Under the spreading chestnut tree

“It’s been a month since the probe started. Your department has failed to nail the murderer. Why the delay?”
“Have you got any lead in the case?”
“Does the previous murder that happened last month have a connection with this? The patterns are similar aren’t they?”
The questions were storming in from the gathered reporters in front of DIG’s office.
“This is a cold-blooded murder committed by professionally hired killers. As far as we have seen, there are no loopholes. A special team is investigating the case. We are looking at the case from all sides. I can assure you that we will catch the culprit in a short while.” The DIG replied calmly.
Shanti switched off the TV. Listening to that interview was of no use. Policemen were blabbing the same thing since past two weeks. In addition, the news channels had minimised the field reports. They showed a video clip over and over again. There were no new news. And in prime time all they showed was few people sitting around and shouting at each other on top of their voices.
When Shanti joined the Daily Express as a reporter after graduating from the IMC, all she dreamt was to become a famous journalist who would be fearless and bring injustice before the public. And it had taken her three years to finally get the attention of the editor when she had reported the famous case of actress Kriti’s murder. After that case, she was summoned for all the crime cases. In her career of five years as a crime reporter she had never seen murders like this. These were the rare cases of perfect crime. But there were patterns one could not deny.
She had pounced on the case since day 1, the day Deepak was murdered. The chief editor of the Daily Post, renowned for his ethics and his ruthlessness in calling a sheep as a sheep when most of the journalists where heeding to the politicians or bureaucrats. He was murdered at his own house, shot point blank at the middle of the night when the whole neighbourhood was asleep.
The second murder happened three weeks ago. Alisha too, was shot at point blank range at her own flat, where she lived alone. All that came to light from the CCTV footage was that two masked men had entered her flat at about 7:30 in the morning and after few seconds they were off.
She had gathered all the information she could including the stories published in the Post for the past two months. She had trawled the streets and alleys for clues. But all information she got were the same that were published in all the other newspapers and TV.
Shanti lit a cigarette. She was immersed in her own thoughts. Somewhere deep down she knew she had all the pieces of the puzzle. She just couldn’t figure out how to place them right. In her khadhi kurta and Charlie trousers, she walked to and fro taking small puffs from her cigarette. Now and then she waved her hand over her curly hairs. She had to find the motive behind the murder and the connection between the two murders. The clock struck 12 o clock. She didn’t even have proper dinner, all she managed was to grab a sandwich and carrot juice while returning from her office. She could hear her stomach yearning for food. But this did not worry her much. She was waiting for the call. A source she knew had told her he had some information about the murders and will call her at midnight.
It was already thirty minutes past midnight. The source had not called yet. The anxiety hit her. She had smoked five cigarettes already and had traced the path of a lizard from the ceiling to its hiding place, behind the wall clock, like a tiger eyeing on its prey. It was nearly 1 o clock when her phone finally rung. It was an unknown number. With trembling fingers she received it.
“Hello”
“Hello ma’am, this is Shankar. I have some news”. He was whispering through the phone and his tone was shaky as though he was in danger.
“Deepak sir was doing a report on something that made some religious leaders furious and he had received few threats from few mobs backed up by politicians. Alisha was helping him in doing some field work on the same.”
“What was he reporting about?”
“As of now, all I have is this. I don’t know what the report was about. And even the police want the cases closed soon. They are under pressure and are denied from probing deeper into the case. They might even close the case claiming insufficient evidence”.
“Can you catch hold of anything that might be used as an evidence?”
“I will see what I can do” and the connection was cut.
Shanti put the phone down and sank in her bean bag. Suddenly she leapt and made her way to the chair in front of her computer. A thought struck her. It suddenly occurred to her that Alisha was an active blogger and there, she could catch some information.
She started going through all her posts, and a particular post intrigued her. The post titled “Under the spreading chest nut tree…” that went like this…
“India is a democratic country. A government of the people, by the people and for the people. But in reality, the government is definitely of the people and by the people but for only a selected few people. But in India all people are equal but few are more equal than others. The politics has already crept its way into the animal farm. Half the history of our country is tampered. The people are made to believe false development statistics. Do you really believe the politicians attend satsangs and visit temples and mosques and churches out of devotion? All they care about is the vote count. The government and few bureaucrats control the economy, media, and everything. The rich is getting richer and the poor are made to believe they will get richer. The mob, gangsters are all fed by politicians. The politicians sell themselves to the businessmen as said in 1984, ‘Under the spreading chest nut tree, I sold you and you sold me’. Our system will turn out into a totalitarian regime if we don’t wake up. With AI and virtual reality growing and country’s economy controlled by few businessmen, a dystopian future might come into reality.”
“It would be of no surprise if she was under the radar of some politically backed gangsters”, thought Shanti, after reading the post. Deepak and Alisha must have been onto something really big. Something that would’ve have shook the country to its bones. It was clear that they were murdered to prevent them from revealing something to the public but what that something was, was mystery. Who murdered them? Who hired the killers? Shanti lit another cigarette. She was trying hard to connect all the dots. She could not sleep all night.
It was 3:00 A.M when her cell phone vibrated. It was a text message from Shankar. “cght hold of sme audio files of Alisha’s phone convos…wll mail it to u in sme time…don’t call me…-shankar”.
It was 5:30 when her computer notified her of a new unread mail. As she was opening it she noticed she was involuntarily shaking her legs restlessly sitting in her chair. She opened the mail sent by Shankar. The mail had four audio files attached. The last one was timed just few minutes before her death. Shanti clicked the download button. She felt as though the files were taking ages to get downloaded. Her eyes were fixed on the computer screen. They were not even blinking as the download window read 10 seconds to finish downloading. She could hear her heart pounding when the files were finally downloaded. With trembling hand she clicked upon the last audio clip.
“Hello sir, I know who killed Deepak Sir”
“Really? Can we take it on record? Go on”
“The politicians did it. They are all involved. Of all the parties.”
“What are you talking? Why would both the wings want him killed?”
“He was investigating a case. I was doing field report for him. Today when I reached his home he was killed. I wish I’d been there earlier. It might have made all the difference. So all I can tell you is why he was murdered.”
Shanti heard the calling bell ring. She had to pause the audio. It was three quarters past five in the morning. The milkman usually came at 6:00 A.M. But she never knew for sure as it would be around ten in the morning when she woke up every day. The sleepless night had made her weary. Shanti was happy that she could at least make herself a cup of hot coffee. She made her way to unlatch the door. As soon as she opened the door she backed away in horror. In front of her stood two men with masks covering their faces. The guy in front raised his hand which held a muted gun.

picture credits:https://www.google.co.in/search?q=1235539964_chernye_oboi&rlz=1C1CHBF_enIN758IN760&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=53PA-vkF-Gsn5M%253A%252CHymnz5Tz5rDLpM%252C_&usg=__NiQJttVhsq7Gy8CH5hNOgmFUgd4%3D&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiA26mq25HZAhUkS48KHcTCAOcQ9QEINjAC#imgrc=j1H9puWAdt7gqM: