Rishabh Sen Gupta Episode 1: The Vanished Trekkers The forest had been restless that week, or so the villagers of Rajabhatkhawa said, though none of them would put it into words when Kavya Dutta asked, notebook in hand, recorder tucked away in her bag. They shook their heads, muttered something about elephants straying too close, or fog that refused to lift, or roads washed out by sudden rains, but no one mentioned the three trekkers who had vanished two weeks ago on their way to Buxa Fort. The police had filed their usual report, search parties had trampled through the…
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Drishan Nnaskar 1 The dawn broke over Kolkata with a muted hush, as though the city itself was reluctant to wake. From the eastern bank of the Hooghly, the mist still clung to the river like an old, grey shawl, and the metallic silhouette of Howrah Bridge loomed above, carrying the rumble of early trams and the shuffle of weary commuters. Fishermen pushed out their boats, calling softly to one another, while stray dogs barked at the rising sun. It was one of these fishermen who first saw the shape drifting in the water, just below the shadow of the…
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Rabi Kumar Prasad Chapter 1 – The Assignment Mumbai never slept, and Inspector Arjun Mehra knew that better than most. The city’s pulse throbbed through the neon-lit streets, its chaos both maddening and alive, and at the center of it all, he stood like a solitary soldier fighting an endless war. Arjun was known as one of the most relentless cops in the Anti-Narcotics Cell, but years of watching criminals slip through the cracks had left him hardened, skeptical, and restless. He had seen gangsters walk free with the blessing of politicians, officers paid to look the other way, and…
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Sourabh Shukla One Meera Joshi adjusted her backpack and wiped the sweat from her brow as she stood at the edge of the ancient Adalaj Stepwell in Gujarat. The air was thick with humidity, and a faint breeze carried the scent of wet stone and earth, giving the place a mysterious, almost otherworldly atmosphere. Her eyes traced the intricate carvings etched into the weathered walls of the stepwell, each depicting mythological scenes and ancient rituals. The local villagers had warned her repeatedly—especially the old man in the tea stall—of the stepwell’s dark past. Whispers of disappearances after sunset, shadowy figures…
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Sukanya Trivedi Anjali stepped off the slow-moving train, the humid air of Kerala immediately wrapping around her like a warm embrace. The station was small, almost forgotten by time, but the distant sound of temple bells and chirping birds lent it a mystical charm. Her eyes wandered over the dense palm groves that stretched endlessly toward the horizon, their silhouettes dark against the rising sun. Anjali was here for the prestigious cultural festival held in a centuries-old temple by the backwaters. The festival was renowned for celebrating classical Indian art forms, and she, a devoted Bharatanatyam dancer, had been invited…
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Prabhakar Iyer 1 The monsoon had arrived with a vengeance. Sheets of rain lashed against the tiled roofs of the small village of Bhawanipur, and the narrow lanes had turned into rivulets of muddy water rushing toward the swollen river. Thunder cracked across the sky, shaking the earth as if some forgotten deity was demanding to be remembered. Inside the old temple at the village’s edge, the priest, Haranath, struggled with his oil lamp, shielding the flickering flame from the intrusive gusts that slithered in through the half-broken shutters. The temple was small, its walls damp and moss-clad, yet it…
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Diganta Deka The monsoon descended upon the small riverside town with an unrelenting fervor, turning the earth into a mosaic of muddy puddles and swollen streams. The sky, a heavy slate of gray, spilled sheets of rain that drummed ceaselessly on tin roofs and rusted verandas. The Brahmaputra, already a commanding presence in the town’s life, grew into a roaring giant, its waters rising swiftly, tugging at the banks and swallowing the familiar outlines of the ghats. Life moved at a subdued pace; boats bobbed restlessly, fishermen mended their nets under dripping tarpaulins, and the scent of wet earth mingled…
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Pranoy Mukherjee 1 The riverine labyrinth of the Sundarbans spread before Kabir Roy like a living, breathing entity, dense with tangled roots, sprawling mangroves, and the relentless shimmer of tidal waters. The launch that carried him from the bustling chaos of Kolkata to the remote delta moved sluggishly, rocking gently against the currents, its engine a low hum that barely disturbed the symphony of croaking frogs and the distant calls of kingfishers. Kabir leaned on the wooden railing, letting his eyes trace the silvering waters as they forked endlessly into hidden channels, each bend a secret, each inlet a potential…
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The night Anwesha Sen vanished began like so many ordinary evenings in Kolkata’s monsoon season, with laughter echoing from cafés, headlights streaking down rain-slicked roads, and young voices carrying on late into the night. At seventeen, Anwesha was at that tender age balanced between recklessness and restraint, a girl whose smile disarmed her strict schoolteachers and whose confident stride often made her friends feel she was the leader of every outing. That night, she and her circle of friends drifted from a small café in Park Street to a club tucked into one of Ballygunge’s quieter lanes, a place where…
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Chapter 1 – The Departure The evening at Delhi Railway Station was a symphony of controlled chaos. Platforms teemed with passengers clutching tickets and bags, while porters darted back and forth, balancing mountains of luggage on their heads and shoulders. Vendors hawked steaming cups of chai, fried snacks, and newspapers, their calls cutting through the din like a persistent rhythm. The scent of damp earth from an earlier drizzle mixed with the metallic tang of the rails, creating an oddly nostalgic perfume. Among the crowd, a young lawyer in a crisp suit navigated the throng with measured steps, his briefcase…