The Mohanbari Murders Read online

  CONTENTS

  The Mohanbari Murders

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 : Simran

  Chapter 2 : SOC

  Chapter 3 : Imran

  Chapter 4: Simran

  Chapter 5: Imran

  Chapter 6 : Dinner

  Chapter 7: Simran and Imran

  Chapter 8 : Third Degree

  Chapter 9: Two Can Play a Game

  Chapter 10: Something Sweet

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Other works by Esha Pandey

  Someone Exactly Like You

  Kiss of Life and Other Stories

  Man of the Series

  Vanished : A Mysterious Love Story

  The Mohanbari Murders

  By

  Esha Pandey

  Copyright © Esha Pandey 2019

  Esha Pandey asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved in all media. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent, in any form of binding or cover or medium other than that in which it is published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording, photocopying or otherwise, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, without the prior written permission from the copyright holder. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable of criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are either author’s own imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, or organizations is purely coincidental or fictionalized.

  Jurisdiction: Any conflict or dispute in relation to this publication shall be adjudged in accordance with the laws of India and the matter shall be subject to the jurisdiction of the Courts, Tribunals or any other Forums of New Delhi, India, only.

  For Neha and Shruti

  Prologue

  “Stop!”

  Raju’s loud call echoed in the dark alley. Rahim could feel the rub-a-dub-dub of his pounding heart as he ran helter-skelter to save his life. Raju’s fury was evident in his screams. The thundering echo of Raju’s footsteps sent a shiver down his spine. He didn’t want to die.

  A barking street dog alerted him. Rahim ran towards the Washerman’s table and hid under the table cloth. The table cloth all but covered his small person. Raju would surely find him. He was sure.

  Raju's footsteps were now frantic. He was nearby. Rahim held his breath. The quintessential 'amavas ki raat', the darkness of a moonless night restricted Raju's movement.

  Rahim was reciting the kalma quietly, praying and hoping that Raju would let him be. Everyone in the locales of Jhariang had warned him repeatedly to stay away from Raju, that he was a monster. But not many knew that he provided Rahim with the elixir of life, 'golden glue', which took him to heaven instantly.

  "Rahim, come out this instant", screamed Raju, "asshole, you think you can run away from me, come out right now". Raju was delirious with anger. He was frantically throwing the vegetable baskets away from the carts to look for Rahim and then he stopped.

  A bandicoot whisked past Rahim.

  Rahim moved.

  Table cloth ruffled.

  Raju lunged towards the table and nabbed Rahim. The front of his pants was wet. “Rahim, you peed your pants motherfucker,” Raju guffawed and hit him hard.

  Ten minutes later, the nine year old lay limp on a moonless night.

  Chapter 1 : Simran

  "Girte hain shahsawar hi maidaan-e-jung mei

  Woh tifl kya gire jo ghutno ke bal chale"

  Read the shiny copper plaque, proudly put up on the orange signature wall in the drawing room. Col Jamwal, Simran's father, was a celebrated horse rider and a decorated soldier. Participating in various events with her father had instilled a deep love for horses in Simran. Whenever Simran doubted herself, her father always recited the couplet which she had engraved on a plaque and put up in her house. She always came back with rigour and severity and got the job done. That was one of the things that she had learnt from her father, the attitude to never give up.

  Simran was known for her vivaciousness in Carmel Convent in Jammu. Unlike other Army kids, Simran and Sachin had stayed in one school throughout their schooling because their mother was a teacher and preferred to work than travel with Col[1] Sab all over the country. While that gave them roots, it did rob them of an opportunity to experience different shades of life. The elder of the two children, she had spent more time with her father and successfully outdone him in various fields including horse-riding. Her younger brother, Sachin had joined the army through NDA[2] immediately after school, following in their father’s footsteps.

  Simran had wanted to be a horse-riding instructor, but the job avenues for such careers were so limited that she decided on a traditional career like teaching. During a trip to Bangkok with her best friends, she had met Sartaj. One decision that had turned her life on the three sixty degree axis. She had been dealt a difficult hand, but Simran was a Dogra from the land of the Holy Shrine of Vaishno Devi, and embodied courage and valour like the Goddess Durga. She had made it through the darkest period of her life, triumphant with battle scars which couldn’t mar her will to live.

  Her long, dark hair was leaving water marks on her uniform. Today again she would have to tie up her wet hair in a bun and cause more damage to it. Her waist long hair was a matter of pride for her. Taking good care of her hair was instilled in her by her mother. As a teacher, Rajni Jamwal was always hard pressed for time in the morning, but she never begrudged the plaiting of her daughter's long hair. In fact, she kept precious ten minutes in the morning only for that ritual.

  Two years back when she had joined the Indian Police Service, her father had recommended chopping her hair off, military style, but he didn't know that his daughter was made of tougher stuff and didn't need to lose her hair to belong to a service. At 5ft 8, she was taller than many of her male counterparts in the academy and turned almost all the heads wherever she went. Flawless pale skin and almond-shaped eyes, full of wisdom, added to her ethereal beauty. She looked like she belonged on the runway, more than in Police Stations.

