Storm in a Cup Of Special Assam Tea

Helping in the drug bust case, Raja's life had changed....the one lakh reward money had solved a lot of problems for the family and they had known what it is to be happy. Upon GhoCha's recommendation, the Police had enrolled Raja as a licensed detective and had even trained him in the basics. It was Raja's first step towards becoming an honourable member of the society. Slowly, ever so slowly he started to develop self esteem. This prompted Raja to work even harder. He was never one to take things casually, and had become even more resolute. GhoCha started taking him along to work on their cases and Raja got to work on some fact gathering and grunt work routine. He began understanding how the Force works. True to his habit, Raja would note his daily learnings in his diary. Thanks to his basic nature and his diligence, Raja proved himself ahead of the curve. He was learning fast.

One night Raja's mobile phone rang. This time it sounded grim and urgent, almost like a siren. 'Get your ass to the police station right now'. It was Chavan's gruff voice.  

The police had found a body of a woman in her mid twenties lying in nullah in a dense hutment ghetto. She looked a destitute herself, no identification, she had slight Bengali-like features, but didn't seem to be one, she was dressed in rags that just about covered her modesty, she must have been a little over five feet tall...but she seemed strong like what comes from a lifetime of physical labour. The police had spread out looking for evidence, asking people and trying to gather any clue that might be of help. So far they were largely luckless. A constable suddenly found something...looked like an amulet one would wear around the neck. It was made largely of copper with a cheap stone at the center containing some illegible inscription. At last there was something to go by. The the constable was about to place it in the evidence bag, Raja stepped forward and asked if he could take a photo, 'I will ask around and do my bit', he volunteered. Chavan nodded his approval.

Raja knew some people who worked as jewelry artisans. They usually are Bengalis and a few of them lived in a chawl next to his house. 

Shoumen Dada was an expert, long history and a fine artisan. His failing eyesight and trembling hands couldn't keep up with the modern design trends, but was an encyclopedia of sorts of jewelry and designs right from vintage down to the early 2000s. Dada's family traced their roots to what as called East Bengal (now Bangladesh). Dada spent all his time on the bed of his single room tenement. The only company he ever entertained was his neighbour who got him fish and rice and Chhotu the errand boy who got him his daily bottle.

'You can have enough of food, but not enough of drink', Raja remembered to have read somewhere. He picked up a full bottle of rum, some coke and ice and knocked on Dada's door. Dada's eyes lit up when he saw the booze and again when he saw the photo. 'This is from my ancestral land....unmistakable....Joy Maa Shakti'. Raja felt the unfamiliarity of a smile creeping on his face. It made him very uncomfortable. 'O Baba' Dada exclaimed with a frown as his brows knitted together. This was Raja's comfort zone. 'This inscription.....certainly not Hindu'....' aah yes, Bangladeshi Muslim'. 'The poorest of the poor....so poor that we call them poor'. Raja thought that Dada was speaking to himself. Dada took a long sip and settled to tell his story. 'You know Baba, this is the only ornament they end up owning in their entire unfortunate life. But mind you, they are skilled. Not just your everyday Bangladeshi Muslim. They are expert tea leaf pluckers. They largely hail from Moulvibazar area which borders Tripura and Assam in India. They are mainly tribals with almost no education and sadly, no future'. 'Unscrupulous people take advantage and lure them to move to India for a promised better life in exchange for money. These poor people selloff everything they own or have to pay the so-called agents and move to India where they are promptly made to work in tea gardens on the Indian side. Nothing changes for them except that they have crossed over a border, moved illegally into India and have lost every bit of their meager possessions they once had. Now that they are worse off, even if something like that is possible in their life, they are treated as bonded labourers. Unscrupulous politicians offer them safe heaven by getting them forged identity and domicile cards and use them as their vote bank.' 'These people aren't the usual Bangladeshis who have settled all over India working as maids and handymen'

'In that case, how did this woman reach Mumbai', Raja thought to himself. He had not told Dada anything about how he had landed the photo of the amulet. Dada hadn't cared, nor did he ask.      

