Book excerpt: The unresolved murder of Aarushi Talwar

Editors Note: The murder of fourteen-year-old Aarushi Talwar in May 2008 in her comfortable suburban home along with the family servant has turned out to be an unresolved mystery for all. Within weeks of Aarushi’s death, her dentist parents became the prime suspects. But did they really do it? In his second book, journalist Avirook Sen retells the trial proceedings of the case with due diligence and detail, thus taking the reader into the heart of the murder that has gripped the nation till date. The following is an excerpt from the book, Aarushi: In matters of observation of behaviour, people can, and do, express a subjective opinion. But what about in matters concerning science? Dr Sunil Kumar Dohare, the medical officer who conducted the post-mortem on Aarushi’s body, appeared in court that summer to say what he had earlier told Kaul. That Aarushi’s vaginal cavity was so dilated he could see her cervix. When he was asked why he hadn’t recorded these facts in his autopsy report, Dohare gave a slightly different answer from what he had told Kaul. Then he had said his findings were ‘non-specific’ and ‘very strange’. Now he told the court that they were ‘subjective’. There is no such thing as a ‘subjective finding’. A finding is by definition objective and verifiable. An article in the respected Journal of the American Medical Association describes ‘subjective findings’ as ‘self-contradictory and time-dishonored’ and goes on to say, ‘By definition, findings are either objective demonstrations of abnormality, or the objective lack of demonstrable signs of abnormality.’ But Dohare went on to expand on his theme. He told the court that the wide opening of the vaginal cavity indicated that Aarushi’s private parts had been ‘manipulated’ after her death. The presence of a ‘whitish discharge’ suggested possible cleaning, because the discharge wasn’t evenly spread. Dr Dohare is a man of average build in his early forties. The two most noticeable things about him were his thick glasses, through which his eyes seem to bulge, and a weak chin. He had a tendency to explain rather than answer directly, and was at pains to tell the court about his limited role in the AIIMS post-mortem report on Aarushi—he had ‘signed it’ but not ‘prepared it’.  When the court broke for the day, I asked Dr Dohare about the AIIMS document. Why had he signed it when he took no responsibility for its contents? He began by explaining he was not an expert in the other fields included in the terms of reference, and then was glad to be rescued by a CBI officer standing nearby. The CBI man said, ‘He wasn’t asked this question,’ and chaperoned Dohare away. His job for the day was done. Dr Dohare was among the most important witnesses in the trial. His testimony was one of the pillars that propped up the case against the Talwars. In it were his ‘expert opinion’ of the weapons used and the tampering with Aarushi’s body. In it, the CBI argued, were both the motive and the method for the murders. Although those were early days, the CBI believed that the man who followed Dohare in the witness stand (so to speak— since there is no stand in the fast-track court, the witness simply stands facing the judge) would clinch a conviction. Dr B.K. Mohapatra was one of the CFSL scientists who had conducted DNA tests on all the evidence collected from the crime scene: scrapings from blood-specked walls, the khukri, various articles of bloodstained bedding, all of it went to Mohapatra. He had joined the investigation right from the time the CBI took over in June 2008, a fortnight after the crimes. The CFSL is an extension of the CBI, and Mohapatra was part of a team of scientists and investigators who had gone to the crime scene hunting for clues. Dr Mohapatra had several days of appearances ahead of him. His deposition involved as many as 152 exhibits— many of which had to be physically held up in court. He had to testify on eight separate forensic reports. He also had to provide details of every seal, noting and letter that concerned the CFSL. It was in the course of these days that I sensed a growing confidence in the manner in which everyone on the CBI’s side conducted themselves. I had read Mohapatra’s reports and wondered what I might have missed that made the prosecution so sure of themselves. I felt the most important aspect of Mohapatra’s testimony would be an incriminating presence of DNA. The prosecution could walk away with the case if, for instance, Hemraj’s DNA was discovered in Aarushi’s room. This would establish his presence there, and therefore Rajesh Talwar’s motive. It was for the lack of hard evidence such as this that the CBI was forced to file a closure report. Had they found fresh evidence since then? At lunchtime one day I found Mohapatra sitting unaccompanied in the courtroom, minding two large folders on a table in front. He was a short, spectacled man, with a thick Odiya accent that sometimes confused people from the north (‘blood’, for instance, would become ‘blawed’). He looked simple, and so were his concerns. As I sat next to him, he complained about the unpleasant extended summer, and the long waits in court. He then said it must be very hard work for reporters as well. He had seen us standing at the courtroom’s door all day because we weren’t allowed in. I mumbled something about everyone having to do a job, when he asked me: ‘Do you get TA/DA?’ I told him we didn’t, but he was entitled to allowances, surely. He nodded, and I thought how the government had taken over the scientist in Mohapatra. I got down to my question. Was there any proof that Hemraj’s DNA was found in Aarushi’s room? Mohapatra gave me a canny answer: ‘How do you know it wasn’t?’ From my understanding of his reports, I said, and from the CBI’s admitted position. He said that I should wait and hear his testimony. In court Mohapatra finally made his revelation: a bloodstained blue-and-white pillow cover on which Hemraj’s DNA was detected was recovered from Aarushi’s room. Yet just a few months before Mohapatra’s testimony, while referring to the same piece of evidence, the agency had told the Supreme Court: ‘One pillow cover was also seized from the room of the deceased Hemraj and the same was also sent for forensic examination . . .’ The CBI counsel R.K. Saini explained that Dr Mohapatra could not be expected to remember the sources of various items seized, even if he was part of the team collecting evidence. He was therefore relying on a letter written three days after the seizures by an SP, CBI. SP Dhankar, however, was not part of the 12-member team that inspected the Talwars’ premises on 1 June 2008. Reporting on the day’s developments, websites and newspapers went with ‘Partial Male DNA Found on Aarushi’s Pillow’ or variations of it; no mention was made of the CBI’s affidavit to the Supreme Court or to the closure report. For a month after Mohapatra had made the claim, the CBI stuck stubbornly to the line that traces of Hemraj’s blood were found in Aarushi’s room. Eventually, by end August, it became clear that the agency had been misleading the court. Hemraj’s pillow cover, which Mohapatra had said was seized from Aarushi’s room, was unsealed and displayed. A cloth tag attached to it said: ‘Pillow and pillow cover, blood stained (from servant’s room)’. This was the primary record of the seizure. The tag bore the signatures of Mohapatra’s CFSL colleague Dr Rajinder Singh and CBI inspector Pankaj Bansal. R.K. Saini, the tonsured CBI counsel, whose right eyebrow twitches uncontrollably during any exciting event, had at first tried to dismiss the exhibit, with a ‘Yeh to ho gaya’ (We are done with this). But when Mohapatra, slightly shamefaced, read out the tag, Saini, far from being embarrassed by the failed stunt, said it would make no difference at all. And he was proved right. Excerpted with permission from Aarushi, Avirook Sen, Penguin Books India