Behind the Headlines: A Novella

By Zeenat Khan

It is January 2015 when the body of Indian superstar Krish Samrat is discovered in his hotel room and at the same day and same time super star Krish Samrat was being aired live on a chat show which was being telecast from London. In charge of the investigation is police officer Romi Damodar, who now must leave no stone unturned while attempting to find out who murdered the popular superstar or was he actually murdered. With few clues to follow, his job may be more challenging than he ever imagined.
When footage from a hotel security camera leads Romi to the suspect, it reveals a glimpse into how the suspect has planned a deadly endeavor in order to seek justice for someone very beloved who was kissed to death a year earlier during a strange chain of events that culminated outside the superstars home.
As the suspect exposes the details of the vengeful mission also was revealed a shocking truth which wasnt telecast as any headlines by media.
In this thrilling tale of love, insecurity, revenge and hate, a superstar is found dead in his hotel room, leaving a suspect to provide a behind-the-headlines look into the mind of a killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Feb 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781482870770

Zeenat Khan

Zeenat Khan is a Lecturer of commerce and management. Founder of the educational website meracampus.co.in. She is a passionate proponent of education and believes in sharing knowledge that will benefit the world at large. Zeenat currently resides in Mumbai, Maharashtra, India. Behind the Headlines is her first book.

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 by Zeenat Khan.

ISBN:      Hardcover     978-1-4828-7079-4

                Softcover      978-1-4828-7078-7

                eBook           978-1-4828-7077-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/india

Contents

Dedication

Part One

The Lost Battle: Climax of the Movie

Trident Mall

Filmcity Studio, Mumbai 4 January 2015

The Police Station 4 January 2015

Flashback: The Murder Night 3 January 2015

The Play Ground 4 January 2015

Krish Samrat’s Villa 4 January 2015

Trident Mall 4 January 2015

The Police Station 4 January 2015

Trident Mall 5 January 2015

Flimcity Studio, Mumbai 5 January 2015

The Police Station 5 January 2015

Flashback: College Campus 15 February 2014

Aahana’s House at Night 15 February 2014

Next Morning 16 February 2014

In the Afternoon: College Canteen 16 February 2014

Aahana’s House in the morning 5 January 2015

In the Evening: 7 p.m 16 February 2014

The Police Station 5 January 2015

Krish Samrat’s Villa 16 February 2014

The Police Station 5 January 2015

Flashback: Jay’s House

The Police Station 5 January 2015

Flashback: Next Day, at Jay’s House

The Police Station 5 January 2015

Flashback: Set of a Film at Filmcity, Mumbai

Flashback: Two Months Later

On the Set of the Film: Jaipur

Inside the Vanity Van

Back in the Home Town: Mumbai

The Police Station 5 January 2015

Next Day at Aahana’s Home 6 January 2015

Part Two

Flashback: How Esha Gets Justice—The Entire Plan

Next Afternoon: Cravings Restaurant

Shantiniwas Chawl

3 January 2015 6 a.m.

7 p.m.

Outside the Police Station 6 January 2015

Dedication

By the grace of Almighty this book is dedicated

To my parents Mr.Mohammad Taqui Khan and Mrs.Tasneem Fatima Khan

To my children Mohammad Taahaa and Mohammad Yaseen

To my dear friend.

To my wonderful readers.

Thank you Partridge India to be an amazing source all throughout the publishing of my first book.

PART ONE

The Lost Battle: Climax of the Movie

The quadrant is silent, bathed in colour red. Scattered are soldiers in their deep sleep. The sun is on its other side, spreading shades of darkness. From afar, in a long strip, there is a jingling noise. It seems like some bangles are dangling, subtly shining. As the image starts zooming in, the noise of the bangles are heard more clearly. The silent footsteps sliding around the maze of the puzzled pattern of sleeping soldiers, collecting headgears, swords, shields, starts creating an appearance—soaked in sand and blood, arms and legs cluttered with bruises and cuts.

A huge roar filled with distress and defeat pierces the scene, causing all the articles collected on the cheated ground to bang together, throwing away the subtle bangles which are actually the armours of the war.

Every part of his body has tasted defeat, the ocean of grief flowing from his eyes, his hands covering his face, his knee kissing the ground.

