The Mohanbari Murders

by Esha Pandey

  Deeply craving a cigarette, Simran involuntarily put her pen in her mouth as placebo. Investigation in a murder case, that too of a child, is urgent and should take precedence over everything. A police officer's life, however, is not that simple. Her small red notebook was filled with all that she had to do and an important page in that was dog eared and labelled "Murder: 9 years old". Her meticulous note-making skills while helping her in complying to all the orders passed by the seniors, were also a bane, because she never forgot anything. Another page which was folded into half bore the name of Major Imran surrounded by multiple circles doodled in anger. A small devil caricature also graced the page.

  Two months since her joining as Assistant Superintendent of Police, Simran had run into Major Imran on two occasions. Imran had tried hard to impress her in the first meeting, at the evening gathering at the Mess. Dressed in his best formals, Imran had paid attention to Simran all evening and cracked stupid jokes to make her laugh. All Simran could think about was how short he was. She had been kind to him, but there was no attraction. None whatsoever. Imran followed it up with a message next morning.

  "Morning Ma'am! Shall we catch up on coffee in the evening?- Imran"

  Aghast at his forwardness, she replied a curt no.

  "Morning…not possible...I am busy-Simran"

  "☹ Imran"

  Simran wanted to make a sighing smiley but held back. She was distracted the whole day and cursed Imran for making her uncomfortable.

  The second meeting was more eventful. They met at a high-profile intelligence meeting, where Imran completely ignored her. A curt nod in acknowledgment of her existence was all she got from the Major, who looked dapper that morning in his Olive Greens. He was not that short after all. Simran's ego had been bruised by Imran's neglect.

  How dare he visit her SOC before her.

  Her Vodafone number, which finally had network, was silently beaming Kilo One. By the time Simran noticed there were three missed calls.

  "Good morning Sir" she checked the time. It was still 11:55.

  "Where have you been Simran? I have called you so many times. What is the matter with you?" Kilo One was screaming like a monster.

  "Sorry Sir, my phone was silent. Please tell me."

  "What's the current status?" Kilo One barked into the phone.

  "Sir, post-mortem of the body is going on. We found two CCTVs in the area and have taken feed. I have also sent some of the DNA samples to the Truth Lab, unofficially. I have also called some locals, let's see what they tell us." Simran knew he would find fault and he did.

  "Why have you not examined the locals yet?"

  "I will sir. I was occupied with a few other things." She lied. She couldn't have told him that the locals had not reported yet. That they were resisting. That they didn't want to get involved.

  "Yes, do that and then head over to the X branch and plan the arrangement for the political rally next week. CM is likely to visit. See if we need to demand extra force. You have to be more active at your age."

  Funny thing was that Kilo One was only a year older to Simran. He had joined the service at 22 years old and boasted of nine years' experience in the service. At 30, Simran had been in the service for only two years, both spent in training. What she lacked in service, she made up in life. Having been through a lot, at 27 she decided to take the exam and cracked it in one go. God had been kind and she knew that.

  Kilo One wanted a report on the progress of the case every hour.

  Two-One picked up after three rings.

  "Ma'am post-mortem is over. The body will be kept in the mortuary, till the boy's relatives or parents claim it. I have the report, unofficial of course. The boy was sodomized. But the catch is, it was not the first time."

  Simran's hand shook. The boy was nine years old.

  "Cause of death?" she asked clearing her throat.

  "Asphyxia by strangulation." Two-One had said these words many times. Say 'asphyxia by strangulation' and then go about your business normally. In his twenty years of service, if he had not learnt to compartmentalize, he would be a dead man. Simran marvelled at his capacity to still appear affected and invested in a case like this.

  With a loud bang, a Constable brought in the Washerman.

  "Ma'am he was trying to run away when we caught up with him. He is hiding something," Constable said thoughtfully.

  Her aggressive stance scared the Washerman who started speaking, "Madam please don't hit me. I will tell you whatever I know."

  She picked up her baton and stood up.