'Hmmmm....good job Raja', said Ghorpade pensively trying to process what he had just heard and wondering what to do next. Chavan came rushing in, he had made a list of all tea gardens in Assam that are close to the Bangladesh border, especially the Moulvibazar area. One of their young officers was tasked to pull up the details on Ghorpade's computer...the map, the area, the demographics, features and political dynamics. They spent the rest of the day studying details before calling it a night. 'Get a good night's sleep and come back tomorrow morning fresh, we need to plan our next steps....and yes Raja, you need to be present as well'.

The following morning, all the heads were at the large discussion table and if you took a top view picture, you would find systematically arranged tea glasses about a foot and a half below the heads. It was quite a unique collection of heads.....male pattern baldness with hair coloured jet black, another one with thinning hair and a bald patch, a few others with funny hair colour ranging from an odd shade of brown, to an odd shade of orange, one naturally silver with a few pepper streaks and finally a head with naturally black full hair. Ghorpade had assembled his senior team to brainstorm the matter along with Raja trying to figure his space.

Chavan had taken charge of the operational details while the other senior members offered their views on how manage the operations politically. They had agreed to keep the loop very  short and tight. They would finalise the strategy and speak only to the Commissioner. Anyway, it wasn't a very high profile case and it had not caught any media attention.

'We will begin with a low key fact finding mission. Very discreet and very invisible. No interaction with Assam police, we don't know where whose allegiance lies. Spend time gathering local intelligence and actionable data. We can start with Karimganj district in Assam since it has a few tea gardens and is closest to the Moulvibazar area in Bangladesh...just about 4 hours apart. If we find nothing about the girl, we will increase the radius by 50 km. We will send 2 people posing as buyers for a Mumbai based tea trading company that sells mainly to Tier 2 and 3 restaurants and hotels in and around Mumbai. We will set up this company on paper and establish a business track record. We will give the team money to buy sample quantities. This way, their interest in tea gardens will appear natural. I have contacted one business expert who can teach us the basics of tea trade and what questions to ask. We will need to keep our cover intact and absolutely not attract any attention, even if it means that team returns with only a fraction of information. The nefarious arrangement has been in place for decades and nobody is going anywhere in a hurry. No need for the team to get over zealous. We can plan multiple such trips and steadily gather data. No need to be a hero. The team will be Raja as he looks the part of a junior executive of a small company and constable Waghmare will accompany him as the other executive. Waghmare is a man of the world, he knows how things work and most importantly he has been part of undercover ops before and has sharp tactical skills. Moreover, he will keep Raja and the mission safe. Neither of you will be issued any weapon, nor will you carry anything that ties you to the force. You will travel as civilians...junior executives of a small local tea trading company. You will have to look disinterested, go to work late and wind up early....like any such employee would do. Just be natural. Waghmare will know how much data is sufficient and how long you guys need to stay. Then come back and we can process data internally. That way we will know how many more trips are needed until we have something to discuss with Commissioner Sir. Then he will guide us on the next steps.' Chavan concluded his monologue. The senior team looked at Ghorpade as he was sipping on his hot masala chai. He took his time to finish the tea, then swirled the empty glass carelessly a few times, and a few hmmmms...later, he nodded his approval.  The senior team immediately echoed yes, almost as one. They bid Raja and Waghmare goodbye and gave their best wishes. 'I am naming our team RaMare. We are traveling to a dangerous place...we will need all auspicious omens on our side' Waghmare laughed as he walked away.

The next day, Raja and Waghmare met the tea business expert and took valuable tips from him before setting out for their long train journey. This was the first time Raja had the luxury of traveling in AC 3 Sleeper coach. Until then, it was always in the unreserved cattle coach. It had a cushioned bench that served as a bed, a pantry car that served food and tea. This was Raja's highpoint of luxury and he must have thanked God in his mind multiple times, whereas Waghmare was whining that they weren't traveling by flight. It would take them 3 days and had to change a few trains before they could reach Karimganj.      