  Skimming through the morning paper she had just settled on an editorial piece on fake news when the radio set lit up.

  "Kilo Two, Five-Zero[3]'' called the operator.

  She picked it up instantly. Like always, all her phones, two personal and one CUG[4], and the set were kept on the table while she had her breakfast. These phones and the set were like a part of her body along with the Glock 9mm sitting snugly on her left hipbone.

  "Five-Zero, Kilo Two… carry on" she replied on the set.

  "Kilo Two ma'am your numbers are unreachable. There has been an incident. Please call Kilo One." She checked her phones and sighed. What are the chances? All the three numbers were out of network. She hated that. So much for the ad 'wherever you go, we will follow you'. She had a sip of water and tied up her hair, this was going to be a long day, beginning with the call to Kilo One.

  Kilo One, the Superintendent of Police of Mohanbari District, Rajesh Kumar, picked up on the first ring. Bad omen.

  "Simran, where are you? Why is your phone unreachable? I have been trying to reach you on all your numbers. It's very irresponsible of you." Simran tried twice to say something but Kilo One was not in the mood to listen. "There has been a murder. Why
are the SHO[5]s not reporting to you? You are an ASP, you better take charge. Call up SHO Bhawanipura and get on the task. I want results." And he hung up.

  Typical Kilo One. First, he tells the SHOs to not give too much importance to the new ASP and then he asks the ASP to take control, in what universe was that possible? But in the police, senior is always right. So, she picked up the phone and dialled the SHOs number. Bolero was manoeuvring the rickety bridge connecting Mohanbari to Bhawanipura. Tiffin and the riot gear at the back were shaking and making a noise like nobody's business. Gunner, Radhey Shyam was holding on to the AK[6] in his hand and had checked the safety clip twice already for fear of accidentally hitting the trigger. He was the oldest gunner in Mohanbari and Kilo 1 found him the best to be the bodyguard of the young ASP[7].

  "Good morning Ma'am," the SHO replied earnestly.

  "Bhai Two One, why don't you call me up and tell me things? Is it too much to ask?" Simran referred to him with his call sign and not his first name, to avoid familiarity.

  He got the point, "Sorry ma'am. I did try reaching you, but none of your numbers were reachable. I should have tried contacting you on the set but didn't think it was ok." She hated it when people patronized her.

  "Just tell me what has happened. I am reaching Bhawanipura in ten minutes."

  Chapter 2 : SOC

  Bhawanipura, a small tehsil in the Mohanbari District, had the notoriety of being the launch pad of the drug supply in the whole of the North East. Sharing the international border with Myanmar helped its case. Jhariang was the colony of daily wagers who worked in tea gardens to sustain themselves. Mostly immigrants, they hailed from Bihar and Assam. Simran had been to this area before when a drug consignment had been busted. Having spent about a week in the area, she knew it pretty well.

  Bolero was following the Motorcycle that had been sent to pilot her to the spot. The deserted market was very uncharacteristic of the area. She remembered it to be full of activity. After a good half an hour, the motorcycle stopped. Kilo Two-One rushed to open the gate on her side.

  "Where is the body?" Simran paused.

  "There Ma'am," he signalled towards a table which looked like something that the Washerman in the area would use to iron the clothes. Lying on top of the chequered tablecloth was the body of the boy. Simran walked towards it slowly, hiding her emotions under the veil of seriousness.

  "Ma'am we got a call at about 7 am, when the Washerman," he pointed toward a petite, visibly Bihari man, standing with a group of men, all migrants, "came to work. This boy is about nine years old. He had come to Jhariang two months back after running away from home."

  Simran examined the body which was lying in the foetal position. The boy's pants were down and it looked like he had been sodomized. She wore the gloves and made the body lie straight on his back. Blueish marks on his throat and popped up eyes confirmed strangulation.

  "Five-Zero, Kilo Two," she called the control room.

  "Kilo Two, Five-Zero…carry on Ma'am," control room responded.

  "Five-Zero what is the location of Seven-One?"

  "Kilo Two Ma'am they are on their way to the SOC[8]."

  "Five-Zero, Roger"

  Signalling the Washerman, she clipped the Radio set back to her belt.

  "What do you know about him?"

  "Madam, this boy is from Sitamarhi in Bihar. His name is Rahim. He had run away from his family. He had fallen into the bad company here. I always warned him to stay out of trouble, but he didn't listen to me. If only he had listened to me." The Washerman wiped a tear.

  "What bad company?" Simran asked.

  "Madam he was hanging out with some boys much older than him. I think he was also on some drugs", and then his wife called out his name. "Madam I don't know anything more than this."

  Simran had seen the look he had exchanged with his wife and knew that there was more to this story. She told Two-One to record the statements of the Washerman and anyone else who knew the boy. The area though shabby did have an ATM and that meant a CCTV camera. Scanning the area for any more CCTV cameras, Simran spotted one more. The feed of both the CCTVS was also collected. She looked around the table and found a half-lit cigarette. Picking it up with her gloved hands, she read the fine print, it was Marlboro Lights. Who would smoke such an expensive brand in this area? She saved it for DNA analysis.

