The Anonymous Confession

Nikitha sat at her desk, flipping through the morning mail absentmindedly. Bills, advertisements, an invitation to some literary event—nothing unusual. But then, a plain white envelope with no return address caught her attention. Her name was scrawled in uneven handwriting across the front. No stamp, no postmark. Someone had slipped this directly into her mailbox.

Frowning, she tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The message inside was typed, short, and chilling:

I killed someone. And I need you to know.

Her pulse quickened. She scanned the page for more details, but there was nothing—no name, no location, no explanation. Just that one ominous sentence.

Nikitha’s mind raced. A prank? Or something real? If it was genuine, why confess to her? She had solved her fair share of mysteries, but she was no cop.

She turned the envelope over, looking for any clue, any hint of identity. A faint trace of perfume lingered—subtle, familiar, yet unplaceable. Instinct kicked in. Someone wanted her to dig deeper. And she intended to.

Nikitha traced the letter’s origins, checking her building’s CCTV footage first. The grainy footage showed a hooded figure slipping the envelope into her mailbox around 3 AM. Their movements were cautious, deliberate. Not a random act.

She called Inspector Rohan Mehta, a sharp but skeptical officer she had worked with before. He sighed after hearing the details. “Could be a hoax, Nikitha. But if it isn’t, this person might actually be desperate to unburden themselves. Or they might be playing a dangerous game.”

“I need to find out which,” she said. “Can you run forensics on the paper?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

As she hung up, her fingers traced the edge of the letter. Something about it gnawed at her. If this was a genuine confession, was the sender guilty—or was there something far more sinister at play?

 

The next morning, another letter arrived.

This time, it contained more than just a confession.

It contained a name.

And a challenge: "Find the body before they do."

Nikitha’s breath hitched. Someone wasn’t just confessing—they were warning her. And she had no idea who ‘they’ were.

One thing was certain—this wasn’t just another case. This time, she was already part of the story.

Nikitha wasted no time. The name in the letter was Aditya Khanna—a businessman whose recent disappearance had gone unnoticed by the media. She searched for any news articles but found nothing. Whoever sent this letter knew something the world didn’t.

She called Rohan again. “Do you have anything on an Aditya Khanna?”

Rohan exhaled sharply. “He was reported missing two days ago by his wife. But there’s no case yet—no ransom, no signs of foul play.”

Nikitha’s stomach churned. If Aditya was missing, and this letter was real, then she might be running out of time.

She rechecked the envelope and the paper. There was a depression near the bottom, as if someone had written something on a previous sheet. She lightly shaded over it with a pencil. Slowly, words began to emerge:

‘Hotel Riviera – Room 405 – Midnight.’

A meeting place? A trap?

Nikitha didn’t believe in coincidences. If someone wanted her to find the body, this was the first step.

 

That night, she arrived at the Hotel Riviera. The neon sign flickered ominously, casting long shadows over the deserted sidewalk. She walked in, her senses on high alert. The receptionist barely glanced at her as she made her way to the fourth floor.

Room 405 was at the end of a dimly lit hallway. She hesitated, then knocked lightly. No response. She tried the handle. It turned easily.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of stale perfume. The room was empty—except for a single object on the bed.

A third letter.

She picked it up and unfolded it.

“Too late.”

Nikitha’s heart pounded. Whoever was playing this game was always one step ahead. And now, she wasn’t just looking for a missing man—she was chasing a ghost, a murderer, or both.

The silence in the room was deafening. Nikitha’s mind reeled. If she was too late, where was the body? And more importantly, who had sent these letters?

Her phone buzzed. A text message from an unknown number: "I warned you."

Her pulse quickened. She replied instantly: “Who are you?”

Three dots appeared. Then: "Get out. Now."

Before she could react, the hotel door creaked open. Nikitha spun around, her heart hammering. A figure stood in the doorway, their face obscured by shadows.

"I told you to leave," the voice said softly. A woman’s voice. Chillingly familiar.

Nikitha took a step forward. “Who are you?”

The woman stepped into the dim light, revealing her face.

Nikitha gasped.

It was her own reflection.

Or rather—someone who looked exactly like her.

“You don’t remember, do you?” the lookalike whispered, tilting her head slightly. “You should.”

Nikitha’s breath came in short, sharp bursts. A trick? A trap? Was she losing her mind?

The woman smirked. “You got my letters. And now you’ve found me.”

“What the hell is this?” Nikitha demanded.

“I killed someone,” the woman said. “And I needed you to know.”

The room spun. Nikitha’s hands trembled. “Who did you kill?”

The woman’s eyes gleamed. “Aditya Khanna.”

Nikitha shook her head. “No. No, I—”

And then, a flood of memories slammed into her.

