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Love, Death And Scandal In Bombay

In the late 1950s, Bombay was rocked by the murder of a Sindhi playboy by a handsome and highly
decorated Parsi naval commander. Kawas Nanavati shot dead family friend PremAhuja when he learnt of
his intimacy with his beautiful English wife, Sylvia. Because of its cosmopolitan dramatis personae and
elite social geography involving Malabar Hill and Cuffe Parade, the trial, which came to be known as the
Nanavati case and which involved some of the best legal minds of that era, had Bombay hooked. The
Nanavati case was also Indias first media trial and goaded by a highly charged, often skewed, coverage by
the tabloids of the time, the Parsis took to the streets in support of Nanavati. There were also reports of a
rift between the influential Parsi and Sindhi communities. It was not just the psyche of the city that it
impacted, the trial also hastened the abolishment of the jury system. In many ways, it was a raucous
harbinger of things to come. On the 50th anniversary of the Nanavati case, MW walks down fading
memory lane.

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By Murali K Menon Issue October 2009

On the afternoon of April 27, 1959 Commander Kawas Maneckshaw Nanavati stepped out
of his home in Cuffe Parade, Colaba, on a short but tragically momentous journey. Along
with him in his car were his English wife Sylvia, 30, and two children. An alumnus of the
Royal Navy College in Dartmouth, the handsome, well-built and well-liked ofNicer was
second in command of the Indian Navys Nlagship INS Mysore. He had seen action on
various fronts during WW-II, had been awarded many medals for gallantry and was among
those who were especially recommended by Lord Louis Mountbatten as the British
marched out of India. Just 37, Nanavati, who, it would seem, embodied the ideal of an
ofNicer and a gentleman, had a lot to look forward to. But just before lunch that day, his
world came crumbling down. Sylvia, whom Nanavati had met in England in 1949, had
confessed to him that she was in love with another man, a family friend called Prem Ahuja.
As he drove their car past the Nishing boats at Badhwar Park, through the pong of drying

Nish, and along Azad Maidan, Nanavatis demeanour betrayed neither the humiliation nor
the vengeance-fuelled anger of the cuckold. As was previously decided, he dropped the
kids and Sylvia at Metro Cinema for a matinee show of Tom Thumb. He then drove towards
Bombay Harbour where his ship was docked, informed the captain that he was leaving by
road for Ahmednagar and requested him for permission to draw a revolver and six rounds.
He put the gun into an envelope and pointed his car in the direction of Universal Motors, a
Willys Jeep showroom owned by Ahuja, on Peddar Road in south Bombay. But Ahuja had
gone home for lunch and was probably still there. Nanavati got back into his car and
headed towards Ahujas Nlat in Setalvad Lane off Napean Sea Road, near Malabar Hill.
With wavy hair, thick eyebrows and an evolved sense of the sartorial, Prem Bhagwandas
Ahuja cut an attractive Nigure. Ahuja, 34, was an excellent dancer. He also had a history of
seduction and a penchant for bedding the wives of ofNicers in the Armed Forces. A regular
presence at many of Bombays British-era clubs and Services parties, Ahuja ensnared
many a forlorn woman with his rakish charm. According to the Blitz, the racy left-leaning
tabloid which folded in the mid-1990s, Ahuja was a gay Lothario who loved to graze in
other peoples pastures. He had started his career as a philandering playboy rather early in
life. Even in Karachi (the Ahujas migrated to India after Partition and Ahuja stayed with his
sister Mamie) he had run away and gone through a form of marriage with her It was also
said that Ahuja, the recipient of many epistolary dedications and photographs, never wrote
to any of his lovers nor did he ever part with any of his pictures. Ahuja had just Ninished
having his bath when Nanavati was let into his third Nloor apartment by the housemaid.
Nanavati walked into Ahujas bedroom and closed the door behind him. A little later, three
shots rang out. Ahuja, clad only in a towel, lay slumped on the Nloor. Nanavati walked out of
the apartment, past the anguished cries of Mamie. He then drove down Malabar Hill, asked
a police constable at the gates of Raj Bhavan for directions to the nearest police station and
upon being directed, drove to the nearby Gamdevi Police Station to surrender himself.
Below: The dramatis personae: (top left to right) Commander Kawas Nanavati, the cuckold;
Sylvia Nanavati, his beautiful English wife; Prem Ahuja, the playboy paramour; (bottom left
to right) Ram Jethmalani, the lawyer consulted by the prosecution; Reginald Pierce, the only
juror who voted against Nanavati

