The serial killer at large (759 words)

The city was abuzz with the spine-chilling stories of gory killings in different parts, mostly at night. Some daytime murders in secluded spots were reported. There was a uniform pattern behind the killings, and the instrument used was the same. The victims were mostly young men. The killer spared old men, women and children. The description of this serial killer was all hearsay as no one had seen him, and the victims were too dead to shed light on.

Rumours were afloat that he killed with a blunt instrument to the head. But no evidence was found in the vicinity. The newspapers were screaming with headlines reporting the ghastly slaughters and asking for immediate action by the police. The police were not found wanting in response, and many patrol teams were doing the rounds in different parts of the city at nights. It had been nearly a month, and more than 15 killings had taken place, with the killer still eluding the police. There was a reward of rupees one lakh to anyone helping in nabbing the culprit.

Ravi was broke. He had no job. The last rupee was spent long back, and he needed money badly. This was a godsend opportunity. He was a hefty and strong fellow and could tackle anyone on one to one basis. He ventured out, looking carefully on all sides for any suspicious character. It was dark and drizzling, with the atmosphere somewhat creepy. The night seemed perfect for the killer to come out of his den to get his prey.

 Ravi leisurely walked, alert, as the deserted road lined with big trees was empty, with not a single soul in sight. It had been three days since an incident was reported, and the whole city was waiting with bated breath for the next murder and hoped the police would catch the killer. Police were also on tenterhooks, setting up barricades at all intersections for the cars to stop. They even checked individuals who looked suspicious, sparing the well-dressed office goers.

Ravi saw a few police patrol cars whizzing past. This road was still desolate and dim with lights few and far between. Ravi had made sure that he was well armed when he went out since the day murders started happening. Still there was a slight tinge of fear as the killer managed to kill 15 unwary and unsuspecting victims. But he was well prepared for a skirmish if necessary and confident that he could not be taken by surprise. Nevertheless, he ran his hand on his side to feel the security of the weapon he had hidden to be used if necessary.

It was then he saw in the darkness a well-built, tall man enter from a side road. There were none within sight. He felt his heart was pounding hard and that he was perspiring. There was a strange feeling of tingling in his hands and legs. He did not panic, though and kept his hand on the weapon. When the man came close, he found him in a Khaki uniform of the police. He was sporting a long and bushy moustache as policemen are wont to.

Ravi heaved a sigh of relief when the khaki-clad man asked in a stentorian voice,” Hey, what are you doing on this road at this hour? Don’t you know that a mad killer is on the prowl and that people do not stir out after dusk, and if they do, they go in groups?”

Ravi laughed loudly and said, “I am fully aware. In fact, I am on the prowl to catch him to help you, inept police people.”

“You seem a reckless guy. I would call you a foolish to come like this alone, without even a walking stick in your hand to confront a known serial killer. The moment he sees you, he will make a mincemeat of you,” the khaki-clad man said with loud laughter.

“Don’t assume things. I have a weapon to protect myself. Why should I fear now when you are there by my side?” Ravi said

“That is true. Not a single patrol car is seen for nearly 30 minutes. I hear one jeep is coming behind us. Don’t you hear?” asked the khaki man.

Ravi turned around to see the jeep when he felt a sledgehammer blow fall on his head. A thousand stars exploded before he felt he was floating in darkness, and all was quiet thereafter.

The headlines in the paper the next morning screamed,” Killer active again. Sixteenth victim. Is the police sleeping?”

 

The cost of a free consultation (1164 words)

 

You can call me a counsellor, a shrink, a psychiatrist or even an agony aunt. It is up to you, and it will not affect me. I am not one of those who have big consulting rooms with flashy boards and upholstered furniture. I don’t flaunt my degrees to impress my clients and attract them. Instead, I seek them where they are and who are mostly abandoned by family and society. They live their own lives in a cocooned corner of drugs, alcohol or red-light areas. It is easy to spot them and you don’t need any special skill.

