Murder On The Bicycle Trail: The Origin of S.H.I.M.LA. Investigators

By Minakshi Chaudhry

Suspense hangs at every step as the young
sleuths unearth deadly secrets and crimes in
the small, cozy Himalayan town of Shimla,
the erstwhile capital of British Raj. Their
bond of friendship gives them courage to
face fear and terror that they encounter
while unravelling these mysteries. Welcome
to the world of S.H.I.M.L.A. Investigators.
Murder on the Bicycle Trail is Book 1 of the series. A
cycling expedition goes haywire. A girl is murdered.
Police is clueless. In the din that follows the team of
Shimla Investigators emerges and cathces the culprit.
Aaliya, the boss, leader of the group;
Lakshya, the boy with a strong sixth sense;
Harhit, always the cautious one;
Siya, the computer geek;
Ishmit, the carefree guy in the group &
Mobile, the extraordinary monkey - solve intriguing
mysteries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: One Point Six Technologies Pvt Ltd
• Release date: May 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9789388930260

Minakshi Chaudhry

Minakshi Chaudhry lives in Shimla with her husband. She has written 18 books including the bestsellers: Ghost Stories of Shimla Hills and More Ghost Stories of Shimla Hills. Both these books are now being converted into a TV Series.Minakshi spent her formative years in West Africa where she did her schooling. She is a keen observer of people, cultures, life styles and is fond of trekking and travelling. Playing drums is another passion of hers. She responds to ethereal whispers and narrates sensitive, sensual, spooky and strange tales. Minakshi is founder President of the Swarn Educational Welfare and Awareness (SEWA) Trust that works in the areas of health, education, environment and career counselling. The Trust also runs Khushi - a unique day care centre for elderly women at Solan with the support of the Government.She can be contacted at [e-mail]

Book preview

1

Sudden Snowfall

He frowned. There were seventeen names but the problem was how many will turn up? It had started snowing, big snowflakes mixed with sleet. Mr Kuldeep Chauhan again glanced at the list of cyclists who had enrolled for the annual Shimla Cycling Expedition.

He then looked out of the window of his shop. Shimla having snow early, in the month of November! This was really something unexpected. He had never heard of it. Well, at least since he could remember! He was definite that tomorrow’s expedition will have to be cancelled. No one will come in this snowy weather, he thought. He will have to decide but he was in a fix. Should he call all the cyclists now and announce the cancellation of the expedition or should he just wait and see how things turn out tomorrow?

It was getting dark outside. He decided to close the shop. He was sure that no customers would come in this cold weather, so sitting there was purposeless. And if it snowed heavily it would become difficult for him to reach his house at Annandale, some three kilometers from the Mall.

He locked up his shop, pulled the collar of his jacket high to protect himself from the icy wind and braced himself to face the watery snow flakes.

It is not my fault that the weather has gone bad, he said to himself. With seventeen thousand rupees in his pocket, he decided to handle the situation the next day depending on the weather and the number of participants who will turn up. This lifted up his mood a little.

Engrossed in thoughts of how much profit he will make without doing much work, he walked briskly through the nearly empty Mall Road. Just as he reached The Baljees, a popular restaurant, a youngster bumped into him nearly off balancing him on the slippery road.

Hey, watch out, he shouted sternly.

Oh! Hello uncle, the boy said. Mr Kuldeep Chauhan looked blankly at the youngster trying to figure out who he was.

Don’t you recognize us, we are Harshit and Ishmit? Said the other boy with him.

Oh yes, yes, Mr Chauhan said still unable to place them.

Harshit sensed that the organizer of the cycling expedition had not recognized them so he added to make things clear, Uncle, we participate in your cycling expeditions every year.

Mr Chauhan remembered now. Of course, they were the twins of the famous criminal lawyer of Shimla, Mr Amit Khurana. Their high energy level and love for playing pranks gave him a headache and he was always confused about who was who.

Oh, uncle! How can you forget us? Ishmit said in mock seriousness.

No, no, Mr Chauhan said, In fact, I was thinking about you only. You are coming for the cycling trip tomorrow, aren’t you?

Yes, we will definitely be there at Sanjauli Bus Stand at 9 am sharp, beamed Harshit, the younger twin.