The sequence of events triggered by Sylvias confession and which ultimately led to Ahujas
death birthed an episode that is still unparalleled not just for the tremendous recall it has
50 years since, but also because of the seismic impact it had on the psyche of the city and
the legal system. Like similarly eventful and inNluential trials across the world, the
Nanavati case had many layers. On the one hand, the case, involving as it did adultery on
the part of a rich, beautiful blue-eyed woman from south Bombay and the murder of her
playboy paramour by her dashing husband, was salacious fodder for cocktail gossip, often
fuelled by speculative reporting by tabloids and newspapers. It stirred emotions, provoked
moral judgments, caused a rift between the Parsi and Sindhi communities and bought
terms such as honour killing back into vogue. And yet, it also acquired the halo of a Greek
tragedy. Here was Nanavati, an upright, accomplished naval commander undone by
betrayal and an inability to rein in his rage. In public trials held in Bombays raucous chai

shops, genteel bars, and well-appointed homes behind Art Deco facades, Nanavatis
supporters, as a counter to those who proclaimed the rule of law above all else, would have
put this question to their opponents across the table: What would you have done if you
were in his shoes?
For every man who had enormous faith in the codes that govern modern society, there
were others who believed that Nanavati was an honourable murderer. In its two-and-a-
half year journey from the Greater Bombay Sessions Court to the High Court and from
there to the Supreme Court, the dramatis personae ballooned from the original three to
include other prominent players, including lawyers like Ram Jethmalani, and the shadowy
presence of Vijayalakshmi Pandit, Jawaharlal Nehru and V K Krishna Menon. And perhaps,
one should also add Russi Karanjia here. The Nlamboyant editor of the weekly Blitz, and
friend to Nehru and Menon, among others, championed the cause of his fellow Parsi,
turned the murder trial into a Night between the middle-class values of Nanavati and the
bourgeois depravation of Ahuja, and put up an impassioned, though biased, defence of the
Commander. Here is P R Lele, Blitzs constitutional expert, in a December 2, 1961 article
headlined The President must pardon Nanavati: If a member of the Fighting Forces
always has to entertain the fear that some moneyed and leisured man might be consoling
his wife, in his absence, he will be more worried than if his pay is not sufNicient to meet the
regular expenses of his household People want to ask the top authorities to consider
what will be the moral effect on those whom you invite to join the Defence Forces if and
when they observe that those in authority take a technical view of the invasion by the
wealthy of their unprotected homes.

Gyan Prakash, a professor of history at Princeton and the author of the upcoming Bombay
Fables, calls the Nanavati case Indias Nirst media trial, its own OJ case . The lead role
here must be credited to Russi Karanjia. It was Blitz that turned this case into a trial of
patriarchy and patriotism, and elicited the people on behalf of Nanavati. In terms of
media history, Blitzs role was a pioneering one. In the age before television, it was the
closest one would come to an image-saturated coverage. Blitz, says Prakash, covered the
case with an abundance of photographs and graphic illustrations that imprinted the case
as a picture in peoples minds.
By the time the trial came to a close in the winter of 1961 Nanavati, who was sentenced
to life imprisonment by the Supreme Court, was suddenly granted a special pardon by the
government, but more on that later the city was never the same again. Bombay of the
late 1950s-1960s, says Prakash, was the twilight of the late colonial and early post-colonial

