The Cruel Saint

By Ryan Dixit

Dr. SUSANNE BRYNE, a doctor, was living happily with her husband RAM MATHUR, a restaurant owner in Kolkata. After their anniversary party, RAM dropped her before their housing complex and vanished straight away. Three days later, Susanne and Father Augustine of St Martin’s Church went to Russel Street Police Station and lodged a missing diary about Ram. A few days later, Susanne discovered a confidential file in Ram’s cabin containing names and locations of different persons. At the last page, she found the name ALEX FERNANDEZ, Assistant Supervisor, Hotel India Palace, Mumbai!

The real shock she encountered at the Nariman Point Police Station,Mumbai where she found Ram’s picture among the most wanted criminals! As per the police records, the person is a notorious gangster RAGHAV ROY who is involved in more than ten cases of extortions, illegal land-deals and murders. RAM or RAGHAV? Are they same or different persons? Has RAM cheated on her? But then, she too went missing. What happened to her? Did Raghav kill her? The story unfolds a heartbreaking truth that can rock our ancient belief.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Jan 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781543706253

Ryan Dixit

He is a graduate from Scottish Church College, Kolkata. After his MBA, he spent a few years in corporate sector before joining the Civil Services. At present he is working for the poor, backward class people of the society.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

# Saturday, 24th Jan 2015

# 8.49 pm

Kolkata

O N AN EVENING of late January , when a dense fog coupled with the dusky smokes of the factories had masked the whole city under a thick veil, I was returning from a professor’s house in South Kolkata , after a prolonged discussion over my research topic - ‘ Psychiatric Disorders and its Implicat ions.’

To begin with, here’s my small profile:

Name: Subhankar Sanyal

Profession: Research scholar at Calcutta University

Now, let’s come back to my story……….

The solitary streets had remarkably thin traffic, compared to the drastic picture of any normal evening where the crawling vehicles, inch by inch and the fierce competitions between the bus conductors (to snatch away passengers) are the usual scenario. If that’s not enough, then you’ll be entertained with a deafening chorus of various horns, crying in different frequencies joined by the scolding of the impatient mob, all huddled into the buses, yelling at the drivers every time they would slow down deliberately before the traffic signals – a big thumb down to the guidelines of so-called City Pollution Board!

Unfortunate but savagely true!

Afternoon, however, was normal, usual I would say, doing an acid test of my patience. It wasted two valuable hours of mine while covering a distance of just ten km. All thanks to our humanitarian, ‘by the people’ and (not) ‘for the people’ politicians leading a rally, as a protest against capitalist America for its domination over the poor countries!

Really! Crap! **** ***

With no choice either, I had to exhale a few impatient grunts glaring at those colourful flags and placards through my helpless eyes. Some flags were painted with the faces of few yesterday politicians of some lost countries. And I can tell you the full biography and geography of them. As a resident of West Bengal, these names are made dissolved into our blood since our childhood. Even so, nobody ever asks, ‘What the fuck are they doing over here?’

As I glanced at the long rally, I noticed a majority of the people seemed to be mere wage earners staggering with tireless legs carrying those huge flags & placards over their lean structures who don’t even know where the hell ‘America’ is or what the fuck ‘Capitalism’ means. But these sorts of people with either or faces are in great demand nowadays, particularly when mills and factories are shutting down every day in our state. And they have a packed-up schedule too – Monday rally with ‘X’ party, Wednesday blockade with ‘Y’ and end the week with ‘Z’ taking part in a ‘back-stage biryani’–‘front-stage hunger strike’ while criticising Central or State Govt policies.

Different day, different job and (obviously) different wage! Opposition pays less while the ruling party pays a bonus!

I understand, the politicians also need attention in this TRP craving world, but still, a nonsense rally followed by a suffocating jam– these only make our city’s image to a subject of ridicule to the people of the world– don’t you think so?