Blood on her hands. The weight of a lifeless body. A voice in her head, whispering “Make him disappear.” A frantic drive through the city. A shovel. Dark, damp earth swallowing secrets whole.

She staggered back, gripping the wall for support.

Her lookalike smiled. “You see now? You weren’t supposed to remember. But some part of you did. So I helped.”

Nikitha’s knees nearly buckled. “This… this isn’t real.”

“Isn’t it?” The woman stepped closer, her eyes filled with eerie amusement. “You sent those letters, Nikitha. You just didn’t know it.”

The weight of it all crashed onto her, suffocating. If this was true—if she had truly killed Aditya Khanna—then who was she?

What had she become?

A loud knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts. “Nikitha? Open up! It’s Rohan!”

She turned back—but the woman was gone. Only the letter remained.

The final words now burned into her memory: “I killed someone. And I needed you to know.”

Her own confession.

And there was no running from it now.

Rohan burst into the room, gun drawn. “What the hell is going on?”

Nikitha swallowed hard. “I need you to check something for me.” She handed him the letter. “Find out whose fingerprints are on this.”

Rohan studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Are you okay?”

She hesitated before replying. “I will be.”

As Rohan left, Nikitha exhaled slowly. Whoever had orchestrated this wanted her rattled—but she wasn’t about to let them win. The truth was close.

A new text buzzed on her phone. "Not quite. You’re still playing my game."

Nikitha’s fingers clenched around the device. A final message appeared:

"You're not the hunter, Nikitha. You're the prey."

A chill ran through her. Somewhere in the distance, a shadow moved. The game was far from over. But she wasn’t backing down. Not now. Not ever.

Nikitha stared at her reflection in the mirror, the room closing in around her. The image of the other woman—herself, yet not—flickered like a dying flame before vanishing altogether. A cold sweat clung to her skin. The room was empty, save for her and the crumpled letter in her trembling hands.

The air in Room 405 grew heavy, suffocating, as if something unseen coiled around her, watching, waiting. Her breath was shallow. Had she really written those letters? Had she really killed Aditya Khanna? The memories that had crashed into her moments ago now felt disjointed, like fragments of a nightmare slipping through her fingers.

Then, a whisper. Low, rasping. Not from the door where Rohan had knocked. Not from her phone. From inside the room.

"Remember."

Nikitha whirled around. The shadows seemed thicker, pulsing with something alive. The bed, the walls, the single lamp—everything felt distorted, shifting in and out of focus.

The whisper came again. "I made you remember."

This time, the voice didn’t just speak—it echoed within her skull, threading into her thoughts like an unwelcome intruder. Her head throbbed. She pressed her palms against her temples, willing herself to stay grounded. But the floor beneath her seemed to ripple, as though she were standing on the surface of water.

And then she was no longer in Room 405.

Nikitha blinked. The walls had changed. The sickly yellow light was gone, replaced by the dim glow of street lamps filtering through a broken window. The scent of damp earth and something metallic filled her nostrils. She knew this place.

The construction site.

The place where Aditya Khanna had disappeared.

Her feet crunched against loose gravel as she stepped forward. The site was unfinished, skeletal steel beams jutting into the night sky. Her fingers trailed along a cold metal railing, the sensation both familiar and foreign. And then she saw it.

A shallow grave.

Freshly dug. The soil still unsettled.

Nikitha gasped as her body moved on its own. She crouched, heart hammering, hands reaching for the mound of dirt. As her fingers brushed against it, a jolt of icy pain shot through her spine. And suddenly, she wasn’t alone.

A presence loomed behind her.

The whisper turned into a chuckle, dark and knowing.

"You buried him here," the voice said. "And you thought you could forget."

Nikitha spun around, but the figure wasn’t solid. It was a shifting, writhing silhouette, its form flickering like candlelight. It had no face, yet its presence was suffocatingly familiar. She felt it in her bones.

She had met this thing before.

"What... what are you?" she choked out.

The figure tilted its head. "I am you. The part you chose to silence. The part that remembers." It reached out, fingers stretching impossibly long. "And I will not be forgotten again."

Nikitha tried to back away, but the ground beneath her gave way. She tumbled into the grave, her body hitting something soft—something cold. She screamed as fingers, real fingers, curled around her wrist from below.

A lifeless, decayed hand.

Aditya Khanna's hand.

Nikitha bolted upright with a gasp. She was back in Room 405, sprawled on the floor. Rohan was shaking her, his voice distant but urgent.

"Nikitha! Can you hear me? What the hell happened?"

She looked around wildly. The room was as it had been moments ago. No grave. No shadows creeping toward her. But her hands were coated in something damp. She lifted them in horror.

Dirt.

Real, dark soil beneath her nails.

Rohan's eyes followed her gaze. "Nikitha... what did you do?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she grabbed her phone with shaking hands and typed in the address of the construction site.

