Conflagration

Chapter 3: A Disguise

Imlie Mishra tried to discreetly scratch the itch on the nape of her neck caused by the infernal white wig she was wearing. The bun sat low on her nape and the poor quality of the material was chafing her skin. She could only hope there was no lice in it, but given that she had borrowed it from the chacha who ran the drama company in her street, there was no telling where and all it had been. The large plain gold rimmed glasses she wore kept slipping down her nose and the cheap polyester saree with the high neck blouse did nothing to keep her cool in the unseasonably warm weather that Delhi was experiencing. When she had set out for the police station in disguise today, her mirror had showed an old and determined lady, exactly the image she wanted to project to ACP Aryan Singh Rathore who had cornered Chotu yesterday.

Imlie's blood boiled when she thought about the state she had found the boy in yesterday night. He had been shivering in fear, bruises on his arm turning purple, unable to do anything other than give her ACP Aryan Singh Rathore's visiting card and say that he had wanted to meet Chotu's parents. Chotu's mom Bansari was the house help of the Tripathis and his father was a drunkard who beat his wife and son regularly.

When Imlie had first come to live with the Tripathis she had been shocked to see how often Bansari would come to work with deep welts across her back and hands and bruises on her face that she would hide under her pallu. The boy was no better, in an age where he should be playing with other kids he constantly hid under his mother and jumped or cried at the slightest noise.

It had taken Imlie a good month of sneaking him chocolates and toys to get him to trust her enough and spill the details of what his father was doing. Now a police officer was going to destroy all her efforts. She had arranged for Bansari and her son to be transferred to a women's shelter but if the policeman went looking for Chotu's parents, his father would find out and likely kill the boy and his mother.

Squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine even though it did nothing to add height to her barely 5 foot 4 inch frame, she marched up the stairs of the Police Headquarters to the constable sitting at the front desk, "Sir, I am here to meet ACP Aryan Singh Rathore."

"Who are you?"

"I am Manjari Sharma, social worker with Bal Sanstha. ACP Sir asked one of the boys I work with to bring his parents to meet him. He is an orphan and lives in the Sanstha sgo I came instead."

"Wait here, let me check if ACP Sir is available."

The constable left and Imlie used the pallu of her saree to wipe the beads of sweat dotting her forehead. She was beginning to think that impersonating someone she knew and coming to the police station was not such a good idea afterall. If Manjari madam ever found out then she was going to be in a world of trouble. Granted she had built a rapport with the woman because she volunteered at the orphanage in her off time but that friendship would come to an end if Manjari madam found out what she had done.

The pot bellied constable shuffled back to his seat and just as he lowered his large girth into the chair, inspiration struck her. She could research and write an article about how unhealthy Delhi Police was and given that their job was to run behind criminals to catch them, being unhealthy meant they couldn't be efficient at their job. Suppressing the grin threatening to split her face she carefully kept her expression blank as the Constable intoned

"Wait here for 15 mins, when Sir is ready to see you, the peon will call you."

He went back to writing something in the file open on his desk while Imlie walked over to the rickety chair in the corner, pulled out her notebook and pen and started jotting down the ideas for the article she wanted to write. She was sure that after reading her article, the editor would promote her to being a full time investigative journalist.