4yöu
Favoured Frenzy
Author: Myself
Mumbai, 6 PM. A thick crowd had gathered at Raghav Circle, and the rain was coming down heavily, flooding the streets. The downpour created a scene of chaos, with people trying to move
around, struggling against the rain. Amidst the crowd, we noticed a police blockade, and no-entry signs were clearly posted. People were whispering among themselves, trying to understand what was going on.
As the crowd shifted slightly, we saw something chilling. The water, mixed with the rain, was turning red as it collected around people's feet. Slowly, it became clear that there had been a death. A child
had been killed, and the scent of death was almost overpowering as it mingled with the rainwater. The blood was mixing with the water, creating a horrifying sight.
Suddenly, a car came speeding toward the scene, cutting through the crowd. The police quickly moved aside, waving their hands to give the car space. The vehicle was a SUV, known for its elegance
and power-often associated with high-ranking officers in Mumbai. As the car screeched to a halt, the door opened, and we saw Officer Dhruv stepping out.
He was around 35 years old, strikingly handsome, with a strong, determined presence. His dedication to his work was evident in the way he carried himself, and he was well-known for his
professionalism. People in the area had heard of him before, always speaking of his commitment to solving cases.
As he stepped out of the car, the crowd instinctively moved aside. Even as he walked, bloodied water splashed up at his feet, droplets bouncing with each step. The intensity of the scene seemed to affect him, but his focus remained unbroken. He moved closer to
the lifeless body, kneeling down to examine the scene carefully.
With a sharp, experienced gaze, he began assessing the
surroundings, studying every detail of the area and the body.
When Officer Dhruv arrived at the crime scene, he began
questioning the public gathered nearby. he noticed something odd near the body-a small pit filled with rainwater. Something seemed to be glinting in the water, catching his attention.
He carefully approached and, with a quick motion, removed his
glasses from his face and slipped on a pair of gloves. He bent down, examining the water more closely. With a precise motion, he
carefully reached into the pit and pulled out an object.
It was a knife-but not just any knife. This one was unique. Its handle had intricate symbols carved into it, including a strange
mark that looked like a Baphomet symbol. The eerie design on the knife left a chill in the air, and the atmosphere grew heavy with
fear.
As soon as the police officers saw the knife, an unsettling silence spread among them. Fear began to creep into the crowd, and the officers exchanged looks with one another, as if they too knew
something, or at least suspected something darker than what they had initially imagined.
As Officer Dhruv carefully examined the scene, he glanced around and spoke, his voice steady but sharp:
"The blood must've been spilled recently... How long have you been here, Officer?"
A voice answered from behind:
"My name is Officer Raja. Sir, we arrived after the death had already occurred."
Officer Dhruv nodded thoughtfully, then replied,
"Looking at the body, it seems like the murder happened only a few hours ago. And this place... a crowded intersection, where people are always coming and going. And yet, nobody saw anything? How
is that possible?"
He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd, his words cutting through the silence.
"When something like this happens to someone close to you, will you still stay silent like this?"
As he spoke, his gaze shifted to the people standing around, some looking guilty, others avoiding eye contact. Officer Dhruv's eyes narrowed as he watched them.
A soft murmur passed through the crowd as people whispered among themselves. One person in the back muttered,
"Even if it happens to someone close to us... we still won't speak up."
Right in front of where the murder had occurred, there was a small tea stall with a tin roof. Beneath it, a man in his early 40s, wearing a simple shirt and trousers, was sitting, sipping his tea while reading
the newspaper. His eyes occasionally wandered over to the scene of the crime, observing the commotion in the distance. But then,
without a second thought, he returned to his tea and newspaper, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. It was as though the whole situation barely mattered to him.
Officer Dhruv, who had been scanning the area, noticed the man's indifference. His gaze shifted to the man, and he slowly
approached, pushing his way through the crowd.
"Move aside," Dhruv muttered to the people nearby, signalling them to give him space.
He made his way to the small tea stall, where the man was still engrossed in his newspaper, oblivious to the chaos around him. As the rain continued to fall, Dhruv bent his head slightly, lowering
himself beneath the tin roof, taking a step closer to the man.