She already knew what they would find.

Aditya Khanna’s body.

And maybe, just maybe, the part of herself she had buried along with him.

As sirens wailed in the distance, she realized the truth—there was no escaping what she had become.

Nikitha staggered to her feet, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The soil beneath her nails, the haunting vision, the voice—it all felt too real. But deep within her, an instinct, sharpened by years of unraveling mysteries, told her there was more to this.

Rohan steadied her. “Nikitha, what’s going on?”

“I think... I think something’s trying to make me believe I killed Aditya Khanna. But it’s not real.”

Rohan’s eyes narrowed. “Then let’s get to the construction site. If there’s a body, we’ll find it.”

As they raced through the city streets, Nikitha’s mind churned. The eerie double, the cryptic letters, the visions—they were fragments of something far more sinister. Something not of this world.

At the construction site, the place from her vision, the ground was indeed freshly disturbed. Rohan’s team began digging. Moments later, a shout echoed through the night.

“We’ve got something!”

Nikitha’s heart pounded as they unearthed the body. It was Aditya Khanna. But the cause of death wasn’t blunt force trauma or strangulation—it was a heart attack. The autopsy would later confirm it.

Rohan turned to her. “You didn’t kill him, Nikitha. Someone wanted you to think you did.”

Before Nikitha could respond, a chilling wind swept through the site. In the dim light, she saw a figure standing at the edge of the shadows. The woman who looked exactly like her. But now, her face was serene.

“I needed you to find him,” the apparition whispered. “To bring him home. My debt is paid.”

With that, the figure dissolved into the night, leaving only the faint trace of that same subtle, familiar perfume.

Nikitha shivered as the weight lifted from her chest. “She wasn’t me. She was... his wife. Or his lover. Stuck between worlds until justice was done.”

Rohan shook his head in disbelief. “You and your mysteries, Nikitha.”

But Nikitha knew the truth. Sometimes, the dead needed the living to speak for them. And this time, she had.

As dawn’s light crept over the horizon, Nikitha felt an unfamiliar peace settle within her. The case was closed. And the haunting was over.

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Image: Freepik

 

The Betrayal

 

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the bustling streets of Hyderabad. Nikitha adjusted her scarf, the cool evening breeze whispering secrets of the city. Her footsteps echoed softly as she made her way to the Enforcement Directorate headquarters, the weight of recent events pressing heavily on her mind.

YH Raskar, the notorious politician-businessman, was out on bail. His release had sent ripples through the agency, undermining months of painstaking investigation. Nikitha couldn't shake the image of his smug grin as he exited the courthouse, flanked by his entourage. Justice had once again been twisted, molded by power and money.

Sethi’s office door creaked open, and he stepped out, glancing around nervously. Nikitha noticed his disheveled look, the hint of sweat on his brow. Something was off. Chief Sethi was always composed, meticulous. Lately, however, he had been distracted, disappearing at odd hours, making hushed phone calls. Inside the office, the atmosphere was tense. Agents whispered in hushed tones, casting furtive glances at Chief Sethi's closed door. Nikitha knocked briskly and entered, finding Sethi hunched over a stack of files, his tie loosened and eyes bloodshot.

"Sir, we need to discuss Raskar's release," she began, her voice steady but laced with frustration.

Sethi looked up, his expression weary. "Nikitha, I understand your concern, but our hands are tied. The judiciary has made its decision."

 

She frowned, noticing the faint tremor in his hands. "There's more to this, isn't there? You've been... different lately."

 

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "It's just the pressure. This case has taken a toll on all of us."

Unsatisfied, Nikitha left his office, her mind racing. As she walked back to her desk, Vikram Singh approached, his usual confident demeanor replaced by unease.

 

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his eyes.

 

She forced a smile. "Just the usual chaos. What about you? You seem... off."

 

He hesitated, glancing around before leaning in. "Meet me at the café down the street after work. We need to talk."

 

Curiosity piqued, Nikitha nodded.

 

Later, at the dimly lit café, Vikram stirred his coffee, avoiding her gaze. "I've been noticing some irregularities," he began.

 

Nikitha leaned forward. "What kind of irregularities?"

 

"Sethi's been making unauthorized transactions. Large sums, offshore accounts."

Her heart sank. "Are you saying he's compromised?"

Vikram nodded. "It looks that way. And there's more. I've been tailing Raskar. He's been meeting with someone from our agency."

 

"Who?" He took a deep breath. "I couldn't get a clear view, but... I think it's Sethi."

 

Nikitha's mind raced. The pieces were falling into a disturbing pattern.

Nikitha nodded. “He’s acting strange. And with Raskar out, I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Vikram sighed. “You’re not wrong. I’ve been keeping an eye on Raskar. He’s playing the innocent businessman, but I’m certain he’s pulling strings behind the scenes.”

