A/N: Back with an update.
Now seriously, I loved your reviews it got me motivated and fired-up to write and publish a chapter as soon as possible—and I managed to neglect my other story. :P
Although, it took me a while to write and since I had no time to tweak minor details there might be few or many errors. Like I promised, I'll gradually increase the ugly factor or perhaps I won't, depending on my mood which is fairly happy all the time, so there might be time when the craziness factor will be avoided. I don't know if you people are enjoying or not but I seriously hope you do, and by your reviews I think I'm doing a fairly good job. So thank you again, I really appreciate your precious reviews.
So, a lot of Out of Character portrayal will be there, since this is an Alternate Universe based story.
Again with the warning, if you get easily offended: Do Not Read This Story.
I condemn everything that I've written and will probably write in future. I support no crime, drinking, and smoking or whatsoever.
Rated: M or 18+
Disclaimer: Show belongs to Sony TV India and Mr. B.P. Singh.
WARNING: Story contains a lot of violence/gore, coarse language, and nudity, mentions of substance abuse, child abuse, molestation, and implied rape, along with smoking and alcohol also contemplation of God factor.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
BLOOD
Chapter 2: Egoism
Daya met Pankaj on his way out, who immediately removed his sun-glasses out of respect for the senior. But, ignoring him the older man walked straight towards the car. The young man confused and thoughtful of what he should do; simply shrugged and entered the station. He needed a copy of all the footages starting from the club to nearby places, curious to see the night before the murder. Hoping the station had any footage whatsoever from nearby places, he met the chief inspector, Anurag.
Saluting the designated officer, he was offered a seat but he declined. Simply getting straight to the point, he opened his mouth to speak but was distracted seeing the distraught young man. The oddment got the better off his easily perturbing mind, so asked.
"Kaun hai ye, sir?"
"Woh?" The man pointed towards the teenager who was on talking to his phone for some assistance, "ladka jisne woh photo khichi thi."
"Toh kuch kaha usne?" Pankaj asked.
"Nothing worthwhile," The inspector about 40, walked towards his chair and took a seat, "Bacha hai, galti ki hai facebook pe famous ho ne ke liye. Ab CID iske ke piche lag gayi hai, kya karega? Roh raha hai bechara."
His nonchalant jab at C.I.D. greatly offended Pankaj. He exactly knew the officer was displaying his position by stabbing from behind, people like him made Pankaj wonder when he would get a promotion just to silence them; and people like him deserved a punch to the face by him. Pankaj had got the notion crystal clear, and this inspector was not the only one who hated their department. They were proclaimed to steal the local police's glory of solving cases, C.I.D. made people question their ability. The police, they could not digest it. So once in a while, they make some remarks on them, not to the senior officers but to them, the lower rank officer.
"Ab padegi na sir, jab laash ko dekh ke sidhe apko inform kie bagair photo khich ke daal di hai." Said the younger sub-inspector Pankaj, who swallowed the anger, grinning when he saw the rival officer amused stare. Pankaj really meant that the guy should've called them instead, which the officer clearly missed. Proving their intelligence Pankaj kept his stupid smile plastered on his face.
"Toh kya kaam tha? Tumhare senior inspector yahaan pe aake uthal puthal macha di."
Hearing the statement the smile Pankaj held got even wider, "Sir, humare purre dabangg hai."
"Dekha maine, toh muddhe pe ao, kya chahiyetha tumhe?"
"Mujhe woh club ki aur uske aas paas ke jitne bhi camera lage hue hai, sabki footage chahiye." Pankaj foretold with resolve. But the man leaned back, relaxed into his chair.
"Agar nahi di toh?" an attempt to provoke him, Pankaj merely avoided by saying,
"Kuch nahi, case jaldi solve nahi hogi, aur purra blame aapko jayega."
"Woh kaise?" The Inspector leaned forward, placing both his elbows on the table and observed him. It was Pankaj's attempt to offend the officer.
"Aap ek case mein dakhal de rahe hai isliye? You will be delaying an already long procedure." The stare-off continued, between a lower ranked officer and a superior. Now, Pankaj did not fear him, there was nothing to fear of. But he did feared Daya, he did not deserve his wrath if the case takes long enough to crack. He would fail to impress him, fail to build his disintegrating repo, and fail to be known as a good cop. That he does not want to accept, he wanted to prove that he is just as good as the senior officer, he could solve this murder.
The officer stared for a second and spoke, "Tum kehna chahte ho hamare wajaha se case solve nahi hoti?"
"Dekhiye sir, main debate karne nahi ayaa." Pankaj was getting anxious by second under the senior officer gaze, "Daya sir mera baahar intezaar kar rahe hai. Akela hota toh jaroor apke saath chaiye pe charcha karleta, par mujhe nikalna hai. Jaldi kijiye, mere paas waqt bahot kum hai."
"Kyun? Biwi ki delivery hai? Itni jaldi kyun hai tumko?" This man was getting under his nerves, but sealing a rude remark he just simply smiled, and said
"Please sir dijiyena, Uparwala meherban hoga, upri maal bhi milegi aapko uss ladke ke Baap se jamaanat mein, dijiyena—dijiyena, footage ki copies dijiyena." He begged in his annoying pestering voice, which flared an unresolved anger within the Chief Inspector. Pankaj had no shame whatsoever, so he kept begging while getting closer to the officer. And soon he lay under the man's feet and tugged his khaki.
Everyone in the station saw his desperate attempt to get what he desired; some chuckled while others' shook their head, disapproving C.I.D. officials approach. Getting embarrassed the senior officer finally accepted his defeat, and ordered a constable to give the copies of the footage to the man who had no shame, Pankaj.
When he was handed the discs, Pankaj did a celebratory bhangra and ran out the station. Not giving a chance for a rebuttal, he didn't even expect a rebuttal to begin with.
"Man, I knew my bhangra is good." He inwardly complimented his ability dance; he walked straight towards Daya who was waiting for him by their official SUV. But as soon as he was supposed to say something, his senior, Daya's phone rung and it hadn't been changed for ages.