The man didn't react, his focus still entirely on the pages of the newspaper. The rain had no effect on him. It was as though the
tragedy unfolding around him held no meaning, as if he was disconnected from it entirely.
Dhruv, not seeming to mind the rain still pouring down, pulled out a chair and sat down at the small table across from the man. His eyes remained fixed on the man for a moment before he spoke,
"So, how's the tea here?"
Without lifting his eyes from the newspaper, the man casually replied,
"The tea is very good, Sir."
Dhruv nodded, then leaned back slightly and said,
"Well, in that case, let's have a little chat while we drink the tea."
The man, still absorbed in his reading, didn't seem fazed by Dhruv's sudden interest in conversation. But as he read, his words slipped out almost carelessly,
"Night is approaching. Darkness is about to fall. You should go home, Sir. Your family must be waiting for you."
Dhruv, without missing a beat, smirked and responded,
"My family? They're waiting alright... but not in the way you think.
Even the jail would be a better place for me. At least there, the criminals are doing something, unlike the people out here."
The man looked up from his newspaper for the first time, locking eyes with Dhruv. Then, in a quiet but pointed tone, he said,
"Well, then take me with you, Sir. Isn't that your job? To send poor, helpless people like us to jail without reason?"
Dhruv's eyes narrowed as he studied the man's face, unsure of whether he was just mocking him or speaking the truth. The air
between them grew tense, filled with a sense of unspoken history.
Dhruv, always in control, didn't respond immediately but instead looked toward the street, where the crowd was still murmuring
about the incident. The stormy night seemed to be closing in on them both.
Dhruv, said,
"You care more about me than the death of that child?"
The man, still reading his newspaper, didn't immediately respond. But after a moment, he casually said,
"So, what do you think, Dhruv Sahib? Do you honestly believe that the crowd gathered here has any real concern for that child?"
Dhruv smirked, his tone turning sarcastic,
"If they don't feel the pain now, they surely will later. Just like you, sitting here drinking tea and leisurely inspecting everything, while I couldn't even do the same."
He paused for a moment, then chuckled lightly, "What's the difference between us, huh?"
The man didn't seem fazed, but as he placed his newspaper aside, he lifted a pair of old antique glasses from his table. Carefully, he wiped the lenses before placing them back on, focusing on Dhruv. Looking into his eyes with a calm, almost knowing smile, he said confidently,
"With your hard work and dedication, you will surely get the results you deserve."
Then, without waiting for a response, the man set the newspaper aside, stood up, and started to walk away, his presence leaving behind a lingering sense of mystery
As the man walked away, Dhruv called after him, his voice carrying a note of warning,
"Be careful as you leave. The darkness ahead is as deep for you as it is for me."
The man paused for a brief moment, then turned back, offering a faint smile before replying,
"Sir, remove those glasses of yours, or else you will only see darkness. That's the law you follow, isn't it?"
Dhruv didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached into his pant pocket, pulling out a lighter and a cigarette. He lit it, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke mix with the humid air. The glow from the cigarette illuminated his face in the
dim light. He didn't care to chase the man anymore. The words he shared had been enough for now.
The man, having made his point, continued walking, disappearing into the rain-soaked street.
Dhruv sat at the tea table, looking toward the crime scene in the distance. Even now, the crowd was still gathered, and the police
were still working, their frustration palpable. The officers appeared drained, worn out, and almost apathetic. It felt like they were just going through the motions, standing around without purpose. From where Dhruv sat, it seemed as if they had given up on the
investigation, too overwhelmed by the case to find any answers.
The rain continued to pour, and the evening grew darker. A sense of helplessness began to hang in the air-just like the man had
predicted. And for Dhruv, it seemed like his search for answers was only beginning.
Dhruv pulls out his phone, dialling Officer Raja's number. As the call connects, he glances around, still sitting at the tea stall, eyes trained on the crime scene. He speaks calmly into the phone:
"Raja, get over here."
A few moments later, Officer Raja, stepping away from the crowd, makes his way toward Dhruv. The tension between the officers and the crowd is palpable, but Raja stays focused, walking briskly until he reaches Dhruv's table.