Nikitha sipped her coffee, her mind racing. “We need to figure out what’s going on before it’s too late.”

That evening, as she left the office, she noticed Sethi slipping out of the building. Instead of heading home, he turned towards a dimly lit alleyway. Nikitha followed at a safe distance, her heart pounding. Sethi stopped at a nondescript café, heading straight to a booth at the back.

Nikitha took a seat by the counter, pretending to scroll through her phone. A few minutes later, a familiar figure entered—YH Raskar. Her pulse quickened as she watched them exchange hushed words. Raskar slid an envelope across the table.

What the hell was going on? She took out her phone, positioning it subtly to snap a picture. The angle wasn’t great, but it was enough to confirm her worst fears—Sethi was compromised.

Over the next few days, she discreetly gathered evidence. Financial records, surveillance footage, intercepted communications—all pointing to Sethi's betrayal. But something didn't add up. Why would Sethi, a man of integrity, align with Raskar?

 

The next morning, Nikitha’s maid, Leela, handed her the newspaper with a curious look. “Madam, bad things happening in the city. Look at this.”

Nikitha took the paper and scanned the headlines. Raskar’s bail approval had made the front page. Below it was another article, an anonymous whistleblower had hinted at corruption within the Enforcement Directorate itself. Her stomach twisted.

Had someone gotten ahead of her? Or was this part of Raskar’s ploy? As she left for work, the parking lot attendant, Suresh, gave her a knowing look. “Madam, some stranger was near your car last night. He asked about you.”

Nikitha stiffened. “Did you see his face?”

Suresh shook his head. “He left quickly when I came closer.”

Someone was watching her.

In the metro that morning, she was hyper-aware of her surroundings. A man in a grey suit, holding a newspaper, caught her attention. He wasn’t reading it—just glancing at her reflection in the glass. When she switched compartments, he followed.

She tested him again, getting off at a random stop and reboarding from a different entry point. He mirrored her actions.

She pretended to ignore him but quickly snapped his picture when the train halted at the next station. She would run his image through their database later.

Back at the office, she confronted Sethi in his cabin. “Late-night meetings with criminals? That’s a new low.”

Sethi’s face drained of colour. “Nikitha, I can explain.”

“Then do it. Because right now, it looks like you’re in bed with the very people we’re supposed to put behind bars.”

Sethi hesitated before sighing. “They have something on me. My brother... he got involved in some bad business. They threatened his life if I didn’t cooperate.”

Nikitha’s anger softened, but suspicion remained. “So you decided to work for them instead?”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Nikitha exhaled sharply. “You always have a choice. And now you’re going to help us bring Raskar down.”

Sethi looked away. “I can’t.”

Nikitha clenched her fists. “Then you’re part of the problem.”

That evening, she stopped by a roadside tea stall. The shopkeeper, an old man named Raju, gave her an inquisitive look. “Madam, you’ve been coming here for years. Today you seem troubled.”

She smiled faintly. “Just work.”

Raju nodded wisely. “Sometimes, the problem is closer than you think.”

His words lingered in her mind as she left.

 Over the next few days, she and Vikram pieced together Sethi’s activities. The more they uncovered, the more dangerous the situation became.

The final showdown took place in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city.

Sethi, wearing a wire, met with Raskar to finalize a supposed deal. Nikitha and Vikram watched from a surveillance van. Just as Raskar handed over a briefcase of cash, agents swarmed in, guns drawn.

Raskar smirked. “You think this is over? You have no idea what’s coming.”

Nikitha felt a chill run down her spine.

As Raskar was taken away, Vikram turned to her. “We did it.”

 

A week later, Raskar walked free again. A high-ranking official had intervened, evidence had vanished, and witnesses had retracted their statements.

 

Nikitha clenched her fists. This wasn’t over.

Raskar was more than just a corrupt businessman, he was orchestrating something far bigger. Every lead pointed to a massive money-laundering operation, one that involved high-profile politicians and law enforcement officials.

One evening, while tailing one of Raskar’s associates, she found herself at an old warehouse near the city’s outskirts. She parked a block away and slipped in through a side entrance, her footsteps silent against the concrete floor.

Inside, stacks of crates labeled with fraudulent company names stood in neat rows. The faint hum of conversation reached her ears, and she edged closer. Peering around a corner, she spotted Raskar, flanked by two heavily armed men, speaking with a shadowed figure she couldn’t quite make out.

Her pulse quickened as she pulled out her phone and started recording. Suddenly, she heard a soft click behind her.

“Drop it.”

She froze. A gun barrel pressed against her back.

Slowly, she raised her hands and turned to face her captor. It was one of Raskar’s men, his expression a mix of amusement and menace.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Looks like we have a guest.”