Suddenly, sounds of applause rush into each ear, breaking the silence and again creating one. There raises a voice echoing throughout the entire quadrant, the pitch modulating, some words fumbling.

‘Ego, ego, ego. Why? Why couldn’t I bear a silly statement made by my enemy that I cannot fight without my court and king? This was their fox strategy to defeat me. Wish I had listened to all at that moment of time.

‘But I was drenched in my ego, and I declared a war within twenty-four hours without any court or king, with just 100 soldiers, and as weapon, just a sword and shield.

‘Those teary eyes of the wives and innocent faces of the children will never forgive me. The helpless mothers waiting for their son, now and all throughout their life, will never let me sleep peacefully ever. I owe them every breath of my life.

‘My ego has killed me, my ego has destroyed me, and my ego has made me paralyzed. My ego has—’

And a huge cry thunders along with huge applause. The audience, on their feet, shower applause for the incredible performance of the famous superstar Krish Samrat.

Trident Mall

‘May I help you, sir?’ a sweet, rhythmic voice asks, and there starts a conversation between a couple and the staff of the famous wraps and rolls restaurant as called the Taste Bug.

‘Yes, lady. We would like to order one Mexican wrap and two veggie rolls with extra cheese.’

‘Would you like to try our new variety of smoothies?’

‘No, thanks. Not for now.’

‘I’ll repeat your order, sir. One Mexican wrap and two veggie rolls with extra cheese.’

Locking the order on the computer screen, she politely smiles and raises her right hand towards the couple to present the bill. Precipitously, there is a flash on her jacket just below her shoulder. A badge twinkles with the logo of the company of the Taste Bug, and her name is stated as Aahana Suri.

‘Here is your bill, sir. Kindly make the payment and enjoy your meal.’

‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’

While the couple makes the payment, a group of college boys and girls appear and crowd in front of the counter. They are busy conversing about the latest movie which has been released last Friday. One of the friends says, ‘Hey, guys, last night, I just enjoyed the new release of the famous superstar Krish Samrat. He was incredible, awesome, so sweet, cute, hot and just—’

She hugs herself and kisses the air.

‘I wish I could see him even just once. Where will he be shooting right now?’

Filmcity Studio, Mumbai

4 January 2015

‘Ravi, Ravi, change those curtains. It’s looking very dull.’

‘Madam,’ replies confused Ravi, ‘the assistant director has instructed to put on these curtains. He wants the entire theme in blue.’

The dance director, Madam Tarana, yells her lungs out at Ravi, who is in charge of arranging the set, ‘Idiot! Do as I say. It’s a sensuous song. I need red and white shimmery curtains with long flowing veils. Get the hell out of here and arrange them as soon as possible! Krish Samrat will be hell on fire with this set-up.’

Ravi is upset. He is in a fix, wondering how he can arrange them in such a short span of time. He approaches Madam Tarana, pleading with her to help him out.

Madam Tarana, squeezing her face with all her frustration, blasts on Ravi, ‘Oh, bulldog, just keep wagging!’

Tarana swipes her smartphone and connects to someone. She impatiently puts the cell phone to her ear, marching to and fro, saying, ‘Pick up, pick up, pick up. Tota, Tota, Tota.’

There is a reply from the other end. ‘Hello, hello, hello. Tota, Tato, Toto espeaking in English. I the Hollywood, Bollywood, Deresswala.’

Interrupting his introduction, Tarana, losing her temper, says with an icy smile, ‘Tota the Great, urgent requirement of red and white shimmery curtains. Available? Just reply with a yes, or else, disconnect the call.’

After a long pause, Tota replies, ‘Haan ji.’

‘Idiot!’ With a furious gesture, Tarana gets back to Ravi, and without any verbal conversation, moving her index finger horizontally, she points at the blue curtains.

Immediately understanding her horizontally moving index finger, Ravi confirms to remove them right away.

There is a speeding noise of a car, and everyone present over there gets alerted.

‘Krish Samrat has arrived,’ whispers a spot boy.

Tarana, on hearing this, completes her statement, stating, ‘Relax, guys. Krish will report tomorrow or the day after. Now get back to your work!’

‘Ravi checkout whether the dance assistant has completed with the rehearsals, inform him I will be taking a briefing on the dance steps.’

‘Yes madam, just after pulling down these curtains I will inform him,’ replies Ravi.