Dhruv looks up at him with a serious expression and says,
"Take the body for examination. And make sure to collect all the evidence, including that knife. Nothing should be left behind." He pauses briefly, his eyes narrowing as he adds,
"Meet me at the station. Also, don't forget-register the names of these people in the area. Call them in for inquiry. We need to get every detail."
Raja nods without hesitation, fully aware of the gravity of the situation.
"Understood, Sir. I'll make sure nothing is missed."
With that, Raja turns and heads back toward the body, directing the team to collect all the necessary evidence, while Dhruv remains
seated at the tea table, lost in thought, watching the last remnants of the chaotic scene unfold.
As Raja walked off to handle the body, Dhruv removed his glasses and set them aside on the table. The crowd had completely dispersed, and only a few stray figures remained near the scene. The tea stall owner, having finished attending to his duties, now walked up to Dhruv's table.
"Salam, Sir. Anything you need?" the tea stall owner asked politely.
Dhruv, still holding the newspaper the man had left behind, glanced up with a small smile and replied,
"No, I don't. Just keep doing your work."
The tea stall owner nodded and moved back to his stall to tidy up the area.
Now alone, Dhruv focused on the newspaper in his hands. He
slowly unfolded it, scanning the pages, hoping to find some clue. As he flipped through the paper, nothing really stood out. The
headlines were ordinary, the stories mundane. But then, something caught his attention.
He noticed a stain on the top left corner of one page. The rest of the page looked perfectly fine, but there, at the corner, was a wet
mark-a smear that seemed to have been caused by tea. It was clear now that the person who had been reading the newspaper had likely held that spot for a while, and
Curious, Dhruv gently tapped the page, feeling a slight moisture. He thought to himself, "The person who was reading this must have been holding it in that exact spot for a while. Was this just a
coincidence, or is there something here?"
He turned his attention to the contents of that wet page. It was
mostly filled with NGO ads for volunteers helping children in need. Many listings, all urgently asking for help. At first, Dhruv didn't find anything unusual-until the wet mark kept drawing his attention. It was as though the person had spent an unusual amount of time
reading that page.
Dhruv continued to read the newspaper, his focus on the NGO ads for children's help. He flipped the page slowly, scanning for any clues. Then, an idea struck him. He pulled out his phone, opened the camera, and captured a photo of the wet page with the tea
stain. There was something odd about it, and he wanted to keep it for further analysis.
After taking the photo, he looked up and called the tea stall owner over,
"Hey, come here."
The tea stall owner approached the table, wiping his hands with a rag. He nodded respectfully,
"Yes, Sir. What do you need?"
Dhruv held up the newspaper and asked casually,
"The guy who was sitting here, drinking tea for a long time, left this newspaper and walked off. Do you know him?"
The tea stall owner shook his head,
"No, Sir. This is the first time I've seen him."
Dhruv stared at the man for a moment, then, without skipping a beat, spoke again, still reading the newspaper,
"Okay. By the way, you know that a young child died right outside your tea stall, right? You didn't see anything?"
The tea stall owner seemed startled but quickly replied,
"Sir, the man you're talking about, I was actually talking to him
when all this happened. There was a crowd gathered outside, and that's when I found out about the child's death."
Dhruv raised an eyebrow and leaned forward,
"Oh? What were you talking to him about? What did he say?"
The tea stall owner paused for a second, looking around as though making sure no one was listening too closely
"Sir, the man who was sitting here drinking tea earlier... he was
talking about wanting to help children. He was saying that if he ever sees a child in need, he would want to help. He seemed like a good person, wanting to make a difference."
Dhruv, still looking at the newspaper, turned his gaze toward the tea stall owner and asked casually,
"You didn't happen to see a knife used in the death of that child, did you?"
The tea stall owner shook his head,
"No, Sir. I didn't notice anything specific. I was just focused on my work."
Dhruv's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward slightly.
"It had a mark, a 'K' symbol on it. Did you see that on the knife?"
The tea stall owner looked confused and answered,
"No, Sir. How could I possibly know that? I didn't see anything like that."
Dhruv's expression darkened. He put on his glasses again, his tone growing colder as he spoke,
"That 'K' symbol... whoever this devil is, I will send them straight to hell."