Nikitha’s mind raced. She had to think fast.

“Raskar will want to hear what I have to say,” she said coolly.

The goon hesitated before motioning for her to move forward. They led her into the main area where Raskar turned, his expression unreadable.

“Nikitha,” he said, his voice smooth. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I think we can help each other,” she replied, forcing a smirk.

Raskar chuckled. “Now that’s interesting. Go on.”

She took a calculated breath. “You have a mole inside the Enforcement Directorate. And I want to know who it is.”

Raskar’s expression flickered, just for a second. Then, he smiled. “Now why would I trust you?”

“Because,” she said, stepping closer, “we both know, I was being followed by your men, for this day.” 

Silence stretched between them before Raskar gestured for his men to stand down. “Alright, Nikitha. Let’s talk.”

 

Months later, Nikitha orchestrated Raskar’s permanent departure with the precision of a seasoned strategist. Every move had to be calculated, every step airtight. A man like Raskar, with his wealth, influence, and web of powerful connections, couldn't simply be eliminated—he had to disappear in a way that ensured he could never claw his way back.

 

Using her network of confidential informants and access to classified intelligence, she fabricated an elaborate scheme. First, she carefully manipulated digital records, crafting an ironclad arrest warrant that painted Raskar as a fugitive wanted not only in India but in multiple countries for financial crimes, arms trafficking, and conspiracy. She fed this information through encrypted channels to select international agencies, making sure that his name would raise red flags at every major airport and border crossing.

 

Next, she arranged for a private security team - men who operated in the shadows, working for no country but serving those who could pay the highest price. With a mix of bribery and coercion, she ensured that Raskar’s most trusted bodyguards were suddenly unavailable, replaced by men loyal to her plan. He never even realized the shift.

 

On the night of the operation, Raskar believed he was being escorted to a safe house, a temporary hideout to lay low while his lawyers worked on clearing his name. Instead, he was taken to a remote airstrip on the outskirts of the city. The jet waiting for him wasn’t bound for Dubai or Singapore, as he had been told, but for an undisclosed destination - a small, heavily monitored island nation where extradition was nearly impossible, and where powerful figures could be "contained" under the guise of house arrest.

 

As the engines roared to life, Raskar, for the first time, sensed something was wrong. He turned to his escort, demanding answers, but their blank, unyielding expressions told him everything. By the time he reached for his phone, the signal was already jammed.

 

The last thing he saw before the jet door shut was Nikitha standing at the edge of the tarmac, watching impassively. She lifted a hand in a casual farewell, her expression unreadable.

 

"Enjoy your new home," she murmured to herself as the plane ascended into the dark sky.

 

Raskar was gone. Forever.

 

Later that night, alone in her apartment, she picked up her old Nokia phone and dialed.

 

A voice on the other end answered. “Is it done?”

“Yes,” Nikitha replied coldly. “Raskar is out of the way.”

“And Vikram?”

 

She hesitated. “He trusts me. For now.”

The voice chuckled. “Good. Keep it that way.”

She exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the phone. “And Sethi?”

 

There was a pause before the voice responded. “Disgraced. He took the fall for the leaks and financial misconduct. The agency needed a scapegoat, and you made sure he was the perfect one.”

Nikitha’s lips curled into a faint smile. Sethi had chosen his side, and she had chosen hers. His betrayal had been a liability, but more than that, it had been a lesson - loyalty was a currency, and he had spent his foolishly. Now, he was nothing more than a footnote in the agency’s history, stripped of his title, his power, and his reputation. A man who had once commanded the room, reduced to whispers of scandal and disgrace.

 

She walked over to the window, the city stretching before her in glimmering lights and deep shadows. It had been a long road, full of compromises, deception, and carefully played moves. And now, she stood at the top, untouchable, unchallenged.

 

A queen in a kingdom of shadows.

 

Past Midnight: Nikitha leaned against the windowpane, the city humming below her like a restless beast. Power. It was intoxicating, but it was also fragile. One wrong move, one miscalculation, and the whole empire she had built could crumble.

 

She had outmaneuvered Raskar, removed Sethi, and secured Vikram’s trust. But she knew better than to get comfortable. The game never ended, it only changed players.

 

Her Nokia phone buzzed again. Same number. She exhaled sharply before answering. “Yes?”

A pause. Then, the voice on the other end, smooth but firm. “You’ve done well, Nikitha.”

She stayed silent. Compliments from them were never just that.

 

“You have control of the agency now. Vikram trusts you. The department listens to you. But there’s one last piece left.”

 

She already knew what was coming. “Sethi was the fall guy. Raskar’s gone. What else do you need?”

 

A low chuckle. “The throne isn’t truly yours until you eliminate every threat. Vikram is loyal - for now. But he’s not like you. He still believes in a clear line between right and wrong. And when the time comes, he won’t choose you.”

