Arjun Mehta Chapter 1 – The Final Departure The storm came in without warning, the kind of Mumbai monsoon that split the city into islands of survival. Streets drowned, taxis stalled like dying fish, and yet the lifeline of the city—the suburban trains—kept moving, dragging weary commuters through sheets of rain. At Churchgate station, the loudspeaker was already crackling about delays, though no one really listened. People had learned to treat delays like background noise, like the endless vendors selling umbrellas at triple their price. But on that night, when the rain lashed glass windows and lightning turned the platforms…
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Devraj Sinha The monsoon had not yet broken, but the clouds over Mumbai were swollen with a menace that seemed to mirror the city’s mood. At Marine Drive, waves pounded against the seawall as if the Arabian Sea was impatient with human stubbornness. Detective Arvind Rao, sitting in the back of a police jeep, felt the salt spray coat his face as they sped past the stretch of neon-lit hotels that fronted the coast. His phone buzzed again; Commissioner Kulkarni’s voice had been sharp and hurried. “Bollywood producer, big name, dead in a penthouse. Locked room. Media will have a…
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Sudarshan Tripathi 1 The first light of dawn spread over Varanasi, turning the Ganges into a molten ribbon of gold and crimson. Dashashwamedh Ghat was just waking—priests arranging lamps for the day’s rituals, pilgrims dipping themselves into the sacred waters, and vendors setting up their stalls along the steps. The city breathed a timeless rhythm, as if each sunrise repeated the same prayer uttered for thousands of years. But on this particular morning, the serenity of the river was broken by a shrill cry from a boatman. His small wooden boat bobbed unevenly as he leaned over the edge, staring…
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Mayank Sufi Part 1: The Man in the Silver Kurta The lanes of Dariba Kalan in Old Delhi were quiet that morning, quieter than usual. The scent of ittar still hung in the air like the memory of a lover’s touch, but the shops had yet to roll up their shutters. It was barely 6:30 a.m. when a rickshaw-wala, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, noticed something odd in front of Ibrahim & Sons — Jewelers Since 1837. A man lay face-down, slumped against the closed shutter, silver kurta crumpled, a faint red trail soaking into the dust…
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হেমন্ত বৰা মৃতদেহ আৰু নীল দাগ সন্ধিয়া চাৰি বজাত ডঃ নীলিমা বেজবৰুৱাই শেষ ৰোগীৰ প্ৰিস্ক্ৰিপচনটো লিখি চকুত চশমাটো ওপৰলৈ ঠেলিলে। হস্পিটালৰ জানালিৰে পৰা আহি পৰা সোণালী ৰশ্মিয়ে তেওঁৰ কাষৰ টেবুলটো পাহি উঠাইছিল। বাহিৰত গুৱাহাটীৰ বতৰ শান্ত, কিন্তু ভিতৰত এটা কঠিন চক্ৰান্ত থলুৱা গৰ্ভত যেনে পাক খাই আছিল। ঠিক সেই সময়তে হস্পিটালৰ ইনটাৰকম বাজিল। “মেডিকেল ওয়ার্ড নম্বৰ ট্ৰি, ইমাৰজেঞ্চি!”। নীলিমাই পাছে টেবুলৰ ওপৰত থকা নীল পেনটো উঠাই তুলি ৰাখিলে, যেন অভ্যাসগতভাৱে, আৰু খটখটকৈ খোজ কঢ়িয়াই ওলাই গ’ল। ওয়ার্ড ট্ৰিত প্ৰৱেশ কৰাৰ লগে লগে দেখা পালেগৈ — এখন বেডত লোঠা হৈ পৰি থকা এজন পুৰুষ, প্ৰাণ নাথাকিলেও চকুত ভয় জমি আছিল। ডঃ…
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Ritam Sen The Body by the Ghat The tram squealed as it curved past the Kalighat temple gates, the clattering wheels echoing through the alleyways still soaked from last night’s drizzle. The city was stirring — morning prayers floated out from open windows, chai stalls hissed to life, and vendors set up shop like they had every day for years. Kolkata, in its timeless rhythm, was waking up. Inspector Arjun Dutta was halfway through his first cup of tea when the call came. The voice on the other end, a young constable posted at the Kalighat beat, was unusually tense.…