With that, Dhruv stood up, his mind now fully focused on the murderer and the mark he had left behind
As Dhruv stood up and walked away, the tea stall owner remained behind, his expression unreadable. After a few moments, as Dhruv walked a little further, the tea stall owner was left alone at the table. He gave a mysterious smile, almost as though the death of
the child didn't bother him at all. But Dhruv didn't notice this-he was focused on his task ahead.
The tea stall owner, after Dhruv had left, picked up the newspaper that had been carelessly left behind. Without a second thought, he set the newspaper on fire, watching it burn slowly. His eyes stayed fixed on the flames for a while, before he calmly returned to his work, sitting at the same table and staring at the spot where Dhruv had just been moments before.
It was 12 AM, the clock struck midnight, and the scene shifted to an NGO - a shelter meant to help abandoned children. Outside, the rain was pouring relentlessly, its heavy patter against the windows adding to the tense atmosphere.
Inside, a staff member sat at his desk, looking bored as he sifted
through some paperwork. The stillness of the room was suddenly interrupted by the loud ring of the phone. The background noise from the call was unmistakable - the sounds of a party - music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses.
The staff member picked up the phone without hesitation, his voice calm and devoid of any emotion,
"Hello, Sir?"
The voice on the other end was slurred, as if the person was drunk, "Send over four or five young girls... make sure they look youthful. These party animals are starving, and we need them here soon."
The person didn't wait for a response and abruptly hung up.
Without even a second of hesitation or guilt, the staff member slowly placed the phone back on the receiver. A cold smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked down at the desk, a hint of dark satisfaction in his eyes. His expression was utterly untroubled, his mind clearly far from the idea of helping anyone. He was an active part of this corrupt operation, and the weight of his actions didn't seem to bother him at all.
He returned to his paperwork, his thoughts already elsewhere, as if the call had been just another ordinary part of his job.
The scene shifts to a private farmhouse on the outskirts of Mumbai, far from the bustling city centre. The night is alive with music,
laughter, and the sound of clinking glasses. A party is in full swing, but this is no ordinary celebration. In this isolated location, some of the biggest names in politics, business, and entertainment have
gathered. Many are clearly intoxicated, their behaviour wild and erratic. The atmosphere is full of excess, with drugs and alcohol flowing freely.
In the midst of the chaos, a car pulls up to the entrance. The
headlights cut through the darkness as it stops in front of the grand estate. The car's official markings indicate it's likely a police vehicle, but the presence of Officer Raja changes everything.
As the car door opens, Officer Raja steps out with a sinister smile spread across his face. His expression is menacing, and there's
something unsettling about the way he carries himself. He's flanked by several other police officers, all dressed in uniform, their faces stone-cold, as if they've done this countless times before. But what truly stands out is the group of girls accompanying them.
The girls - no older than 14-15 years old - are visibly terrified, crying, and screaming for help as they are dragged out of the car and into the party. The officers' grips are firm and unyielding, and
it's clear that these girls have been forcibly taken from somewhere.
Their voices rise in distress, but they're ignored as the officers march them toward the entrance of the farmhouse. These innocent girls have been thrust into a world of wealth and corruption, and
it's apparent that Officer Raja has a dark role to play in it all.
In the midst of the party, filled with loud music, laughter, and the stench of alcohol, a man approaches Inspector Raja. He's a
prominent politician, likely a local minister, with a glass of wine in his hand and an arrogant sway in his walk.
Minister (grinning):
"Aye Raja, you've finally arrived! Come, join the party."
Raja, his smile faint and cold, replies without emotion,
"I can't join the party, Minister Ji. I have work to do. I've been ordered to work under your Inspector Dhruv."
The Minister, pausing mid-sip, chuckles and reassures him,
"Raja Ji, why the long face? That chair is yours anyway. You just keep doing the work. Live like a king - your time is coming."
Suddenly, the shrieks and cries of four young girls echo from inside the farmhouse - terrified, pleading voices piercing through the
night.
The Minister halts, his wine glass raised halfway. He slowly turns his head toward the direction of the screams. A moment passes. Then he turns back to Raja, stepping closer. With a twisted smile, he
places a firm hand on Raja's shoulder and says quietly:
"Raja, you may go... but take their bodies with you. You know how
he is... our man at the top - he doesn't like noise."