 

Nikitha’s grip on the phone tightened. Vikram had been her closest ally. He had stood beside her when things spiraled, fought with her against the corruption festering within the system. But he was different. He still held onto his moral compass, even when the world around him had proven that survival required something else entirely.

 

The voice continued, “You need to decide before he does.”

Nikitha let out a slow breath, glancing at the framed photograph on her desk - a rare moment captured years ago, before everything changed. Vikram, herself, a few other recruits during their training days. Back when she still believed that doing the right thing mattered. “I’ll handle it,” she said finally, her voice devoid of hesitation.

 

The call ended.

 

She tossed the phone into a bonfire, watching the flames consume the last trace of the conversation.

 

Vikram wouldn’t see it coming. And that was the tragedy of it.

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Pic: Freepik

The Stalker

Monday, 9:00 PM: The wintry evening grew even chillier with the breeze. Nikitha started walking fast toward her home. It was just another 250 meters before she felt she could shake off the person following her. As she turned left near the grocery store, with the last four blocks of houses to cover, she felt alone. When she reached her gate, she turned back and saw no one in the lane.

 

Had there been a man following her? Was she imagining things? Had he turned back after she entered her lane? These thoughts kept her busy until she showered and sat at the dinner table. The streetlight flickered, casting long shadows on the pavement. A gust of wind carried the faint scent of tobacco, making her frown. The unease didn’t leave her, but she dismissed it. She had bigger concerns. The next day was going to be quite busy. She went through the case files and prepared notes on what to expect at the rendezvous with the corporate honcho on Tuesday. This was going to be a major assignment, one that could make or break her career—and, more importantly, the reputation of her organization. Well past midnight, she shut her laptop and the reading light on the table and crashed into bed.

 

Tuesday, 7:00 AM: With a hot coffee mug in hand, she stepped onto the balcony facing the street and looked down to the end of the lane. There was someone standing and puffing a cigarette near the corner grocery store. Was he the same guy? She let the thought drift away, enjoyed the morning breeze, and finished her coffee.

 

After a quick shower and a grilled sandwich for breakfast, Nikitha dressed in formals, walked down to the garage, and opened the gate. She tucked her laptop bag into the rear seat and drove the car onto the main road, looking out for a tail. There seemed to be none—or so she thought. She drove straight to the headquarters.

 

YH Raskar was a multi-billionaire politician with numerous alleged nefarious activities to his name. A former legislator with the then-ruling party, currently with the party in power after switching sides, Raskar wielded significant clout with the police. A self-proclaimed man of the masses, Raskar had friends and foes in the media and kept the police under his grip. The foul-mouthed businessman-politician had an army of followers—a gang that was as much a pain to the cops as to the general public. In recent times, his money-laundering activities and business deals had not only skyrocketed but also caught the eye of the national financial investigation agency. For a long time, he had evaded law enforcement due to his extreme connections.

 

The Enforcement Directorate had assigned the case of investigating YHR and his activities to Sethi and his team. Chief Sethi entrusted Nikitha with bringing the goon to justice. Today was the big day for closure.

 

Working overtime for the past fortnight, Nikitha and her team of two lieutenants had secured enough evidence to nail the financial frauds of YH Raskar. However, there were hurdles. Raskar’s tentacles spread across all strata of society, and the ED team knew they had to wriggle through a maze of deceit to apprehend the kingpin. To make things worse, Raskar’s men had infiltrated every department, and their eyes were on the vigil all the time. He had over half a dozen criminal cases pending against him, yet no charges had ever been framed.

 

9:00 AM: The first thing Nikitha did upon arrival at Chief Sethi’s office was to narrate the mysterious man tailing her since the previous week. Sethi listened quietly and asked her not to worry, as she was being guarded and would remain safe. The local police could not be trusted, so members of the Industrial Security Force in plain clothes were assigned to back up Nikitha and her team during the raid.

 

Noon: Unlike the early morning surprise swoops, this was planned as a mid-day entry—not really an ambush. Nikitha and her two young colleagues walked into the main gate of YH Raskar’s palatial bungalow. The security force waited outside in nondescript cars. Four men stopped them at the first periphery and let them in after verifying their credentials. In the patio, groups of musclemen were engaged in small talk. Two of them approached Nikitha with stern looks. With a bold face, she asked to see Mr. Raskar.

 

“Anna is busy,” was the curt response she received as they were ushered to sit on the sofas in the portico. They sat there for a while. Murmurs reached the man inside. Nikitha turned her head around the place, not sure what she was looking for. Her eyes fell on a man in a black suit on the balcony of the building across the road, watching through what seemed like binoculars. Was he the mysterious stalker? Before she could respond to the thought, two henchmen stood right in front of them and questioned them on the purpose of their visit. They seemed to be armed, and one of them had his hand reaching toward his back pocket. Nikitha was taken aback.

