The Perfect Murder

Kalyan railway station was more crowded than usual that afternoon. Perhaps there was some government job recruitment exam in Lonavala. Young faces were visible everywhere on the platform benches, in the waiting room, around the display boards.

“Passengers please note, train number 11027 Chennai Mail is standing on platform number three. Passengers are requested not to get on the tracks, cross the platform only through the bridge, thank you.”

As soon as the announcement was made, people quickly got down on the tracks and started boarding the Chennai Mail standing on platform number three.

Till now, only passengers with reserved tickets were on this long distance train going from Mumbai to Chennai. But due to Lonavala being on the route, people with unreserved tickets also started boarding. Five people each were stuck at the gate of the sleeper coach. The condition of the crowd was such that even some people with reserved tickets were not able to board the train. The atmosphere of the AC first class compartment was different. There, passengers were sitting comfortably on the wide seats with red cushions in the silent compartment, waiting for the train to depart.

Amrish Asthana, was sitting on one of the two seats opposite the window in compartment number A3. He was around 55-60 years old, had a full face with a thick moustache neatly curled up. He had a slightly bulging belly and an old scratch mark near his wrist. Wearing an almond coloured sadri (informal coat) over a white shirt, Amrish Asthana was a retired criminal psychologist and professor. He had also written a book.

Asthana sahab was looking with disdain at the faces on the platform through the window glass. “Where do they come from, bloody nonsense,” he muttered while turning the page of the English newspaper.

There was seating arrangement for only four people in that luxury compartment. However, the whereabouts of the remaining three people were still unknown. In a short while, the train started moving and the faint sounds coming from the platform became fainter. Asthana sahab took out the bottle of water stuck in the holder on the edge of the seat and after drinking two sips, started looking out of the window. The damaged engine standing on the outer side of Kalyan railway station, some old train coaches, the boundary of the railway colony were visible. In between, taxis and motorcycles were also standing at the crossing waiting for the train to pass.

Just then someone slid the door of that compartment and Asthana sahab looked in surprise. “Hello,” a man of 40-45 years of age said, to which Asthana sahab replied with a smile. The man, wearing a green and grey striped collared T-shirt and loose jeans, had a trolley bag with wheels. He pulled it and brought it to the seat right in front of Asthana sahab’s seat and slid it down.

He sat down taking a deep breath. Then he took off the bag hanging on his shoulder and took out some papers and a pen from it and started writing something on them in shorthand. Asthana sahab was looking at the man very closely, as if he was trying to identify someone. Then he saw that the man was looking at the pen from back to front. Perhaps the pen was working intermittently. He started looking through his papers to find some damaged paper so that he could use the pen on it and fix it. “Try it on this,” Asthana sahab extended the newspaper towards him.

“Oh thank you,” he smiled and tried to write something on the newspaper with the pen. The pen was still moving intermittently. “Give it to me,” Asthana sahab extended his hand and asked for the pen and newspaper and then holding the pen in his right hand, he shook it vigorously. Then writing something in the newspaper, he said, “Look, it has started working. Experience is what ultimately helps,” saying this, he returned the pen while smiling proudly and got busy with his work.

Asthana sahab again started looking at the man carefully. The train had crossed the city. From the window, green fields, footpaths and the expansive sky were visible as far as the eye could see.

“So when did you come from Oman?” Asthana sahab asked this time with a mischievous look on his face and he got confused.

“Sir, do you recognize me? How do you know that…?” he asked while keeping the paper aside and Asthana sahab said.

“The airport travel tag on your trolley bag told me that.”

“Oh i see” the man said, sliding the trolley bag that was peeking out from under the seat, and then said smilingly, “You are smart Mr. Asthana.”

This time, surprise came on Asthana sahab’s face, “How do you know my name?”

“That’s why I say that I have definitely seen you,” Asthana sahab asked in a hurried and restless voice.

“99% of people write their own name when they try to use a pen,” he smiled and said pointing towards the newspaper.

“Oh,” Asthana sahab smiled. The man extended his hand to shake and said, “Vikas Yadav, I do business in Oman. I had come on an official trip. There is a return flight from Pune.”