"Haan Tarika?..." Daya acknowledged Pankaj with a nod, and walked towards the driving side still speaking, "Body milgai?... Identified bhi ho gayi? Achi baat hai, hum dono wahaan ah rahe hain."
Ending the call, he stole a glance at the junior officer, who held several discs. "Woh sab kisliye?", he exactly knew why, but he needed to hear the man speak. Nevertheless, he put the vehicle on ignition and began driving towards their forensic office.
"Ji sir, woh malkeen se baat hui thi, usne kaha parso raat ko kisine club mein ched-chad kit hi toh uske bodyguards ne usse bahar phek di thi. Toh footage dekhne ke liye…"
"Malkin ko dekhne ke liye?" He raised an eye-brow, to ease a tension that Pankaj must be thinking to be there.
"Nahi, sir… Kabhi kabhar qaatil ki pehchan chehre se ho jaati hai." Hearing this Daya narrowed his eyes, his face still facing the road where he was cutting through the traffic. When Pankaj saw Daya's expression he suddenly became aware of the opposition or a scold, so he added, "Club ke aas paas ke CCTV footage bhi hai isme sir, kya pataa kuch mil jae?"
"Yaad rakhna Pankaj, ye TV show ya film nahi ki sab kuch zoom karke pataa chal jaega." He took a sharp turn, now everyone in the bureau knew Daya was a reckless driver when he had the wheel. Pankaj managed to hold on to the handle over his head on the left.
"Aap chinta mat kijiye sir, mera ek dost hai jo video edit-vedit karleta hai. Usse clarity nikal ayega. We'll surely identify a suspect." He stated.
"Not we, you. Ye sab tumhe hi solve karni hai. Credit bhi tumhiko lena padega."
"Par sir," But was interrupted by his senior officer's dismissal shrug. Daya was perfectly mindful of Pankaj good nature, and this proved how good he is. No wonder Freddy had hijacked all his work. A sigh escaped his lips, determining not to dwell in Freddy's nonsensical drug induced imaginative adventures, his last thought of the day wondered over his curiosity—to finally understand the nature of murder. Not to mention to finally be aware of the name of the poor victim.
. . . .
Manaswini, AKA Manju have a little brother, Arjun Kesav whom she rather fondly called Golu. Well, she had gifted him the name Arjun after-all—a warrior from the past. Since, her brother was a fighter; he has been fighting a disease called CIPA since he was born. He never felt any pain, a rare disease—as an infant it was very difficult while growing. When she learnt about it she was about 10, and seeing her brother's bleeding mouth while he kept playing with a toy. She was unsettled at-first, when she did not see her brother cry; she realized he had bitten his tongue to the point of bleeding. About 1 and a half year old and he had to learn not to bit his own tongue or any part of his body.
It went extreme; when her abusive step-father decided to keep breaking his teeth till he was able learn himself. So, she became his shadow, protecting him from harming himself unconsciously. Her mother married a man who ultimately killed her in his drunken daze, not even two days after giving birth to Golu. She fed him, made him the man that is now perfect. So pathetic, her step-father—no a vermin, he deserved death after all he had done to her, and her friends in their little town.
But, her brother—so innocent, so naïve does not deserved death; and thus she fled. She fled to her heart's content. The world was ugly, and her scar proved its existence. She taught her brother about the vile creatures, the abomination, and the dwelling animals with two feet called humans.
Countless times, it felt like eternity when her body underwent abuses, but she remained strong—for the sake of her little brother. But eventually, her wounds were healed by the man who married her. He accepted her despite the damage; even he shared the same mentations regarding life, perfect and complete—misanthropes. In their broken self they managed to find love, which was rather complicated to begin with.
Her mentor was an Israeli immigrant, who was settled in Maharashtra—the one who found her, petrified of the world—and her fear of people. He taught her things which she didn't dare to imagine alone with her brother. A home to grow up, books to study—gain knowledge, finally liberated. She developed a penchant to learn sign language, just to converse with her deaf-mute brother, Golu; who did learned and became fluent to express his emotions.
The man taught Arjun to become invincible, by taking care of his body—to be aware of the threat known as humans—proficient in martial arts called Krav Maga. She must confess, and won't deny that she hated mankind along with the false hope people spew every day, the promise that God will eventually punish the man when she told people about her step-father's assaults. But it was not God; it was the people who finally noticed the perverted monster not only exercised heinous crimes on his own daughter but also theirs, so they mutilated him for good. Forgetting the God, whom they preached as a savior, they took action on their own—and it was not God it was them. It was all for good, it was for them, their guilty pleasure, hopeful delight that they had slain a demon.
In a crowd, people lose their minds, and she had experienced the nightmare, when they came to her, to take her innocent brother—to be a sacrificial lamb, to bath in his blood for salvation. Imagining the little soul to become a devil much like his father, he was supposed to be left for dead. She could not let that happen, her brother did not deserved death, he was only 5—he was not even aware what death and crime was. So, she cursed them for a drought, and fled from their little town and came to Mumbai, in hope to find what people called hope.
Hope was similar to or was exactly like God, and for her both never existed.
If God could only do the good, then she learned a person can be God, an existing one too.
The now 75 years old Lazer Ismail Ben-Ezra, used to serve the Israeli military back in the day. And, he visited the colorful India for some spiritual enlightenment—after hearing the nation's wonderful commentaries from his associates back in his country. He was curious man nevertheless, he desired to roam all around the globe, collecting knowledge—picking smallest everything as a token to serve his memory. He expected to settle down somewhere- anywhere but his own conflicted country. He was in India for about 28 years now, as he found love he settled down. A good man he was, as he not only paid for her school but also taught her brothers several physical exercises to resist his mental trauma which often made him violent for no reason.
He did all in the name of God, for a God. But for her, it was humanity, or what was left of it.
