Grave Intentions (A Harith Athreya Mystery) - Softcover

Raman, RV

Softcover

ISBN 10: 178227734X ISBN 13: 9781782277347

Publisher: Pushkin Vertigo, 2026

Synopsis

Death, a cursed archeological dig, and a beloved detective feature in this cozy stand-alone mystery set in contemporary India.

The thrilling 2nd installment in R V Raman’s acclaimed Harith Athreya mystery series.

SECRETS

Detective Harith Athreya, a seasoned investigator with a vivid imagination, is back: this time to investigate suspicious incidences on a riverside archaeological dig in the heart of remote Bundelkhand. Beset by fears of theft, strange nondisclosure agreements and lacking any important discoveries so far, Athreya is certain there is more to this dig than meets the eye. Can Athreya trust his instincts when he senses something amiss? And who has to gain from keeping the truth from him?

SUPERSTITION

In this beautiful place, rich in local myth and history, the whispered legend goes that anyone who sets foot on nearby island Naaz Tapu would be cursed forever. Anyone who ventures there either goes mad, or ends up dead. Something resides in this place – a phantom. The locals won’t even let the island be photographed.

SLAUGHTER

When an archaeologist defies this local folklore, the fallout is swift and deadly. Is the death a result of the ancient curse, or is it a more down-to-earth case of murder? Detective Athreya needs to unravel the truth from legend before the curse (or murderer) strikes again...

The 2nd in R V Raman’s acclaimed Harith Athreya mysteries, this entertaining cozy mystery has all the hallmarks of beloved classic crime with a spectacular modern twist.

About this title

About the Author

Following a corporate career spanning three decades and four continents, RV Raman now lectures on management, mentors young entrepreneurs, serves as an independent director on company boards, and writes. A Will to Kill is the first novel in the Harith Athreya series, with four subsequent novels in the series also available from Pushkin Vertigo.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The inflatable rubber raft careened down the River Betwa as dusk approached, carrying its five occupants inexorably towards the rocks and the forbidding white water beyond. The two boatmen at the rear deftly steered it towards the gap in the rocks as the two men sitting in front of them held their oars clear of the cold water. The fifth occupant, a bright-eyed girl of sixteen, sat at the prow, mesmerized by the approaching drop in the river. All five pairs of eyes were riveted to the abrupt descent and the roiling waters beyond.
‘Hang on!’ Athreya called as his right hand let go of the oar and clenched the taut nylon rope under his legs.
To Harith Athreya’s left sat his friend and host, Sharad Sikka, a native of Bundelkhand, who Athreya was visiting again after many years. The girl now crouching at the front and tightly grip- ping ropes with both hands was Moupriya, Sharad’s daughter. The boatmen at the back watched the swirling waters ahead warily, as if expecting them to throw up a nasty surprise at any moment.
Presently, the raft tilted forward alarmingly as its prow plunged over the drop and buried itself—and Moupriya— momentarily into the churning eddies of the Betwa. The girl’s squeal of excitement turned into a gasp and ended in a splutter as a mass of frigid water drenched her from head to toe. It would leave at least six inches of standing water.
‘Hold tight, Mou!’ her father called. He had reached forward in anticipation and was clutching the collar of her windbreaker. The craft bounced and spun dizzyingly as the rest of it fol-
lowed the prow over the drop and hit the frothy water.

‘Row!’ called one of the boatmen over the din of the cascad- ing torrent, and four oars plunged into the white water as the raft sought to fight its way out of the eddies.
Ahead lay a sharp bend in the river where it also narrowed considerably. The quickening current surged and leapt over rocks, forcing the men to give their undivided attention to steer- ing. The two boatmen’s primary task was to keep the vessel from crashing on to rocks, seen or unseen. This turbulent stretch was—depending on one’s perspective—the most thrilling or the most dangerous part of their rafting adventure.
After an interminable length of time, they emerged into calmer waters beyond the bend. Athreya rested his oar and took a well-deserved breather, letting his tired arms hang limply at his sides. The other three men did likewise, allowing the raft to drift down the river.
Athreya ran his long fingers through his uncommonly fine hair that was revealing its first specks of grey. Except for the silvery tuft in the front, the rest of his head was largely black. His beard too was mostly black, except at the chin where a small patch of silver matched his head. Sitting there with his hair and beard dripping water, he looked like a bearded collie that had just had a bath.
After staring at little other than the raging waters, and watching out for submerged rocks, Athreya now lifted his gaze to take in the new vista that greeted him.
The river was broader now. The forest on the riverbank to his right was dense, green and silent. Not a sign of civilization marred the stretch of undisturbed nature. The left riverbank, however, was not as thick or verdant as the opposite bank. An occasional man-made structure peeped through the relatively sparse foliage. Ahead, the river widened more and split into three arms, creating two small islands as its outermost arms veered away from each other. The middle arm cut a narrow, rock-strewn channel for the water between the two. The boatmen quietly steered the raft towards the left arm that was visibly wider. Not only that, but they were ensuring that it drifted as close to the left bank—and as far away from the islands—as possible.
That was when Athreya noticed that a sudden quietness had fallen over them and their surroundings. Only the whispers of the river around him intruded. The woods on both banks were silent. Even more so were the two islands looming ahead. There was a curious stillness about them that caught his attention, stirring his not inconsiderable imagination. There was some- thing about them that didn’t feel quite natural.
Several long moments passed in silence as they drifted closer. Dusk was beginning to fall. The index finger of Athreya’s right hand, which seemed to have a mind of its own, traced unseen designs and words on his knee. This was a reflexive action whenever his mind was churning.
Athreya caught himself staring at the larger island. There was something subliminal about it that was casting a spell over him. Suddenly self-conscious, he broke out of the trance and looked around the raft. Moupriya was staring unblinkingly at the nearer island as her fingers crept into the waterproof plastic pouch under her windbreaker and she pulled out her mobile phone. Sharad seemed ill at ease as his eyes darted from the island to his daughter. The two boatmen had done something peculiar—they had swivelled to their left and now sat facing the left riverbank. Their backs were turned towards the centre of the river.
Perched awkwardly, both of them were staring upriver, the direction from which they’d come. While Athreya couldn’t see their faces, their rigid postures made it apparent that they were

