fasten your seat belts. We are soon going to land in New Delhi.’
When are my nightmares going to end?
He took a few deep breaths and then looked at his watch. 4 PM. Another four and half hours to Ambala. After getting down at New Delhi airport, he was going to take a cab to Ambala. He wanted to visit this city a day earlier, but there were no tickets available. He ruled out that it would be evening by the time he reached Ambala. As per the plan, the local correspondent of Globe News at Ambala was going to help him out.
He had been very uneasy throughout his flight–jiggling his legs and staring out the window into the blue infinity. It was because of a call from Ritesh just before boarding. His boss had told him about a new development in the Nitin Tomar murder mystery. In the early hours of the day, a man named Mohammed Afroz was found dead in his house at Ambala, the same fucking place he was about to visit. Cocaine overdose was a possible cause. The police had found a lot of documents in his house that connected him to Nitin’s murder and the outfit Mujahid-e-Bashariyat. They had also found an AK-47 rifle from his house.
Prakash was perplexed. He was immediately scared too. It was as if someone was spying on his thoughts. Day before yesterday, I come to know about this Afroz guy. And in a day he’s dead. Is it a coincidence?
Ritesh was surprised to know that Prakash was already travelling to Ambala.
“Do you have some inside info, which I am not aware of?”
“It’s a bit complicated. I’ll explain it to you later.”
Prakash was unable to accept that Afroz’s death was not a murder. Ritesh had mentioned that as per the primary reports, the man was suspected to be a junkie, who had taken an overdose of cocaine in a drunken stupor. He had been smoking and drinking without restraint since the last few days. The police had also found a stash of cocaine in his kitchen. His dustbin was also littered with used needles containing traces of cocaine and his blood.
Like an invisible splinter on a shirt that keeps irritating the wearer, nagging thoughts kept troubling Prakash’s mind. Something very wrong was going on, but he wasn’t able to put his finger on ‘what exactly’. It was as if someone was trying to tie up all the loose ends in a secretive and professional matter. He would have to weed out that splinter. Need to visit the police station.
----
“ I know this man ,” Ashish Mehra, the local correspondent for Globe News, said. “Let me do the talking when he comes.”
Prakash nodded. I won’t mind.
Both were sitting across the Station House Officer’s desk in the Sector-8 police station. It was 8:30 PM and they were waiting for the SHO to return from his dinner break. Prakash looked at the name written on the plaque kept on the desk. Mohan Kumar Lohiya, Sub-Inspector.
There was nothing to pass time with. So Prakash decided to strike a conversation with the young chap. He was meeting Ashish for the first time. The kid looked like a bright, impressive man oozing with the same eagerness he used to have many years ago.
“You cover the whole of Haryana?” he asked Ashish.
“I and a few colleagues of mine.”
“How long have you been working at Globe News?”
“Two years.”
“That’s a pretty short period. Seems you have made quite a few friends in the police force.”
“Many!” Ashish said, his face lighting up. “I have contacts in Ambala, Kurukshetra, Karnal, Panipat…” He started counting the districts of Haryana on his fingers.
Prakash was amused to see the naivety in the eyes of this rookie.
In the excitement of having found a new friend, Ashish made a funny face and slid his chair close to Prakash’s. He whispered into his ears, “Of all the police officers I know, this Lohiya guy is the biggest moron. You would not have seen a bigger publicity hound. He’s… shit!” He stopped, turned around and then bit his tongue. His face lost its colour for a second.
What
When are my nightmares going to end?
He took a few deep breaths and then looked at his watch. 4 PM. Another four and half hours to Ambala. After getting down at New Delhi airport, he was going to take a cab to Ambala. He wanted to visit this city a day earlier, but there were no tickets available. He ruled out that it would be evening by the time he reached Ambala. As per the plan, the local correspondent of Globe News at Ambala was going to help him out.
He had been very uneasy throughout his flight–jiggling his legs and staring out the window into the blue infinity. It was because of a call from Ritesh just before boarding. His boss had told him about a new development in the Nitin Tomar murder mystery. In the early hours of the day, a man named Mohammed Afroz was found dead in his house at Ambala, the same fucking place he was about to visit. Cocaine overdose was a possible cause. The police had found a lot of documents in his house that connected him to Nitin’s murder and the outfit Mujahid-e-Bashariyat. They had also found an AK-47 rifle from his house.
Prakash was perplexed. He was immediately scared too. It was as if someone was spying on his thoughts. Day before yesterday, I come to know about this Afroz guy. And in a day he’s dead. Is it a coincidence?
Ritesh was surprised to know that Prakash was already travelling to Ambala.
“Do you have some inside info, which I am not aware of?”
“It’s a bit complicated. I’ll explain it to you later.”
Prakash was unable to accept that Afroz’s death was not a murder. Ritesh had mentioned that as per the primary reports, the man was suspected to be a junkie, who had taken an overdose of cocaine in a drunken stupor. He had been smoking and drinking without restraint since the last few days. The police had also found a stash of cocaine in his kitchen. His dustbin was also littered with used needles containing traces of cocaine and his blood.
Like an invisible splinter on a shirt that keeps irritating the wearer, nagging thoughts kept troubling Prakash’s mind. Something very wrong was going on, but he wasn’t able to put his finger on ‘what exactly’. It was as if someone was trying to tie up all the loose ends in a secretive and professional matter. He would have to weed out that splinter. Need to visit the police station.
----
“ I know this man ,” Ashish Mehra, the local correspondent for Globe News, said. “Let me do the talking when he comes.”
Prakash nodded. I won’t mind.
Both were sitting across the Station House Officer’s desk in the Sector-8 police station. It was 8:30 PM and they were waiting for the SHO to return from his dinner break. Prakash looked at the name written on the plaque kept on the desk. Mohan Kumar Lohiya, Sub-Inspector.
There was nothing to pass time with. So Prakash decided to strike a conversation with the young chap. He was meeting Ashish for the first time. The kid looked like a bright, impressive man oozing with the same eagerness he used to have many years ago.
“You cover the whole of Haryana?” he asked Ashish.
“I and a few colleagues of mine.”
“How long have you been working at Globe News?”
“Two years.”
“That’s a pretty short period. Seems you have made quite a few friends in the police force.”
“Many!” Ashish said, his face lighting up. “I have contacts in Ambala, Kurukshetra, Karnal, Panipat…” He started counting the districts of Haryana on his fingers.
Prakash was amused to see the naivety in the eyes of this rookie.
In the excitement of having found a new friend, Ashish made a funny face and slid his chair close to Prakash’s. He whispered into his ears, “Of all the police officers I know, this Lohiya guy is the biggest moron. You would not have seen a bigger publicity hound. He’s… shit!” He stopped, turned around and then bit his tongue. His face lost its colour for a second.
What
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