Twisha Ghosh

Crime Thriller


Twisha Ghosh

Crime Thriller



8 mins

"I was late. It was almost 11 pm at night, and I was walking down the deserted Nehru Road , one of the most disesteemed roads in Delhi. I wasn't afraid. I had nothing with me, except a few coins in my purse ( that was the reason I couldn't take a rickshaw.).  The dim street lights produced a mystical apperance of the already mystery laden road. It was not disregarded in the sense that there was frequent robbery going on here, neither had anyone ever experienced it. It was a recent incident that has put the name of Nehru Road at the top of the blacklisted lanes. A person, named something like Mr. Bharadwaj or Mr. Bhatt, who was one of the top jwellery merchants in Delhi, was travelling by this lane late at night, and he never reached home. He disappeared. There was a lot of hue and cry about this, the police were informed, but nothing could be done. The man was not found. After this, some more similar incidents were reported. People simply disappeared while traveling by this lane , late at night. The police could not do anything. Common people became afraid of Nehru Road. They rather took a long, circuitous route to reach their destination, although this road, situated at the heart of Delhi, was the shortcut route both to the main bazaar and the rail station. 

I was a young journalist, and did not want to follow the general trend. So, I was there, on the under reputed road, LATE AT NIGHT! I should be honest, I was not at all afraid of disappearing, but the only thing I was (and still I am) afraid of, was ghosts. I simply could not resist the feeling that someone was watching over me. Everytime I heard a sound , a cold shiver ran down my spine, and I turned my head vigorously in search of any fearsome nocturnal creature, only to find an owl screeching and flying over me from the branches of a tree, or a dog crossing the road, stepping over and crunching the dried leaves lying here and there. 

I have always chosen the Nehru Road to travel from my apartment to my office and for the return journey. 

It was a shortcut route, and I enjoyed traveling on it. But that day, something was different. I was constantly having a feeling that someone was watching over me. I felt really uncomfortable. My hands were already cold as it was middle of December, now they became numb. I had to cover the birthday party of a celebrity that day, so I was also very tired. The uncomfortable feeling became even more profound. It seemed like the dark night was coming to swallow me. The tension in the air excited my tired nerves, and suddenly I became aware of something around me. It was not a feeling. I was sure. Before I could determine what it was, a nasty smelling cloth was pressed over my nostrils. I struggled with all my might to break free of the slowly and tightly closing grasps around my neck and eyes. My senses were slowly leaving me. I could not remember anything from the next three to four hours.

I slowly opened my eyes. There was bright light all around me. I was dazzled at first. Then, slowly recovering, I sat up, to find myself on a dirty bed in an even more dirty room. I could feel the absense of my cellphone and purse in my jeans pockets. Directly facing me, was a sofa.Two men were seated there. One was in a punk t-shirt and distressed jeans, and the other was richly suited. The suited man was quite handsome, although that ugly smirk on his face made him look like a wolf. The other one was exactly like a typical murderer with his prominent muscles and stern face with cold eyes. He looked like a snake.

I tried to get down from the bed, but the suited man raised up his hand, instructing me to stop. I stopped.

"Goodmorning, young lady, " he said. I returned the wish. "So, you are Vaani Chaudhary, am I right? The writer of " The Black World " ?" With the utterance of the article's name, the smirk wiped off from his face, and it looked angrier. I nodded in response. "As far as I know, you have only been for one and a half year in this career. Who said you to write such a detailed article on underground activities? Who provided you with the information? " 

My mental strength was slowly returning. I did not quiver for once when that chilly voice echoed through the room. I gathered up myself and said, " My brother. He is a police officer. "

"YOU ARE LYING!!!" He bellowed. I knew it was a lie. But I remained silent. "Do you know who I am?" he asked again. Although I had recognised him the moment the smirk wiped off, I said nothing. " I am John Sterham, the man...." I finished his sentence, " who rules the hell." 