city in which the elite south Bombay social ideal still had some resonance. The trial and
particularly its sensational coverage by Karanjia, built on voyeuristic interest, and the
setting up of the people on the street, supposedly concerned over patriarchal and
patriotic honour, against the people that the state represented in the court, was of far-
reaching signiNicance. It showed in advance what was to come later the populist
mobilisation of the people on the street against the ideals of the liberal democratic order
in which the rational deliberations of law in the court were supreme. The trial was also
the last case in Bombay to be tried by a jury. The jury system was abolished since it was
believed that the members of the jury had been inNluenced by the medias portrayal of
Nanavati as a martyr to the cause of honour.
Mumbai police historian Deepak Rao calls the trial
the most prominent case in the citys history. Rao,
56, a tall, lean man with a walrus moustache and
inquisitive eyes that leap out from behind his brown
spectacles, remembers how, as a child, he would
listen to his parents and their friends animatedly
discuss the minutiae of the case and follow its
twists and turns in the pages of the Blitz and
Current. The Raman Raghav case was a major one
Mumbai Police Historian Deepak Rao
but this was a potboiler. There were all kinds of
rumours about why the government was supporting Nanavati, it was said that he was to be
the commander of Indias Nirst nuclear submarine and in possession of naval secrets, says
Rao. It was the talk of the town, from race-goers to members of posh clubs to the local
pan-wallah, everybody had an opinion on it.
Like the Raman Raghav case, the Nanavati trial appears to be part of received memory for
every Bombayite, even those from todays generation, passed on father to son or
grandmother to grand-daughter. A Google search throws up, besides several articles on the
legal ramiNications of the case, posts by bloggers revolving around the recollections of their
aged relatives, which elicit comments from readers who quote from inherited memory. Not
too many know of its exact import, but like a myth the case still shines in the gloaming of a
receding collective memory.

On yazadjal.com Ankh, a contributing blogger, writes, in a sidelight to a post on the

Nanavati case, This case is some kind of a legend in my family. My grandmother, then
working for Tata Steel, went during her lunch hours to see the trial in action. I used to love
hearing all her stories about the handsome Commander Nanavati. (Methinks she too was
smitten). Fashion photographer Farrokh Chothia is, by his own admission, a Nanavati
case junkie. Hes read up on every available piece of literature on the case on the internet,
wants to, when he has more time, access court documents relating to the case and
encourages people like this writer to tell the story of the Nanavatis to a new generation of
readers. To me, Nanavati was this cliched, Elizabethan character suddenly hurled into this
dramatic turmoil and I try and put myself in his place, says Chothia, who, for a while
during his childhood, used to stay near Setalvad Lane. I suppose my interest in the case is
also because of nostalgia. Bombay, in the 1960s, was a different place, with different value
systems and maybe, also because Nanavati was, like me, a Parsi.

Above: The trial inspired several books, Nilms and plays, including Indra Sinhas (right) The
Death of Mr Love, (left) Ami Natya Velar, a Konkani play
The case also inspired many interpretations, both literary and celluloid. If R K Nayars Yeh
Raaste Hain Pyaar Ke (1963), with Sunil Dutt playing an Indian Air Force pilot, Leela Naidu
as his Paris-born wife and Rehman as her paramour, turned out to be a typically oblique
Bollywood attempt at portraying a real-life incident involving adultery, GulzarsAchanak
(1973) ended with an open-ended question. Ranjeet Khanna (Vinod Khanna), a much
decorated major is hunted down by cops for the murder of his wife (Lily Chakraborty) and

