita, Divya and Paarth, who were endlessly encouraging.
Raaja Bhasin, author of Simla, The Summer Capital of British India, who met me at the Gaiety Theatre and so generously gave his time to talk to me about Simla in the 1930s.
Harper Collins India CEO Ananth Padmanabhan, editor Swati Daftuar and her team, who believed even in the early drafts and made the book better with every edit.
I’m grateful beyond words.
About the Book
British India, 1936.
On a cold, wet night, Ratan, a wandering law-college dropout, is called to pick up his employer, Sara Davenport, from a party at the Governor’s residence. As he arrives, he sees a figure running through the trees in the dark. The next second, he spots Sara in the thicket, just as she stumbles and falls. He rushes to her, but she dies in his arms. Her throat has been slashed.
Sara was his employer, his lover, his friend, and now Ratan has her blood on his hands. He decides to flee.
Little does he know that when her body is discovered the next day, the police will find alongside it a book of erotic stories written by Ratan’s childhood friend, Lavanya Shriram. And with the book will be a note – addressed to Ratan. The police trace Lavanya in Bombay and threaten to ban her book unless she can help them find Ratan.
Can the two childhood friends come together to track down the real killer and absolve themselves before it’s too late?
Set in a time when India is grappling with colonial rule, this is a thrilling tale about secrets uncovered, and freedoms lost and found.
About the Author
Sonia Bhatnagar grew up in Calcutta, Goa and Delhi, graduating in English Literature from Delhi University. She is currently the National Creative Director of a global advertising agency.
She’s been scribbling stories on every available surface since she can remember and started writing In Your Blood I Run in between shoots and PTA meetings, on flights and in vanity vans. Inordinately fond of travelling and discovering new places, she believes her spiritual home is in the mountains, but she is yet to find it.
When she’s not writing, she can be found napping, reading or watching movies at home with her now YA daughters, her miracle rescue doggess and her long-suffering husband.
Allergic to tube lights, mansplaining and middle seats, she thrives in unconfined spaces and believes there’s no therapy like girlfriend therapy
Keep in touch with Sonia on facebook.com/sonia. bhatnagar.96
She is @soniasofar on Instagram and twitter.
At HarperCollins, we believe in telling the best stories and finding the widest possible readership for our books in every format possible. We started publishing 30 years ago; a great deal has changed since then, but what has remained constant is the passion with which our authors write their books, the love with which readers receive them, and the sheer joy and excitement that we as publishers feel in being a part of the publishing process.
Over the years, we’ve had the pleasure of publishing some of the finest writing from the subcontinent and around the world, and some of the biggest bestsellers in India’s publishing history. Our books and authors have won a phenomenal range of awards, and we ourselves have been named Publisher of the Year the greatest number of times. But nothing has meant more to us than the fact that millions of people have read the books we published, and somewhere, a book of ours might have made a difference.
As we step into our fourth decade, we go back to that one word – a word which has been a driving force for us all these years.
Read.
TALK TO US
Join the conversation on Twitter
http://twitter.com/HarperCollinsIN
Like us on Facebook to find and share posts about our books with your friends
http://www.facebook.com/HarperCollinsIndia
Follow our photo stories on Instagram
http://instagram.com/harpercollinsindia/
Get fun pictures, quotes and more about our books on Tumblr
http://www.tumblr.com/blog/harpercollinsindia
First published in India by HarperCollins Publishers 2022
4th Floor, Tower A, Building No 10, DLF Cyber City,
DLF Phase II, Gurugram, Haryana – 122002
www.harpercollins.co.in
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Copyright © Sonia Bhatnagar 2023
P-ISBN: 978-93-5629-165-2
Epub Edition © December 2022 ISBN: 978-93-5629-168-3
This is a work of fiction and all characters and incidents described in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Sonia Bhatnagar asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Cover design: theBookDesigners
Cover image: Shutterstock
Sonia Bhatnagar, In Your Blood I Run
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‘That night, we were going to drive Sara home. She had told Ratan not to come but unknown to me, Eden sent him a message that Sara needed him. I took Sara aside that night at the party, into the palace grounds and convinced her to stop the blackmail. Told her how much I loved you, Richard, that I would go away if she needed me to. She backed off almost immediately. She said she had no evidence, nothing. She said she would speak to Eden and tell her to back off too. Eden had put her up to it. She had seen us together once, kissing. Eden had convinced Sara this was their chance to blackmail us. Take all the money they could and go back home to England and live as independent rich women. They never planned to tell anybody on us. I left her there smoking a cigarette and went back in to talk to Eden. I couldn’t find her anywhere’.
‘… it was you I saw running across the grounds?’ Ratan asked Eden, in disbelief. It still didn’t make sense.