Mumbai, 6 PM. A thick crowd had gathered at Raghav Circle, and the rain was coming down heavily, flooding the streets. The downpour created a scene of chaos, with people trying to move
around, struggling against the rain. Amidst the crowd, we noticed a police blockade, and no-entry signs were clearly posted. People were whispering among themselves, trying to understand what was going on.
As the crowd shifted slightly, we saw something chilling. The water, mixed with the rain, was turning red as it collected around people's feet. Slowly, it became clear that there had been a death. A child
had been killed, and the scent of death was almost overpowering as it mingled with the rainwater. The blood was mixing with the water, creating a horrifying sight.
Suddenly, a car came speeding toward the scene, cutting through the crowd. The police quickly moved aside, waving their hands to give the car space. The vehicle was a SUV, known for its elegance
and power-often associated with high-ranking officers in Mumbai. As the car screeched to a halt, the door opened, and we saw Officer Dhruv stepping out.
He was around 35 years old, strikingly handsome, with a strong, determined presence. His dedication to his work was evident in the way he carried himself, and he was well-known for his
professionalism. People in the area had heard of him before, always speaking of his commitment to solving cases.
As he stepped out of the car, the crowd instinctively moved aside. Even as he walked, bloodied water splashed up at his feet, droplets bouncing with each step. The intensity of the scene seemed to affect him, but his focus remained unbroken. He moved closer to
the lifeless body, kneeling down to examine the scene carefully.
With a sharp, experienced gaze, he began assessing the
surroundings, studying every detail of the area and the body.
When Officer Dhruv arrived at the crime scene, he began
questioning the public gathered nearby. he noticed something odd near the body-a small pit filled with rainwater. Something seemed to be glinting in the water, catching his attention.
He carefully approached and, with a quick motion, removed his
glasses from his face and slipped on a pair of gloves. He bent down, examining the water more closely. With a precise motion, he
carefully reached into the pit and pulled out an object.
It was a knife-but not just any knife. This one was unique. Its handle had intricate symbols carved into it, including a strange
mark that looked like a Baphomet symbol. The eerie design on the knife left a chill in the air, and the atmosphere grew heavy with
fear.
As soon as the police officers saw the knife, an unsettling silence spread among them. Fear began to creep into the crowd, and the officers exchanged looks with one another, as if they too knew
something, or at least suspected something darker than what they had initially imagined.
As Officer Dhruv carefully examined the scene, he glanced around and spoke, his voice steady but sharp:
"The blood must've been spilled recently... How long have you been here, Officer?"
A voice answered from behind:
"My name is Officer Raja. Sir, we arrived after the death had already occurred."
Officer Dhruv nodded thoughtfully, then replied,
"Looking at the body, it seems like the murder happened only a few hours ago. And this place... a crowded intersection, where people are always coming and going. And yet, nobody saw anything? How
is that possible?"
He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd, his words cutting through the silence.
"When something like this happens to someone close to you, will you still stay silent like this?"
As he spoke, his gaze shifted to the people standing around, some looking guilty, others avoiding eye contact. Officer Dhruv's eyes narrowed as he watched them.
A soft murmur passed through the crowd as people whispered among themselves. One person in the back muttered,
"Even if it happens to someone close to us... we still won't speak up."
Right in front of where the murder had occurred, there was a small tea stall with a tin roof. Beneath it, a man in his early 40s, wearing a simple shirt and trousers, was sitting, sipping his tea while reading
the newspaper. His eyes occasionally wandered over to the scene of the crime, observing the commotion in the distance. But then,
without a second thought, he returned to his tea and newspaper, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. It was as though the whole situation barely mattered to him.
Officer Dhruv, who had been scanning the area, noticed the man's indifference. His gaze shifted to the man, and he slowly
approached, pushing his way through the crowd.
"Move aside," Dhruv muttered to the people nearby, signalling them to give him space.
He made his way to the small tea stall, where the man was still engrossed in his newspaper, oblivious to the chaos around him. As the rain continued to fall, Dhruv bent his head slightly, lowering
himself beneath the tin roof, taking a step closer to the man.