Good heavens! These two will definitely come even if no one else turns up, Mr Chauhan thought. But he wanted to be sure so he added, Don’t you think it may become really difficult if it snows through the night? The roads might get blocked.

Oh no, uncle, it will be more exciting to cycle in the snow. Papa has recently bought us Hero Ranger DTB, a eighteen gear beauty, said Ishmit, the elder one cheerfully.

Mr Chauhan gave a smile but it did not reach his eyes. He had started feeling bitterly cold and wanted to move on. He was actually feeling low. What could he say to nineteen-year-old boys full of energy and foolish ideas? Their parents must decide, he thought. He said bye to the boys and resumed his cautious but hurried walk back home, sweet home dreaming about hot cups of tea and a warm bed.

The twins looked at each other. Bro, are you thinking what I am thinking? Said Ishmit.

Yeah, this guy doesn’t want the expedition to take off, replied Harshit.

What the heck! We have paid him and I won’t allow him to cheat us, Ishmit said agitated.

Oh, come on bro, don’t jump to conclusions. He is not cheating us, he is just worried about the weather, Harshit tried to calm him down.

Well, whatever! Snow cannot stop us. It is not a big deal. I won’t mind lugging the bike in snow for a few kilometers. It would be fun.

I tell you, even if we are the only ones there tomorrow, I will force Chauhan uncle to go ahead with the expedition, Ishmit continued.

OK, calm down, we will see when tomorrow comes, Harshit said quickly. Come, let us have some momos at Trishul Bakery, he added trying to cheer up his brother.

This is what I like about you. At least you can feel my pain, Ishmit broke into a smile.

Harshit shook his head. Pain! He mocked him.

How many times do I have to tell you that food is a stress buster, said Ishmit in a mournful voice, I think you don’t know, it is going to be khichri for dinner at home. Dad has an upset stomach so everyone must have khichri, it is a weird rule made by mom.

I know and I have reminded you many times what Monsieur Voltaire has said on this, said Harshit.

What? Shoot the quotation bro, I like these, said Ishmit.

He said that nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.

I agree one hundred percent, beamed Ishmit as they entered the Trishul Bakery for hot and juicy, garlic flavoured chicken dumplings.

2

The Reluctant Organiser

When Mr Chauhan got up in the morning his immediate impulse was to look out of the window. He did not see a snow-white Shimla as he had expected. Moreover, the sound of pattering raindrops on the tin roof of his house made him feel miserable. Snow would have been better. Now he will have to go to Sanjauli in rain even if no one turns up!

He felt so low that even the piping hot alu paranthas with a blob of homemade white butter, followed by a steaming cup of masala tea with a dash of ginger—just the way he liked it—served by his doting wife did not brighten his damp spirits. It is going to be an awful day, he muttered to himself.

This was his sixth mini Cycling Expedition for the youngsters. He organized this mini-event annually as a run-up to the mega Himalayan Mountain Biking Expedition that went over 500 kilometers over treacherous hill and mountain roads. He had been organizing the mega event for the last ten years. He needed an army of volunteers, police and medical professionals to manage this event. It had become so popular that over one hundred bikers including dozens of foreigners participated in it.

Naturally, this mini-event was not a challenge for him. He did not need too many volunteers to manage the vehicular traffic. But still, the event required proper arrangements. The District Magistrate had already issued orders for traffic regulation on the route and the Superintendent of Police had deployed traffic police personnel wherever required. Certain sections of the road were declared one-way for vehicles so that the cyclists had a free go. Over the years Mr Chauhan had learnt to economize. For this mini-event, he cut drastically on traffic volunteers and did not take the services of mobile doctors and paramedics. He carried basic medicines in his own car. The doctors and paramedics posted in health institutions along the route were put on alert by the Health and Family Welfare Department to help in case of emergency.

Mr Chauhan took a mental stock of the checklist as he left for Sanjauli. Only one van was to move in front with a red flag as a pilot. Packed lunch, bicycle repair kit, spare parts and other stuff was to be with the volunteer sitting in the van. His own car will play the role of the tail car. Though Mr Chauhan made sure that the route for this mini-event was not difficult, forty kilometers maximum, yet experience had taught him to have a stand-by pickup vehicle to carry bikes if any cyclist failed to complete the trip. Anything could happen on an expedition.