I leave my home at 9 am to go on my daily rounds to the park, mall, bars, drug hideouts, red light areas and isolated places, even funeral homes. In what I consider social work. I don’t need well-cut suits and expensive leather bags. I am content with my rather old blue serge jacket and slightly faded jeans. I don't pay much attention to my appearance, and I'm aware that my long hair needs a cut. My work is more important to me than my appearance. I cast my look across the places I visit. I can invariably find the individual(s) who need my professional help.

I was in a supermarket where I found this middle-aged man with bloodshot eyes filling the basket with half a dozen bottles each of whiskey and beer, vodka besides, I think rum and tequila. There was also a lone bottle of wine. You don’t need any further proof of this man’s addiction to liquor; one buys so much unless he is an alcoholic. I gently approached him and smiled at him. He returned the smile but continued to look for some other variety. I coughed slightly, and when he turned, I said, “Liquor is harmful, and it is difficult to break the habit. Not so much at one go.”

He ignored me. I considered it my societal responsibility to wean him away from this weakness.

“If you can spend 30 minutes with me, I can cure you of this dependence without any obligation, for I consider this as my duty to society”, I said softly.

He looked at me contemptuously and bawled out “What shit are you taking? Get lost before I lose my temper”

Even as I was saying, “Do not get upset. I am aware it takes a long time to break the habit”, he punched my nose hard, with blood oozing out. In a short while, the security led me out with a warning not to harass customers. I do not get disheartened by such violent rages or failures in my attempts. I keep looking for the next client.

With a band-aid on my bloody nose, I happened to see a zombie sitting on a bench and smoking what I was certain was hash. I went closer and as I feared, his eyes had a vacant look and his cheeks were shrunk. He was oblivious of my presence close by his side or my salutation. It was evident he was hooked on drugs. I could sense a sweaty smell of one who had no shower for a week or more. He moved away from me. I do not give up easily and followed him.

“Leave me alone. Why are you stalking me? I have no money with me,” he said with some irritability

“Cool down, I have gone through this hell, but could shake it off though with difficulty,” I said gently.

“What do you want? What are you talking about?”

“Let us sit down for a while. But tell me what are you into, Ice, LSD, cannabis, opium or ecstasy or any such stuff? I have done all these. I know you get high, into a world of heaven if you have a female partner to boot. I have come to save you from the hell you are sliding into.”

“You wish to save me, yes, by all means. I have been jobless for four months and need one immediately. Can you fix it? My wife and child are starving,” he said

“I have heard this refrain countless times. Come on, let us go and sit on the bench over there,” I said persuasively.

The man pushed me down and started hitting me with such ferocity for a weakling like him. Soon, a crowd gathered to save me, with a policeman also joining. After hearing him and despite my protestations that I was trying to help him, the police took me to the station and, look at the irony, searched me to see whether I carried any drugs. After confining me for the whole day, they sent me away with a warning not to harass people with my help.

I was disillusioned and remained at my place for two days. Then on the evening of the third day, I went round the bazaar area around 8 pm. It is not far from the red-light area and was busy with people. I saw a good-looking well well-built young woman standing under a lamp post. She wore jasmine on her head, and the large bindi suited her round face. She looked decent. I wondered why she was standing there like ‘other’ women. I wished to check whether she needed my help despite the warning from the police.

“Why are you standing here alone at this hour? “I asked

She did not answer. When I repeated the question, she said, “I am waiting for my man”

I assumed she stuck to one person, unlike others and said, “Glad that you are sticking to one man, unlike others of your type. Even then, it is a vice. Better get married to him instead of standing here daily.

She let out a shriek, saying ‘ayyo’ when a two-wheeler with a man and a girl of 6 years with a bottle of Coke screeched to a halt before us.

“What happened?” he asked

“This idiot thinks I am a woman of shady character waiting for some customer.”