‘Much as I would love to chat like my cheating husband here, I must be getting on. Lavanya, throw me that packet, will you?’
‘Eden, Sara was going to stay back, wasn’t she? She had changed her mind about leaving. She told you the evening before and you wouldn’t have it. That’s what drove you over the edge. That’s when you sent that message to Ratan. Picked up my book that she had given you to read for the play you were staging with Judith Wilkins at the Gaiety Theatre. You found Sara later that evening, right after Marc had spoken to her. She must have been happy to see you, her one true friend and co-conspirator. Before you slit her throat …’
‘Shut up and throw me what’s mine!’ Eden screamed, shaking with anger.
Lavanya spoke fast but she was thinking even faster. ‘It is yours and you can have it, I don’t need it, but before you go, admit you made a mistake, pinning it on Ratan, won’t you? When he didn’t stay to get caught by the police that night you killed Sara, Ratan made sure your troubles had only begun, am I right? Much as you hate Marc, he shielded you, he had little choice, but he did. He hoped like you, that if the police suspected Ratan and caught him, all your problems would be over. You would get better, you would stay, everything could be managed. There was no need to tell Richard, who could barely get over Sara’s death. Let him too, think it was Ratan who had killed Sara, but when Shyam didn’t want to give his friend up …’
‘Eden, why did Shyam have to die?’ Ratan asked quietly. He realized what Lavanya was doing.
‘Oh I don’t know, Ratan!’ Eden said, beyond exasperated. ‘Could it be because the poor bastard thought he could give us the wrong information about you and get away with it?’ Eden hissed.
‘Eden, it wasn’t Shyam, it was his wife Cheeni who told the police that Ratan was hiding at the farm. That Ratan would be leaving for the bus station at dawn, I was going to tell you it wasn’t Shyam but by then …’ Marc interrupted, inching towards Eden.
It had been Cheeni. The face at the window that night Ratan was leaving their farm. Plotting. Scheming. Little did she know how horribly wrong it would all go. He remembered the shock of finding Shyam following the trail of his own blood. Then he remembered how Shyam had seemed to hold on to him. How he had opened his tightening fist to find a gold button, the flash of which he had seen in Sara’s study too, the night he had gone in to look in her desk drawer. On Marc’s shoes. As Marc took another step to go towards Eden, Ratan knew it was Marc who had killed his friend, not Eden.
‘GIVE ME MY PACKET! NOW!’ Eden screamed, red in the face. Marc took another step.
‘Eden, who killed Shyam? I know it wasn’t you.’ Ratan said as he gripped his gun again. Eden stopped, she looked at Marc, daring him to speak. Marc looked at Richard who too, was looking at him, disbelieving, wanting to be reassured. Marc closed his eyes.
‘Oh darling, are you going to let this august gathering here believe it was li’l ol’ me again who took Shyam’s life? Richard, I may be a butcher’s daughter, I may have learned how to use a cleaver. I did kill Sara, there is no denying it, but the love of your life isn’t innocent either, he is a liar, he is the one who …’
‘Eden! Stop, please, stop, let me. Richard, it was me, I killed Shyam. I had no choice,’ Marc was looking desperately at Richard. ‘When the police did not find Ratan at the bus station, I went to the farm to talk to Cheeni. Shyam was completely unaware of what Cheeni had done. Cheeni denied it all, said she had never taken any money for the information and I had to threaten to kill her when the fool threw himself on me …’ Marc said, ‘and the gun went off .’
‘Right then, this is all very touching but I have a ship to catch,’ Eden looked at Lavanya, her teeth set in a snarl. ‘Lavanya, are you giving me my packet or do you want to die too, love?’
Give it to her, Lavanya, Sitara said. She spoke from behind Eden. From the fire that had engulfed her, cleansed her, given her the freedom she had now.
‘You can have it. I don’t want to hold it any longer.’ Lavanya walked a few steps towards Eden and threw it at her. And into the fire.
Eden turned to see the packet curling into thick black strips as the flames began to engulf it.
Then she lunged at Lavanya, whipping the knife axe from behind her.
And both Ratan and Marc fired their guns.
Outside the tent, a tigress, waiting, pacing up and down the open cages, with the animals still inside them, started walking away into the forest.
Acknowledgements
Roy Daniels, my friend in the skies, who glutted my shelves with books and kindled that odd bookish ambition.
Ramesh Srivats, who read an early awkward draft and drove in the Bangalore rain to sit in my terrace and talk about it.
Paritosh, who did re-reads in between scrubbing for surgeries, and made regular check-ups on my word count for the day.
My pad in Bangalore, where the light slanted just right, where I could prowl around at odd hours, unquestioned, where the writing came easier.