“Oh, okay,” Asthana sahab said, holding his hand, “Amrish Asthana as you know, criminal psychologist and retired professor, Kalyan College.”

“Amrish Asthana?” Vikas held Asthana sahab’s hand and repeated his name. “Are you the same criminal psychologist who wrote that book, ‘The Perfect Murder’? Is that you?”

“Yes, have you read it?” Asthana sahab said, nodding proudly.

“No, I haven’t read it,” Vikas replied, “but I have heard a lot about it. A man whose wife has an affair with another man and then that man very cleverly kills that man. It is about this, right?”

Asthana sahab moved back a little while adjusting his brown kurta and nodded in affirmative.

“Oh great to meet you,” Vikas said. I am very fond of thriller novels. In fact, I am going to write my first thriller myself. Stuart McBright, James Patterson, the Murder House guy, and yes, Nicky French. I have read them all a lot. A friend of mine suggested your book too but I didn’t get a chance.” “By the way, you know that some people say that…”, “that story is the story of my real life,” Asthana sahab said calmly, interrupting him.

“I know, I killed my wife’s lover and did it with such perfection that till date no one has been able to crack that case. That’s what they say, right?”

Vikas moved back a little in his seat and said, “Yes, but what do you say?”

“I don’t say anything, I remain silent, but I don’t deny it either. Look Vikas sahab, I have a belief,” he said like a philosopher, “be it corruption or murder, if the person doing it is doing it with such perfection that it is impossible for him to be caught, then I consider it his talent”.

Asthana sahab, who was completely excited, said cross-legged, “And then there is such a big police force, investigating agency, detectives. If someone can fail so many people, then this is art, right? That means this book is true,” Vikas said, then interrupting him, Asthana Sahab said, “Now is it true or false? Let people decide this, you decide.”

Then taking out a book from the bag kept on the seat, he handed it to him and said, “Read it and tell me, is this ‘Perfect Murder’ or not?” Saying this, Asthana sahab smiled and handed the book to Vikas. Vikas started flipping through the book, on the black cover of which there was a blood-stained knife and behind it was a dead body, ‘The name of the book was written in golden colour - The Perfect Murder’, below was the name of the author - Amrish Asthana.

Asthana Vikas looked at the book for a while and said smilingly, “Asthana sahab, I am sure the book will be very good, but being a reader of thriller novels, I can say one thing - ‘No murder is perfect’.”

No, no, “Asthana sahab said, “What I have written in this book is perfect. There could not have been a better way of murder than that.” “I don’t believe it,” Vikas said and Asthana sahab frowned.

He had just moved forward to say something when there was a sound at the door, the gate slid, and there was a TT standing with a list in his hand, wearing a black coat, the TT ticked the list and said, “Amrish Asthana?”, “Yes, it is me.” Asthana sahab said this, then the TT looked at Vikas and while searching for a name in the list mumbled, “Okay, your name is…”

“Vikas Yadav!” When Vikas told his name, he ticked the name in front of the name in the list and asked about the ID card, “Do you have an ID card?” Vikas put his hand in his pocket, TT said, “No, no, keep it. Okay, okay, thank you sir”

Saying this, the TT went out and slid the gate back. Vikas looked at Asthana sahab’s face, he was looking at him as if some thought was echoing in his mind. “What happened?” Vikas asked smilingly, he slid back on the seat and hitting his knee with a loose hand said, “Vikas sahab, let’s play a game.”

“Will you play?” Vikas asked smilingly, “Game! What kind of game?”

Asthana sahab took the book back from Vikas and said, “You were saying, ‘No murder is perfect’, right? “So let me challenge you, I will tell you the story ‘The Perfect Murder’, listen, and then tell me whether the murder was perfect or not. And if it was not, then how would you have written it?”

Vikas looked at him for a while and said smilingly, “If you really want to make me a critic, then okay. Let’s hear it.”

The train was about to reach Karjat railway station. People wearing white caps were seen on the outer side of the station. The sounds coming from outside the compartment were getting louder and the conversation of the two unknown passengers sitting opposite each other on the seat was getting more interesting. They did not know how dangerous the consequences of the game they were about to play were going to be.”

