The following morning, we woke with our thoughts still tangled in everything we had uncovered. After quick showers, we gathered around the dining table where a rich breakfast had already been laid out—hot parathas stuffed with spiced potatoes, lightly seasoned omelets, toast glazed with honey, and freshly brewed chai whose aroma filled the room. The comfort of the meal contrasted sharply with the lingering weight of the previous day’s discoveries.
While eating, Peter, Diljeet, and I went over everything once again. Each of us had taken on responsibilities that came with authority as well as pressure—my role as a detective working alongside government officials, Diljeet’s position as a commissioner, and Peter’s work supplying equipment to armed forces. One conclusion kept returning to us: we needed official confirmation. We decided to consult the police and check whether any suicide or drowning cases had been recorded in the river over the past few months.
This wasn’t random speculation. The villagers had already given us a complete account of their experiences, and none of it mentioned suicides. That gap suggested something deeper—possibly incidents elsewhere along the river that were somehow connected. The rest, we would need to investigate ourselves.
Shortly afterward, all five of us—Amit, Abdul, Peter, Diljeet, and I—set off in the jeep toward the regional police station. On arrival, we showed our identification and requested a meeting with the Station House Officer. The officers greeted us respectfully and led us inside.
The SHO welcomed us warmly and offered tea while we introduced ourselves carefully. We avoided going into the more unusual aspects of our work, simply asking whether there had been any drowning cases in the river within the last three or four months.
He called in an inspector carrying case files. As the records were reviewed, his expression turned serious. He explained that eight fugitives had recently escaped custody, and during the chase, they had jumped into the river. Their bodies were never recovered.
A heavy silence followed.
The SHO agreed to take us to the location where it had happened. When we reached the site, a group of locals had already gathered, their faces filled with unease. I asked where the river split into branches. A young man stepped forward and pointed out a direction, mentioning a nearby village situated along one of the tributaries. From a bridge nearby, we were able to see it faintly in the distance.
Looking through binoculars, I spotted the settlement resting along the riverbank, its atmosphere distant and unsettling. After thanking the police and villagers, we turned the jeep toward that village.
At the entrance, Amit led us to Vikram Baba’s home, where we were once again received with kindness and respect. We requested five experienced divers, and without hesitation, Baba arranged for them. We instructed them to search the river thoroughly.
For nearly an hour, the divers explored beneath the surface. Then one of them surfaced abruptly, shouting that he had found something. Moments later, he emerged carrying two skeletal remains. The others continued their search and soon returned with more—until eight skeletons had been recovered in total.
The remains were laid out respectfully. With Baba’s permission, a burial pit was prepared near the village. One by one, the skeletons were placed inside. Abdul brought petrol, pouring it carefully over the site, and I lit the match.
“Step back,” I warned.
As the flames rose, the fire consumed the remains. Then something extraordinary happened—faint, mist-like forms appeared to rise from the burning pit, drifting upward as though released from unseen chains. It felt as if the trapped souls were finally being freed.
“It’s over,” we said, overwhelmed.
The villagers, filled with relief and gratitude, lifted us onto their shoulders in celebration. I quietly told Baba to keep the details away from authorities, as such truths would likely never be believed and might only cause trouble.
Afterward, we returned to Amit’s home.
A week later, we revisited the village and found no signs of fear or disturbance. The earlier terror had vanished, and peace had returned to the community.
With our mission complete, we spent the rest of our holiday exploring Hyderabad. We visited the illuminated Charminar, wandered through vibrant markets filled with perfumes and pearls, and enjoyed local delicacies like biryani, haleem, and double ka meetha. Gradually, the tension that had followed us for so long faded away.
For the first time in weeks, life felt light again.
Evenings were spent on Amit’s veranda as the sun dipped behind the trees, painting the sky in warm shades of orange and purple. Abdul leaned back with a relieved sigh, saying he never expected the river to feel peaceful again. Peter joked that he had almost expected the spirits to follow them home. Diljeet reflected that what they had faced wasn’t evil, but suffering misunderstood, shaped by fear.
Amit poured chai for everyone and said softly that sometimes true courage lies not in fighting, but in understanding.
I raised my cup and replied, “To understanding—and to the bond that carried us through.”
We toasted, laughter returning naturally for the first time in a long while. The fear that had once consumed us now felt distant, like a fading memory replaced by warmth, friendship, and relief.
The rest of the holiday passed in comfort and joy, filled with shared meals, stories, and peace.
Yet somewhere in the background of our thoughts, one truth remained—our journey was far from over.
End of Part 341Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF39Spb71YH
Author’s Note: This chapter was edited with AI assistance for grammar, readability, and flow.41Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXnmC8ieLxI
and then Add to home screen.