tense. It was as if they were averting their gaze from the islands.
Were they afraid to look at them?
Athreya turned his attention back to the nearing larger one, wondering what it was about it that had stirred his imagination. His index finger resumed tracing words on his knee.
Its foliage—dark green with patches of brown and black— seemed thicker than the forest on the far riverbank. Thick tree trunks stood on the very edge, reminding him simultaneously of the Amazonian rainforest and the Sundarbans mangroves. The slanting evening sun rays seemed incapable of penetrating or brightening the island, even as they dispelled the darkness in the woods on the banks.
As Athreya continued staring, oblivious to whatever else their raft passed on the riverbanks as it drifted downstream, he thought he saw a flicker of white deep in the trees. It was a fleeting impression that lasted less than an instant. Something had momentarily caught the beams of the setting sun. But it had vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. Some more long seconds passed. Just as he began doubting what he had seen, it appeared again: a hazy, translucent patch of whiteness in the gloom that seemed to move among the trees.
At that instant, he heard the sound of a photo being taken. Moupriya, who also had been staring at the island, had clicked her mobile’s camera. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence.
‘Mou!’ he heard Sharad hiss. ‘Don’t!’
Simultaneously, the raft rocked as the boatmen suddenly changed their position. Athreya turned. They were no longer staring up the river. Instead, they were gaping at Moupriya with horrified expressions on their faces.
Ignoring her father, Moupriya raised her mobile phone again, pointing its camera at the island.

‘Madam!’ one of the boatmen called, startling Athreya. The shout was laced with indignation as well as fear. ‘Madam, no photo!’
Such was the urgency and intensity of the cry that Moupriya, who was about to click another picture, paused in the act and looked back in surprise over her shoulder.
‘No photos, madam,’ the boatman repeated fiercely in his limited English. ‘Bad luck! Bad luck!’
‘Moupriya!’ Sharad snapped, saying his daughter’s full name in exasperation. ‘I told you not to.’
‘But, Pa—’ the girl protested, only to be cut off. ‘No!’ Sharad barked. ‘Put your phone away.’
Athreya saw Moupriya’s ears redden. Just when he thought that the spirited girl was going to push back, she gave in. She lowered her arm, slid her mobile phone back into the waterproof pouch and zipped it up. Sighs of relief sounded from behind Athreya.
Surprised at the tension and the unexpected display of emo- tion over a simple photo, Athreya turned towards Sharad to ask the obvious question: why shouldn’t Moupriya take pictures? But the words remained unsaid on his lips when he saw that Sharad, normally a stoic man, was agitated. His face conveyed a mixture of embarrassment and ire.
Nonplussed, Athreya turned to look at the two boatmen behind him. They had returned to their earlier position and were sitting stiffly with their backs to the islands and their gazes directed up the river. Athreya now had no doubt that they were avoiding looking—even by chance—at the larger one.
‘Sorry, Athreya,’ Sharad said suddenly, interrupting Athreya’s thoughts and glancing sheepishly at him. ‘The place is a bit of a bogey for locals. There are some superstitions about it that I’ll tell you later.’

‘Does it have a name?’ Athreya asked. ‘This island?’ ‘Yes, it’s called… Naaz Tapu.’
Hardly had Sharad spoken the name than one of the boat- men protested.
‘Sharad Sahib,’ he uttered plaintively. ‘Naam mat lijiye.’ Don’t say the name!
Silence fell, and Athreya turned his attention to Naaz Tapu. They were passing it now. It was no more than a hundred and fifty yards away. The boatmen were still perched rigidly and their eyes were fixed on the left riverbank. Their lips were moving soundlessly as if uttering a silent prayer, while their knuckles shone white from clutching the oars as if they were weapons. Moupriya, her young face flushed in excitement, was staring wide-eyed at the island. Whatever the local tales and supersti- tions about Naaz Tapu, the girl clearly did not subscribe to them. Sharad was throwing quick glances at the island, but his eyes never rested on it for more than a couple of seconds. He, too, was on edge.

Edition details

• Publisher: Pushkin Vertigo
• Publication date: 2026
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 178227734X
• ISBN 13: 9781782277347
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 288