At Karjat railway station, the voices of tea and water bottle sellers were echoing. But there was a sensational silence in the A3 compartment. That book with a black cover was in Vikas’s hand. Asthana sahab twirled his thick moustache and said, “So Mr. Vikas, shall we start?”

Vikas smiled and shifted back, crossed his legs and said, gesturing with his hand, “Absolutely, Asthana sahab,”, Asthana Sahab said “I have written this story in the first person, that is, the author is the hero. That is why I have written it using ‘I’. I will tell you the same way.”

Vikas nodded and looked into Asthana’s eyes. He started speaking, “The biggest truth of this world of seven billion faces is that nothing is free here. Every morsel of bread, every turn of the soft bed, every smile of comfort has to be earned. Often there are turns on this path where deception, dishonesty, and lies become a necessity.”

“I was not born to be a part of that anonymous crowd of seven billion. That is why I always worked with my mind and not my heart. And this is the reason why I was always counted among the successful people of the city. I had many businesses, property business, fisheries, buying and selling of vehicles, and a big poultry farm. I had everything. Respect, wealth, success, and a loving wife. Her name was Suchitra.”,

Vikas saw that the expression on Asthana sahab’s face changed as soon as Suchitra’s name was mentioned. He got lost in the story he had written as if Suchitra’s character was his real wife’s character.

He further said, “I gave Suchitra every happiness of life, cars, servants, every luxury and comfort, but I did not know that this life of luxury and comfort given to her would become a betrayal for me. In those days I had just entered the fisheries business. Most of the time was spent either in meetings with partners or on a fishing boat in the sea. Suchitra used to stay at home most of the time.”

“One night when I returned home, I saw Suchitra, dressed in a pink saree, sitting sadly in front of the mirror. ‘What happened?’ I asked, ‘You haven’t slept yet?’” I asked while loosening the knot of the tie.

“Without turning around, she said sadly, ‘I don’t want to sleep, if I sleep then it will be morning, and then I will have to spend a long day like a mountain. ‘Look, Suchitra, I don’t want to start that debate again.’ I said in mild anger, ‘I know you will keep on beating around the bush, but I have said that you will not work.’”

Sitting on the chair and taking off my shoes, I said, “After all, what is the need for you to work? What do you lack?”

“Lack?”

She said this when there were tears in her eyes, “Is there nothing else in my life except sitting in this palace and waiting for you, my friend?”

I went close to her in irritation & romantically said, “I have to work.”

Not wanting to drag the conversation, I put my hand on her shoulder and said, “Look Suchitra, you think too much. That is why you have such sad thoughts, Walk around.”

Then removing a strand of hair from her face, I said, “And what is the name of your college friend, umm yeah, Afsana Khan, she has also come to this city. You should go to the market with her, you were telling me that she takes guitar tuition at home, You should also learn guitar.”

“Hey, there are a lot of things to do,” I said, “I will call someone tomorrow for a music teacher.”

“Okay,” “come on, stop crying now, friend,” I said, and Suchitra’s tears stopped flowing.

The next day I asked my manager to arrange for a music teacher. He came home two days later, but by the time he came home, I came to know that Suchitra had called a music teacher herself.

“His name is Vicky” Suchitra said one evening while introducing him to me, “he is my college junior. He teaches Afsana too. From now on, he will teach me too.”

“Hello, Vicky, how are you?” I said, and he smiled and said, “I am fine, sir.”, “ So since when have you been playing the guitar?”

“Sir, since 4 years”,”I also organise part-time DJs.”, he said.

In this case, he was much younger than me, in fact, he was probably four to five years younger than Suchitra. He had a lean body, curly hanging hair, a light beard on his face and a blooming smile. — “Asthana sahab, will you have soup?” Asthana sahab’s attention was diverted by Vikas’s voice amidst the noise of the train, the waiter was standing at the door with tomato soup. “No, no, I don’t drink soup,” he said, so Vikas took only one cup for himself and sat down holding it in his hand. The speed of the train was fast, the weather outside the window seemed to have changed. Small drops of rain were coming on the window pane and sliding down. Vikas said while sipping the soup, “What all has changed since Vicky’s arrival?” “Everything changed.”, Asthana Sahab replied,

Looking out of the window, Asthana sahab said, “With Vicky’s arrival, Suchitra had changed a lot. Whenever I returned from the office or the poultry farm, there was no longer any boredom or sadness on Suchitra’s face. She looked very happy.”

