Tangled Lives

CHAPTER 6

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets of Delhi. As I stepped out of the CBI headquarters, the cacophony of horns and voices filled the air, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. My thoughts were consumed with Druvan Dutta's enigmatic past, a puzzle that begged to be solved. The deeper I delved, the more layers I uncovered, but with each revelation came more questions.

Determined to uncover the truth, I made my way toward the orphanage mentioned in Druvan's records—a place steeped in history and secrets. The orphanage, called Sewa Sadan, had been established decades ago, providing shelter to abandoned children. It was a modest building, its whitewashed walls faded with age, but the memories within were surely vivid. I was acutely aware that the past I sought might be hidden among the whispers of lost souls.

As I entered the orphanage, a sense of unease washed over me. The air was thick with the scent of dust and neglect, and I could feel the weight of countless stories pressing down on me. The receptionist, an elderly woman with silver hair pulled into a tight bun, looked up from her desk, her eyes scrutinizing my presence.

"Can I help you, dear?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

"I'm here to inquire about a former resident, Druvan Dutta," I replied, carefully watching her reaction. "I believe he may have lived here during his childhood."

The woman's brow furrowed, but her expression remained inscrutable. "Druvan Dutta? It's been some time since that name crossed my mind. What exactly do you want to know?"

I could sense her hesitation, a protective instinct perhaps, but I pressed on. "I'm investigating his death, which occurred under suspicious circumstances. Any information you could provide would be invaluable."

The receptionist sighed, glancing toward the corridor that led deeper into the orphanage. "I can look up the records, but I can't guarantee you'll find anything of use. Many children passed through these walls, and not all left behind clear trails."

"Thank you," I said, my heart racing with anticipation. "I'll wait here."

Moments later, she returned, holding a yellowed file that looked as if it hadn't been opened in years. As she placed it on the desk, I felt a surge of adrenaline. The weight of the file felt heavy in my hands, as though it held the keys to a hidden truth.

"Here you are," she said, her tone softening slightly. "Druvan was indeed a resident here, but I must warn you, his story is not one of joy."

With bated breath, I opened the file. Inside, the pages were filled with the familiar scrawl of long-ago records, detailing Druvan's early years. He had been abandoned at the age of three, left on the doorstep of the orphanage with a note that had all but faded into obscurity.

"Do you know anything about his biological parents?" I asked, scanning the notes.

"They died shortly after he was left here," she replied, her voice distant as she recalled the past. "A tragic accident, I believe. There were whispers of illness, but no one ever confirmed the details."

A flicker of disappointment coursed through me. "Do you have any records of their names? Anything that might shed light on their lives?"

The woman hesitated. "There are records, but they are scarce. The family's name was not widely known in our community. They were just... another tragedy to add to the many we've seen."

"Where did you obtain this information?" I pressed, trying to discern if there were gaps in her narrative. "Could you have been misled?"

"The community was small. Such tragedies do not go unnoticed," she insisted, but I sensed a tremor in her voice. "I can show you the records if you'd like, but I stand by what I said."