Lazer was akin to a father she didn't have, that she believed. Although the man did not get married, but he had a spiritual wife—he was a widow. So, he opened a martial arts institute to teach kids, men and women to defend themselves. Although, she chose not to use her fist—she studied to become a nurse. So, that she can help her brother whenever he got hurt.
And he's been getting in lot of trouble recently.
Her vision found the man whom she was pondering about, her brother now 23 came to her bleeding from his hand. It still unnerved her, seeing him not crying or screaming whenever he got hurt. He was avoiding eye contact, looking elsewhere. She knew he was searching for Lazer, he disciplined him not to enter petty fights, but her brother somehow managed to get fights wherever he went. Goons found him fearless, thinking he was brave to face them, but the truth was—her brother cannot hear danger. So he fought people, unaware the people he had been beating were petty wannabe gangsters.
No matter how many times she threatened, beaten him, he never understood to stay out of trouble.
Her concern grew when she saw the wound, a gap on his right palm, and he was looking pale in comparison to his usual caramel brown skin. Getting right to her professional mothering nature, she tended his wounds. She'll have to talk later about it. While she tended, her vision fell upon another place where he was bleeding from—his head. Unceremonially she massaged to notice the wound was practically closed now, but the skin still felt damp. She'll do something about that later.
Half-an hour later, after stopping the bleeding and closing the wound she sat before him.
Not speaking anything, she allowed him to open his talks through using sign language. She knew he'll try to use both hands but she had to prevent him from using the right hand for now. So, she began the conversation,
/Tu us haath kuch din ke liye use nahi kar sakta, samjha ke nahi?/
He nodded, and she asked, /Yeh sab kaise hua? Ek hi haath se explain kar/
He did not say anything, just kept his head low. But she soon realized what the reason was. He had been drinking, /Peene laga hai tu? Hai na?/
Furious, she hit him with a water bottle which she held. It hit his shoulder; he neither flinched nor evaded her beating. Accepting the bottle hit, and the slap which she followed—he still did not expressed anything.
/Narang ki tarah banana chahta hai? Ha? Uske tarah rapist bannaa hai tujhe?/ Her anger got the better out of her, as she did not realize she had been punching him. His mouth split open, and her barrage stopped seeing the slight bruise along with a little blood. Composing herself, she brought a bottle of alcohol, and solemnly tended him again.
/Kitni paresan hoon tujhe lekar maloom hai? Kab taq aise chalta rahega, tere yeh jhagde? Socha ki tujhe Lazer uncle sudhar denge par tu waise ka waisa hai. Ek gunda!/ She sighed, and sat back into the chair before him. /Tere jiju kitni taqleefe utha te hai maloom hai tujhe? Tere iss gunda gardi ki wajah se unhe koi na koi har roz paresan karta hai, kab sudhrega tu?/
/Jijja ji bhi toh, marte piit-te hai logon ko/ He finally retorted, using his left hand he somehow managed to make a full statement.
/Woh security sambhalte hai, unka kaam hai bigde hue logon ko bahar bhejna, par tu—tu kis kaam ka hai?/ His anger flared, yet he didn't said his inner turmoil. Fearing he might hurt his sister's sentiment he took the barrage of verbal assaults, but he chose to remain silent.
Feeling sorry for her mute brother she walked towards him and stood in-front of him. His head still low—ashamed, angry and perplexed. She gently caressed his curly black hair fondly, to which he reacted by tensing his muscles. He knew it wasn't the pain that was hurting him, but his sister's harsh words. Her temper was well-known amongst the circle consisting of, Lazer, his brother-in-law and him. No one raised their voice against her, fearing they might shatter her already broken soul.
/Ye sab kaise hua?/
/Mujhe, mujhe yaad nahi/ he finally confessed. She narrowed her eyes, perfectly aware of his violent tendency and forgetting the fragments after his explosive temper.
/Kyun? Hulk hai tu?/ she attempted to loosen up the tension that was building between both of them. For some unknown reason, she was getting the idea that her brother was going wayward with his blackout problems. She felt he did not trust her anymore, with all the secrecy he held—it might be his only explanation,
/Sach mein, mujhe kuch yaad nahi/
/Tujhpe kisine chaaku se hamla kiya hai, aur tujhe maloom bhi nahi? Kaise yakeen karu tere baat par, Golu, kaise?/ , hearing about the attack his eyes widened in realization; he had stabbed a man in the neck. Desperately seeking his conscience to compose himself before his sister, but failing miserably as she picked up his stress.
/Kya kiya tune? Bol kya kiya?/ she knelt down before him, trying to see his eyes while he tried more-and-more to not face her. He needed to lie.
/Maine… maine, uspe vaapas hamla kiya./ But failed haplessly.
/Kya kiya tumne?/ She spoke softly, composing her inward temper.
/Uske gale pe vaar kiya./
At that she became quiet, and wondered what she should feel like. Part of her was angry hearing about his violent tendency, and another part of her was glad her brother retaliated back to whomever that was. But her days of assault got the better of her when she said,
/Acha kiya./
. . . .
Reaching the forensic office, Daya was greeted by the junior doctors, while most of them ignored Pankaj, who neither cared nor paid attention to those nuisances. Daya's long and fast strides were difficult to follow for a short man like him. He was about five feet behind him, when Daya broke into the chamber where normally Salunkhe and his assistance usually speak with the dead.
But, he got a surprise. Seeing Tarika was all alone, expecting to see Salunkhe probably sleeping near a body he looked around, and so did his companion who finally entered the room.
"Tarika ji, kya baat hai aaj Salunkhe sir dikhai nahi de rahe hai?" He asked in his overly cheerful tone, which no matter what Daya found annoying, but he remained quiet.
Hearing the familiar voice she turned around and faced them, smiling wide—she greeted them warmly, "Hello Pankaj, aaj Sir gaye hai kisi medical college mein seminar dene keliye."
"Toh Sir ki aaj…" He was interrupted when he saw Daya greeting his teeth, means his temper was overcoming his usual calm face. He cowered behind him.
