The Lady Bug

The war of existence

It’s her story. Everyone else is just playing their part.

‘Arthur Conan Doyle’, the British writer, who in my opinion is the biggest mystery solver who ever lived. He has influenced my childhood immensely. Reading those Sherlock Homles stories, I never imagined that one day I will become a crime investigator.

One fine morning, when I was having my breakfast, one of my subordinates knocked the door and asked “Sir, May I come in?”.

“Yes, come in”. I replied

He came in and handed over an envelope. I wiped my hand and examined the envelope.

To

ASP Anurag Mehta

Office of Superintendent of police

Nalanda, Bihar

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Surprisingly, there was no sender’s address.

Bihar is a vibrant state and everyday hundreds of new cases piles up. Murders, suicides, accidents, cheating cases, gang wars and the list goes on and on. Sometimes I feel are we humans with compassion or animals with barbaric tendencies? Whatever it is, I blame the creator who is having the schadenfreude personality.

I opened the envelope and found a letter inside. I carefully studied it.

Dear Mr. Anurag

Do you know how crime creeps into the mind of an individual?

I am Yashasvi, a nurse at Mausham Hospital and I committed a murder.

My mother had an affair with a stock market broker-Shubham Saxena. But her family was very orthodox and compelled her to marry another man who had a textile shop nearby our home. Soon, as wished by her family members she married the textile shop owner. She wasn’t happy with her life. Two years later, I was born. On my fourth birthday, my father died of stroke. Later I found that the cause of death was not natural. He was administrated with hydrogen peroxide and even the post-mortem couldn’t find it.

After my father’s death, she continued her affair with Shubham Saxena. His visit to our home became regular. He was a masculine person with a thick beard and moustache, always wearing an ironed shirt and holding one briefcase in the right hand. My mother doesn’t care about me. They have done everything in front of me. I saw him beating my mother brutally, but she enjoyed it. She was in love.

I was 13. One day he came home drunken. He tied my mother in the bed with rope and took off her clothes. I was frightened but watching everything through the window. He opened his briefcase and took a leather whip. He approached her and began beating her everywhere and she was screaming in pain. I covered my mouth with my hands holding my breath.

Two days after that incident, my uncle came to our home. I asked him whether I can go with him to his house. He agreed and my mother also agreed as expected. I rarely visit my mother after that. During my 10^th board exams, I had to stay with my mother for one week as my uncle and family had to move to Mumbai because of job transfer. On the final day exam night, the drunken stock broker visited my mother. He saw me and it was lust in his eyes. He was talking with my mother and I was studying in the next room. Suddenly, he came in asking about the exam preparations. He kept his hand on my shoulder. I was afraid and stood up from my seat. He was approaching me. I screamed and called my mother. But nobody came. With all his strength he subdued me. I told nobody.

I moved to Mumbai with my uncle and studied hard to became a nurse. One day, during my duty at the hospital, I received a message from my uncle “Your mother is dead”. We all went there and I stayed there for two days and my uncle left. I was waiting for him. I was preparing myself these many years to face him. Eventually, he came when everybody left. It was night and I was alone at home. I heard someone knocking at my doors. I peeped through the window and saw the old man who once was charming and handsome. I invited him inside. With no time sparing, using a surgical blade I cut his throat. It was a small slit in the jugular vein. The subject would feel the pain and bleed to death. While he was bleeding, I sat on the chair and enjoyed reminding him about the harsh incident I encountered. He began apologizing to me, spitting blood. Soon his story ended. I cut his body into tiny pieces, poured formalin and wrapped it in plastic sheets. A pit was made under my mother’s bed where he used to brutalize her. May his soul rest there.

It’s been one year. Nobody came for him. I feel guilty now. He is haunting me even after his death. I have made my mind and that’s why I am writing this letter. Like every other criminal, one statement to make – I was enforced. You can find me at my home.

Yashasvi

House No. 11/AB

Biharsharif, Badi Pahadi, Nalanda

 

After a moment of shock, I managed to call my subordinate who delivered this envelope.

Mr. Pankaj entered the room and saluted. When enquired about the envelope, he said “Sir, it was a woman. She gave this and left immediately.”

“Why me???” It was the question disturbing me.

 

“Pankaj, get the vehicle ready. We need to go and verify about this letter.” I gave the order.

 

The address mentioned was 7 Kms away in a remote area. We reached there within no time. It was an old house.

Nobody was there and the door was locked from outside. We broke in.

 

I was surprised to see blood clots in the living room. I examined. It was fresh.

“Pankaj, inform the forensics department and send the location.” I gave the order.

 

Then I got curious about the pit. I approached the room she mentioned. Yes, it was true.

The pit was dug and we could see plastic wrapper covering a dead body. It was a female. Along with the body there was a small rusted metal box. I put on the gloves, took that box and opened. Inside it was a small piece of paper. I carefully opened it. ‘Liar, do not believe her…79032337997’