Pranab Sinha Chapter 1 The compartment rattled like an old memory — uneven, persistent, and vaguely nostalgic — as the Doon Express cut its way through the northern plains, carrying Digvijoy Guha through the thick, velvet silence of early morning. He sat by the window in a second-class sleeper, wrapped in his rust-coloured shawl, watching the countryside smear into a painter’s blurred stroke. A flask of lukewarm tea trembled slightly on the steel fold-down tray beside him, untouched since Saharanpur. Above it, tucked into the mesh netting, a book of poetry by Agyeya and a leather-bound diary silently waited to…