Anuja Chauhan, who talked me into finally letting go and so warmly introduced me to her publisher.
Swati Bhattacharya and Sumita Kaul, my cheerleaders, who listened with great responsibility to numerous renditions of the amorous night.
Anu Menon, who not so gently pushed me into infusing into the story some much-needed legal drama.
Manisha, who spent a holiday in Greece reading and then sitting by the phone answering long probing questions.
Pia, who gave her wise and often hilarious counsel when I was stuck and didn’t know one word from the other.
Ravi, who passionately championed the book without letting anyone know he had not really read it.
Jiya, who listened uncomplainingly as I read aloud (but offered unsolicited advice on my pronunciation).
Doggess Nuri, for just being there, sometimes warming my feet and at other times flipping my laptop shut.
Aashi, Rachita, Divya and Paarth, who were endlessly encouraging.
Raaja Bhasin, author of Simla, The Summer Capital of British India, who met me at the Gaiety Theatre and so generously gave his time to talk to me about Simla in the 1930s.
Harper Collins India CEO Ananth Padmanabhan, editor Swati Daftuar and her team, who believed even in the early drafts and made the book better with every edit.
I’m grateful beyond words.
About the Book
British India, 1936.
On a cold, wet night, Ratan, a wandering law-college dropout, is called to pick up his employer, Sara Davenport, from a party at the Governor’s residence. As he arrives, he sees a figure running through the trees in the dark. The next second, he spots Sara in the thicket, just as she stumbles and falls. He rushes to her, but she dies in his arms. Her throat has been slashed.
Sara was his employer, his lover, his friend, and now Ratan has her blood on his hands. He decides to flee.
Little does he know that when her body is discovered the next day, the police will find alongside it a book of erotic stories written by Ratan’s childhood friend, Lavanya Shriram. And with the book will be a note – addressed to Ratan. The police trace Lavanya in Bombay and threaten to ban her book unless she can help them find Ratan.
Can the two childhood friends come together to track down the real killer and absolve themselves before it’s too late?
Set in a time when India is grappling with colonial rule, this is a thrilling tale about secrets uncovered, and freedoms lost and found.
About the Author
Sonia Bhatnagar grew up in Calcutta, Goa and Delhi, graduating in English Literature from Delhi University. She is currently the National Creative Director of a global advertising agency.
She’s been scribbling stories on every available surface since she can remember and started writing In Your Blood I Run in between shoots and PTA meetings, on flights and in vanity vans. Inordinately fond of travelling and discovering new places, she believes her spiritual home is in the mountains, but she is yet to find it.
When she’s not writing, she can be found napping, reading or watching movies at home with her now YA daughters, her miracle rescue doggess and her long-suffering husband.
Allergic to tube lights, mansplaining and middle seats, she thrives in unconfined spaces and believes there’s no therapy like girlfriend therapy
Keep in touch with Sonia on facebook.com/sonia. bhatnagar.96
She is @soniasofar on Instagram and twitter.
At HarperCollins, we believe in telling the best stories and finding the widest possible readership for our books in every format possible. We started publishing 30 years ago; a great deal has changed since then, but what has remained constant is the passion with which our authors write their books, the love with which readers receive them, and the sheer joy and excitement that we as publishers feel in being a part of the publishing process.
Over the years, we’ve had the pleasure of publishing some of the finest writing from the subcontinent and around the world, and some of the biggest bestsellers in India’s publishing history. Our books and authors have won a phenomenal range of awards, and we ourselves have been named Publisher of the Year the greatest number of times. But nothing has meant more to us than the fact that millions of people have read the books we published, and somewhere, a book of ours might have made a difference.
As we step into our fourth decade, we go back to that one word – a word which has been a driving force for us all these years.
Read.
TALK TO US
Join the conversation on Twitter
http://twitter.com/HarperCollinsIN
Like us on Facebook to find and share posts about our books with your friends
http://www.facebook.com/HarperCollinsIndia
Follow our photo stories on Instagram
http://instagram.com/harpercollinsindia/
Get fun pictures, quotes and more about our books on Tumblr
http://www.tumblr.com/blog/harpercollinsindia
First published in India by HarperCollins Publishers 2022
4th Floor, Tower A, Building No 10, DLF Cyber City,
DLF Phase II, Gurugram, Haryana – 122002
www.harpercollins.co.in
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Copyright © Sonia Bhatnagar 2023
P-ISBN: 978-93-5629-165-2
Epub Edition © December 2022 ISBN: 978-93-5629-168-3
This is a work of fiction and all characters and incidents described in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Sonia Bhatnagar asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Cover design: theBookDesigners
Cover image: Shutterstock
Sonia Bhatnagar, In Your Blood I Run