‘Hey Tambi, get some hot tea for me soon and yes get some cookies as well,’ orders Tarana to the canteen staff, and please do a favour to add milk in tea or else every time the tea what you serve is water with some drops of milk in it.

Tarana’s cell phone is ringing without paying any heed to whose call it is she answers the call. Hearing the voice from the other end she is very happy and makes a conversation ‘yes, ofcourse I have arranged it for you, don’t worry for it at all. I would have personally given it to you but I am too busy these days. Your books are there at my house I will send it along with my driver.’

From the other end there is an enquiry about her brother.

She replies ‘he is fine. Since long I have not met him as well, maybe after this shooting gets over will try to meet him.’

The Police Station

4 January 2015

A police officer is sitting on the table, resting his hands on the files with his back turned. Dangling his shoes and slightly banging on the legs of the table, he raises an enquiry to his subordinates. ‘Hotel Residency Room 806 murder case is getting on my nerves. If I don’t crack it, I will be cracked. How is it possible? How?’ He bangs the table. ‘A murder has happened, yet the one who was murdered happens to be alive also.’

With boundless confusion on his face, he slides his hands in his pocket and removes a clean white handkerchief, gently wiping it all over his forehead. But the handkerchief has not cleared the boundless confusion blinking on his face. Maybe it is triggered by his thoughts on how it is possible that a murder has happened but has also not.

He starts moving around here and there, juggling his thoughts and trying to throw some victorious clues on the entire episode of the murder mystery. Moving towards his chair he relaxes his spine. His face seems crowded with pressure to crack the case. His palms are greeting each other, his fingers flapping a silver pen dangling between them. Lying at one end of the table is a traditional landline phone, which starts ringing constantly but is unattended by anyone, not even the officer.

As the phone stops ringing, there is a pause in his gestures. Taking a deep breath, he changes his posture. Now he looks more like an officer on duty.

He keeps on analysing, Is it an accident or a planned murder? What would be the mystery behind this murder? Why the room was booked in the hotel?

‘My experience says that there are some serious elements or activities involved in this murder. I will not let the proof get vanished into the darkness like a ghost.’

He takes his hands from his pockets and rubs them together. Then moving off to the right he grabs a sheet of paper lying near the files and scribbles something which looks like some dots and directions. As his brain is busy engineering the dots and directions, a dazed voice is heard, which is his own. ‘When I opened the door, the body was lying on the floor.’

He tries to recapitulate the entire episode of the murder night, brushing his judgment back into the past. The siren of the police van starts honking in his ears.

Flashback: The Murder Night

3 January 2015

At the gate of Hotel Residency, the police van, its siren honking, rushes near the entrance of the hotel. The wheels are parked diagonally. The right-side door of the van opens, and an officer is seen. He is none other than the police officer Romi Damodar, who is in charge of the entire case. He is dressed up in a khaki uniform along with three constables, obviously, who all seem to be the most active person of law. Performing the toughest duty round the clock. They have a professional responsibility demanding from them the highest standards of conduct, particularly those of honesty, impartiality and integrity.

The guard at Hotel Residency, performing his duty at his best, directs them towards the lobby, where the manager is standing along with the staff. They all look tensed, confused, flabbergasted, and shocked.

The officer walks towards the manager to have a brief conversation with him. He introduces himself to the manager. ‘I am Romi Damodar. Are you the manager of this hotel?’

Some three-letter words palpitates and trembles from the vocal cord of the manager. ‘Y-yes … yes, s-sir.’ Shivering and sweating in fright, he says, ‘I am, sir. Yes, I am, sir.’

Romi rests his hand on the manager’s shoulder, making him feel calm and relaxed, and asks for the direction towards the murder spot.

Still in dread, the manager replies, ‘Sir, Room 806, eighth floor. You can use the elevator. It’s on the right side, near the receptions.’

Romi pats his hand on the back of the manager and assures him that all will be fine. Moving towards the reception, Romi raises certain questions to the manager.

The conversation between the two starts. ‘Who saw the body first?’ questioned Romi.

In reply, the manager addresses, ‘The waiter who was on duty at eighth floor.’

The second question quickly rushes by Romi. ‘Did he or anyone else touch anything?’

With an innocent concern, the manager replies, ‘I have no