Tarika certainly knew Daya's famous temper, but he never acted this way towards someone like Pankaj or Freddy. He usually was ignorant of their stupidity, but today he seemed different. He was at her home the day before yesterday along with Abhijeet, for a movie. Truthfully, she did not expect him to show up. Not that she cared about his and Abhijeet's friendly endeavor, but she would rather enjoy if Abhijeet was there alone, and not with his friend. She did not held grudge, but lately Daya had been a buzz kill in their secret relationship, being the third wheel he was following them like a hawk. And it was rather unnerving, she did not like it, well, she did not like Daya to begin with—truthfully confessing. But he was a senior officer, so she needed to put on a smile—hopefully, he won't notice the fakeness behind her smile.
Unknown to the fact, that Daya had perfectly acknowledged her little secret hatred towards him.
"Straight to the point, so much like you, Daya." The sarcasm was visible to him, so he faked his own smile without speaking anything.
"Iska naam, Govind Nagarajan hai. Tumhe yeh jaan kar hairani hogi, ki yeh wanted tha sex trafficking ke liye."
"Kya?,"
"Yes, mujhe bhi shock laga, yeh Tamil Nadu se ladkiyon ki dalaali karta tha India ke baahar. Wahaan ke police se puch tach ki toh pataa chala iske bare mein. Tumhe bataa du, iske paas koi bhi identification proof nahi hai, bas criminal database pe search kiya toh pata chala. Abhi yeh kaise desh ke baahar ladkiyan bheja karta tha ye maloom nahi." Her eyebrows furrowed, disgusted at the man whom she dissected for any traces of cause.
"Woh maloom karna, police ka kaam hai," Daya sullenly spoke which greatly offended her.
Hearing the information Daya sighed dejectedly, the crime rate was nowhere getting extinct yet it is increasing every year. A murder of a criminal, and he had no idea how to feel, "Apne inform kardiya sir ko?" A murder was a murder, an offence, which the law rightfully criticized, does a criminal being murdered unlawfully make people feel good about themselves?
"Ji, Abhijeet sir pataa lagane gaye hai," She answered.
"Woh jo kiile ville thi, usme se finger prints ya phir DNA kuch mila?"
"Haan, par database se kuch pataa nahi chalaa."
He never understood, he dared not to go through his narrow-minded nature—fearing he might find something inside him. A police officer should not get drown in their own feeling, he was not the law—it was the law that made him what he was—senior Inspector Daya not the other way around.
Did he pity the man who was dead? He did, when he did not know about his crimes, but after he was aware of the things he had done to those poor girls, he was rather, disturbingly—indifferent.
Shoving both his hands in his jeans, he felt the pack of cigarette on his right pocket which he desperately needed to throw out, or smoke out.
"Aur kuch pataa chala, ye, iski maut kaise hui?" He stood near the body observing the sewn eyes, and the sealed lips.
"Obviously, kisi dhaar-daar cheez se, aur haan, iske blood mein se heroin ki traces mili hai. Mere hisaab se, iske marne se pehle isne sab kuch dekha tha, par hosh kho chukka tha." Tarika walked towards another dead whom had nothing to do with this case, it was a simple murder—with poison.
"He saw his own death," Pankaj who was silent all this time, finally spoke. Unlike Daya, he was glad that this man died a terrible death. Blinding rage builds a structure in his subconscious mind, and soon he found himself inside his head. Although, he was unable to see his own form, but he imagined Nagarajan grinning towards him, hung to the hook, stripped from his skin, eyes lashes sewn to the brow, but his mouth was left open to grin. Grimacing, Pankaj raised his gun totting hand towards the Nagarajan, or what was left of him, and shot a bullet which exploded his very head.
He didn't realize that Tarika was talking to him,"Kahaan kho gaye? Tumhara phone kab se baj raha hai."
Excusing himself, he brought out his phone and rejected the offensive machine.
"Heroin?" Daya's voice broke the countenant atmosphere, but it was a question to him rather not for others. He thought out loud, wondering about illegal substance which was still available despite secure connection of law officers.
'Sab kuch chalta hai yahaan; Mera Bhaarat mahaan.' Ruefully he thought— sarcasm laced.
"Inject ki gayi thi, aur woh bhi overdosed. Jiski vajaha se iski khoon ki dhaar moti ho gayithi… he felt no pain while he died an agonizing death." Tarika's eye narrowed, imagining the horrible anguish the man could've felt. But undaunted at her own finality, she accepted that this man died rightfully. She cannot even comprehend what those girls would be going through, when they were sold to an unknown fate by this man.
Guilt ridden, Daya was verbally abusing his own conscience, which was supporting the unlawful death the man that died an atrocious. His dilemma was he could not decide if he accepted or neglected his own verdict, and this made him even angrier. Also the fact that he goaded a teenager of disrespecting this animal made things even more complicated; it did not made him feel any better. Silent, and foreboding his wrath feeded up more fuel yet he somehow managed to compose himself, not needing the surge to break things.
"Duniya se ek bojh toh kam hua," Pankaj spoke out loud, but tensed when he saw Daya's narrowed eyes. Unware of the conflict the senior officer was heeding to. Nevertheless, Daya chose to ignore him.
"Aisa ho sakta hai ki qaatil isse dard dena nahi chahta tha?" When he heard himself saying this Daya felt even more disgusted,
And his headache worsened ten-fold.
But then, a familiar voice echoed in the hallway,
"Kya? Salunkhe saab aaj chutti pe? Mazaa agaya bhai." over-joyed, Abhijeet, a grown-ass man.
Tarika's eye lit up hearing it, while Daya grimaced to the source. A palpable hostility had arisen between them ever since Abhijeet told him about Tarika's displeasure of him hanging out with them. Although, he chose to not speak his mind out, he did contemplated when he got home. The feeling, the urge to lash out at his best-friend went buried deep within the darkest place of his heart.