 

Muzru Ali was a wastrel. He had lived his entire life in Karimganj claiming to be a descendent of a prominent royal family of East Bengal. He had made it all up for he couldn't even remember his father's name....he always referred to him as Abba Jaan. He lived alone. Some forefather had done his forthcoming generations a favour by building a small house that had a patch of paddy field, a small kitchen garden to grow fresh vegetables and a well in the backyard where they bread fish. Muzru would be in his late forties or early fifties, even he couldn't tell for sure. He was a man who would always be found on the streets. He did nothing in particular, but knew the pulse of the town. If someone wanted a ration card made, or an Aadhaar card made, or wanted documents to be able to buy a sim card, or  needed any help, Muzru was the man to go to. He would get it done in exchange for a small fee that kept his head above water. He knew all the junior cops, the local goons, the local politicians' henchmen, the followers of religious leaders, the village head's men Fridays, hotel staff, garage mechanics and the lower rung working at the tea gardens. He was well entrenched in the lower circle. His face was wrinkled and his skin leathery from staying out too long on the streets. This made him appear much older than what he would be. He began his day with a nice dip in the lake abutting his backyard. He would collect the moist soil and rub it all over his body before taking the dip. He claimed that the soil had medicinal properties that was good for skin and hair. He would catch a few small fish from the well, pluck a random vegetable to cook a stew that he ate with the rice from his garden patch. Muzru had also inherited a motorcycle, a relic that once belonged to his father. His motorcycle ran on a generous dose of favours his mechanic friends did for him in exchange for the latest hot gossip and an introduction to the newest girl in the local pleasure house. He was deeply influenced by Hindi gangster films and idolised Haji Mastan, the yesteryear smuggler who had gone on to rule Mumbai's underworld. Like him, Muzru too had a slender frame and would always dress in white. He tried to speak in a slight South Indian accent like his idol, only that his accent would always jump regions and sometimes states, but the gaffe was lost on simple folk of Karimganj. Quite like Mastan, Muzru would help settle disputes between goons or the political party workers. He was a treasure trove of local information and his day ended by visiting the local desi bar where the rest of the lower circle gathered. After a few drinks, everyone talked and laughed. Muzru never let his fingers off the pulse. Muzru wasn't a guy who did things, but was someone who could get things done. He regarded himself as an honest man doing a hard day's work and most would reluctantly have to agree.     

Muzru got to know of the two strangers from Mumbai who had checked into the local lodge. Immediately, he went to meet them to offer his help. Waghmare was quick to gauge Muzru and spot the opportunity. He asked Muzru about the local tea gardens and tea companies and who among them would be the best to deal with. Raja, true to form, also talked about affordability and how they were budget conscious. Muzru was a guy who could make friends with anybody and everybody became friends with him. Muzru assured them that he will take them to the right place after breakfast. RaMare agreed to pay him a fee if he could help them with the right introductions and gave him an advance to fuel up his motorcycle. The tea gardens were some distance away from the city and given the condition of his bike as well as the roads, it meant an hour's ride at least. While they rode to the first tea garden, our heroes casually chatted up with him about the owner, the quality of the tea, the price and then as a topic of sympathy, they asked him about the labour force. Muzru loved to talk and especially to people who gave him money. After he had answered the general business questions, he told RaMare that there was this local strongman, Aslam Baig, who enjoyed larger political patronage. 'He functions as a labour supplier to unscrupulous tea garden owners. These labouerers are those who come in illegally from Bangladesh and have no other option but to work in these gardens. They are paid a fraction of what the more scrupulous tea garden owners pay legitimate locals, and that way those tea garden owners offer better rates to their buyers'. 'also the tea pluckers who work in the gardens are always ladies because the job requires a soft touch, whereas the men are mainly employed in the factory and in the transport section'. RaMare told him that they were interested in getting the best rate and couldn't be bothered about scruples.          

