Tears of Kashmir: A saga of Six Murders

By Simran Bellani

• In her quest to investigate her two elder sister’s deaths that happened in exactly same manner, 19 years old Aafreen stumbles upon something that she should not have known.
• Now that she has known it, she has to be silenced. But Aafreen is not a meek girl as the dark people responsible for dark secrets have presumed. They have a tough time getting hold of her. Brave Aafreen loses her family, friends and all those people whom she loved.
• She manages to flee from the clutches of dark people but suffers a terrible depression thereafter. People around her keep on dying. She doesn’t know what’s going on. She always feels she is being watched. Every moment makes her feel that she is the next in line to die at unknown hands.
• She is saved from these thoughts by the police who astonishingly accuse her of all the murders- merciless murders of 6 men.
• Has she really committed those murders or is somebody trying to frame her up? Will Aafreen ever be able to live a normal life? Will she ever be loved again? Prepare yourselves for an intriguing read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: One Point Six Technologies Pvt Ltd
• Release date: Nov 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9789388081603

Simran Bellani

Simran Bellani (maiden name: Namrata Thakkar) is an engineer by qualification but a content writer, poet and travel blogger by profession. She loves to read and write stories. A pro in story telling since young age, she feels she was destined to be an author ultimately in life. Tears of Kashmir is her debut novel. She is hopelessly optimistic and people look up to her for much needed pep talks in life. You can reach her at [e-mail]. Follow her on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/authorSimranBellani/ and Instagram at: @bellanisimran

Book preview

Prologue

Mamal, a small village near the main tourist attraction of Kashmir, Pahalgam, is one of the most heavenly places on Earth as eulogized by littérateurs and artists in their work. This paradise on Earth has been painted on canvases and admired in poetries since the time when the grandson of Lord Brahma cut the Baramulla Mountains to form the valley of Kashmir. There had truly been a heavenly hand in its making.

It had been almost two decades before Aafreen had lived there as a child. At least that was true from the assumptions of her lawyer. The police van screeched to a stop near a narrow road. Aafreen Khan was brought down with all the handcuffs and leg irons. Her wrists and ankles bore marks of treachery that she had endured in the jail. A guard and her lawyer stood on her either side. She walked with great difficulty. Her eyes which had become used to the darkness of dingy cell in jail narrowed as rays of Sun scorched. Instead of biting, the chilling wind seemed to embrace her. The smell of earth seemed like a sweet liberation from the doom lurking in the jail where she was incarcerated for four months without any justification. She peered into the eyes of small girls passing by, trying to solidify images of her long mystified childhood. It was agony beyond imagination. Limping slowly on the deserted road she turned to a hut at the end of the village. A mysterious inner voice was leading her.

Her lawyer Ruhee Sheikh was a fresh graduate from Delhi University with Kashmiri background and not so elaborate career. She had assisted advocate Ashmit Batra of the famous Batra & Associates in almost 25 cases in 6 months. Ashmit Batra was a burly man in his forties with sharp pointed eyes and an even sharper tongue. His slightly graying hair went unnoticed when he stepped in the courtroom with an aura of pompousness. He was a mean sight as he crushed his opponents with a snap of his fingers. The man was a savage. It was this charismatic air about him that inspired Ruhee to work for him. But very soon she found differences between their ways of working and she walked out even when she knew that Batra would make her pay a heavy price for it.

When Aafreen’s case was brought to her, she was more than eager to take the case. She believed that a well-groomed girl from an aristocratic Kashmiri family can never kill. And here she was, accused of bloody murders of six men. The case was devastating. The whole country had turned into a storm of outpourings. People stepped out to protest the ruthless murders. News channels were full of same news, every minute detail of the murders splattered on screens. TV presenters gave a gratifying dose of spice to their viewers by savaging Aafreen’s character. They described her as a psycho serial killer. They had never witnessed such a treacherous act. The polls clearly indicated death penalty for her. Afreen was obviously kept unaware of the on-goings. She had suffered partial memory loss while in prison. More than compassion her heart was filled with passion to help Aafreen. And most of all, this was her first independent case and she needed it badly to prove her mettle. Apart from a detective friend, a supportive criminal lawyer husband and her undying determination she had nothing else.

She pulled out a notepad and started scribbling every movement that Aafreen made. After walking a short distance, Aafreen came to a halt in front of a small wooden hut stuffed with hay. A beautiful white horse was nibbling at his fodder. Turbulent River Lidder was noisily cutting its way through huge old moss laden rocks. Water from melted snow on the caps of mountains was mingling with the river through small streams running down the mountains. A forty-five something man with a chiseled square jaw was cutting wood with his handmade axe. As he lifted his gaze and faced Aafreen, the cacophony of the rocky river seemed distant to her. A picture flashed in her mind. Petals of red roses scattered on pure white snow. Suddenly her surroundings were swimming. Her head was searing with pain and the next thing she felt was the hard ground flat against her body. She could see a faint vision of the guard and the lawyer rushing towards her before everything went black.

When she woke up, she found herself huddled in an old wooden bed. A tiny girl of about four with apple-red cheeks was standing beside her cot. She held out a cup of home-made Kashmiri tea- kahva and ran off. As she held the cup in her hands, the warmth of the tea echoed in her mind sweet words,

"Daddu, I have made this kahwa for you. Tell me how is it?

Hmmm, Kahwa jhu nafeez banomout. It is delicious dear.

My betijaan makes tea better than her ammi and her sisters.

I am proud of you."