One evening when I reached home, I heard Vicky’s voice. When I reached the guest room, Suchitra and Vicky were sitting with a guitar. There was a strange coquetry on their faces. The way they were smiling, it did not seem that they were talking about the guitar. Both of them got nervous on seeing me. I gave them an angry look and left from there.

From that day onwards, I started keeping a special eye on Suchitra. I had also told her driver to keep an eye on where she goes, whom she meets. I want a full report of this.

“So how far has your guitar training reached?” I asked Suchitra one evening, Now when I would ask questions as soon as I came home, she would get nervous. “Yes, now it is going well, I am learning. Now give me the coat, & come on, I have served the meal” she said.

When Vicky was mentioned, her voice would start faltering. Anyway, time kept passing. One afternoon I was at the poultry farm and was inspecting those wire nets that used to divide the farm.

I got a call from Suchitra. “Listen, Tomorrow is Afsana’s daughter’s birthday & she is going to buy some stuff for the arrangements and wants me to accompany her.” I thought for a while and said, “Yes, so be it, come on, Go”. She said, “Okay, listen”, before she hung up, I played my card, “I am also free on Friday, I will also go to the party.” Suddenly her voice stopped, then she regained her composure and said, “Yes, let’s go. Afsana’s husband Tauqeer bhai also asks about you often, I and Afsana are such old friends, at least you should meet Tauqeer bhai once.” “Okay, go, be there, return from the market soon.”, I said.

“Mahesh, change the chicken wire, the wires of this net are broken at many places”, While I was talking to Suchitra, I started talking to the attendant of the poultry farm standing nearby. Suchitra hung up, but she did not know that her husband, that is, I, can count the feathers of a flying bird. Exactly what I suspected happened.

In the evening, when Suchitra’s driver called me, he told me, “Sir, I had dropped Suchitra Madam and Afsana Madam at the gate of the mall and I was waiting in the car in front. But after some time, when Suchitra Madam came out of the mall, that curly haired Vicky was also behind her.” —

Chennai Mail was still some distance away from Lonavala railway station, but beautiful valleys were visible in the distance. From the window, greenery wrapped around tall green mountains could be seen as far as the eye could see.

“So, that means, your hero’s suspicion was correct.” Vikas Yadav, who was listening to Asthana sahab’s story sitting on his feet, said while changing his feet, “Yes, he was absolutely correct.” Asthana sahab said while looking towards the window, “And this was confirmed the day he got the first proof of this.” He took a look at the book and read the story further.

It was a day before Diwali, in the afternoon, I was sitting on a rocking chair in my room, checking the company’s papers. My servant knocked on the door, he came inside and handed me a mobile and said, “Sir, a boy had come to the gate, saying that the Maalik (means male owner) forgot his phone.” I looked at the phone, it was Suchitra’s call. I understood that she must have said ‘Maalkin’ (means female owner). “Okay, put it on the table and go.” As soon as he left, I quickly checked the phone, there were 39 missed calls on it. Suchitra had not saved that number intentionally. I called that number from my number, “Hello, who is speaking?” I asked, then a voice came from the other side, “I am Vicky, who are you?”

“At that moment sparks were running through my body. There was a flood, which I was feeling in my veins.” While telling the story, in that AC compartment, beads of sweat were visible on Asthana Sahab’s forehead. As if the story was indeed true, Vikas extended a bottle of water towards him. He drank two sips and then said, “ And then the hero of your story kills that Vicky, Right?”

He shook his head left and right and said, “No, not now, something was yet to happen in this story that you cannot even imagine. But yes, at that very moment, the death of both of them was definitely decided.” Vikash could see that Asthana sahab’s eyes were shining strangely. Surely, this story was going to take a new turn, some secret that was yet to be revealed.

“Passengers, please pay attention. Train number 11027 Chennai Mail is standing on platform number two.” The train started moving a few minutes after this announcement at Lonavala railway station.

The platform was crowded, but the train had become somewhat empty. All the youth who were giving the recruitment exam for government jobs had got down at Lonavala station. The train gradually picked up speed and the noises coming from the platform gradually subsided.