  "Madam, please. It's Raju. I know it. It's Raju. Please don't hit me."

  There it is. Raju.

  Chapter 5: Imran

  Early in his career, Imran had been shot at by a terrorist during an ambush. He was a young Captain. His men had died in front of him. Going over that day, again and again, he had identified many faults in the movement of his company. From then on, he had made sure that he never told anyone about his movements. The wound of that ambush sat proudly on his left arm, near the wrist. Rubbing the faint throbbing in his wound, he wondered if that was psychological and returned whenever he was working on a big case.

  "Put this number on surveillance." Imran handed a chit with Raju's number on it to the adjutant. There were strict rules for putting any number under surveillance, and there were multiple loopholes in those rules. Imran knew how to take advantage of those when it came to the surveillance of a terrorist.

  Imran was a man of means. Cultivating informers in all major underground groups was no mean feat. Constant community welfare measure like medical camps, recruitment rallies, admissions to the school run by the Army in the area earned him goodwill.

  "Bring Chetiya in." He ordered his Column Commander who was on patrol in the area, which was Chetiya's hideout.

  "Sir, yes sir." Column Commander replied on the set.

  The aroma of his favourite coffee burst into the room as the orderly walked in with a mug full of black coffee. Curtains moved gently, as the weather changed from sunny to cloudy. The pitter-patter of the raindrops falling against the glass window panes made him think of Simran. She was something else.

  His phone screen lit up with Simran's photo. Think of the devil. Deliberately picking up after a few rings, Imran put on a façade of composure when his heart was racing wildly. This was something he was experiencing after a hiatus of fifteen years.

  "Hello."

  "Major Imran, are you running a parallel investigation?" She never did mince words. "Care to explain." He knew exactly what she was talking about, but feigned ignorance to get her worked up. "What do you know about the Bhawanipura Murder?"

  "What would I know? I am not the IO.” Shamelessly Imran let her get angrier than she already was.

  "Major Imran. I know you are hiding something. I know you visited the spot. I also know about Dabbu. What has he told you?"

  "Ma'am calm down. I know nothing more than you do. But I can give you a new direction if you agree to meet for dinner?" Didn't hurt to ask, right.

  "Can't believe you have the audacity to do this right now,” Simran was furious, "but I have no option. Where do you want to meet?"

  Imran's heart sang.

  "Mountain Café, by the river."

  "This better be worth it."

  I will make it worth your while.

  Chapter 6 : Dinner

  "Major Imran, I need your QRT[9] pronto." read the message from Simran.

  It was half past seven. They were supposed to meet for dinner in half an hour. Why would she need the QRT?

  "Is everything okay?" Simran had picked up on the first ring.

  "I have to raid a hideout. Just got some info. I think our accused might be hiding there."

  "Okay. Where do we meet?" Imran asked seriously.

  "Definitely not Mountain Café" Simran cackled.

  God, I love that laugh. "Of course, not."

  "Will message you the details." Simran hung up.

  Twenty m
inutes later

  Input had been received about a few Under Ground elements hiding in the deep forests in the hills. There was a possibility of Raju hiding with them. Without giving it a thought Simran had put on the Bullet Proof Jacket and started the journey with her men. She had an escort party, a Quick Reaction Team of twelve able commandos and an extra AK 47 next to her on her seat.

  Simran had met Imran near the foothills and after a discussion about formations, both had continued in their respective vehicles. A moonless night made it difficult to meander the rickety, broken, non-metaled road. By the time they reached the deep forests, it was already ten thirty and they still had about two and a half kilometres to manoeuvre on foot.

  The vehicles stopped and everyone got out as quietly as possible. Simran had thought about the possibility of an ambush and discussed it threadbare with Imran. The UGs were sitting on a dominating height and knew the area well. Simran and Imran briefed their men about the possibilities. They would move in a V formation with Army QRT leading one flank and Police QRT leading the other, Simran and Imran would be in the centre. The two flanks would surround the hideout and give the UG[10]s an opportunity to surrender. It was a flawless plan.