How do you feel now? Ruhee came in, shutting the howling wind out of the door.

What had happened to me? asked Aafreen weakly rubbing her eyes.

You had fainted, said Ruhee calmly taking a seat beside her.

"But…. But… that man? Who was he? I looked at him and something happened…

Oh my head! It’s aching like hell. What is happening?" She clutched her forehead.

That’s exactly what I want to know, she said lighting a cigarette.

We don’t know where he is. He just vanished," she threw up her hands frowning.

Please tell me everything. I don’t even know what I have done. Believe me, I have not killed anybody. I… I can’t just do that, she started sobbing.

I know it. That’s why I am here to help you. Ruhee’s voice was soft, full of compassion.

Now have this bread and tea and relax your mind. I have extended your bail. We will have ample of time to talk.

She put her lips on the cheap china cup and sipped reluctantly. The smell of her alma mater’s tea brought back some unknown nostalgia. It made her cheerful and sad at the same time.

"Ruheeji..

You can call me Ruhee.

Alright Ruheeji …er ….. Ruhee, I want to know. What happened? Where’s my family? For God’s sake how did I land up in jail?

Hmmm. Right now your story is a dotted maze. But don’t worry; we will connect all the dots.

Ruhee put a reassuring arm on Aafreen’s shoulder.

1

ROOTS IN KASHMIR

4 months ago

Location: Mumbai

It was a pleasant cloudy morning. The dehydrating summer had just come to an end and gloom colored clouds were taking over. Aafreen Khan who lived as a paying guest in a three bedroom flat in this life making-life starving city, the city that never sleeps, had a great problem dealing with heat waves owing to her Kashmiri blood. She was one of those people who preferred muddy, water logging rains of Mumbai more than scorching, killing summers. Of course winters were like soothing heaven to her, though it did not exactly chill her like it did back in Kashmir. She was used to freezing snowfalls there. Her beautiful watery green eyes were like aphrodisiacs. Her milky white hands, cherry pink lips, waist length shimmering golden hair and fully grown curvaceous body made everyone clinch their hearts. She missed her pheran. Red was her favorite color. She was twenty-eight years old but looked sixteen. She had a face no one could ever forget. She might have been a part of million dreams by now. Wherever she went, she was followed by licentious eyes. Her loneliness made her fears worse. Her beauty always endangered her safety. Sometimes she felt sad for being what she was, while other girls would kill to step in her skin. The only place she found solace was with children of the school where she was employed as an English teacher. St. Xavier’s International School was in the heart of the city. Teachers, children, staff all were very pleasant to work with. But beyond school, she had a dull depressing life.

She would drag herself home only with the comforting thought of her two roommates Anika and Annie. Both were exactly opposite to her. They were like a happy holiday, always chuckling and having fun. But there was something mysterious about Annie. She didn’t seem the type of girl she always portrayed herself to be. Anika was indifferent to it, but Aafreen could sense it. But nevertheless, both of them really cared for her. They never made her feel lonely. But still she was. She had lost her family. One by one her sisters had died mysteriously. And then one day her whole family had disappeared. Dead or alive? She had no idea.

It was almost three years ago. She was doing her masters in commerce in Delhi then. She was devastated. Shattered and confused, she came back to Delhi. Her relatives residing in Mumbai brought her with them, but soon they showed their true color. Aafreen who was not used to being pitied, could not pity her plight herself and she decided to fight her way back. That was when she applied for a job and along came her new and independent life.

Annie Stevens, twenty-six years old, was born in Delhi. She had an attractive oval face and thick long hair. She had black pointed eyes with long lashes that never missed anything. She had a husky sensuous voice that could give any top actress a run for her money. Like many other girls she had come to Mumbai to pursue her acting dreams. And she had realized her dream crashing very soon when a B grade director agreed to cast her for a one night stand. She was furious. She cursed him to go to hell and sure he did. Next day the newspapers were full with news of his sudden death due to drug overdose and drowning in bath tub.

Served him right, Annie had smirked at the news. She took up a job of dance teacher with St. Xavier because she did not want to go back to her troubled past in Delhi. It was at the school where she met Aafreen. Annie was a fun-loving girl. She liked to don stylish outfits. She wanted to be trim and spruce always. She was supercilious and high-ended with men. She could make them fall for her instantly. In fact, she found it a sort of adventure. But there was something very unnatural about her, almost killing. Aafreen had never experienced her chill. Annie loved nagging her though.

Annie loved to go clubbing. She would wear tight fitting leather mini-skirts and halter tops to discos. She loved to apply dark makeup- Thick eye-liner and neon lipsticks. She looked like one hell of a sexy devil. It was as if she wanted to curtain her divine beauty. She would booze till wee hours and hit the dance floor till her legs hurt. One such evening, she was having a drink at Trilogy in Juhu. She had the nerve to dance alone in the middle of the maddening crowd. Near midnight, a tall man in his thirties approached her.

You are gorgeous. I’ve never seen someone so beautiful. Can I buy you a drink? He spoke loudly over the din.

Sure. Thank you, said Annie batting her eyelids. And they moved away from the dance floor.

One Martini. And Beer for the lady..? he looked at her for her order.

White Rum. Neat, she ordered.

"Woah….

You come here often? he asked.

Yeah. I do. This is a nice place. I love the music here, told Annie with a happy smile.

Over the drink, the man was eyeing her lustfully. Annie was aware of it. The man did not bother with making any further conversation. In the middle of his third drink he squeezed her waist and said in a husky voice, "Why don’t we go to my suite upstairs.