'How come Aslam Baig is going about this business openly and with such impunity? Don't the local police and the administration take action against him?', Raja asked. 'Arre sir, Baig saab gets false ration cards and aadhaar cards made for these people and controls their votes. They will vote whoever Baig saab tells them to. Besides, the tea garden owners pay up the politicians. It is a win-win for everyone. The other set of tea garden owners don't speak up because of Baig saab's fear. This is a cozy arrangement.' Waghmare nodded his head and smirked. 'Nothing new or unheard of', he chuckled knowingly.

In about an hour they reached the first tea garden where they met with senior sales team, talked business and sampled the different varieties of the teas. As they were leaving, Raja said 'Why don't you give us a tour of your garden and and your factory? We will get first hand experience and also speak with your people to get a better understanding'. They immediately agreed and showed them around. Waghmare noticed that they weren't trying to hold anything back, nothing seemed to be off. Muzru helped them with the conversation with the labourers...everyone spoke casually and normally.

Evening was setting in and in these parts, it gets dark early. Our Mumbai boys were tired from the long travel. 'Muzru, pick us up tomorrow morning after breakfast and we can go visit another company.' Raja said. 'and yes, you can take us to your bar tomorrow evening, after all we need to know what beautiful secrets this part of our country is hiding, huh' Waghmare added, not wanting to let go of the opportunity to pick up some local chatter. 

As soon as Muzru had gone, Waghmare called Chavan and apprised him of the day's developments. 'Muzru is god sent. He knows his way around, knows everyone in the lower circles. He is key to us managing to get the information and not be spotted on anyone's radar.' 'We plan to visit Muzru's bar tomorrow. I hope to get a good look at the town's underbelly.' 'I know...you just want to drink. Don't spoil our little boy in the name of investigation techniques' Chavan mock castigated Waghmare, fully aware that it was a splendid plan. Raja let out a weak laugh...he had never tasted alcohol before, but he knew that in his line of work, it would prove to be a useful ally.

The next day's trip was one giant dose of Muzruisms and little luck. It was now time to hit the local bar, if Muzru was a regular, Waghmare was a seasoned player. Raja's debut was at first a stutter, then a cough and then a philosophical success. Raja began spouting all the philosophy he had read. Muzru turned a one hundred and eighty. 'you know, I know that my life is a waste, I haven't done anything in my life that I can be proud of. I don't have anything to show for. I live in an ancestral house, ride my father's bike, heck, I don't even have a family. You know, all I want in life is for once to be useful to society and earn some dignity. If I were to die now, all they will do is hand my body over to the municipal authorities, clean the table, wash the glass and dishes and go about business as usual as though nothing has happened. My life's wish is that at least one person should cry when I die'. Waghmare patted him on his back, wished him goodbye and caught hold of Raja's hand and took him back to the lodge.  

The next few days played out in a similar fashion and the evenings meant even more philosophy and life lessons class for Waghmare. He was afraid that after this trip, he would go home a wise man!!

'Sir, I think we should come back. We have visited quite a few tea gardens, spoken to a lot of the labourers, women as well as men. Clearly, they are illegal immigrants, but apart from that nothing seems to have happened. I am sure that the forensics would be sending their report shortly. We can come back again and begin our search in other areas and try to apply the forensic findings.' Chavan knew that Waghmare was right.

'Listen Muzru, we have understood the local tea market. We will have to go back, but knowing our boss, he will want us to tour a few more gardens for a better deal. I am sure he will ask us to come back.' Raja told his newly made best friend. 'I know a few other places that are a little far away from here in the adjoining district. I know the people who work there too. Also there are these couple of gardens that really sell cheap. Their stuff is not the same quality, but perfect for your customers.' 'please take me for your next trip as well'. 'of course Muzru, you have been very helpful' Waghmare said as he paid Muzru for his services.