The seat in front of Asthana Sahab in A3 compartment was empty. Vikas was not on his seat, Asthana sahab was lost in some deep thought. Just then the compartment door slid. Vikas came in, wiping his wet hands with a handkerchief and said while sitting on the seat, “Sorry, Yes, so tell me, what happened next? Did Suchitra’s husband go to Afsana’s house for the party?” Vikas asked while keeping the handkerchief in his jeans pocket. So Asthana sahab smiled and said, “Of course he went. He wanted to go.” He picked up the book again and started reading, looking at a particular page which he had folded.

“When I reached the party, there was a lot of liveliness there. The party, which was arranged in the park between the society apartments, had beautiful decorations. On one side there was arrangement for food and drinks and on the other side there was arrangement for a DJ. There were red and yellow lights blinking with loud music.

When I entered the main gate with Suchitra, Afsana was standing at the main gate. “Come, come, welcome,” she said smilingly and hugged Suchitra gently. I had seen Afsana before this at my wedding, she had changed a lot.

Well, the cake was cut, the “Happy Birthday” song was played, the food and drinks started. But I sat on one side, looking for that face whose presence I had suspected. And my suspicion turned out to be correct. I saw Suchitra standing near the DJ floor and smiling. I looked closely at the DJ and was shocked. The DJ was Vicky.”

There was a silent silence in the train. Vikas was looking at Asthana sahab carefully. “Did the hero of the story find any proof other than this?” When Vikas asked, he slowly nodded and said, “Yes, I found it. That proof after which there was nothing left to think or understand.” He took a deep breath and began reading further.

“It was December 22, the world was busy preparing for Christmas and New Year. My wife Suchitra had come two days before after staying for almost a week at her aunt’s house, at Kathgodam, In the afternoon, a call came on the landline at home. The call was from a hotel in Mussoorie. “Sir, I am calling from the Blue Lagoon Hotel. You stayed with us a few days ago. This is a feedback call. Are you satisfied with your hotel stay? Any suggestions?”

Just like a dry leaf trembles in a strong wind, my body was trembling exactly like that. I immediately took the address of that hotel and left for Mussoorie the same evening. The next day when I reached the hotel reception trembling with anger and saw their entry register, there were two names in room number 307 - Suchitra and Vicky.

This was the moment when I decided that I would give Vicky such a death that anyone else’s wife in the world would think 100 times before cheating on him.”

Vikas saw that there was a brutality in Asthana sahab’s eyes. He turned the pages of the book and started reading further, “There is no greater intoxication in the world than revenge. There is a different taste of seeing your enemy writhing in pain in front of your eyes. I tasted that taste at the New Year’s party, which I had specially organised for Vicky’s death.”

“I organised a party on a small cruise boat with my business partners. I invited Vicky as a DJ. ‘Happy New Year Sir,’ Vicky said to me, dancing with a glass in his hand, a few hours before his death. After 12 o’clock, when the intoxication took over everyone, everyone got tired. I said to Vicky, ‘Vicky listen friend, I want to talk to you. Come with me.’ When I said so, he came with me and we reached that part of the boat where there was a little darkness and silence. ‘Happy New Year,’ ‘Happy New Year Vicky,’ I said, he smiled. ‘Same to you sir, but why here?’ he said while looking left and right, so I said, ‘You are an amazing artist.’

‘Yes sir, this DJing is also an art,’ he said. So I came close and said, ‘No, no, no. No, I am not talking about that.’ So he asked nervously, ‘So you said while looking into her eyes, isn’t it an art to make someone else’s wife yours?’ When I said this, he panicked as if he had been caught stealing. ‘What did I say, what do you mean Sir? What do you want to say?’ ‘Shut up,’ saying this I slapped him hard on the cheek. He started pleading, ‘Sir, Sir, I did, I am sorry Sir. I am telling the truth, it was not my side that started it. There was nothing like that from my side Sir, it was Sir, Sir please leave me Sir,’ saying that he started running. Then I picked up the iron rod which I had hidden there earlier and hit him on the head. Vicky fell on the ground, soaked in blood, but was breathing.” “I sat on his chest and started squeezing his throat between my palms. He was in agony. He held my wrist tightly, so hard that his nails were scratching the skin of my wrist. But I kept choking him. It must have taken about a minute and a half, his hand fell to one side. I checked and found that he had stopped breathing, he was dead. In that darkness, I took him to the edge of the ship. But I knew that if the body is thrown into the water, it will float up after some time. I had made arrangements for that too.”

