File photo of Sheena Bora.
In the middle of last week, with the arrest of former media executive Indrani Mukerjea on suspicion of involvement in her daughter's death, India's crime reporters embarked on their latest bender.
The coverage spun out in cinematic curlicues, painting a portrait of Mukerjea as a social-climbing, thrice-married, ambition-crazed seductress. Reporters called her the "'Gone Girl' of India," the "Great Gatsby of Mumbai," the "Desi Don Draper" and the "Siren of Guwahati." Last Friday, editions of The Times of India contained 12 articles on the case, which has since been awarded its own rubric, "Murder in the Family," as if it were an outbreak of war.
As is common in such cases here, the news coverage was eye-popping, animated by copious unattributed leaks from police officials. A "former employee" who was granted anonymity told The Times of India that "there was something diabolical" in Mukerjea's eyes. A man who dated Mukerjea for three months in college - in 1986 - was granted anonymity by The Pioneer, another daily newspaper, in return for an interview in which he described her as ambitious and calculating.
In this orgy of incrimination, you would have to be observing closely to notice what was largely absent: forensic evidence.
The victim, Sheena Bora, disappeared in 2012, and only last week did the police exhume parts of a skeleton from a forest and send it to a laboratory, hoping for enough DNA to prove that it was Bora's body. The case against Mukerjea seems to be based largely on two confessions, both of which were given in police custody and under Indian law would not be admissible in court.
It is easy to destroy a person's reputation here. Sensational crimes expose a mesh of interlocking weaknesses in Indian institutions, as Avirook Sen documents in his new book "Aarushi," which examines the investigation and prosecution of a double murder that obsessed Delhi for months in 2008. Libel and defamation laws are feebly enforced, and the justice system works at such a slow pace that reaching the trial phase can take 10 years, a period during which a suspect would be wise to devote his or her energy to fighting the principal charge.
Much of the time, the police and journalists work symbiotically to shape a narrative that serves the prosecution. The police share speculative theories with journalists to potentially improve their career prospects or to strengthen the legal case when the evidence is thin.
Journalists are too often obsequious, allowing officials to pursue their own agendas by doling out selective leaks. In India, off-the-record briefings make up a startling proportion of communications between the government and the media; official spokesmen often request anonymity in order to answer innocuous factual questions.
When it comes to victims and suspects, the reporting environment is hypercompetitive and in some respects, perhaps, too free. Soon after arriving in India, when I first acquired a charge sheet in a crime I was covering, I was alarmed to discover that it contained full, detailed personal information about a rape victim, whose identity was supposed to be protected by law. The second time this happened, I was less surprised. After that, I stopped noticing.
Outside major cities, crime scenes are so porous that journalists can sometimes roam around one, hunting for scoops. Shams Tahir Khan, a 20-year veteran of crime reporting, said he had seen colleagues walk away with phone bills, medical reports, school records, photo albums and, on one occasion, articles of clothing belonging to a rape victim. For his part, he said, he would be grateful for stricter guidelines.
"If I am destroying important evidence, that is not freedom," said Khan, who appears on India Today and the Aaj Tak news channel. "I tell you, every crime reporter in India thinks he is a detective, and he is going to solve the case. This is a dangerous thing."
There have been some efforts to rein in this business. Rahul Thakur, a Mumbai criminal lawyer, has seen so many clients thrown out of homes or jobs as a result of news coverage - even if they were later acquitted - that he filed a case seeking to prevent the authorities from revealing suspects' identities until the police had filed a formal document of accusation, he told Scroll, an online news site.
Change, if it comes, would be too late for Mukerjea. In an article last week headlined "Indrani a tough nut to crack," The Hindustan Times reported that sources said that under questioning by Mumbai's police chief, Mukerjea "was evasive and even demanded her lawyer be present during the process."
Three days later, a follow-up report said, "Indrani has stood firm, and not yet admitted her role in the crime."
Her defense team finally surfaced Monday. But already, the tide of coverage had begun to ebb. By the time the public understands whether the state can prove its case against Mukerjea, it will be a new season, and there will be a new villain.
© 2015, The New York Times News Service