The man didn't react, his focus still entirely on the pages of the newspaper. The rain had no effect on him. It was as though the
tragedy unfolding around him held no meaning, as if he was disconnected from it entirely.
Dhruv, not seeming to mind the rain still pouring down, pulled out a chair and sat down at the small table across from the man. His eyes remained fixed on the man for a moment before he spoke,
"So, how's the tea here?"
Without lifting his eyes from the newspaper, the man casually replied,
"The tea is very good, Sir."
Dhruv nodded, then leaned back slightly and said,
"Well, in that case, let's have a little chat while we drink the tea."
The man, still absorbed in his reading, didn't seem fazed by Dhruv's sudden interest in conversation. But as he read, his words slipped out almost carelessly,
"Night is approaching. Darkness is about to fall. You should go home, Sir. Your family must be waiting for you."
Dhruv, without missing a beat, smirked and responded,
"My family? They're waiting alright... but not in the way you think.
Even the jail would be a better place for me. At least there, the criminals are doing something, unlike the people out here."
The man looked up from his newspaper for the first time, locking eyes with Dhruv. Then, in a quiet but pointed tone, he said,
"Well, then take me with you, Sir. Isn't that your job? To send poor, helpless people like us to jail without reason?"
Dhruv's eyes narrowed as he studied the man's face, unsure of whether he was just mocking him or speaking the truth. The air
between them grew tense, filled with a sense of unspoken history.
Dhruv, always in control, didn't respond immediately but instead looked toward the street, where the crowd was still murmuring
about the incident. The stormy night seemed to be closing in on them both.
Dhruv, said,
"You care more about me than the death of that child?"
The man, still reading his newspaper, didn't immediately respond. But after a moment, he casually said,
"So, what do you think, Dhruv Sahib? Do you honestly believe that the crowd gathered here has any real concern for that child?"
Dhruv smirked, his tone turning sarcastic,
"If they don't feel the pain now, they surely will later. Just like you, sitting here drinking tea and leisurely inspecting everything, while I couldn't even do the same."
He paused for a moment, then chuckled lightly, "What's the difference between us, huh?"
The man didn't seem fazed, but as he placed his newspaper aside, he lifted a pair of old antique glasses from his table. Carefully, he wiped the lenses before placing them back on, focusing on Dhruv. Looking into his eyes with a calm, almost knowing smile, he said confidently,
"With your hard work and dedication, you will surely get the results you deserve."
Then, without waiting for a response, the man set the newspaper aside, stood up, and started to walk away, his presence leaving behind a lingering sense of mystery
As the man walked away, Dhruv called after him, his voice carrying a note of warning,
"Be careful as you leave. The darkness ahead is as deep for you as it is for me."
The man paused for a brief moment, then turned back, offering a faint smile before replying,
"Sir, remove those glasses of yours, or else you will only see darkness. That's the law you follow, isn't it?"
Dhruv didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached into his pant pocket, pulling out a lighter and a cigarette. He lit it, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly, letting the smoke mix with the humid air. The glow from the cigarette illuminated his face in the
dim light. He didn't care to chase the man anymore. The words he shared had been enough for now.
The man, having made his point, continued walking, disappearing into the rain-soaked street.
Dhruv sat at the tea table, looking toward the crime scene in the distance. Even now, the crowd was still gathered, and the police
were still working, their frustration palpable. The officers appeared drained, worn out, and almost apathetic. It felt like they were just going through the motions, standing around without purpose. From where Dhruv sat, it seemed as if they had given up on the
investigation, too overwhelmed by the case to find any answers.
The rain continued to pour, and the evening grew darker. A sense of helplessness began to hang in the air-just like the man had
predicted. And for Dhruv, it seemed like his search for answers was only beginning.
Dhruv pulls out his phone, dialling Officer Raja's number. As the call connects, he glances around, still sitting at the tea stall, eyes trained on the crime scene. He speaks calmly into the phone:
"Raja, get over here."
A few moments later, Officer Raja, stepping away from the crowd, makes his way toward Dhruv. The tension between the officers and the crowd is palpable, but Raja stays focused, walking briskly until he reaches Dhruv's table.