her lover. Khanna, who is badly injured during the

course of the pursuit, is nursed back to health by
Dr Chaudhary (Om Shivpuri). As Khanna is led
away to the gallows, the credits roll with Dr
Chaudhary mouthing a rhetorical why? Author
Indra Sinhas The Death of Mr Love (2002), built
around the case, introduced a Nictional tale about a
second crime linked to the Nirst that destroys the
life of another of Ahujas lovers, while Nanavati
even makes a cameo as Commander Sabarmati in
Salman Rushdies Midnights Children. And until as
recently as 2006, Ami Natya Velar, a Konkani
Gulzars Achanak starring Vinod Khanna
translation of a Kannada play written by
Ramachandra Churya, used to be regularly staged
by theatre troupes in Mangalore. Daya Victor Lobo is among the many directors to have
staged the play. The message he sent through his interpretation of the play? Society is
responsible for the welfare and well-being of the families of ofNicers in the Armed Forces.
Having outlasted his wife and with his children in the United States, John Lobo, 84, spends
his time listening to the melancholy sighs of the sea from the balcony of his Nlat that
overlooks a wave-battered promenade in Bandra, Mumbai. In the late 1950s, Lobo, a
diminutive matter-of-fact man, served as one of the citys several deputy commissioners of
police. He was also the man Nanavati surrendered himself to. Fifty years ago is another
lifetime for Lobo, but, aided by my photocopy of a chapter of his memoirs, Leaves from a
Policemans Diary, he determinedly pieces together a bygone era, imploring his memory to
throw at him scraps of his own past.
On the evening of April 27, Nanavati, unfamiliar with the location of the Gamdevi Police
Station, drove up to the residence of the naval Provost Marshal, a Commander Samuel, and
called out to him from downstairs. When Nanavati told him of the shooting an alarmed
Samuel asked him to head straight to the Commissioners ofNice at Crawford Market and
meet Lobo. At around 5 pm that day Lobo got a call from Samuel, which was followed by
another call from an inspector of the Gamdevi Police Station and so Lobo was already
expecting Nanavati.

His was an imposing Nigure and he had the air of a man used to giving orders. I have shot
a man, he told me, says Lobo. Nanavati turned pale when I told him that the man he had
shot was dead. He then asked for a glass of water. Instead of the police lock-up, which
housed ordinary felons and criminals, Nanavati was accommodated in one of the ofNice-
rooms which was where Sylvia would often meet him. We were witness to some of their
meetings and there were attempts at reconciliation as well. Nanavati mostly stayed quiet. I
remember Sylvia once telling them to let bygones be bygones. Lobo remembers Sylvia, as
a very attractive lady, who used to attend the trial daily.
As Nanavati adjusted to a new reality, the great wheel of Bombays law and order
apparatus started turning. Lobo got several calls that day from the Navys lawyers asking
him to hand over custody of Nanavati, but he stood his ground (later, though, he was
remanded to naval custody). The crime scene, Ahujas apartment at Jeevan Jyot building,
swarmed with police ofNicers and newspaper staffers, as idle crowds milled outside. In his
book Lobo writes: On the Nloor (of the room) was laying the empty brown envelope
bearing the name of Lt.-Commander K M Nanavati. The evil that men do lives after them
it leaves footprints on the sands of time. Two spent bullets were recovered but there
was no trace of bullets having ricocheted off the walls. The assailant had surprised his
victim and done a quick job.
For the rest of the duration of the trial Lobo met Nanavati just once and that was on the
day he testiNied against him in the Sessions Court. He was being led into the courtroom
and I told him that I was sorry but I had to testify against him. I think he simply said, Dont
worry about me, just go and do your duty. He was a Nine man, who just happened to do the
wrong thing.
The Nanavati trial began in the court of city sessions judge R B Mehta the next month. Karl
Khandalavala was the defence lawyer, and assisting him were Rajni Patel, who was to later
become a prominent Congress politician, and S R Vakil. The public prosecutor was Chandu
Trivedi and Ram Jethmalani was retained by Mamie to assist the prosecution. (Jethmalanis
watching brief meant that while he could advise the prosecution, he could not speak in
court.) The chosen jury was cosmopolitan and comprised two Parsis, one Anglo-Indian,
one Christian and Nive Hindus. While Jethmalanis role in the case remained of a