They were seated on the same discussion table at the Junapada police station. 'this poor girl was repeatedly raped and also beaten up. Monsters. She was struck on her head with some heavy wooden object which caused her death. I guess she must have tried to escape when somebody hit her. The report says that the girl must have been in her early twenties' Chavan summarised the forensic report. Ghorpade cleared his throat and the full assortment of heads at the table was now erect. From the top view, one could now clearly see the large mahogany table with the green suede top. All the tea cups were now on fully display. 'RaMare have done a splendid job. They have indeed identified the illegal immigrants and nobody even tried to hide that fact. It is also clear that this practice is rampant. Not to forget, they have cultivated a very interesting and important local asset, Muzru. However, as far as this girl's case is concerned, we don't have anything. Besides, whether it is the matter of this girl's murder or the larger issue regarding illegal immigrants, the case is too big for us to handle by ourselves. Just too many complications. On the basis of RaMare's daily reports to Chavan, I spoke with Commissioner Sir. He may have a surprise for us. I am meeting him tomorrow, lets see what he has to say'

'Ok, listen up' Ghorpade was was addressing the talking heads ' I had a very interesting meeting with Commissioner Sir. When he spoke to his superiors, they said that they were aware of this practice and as we speak they are planning an action. In the first leg, RaMare are to go back, establish contact with Muzru and expand the radius of their search. The girl's murder in our jurisdiction gives us the necessary elbow room. The local police there are not to be contacted at all. Guwahati has taken a serious view and is willing to lend their support once we have actionable evidence. And to help RaMare from the outside to gather actionable evidence, they will be joined by Sangram Bisht from IB. He has been working on this case for some time now so he knows case dynamics. Once all evidence has been lined up, Bisht will contact Guwahati and they will send in their force. I think this collaboration will be effective.' 

'you know, Bisht is called UFO in his circle, that is because, he swoops in, does his job and disappears into oblivion. Not many know him, but those who do talk about his peculiar habit....after successful completion of an op, he stick out his middle finger at those who have been shot or arrested. So I guess, UFO sounds appropriate for reasons more than one' Everyone at the table burst out laughing.           

Raja called Muzru and told him that they will be visiting again the following week and that they will need his services. Muzru who had still not finished spending the money he had received from the previous visit, sounded very excited at the prospect of getting even more.

Muzru took them to a garden about eighty kms from Karimganj. The mood of the lady tea pluckers was quite somber. Some of them had heard about some bad things at another garden some fifty kms away. The rest of the visit was quite uneventful. True to his form, Muzru took RaMare to the bar that evening. There Waghmare saw an unfamiliar man seated a few tables away. He was of average height and built, but didn't seem to belong to Karimganj. After everyone had a few and very happy high, that man came to their table slapped the three on their back in apparent drunken stupor, laughed and showed them his middle finger on his way out. The contact had been established.

The next day the trio went to the tea garden the lady had spoken about. The mood there was clearly one of fear. Nobody was willing to talk, not the sales guys, not the labourers. RaMare were sure this was the place where something had happened and it was in some manner connected to the girl's murder. Muzru too was intrigued. He had tried to casually push and question the lower circle of the tea garden, but failed to make any headway. Muzru somehow seemed to be more curious than even RaMare. They decided to drink at a bar close to the garden than visit their usual place.

Muzru made his way among the patrons at the bar and selected a group that was a drink short of being drunk. He joined them and ordered one round. Psychologically, if a drunk is planning to leave and if someone calls for another, the leaving drunk loses his resolve and ends up drinking more. Muzru was on his first and the group was now drunk. Muzru started talking casually and then veered the conversation to the tea garden. The group, whose tongue was now loose, started talking. Within minutes, Muzru stiffened, but hid it well. The group left and Muzru joined RaMare.