“I wrapped his body in a net, the same chicken wire that we use to fence poultry farms. I wrapped Vicky’s body and two heavy stones in that wire net and threw it into the water. Game over.”

“That’s Amazing,” Vikas said, twisting his palm into a fist, “so the body will not come up and because of the net, fishes etc. will eat the body, right?” He asked looking at Asthana sahab and he smiled, twirling his moustache with pride.

“Game over.”

At that moment a scratch mark on Asthana sahab’s wrist was peeking out from the sleeve.

He said, “And this is how the hero of my story completes his revenge, that too with such perfection that neither the police gets the dead body, nor any case is made and there is no question of punishment.” He said cross-legged, “Isn’t it the perfect murder?” —

It was 3:00 in the afternoon. The greenery spread far and wide and looked washed in the rain. The waving fields, the broken houses, the mountains standing far away, all seemed to be flowing in one flow. Just like that story.

“So tell me Mr. thriller expert” Asthana sahab said to Vikas in a joking manner, “Will you find any nitpicking in my story or will you consider it perfect?”

Keeping the water bottle in the holder, Vikas said, “Sir, I would say the story is very good. I don’t know if it is true or false, I mean as people say, but it is awesome.”

“However…”, he stopped while saying this.

“However, what? Tell me,” Asthana sahab asked.

Vikas smiled and took the book in his hand and said, “However I don’t consider it a perfect murder. A perfect murder is when the enemy’s game is over and you don’t even get a scratch on your hand.”

As soon as Vikas said this, Asthana sahab hurriedly tried to hide his wrist with his sleeve. Looking at Vikas carefully, he took a sip of water and looked out of the window.

The train had reached the Khadki platform. A crowd of countless faces were staring at the trains coming and going in a state of panic.

Asthana sahab, gathering his confidence again, said, “So you tell me that if you had written this story, how would the character in your story have committed murder? I want to hear it too.”

Vikas kept the book aside as if he did not need it. Smiling, he said, “Okay, Asthana sahab, I will tell you. But not in so much detail, I will tell you in short cut, Is that okay?”

Agreeing, Asthana sahab shook his head and said, “Yes, yes okay, start now.”

Vikas took a deep breath and said, “The beginning story will be like you told it. One day I came to know that my wife is having an affair with a junior from her college. That boy Vicky teaches guitar to my wife and one of her friends. I keep an eye on Vicky and his wife and also listen to their conversations secretly.”

“My wife’s friend’s husband whose name is… I will give any name, let it be Amrish Asthana.” Asthana sahab smiled on hearing his name and sat back with his hands folded.

Vikas further said, “So don’t get confused with the characters. I will tell you again, my wife is having an affair with the guitarist Vicky. My wife has a friend and her husband’s name is Asthana. I was planning to kill Vicky, I was just looking for an opportunity. But one day when I returned from the office, I eavesdropped on my wife and Vicky’s conversation like I do everyday. Vicky was telling my wife, ‘Honey, you know what, Suchitra’s husband Asthana is very strange, he doubts without any reason. He thinks that I and his wife Suchitra are having an affair, while both of us smile only because you are talked about there.’”

“My wife took Vicky’s hand in hers and kissed it and said, ‘He is a criminal psychologist, he will doubt us.’ Vicky said, ‘That is fine, but sometimes I come to know that he listens to our conversations from behind the door, I am very scared.’”

“That day I came to know that though the guitarist was having an affair with my wife, my wife’s friend’s husband Asthana sahab thought that the guitarist was having an affair with his wife. When I gathered some information about Asthana sahab, I came to know that the man is a cunning man, but not as much as he thinks himself to be. And that very day I decided that I will get the noble work of killing Vicky done by Asthana sahab, not by my own hands. The game will be over and there will be no scratch on my hand.” —

The Chennai Mail was passing through the beautiful roads of Khadki. The land and sky, which stretched far away, were meeting at one place behind all those green fields. The noise outside was turning into a slight commotion as it entered the AC compartment A3. As Asthana sahab’s eyes were shining and the surprise on his face was increasing while listening to Vikas’ story.