3

Getting Ready

This is swell! Exclaimed Ishmit delightfully, looking out of the window of the room that he shared with Harshit.

What is it? Groggily asked Harshit getting up on his elbows. He blinked, closed his eyes for a few seconds and then opened them again, this time wide. It was raining, in fact pouring!

He glanced at his brother as if he had gone bonkers. What are you talking about? It is raining cats and dogs, he muttered slumping back on the bed.

Of course! Isn’t it great? Get up you lazy bones! We have to get ready. Let us bathe, have a yummy breakfast and then ask dad to drop us till Sanjauli with our bicycles stacked on top of the Bolero, said Ishmit quickly.

Oh my God, the cycling tour! Groaned Harshit. Do you think it is sensible to go in such weather? Moreover, will mom and dad allow us? He asked tentatively.

But Ishmit had already left for the washroom and all he could hear was a loud song behind the closed door: Goli mar bheje mein, bheja shor karta hai. Grudgingly Harshit got up. He knew nothing could dampen his brother’s spirit for outdoor sports. Ishmit will make him go!

I don’t think it is a good idea Amit, said Mrs. Khurana in a worried voice looking out of the window. Though the rain had slowed down since morning yet it was still drizzling.

Don’t worry, it is going to clear up, confidently said Mr Khurana.

Mom, look the clouds are lifting up I can even see the blue sky in patches, excitedly gushed Ishmit as he gave his mom a goodbye hug.

Yeah Mom, rain will stop soon. We are fully equipped for the cold weather. With these down feather jackets, gloves and woolen caps we are not going to fall sick, Harshit added reassuringly, smiling at his mother.

Mrs Khurana patted her younger son’s back, he was such a charming kid. Her sons were strikingly different both in mannerism and outlook towards life. Generally, the elder twin is more responsible and sensible but in Mrs Khurana’s case it was the opposite. Her younger son was the one who was more mature and sensible. Many times, Harshit pacified and handled Ishmit who was temperamental, impulsive and impatient. Ishmit was a constant worry for her as he kept landing into difficult situations.

When he reached Sanjauli, Mr Chauhan’s assistant had arranged everything for the flag off ceremony including bikes for those who had requested. In fact, this year all entrants, except the twins, had requested to be provided with bikes.

It was extremely cold but thankfully the rain had stopped. The clouds were scattering, playing hide and seek with the sun. Mr Chauhan paced up and down near the Sanjauli Chowk. Now he wanted all the cyclists to come. What was the use of all his effort that too after spending a restless night if everyone did not turn up! For the last half an hour he had glanced at his watch several times. Only seven had turned up so far and not surprisingly they were looking glum and spiritless. The weather had surely played the spoilsport.

There is no need to wait anymore he thought, taking out a small diary from his pocket and moving towards the listless group.

Your names please, he said loudly.

Aaliya, said a beautiful, smartly dressed young girl.

OK, Aaliya, Aaliya, Aaliya, muttered Mr Chauhan as he scanned the list, Yes, here it is. he nodded ticking the name.

Next

Simmi and Riya, said one of the two girls. They were wearing matching tracksuits and were standing together, a little away from the other participants.

Mr Chauhan looked up, the girl had a different accent. She was not a Shimlaite. She was in her early twenties and her companion looked a couple of years younger to her. Both the girls had shoulder-length hair and were donning P-Caps. They were wearing trendy branded track pants, shiny pink and white windcheaters and stylish shoes. They not only looked disinterested but also had a snobbish air about them. Mr Chauhan sighed; they were surely going to cause trouble.

You are not from here, he said trying to build a conversation.

No and thank God for that! I will get so bored in this small town, haughtily said the elder one.

Mr Chauhan shrugged. ‘If you are so bored, what are you doing here? Go back to your big, lively town that you have come from,’ he wanted to retort but he restrained himself and started checking the list. He was no more interested to know who was Riya and who was Simmi.

Harshit, Ishmit.

Oh yes, Mr Khurana’s energetic twins whom he had met yesterday. Mr Chauhan tick marked their names.

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