'So, there was this young girl Nuri, who like every girl worked plucking tea leaves. The owner's son had taken fancy to her. They both started seeing each other and were thick as a couple. The owner found about this affair and beat the poor girl black and blue. Just to teach her a lesson, he had raped her in his son's presence. He thought that he had ended it there. The son was made of sterner stuff. He took Nuri and ran away to Mumbai where he thought they were safe. The Bangladeshi network in Mumbai is very strong and within a month, the owner had located their exact whereabouts in Mumbai. He arrived in Mumbai with Aslam Baig's goons and got hold of the couple. The goons badly beat up and raped Nuri several times and thrashed the son. As Nuri was trying to escape, the owner hit her on her head with a heavy hockey stick, killing her instantly. They dumped her body and rushed back home' 'ever since there is a pall of terror in the tea gardens and everyone has been warned not to utter a word'. Aslam Baig's men are temporarily stationed on the garden to keep a watch and to keep the terror quotient high. These monsters drink and eat every night to their heart's content and then randomly pick up girls for the night. Those girls have to show up for work in the morning shift, no excuses are brooked.' Muzru was now trembling with anger as he spoke. 'Allah must come down upon these monsters with all his vengeance.' 

'We are the vengeance' the trio turned around as Bisht emerged from the shadows.

Raja told Muzru who they were and why they had come to Karimganj. 'and in you, we think we have found a great friend.' 'Listen, remember you told us at the bar that you want to do at least one good deed in your lifetime to be remembered by, this is your chance. This is your redemption' said Waghmare. Muzru nodded.

'so the plan is this, and I know it is risky for you Muzru' Bisht said. 'you will have to talk to a few people and get them enraged enough so that they agree to become state witnesses. We have a police team from Guwahati and a unit of Assam Rifles on standby. There is no need to fear. You will not speak with any local cops or local politicians or anyone else how much ever you may trust them, we don't want to lose the element of surprise. We know how well you can mix with people and how you can convince them. We will plant you in the garden undercover. Befriend a few and get them on to our side. Offer them whatever immunity they might want, money even and we will give you plenty for yourself. You will have to do it in three days, it shouldn't be difficult, there is enough tension simmering beneath the surface. Once you give us a signal, we will swoop in with the might of the Guwahati Police force and the unit of Assam Rifles. We will be conducting simultaneous raids at all unscrupulous gardens and at Baig's fortress. In and out operation, fifteen minutes max at all locations. This is unprecedented operation in terms of size, sensitivity and importance' said the voice of tactical experience and expertise.   

For the first time in his memory, he was not dressed in white, but is a mechanics blue overalls, wore a false moustache and had changed his hairstyle. Muzru was unrecognisable. Also what went in his favour was that he was away from his native town and few knew him here.

He went in a contract mechanic to repair the dryer belt. It was a good cover for 3 days, and it also meant that he would get a chance to speak with the other men working in the factory.  True to form, he wasted no time in becoming friends with the men and realised that tension and hatred were palpable. All that was needed for them to explode was a small spark, and Muzru was the best man for the spark.

'I heard that a girl by the name of Nuri was abused by some tea garden owner', Muzru started. He did not get any response. 'They say that she was abused repeatedly and then finally murdered in Mumbai and threw her body to rot on the streets. Have you people heard anything about it....the girl was from your community.' 'I have also heard that both the garden owner, his son and Baig's goons, all of them had their way with her before killing and dumping her body. How terrible that must have been', Muzru pressed on. Suddenly one of the men blurted 'she was one of us working at this very garden. The goons you see outside are the ones who murdered her in Mumbai and now vandalise our women here daily.' 'They exploit us, don't pay, keep us hungry, our housing quarters are like a pigsty. We have nowhere to go and nobody to complain to, we are helpless and these people are rich and powerful' the others joined in a hushed chorus. Muzru know that he had started the fire, now the needed to fan it 'Listen, the Mumbai police team investigating Nuri's murder has reached here. They contacted me and asked me to get in touch with you people. Another special high powered police force from Guwahati has also arrived and an Army unit has also joined for assistance. I am no mechanic, I have been planted here by them', he said and slid off his false moustache to give them confidence, but quickly wore it back, lest someone else catch him. 'the police forces and the army can help only if you people agree to cooperate. You will need to be their witness and press charges. If you agree, they can send in a unit to free you people...are you with us or not?' All the men immediately agreed. 'Don't be scared and don't go back on your word.' The men nodded. He told them to keep quiet and do only what he said and when he said. He told them to be ready the next day. The men were not to speak even to their women until Muzru gave them a signal the next day. 