Dhruv looks up at him with a serious expression and says,
"Take the body for examination. And make sure to collect all the evidence, including that knife. Nothing should be left behind." He pauses briefly, his eyes narrowing as he adds,
"Meet me at the station. Also, don't forget-register the names of these people in the area. Call them in for inquiry. We need to get every detail."
Raja nods without hesitation, fully aware of the gravity of the situation.
"Understood, Sir. I'll make sure nothing is missed."
With that, Raja turns and heads back toward the body, directing the team to collect all the necessary evidence, while Dhruv remains
seated at the tea table, lost in thought, watching the last remnants of the chaotic scene unfold.
As Raja walked off to handle the body, Dhruv removed his glasses and set them aside on the table. The crowd had completely dispersed, and only a few stray figures remained near the scene. The tea stall owner, having finished attending to his duties, now walked up to Dhruv's table.
"Salam, Sir. Anything you need?" the tea stall owner asked politely.
Dhruv, still holding the newspaper the man had left behind, glanced up with a small smile and replied,
"No, I don't. Just keep doing your work."
The tea stall owner nodded and moved back to his stall to tidy up the area.
Now alone, Dhruv focused on the newspaper in his hands. He
slowly unfolded it, scanning the pages, hoping to find some clue. As he flipped through the paper, nothing really stood out. The
headlines were ordinary, the stories mundane. But then, something caught his attention.
He noticed a stain on the top left corner of one page. The rest of the page looked perfectly fine, but there, at the corner, was a wet
mark-a smear that seemed to have been caused by tea. It was clear now that the person who had been reading the newspaper had likely held that spot for a while, and
Curious, Dhruv gently tapped the page, feeling a slight moisture. He thought to himself, "The person who was reading this must have been holding it in that exact spot for a while. Was this just a
coincidence, or is there something here?"
He turned his attention to the contents of that wet page. It was
mostly filled with NGO ads for volunteers helping children in need. Many listings, all urgently asking for help. At first, Dhruv didn't find anything unusual-until the wet mark kept drawing his attention. It was as though the person had spent an unusual amount of time
reading that page.
Dhruv continued to read the newspaper, his focus on the NGO ads for children's help. He flipped the page slowly, scanning for any clues. Then, an idea struck him. He pulled out his phone, opened the camera, and captured a photo of the wet page with the tea
stain. There was something odd about it, and he wanted to keep it for further analysis.
After taking the photo, he looked up and called the tea stall owner over,
"Hey, come here."
The tea stall owner approached the table, wiping his hands with a rag. He nodded respectfully,
"Yes, Sir. What do you need?"
Dhruv held up the newspaper and asked casually,
"The guy who was sitting here, drinking tea for a long time, left this newspaper and walked off. Do you know him?"
The tea stall owner shook his head,
"No, Sir. This is the first time I've seen him."
Dhruv stared at the man for a moment, then, without skipping a beat, spoke again, still reading the newspaper,
"Okay. By the way, you know that a young child died right outside your tea stall, right? You didn't see anything?"
The tea stall owner seemed startled but quickly replied,
"Sir, the man you're talking about, I was actually talking to him
when all this happened. There was a crowd gathered outside, and that's when I found out about the child's death."
Dhruv raised an eyebrow and leaned forward,
"Oh? What were you talking to him about? What did he say?"
The tea stall owner paused for a second, looking around as though making sure no one was listening too closely
"Sir, the man who was sitting here drinking tea earlier... he was
talking about wanting to help children. He was saying that if he ever sees a child in need, he would want to help. He seemed like a good person, wanting to make a difference."
Dhruv, still looking at the newspaper, turned his gaze toward the tea stall owner and asked casually,
"You didn't happen to see a knife used in the death of that child, did you?"
The tea stall owner shook his head,
"No, Sir. I didn't notice anything specific. I was just focused on my work."
Dhruv's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward slightly.
"It had a mark, a 'K' symbol on it. Did you see that on the knife?"
The tea stall owner looked confused and answered,
"No, Sir. How could I possibly know that? I didn't see anything like that."
Dhruv's expression darkened. He put on his glasses again, his tone growing colder as he spoke,
"That 'K' symbol... whoever this devil is, I will send them straight to hell."
