"Goodbye Maya. Till next time."
Maya Ganguly has always felt a sense of loneliness in her heart since the time her elder brother had run away from home. Fourteen years ago. But things were finally looking up when she was able to convince her parents...
"Yes, I have seen this boy," Chintu repeated as if to ascertain himself, "He was in a trip or something that my father arranged quite a while ago, he was. This boy was there."
"What trip? Do you have any record of that?," I asked, almost jumping up in excitement.
"Are you sure?," I added noticing his lost expression.
"Of course, I am not sure. My memory's not as sharp as it used to be. I have forgotten everything about that trip except that there was one. And I didn't go with them either, so there's that. I am sorry, miss, but I don't think I'll be of any further help. But I can suggest someone who might be able to help you."
"And who may that be?," I asked, putting my wallet back into my backpack.
"Wait, I'll show you," he said, getting up again.
He fought his way through the huge pile of newspapers, got hold of the one he was looking for and handed it to me.
"Read the article on the extreme left," he instructed.
The article ran as follows:
The Mystery of the Guind Murder Continues
Calcutta: It is still fresh on the reader's mind that Mr. Sunil Guind, an MLA from CMT who had come to the city for a visit was shot in cold blood on the 19th of December in his third floor room in the Star Haal hotel. As stated earlier, a lot of valuables have been reported missing by the police officials.
"It is certainly very embarrassing that such an incident has occurred in our state. We will spare no means to locate the culprits. Inspector Gupta is handling the case and I have every faith in her to track down the killers," a government official close to the Chief Minister said.
Meanwhile, in a new turn of events, Mr. Aparesh Barui, the CEO of Barui Enterprises and a close friend of Mr. Guind, has asked not to make this incident a political one. He also informed that he has employed an amateur detective to look into the case, who also happens to be his adopted son.
The rest of the article blamed this incident on the warring nature of the different political parties and concluded by saying that 'it was an exemplary example of the power struggle that has come to plague West Bengal's political scenario in recent times'.
"This is the incident which has been going on for ages in the news channels," Atifa said, after finishing reading the article.
"What has this got to do with us?," I asked, a little bit confused.
"That son of the industrialist, his name's Rakesh," Chintu answered, "A very lively chap. He was one of the orphanage children. Got out of here and got himself adopted by a millionaire. I bet he would be laughing on seeing me now, that cheeky brat. But it's good to see that at least one of them is making it big out there."
He again opened the cupboard and this time, took out a bottle of whisky from inside.
"You want some, miss?," he asked, advancing the bottle towards me.
I waved it away. He took out the cap and finished almost half of it in a single chug.
"Honestly," he said, dropping down on his chair again, "You should give it up. Your brother's probably dead anyway."
"Where does he live?," I asked, ignoring him.
"I just told you. He's in brat heaven," he said, taking another chug out of the bottle.
This time I actually held him by the collar, unable to hold down my anger. He smirked at me through his half drunk eyes.
"I meant that detective," I said. I let him go. The stench coming out of him was horrible.
"Hey, miss, that was a metaphor," he replied defensively, "Now don't look at me with those angry little eyes again."
"Where does that detective stay?," I repeated almost shouting. Atifa tried to calm me down but I didn't need to. I knew I had to act desperate to get things out of him. Some people would go to any means to feel needed.
"26, B.B Ganguly Street, Sealdah," he said, slowly. The bottle in his hand was now empty.
We were about to leave after this when he called me back from behind.
"How do you deal with something that is out of your hands, miss?," he asked.
I turned around and saw him sitting in his little chair with that empty bottle in his hand and for a brief moment, I actually felt sorry for him.
"I deal with it by bringing it to my own hands," I replied and walked out.
"Metaphorical, of course," I heard him mutter back.
We were momentarily dazzled by the sunlight as we came out of the orphanage. I was, however, relieved to finally get out of that drunk's house with at least some knowledge. Now we had a clear cut path to follow and maybe if we were lucky we could also get some help from the detective. This day hadn't turned out to be such a disaster after all.
"You are going to meet that detective, aren't you?," Atifa asked in the manner of a rhetorical question, as we walked back towards the main road.
"He doesn't seem to be that bad if a millionaire is hiring him," I said, "And besides, we haven't got any other choice. Our highway has now turned into a one-lane driveway."
The sun had set not long ago and the sky was slowly turning into darker shades of purple. We could hear the song of a cuckoo bird drifting towards us from somewhere.
"All those metaphors are killing me," whispered Atifa.
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