The man entered joyfully, but got faltered mid-way when he saw his best-friend's towering form. Pankaj grinned boyishly, seeing the jovial sharp-shooter of an officer. He always enjoyed the company of Abhijeet more than the counter-part, contrasting Daya who never talked much; and for an extrovert person like him, Pankaj found Daya's personality rather bland.
Daya was more secretive amongst the whole C.I.D. personnels.
"Arrey dost tum yahaan? Kuch pataa chalaa iske baare mein?" He asked, desperately seeking his eyes which looked disinterested staying here. When Abhijeet told him that he was not expected, he went into a guilt trip. It was no way to tell a friend right to his face, but as a straight-forward man—he did not expect the thing to be hidden inside. Since then, Daya somewhat remained out of the picture. He locked himself in the house, didn't pick up calls like he normally did.
Abhijeet was concerned, when ACP told him that Daya's temper was beyond bad today—he wondered if his talk with him made him what he was today. Sincerely dismissing the thought he shrugged the feeling that their friendship was in a thin sheet of foil which can break if not seen.
Taking a deep breath, Daya exhaled the bitterness which was formed by his tongue—he took another breath, "Sirf naam, aur kaam. Tumhe kuch pataa chala?"
Tarika interjected, "Woh maine unhe bataa di thi ki aap iske bare mein puch tach karne gaye the."
"Toh kuch pataa chala, Abhijeet?" Daya asked again, and this time he looked at face unreadable, and emotions cold as Neptune. His hidden disdain towards Abhijeet's secrecy was laced in his speech pattern which none picked up.
"Haan, ye deal samandar ke beech mein karta tha, jis ship ko yeh use karta tha use jabbt kar liya gayaa hai. Baaki sab dhir dhire pataa lagega, iske network ke bare mein." He stood before the dead body, opposite to where Daya stood—and they were face to face. The hostility was one-sided, and Pankaj realized it when he saw Daya massaging his forehead, brows furrowed—and his worry lines visible.
"Tum thik toh ho?"
"Bilkul bhai, mujhe kya hoga?" Daya replied with a false smile, staring few seconds towards his best-friend, the sharp-shooting officer turned his attention towards Tarika with a mischief glint in his eyes.
"Tarika ji," He said her name exaggerating with a drawl, "Aaj toh aap kamaal lag rahi hai,"
She dipped her head, shyly—she spoke, "Touché,"
Daya had enough of their secrecy, now he dreadfully wanted to express his mind and not bury his inner most disgust at their public display of affection. On the contrary, he did not wish to hurt this new couple which was failing to keep everything a secret.
"Aap log lage rahiye main chalaa kuch kaam-vaam karne," The words went out unexpectedly, and the smile which both of them wore disappeared. Abhijeet silent frown was enough for Pankaj to make his way out of the room. No choice was left for Daya, who remained where he was, so as to explain—to give a valid reason behind his mockery.
"Kya kehna chahte ho, Daya?" Daya's best-friend challenged him, "Hum log kuch kaam nahi karte?"
Now Abhijeet was a short-tempered man, much similar to Daya—and the only thing that they didn't share was their way to express. Abhijeet was very much good with words, whilst Daya was not. Both were Alpha and both had their fair experiences of trouble but conflict they shared none.
But this time, it seems everything was changing.
Tarika grimaced at the tone Daya used, disliking the man more and more regardless she chose to remain quiet and let the man defend themselves. Demoralized all of a sudden Daya sighed; knowing his little contempt towards them was out.
"Tum kya jatana chahte ho ye sab karke?"
"Kya karke?" Abhijeet was getting anxious, he knew what Daya wanted to say but he needed to hear it from his mouth. But, Daya had other plan—he wanted to avoid a fight, and so he wanted to get out. His gaze fell upon a wall clock, which gave him a way to escape. It was around 2 o'clock in the after-noon and he suddenly was hungry.
"Baad mein baat karenge, abhi mujhe nikalna hai lunch ke liye." He was turned his heel towards the door, but heard Abhijeet speak automatically,
"Chalo mein bhi chalta hoon."
Guess there will be a conflict, and it cannot be avoided. Seeing Daya walking out of the room, Abhijeet sought Tarika's eyes who did not return his gaze.
Daya stormed out of the room in his usual fast strides, and his long legs took him much farther. By the time Abhijeet got to him, he was already at the exit gate. Daya wore his sun-glasses to hide his expression much better, and wore his mask of indifference to face his counter-part, his brother in the past.
"Arrey yaar, thode dheeme chala karo, hum log tumhari tarah 6 foot 4 inch ke nahi hai," He still tried to lighten up his mood.
"Main 6 foot 2 ka hun,"
"Jo bhi ho, ho toh 6 foot ke upar hi na?" He then got quiet only to add, "Yahaan paas hi mein ek dhaaba hai bahut badhiya khana banaa ta hai, chalo kuch kha lete hai. Khate-khate kuch baatein bhi ho…"
"—mujhe bhook nahi hai," Daya stared towards the car, where Pankaj was talking to Nikhil who was surprisingly there. Perhaps he accompanied Abhijeet.
"Toh kya baat hai? Itne ruthe hue kyun ho?"
"Rutha? Main kya chota bacha hoon?" Daya glared through his sun-glasses, his temper was getting a rise.
Abhijeet felt the heat of his Daya's angry, and goaded, "Aur nahi toh kya? Agar kuch kehna hai toh muh par bolo na? Adhi baat karke nikal aye, agar kuch problem hai, mujhse koi bhool hui hai toh mere muh par bolo. Aise pett pe chupane se bhook nahi hogi."
"Ab tum mujhe sikhaoge kya karna hai aur kya nahi?" Daya's violent ire began to surface on his face, and the marks were visible. The grimacing layer and the intimidating aura he possessed surrounded him.
Abhijeet frowned, "Haan, agar tum mein kehne ki kabiliyat nahi hai, toh sikhana hi padega na mujhe."