  Five minutes into the hike and bang!

  The first shot was heard. Simran looked at Imran. "You think they know about us?" Before Imran could venture an answer, there was a burst fire and everyone ran to take cover. UGs were taking advantage of the dominating height and firing at the raid party. Simran took cover behind a rock and started firing. Imran was near her, behind another rock, lying low as the rock was small.

  Whizz and snap of bullets passing very close by sent Simran into an adrenalin rush. She wanted to kill the bastards, yet ensure the safety of her team. She had changed the magazine of her AK 47, when a stray bullet whizzed past her. She felt a burning sensation and knew she had been hit.

  After about an intense ten minutes of firing from both sides, the firing stopped from the dominating height. Imran signalled for the raid party to start moving forward. He looked at Simran. She was lying down. His heart skipped a beat. My God, let her be okay. She was lying still holding on to her arm. Her AK kept on one side.

  "Simran?" Imran touched her chin. It was cold.

  "Imran, I am hurt." She had a bullet injury on her left arm. Blood was flowing out. It looked like a superficial injury. "Help me get up," Simran asked Imran for his hand. All Imran wanted was to wrap her in a blanket and rush to the best doctor in the world, but, duty came first.

  "Simran you can wait here, with these two guys", he pointed at the able Jat Sepoys, "I will finish the job and join you in a while."

  "No Imran, it's not a deep wound. I will be okay. Let's go."

  “Hey, wait. Let me tie it up.” He took out a field dressing kit from his pocket and tied up the wound to stop bleeding. His heart went out to her. He had never met a braver woman. “Why don’t you wear this jacket,” he offered his camouflage jacket when he saw her shiver. She wore it without protest. The AK would have been difficult to carry, so she let Imran carry it on the sling.

  “Let’s go.”

  With the Glock in her hand, she took charge.

  The raid party reached the Hideout in another ten minutes to find an empty hiding place. It was a small hut, with about seven to eight makeshift beds, some dry ration and live rounds about hundred in number. They had run away in a hurry so failed to collect many of their belongings. A mobile phone with a charger was one of the items found. Imran asked about fifteen of his able men to sanitize the area.

  "This was such a good lead. I am sure Raju was with them," Simran looked disappointed. She was sitting with her back to the makeshift door to the hut. It was a wooden door, which definitely didn’t belong there.

  “I don’t think this Hideout was what you think it was Simran.” Imran said pensively. “The amount of ammunition and the desperation clearly shows that the stakes were high. Who gave you this lead?”

  Simran’s jacket sleeve was now bloody, but she was holding the Glock in an alert position. Imran had never admired anyone more, ever.

  “Imran one of my informers was very sure that Raju would be here.” She looked despondent. Imran didn’t want to push it.

  "We will get him Simran," Imran promised. An unsaid promise between two friends.

  Chapter 7: Simran and Imran

  While on the way back, Simran had informed Kilo One about all the happenings of the night. Instead of being happy about her courage, he reprimanded her for being careless and trying to play maverick. Since there were no causalities, Simran was let go, but she had to file a report. "I will do that in the morning, Sir." Simran was feeling faint but didn't want to appear weak in front of Imran. Why is he looking at me as I if am a wounded puppy? Gosh, why did I have to get hurt?

  Keeping all propriety away, Imran had stayed back at Simran's place to look after her. It was about three in the morning when they had reached the military hospital. The bullet had grazed her left upper arm. Some blood had been lost, but there was nothing to worry about. Drowsy from the pain killer, Simran leaned on Imran's shoulder as he took her home in the staff car. Fast asleep.

  Amber light from the night bulb fell on Simran's beautiful face. She was still in her uniform, left sleeve torn for the bandage. He had picked her up in his arms and brought her inside the room. She had protested but given in when he insisted. Imran shifted uncomfortably in the big chair by the window. He wanted to hug her and take away all the pain. Simran invoked in Imran feelings which he thought were dead. She made him want to belong, to have a family, to love.