However, the evening painted a different image altogether. Shops were shuttered down and the silent atmosphere at once revived few glimpses of an evening, a few years ago, where the whole city was frozen under the thumping sounds of military boots along with the whizzing army vans – really a scary feeling for the infinitely tolerant, captivated (so what) peace-loving Bengalese!

Nevertheless, I was enjoying that calmness while driving my new Suzuki Dzire, otherwise, driving here in Kolkata is nothing less than a nightmare!

A little while later, near the Esplanade crossing, I saw the flashing red beacon of a police patrolling jeep piercing that dense fumes accompanied by its well-known, heart-throbbing hooter!

And then, I noticed a waving hand-signal of a policeman peeping out from one of the side windows, as I slowed down my car right away.

Police jeep stopped within inches from my car.

Soon, a middle-aged sub-inspector stumbled out from the front door. At first, he pulled his trouser up to his oversized tummy-line, adjusted his cap, focussed his inquisitive pupils over me and then asked for my driving license.

Bile came out of my liver, reaching straight to my throat. I swallowed it back and served whatever they asked for. The sub-inspector went through an intense scan with his thick lenses as I prayed to God, wishing to pass through their required criteria.

Five minutes gone.

The cop handed over the documents to me with a statutory warning– ‘to return home as soon as possible!’

And before I could ask the reason, they vanished as fast as they had appeared but their words kept echoing into the coils of my brain causing an instant surge of adrenaline racing through my veins.

A few large gasps and I motioned my leg quickly to the accelerator pedal.

The next half an hour, I made it to the gate of my society: Newly built, promoter lobbied, affordable housing complex for a growing middle-class population in an underdeveloped Capital of a lost State!

I rushed to the elevator and my entire bustle slammed to an instant pause – the closed gate of the elevator still affixed that three days old ‘out of order’ board.

‘Damn it! What the fuck secretary is doing,’ I fired a couple of frustrated remarks and began climbing the stairs instead.

It took another three hundred exhausting seconds to reach my flat on the third floor.

Extended to the dining, I picked up a water bottle. Just then, my cell-phone started ringing the latest guitar tune, I had recorded last weekend.

It was Anirban, my old college pal!

Putting the call on speaker, I gulped half bottle of water.

‘Have you got the news?’ Anirban asked on an anxious note.

That’s the best thing about his personality – he always gets straight to the point.

‘No. Please carry on,’ I said while removing my blazer and collapsing into the living-room sofa.

The best part of having a reporter friend (apart from getting free VIP passes of Durgapuja pandals or IPL matches) – he never let you skip any vital news.

‘A criminal,’ he uttered, but he had to stop midway on a sudden interruption as he hung up.

First the cop, and now Anirban– tension was gathering momentum into my obscure mind, instigating me to scan through the latest news in both National and Local Bengali News apps on my I-phone.

As I logged into the city news section, straight away a news headline flashed into my searching eyes.

A CRUEL MURDERER OF 20 MEN HAS SURRENDERED TO POLICE

Saturday, 24th Jan 2015, 6.30 pm.

A thirty-two year old man has surrendered to police confessing that he has killed twenty persons, including his brother, and he has no regret for that. He has submitted two Voters’ ID cards in different names – Raghav Roy and Ram Mathur. Court has given him two weeks of jail custody, after which the trial of his case will begin. The man has several injury marks all over his body and he has been shifted to a special cell of Presidency Jail.

The video of his arrest went viral just as Psy’s Gangnam dance and broke YouTube’s all-time visibility records based on the first day’s visit.

Just three hours, and it received more than half million views on YouTube. The comment section was flushed with several remarks. Most of them were demanding his death penalty tagging him with names like ‘human monster’, ‘Indian Hitler’ etc. Adding a step forward, a couple of weird species even posted their selfies with his face tattooed on their biceps as a cool devil image. Besides, a foreign filmmaker had already expressed his willingness to make a documentary on him.