“What happened, Asthana sahab?” Vikas said mischievously, “Why did you get so interested? This is just a story and it is mine. I can do whatever I want, isn’t it?”

Asthana sahab closed his open mouth and said, “Yes, yes, you tell me, it doesn’t matter.”

Vikas smiled and said, “So I had completed the planning, but I needed an opportunity. And I got this opportunity the day my wife Afsana told me that she wanted to go to the market to buy some things for her daughter’s birthday celebration. I knew that Vicky would definitely come there to meet Afsana and I also knew that Asthana sahab would definitely keep an eye on his wife Suchitra. So I told Afsana, ‘Yes, go, but friend that car broke down. Why don’t you do this, call your friend Suchitra, go in her car, you will also get company.’”

“My arrow hit the target, When my wife Afsana reached the mall with Suchitra in her car, Asthana sahab’s driver was keeping an eye. He saw Vicky there and immediately informed Asthana sahab.”

“What happened, where are you lost, Asthana sahab? It’s just a story” Vikas said while extending a bottle of water towards Asthana sahab. A fake smile came on his worried face and Vikash said, “Whatever happened was enough to sow the seeds of doubt in the mind of a criminal psychologist and this was the time for the next step.”

“One day when Asthana sahab’s wife Suchitra came to my house, I took the opportunity and took out her phone from her bag. After she left, I gave her 39 missed calls from my number and then went to Asthana sahab’s house and told the servant to give this phone to his Maalik. I told ‘Maalik’ so that he could give the phone to Asthana sahab only. This is what happened. After a while, a call came on my number from an unknown number, the voice was of Asthana sahab. He asked, ‘Hello, who?’ I said, ‘I am Vicky, who are you?’ Hello?, “there was no voice from the other side.”

The Chennai Mail was running on the tracks at its full speed. Perhaps even faster than that, as much as the surprise running through Asthana sahab’s veins.

Vikas kept his handbag aside and said, “So brother, then came the night of the party. My wife Afsana was not so stupid that she would invite her lover Vicky to the party. She knew that Vicky being with her in my presence can create suspicion. That is why she did not write Vicky’s name in the guest list. But I knew that Asthana sahab will definitely come. That is why I told Afsana, ‘Listen, all the arrangements have been made. I am looking for a DJ, enquired at two-three places, he is very expensive. Why don’t you do this, what is his name… Vicky? Call him, he also does part time DJing, he is your junior in college, he will give some discount.’”

“What else did Afsana want, a smile came on her face. She called Vicky at that very moment and invited him to the party. And in the party exactly what I had thought happened. Asthana sahab saw Vicky and his suspicion turned into belief.” In the rattling train, the expression on Asthana sahab’s face had started changing. Sometimes he would look at Vikas, sometimes he would stand up on the pretext of straightening his belt, which clearly reflected his restlessness.

Vikas said, “Will you have tea?” He quickly shook his head and said, “You tell me further.”

Vikas smiled and said, “Okay, so I changed Asthana sahab’s doubt into belief, but it was not enough to make someone kill someone. To make someone kill, you need immense hatred and immense anger. So for this, I played my last trick. Around the New Year, I told Afsana that let’s go to Mussoorie.”

I knew that Afsana was not interested in going on vacation with me, but she was clever. She knew that if she refused, she would create doubt in my mind, so she agreed. I & Afsana went to Mussoorie at Hotel Blue Lagoon in Mussoorie and came back., while our daughter stayed back at home with her grandparents, uncles, and aunties, After a few days, I called Asthana sahab from a public phone and asked him for feedback on the hotel service. Burning in anger, a criminal psychologist forgot that if someone stays in a hotel with someone by exchanging names, then at least he will not write his home phone number correctly.

Anyway, he asked for the address of the hotel and rushed to the hotel. When he went to the reception and checked the entry register, he saw the same name which I aliased to stay with my wife at the hotel, “Vicky” and “Suchitra”. —

When the tea seller knocked on the door, Vikas said, “No, I don’t want tea.”