With that, Dhruv stood up, his mind now fully focused on the murderer and the mark he had left behind
As Dhruv stood up and walked away, the tea stall owner remained behind, his expression unreadable. After a few moments, as Dhruv walked a little further, the tea stall owner was left alone at the table. He gave a mysterious smile, almost as though the death of
the child didn't bother him at all. But Dhruv didn't notice this-he was focused on his task ahead.
The tea stall owner, after Dhruv had left, picked up the newspaper that had been carelessly left behind. Without a second thought, he set the newspaper on fire, watching it burn slowly. His eyes stayed fixed on the flames for a while, before he calmly returned to his work, sitting at the same table and staring at the spot where Dhruv had just been moments before.
It was 12 AM, the clock struck midnight, and the scene shifted to an NGO - a shelter meant to help abandoned children. Outside, the rain was pouring relentlessly, its heavy patter against the windows adding to the tense atmosphere.
Inside, a staff member sat at his desk, looking bored as he sifted
through some paperwork. The stillness of the room was suddenly interrupted by the loud ring of the phone. The background noise from the call was unmistakable - the sounds of a party - music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses.
The staff member picked up the phone without hesitation, his voice calm and devoid of any emotion,
"Hello, Sir?"
The voice on the other end was slurred, as if the person was drunk, "Send over four or five young girls... make sure they look youthful. These party animals are starving, and we need them here soon."
The person didn't wait for a response and abruptly hung up.
Without even a second of hesitation or guilt, the staff member slowly placed the phone back on the receiver. A cold smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked down at the desk, a hint of dark satisfaction in his eyes. His expression was utterly untroubled, his mind clearly far from the idea of helping anyone. He was an active part of this corrupt operation, and the weight of his actions didn't seem to bother him at all.
He returned to his paperwork, his thoughts already elsewhere, as if the call had been just another ordinary part of his job.
The scene shifts to a private farmhouse on the outskirts of Mumbai, far from the bustling city centre. The night is alive with music,
laughter, and the sound of clinking glasses. A party is in full swing, but this is no ordinary celebration. In this isolated location, some of the biggest names in politics, business, and entertainment have
gathered. Many are clearly intoxicated, their behaviour wild and erratic. The atmosphere is full of excess, with drugs and alcohol flowing freely.
In the midst of the chaos, a car pulls up to the entrance. The
headlights cut through the darkness as it stops in front of the grand estate. The car's official markings indicate it's likely a police vehicle, but the presence of Officer Raja changes everything.
As the car door opens, Officer Raja steps out with a sinister smile spread across his face. His expression is menacing, and there's
something unsettling about the way he carries himself. He's flanked by several other police officers, all dressed in uniform, their faces stone-cold, as if they've done this countless times before. But what truly stands out is the group of girls accompanying them.
The girls - no older than 14-15 years old - are visibly terrified, crying, and screaming for help as they are dragged out of the car and into the party. The officers' grips are firm and unyielding, and
it's clear that these girls have been forcibly taken from somewhere.
Their voices rise in distress, but they're ignored as the officers march them toward the entrance of the farmhouse. These innocent girls have been thrust into a world of wealth and corruption, and
it's apparent that Officer Raja has a dark role to play in it all.
In the midst of the party, filled with loud music, laughter, and the stench of alcohol, a man approaches Inspector Raja. He's a
prominent politician, likely a local minister, with a glass of wine in his hand and an arrogant sway in his walk.
Minister (grinning):
"Aye Raja, you've finally arrived! Come, join the party."
Raja, his smile faint and cold, replies without emotion,
"I can't join the party, Minister Ji. I have work to do. I've been ordered to work under your Inspector Dhruv."
The Minister, pausing mid-sip, chuckles and reassures him,
"Raja Ji, why the long face? That chair is yours anyway. You just keep doing the work. Live like a king - your time is coming."
Suddenly, the shrieks and cries of four young girls echo from inside the farmhouse - terrified, pleading voices piercing through the
night.
The Minister halts, his wine glass raised halfway. He slowly turns his head toward the direction of the screams. A moment passes. Then he turns back to Raja, stepping closer. With a twisted smile, he
places a firm hand on Raja's shoulder and says quietly:
"Raja, you may go... but take their bodies with you. You know how
he is... our man at the top - he doesn't like noise."