Soon, there was a crowd and some manhandling, and I was taken to the police station. They did not let me go home this time.

Someone came the next day and talked to me about the incidents. When I told him in detail that I am a counsellor doing social work voluntarily in saving people caught in vices, he laughed aloud. He asked me lots of questions and had my blood sample taken.

I overheard that man telling the inspector, “That smelly guy needs a shrink as he is slightly deranged and suffers from hallucinations that he is a doctor. Maybe he also requires de-addiction and some medication for an acquired ailment.”

Now I am in a mental hospital, and the fun of it is that doctors are treating me. I laugh at them but revel at the opportunity to help the large number of inmates here. The moral I learnt is never do anything for free, as you are mistaken for a fake.

 

Kind hearts abound in every profession (640 words)

 

The solitary hut was in the outskirts of the village.

“Open the door,” shouted Constable Manickam. He had come walking across the rugged fields.

The door of the hut remained closed, and there was no response, but a dim glow from the chimney lamp inside could be seen.

“Is Kannabiran inside? I have come from the police station. Be quick to open the door”

This was met with silence. Manickam kept his head on the door to hear some whispers inside.

“I can hear your voices. I will give you three minutes. If you do not open the door, I will break it” he said and waited patiently.

Local political functionary coerced the Sub Inspector to arrest the poor chap even without a written complaint. Manickam did not know why the politician was angry with the man. The verbal complaint was that  Kannbiran hurled a stone at the politician without any provocation, and that the politician had half a dozen witnesses to corroborate it. The SI was a meek man and never rubbed the politician the wrong way. Manickam loathed the wicked leader.

“Your time is up. If you do not open the door instantly, I am kicking it open,” shouted Manickam.

The door slightly opened and the face of a young woman appeared through the opening. “He is not at home. He has not come home for two days,” she said.

“Let me in” he said, and when she did not yield, he pushed open the door and entered.

The room was dimly lit. She had a six-month-old baby in her arms, a two-year-old boy was seen clutching at her leg, and a three-year-old girl sitting near the chimney lamp. A small 10x10 space, it was practically empty except for a trunk box at the corner and some bundles wrapped in old clothes, partly hidden by a bed sheet hung on a rope. Poverty was writ large, and the boy was crying evidently from hunger.

“Why is the boy crying? Has he not eaten? Brighten the lamp by raising the wick”

“They are both very hungry. There is nothing to give except some old gruel. They refuse to drink as it has become stale. I haven’t eaten either,” she started crying.

“I am sorry. When he comes home, will you ask him to see me immediately?”

 “Surely. Why are you searching for my husband?”

“I was told he threw a stone at a local leader, and he has lodged a complaint.SI is very angry. Let him come and apologise.”

“You are like my elder brother. Please save us from him. He wanted my husband to take away a child and hide it here for a few days. Is it not wrong? How will I feed the child when we are hungry ourselves? My husband, being a father himself, refused, and the leader is making false accusation,” she said

Manickam then saw some movement of the bed sheet, and when he saw intently, he could see a pair of feet underneath. He pretended not to have noticed.

“Anna (brother), please help us. Upon God and my children, I swear he has not done anything wrong. His refusal to do an illegal thing has angered the leader”

“I do not know all that. I will come again tomorrow. Your husband is not safe here, as the leader is angry with him. Do you understand?”

“Can we run away to my mom’s village?”

“Do not tell me anything. Have these 200 rupees. Get some food for all of you. Beware, I will come looking for him again tomorrow morning, maybe with SI.”

“Thank you, Anna, God bless you”

“It is ok. Remember, you people are not safe here. Do you understand?” he repeated.

When she nodded her head slightly, he wrote in his notebook, “Accused not at home”, and briskly walked away

 

The Monk at the Casino – A Lesson in Letting Go” (451 words)

 Several years back, someone had shared this story without the author’s name. It is nice that I wish to share with you. I have edited here and there.