Asthana sahab, whose throat had dried up, said, “Let’s take it, yes give one tea.”

After a while, Asthana sahab was staring at Vikas with tea in his hand. He smiled and gestured with his hand and said, “Have tea, it’s just a story.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” saying this, Asthana sahab nervously sipped from the tea.

Vikash further said, “After this I sat comfortably with my legs crossed, because Asthana sahab was going to do the rest of the work. And that is what happened. In January I came to know that a missing report has been filed for Vicky. The police searched a lot but found nothing. I thanked Asthana sahab in my heart. My enemy’s game was over and there was not even a scratch on my hand. And this is what I call ‘The Perfect Murder.’”

Asthana sahab had a cup of cold tea in his hand. There was panic on his face and redness in his eyes. He had not twisted his moustache even once in the last half an hour.

When Vikash looked out of the window, Pune railway station had arrived. The noise of the bustle of the platform outside slowly started increasing inside.

“Attention passengers, train number 11027 Chennai Mail is arriving at Pune platform number five,” was the announcement in Hindi after Marathi.

“Asthana sahab, my station has come,” Vikas said pulling his trolley bag from under the seat, “I will get down here. You will probably go ahead. You will think and decide in whose story the murder was perfect. After all, it’s just a story.”

“Yes, yes, why not. Well, it was nice meeting you, Vikas,” Asthana sahab said in a hurry.

Vikas said, “Same here. Although I have a flight to Muscat tonight, but the world is very small, Asthana sahab. If it is my fate, we will meet again. Goodbye.”

Some people come in our life in such a way that their small glimpse in our life is always remembered, Asthana sahab was also watching Vikas go. But he was never going to forget this small journey.

After Vikas left, he sat on his seat for some time with his eyes closed. And then when the train started moving, he opened his eyes and turned his head forcefully left and right. He puffed his cheeks and exhaled a deep breath, widened his eyes while raising his eyebrows. Every glimpse of what had happened a while ago was still floating in his mind.

“Thank God it was just his story,” he muttered and picked up the newspaper lying nearby and started reading it again. Although Vikas’s words were echoing in his mind again and again, he was trying to immerse himself in the newspaper.

After a journey of about half an hour, the train reached the next station. Asthana sahab looked out of the window while looking at the Daund Station. He turned his eyes and kept the bars aside, started looking at the crowd coming and going outside the window. Just then he heard a sound and looked back. There was a young man who was carrying a laptop bag.

“Hello,” he said and Asthana sahab also nodded in a hello gesture. The 34-35 year old man set his luggage and sat on the seat in front of them.

“The Perfect Murder, who is this writer?” he asked, trying to pick up Asthana sahab’s novel lying on the seat.

Asthana sahab immediately pulled out the book, “He is no one, he is very average,” he said quickly putting the book in his bag.

There was silence in the compartment for some time. Then the boy said, “There was a lot of crowd today. It was some government job exam.”

“Yes, yes,” Asthana sahab said without looking at him.

He said again, “I had to board the train from Kalyan only. I had a ticket from there but there was so much crowd on the platform that I missed the train.”

Asthana sahab was surprised again, “Was your ticket from Kalyan?” he asked.

He said, “Yes. I came till here by car, only then I was able to catch the train, otherwise it would have been very difficult to reach Chennai.”

“What is your name?” Asthana sahab asked in a panic.

Then he said, “Vikas, Vikas Yadav.”

This name kept ringing in Asthana sahab’s ears for a long time. He held his head. If this is Vikas Yadav, then who was he? Who was he? This question was making noise in his mind. He was remembering every single thing about that person, every glimpse of his smile. It was running in Asthana sahab’s mind like a movie.

“Are you okay, sir?” asked the new Vikas Yadav, who was reading his newspaper in his hands.

Asthana sahab signalled that he was fine, so he started reading the newspaper again. Then he remembered that the person had tried to write on the newspaper and had said that while trying to write, 99% of the people write their name.

Asthana sahab snatched the newspaper from the boy sitting in front of him without saying anything, and he got nervous. Then I quickly looked at the first page of the newspaper, and there it was written in the stale ink of the pen:

“Tauqeer”