Haven’t Cried Since I Learnt About His Death: Bhambani’s Daughter

Are lawyers not supposed to take cases because people will kill them, rage Harish Bhambani’s daughters.

“Dad, don’t worry,

Just go into the light.

We’ll be all right.”

These were the words Sonia scribbled on a piece of paper before rushing to Mumbai. Her father, the late lawyer Harish Bhambani was missing for over twelve hours then. She did not know that he had been killed, his old eyes blindfolded, his hands and feet tied. She did not know that he had been stuffed into a cardboard casket, abandoned in a drain. And yet, she knew. It was a premonition, a strong one, the kind only a doting daughter could sense.

I haven’t cried since I have learnt about his death. It’s not that I am suppressing my grief. It’s just that I am a very spiritual person and that’s how I know he’s watching me. If he sees me cry, he won’t be happy. It’s my duty to make sure that I don’t hold him back. He has to go, that’s his journey now, and he won’t depart if he sees us unhappy. It’s not right of me to hold him back.

Sonia, Harish Bhambani’s elder daughter

Sonia was speaking to The Quint at her father’s Matunga residence. A writer, she lives in Pune with her husband and three-year-old daughter, Geet.

It was the night of 12 December. Harish Bhambani was missing for 24 hours by then. His younger daughter, Anita had filed a missing person’s complaint with the police. But she hadn’t heard from them. Hema Upadhyay, who Harish had left with, wasn’t home either. Both their phones were off.

Sonia had arrived from Pune, her cousin brothers had flown in from New York and Brussels. The family was obviously panicked, even scared, but when they started imagining the worst, they couldn’t think beyond Haresh and Hema being in an accident.

‘He Went Like a Soldier’

Late in the night, around 1 am, my phone rang. A cop told me that we had to go to Kandivli, where my father and Hema’s phones were last active. My brother-in-law and I met the cops. My brother joined us from the airport, and we left for Kandivli around 2 am. But they drove the three of us to Bhagwati Hospital instead. I thought I was right; dad was in an accident. But after entering the hospital, the cops led us past the casualty area. That’s when I realised that something was wrong, terribly wrong. I cannot explain. I was terrified; I have never been that scared. And then, they led us to the morgue.

Anita, Harish Bhambani’s younger daughter

Anita was waiting outside the morgue with terror in her heart.

They asked me to wait outside, and I did not protest. Five minutes later, my brother and sister’s husband walked out of the morgue. They didn’t say a word to me. The cops drove us to the DCP. At his office, my brother asked me to sit down. He clutched my hand tightly. I asked him why he was holding me; I didn’t want to believe what I had already guessed. But then the DCP gave words to my dread.

She had just returned home from the Borivali court where Hema’s husband, Chintan Upadhyay was produced following his arrest in the double murders on Tuesday.

Your faith dwindles, you know. My father was such a religious man. And even in those final moments, when they were doing all that to him, I know he must have prayed for help, protection. But that help didn’t come. I cannot understand why it didn’t come. And now, I’m not sure if I should keep that faith. It takes a lot to be dignified, to hold that trust after something like this happens. But it has, and we’re left struggling. I know that he had his share of pain while going. But I also know he went like a soldier. He loved Hema like he loved his own daughters, and even if he knew there was danger, he wouldn’t let her go there alone. He went in a good way.

Sonia

“Yes, he went in a good way,” she reiterated, reassuring herself, while feeding a plum to her toddler.

‘Hema Would Pick Ticks Off My Dog’

Speaking about Hema, Sonia and Anita said that although she was their father’s client, she was like a sister to them. Over the past four years that they had known Hema, they had discovered that she was a beautiful person, a talented artist, who relished the Sindhi food their mother especially cooked for her, who would unfailingly get them souvenirs every time she travelled, and who was looking to pick herself up through spirituality.

Hema and I were very close. She was at all the functions in my wedding; she would come to stay with me in Pune. She adored my daughter. She would pick ticks off my dog; we were that close. I remember, once I’d told her that I love drinking water from clay pots, but I couldn’t have one at home since they’re too difficult to clean. A few days later, she got me a bottle made of clay.

