The mysterious case of Mumtaz and the missing millions

There is a secret to getting rich quick.

Mumtaz Bhooma can tell you what it is.

The trick, though, is that you have to find her first.

Last we heard, Mumtaz -- the 40-year-old, illiterate wife of a railway employee -- was missing from her husband's official quarters in Perambur. So was her luggage. So, too, was the large sum of money -- estimated, by popular report, in the region of Rs 50 million - she had collected from the gullible public.

In a state like Tamil Nadu - prime exemplar of the old adage that there is a fool born every minute -- tales of cheating via the lottery ticket or chit fund methods are no novelty. But even in a state that has in time become immured to such tales, the story of Mumtaz is sufficiently startling to hit the headlines.

"I had deposited Rs 10,000 with her," says Jamuna, a housewife in the neighbourhood. "It was meant to double in a year -- and I had planned to use the sum towards the expenses of my daughter's wedding."

"I deposited Rs 60,000 -- I was hoping to use the money accruing at the end of a year for my heart surgery," says Bhuvaneswari, another Perambur native.

Worse, Bhuvaneswari had also -- gulled by the apparent honesty of Mumtaz and the attraction of her schemes -- talked various relatives and friends into depositing their little all with her neighbour. Today, those relatives and friends are also big time losers - to a cumulative total of Rs 1.5 million.

The essence of the chit fund scheme is its startling simplicity. A person can deposit any amount, for any purpose -- from buying a silk saree for the Tamil harvest festival Pongal, to funding a marriage, an operation, a new home, whatever. The lure is that the operator promises to double your money in a year -- which, compared with the standard bank rates of interest, is irresistible enough to induce people to part with their little all.

Then there is the auction chit. A fixed number of people pay a pre-fixed amount at the start of month one. A bulk of the money thus collected -- minus the operator's commission, naturally -- is given as loan to one of the members of the chit, the lucky person decided by lottery or on the basis of the lowest bidder. The differential is then distributed among all the other members next month, and so on. Or put very simply, money is taken from one hand and placed in another -- with a little bit sticking to the middleman's fingers in course of each transaction.

The fun, of course, begins when the operator includes a few dummy names in the list, then duly announces, month after month, one or the other of the bogus names as having won that month's lottery. And then, at some point, proclaims that these persons have failed to return the sums. At least, that is what the operator claims happened. What actually does happen is that the operator, having taken the sums awarded in the names of the dummies and salted them away, just closes the books and leaves the genuine investors in the lurch.

Mumtaz was running a chit fund. And therein lies the rub, say the police, because such chits are governed by a seperate set of laws. In any event, Mumtaz had conveniently omitted to register her operation -- thus putting it beyond the power of the law to take any action whatsoever. A total absence of evidence -- in the form of receipts issued by her, or ledgers maintained by her -- only compound the confusion. Finally, the police have had no recourse but to file a case of cheating, which carries -- if and when proved -- a token punishment.

But they have to find her first.

As mentioned before, this is hardly an isolated instance. In fact, records reveal as many as 20 different cases of registered chit funds going bust in the state in the last 12 months -- and it is anyone's guess how many more of them, unregistered and unheard of except among the victims, have also shut shop.

Inevitably, the first whisper that a chit fund has collapsed provokes mob fury. An irate crowd duly gathered outside Mumtaz's home, too. And forced their way inside, to wreck mindless havoc and go away with a table fan, an almirah, a few stainless steel vessels.

Pitiful plunder, fit only as mementoes to remind them of their own cupidity.

Meanwhile, Jamuna's daughter will not be wed this year. Bhuvaneswari's heart surgery has been indefinitely postponed. And Mumtaz remains missing.

"We are investigating the case," say the local police.