One day, a saffron-clad monk with just a dhoti, a half-sleeved kurta and a small bowl elliptical in shape walked up to the entrance of a famous casino in Las Vegas. The guards were stunned to see the half-clad man strange  in their view and stopped him.

Guard: “Swami, you need money to play here. Do you have any dollars?”

Monk: “How much do I need?”

Guard: “At least one dollar.”

The monk looked around and spotted a dollar bill on the ground. He picked it up and handed it to the guard. The guard, surprised but with no reason to stop him now, let him in.

At the counter, a lady told him, “Sir, with this one-dollar chip, you can only play the slot machines.”

Amidst the plethora of varied machines, the monk calmly walked to a slot machine, inserted the chip, and pulled the lever.

Jackpot! $100,000!

The crowd erupted. People gathered, clapped, and congratulated him.

The manager approached and said, “Sir, you’re welcome to play any game now.”

The monk moved from table to table. His luck soared. By lunchtime, he had won $20 million. He was the centre of attention—applause and admiration followed him everywhere.

The manager rushed to the owner in panic. “Sir, we should shut down. This monk is going to bankrupt us!”

The owner replied with a smile, “I’ve been watching him since morning. I love how he plays. Even if I lose everything, I want him to play all day. Invite him to have lunch with me.”

When invited, the monk politely declined the grand lunch. “Fruits will do,” he said with a gentle smile.

He resumed playing in the afternoon. Slowly, luck turned. His winnings dropped from $20 million to $18 million… and were dwindling. People advised him, “Swami, this is enough for three lifetimes. Take it and leave.”

But the monk just smiled and played on.

By evening, he had lost everything.

People criticised him. The manager approached again. “Swami, no one has ever won $20 million here. You did. But you also lost it all. And yet, you’re still smiling. How?”

The monk replied with the same calm smile,

“I didn’t lose $20 million. I only lost a dollar, the one I found on the ground. Why would I grieve over that?”

With that, he walked away, spinning his bowl in his hand.

The moral:

If we treat life’s ups and downs like a game at a casino—detached and light-hearted—we can sleep peacefully, no matter what comes and goes.

 

Bringing Sunshine to the needy lives (882 words)

Amrutha Joseph was on her way home after her usual grocery routine. She preferred shopping daily for three simple reasons: she couldn’t carry heavy loads, she liked buying fresh produce, and most importantly, she combined it with her afternoon walk. A smart and independent woman in her fifties, Amrutha lived alone and enjoyed her quiet routines.

As she strolled under the soft afternoon sun, a sudden jolt broke her rhythm. A boy, no older than nine, dashed into her, nearly knocking her over. She stumbled, but quickly regained her balance. In that split second of chaos, the boy snatched her grocery bag and tried to run away. But Amrutha, alert and quick, caught him by the collar before he could escape.

The boy immediately broke down, his defiance crumbling into desperation. Dirty, thin, and clad in an oversized, torn shirt, he looked like he hadn’t bathed in days. His matted hair had never seen scissors. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he pleaded, “Please, forgive me. My mom and little sister haven’t eaten for two days. I couldn’t watch them starve. I know it’s wrong, but I didn’t know what else to do. This is the first time I’ve done anything like this.”

A few passersby had begun to gather, curious about the commotion. One of them asked, “Did he do something to you, madam?”

Amrutha looked around and said firmly, “No, he’s a relative of mine. Everything is fine.” Then, without waiting for more questions, she took the reluctant boy by the hand and led him to her home.

Once there, she directed him to wash up at the backyard tap. When he returned, cleaner but still visibly shaken, she served him a hot, hearty lunch, whatever she had cooked for herself.

As the boy ate, she asked gently, “What is your name? Why can’t your mother or sister work? And honestly, you don’t seem like someone starving the way you ran from me. What’s your real story?”

The boy wiped his mouth and said, “My name is Rajni. What I said is true.

“Wow! A great name," Amrutha laughed.