" Shut up, you foolish girl ! Don't you dare say that! You know what happened to the others...." I saw a pistol popped up in his hand, targeted at me. I was amazed by my nerve power. I should have howled, cried, begged for my life, and so on. But I simply sat still. This enraged him even more. " Grefas!" He shouted . I restrained myself from laughing, with great difficulty. What sort of a name was that? Grefas!? 

Anyways, I did not want to make John more angry, so I kept my mouth shut. Grefas or whatever that man was, came over and held my hands, tightly folding them at my back. It pained so much, I felt like kicking him. John pointed the pistol at me, now steadying his aim. 

 I shut my eyes and thought of my parents and my sister, and waited patiently for the death. I wasn't afraid at all. The mystery of the disappearing people slowly cleared up in my brain. The jewellry merchant, the other people among whom there were a few policemen, an IPS officer , and some small scale tradesmen, they witnessed this hell-ruler's nauseating crimes. They protested. And that's why they disappeared, may be from the face of the earth. Delhi police are still struggling to track down this man's abode, which may also be referred to as the headquarters of the criminal activities; owing to the fact that this man changes his location every two weeks. No one has yet been able to find out his actual residense. Whatever he is, he is intelligent, I must say, to have fooled the police for one and a half year and till date. Again, the thoughts of the disappearing people came back to me. I did what they had done. Like them, I too protested. So, today it's my time to go. I will go.

 But, suddenly, something clicked my mind. Why should this horrid creature win every time? Why should I surrender myself to this criminal?!? I have done what I ought to have done, as per my profession and humanitism. YES, I WROTE THAT EXCLUSIVE ARTICLE ON UNDERGROUND MOVEMENTS, WITH MAXIMUM DETAILS I GOT FROM ONE OF MY MOST TRUSTED SOURCES. I FULLY KNEW THE CONSEQUENCES. AND I SUFFERED THOSE TOO! 

 My cold mind suddenly filled with anger and energy. I punched Grefas with my elbow, making him drop with a thud. I jumped from the bed and shot out a perfect karate kick to John on his knee. He howled in pain, dropping his revolver. I wasted no time. Although my hands were shaking, I shot both of them in both the legs. I could not kill them. I broke open the rugged door and ran outside. It was almost six in the morning. I found the habildar on the road, and gave out everything to him. He was most patient to me, and after hearing me, he called up to the police station. They came up and then those two were arrested.  Everything followed accordingly. I requested the police to keep my name out of this. So, here I am today. This is my story." 75 years old Vaani Chaudhary stopped. The camera clicked the last shot and was shut. Meera, the interviewer asked, " But you said about a lie. What was that? " 

 Vaani's face clinched with pain. With great difficulty, she uttered, " My elder sister was an IPS officer. She provided me with the information. She was the one who disappeared. I later came to know that she was killed that very day......She was such a promising leader....such a good friend, guide... Although we didn't have much connection after entering our professions, so I didn't knew much about her personal life then, but she helped me with this project to such a huge extent.....", Vaani started crying. Meera patted her on the back. She rose up and came near the window.

  Then she said goodbye to Vaani and came out of the flat . Clearly, Vaani did not knew much about her sister's personal life after she became an IPS officer. Or maybe her sister, Lavanya did not choose to speak about it. Memories flashbacked in Meera's mind. What age was she then? Maybe one or two years, when her parents were shot down by this John. The cause was not known to Meera. After the horrific death of her parents, Lavanya, who may had been her father's colleague, stole her away from their bungalow one night. She had raised her up like her own daughter. Meera came to know about all of these when she was ten. Lavanya herself told her. Meera adored her and loved her as much as she loved her mother. She had only passed her ICSE examination, when Lavanya was killed.

 Vaani must have put a fullstop to her journalism character after that incident. And she did not keep any more updates about those men and the whole gang that was caught later. If she had, then she must have known, that they were murdered in the jail itself, the night they were captured. No body have been able to find out till date, who and how have/had done it.  But Meera knew. After all, it was she who had done it. That dark night....well, it's another story...some day later may be.....

 Meera smiled and kept walking.

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