Sonia

They considered Hema to be a family member and hence losing her is a great deal for them.

She knew I love cooking, so she got these fresh herbs for me from Italy. She would get perfumes for Anita since she knew she was crazy about them. For us, the loss is double. We’ve not just lost our father; we’ve also lost a sister.

Sonia has now moved to Mumbai, has transferred her daughter’s school admission to the city, and plans to stay with her mother and sister for at least a year.

As her daughter Geet digs into another plum leaving her first one half-eaten, Sonia asks her maid to wash the fruit for her.

“She misses her n a n u (nanu) a lot,” Sonia looks at her daughter, making sure that she spells the word ‘nanu.’ Pronouncing it would remind the child of her grandfather.

Geet (Sonia’s daughter) keeps asking me where he is. I don’t know what to tell her. I’ve told her that he’s gone for a holiday, that he’ll come back soon. But she won’t leave without seeing him.

‘Father Was Killed Because He Was Being a Professional’

Sonia and Anita said that their father paid the price for being a professional. He was killed because he did not let his client go alone for that deceptive meeting. They said that before Sonia was born, Harish worked as a criminal lawyer. He was doing well, yet he switched to civil cases because he did not want his family to be in any sort of danger.

And now, he was killed in a divorce case. He was just doing his job. Are lawyers not supposed to take cases because people will kill them? There is so much anger, so much rage in us. We have to live with this loss for all our lives. At this moment, we’re busy with the cops, the investigations; our friends and relatives are with us. But despite everything, when I’m left alone even for five minutes, the loss creeps in. I cannot help thinking about dad, about what they did to him.

Anita

She breaks down. Her mother, asleep in the room adjacent to the dining hall where we were conversing, wakes up and walks to her daughter. She hugs Anita, and the girl quickly wipes off her tears.

“I’m fine,” Anita assures her and turns to me as her mother, clad in a white salwar kameez, vacantly walks back to her room.

When I was at Kandivli police station the other day, I saw one of the arrested men, who the cops say killed my father. Sadhu Rajbhar, his name is. They were taking him to the washroom, and I had gone out to make a call. I looked at him, and he stared straight into my eyes. He did not look away once. You know, you can look into a person’s eyes and tell if he has a soul. And with this man, his eyes told me that he didn’t have a soul. I know that no matter how angry or miserable I feel, dad is not coming back home. But we want the people responsible to be punished. We want justice; that’s the least we can do for dad.

Anita

‘I Could Not Eat For Three Days After I Saw Him Last’

The sisters said that Harish was an extremely generous man, “generous to the point of being irritating.” Known in his family as “Bittu papa”, Harish would return from work with bags of groceries for all his relatives in their three-storey building at Matunga. He taught his daughters reading, would take up their answers, revise their words and spellings with them, and would get home the entire shop when asked for a few strawberries.

I remember, once I told dad that I couldn’t find shoes for my daughter. It was just a passing remark. And soon, he was at my place, all the way in Pune, with the perfect size. He was like that, you know. I saw him last on the eighth of this month, three days before he went missing. Even then, he had come to Pune only to hand me some documents that I wanted for my daughter’s school admission. I’d told him to courier them, but he just took a bus and came.

Sonia

Sonia had a premonition which has now come out to be true.

When he had to return, I drove him to the bus station. I could see him in the rear view mirror, watching me drive away. He made sure that I had safely gone before he stepped into the bus. That day, I returned home and I cried, I was wailing like a child. My husband asked me what was wrong. But I had no answer; I was just feeling empty, it was a strong sinking feeling. I didn’t eat for three days after that; I couldn’t bring myself to eat. And worse, I didn’t even know why. Now I do.

(Puja Changoiwala has worked as a crime reporter with the Hindustan Times in Mumbai, and has recently finished a non-fiction book on a true crime story from the city, to be published by Hachette India next year.)

Also on The Quint:
Hema Upadhyay’s Husband Chintan Met Vidyadhar Days Before Murder
Chintan Had Been Harassing Hema for a Decade Now: Hema’s Cousin