consultative nature throughout, he would play a decisive role, both during the trial and
after it. The case also marked a watershed in his professional life. Jethmalani was an
upcoming lawyer when he was handed the watching brief, the ensuing two years saw him
consolidate his place in the countrys legal Nirmament.
A remote relative of Ahuja, Jethmalani says he met him at a party about a week or two
before he was murdered. I dont think he just slept with the wives of senior naval ofNicers,
he must have also bedded the wives of the Army and the Air Force chiefs, says the former
Union law minister who, at 86, views the case with detachment and often, mild
amusement.
Since Nanavati had already confessed, the trial hinged on one crucial point: on whether it
was a case of murder under section 302 of the Indian Penal Code or culpable homicide not
amounting to murder. The former would invite a life imprisonment or death sentence,
while in the case of the latter, there was a maximum punishment of ten years
imprisonment. If the defence lawyer could convince the jury that his client had acted
under a grave and sudden provocation, Nanavati could get away with a lighter term or
even get off scot-free.
With the newspapers, especially the Blitz, whipping
up emotions, support for Nanavati was strong,
particularly and naturally among the Parsis, and
young women. In his book Lobo writes: Not only
did they overNlow the restricted accommodation
available in the courtroom but large numbers,
particularly of the fair sex, lined the route around
Flora Fountain as the van carrying the prisoner
drove up to the court. Understandably, their
Russi Karanjia, editor of Blitz which was Nirmly
sympathies were with the unfortunate naval ofNicer.
behind Nanavati
Flower petals and currency notes were thrown by
his admirers. There were reports in the Blitz of lipstick-smeared 100-rupee notes Nloating
gently down on Nanavati every time he left the Sessions Court and about how he received
marriage proposals from infatuated women, who hoped for a ruling in his favour, a divorce

from Sylvia and marriage with him thereafter. Later on during the trial, when Sri Prakasa,
the then governor of Bombay, decreed that Nanavati should be put under naval custody
and his life sentence suspended, the powerful Parsi community closed ranks and over
8,000 people gathered at the Cowasji Jehangir Hall in south Mumbai, as a show of support.
On the Nirst day of the trial, Trivedi, who also happened to be Jethmalanis friend, bungled.
He horriNied Jethmalani by delivering a totally different opening speech than the one
prepared for him by the latter. His remarks, recalls Jethmalani, made it look as if he were
arguing on behalf of the defence. At the end of the day I told him, Chandubhai, Im not
coming to court again, says Jethmalani, who ultimately gave in to Trivedis whiny
persistence and assumed charge once again. (Apparently, Trivedi acted as he did because
he had been assured Nanavati would plead guilty and that getting a conviction would be
easy.) After Trivedi presented his witnesses, including forensic experts, the defence opened
their counter with Nanavati himself occupying the witness box. Dressed in full naval
regalia, Nanavati told the judge that his gun had accidentally gone off during a scufNle with
Ahuja and that if he had really intended to kill his adversary, it would have taken him just
one bullet and not three. He was followed by the eminent surgeon Dr A V Baliga, whose
turgid proclamations were intended to establish a case of accidental Niring and rubbish the
evidence presented by forensic experts. Baliga, though, later wilted under Trivedis
relentless cross-examination, which was orchestrated by Jethmalani. As the trial neared to
a close the prosecution, with its contention that the offence was premeditated, appeared to
have the upper hand there was a gap of three hours between Sylvias confession and
Ahujas murder.
On the Ninal day, judge Mehta discussed the evidence with the jurors and waited for them
to reach a conclusion. The jurys verdict was not guilty, by a majority of eight. Only one
person dissented. Jubilation surged through most of those present in the courtroom and
the crowd gathered outside. The case would have been considered closed had it not been
for the courageous judge Mehta. After the exultations of triumph from Nanavatis
supporters had abated, Mehta announced that he did not accept the jurys verdict and
deemed it perverse. He referred the case to the Bombay High Court, where after reviewing
the evidence, the judges upheld the verdict of the Sessions Court. Nanavati, who was
sentenced to life imprisonment on March 11, 1960, then appealed to the Supreme Court.
But, and we bypass a sea of legalese here, Jethmalanis and Trivedis ship of reason sailed

