The Mo Mysteries by Kolkata-based author Ushasi Sen Basu is a collection of four whodunit stories set in different parts of India. Solving the mysteries is amateur sleuth Mohini Choudhury — Mo to family and friends. The deadpan and dogged young woman, who flits from one non-descript day job to another, was brought to literary life by Sen Basu in one of her earlier books.
Sen Basu, who studied English at Jadavpur University and works as the administrative officer at Writers Workshop, had published her first novel, Kathputli, in 2017. Her second novel, A Killer Among Us, was shortlisted for the Auther Awards in the popular choice category in 2021. In addition to her last collection of stories, Down a Dark Alley, Sen Basu has contributed to several multi-author anthologies.
My Kolkata presents an excerpt from her latest book, which will be launched at Starmark, South City, at 4.30pm on Thursday, September 26.
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Forty minutes later, Mo and Kabir were admiring the Green House from outside the gate. It was like something out of a story book, covered almost entirely with ivy, and would have fit better in the English countryside. The name of the house was no misnomer, it was indeed green — in all its conceivable shades. The front-facing wall that was half covered by ivy was a kind of topaz green, while the slates of the sloping roof were a weathered jade shade. The door and window panes were another pleasant shade of green altogether, and Mo had to admit, though an eccentric idea, it had a very pleasing effect. The house stood with the woods at its back, which covered one half of the hill; adding a deeper dimension of emerald in the slanting rays of the mild afternoon sun.
‘The Green House. Fantastic,’ Kabir murmured.
Mo felt a passing twinge of regret for all the missed childhood holidays she could have spent at this magical house.
As Mo and Kabir let themselves in and mounted the steps to the front door, her sharp eyes caught the crumbling corners and chipped tiles that the owner had fastidiously hidden with sundry plants and ceramic pots. She gave her companion a glance and rapped on the wooden door with a brass knocker shaped like a parrot, the brass greening with age.
After a few minutes, Mo stepped back a few feet into the overgrown garden, to see all the front-facing windows; while Kabir looked indecisive on the porch.
‘I think no one’s home,’ Kabir called out to her. Mo shook her head when she caught the twitching of one of the upstairs curtains.
The door suddenly banged open, colliding against the inside wall with a crash that made Kabir jump. Mo’s aunt, Mina, stood there; tall, wavy-haired and imperious. It was unmistakably her, even though Mo hadn’t seen her since she was a child.
Kabir took a few steps back in alarm, before Mo bounded up to join him on the porch.
‘What do you want?’ Mina demanded, her eyes roving over Mo’s face. Mo detected a gleam of recognition in her eyes.
‘I’m Mohini. Sujoy and Brinda’s daughter.’
Mina’s face lit up momentarily — Kabir seemed quite dazzled by her smile — but it died out in a matter of seconds.
‘My parents wanted to send their respects. I was here on holiday, at the Greenview Hotel nearby, so I thought I’d walk over and see if you’re home.’
Mina grasped the edge of the door with white knuckles.
‘Mohini,’ she said. The two women regarded each other in silence.
Kabir broke in, ‘You guys are the spitting image of each other, only a few decades apart. I don’t mean too many decades,’ he corrected himself, looking like he would have broken into a sweat if it had been warmer weather, ‘. . .like just perhaps one or two.’
Mo gave him a quelling look and Kabir said, ‘Would you mind if I explore your garden while you . . .er. . .talk?’
He wandered off, still making his excuses.
‘His name is Kabir. I should have introduced him properly.’
Mina looked distressed. ‘I — I would ordinarily invite you and your friend in, but not today. I can’t.’
Mo felt a prickling on the nape of her neck. ‘I thought I could perhaps meet, um.. .uncle as well. Just wanted to have a 5–10 minute chat and go home with a report that would comfort Baba, is all.’
‘“Uncle”. . .uncle isn’t home. He’s travelling now. It’s just me.’
Mo’s eyes flicked towards the shadowy other end of the room. She looked full into her aunt’s face. ‘You are alone at home?’
‘A-yes. I don’t allow people in when I’m alone, no offence.’
‘None taken.’
‘Too many robberies here, ever since the tourists came. After all, I only have your word for it that you are my niece.’
‘I can give you some more proof if you like,’ Mo proceeded ploddingly, refusing to take the hint. ‘Everybody calls me Mo, perhaps you remember that. I have pictures of my family on my phone. My driver’s licence.’
Her aunt’s left eyelid had started to jitter. Whatever was going on, her aunt was under extreme stress.
Mo’s eyes flicked back to the long shadow cast on the floor at the end of the room. A figure stood in an inside room, listening, while the afternoon sun played tattle-tale and cast a shadow Mo could see.
Mo lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Who’s that then?’
Mina just shook her head and closed the door.
Her aunt had known someone stood there. She had shaken her head, heavy with reluctance, and then wordlessly shut herself in with whoever lurked inside.
