By the time Sub Inspector Ajay Singh reached the police station, the sun had yet to rise fully, though the darkness had already faded from the high-altitude landscape. He retired briefly to his quarters to freshen up for the day.
In his early thirties, Sub Inspector Singh stood six feet tall with an athletic build. Jovial by nature, he nonetheless showed visible discomfort when dealing with young women, likely stemming from his bachelor status.
At precisely 10:00 AM, Singh entered his office and found a note requesting him to meet the IIC, Mr. Bijon Ray, regarding a special briefing on the Mohan case.
Though Mr. Mohan’s death was officially due to a lorry accident, Singh was in two minds. The lone eyewitness had stated that it appeared as if Mohan had deliberately stepped in front of the vehicle, suggesting a possible suicide. In a larger city, the case might have been dismissed as an accident and closed, but Akash Nagar was different. Small, close-knit, and sensitive, the town's people would demand answers, especially since Mr. Mohan had been a teacher - a respected figure in the community.
Singh knew the investigation needed to be thorough and handled with care. He decided to begin with Mr. Mohan's family, but only after they had overcome the initial shock. For now, it was time to meet with Mr. Ray.
When Singh entered the IIC's office, Mr. Ray put down the newspaper he had been reading and greeted him with a smile.
After hearing Singh's thoughts on a cooling period to question Mrs Mohan, Ray disagreed. "Delaying won't help. It’s better to act quickly. You should speak to Mohan's family and colleagues immediately. We don’t want speculation to spread."
Taking the advice, Singh headed to Akash Nagar High School, then to Mr. Mohan's quarters. Mrs. Mohan, upon seeing the police, broke into hysterics, beating her chest and crying out, "That witch Manju killed my husband!"
Singh tried to calm her. "I’m here to get the facts. If you cooperate, I’ll do everything I can to ensure justice."
Eventually, Mrs. Mohan composed herself, and the questioning began.
"What's your name and that of your father?" Singh asked.
"My name is Sanju Biswal, and my father's name is Dushasan Baliarsingh."
"And your husband's name?"
She hesitated, her sorrow deepening. "Mohan Biswal."
"As head of the family, how did Mr. Mohan treat you all?"
"He cared for us deeply. He was a loving husband," she replied.
Singh continued delicately, "And your relationship as a couple? Were there any serious disagreements?"
She paused, seeming to consider her words. "We were like milk and water—inseparable. Even on that day, he went to the market to buy me a new saree."
"But we found no saree among his belongings."
She looked confused. "I don't know. Maybe he couldn’t find the one I asked for."
"And what saree was that?"
"A deep maroon silk saree."
Singh nodded, then shifted. "Earlier, you mentioned someone named Manju. Why did you say she killed him? And who is she?"
Mrs. Mohan's eyes filled with bitterness. "That witch Manju destroyed my family."
Singh leaned forward. "Please, I need you to explain. We need facts to bring justice."
Mrs. Mohan's voice dropped. "You won't believe me. Manju's dead. But she never left."
Singh froze, struggling to make sense of her words. "A ghost killed your husband?"
"Yes. But it’s a long story. Do you have the time to hear it?"
Singh took a breath. "It’s my job. Tell me everything."
Mrs. Mohan began. "We were four siblings. I was the eldest, followed by my sister Manju, then Ranju, and finally our brother, Rishav. Mohan and I were classmates. He loved me first, but I was too shy to respond. Later, he turned to Manju for help to win me over. That’s when things changed.
"I didn’t realize Manju had feelings for him until later. After high school, Manju and Mohan went to the same college. One day, Manju told Mohan she loved him and threatened to kill herself if he didn’t marry her. Mohan loved me, so he refused. Shortly after, Manju drowned herself in our village pond."
Singh leaned forward, listening intently as she continued.
"Years passed, and Mohan and I married. We moved here, thinking we had escaped the past. But Manju followed us. Her spirit... haunted us. We thought she was gone after many rituals, but she wasn’t. I’m sure it was her that killed him."
Mrs. Mohan broke down again, her sobs filling the room. Singh, caught between disbelief and intrigue, didn’t press further. For now, he needed time to process this strange tale.
He left her with a warning not to leave town without informing him, then walked back to the station. As he replayed her words, he couldn't ignore how eerily they aligned with the witness's account. Could it be that the accident wasn’t an accident after all?
(To Continue)