  The Crime Team reached the spot at that moment and she signalled for Two-One to get the body removed after the Scene of Crime had been examined by the Crime Team.

  Simran was just about to reach her Bolero when Two-One ran after her. "Ma'am I have already spoken to the doctors, they will conduct the post-mortem immediately. One more thing, Major Imran had visited the SOC before you," he said sheepishly.

  What the fuck!

  "How did he get to know about this?" Simran sat in the front seat, adjusting her weapon and set.

  "Ma'am the locals called him before us." Two-One replied sheepishly.

  "Come to the Police Station after this and bring the Washerman," she said irritably. I hate Major Imran. How dare he come to my SOC before me? Fuck mobile networks!

  Seething in rage she dialled Kilo One to give the report.

  Chapter 3 : Imran

  "Bravo Sir, as always, perfect timing", complemented the ustad.

  "Thank you Selvam ustad, I was worried about losing the touch. Fever has got the better of me." Maj Imran wiped his forehead.

  Beaming with his current feat of perfect timing, he felt confident of acing his yearly medicals planned for that month. Appendicitis and recurrent fevers had robbed him of opportunities to work on his fitness. Below average in height, he made up for that in his built. Stocky. Dependable. Oozing confidence.

  Imran had been a heartthrob in his government school in Anantnag, wining gold medals in almost all athletic meets and debate competitions at the intra state level in Jammu and Kashmir. One of the many girls who secretly wished he was their boyfriend was Anila, who finally bagged him. Last two years of school, they were inseparable and made promises to each other which only the young can make.

  His decision to join the army had surprised a lot of people and broke one heart, that of Anila. His mother, Anjum, was a homemaker. All she ever wanted for her children was to be safe and grow up to be old. She was shocked with his decision to appear for the NDA exam. His father, Shaukat Khan, a primary teacher in Government School, supported Imran’s decision and celebrated Imran's selection in the NDA. Rigorous training at National Defence Academy chiselled out the officer in the rough sketch of a Kashmiri Muslim, who was struggling with his identity. Fourteen years hence, Shaukat and Anjum were happily looking after their grandchildren in New Jersey. Nida, Imran's sister was a doctor in the US and needed all the support she could get to raise her kids.

  "Hello," Imran picked up the call of one of his informers, he had tediously nurtured.

  "Sir, Dabbu, sir"

  "Yes, Dabbu..carry on"

  "Sir, ek ladka off ho gaya sir...one boy killed," Dabbu repeated for emphasis.

  Imran checked the watch, it was 6 in the morning, but the land of the dawn lit mountains made it looked like it was noon.

  "Address?"

  Ten minutes later

  "Sir, it looks like he was killed early in the morning. Please cover your mouth with a handkerchief, it is smelling like rotten fish." Dabbu had met Imran at the scene of the crime.

  "It's very quiet today? Where is everybody?" Imran waived a fly away.

  "Sir, everybody ran away. Many people here are Bangladeshi immigrants, living illegally, they didn't want to get into this mess."

  Imran examined the body closely without disturbing the crime scene. "Does anyone know this boy?"

  "Sir, he is Rahim. We have seen him around. The Washerman might know something about him, he will be back shortly. I have called him." Dabbu knew almost everything about everyone. That was one of the reasons why Imran gave him so much leeway.

  "Has anyone called the police?" Imran was satisf
ied that this was purely a crime and had no makings of an act of terrorism. Armed Forces Special Powers Act had given unprecedented powers to the Army. It was a very thin line and had to be treaded softly. Imran used those powers for the benefit of the public. People of this area admired him and his company. Police, on the contrary, had a bad name and nobody came forward to help them.

  "Yes sir, there they are." Police gypsy stopped just behind the Major's vehicle.

  "Good morning Sir", saluted the Inspector, "I will take a look at the SOC", he said and moved away. Major Imran knew the guy and didn't like him particularly.

  Smartass.

  "Ok Dabbu, let me know if you hear something." Imran kept a hand on Dabbu's shoulder to show his appreciation.

  Dabbu relaxed and leaned in, "Sir, I think Raju has done this. Rahim used to hang out with him a lot."

  "Raju…that drug addict?" Imran asked nonchalantly, but he was shocked. Raju was also his informer and he had been in contact with Imran occasionally over the last few months. Imran was sure of bursting a cartel through Raju. Raju's involvement in the murder would definitely affect his pursuit into the drug mafia or would it?

  Sudden commotion signalled the arrival of higher officials. Most probably, ASP Madam. Imran couldn't hold back the involuntary smile at the thought of Simran. She would come around one of these days.

  Chapter 4: Simran

  Simran mulled over her third cup of lal chai in the SHOs chamber. It was a typical police office. Portraits of Gandhi ji and Baba Saheb lurked in opposite corners, on the wall with the honour board, behind the wooden chair. A big whiteboard with details about court cases for the week and important investigations graced the south wall. The north wall was reserved for DKBasu's Guidelines on Arrest. The west wall in front of the chair was a glass partition from where the entrance and the duty officer's room were visible.