“My mom is too sick to work, and my sister is just five. Dad has deserted us. I try to survive by picking up scraps from roadside stalls. Sometimes, people give me leftovers or biscuits. I know what I did was not right, but hunger makes you do things you never imagined.”

Amrutha looked at him, her heart softening. “From tomorrow, come here early in the morning. You can help me with the chores. I’ll enrol you in school and pay you a small salary for your help. You can go home by six every evening. Agreed?”

The boy’s eyes widened in disbelief. He nodded silently, his mouth still full.

That night, Amrutha felt a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt in years. She had perhaps saved someone from a path of darkness.

True to his word, Rajni arrived at 7 a.m. sharp the next morning. Amrutha had a barber give him a haircut and gave him new clothes to wear. She enrolled him in a nearby school, and Rajni helped her with the chores before heading to class. Everything seemed to be falling into place.

But on the third day, a commotion stirred outside her home. A few people stood arguing, and a police constable knocked on her door. “Ma’am,” he said respectfully, “this woman claims you’ve kept her neighbour’s son here forcibly and aren’t letting him come home.”

Amrutha was stunned. “What nonsense is this? The boy leaves every evening at six. Ask him yourself.”

The constable turned to the boy, who stood beside her. “Is that true? Do you go home every evening?”

Rajni looked down and replied quietly, “I leave here at six, but I don’t go home. I sleep in the marketplace.”

Amrutha’s face tightened with confusion. “Why didn’t you go home like I told you? Have you lied to me all along?”

“No, ma’am,” Rajni said, trembling. “If I go home without money, I’ll be forced to steal, snatch, or worse. I can’t bear to see my mom and sister hungry. But I promised you I wouldn’t do those things again. So, I didn’t go home. I thought… maybe when you give me my salary, I can take it to them. Then I’ll go back.”

Tears welled up in Amrutha’s eyes. She cupped his cheek and said, “You sweet boy. You kept your promise at such a young age. I have failed in overlooking this problem.” She turned to the police and the woman and told them, “He’s been helping me, studying in school, and eating here. No force. Only kindness.”

She handed Rajni his wages in advance. “Go give this to your mother. Go home with pride that you are honest, earning and studying too.”

On second thought, she chose to accompany Rajni. His mother broke down in tears upon seeing him, hugging him tightly. When Rajni narrated the happenings, Amrutha saw the relief and gratitude in her eyes and the sparkle of hope kindled again.

As Rajni and his mom embraced, the church bell rang loud and clear across the town, as if its chimes echoed a divine approval.

“Those who bring sunshine into the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.”

 

 

Whose baby is Neeraja carrying? (236 words)

“Vinitha, are you aware that Neeraja eloped with her lover last evening?” asked Mohana, eyes wide with excitement. Both were in their early thirties, living in the same apartment complex.

“What? How come?” Vinitha gasped. “She seemed like such a decent girl. Barely married a year! And her husband looked like a nice guy, too.”

“How would I know?” Mohana shrugged. “Maybe she was forced into the marriage. Parents push these things.”

Vinitha frowned. “Still, once you’re married, shouldn’t you cut ties with your past, especially an old lover?”

Mohana sighed. “Who cares about all that now? I’ve seen him visiting her a few times. Old values are turning completely upside down.”

Vinitha leaned closer and whispered, “Between us, I must admit—her lover was incredibly handsome. Like a desi Tom Cruise! Her husband, on the other hand… ugh, he looked awfully ugly. If I were in her place, I might’ve run too!”

Mohana burst out laughing. “Wait till you hear this. Neeraja, I heard  she is pregnant!”

“What?” Vinitha almost dropped her teacup. “Whose child could it be?”

Just then, the sound of a car horn blared outside.

“Oh my god, that’s my husband,” Vinitha said, jumping up. “I’ve got to make his coffee, otherwise he would get upset. I’m dying to hear the rest, though! Ever since that financial scam arose, I’ve missed my serials. He’s always glued to the only TV we have!”