"Tum sikhaoge? Ab kya khana, piina, gand dhona sab tumse phir se sikhna padega? Tumhe kya mein 8 mahine ka bacha dikhayi deta hun?," It was not the first time Abhijeet had heard Daya curse, but he usually used those terms on perpetrators not to a friendly. Hearing Daya's voice increase, people who were scattered, stopped and their curious gazes fell upon them. But Daya was not done, he had a lot more 'talk', "Aur kabiliyat ke baare mein tum na hi kaho toh behtar hoga, Abhijeet, main 43 ka ho chukka hun—aur professionally tumse jyada experienced bhi. Agar main kuch kehna na chanhu toh kyu apna muh kholun?"
"Arey yaar tumhari problem kya hai? Itna bhadak kyun rahe ho?" Very slowly Abhijeet's temper was also surfacing, but he was trying to compose himself—trying too hard not to lash out at his friend. Daya kept sizing him up, his towering form hovered over him; And Abhijeet found himself disappearing underneath Daya's scorn.
"Abhi toh tumne kahaa jo bhi mere pett mein hai sab nikaal du, toh suno—mere kabil dost, mujhe tumhara attitude pasand nahi. Mujhe tumhari baat karne ka tareeka pasand nahi, tumhara arrogance pasand nahi, tumhara yeh flaunt karna ki Tarika tumhe pasand karti hai woh bhi pasand nahi. Tumhara yeh jataana ki maine tumse kuch udhaar liya hai kuch liye bagair woh pasand nahi. Abhijeet, mujhe tum pasand nahi. Ho gaya? Problem sun li? Toh ab solution bhi dedo, kyun ki lagta hai woh bhi tumhi ko maloom hai. Hum sab to aise hi faltu mein police officer hai, nahi?"
Pankaj and Nikhil stared wide eyed towards the source hearing both the senior Inspectors verbal exchanges, both their eyes were wide with astonishment, Daya had gone severe changes within few days that he knew; drastic, he had no idea. Everyone stared, towards Abhijeet waiting for a response who was giving in to his temper.
"Main kya koi cheez hoon jo tumhe pasand aun? Main tumhe pasand nahi, woh tumhari problem hai, aur maine kab kahaa ki tumhe kuch nahi aata? Ab Tarika ko kyun beech mein ghasit raha hai? Teri problem mujhse hai toh mujhe bol na?"
"Tujhe hi bol rahaa hoon. Tarika bhi ek problem hi hai ussi se hi toh suru hua hai ye sab "dost", na tumhe koi jaroorat thi muhje bataane ki woh kya mere baare mein sochti hai aur na tumhe ye sab sunna padta."
"Daya!" Abhijeet raised his hand to hit the tall man, but stopped mid-way staring into his own reflection due to the sun-glasses. Daya removed those glasses, and his sharp angry eyes perforated Abhijeet's own rage filled brown eyes.
"Tune jo kuch bhi bola mere bare main, maine sab kuch sahaa, par tujhe Tarika ko beech main lane ki koi jaroorat thi," His voice dangerously low, Abhijeet spoke through his greeted teeth. "Agar tum akele ho isme meri ya phir Tarika ki kya galati hai? Dusro ki zindagi mein taang mat adayaa karo Daya, tumhe woh sab sobha nahi deta."
Daya's own teeth grinding was visible even in the afternoon's shadow. And both stared angrily at each other for few minutes, but was interrupted when Pankaj who chose to be the negotiant. But his junior rank made him have second thoughts, so he tried another approach,
"Sir, maine apne dost ko inform kar diya hai abhi ye CDs bas uske pas drop karni hai."
Hearing Pankaj speak Daya still held Abhijeet's rage filled gaze with his own, not wanting to back out. But he had to give a response, so he told, "Toh phir chalo, yahaan rahne se toh acha hai kuch case ke baare mein pataa kare, yahaa ake humara time waste ho gaya. Saala ek toh case ka jhanjhat aur yahaan ake inn dono ki faltu ki romantic baatein suno." Although, it was he was talking to himself. Then he wore his sunglasses.
Daya turned sideways and made his way down the stairs followed by Pankaj, while Nikhill chose to maintain his distance from his idol, Dayanand Shetty. His face expressed no remorse at his rant towards his best-friend, or cared about the silent surprised regards from the officials working there. Abhijeet vision followed a friend who had turned his back against him—or that was what he felt like, betrayal. He was still fuming with wrathful disdain when he turned around only to come face-to-face with Tarika who shook her head low in spirit.
Daya was partly right; they weren't supposed to display their hidden affection with their slight flirtation in-front of their junior ranked officers or seniors; not in the office per se. All those time he butterflied around the nectar source, Tarika, who got him subconsciously concerned and for which he acted like some sort lovelorn school kid who was newly in love with the prettiest girl when she finally noticed him. As a man he was supposed to tone down his immaturity, if there was any. His affectionate display not only interfered both of them professionally but also it affected their personal moments. Tarika often told him that they shouldn't flirt before their superiors but it was him who joked out loud, dismissing it to be whimsical opinion. He was a senior Inspector, he was not a child, he was a man; oh boy was he so wrong?
Daya was right.
He neglected his boundaries; he was supposesed to be just as professional as a senior Inspector should have been. Has he ever seen Daya acting like him when Niyati was interested in him? No, Daya, remained quiet—he did not acted like a love sick school boy when a woman implied that she was interested in him. Daya was ever a man not a boy, professional, yes, when he was on-duty; he always had his guard on and was extremely resistant to a woman's charms. While, he on the other hand, was total opposite.
Abhijeet Srivastav did learn a lesson today; the lesson, ergo Daya was not necessarily what everyone considered him to be, shy—obviously, short-tempered—absolutely, but ignorant and tolerant—not. 16 years of friendship and he still managed to surprise the sharp-shooter greatly.
Perhaps, he should apologize.
No.
. . . .