 

The ED team told them they had come to question Mr. Raskar and had enough evidence and a warrant for a search. Nikitha felt uneasy with the number of eyes around them, especially the one from a long distance. After half an hour of waiting, YH Raskar invited Nikitha and her colleagues inside the house. The team engaged him in discussion and laid the documents they had brought on his table. Raskar wore a beaming smile.

 

After three hours of intense questioning, Raskar and the ED team walked out of the house. The henchmen were anxious—was their ‘Anna’ being arrested? Raskar was surrounded by the paramilitary force, while Nikitha and her team were huddled into a bulletproof car and driven to headquarters. Raskar’s lawyers reached the HQ before the entourage brought him in.

 

4:00 PM: The court granted YHR bail. His lawyers had presented forged documents and coerced testimonies, creating just enough doubt to set him free. Nikitha clenched her fists in frustration. As she analyzed the failed operation, something nagged at her. Witnesses had backed out, and crucial evidence had been destroyed before her team arrived. It wasn’t just bad luck—someone had tipped YHR off. Raskar and his men were jubilantly driving back home.

 

Unbeknownst to her, a man in the shadows had been tracking these movements closely. He had witnessed YHR’s men tampering with evidence and discreetly gathered proof. He had seen the mole pass information to YHR’s men outside the courthouse but had to remain silent to protect his cover. This was his chance to tip the scales.

As the eventful day ended, the official car took her back home. At the turn into her lane, she caught a fleeting glance of a man in a dark suit puffing on a cigarette behind the pillar at the corner store. So, he sure wasn’t following her—or was he waiting for her there already? Nikitha didn’t give him much thought and entered her home, shutting the door behind her.

 

Why was bail granted to YHR? Was there something missing in their files? They surely had an airtight case with the evidence, and the court couldn’t have been in cahoots with the criminal. Questions crossed her mind. Then again, the silhouette of the mystery man appeared in front of her shut eyes. She was worried but also smiled, for she believed the department knew better how to handle her safety and security.

 

That night, an anonymous tip landed in her inbox. It contained grainy yet damning images—YHR’s henchmen burning ledgers, bribing key witnesses, and a name she hadn’t expected, someone from her own team. A mole. Her gut twisted. The message ended with: “Trust no one inside. Strike fast.”

 

Wednesday, 6:00 AM: Nikitha wasted no time. By dawn, she had confronted the mole with the evidence. His confession led them to a hidden ledger detailing illegal financial transactions. With the case reinvigorated, she coordinated a more aggressive raid on YHR’s premises, this time backed by an elite paramilitary team.

 

9:00 AM: Sethi, Nikitha, and the team were again present at YHR’s residence. This time, they had a dozen uniformed cops in tow. Word spread across the constituency of an impending arrest of their ‘beloved’ leader. People turned up in hordes, only to be pushed back by the barricades put up across all entry and exit points to Raskar’s house.

 

As the raid unfolded, chaos erupted. The ED team spent over six and a half hours inside, while the crowds surged outside the residence, clogging all paths in the colony. YHR’s guards resisted, trying to buy him time. A shot rang out from above. One of YHR’s most trusted enforcers, about to set fire to a key stash of documents, dropped his gun, wounded. The sudden turn stunned the rest of YHR’s men, giving Nikitha’s team the opening they needed. Within minutes, they had secured the entire premises, including financial records, offshore account details, and digital evidence YHR couldn’t erase in time.

 

4:00 PM Finally, the sirens started blaring as a special grilled vehicle entered the palatial compound. YH Raskar was whisked in, and as the vehicle exited from the rear gate, the followers began chanting slogans. As the officers hauled YHR away, Nikitha’s heart pounded. Something about that precise, well-timed shot stayed with her. She scanned the area, catching a fleeting glimpse of a familiar silhouette disappearing into the distance. That same scent of tobacco lingered.

 

A riot-like situation ensued, with the ED team members leaving the premises in different cars. Nikitha was the last to leave, accompanied by a security guard. Their car was stuck in the melee. The driver turned inside the compound and headed for the north-side main exit. The police pushed back the crowd, and the vehicle slowly made its way onto the by-lane leading to the main road.

 

A group of young men who had been present from the previous day inside YHR’s compound spotted Nikitha and gestured to the others toward the car. Sticks and stones were pelted at the car, even as the driver avoided most of them and drove cautiously away from the scene. They had hardly traveled a kilometer in half an hour from the politician’s residence when a gang of goons blocked their way. The windshield was cracked, and the driver stopped the car as it was completely surrounded by angry, screaming men.