through. The SC dismissed the appeal and conNirmed the sentence of life imprisonment in
November 1961. Karanjia went into overdrive and Nired one volley after another, including
printing a mercy petition in the December 2 edition of his paper. As things stood, Nanavati
was heading towards a life behind bars, but unbeknownst to him, a twist in the story was
being given shape. It was a development that would see Jethmalani using his persuasive
powers yet again, this time to free Nanavati.
The destinies of men often intertwine in the
strangest of ways. As Nanavati languished in prison,
Vijayalakshmi Pandit, who became governor of
Bombay in 1962, received a mercy petition Niled by a
Sindhi leader, Bhai Pratap, in March that year.
Pratap, whose businesses included the import of
sports goods, had been imprisoned for the misuse of
the goods. It was an absolutely fake case, claims
Jethmalani, and the two bureaucrats (B B
Paymaster and R L Dalal) scrutinising the case found
Vijayalakshmi Pandit, then governor of Bombay,
Bhai Pratap to be innocent. Jethmalani says that the
who pardoned Nanavati
plan that was to unfold in the next few days could
possibly have been Paymasters, on account of his being a Parsi. What the government, still
under pressure from various quarters to release Nanavati, wanted to do was simple:
pardon Nanavati, and then, to appease the Sindhi community, pardon BhaiPratap as well.
Towards the end of March, on a typically muggy Bombay evening, Jethmalani opened the
door of his Panchshila apartment in Cuffe Parade to unexpected visitors. Among them was
Rajni Patel, the defence lawyer in the case, and Sylvia (She was a looker!). Patel told me
that the government wanted to pardon both Bhai Pratap and Nanavati. All I had to do was
convince Ahujas sister Mamie. It was political expediency at its best, but Jethmalani did
his bit. He convinced Mamie. Both the accused were pardoned soon after.
As always there are stories within stories. In the case of the Nanavati trial, one among
them is that of Reginald Pierce and it is a story that has seldom been told. Pierce was the
odd one out among the members of the jury that found Nanavati innocent, the only one

who remained impervious to the blinding power of emotion and said, plainly, that He did
it. I met him last month at his home in Bandra, Mumbai. Pierce is 102, but is probably the
Nittest member in his family. He has a head full of noble, silver hair, still goes for his evening
walks around his Mount Mary neighbourhood and was impeccably dressed for a dinner he
had to attend. The secret of his longevity, says his son-in-law Alex, could be that he never
lies. Pierce was selected as a jury member after he responded to an advertisement in The
Times of India and he still recalls the ferocious attitude of his counterparts. They had no
honour, he says. They were tremendously against me and berated me relentlessly after I
had made my stand clear. If the crowds outside had known who the lone dissenter was,
they would have lynched me. But I saw the evidence and it was apparent that he killed
him. Then, he asks me about the whereabouts of the Nanavati family. I tell him of the
familys migration to Canada and of Nanavatis death in 2003. He was a Nine fellow, very
intelligent. I knew I was condemning him but rightfully. I think he was an honourable
murderer, but a murderer all the same.
A month or so after he was pardoned Nanavati left along with Sylvia and their children for
Canada. They never returned to Bombay again nor have they, as far as I know, spoken
about that tumultuous episode in their lives to anyone. The Nanavati trial, though, keeps
surfacing in the Indian media every decade or so, as it does now, on its 50th anniversary.
But I often wonder what Sylvia, now a sweet, portly granny, would have to say if she ever
chooses to speak about the case. We will never know, but I suspect that deep down she
sees what a lot of us never have. That, in spite of love, betrayal and death, the noise and the
fury, and all those mighty men the trial involved, it was also, perhaps, a story of letting
bygones be bygones.

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