Daya found his-self unashamedly guilty but also, he felt rather good after speaking out loud. He did not need to dwell and roll on his muddy—buried feeling of torment due to loneliness, and disdain towards his best-friends love life. His final decision to confront his friend about the unabashed flirtation towards the lovely lady in-front of everyone ultimately reckoned his inner most disgust. So, he lashed out and now he somewhat felt liable that he hurt his friend enough to create the abiity to think before speaking. Abhijeet was his best-friend, a brother from another mother—perhaps brothers do share conflict everynow and then—perhaps now their bond would be better or worst. If worst, then nothing can be done.
Pankaj was still silent when Daya stopped the car, and turned side-ways to look at him.
"Tum gaadi chalao, mujhe smoke karna hai."
"Ji sir," Pankaj was not surprised when he saw a pack of Gold Flake ascending from the senior's pocket along with a lighter. Daya opened the door to get to the other side, while Pankaj scooted towards the driver's seat.
Pankaj was aware of Daya's distress, he might not express but the anxiety was visible on his exhausted eyes. While Daya scooted into the passanger's seat he already had the fire on the cigarette. Longingly he looked out towards the sea.
"Abhi 3 baj chukke hai, aur mujhe maloom hai ki tumne apne dost se abhitak baat bhi nahi ki hai." Pankaj silently drove through the road, starring before trying to avoid idiotic people who always jumped before a car every now and then.
"Ji nahi sir phone karne ki zaroorat nahi thi, abhi hum uske paas hi jaa rahe hai." He spoke truthfully, implying he did not wished for both officers to go after each other's throat. Though he knew if they ever go, then who the victor may be.
"Humari aisi nobat nahi ayi thi ki hum ek dusre ke jaan ke piche pad jate," Daya perfectly guessed what the young man was thinking about. Hell, everyone in the bureau would be informed by now that two best-friends shared some harsh words against each other—and it was not friendly.
Daya further spoke, "Tum isse kya conclude karte ho, mujhe maloom nahi, aur mujhe jaanna bhi nahi hai, par yeh jaanlo Pankaj ki jab duty pe ho, office ke andar flirt-vlirt mat karna."
Pankaj had the rebuttal right under his sleeve—or throat, but he feared he might create another spark and the man might explode while he drove, so he chose to remain silent. He desperately wanted to defend his most favored senior officer.
"Got it sir" he exclaimed in his usual overly cheerful manner.
Daya's thought hovered over ACP Pradyuman who might lecture him about his anger issues. Although the old man had no problem if he exploited his wrath upon criminals, but using that anger against a fellow officer was unacceptable for him. He knew Nikhil must've circulated the NEWS or Tarika who he saw hiding behind some official listening to their exchanges. He did not cared if he turned out to be a villain, if making a grown man understand that he had been doing nothing worthwhile then so be it. A villain can also be good if he wanted.
For now the tag of being bad is imprinted on his forehead, and he expected a rant from ACP, so he was mentally preparing for the worst by smoking.
They reached Pankaj's friends house, the young man got out of the car and entered the home, while he chose to remain in the car. He was at his fourth cig; although smoking at public places was prohibited no one dared to face a stranger like him.
"Abey yaar, tu karde na... case solve hone ke baad tujhe payment de dunga, haan agar kuch paya toh be jijhak bataa dena, mujhe na sahi lekin mere sir ko. Agar kisi aur ko pehle inform kiya toh sir tera arthi utha denge samjha?" Pankaj was talking to a friend, a school buddy—who apperntly edited videos on his free time, Nirvay Karthik who had a thing or two for youtube as he spent most of his free time editing and uploading videos on the inter web. Although, he must confess this friend was not his favorite amongst the bunch.
"Teri police wala gunda gardi apne paas rakh saale, isse pehle bhi tune yahi keh kar kaam karvaya par payment nahi di." The taller than him friend replied, frustrated.
"Arrey yaar woh baat alag thi, lekin ye toh case ke keliye. Agar yakeen nahi toh baahar sir car mein baithe hai, tu jakke puch le ghonchu. Tune toh dekhi hi hogi woh tasveer jisme ek aadmi latka hua hai?"
Nirvay was now intrigued, "Bolta ja…"
"Arey ussi club ka footage hai isme,aur aas paas ke ilake ki. Raat ko toh itni clarity nahi hogi, tu kuch kar sakta hai toh karke dekh na."
"Mera payment?"
"De dunga bey, tu jaldi kuch kar,aur jitni jaldi ho sake mujhe inform kar."
"Thik hai bhai."
"Aur tujhe ek baar phir warn kar deta hoon. Sir ka khopdi khiska toh tere pichwaade mein bam phuta… samjhaa ke nahi?"
"Samjha bey bhootnike, ab jaa yahaan se aur mujhe apna kaam karne de."
Pankaj fondly kicked the tall and fatter guy who was lying on his bed, and ran out of the house. When he saw Daya he slowed his movements. The senior officer was rubbing his forehead drearily, as if an abysmal entity was forging its way into his very heart, marking him—shaping him into a complete different man. His exchanges with Abhijeet made Pankaj realize the change he had underwent. The fury he unleashed and the sharp tongue he managed to invoke greatly surprised the bystanders.
Oh boy, it was for certain Pankaj was surely in trouble, if Daya kept this pissed off mood then there will commence a time when he will probably get a good 'ol ass-whooping. So, he concluded that sub-inspector Pankaj should keep his stupidity in check till his superior turn back to his old self.
He unfeignedly hoped so.
. . . .
8:34 P.M.
Daya returned back to his home driving his usual Royal Enfield at an unusual time. Despite the uneventful day he was greatly astonished by the level of maturity Pankaj maintained after the forensic ordeal. Not once the young man tried to bring up the subject let alone imply it in their short-trip doing investigation.
His thoughts flicked some seemingly unanswerable question, about his morality? Did he really felt sorry for the criminal who was a victim to a violent crime? As a human to human, how did the murderer even consider mutilating a man and decided to suspend the lifeless body for exhibition? Did his conscience ordained him to? It was overkill, the sewn eyes, and lips… the skinlessness, and the fibery cords from his gut. The exertion was overwhelming to kill a man, but the killer somehow decorated the body for a presentation. Was it the killer's guilty ethics ordered him to drown the man in heroin before slowly taking his life?