 

Storm Within and Storm Without (910 words)

 It was raining cats and dogs. I was stranded in a bus stop. There was no sign of rain abating. It was getting dark. I was waiting for any bus as I did not know where I was bound for.

 A storm was raging in me, too. I had told my hubby before I left the house in a huff that I would have nothing to do with him anymore and that he could forget me. I did not take the car as it was a gift from my hubby and not my own. There was no sight of the bus for more than 30 minutes. The road was getting flooded. There was no one else in the bus stand. I hated to go back to the house that I had left just an hour ago.

It was then I saw at a distance a figure slowly wading through the knee-deep waters with an umbrella and another in its hand. For a moment, I thought it could be Rajan, my hubby, coming to persuade me to return. As it was dark, I could not see clearly, but it was not the tall Rajan. I was nervous who this could be. The wretched bus was not coming, I cursed. 

The figure was making slow progress towards the bus stop. I could see now that it was a man, but could not make out distinctly. When he neared, he called, “Vinita, come home. Why are you out in this bad weather? What happened? I asked Rajan whether you had returned from the office, as it is raining heavily. He said rather indifferently that you had and left home by foot without telling where you were bound for. He would not tell me more but refused to go in search of you. Any quarrel between you two? Please come home. This is not the weather to venture out. I got worried about you and could not stay in the house. Please have this umbrella and accompany me home.”

He was nearing 75 and not very strong. Yet he chose to come out when my hubby showed no concern. I was touched by this old man’s concern for me little knowing that he was the reason for my quarrel with my hubby.

I had told Rajan that he had broken his promise by bringing his old man to live with us. I had told him even during our courting days that I hated cooking, especially after a tiresome day in the office. He had promised that he would put him in a senior citizen’s home. 

Nevertheless, he brought him home immediately after the honeymoon. All my oblique hints and direct requests that he be sent away did not yield any result. Instead, he was telling that he, being the only offspring, was duty-bound to take care of his dad in his twilight years. 

The old man never ate any ready-mix food, Pizza, noodles and things that were easy to prepare or buy. I had neither the time nor the inclination to make traditional food that this man relished. 

To be blunt, the real reason was that I didn’t want anyone besides me and my hubby at my home. Hence, the frequent quarrels that reached a crescendo today culminated in my walkout. Otherwise, the old man was non-interfering and minded his own business. He never asked for anything and was unobtrusive. He was self-effacing.

When the old man virtually begged me to return home in the torrential rain, I could feel a parental concern and genuine affection that was lacking from the hubby. There was a stab of pain when I looked at the emaciated and bent figure, half drenched, pleading with me to come home. I did not have the heart to disappoint the man.

” Papa, why did you have to come in this downpour? Do not worry, I will come with you. Hold my hand, as otherwise you may fall. There could be open manholes,” I said as I took my father-in-law towards the house.

Slowly as we treaded a few steps, I saw another figure coming towards us in the downpour with no umbrella. It was Rajan. He did not utter one word but held my hand as all three of us trudged. But his clasp spoke more words than he would have uttered.

When we reached home, my father-in-law said,” I do not know why you both quarrelled. But I could not bear your going out alone in the night in heavy rain, and was upset that Rajan was doing nothing about it. I do not wish to get involved in quarrels between couples. But I must thank you for heeding my words. Let me rest. I am tired”

When I was sitting in the living room, Rajan came silently to me and said,” I have since decided to send my dad to a senior citizen home. I will break the news to him in the morning. You do not have to go away.”

“There is no need for that. I regret my insensitive behaviour. I will keep him with us till the end. I will employ a lady cook to assist me. He is my father, too,” I said with a sheepish smile

Surprised at the pleasant turn, he hugged me tightly and said,” I am sorry too for my heartlessness,” as he took me to the bedroom in the first floor.