Indian poet main suspect in author John Updike’s sudden death...

A little over a year after author John Updike’s sudden death in Ipswich, Massachussets, police have identified one M. Anantanarayanan, a sometimes poet and resident of Madras, India, as the main suspect. Ipswich police chief Dusset "Dusty" Rhime, in an interview with this reporter, admitted it was a very unusual case. “This is a first for our department, the weapon of choice was a literary device called a half rhyme” he said, “though we believe the suspect didn’t intend any harm”. He then proceeded to lay out the evidence in the case. “It appears that Mr. Updike struck first, going one up” said Chief Rhimes, holding out Updike’s 1961 poem titled “I Missed His Book, But I Read His Name”:

          Though authors are a dreadful clan
          To be avoided if you can,
          I’d like to meet the Indian,
          M. Anantanarayanan.
          I picture him as short and tan.
         We’d meet, perhaps, in Hindustan.
          I’d say, with admirable elan ,
         “Ah, Anantanarayanan --
          I’ve heard of you. The Times once ran
          A notice on your novel, an Unusual tale of God and Man.”
          And Anantanarayanan
          Would seat me on a lush divan
          And read his name—that sumptuous span Of “a’s” and “n’s”
          more lovely than “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan”
          Aloud to me all day. I plan
          Henceforth to be an ardent fan of Anantanarayanan --

Chief Rhimes sighed and continued “The original got lost in the postal system and M. Anantanarayan stumbled across the verse addressed to him 48 odd years later, as he launched upon some vadas (a South Indian delicacy) wrapped in an old newspaper. Despite the passage of time, he seems to have got carried away with the competitive spirit and penned the following lines, which proved too much for Mr. Updike to take in his old age.”

          Dear Mr. Updike, or should I say John
          T’was in a month-old copy of the San Francisco Chron
          That I saw your charming poem; and upon seeing you fawn
          Over my name, my eyes shone
          Bright in the Madras dawn
          If the humble salary of a peon
          Would allow it, I would have you flown
          Instantly to Hindustan, whereupon,
          Having seated you on
          My divan - forgive me, it is quite worn -
          I would say Mr Updike, or rather, John
          T’is true my name stretches from hither to yon
          But well before Kublai Khan was born
          Lived an ancestor of mine, now long gone
          Whose name was not half of mine, yet infinitely long!
          You see, he was called Ananta (and his head was shorn)
          Which in Hindustani means “endless, stretching to the back of beyond…”
          It’s claimed he was a wee bit more God than Mon
          And if you still don’t believe me, Mr.Updike, or John
          I will gladly change my name to Anantanaraya-non!
          Uh…Mr.Updike, you’re looking rather wan
           I know, it’s all quite dizzying to contemplate upon
           John… Mr. Updike! Are you ok?! John???