 

The guard sitting beside the driver gestured to Nikitha to exit through the door behind the driver. Just as she opened the door, a tall man in a dark hoodie, his face covered by a mask, grabbed Nikitha, wrapped her in a black shawl covering her head, face, and torso, and whisked her away across the road into a waiting minivan with a sliding door. As she was shoved into the vehicle, a large stone was thrown toward the van, aimed at Nikitha. The ‘abductor’ turned back to look and was hit on the forehead. He hurriedly shut the door and got in beside the waiting hooded, masked driver, who took off at high speed.

 

“Are you okay, buddy?” asked the driver.

“I’m fine,” said the man in a coarse tone, wiping the blood trickling down his face mask.

 

“Where am I?” screamed Nikitha, still covered and lying on the back seat. There was silence for over an hour before the van came to a halt. The two men got down and helped Nikitha out of the car, leading her into a dilapidated building.

 

She found herself bound and blindfolded, her head throbbing from the ambush. Her captor hadn’t spoken a word, but the tension in the air was unmistakable. As she struggled, she heard footsteps approaching. Her restraints loosened, and the hood-like shawl covering her slipped off. Nikitha looked at the bleeding face of her abductor-saviour. She pulled the mask from his face and slapped the ‘stalker’ on his cheek.

 

“Good shot from the balcony, my dear stalker. And bloody hell, stop smoking on duty near my house,” she chided him. Special Service Agent Vikram Singh was her partner in crime and fiancé, who had been entrusted with the undercover assignment of shadowing the dynamic investigator.

 

Chief Sethi walked in with a smile and said, “YHR is out of the picture for good.”

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Pic: Freepik

‘Effervescent, mercurial, genius, a genuinely warm and wonderful human Being’

Tribute

Summer of 1995: He arrived in Hyderabad, from Chennai, to take up the assignment as Assistant Regional Manager, Advt, at The Hindu. 

I had a new boss – Solomon Prabakar!

He was new to the twin cities. I was his first friend. To begin with Solly, as we called him, stayed at YMCA, Secunderabad, until we found a rental house. It was more than a month, daily picking up and dropping Solly at YMCA. A ritual that was fun because we spoke a lot about not just work but cricket, politics, and above all would subvert the ‘prohibition’ in the state on the sly.

When his family arrived a month later, I was there to receive them at the railway station. They had a new home in Sitaphalmandi and Solly, his wife Suganya and young Eunice and infant Hazael were a happy family. It was less than a year before the calling from Head Office took him back to Chennai. My “friend” was now my dotted line boss in HQ.

Solomon was the brain behind the redesign and revival of the brand “The Hindu Opportunities” – the recruitment pages. He envisaged a whole new path to recruitment advertising forming a 'task force', team of trusted lieutenants, across the branches, no wonder, I was one of them at Hyd. Giving his team a free hand to get creative with the brand and brought forth innovate concepts including the highly successful job fairs. 

Over the years, in his various travels to our offices, we found Solly to be a jovial person with a tremendous sense of humour. His PJs had us in splits and he was always at hand to help in any situation, never thought twice to lend the helping hand.. Truly a mercurial genius with a penchant for pulling off pranks at the drop of the hat. His humanness touched many lives. Mine was one! 

June 2012: With changing times and changing responsibilities, Solly moved from “Opportunities” to a different vertical. It was on his recommendation, I was considered for the elevation from my regional role to the national role, as I took over from him, the mantle of the Recruitment Pages, rechristened then as Empower. 

I moved to Chennai and Solly was my friend, mentor, family, and everything during the time I was in Chennai. He continued to guide me at work and off it too, I travelled with him to office and home daily, till I got my car to Chennai. Together with Siva Kumar (a.k.a Joe), Solly and I formed an inseparable Trio.

Early 2013: I left Chennai and The Hindu (after almost 2 decades), it was also the last day of Empower. The recruitment pages again became “Opportunities”, sans Solly & Venkat. 

Soon, Solomon Prabakar, General Manager, The Hindu, moved on too! 

The career paths had changed. We lived in different cities but always stayed connected. I made it a point to meet him whenever I was in Chennai in the last decade. I even attended the wedding of his elder daughter.

We exchanged calls and messages on Birthdays and festivals. Last, I heard from him was on Pongal – a nice video WhatsApp message from him.

Jan 24, 2024: 

Today morning, as I heard the sad news of his passing away, I was moved to tears. I have lost an elder brother, a close friend, a mentor, guide and above all a great partner in pranks. 

Words can't describe the grief of losing someone so dear, who cared for a friend like his own family.

Farewell Dear Brother, Solly! Travel well mate! We will keep you in our hearts, forever.

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Post Script: Here is a fictional story featuring the three of us Ronnie (Solly), Joe (Siva Kumar) and Sam (Me), in The Hindu Chennai in 2012: … And thus the World Ended on Doomsday December 21st!