Pain
The questions looked simple but the answers were fathomless. A public servant Daya may be, but he never considered killing a criminal. Encounter episodes in his life were a quite few, and in those he never shot a man to death. Although, he had taken a bullet or two, he cannot even consider taking a life. Only the law and God could, a man was supposed to follow the law not become the law, a man was supposed to follow God and not become a God.
Perhaps the killer considered himself a God, a punisher of some sort.
He parked his monstrous bike in his garage which also had a SUV vehicle. Killing the engine he got off the bike and got out of the garage. Making sure he locked the room, he made his way towards his house.
Daya had this little doubt, the benefit—reckoning and holding the idea that the killer may possess the idea of guilt, although he murdered a man cold blood—overdosing him beforehand. What possibily was going on the killer's head?
If only he knew how to get inside a killer's psyche. However, he was forever a cop not a killer he shouldn't even consider thinking like a killer.
Unlocking the door, he entered the large hall room, checking everything was intact he dropped his key and helmet side-by-side. Exhaling loudly, completely exhausted he went straight to his washroom to get cleaned up from the dirt and grime. He washed his face with the running water and finally noticed the reddened eyes and the slight wrinkles near the edges of his eyes; and the greyness of beard made him look old. Well, he was getting old.
Old, the mirror before him spoke the truth.
Shaking his head, he saw himself again on the mirror.
If there was a dark side, can he see him within? If the humanity he contained was good, then there must be bad somewhere deep inside… everyone had. What does he look like then?
'Tumhari tarah.' He reasoned in his thoughts, dismissed the incentive.
Then how does the killer see himself? An unsung hero perhaps in his own, he did saved many unknown girls from that animal. Daya desperately wanted to do something about those poor victims whom Nagarajan chose to be a slave to someone. But he was beyond reach, although if they somehow found the network then surely they'll free those innocent girls. How many lives did he destroy?
Numerous.
Now, Daya wanted to kill Nagarajan himself.
So, is this how the killer felt?
What if the killer was not aware of Nagarajan's heinous crimes? Then that would make everything complicated for Daya. That is when the senior inspector needs to consider him a murderer not a hero. But he liberated many innocent lives.
'You're a police inspector Daya,'
He intently looked forward, towards his own reflection. The water glistered his eyes which were still red—bloodshot. Closing his eyes he consoled his own heart which was rampaging for some reason. Few breaths later he imagined the place where the killer stood watching the lifeless body of Nagarajan. As if admiring the ministration as he underwent a passageway of his own consciousness. A shot of heroin far greater than normal—also the time. The tiny ministration of penetration involving the bike chains strategically hung between the walls. Perhaps his lips were sewn first, and later his eyes—the killer might've spoken something.
What would it be?
The control he held on his consciousness got lost as imagined the innards to be pulled out, the bile reached his throat and he lost it. Hovering over the sink he lost whatever his stomach held into the sink. The clenching turned more violent as he threw up some more, and the grip he had over edges tightened. Few seconds later Daya was done, somewhat lightheaded and mentally disturbed to some level, he raised his head towards the mirror.
Finally he grasped reality, and it was his loneliness which jerked his conscience back. No presence of solace, but silence that is what he found—and it was deathlike. He only had one person who he relied on in times like this, his friend Abhijeet whom he rather rudely dismissed just because of his love life.
And when realization hit him he founded himself miserable
You envy him, Daya. A little voice found the reasoning, and this time he did not ignore it.
Feeling the urge to apologize he picked up his phone but decided against it. Why should he apologize when whatever he spewed was nothing but the truth? Was it? He spoke what he felt and the honesty should make him feel better which did, but the underlying ill-mannered primitive path he took, perhaps that's what made him this miserable. Maybe this feeling will leave by tomorrow.
Yes, it should be. It better be.
. . . .
Fantasies can be very pleasant when it needed to be, although it can be dangerous if it was supposed to be. Nightmare for some people can be entertaining, those who choose it so. The aspect of adrenaline, the rush and the rioting blood vessel along with few snorts of cocaine later will surely change a dull person to a hyper-everything one. The massive battery of a body will run its course as long as the substance which runs along with the blood. The energy, the excitement, senses everything will be heightened.
Man is perfectly capable of creating a heaven, and to balance there needs to be a hell, a nightmare.
And when a person had been wondering about killing every second of its life, what must he do? A hammer on his hand—before him a bludgeoned body laid in its morbid glory. Squinting, and widening the eyes to get a clear view, to comprehend what a man could do. The blood, it was a handiwork, a craft—modern art that's what some people say. It was his handiwork, innovative it may not be, but a man could always try and try better next time.
Karma has finally arrived, and it can bite a person in the ass.
To Be Continued.
A/N: So, this is it, the second chapter.I must confess every time I update a chapter, I'm so anxious and nervous and negative that I don't think I can add another one. But your views proves me wrong ;) :P
I seriously hope you all like it so far, err… I mean the story, not the content :P
I know you must be wondering why Daya suddenly lashed out at his best-friends which seem nearly impossible or some sort. But I've observed few people, when a friend flaunts his girlfriend like she is some trophy that his single-friend doesn't have then there will be conflict. I'm not saying Abhijeet is flaunting, but different people different opinions and views isn't it? And the closer the friend is the more conflict will surface unless the issue is confronted. But don't worry friendship can be mended… or can it? ;) :P
How did I get through all those stuffs I wrote that I don't know about? Well, thanks to few death metals, doom metals, black and melodic death metals along with some gloomy ambience music, if it wasn't for those bands I don't think I can even finish a chapter.
Again, I apologize if I hurt anyone's sentiments. It is not my intention to.
I'll be back with another chapter.
Till then off~
Oh and yeah, your request to add Shreya and Daya moments, I think I can do something about that but probably later or on the next chapter. But don't expect too much on the romance part, considering Daya's bad mood, I don't think there can be anything between them. But I'll try, and the outcome might be completely different.
See ya~