That night Muzru did not feel like drinking. He simply barged into his usual bar and loudly shouted 'F**k Off'. Bisht and RaMare are the next table smiled to themselves.

Bisht rallied the Guwahati police and the Assam Rifles and raided the tea garden. Muzru told the men to assemble in the inventory shed with the women. Bisht had stationed a small police party there for protection along with RaMare. Muzru rounded all the men and women in the shed. The armed police party, noted down their story and recorded their witness. Meanwhile, there was heavy gunfire outside. Baig's army was fighting back, but losing. The police party in the shed completed all the formalities and told RaMare to take Muzru and the others to the police van waiting outside so that they could be driven to safety, while they would join their colleagues in the fight. As they stepped out, the police unit realised that the gunbattle was intense and decided to provide cover fire to RaMare, Muzru and the Bangladeshi labourers. Suddenly bullets started whizzing in their direction, but the police were gallant in their cover. As they we about to step outside the garden complex to the safety of the police van, a stray bullet hit Muzru in the back of his head. He dropped to the ground immediately. Raja picked him up and got into the van along with the others. He hysterically asked the driver to head to the nearest hospital. Waghmare put his arm around his shoulder to calm him down. Such was their high state of adrenaline that Raja failed to register Muzru's death as they drove away to safety.

They were driven to the local unit of Assam Rifles. Muzru's body was taken away for decorative honours. After a while Bisht came with the police force and the army unit. He told everyone that the operation was a massive success. The tea garden owners have been arrested, all illegal immigrants have been rounded and once the formalities are over, will be deported with a special request to the Bangladeshi government to rehabilitate them, Baig has been apprehended and we have recovered a lot of incriminating evidence. We have a go ahead from the CM to arrest all involved politicians, even those from his own party. Muzru will be recognised as a hero by both the state and the army and will be showered due honours. His house will be turned into a museum where the story of this unprecedented operation and his courage will be told.

The Assam government flew Raja and Waghmare to Mumbai in a chartered plane. Waghmare had been on flights before, but this experience overwhelmed him. Raja was in a state of shock and clearly, his brain had not processed all that that just happened. He had a quizzical look on his face.

Raja stepped into the familiar surroundings of the Junapada police station and saw the known faces. Chavan hugged him and Ghorpade patted him on his back with avuncular affection. Waghmare was toast of the police station and had one more special op success against his name. 

The following day, the Commissioner congratulated the entire team, GhoCha, RaMare and the senior heads on their success.    

The good news just did not stop for Raja, he was given a reward by the Mumbai Police, the Assam Police, the Assam Chief Minister's Office, by Assam Rifles and even Bisht had called to congratulate him. He was flooded with medals and ten lakh rupees. He made it to newspaper headlines and his photo on to the front page. This operation had been a huge learning curve for him. He felt very confident.

It took him a week to settle down and finally process all that had happened. He had read his notes many times over. He was at the tea stall where he once worked, only this time as a customer. The tea stall owner was very proud for Raja's achievements. He would not accept money from Raja. In a pensive moment, his thoughts wandered off to Muzru and he remembered how Muzru had wished that at least one person cry after he was gone. How well he was commemorated posthumously. He was Assam's hero. What a journey...from a wastrel to a decorated hero. How Muzru had repurposed his life. He was very happy for his friend with whom he had developed such an unsaid bond in such short time. Raja could not hold back a tear. Muzru would have now been content, at least in his afterlife.

(C) Copyright with Anuj Desai. Not to be used, copied or distributed without the author's express permission.

This story is completely fictional. All characters and names are imaginary. The author does not wish to deride any community or race. Any resemblance to any person or a group of persons or any organisation is purely coincidental and not intended.