The 'Un-Holi' Crime

The concrete jungle in the desert city of Abu Dhabi sprang to life as the lights came on. Sabina, nearly at the end of her shift, reached Room No. 724 in the hotel she worked, pushing her trolley ahead of her. She quickly and efficiently pulled out the cleaning liquid, new set of bedsheets and pillow covers and opened the door. The room was dark and stuffy. She smelled something, but could not say what it was. It made her uncomfortable. She inserted the key in the slot and entered the bathroom. She saw red spots on the floor and paused, feeling tensed.

She stepped back and noticed the floor. The stains led up to the bed. She saw the prone figure, swathed in blood. She let out a scream and ran out, not stopping till she was in the manager’s cabin. She was inconsolable, and the effort of keeping herself together seemed to have exerted her beyond her capacity at that moment. She fainted.

The manager, stunned at this unexpected swoon, ran out and called other staff for help. When Sabina came around, she saw eager faces looking at her expectantly. It took her a moment to remember the reason she was here, and that made her melt into tears again. Finally, the manager and the staff realized what the matter was – a man lay dead in his room. Blood had dripped in the bathroom and stains could be seen on the floor leading up to the bed, where he lay on a bed soaked with his blood.

The people around her moved a step back in horror. “Are you imagining things?” the manager asked hoarsely. Sabina shook her head. She narrated what had happened between sobs.

“We will have to check this out. Not a word to anyone,” the manager cautioned those around him. “Come with me,” he called the strongest looking man in the group. Mahmud, though well built, trembled at the prospect. But, he followed his senior silently.

In her hurry, Sabina had left the door ajar. The manager pushed the door open and entered the room. He noticed the bloodspots on the floor. His eyes followed the trail and reached the bed. The gruesome sight churned even the sturdy manager’s stomach; he heard Mahmud inhale a sharp breath. The manager thought he had been well prepared for the worst, but what he saw was beyond belief. He had heard of blue blood, but to see the mix of blue and red on the dead man’s face made him very worried. Was this the son of some Sheikh? Was it possible that they really had blue blood?

He started walking towards the body. Despite the blood, it looked as if the man was asleep. The incongruousness made the scene more macabre. He heard a door click and turned. Mahmud was in the bathroom, retching. He himself felt nauseated, but the quiet perseverance is what made him the manager and Mahmud his junior. The fumes of bad odour made him wonder if the body was decaying, having lain undetected here for a while! But that was not possible. Had someone dumped the body here sometime during the day? The rotting body, that is.

He was just a few inches from the body when it stirred and made him start. A soundless exclamation escaped his lips. He resisted the urge to run and touched the body after much hesitation. The body was warm. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in, he thought and was puzzled. He then noticed the soft breath.

“Mahmud! Bring water!” he shouted. The prone man’s eyes flickered. The manager quickly dialed the hospital doctor to rush to the room. Mahmud brought water on unsteady feet. The manager sprinkled water on the man’s face and saw him react. The blood ran to the not-so-white-anymore bedsheet and the manager flinched as he saw it turning red. But his attention was drawn back to the man who slowly opened his eyes and looked around blankly. The man closed his eyes again and his hand went to his head.

The manager noticed him grimace. “Sir, are you well?” he asked gently.

The door opened and Doctor Ahmed walked in. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed.

The man sat up and groaned, clutching his head.

“Sir! Is your head hurting?” the manager asked solicitously.

“It is killing me!” the man exclaimed weakly.

“I am a doctor,” Dr Ahmed came forward and took the guest’s hand in his. The pulse was weak, the heartbeat fast and the BP was low too. “Call an ambulance,” he instructed as he turned his attention to the man’s head.

“No, no!” the man protested weakly and got up, only to flop back on the bed. “Who are you? Why are you here?” he asked angrily, feeling his wet hair.

“Sir, you seem to be badly injured in the head. You may have lost much blood. You need medical attention.”

“What!” the man said and got up in a sudden burst of energy. He went to the mirror and looked at his head. The effort seemed to cost him dearly, for he clutched his head again and groaned. The manager and the doctor rushed to his side.

“Sir, someone seems to have tried to do you in. Do you remember anything? Can you guess who it could be?”

The man remained silent in pain, and then laughed. It sounded sinister to the manager. The doctor went to the phone. “I will call the ambulance.”

“Should we… get the police too?” the manager asked reluctantly. He was puzzled, confused and scared.

“No! Don’t be ridiculous. I am fine. I don’t need the ambulance either. I just need to wash,” the man said and closed the bathroom door behind him. The doctor and the manager exchanged glances.

The man came out within minutes, the face cleared of much blood, but still the colour wasn’t right. The manager now noticed that the guest looked like an Asian – an Indian or Pakistani. “Who did this to you sir? Were you drugged? There is an odd smell around you!” he asked again.

“Pramod, my friend, did this to me...” the man said in a sing-song voice. The manager thought the man had lost his head. “I think we should inform the police, sir,” he insisted and went to the phone, though the idea of having the police come to the hotel was abhorrent to him.

“No, I will deal with him,” the man said quietly, ominously.

The doctor tried to drag the patient to the bed and check for wounds. The man sat laughing. “No wounds!!!”

“You were in a hurry, my friends. This is no injury, just some colours,” the man said chuckling. The manager and the doctor looked at each other again. Was the man mad because of the blow?

The man though was explaining the colours. He had met his friends at another hotel in the city to celebrate Holi, the Indian festival of colours, drunk Bhaang without discretion and had a whole bucket of gulaal and purple shades dissolved in water poured on him. “I am going to take my sweet revenge today. Sorry for the trouble men,” he said.

“Are you going to return here tonight?” the manager asked, feeling utterly foolish. The doctor left red faced at what he thought was an insult to him. The man alone seemed nonchalant and in good spirits.

“No, but don’t be surprised if Pramod does,” he teased.

“No, please!” the manager exclaimed in despair.