  An old officer's bungalow, Simran's house had a quaint quality to it. She had added some of her personality to it in the last two months since she had occupied it. Imran had asked the caretaker to bring a cup of coffee for him, so he could stay awake. A photo of an elderly couple, in the old-world Archie's photo frame of a puppy saying 'I love you' was kept on her side table. Must be her parents. He saw her Kindle lying on the table next to the big chair, under the lamp. He didn't want to intrude, but he was bored and decided to look in.

  Each year, Imran's father hid a book carefully wrapped on his study table for his birthday. He treasured all his books and believed a lot could be told about a person from the kind of books they read. Simran was currently reading Gillian Flynn's Sharp Objects. He also found two sleazy romance covers along with Pride and Prejudice. Chuckling involuntarily at the sleazy romcoms, he decided to read the one named, 'The Wallflower'. The dainty Earl was seducing a-not-so-innocent debutante. Engrossed in their shenanigans, he kept awake till he heard Simran ring a bell for Bahadur. She was barely awake.

  "Tell me what do you need?" Imran closed in.

  "What are you doing here?" Simran woke up with a start.

  "I stayed back in case you needed something," Imran said sincerely.

  Simran looked around to check her surroundings. Thank god she was properly dressed. When had her hair come undone? "I am okay. You can go now."

  "Really? So rude." Imran was hurt. "Shall we have something to eat first? It's already 9 and you have to file that report you promised Kilo One. I am sure you will need your strength for that."

  Simran relented. "Can I have some privacy?" She sounded irritated when she was actually feeling like putty inside. She had been taken care of by someone, other than her family, after eons. It tugged at her heart. Melted something inside. She needed a moment to regroup.

  ◆◆◆

  Imran was gently sprawled on the sofa. The tiredness of the night had caught up with him. Simran signalled Bahadur to lay breakfast on the centre table. She sat across from him. He wasn't so bad looking. Still, in his combats he made quite a picture. Simran had changed into a loose t-shirt and lounge pants.

  "Mm ...quite a spread" Imran woke up. Bread toast, poha, omelette and black coffee brought both of them back to life.

  "Imran, I have gone through the CCTV footage of the area on the night of the murder. There is something amiss. I see
two people running after the boy in one of the shots, but witnesses are pointing only towards Raju. I found a cigarette butt near the table on which Rahim's body was found. The DNA from the cigarette and the semen on Rahim's body are of the same person. But skin fragments from under Rahim’s nails are of a different person. What am I missing?" She looked desolate.

  "How did you get the DNA checked this fast?" Imran was intrigued. He had heard the Forensic Labs took forever to give results related to Viscera and DNA.

  "I have my ways," Simran chuckled. "Tell me, do you have any more input?"

  "I have been pursuing another lead. I don't want to give his name but I will definitely let you know if something significant comes up." He was not willing to give up his source no matter how gorgeous she looked. This was the first time he saw her with her hair cascading down in loose waves. What beautiful hair! Unlike the uniform which gave her a sincerity, at her home, Simran looked like the girl next door.

  Simran didn't push. She had too much on her mind.

  "Kilo Two, Five-Zero" beamed the set.

  Simran looked at Imran, smiled and picked up the set. "Five-Zero, Kilo Two"

  "Kilo Two Ma'am, please call Kilo One"

  "Five-Zero, Roger"

  Chapter 8 : Third Degree

  "Chetiya, dekh batana to tujhe padega." Imran was on the verge of losing it. He had been interrogating Chetiya , Raju's accomplice for the last two hours and he had not said a word. Imran believed interrogation was all about building trust and dialogue, but that was not working with this guy. The interrogation room was like a scanty office. One table, one chair, one water dispenser and a mat on the floor. Chetiya was made to sit on the mat while Imran pulled up the chair, right in front of him. Four strong men, in combats, lurked around waiting for their boss's signal to start the third degree.

  "Bol saale," Imran pulled him closer with his collar, "Kahan hai Raju?"