Secrets Best Hidden

Pragya Rao, an investigative journalist, felt vexed as it had been three weeks since her cousin, Simran, went missing from Ashajyoti Asylum for the Intellectually Disabled. She was the latest victim to have disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

Three weeks ago….

One day, her maternal aunt, Vandana, paid a visit to her house in JP Nagar. She was gasping for breath. Pragya tried to calm her down and said, "Aunt Vandana, please relax and don't panic. Take a deep breath and wait for me. I will make tea for both of us." She made her sit on the plush sofa and offered her a glass of water before she went to prepare tea.

The aroma of the ginger tea wafted through the living room as Vandana fidgeted with her dupatta, tying and untying the knots at the edges. Pragya entered the living room carrying a tray of cookies and two teacups. She caught her aunt wiping away her tears as she looked up.

Vandana's hands shook tremendously as she took the teacup from the tray. She hardly took a sip when the urge to cry got the better of her. She set her cup on the coffee table and started sobbing furiously. " Pragya," she wailed, "I am doomed. This morning, I received a phone call from the warden of Anandjyoti Asylum informing me that Simran had escaped from her confinement. The manager wanted to know if she had come home."

Pragya had heard rumors of alleged crimes taking place in the Asylum but had found no conclusive evidence to initiate criminal proceedings against the tainted NGO. She said, “Aunty, I assure you that I will do everything I can to save Simran and other inmates.”  Vandana handed over the visiting card of the Asylum.

Pragya opened her laptop and typed "Ashajyoti Asylum" into the search bar. As the results loaded, she scrolled through the information, her eyes narrowing at the statistics. The asylum housed 300 residents, but what caught her attention was the disproportionate number of women, 200 compared to just 100 men. An unsettling pattern emerged as she dug deeper: reports showed that over the past few years, the percentage of female admissions had been steadily rising, while male admissions remained stagnant. Several anonymous reviews mentioned odd disappearances of women from the records. Something wasn’t adding up, and Pragya’s suspicion grew.

She called her boyfriend, Inspector Prashant Kumar, and they decided to meet at a local café to discuss the case. Later that evening, Pragya wore a pink chiffon saree with matching earrings and a gold chain with a heart-shaped locket. Her face radiated the glow of happiness at the prospect of meeting her beloved. Finally, Pragya arrived at Rajkamal Café, where Prashant was waiting for her. He let out a wolf whistle and said, “Wow! You look amazing today. I think we should be dating each other more frequently. Look at your transformation from Plain Jane to Miss Gorgeous, 2024.”

Pragya blushed and replied, “Thank you so much for your generous compliments. Why don’t we go inside first and then resume our conversation over food?” Prashant had managed to reserve a table in the corner that offered more privacy. The waiter offered them glasses of water and took their orders. Pragya's facial expression changed.

She became serious and said, “Prashant, I have some bad news for you. My aunt, Vandana, told me that my cousin, Simran, is the latest to join the bandwagon of missing girls. She received a phone call from the warden this morning about Simran’s mysterious disappearance.”

Prashant's smile faded as he leaned in, his brows knitting together. "Missing girls? From the same asylum? This doesn’t sound like just another runaway case, Pragya."

Pragya nodded. "Exactly. There’s something sinister happening there, and I have a feeling it's connected to those rumors we heard about the asylum. But I need solid proof. Simran’s disappearance could be the key to cracking this wide open."

Prashant rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I’ve been hearing whispers about a human trafficking ring that operates under the radar, targeting vulnerable women. But nothing concrete. If that’s what’s going on here, we’re dealing with something much bigger than just a few missing girls."

Pragya’s eyes widened as Prashant's words confirmed her worst suspicions. "Then we have to act fast. Simran might still be alive, but we’re running out of time."

Over the next few days, Pragya dug deeper into the asylum’s finances, hoping to uncover any irregularities. She found a curious pattern—large, unexplained donations from offshore accounts, funneling into a private organization connected to the asylum’s board of trustees. A closer look revealed the organization’s obscure name: "Sanctus Vita," meaning "Sacred Life." It was linked to a series of underground cult activities.

As she shared the findings with Prashant, they concocted a plan to infiltrate the asylum. Posing as a journalist writing an article on mental health facilities, Pragya secured an interview with Dr. Raghavan, the asylum’s chief psychiatrist. Prashant, meanwhile, would tail her from a distance, ready to step in if anything went wrong.

The day of the interview arrived, and Pragya was led through the grim, sterile halls of Ashajyoti Asylum by a nurse whose hollow eyes hinted at secrets she dared not share. As they passed locked wards, Pragya noticed that many of the female patients seemed almost comatose, their eyes glazed over as if heavily sedated. Something wasn’t right.

Dr. Raghavan greeted Pragya with a cold, almost predatory smile. His office was cluttered with strange religious artifacts and eerie symbols that sent a chill down her spine. As they spoke, Pragya steered the conversation toward the missing girls, but Dr. Raghavan deflected her questions with well-practiced ease.

"Miss Rao, our patients are often troubled. Sometimes they leave, seeking escape from their minds. It’s tragic, but not uncommon in facilities like ours."

Pragya wasn’t buying it. As she excused herself to "use the restroom," she slipped into a restricted wing of the asylum she’d noticed earlier. The hallway was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of machinery. Her heart raced as she approached a door marked "Staff Only."

Inside, she found a horrifying sight—rows of women, including Simran, strapped to medical tables, unconscious, hooked up to IVs filled with a strange, glowing liquid. Behind them, cult-like symbols adorned the walls, and a group of robed figures was chanting softly. It was worse than she imagined: human trafficking wasn’t the end of it—this was some kind of ritualistic operation, feeding into a dark, twisted cult.

Pragya quickly snapped photos with her phone, but as she turned to leave, she bumped into Dr. Raghavan, who had followed her. His eyes burned with a maniacal intensity. "You’ve seen too much," he whispered, lunging at her with a syringe. Pragya dodged, but the door was blocked by two of his guards. She was trapped.

Just as the situation seemed hopeless, a loud crash echoed through the hallway. Prashant burst in with a small team of officers, guns drawn. "Police! Drop the syringe!" he shouted.

A chaotic scuffle ensued, but Dr. Raghavan and his cult were no match for the well-trained officers. The guards were subdued, and Prashant handcuffed Dr. Raghavan himself. "You’re under arrest for human trafficking and conspiracy to commit murder," he growled.

Pragya rushed to Simran’s side, checking her pulse. She was alive, but barely. As the officers called for medical backup, Pragya leaned on Prashant, exhausted but relieved. "We did it," she whispered.

Prashant nodded, his face grim. "But this is only the beginning. We need to dismantle the entire network."

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of investigations, exposing a widespread trafficking ring that stretched across multiple cities. The "Sanctus Vita" cult had been using the asylum as a front to abduct women for their twisted rituals, believing that they could attain immortality through dark rites.

Simran and the other women were eventually freed and reunited with their families. The asylum was shut down, and Dr. Raghavan and his associates were sentenced to life imprisonment.

As Pragya stood by her cousin’s side in the hospital, she felt a wave of gratitude. "Secrets best hidden never stay that way for long," she thought. Simran smiled weakly, and for the first time in weeks, Pragya allowed herself to breathe freely again.