Pass on few over-sensitive comments on religious matters, speak abusive words against women, assassinate twenty people and confess your crime with no remorse – and you’ll be the next hottest star on the web, in social media – (unfortunately) the new dangerous ideas to steal the limelight!!!

A mass killer, a psychopath, no repentance for his deeds – but, great sample for my research, I pondered.

To check the detailed news, next I switched on the TV. Every channel was flashing the non-stop breaking news with the tagline ‘Raghav – the new serial killer in the city.’

One news channel had even started an SMS voting with the options – (A) Capital Punishment or (B) Life-term Imprisonment.

If justice would also be decided by voting – then the cases would resolve on a single day, and with fewer chances of error – so easy? Crap!

Eighty- two percent of people voted for option (A) barring few Human Rights activists who always condemn the Capital Punishment.

Thereupon, I searched for any Facebook link of Raghav or Ram. However, either time I got disappointed.

‘How a person in today’s world doesn’t have a Facebook profile?’ I shouted out in extreme amazement as if a profile in the social networking site is the first criterion to be a human being!

Moments later, I got a clue. I tried all of my sources and somehow managed permission to interview that hardcore criminal.

That night around 11, I finished my dinner and remained glued to my laptop to work on my thesis. Despite, I couldn’t concentrate at all – Raghav’s face kept floating before my eyes with rapid flashes.

Mind got puzzled out. I had to skip my study for the day and dragged my exhausted body toward bed.

Half of the night was passed out sleeplessly. Each time I tried to close my eyes I saw a gruesome image of that murderer glaring at me with a sinister smile. He was holding a blood-stained knife in his right hand and a human head in his left from which drops of thick blood were sprinkling all over. All of a sudden, I felt an invisible hand over my throat, forcing me to get up on the bed choking and gasping with a fearful scream!

Perspiration was running heavily like a hot summer day. The sweat drops made a frame of my body on the bed-sheet, just like the police draw around the victim’s body at the crime scene.

Frightened and exhausted, I put on the bed lamp followed by a pill of a mild sedative to get away with that dreaded nightmare that had gulped my soul under its powerful grip.

**********

LOCATION: Presidency Jail, Kolkata

Sunday, 2.50 pm

The guards at the gate allowed me after a quick scan of my identity card. Next on the row, was the officer-in-charge, who asked me few routine questions, ‘Mr.………,’ he looked at my card, ‘So Mr. Sanyal, why do you want to meet him? Any specific reason?’

‘For my research work.’

‘Research on human or beast?’ he giggled.

‘Of course, human. Moreover, beasts don’t surrender,’ I replied, gazing at him with a serious look.

‘Let’s go,’ he muttered after swallowing his nonsense laughter.

CELL NO: 4

TIME: 3 pm

HOST: an insane murderer

VISITOR: a scared researcher

As soon as we turned up before that specific cell, the gatekeeper opened the lock as the officer left after giving a brief instruction to the security guards.

At the threshold, I revolved my incredulous eyes throughout the cell to scan for any suspicious thing as a potential weapon if that killer would actually switch into the animal mode!

Thereupon, with slow and careful steps I entered the den but stood at the farthest possible distance from him. At the far end of that dark cell sat a man, wearing that common zebra-striped prisoner’s uniform, fixing his blink- less stare outside the only window. He looked completely contorted and isolated from the surrounding, so much that he didn’t even realise my arrival (I hoped so.)

A few more seconds passed, and I froze at my corner trying to gather all of my courage and simultaneously recollecting the basic survival tips if it would be required though.

Time was running by as I decided to start. I took out my notepad and switched on the voice recorder of my cell-phone.

‘Hi! I’m Subhankar, and you?’ I said as gently as I could.

No answer.

I repeated.

Again, no answer.

How rude! What more we can expect from a beast like him? All my curiosity got vaporised at once. I decided to leave.

At that exact moment, a sober voice shrugged me off.

‘I’m Raghav,’ he uttered turning at me.

Now, I could see him clearly – he was tall and stout with beautiful dark eyes. His personality still retained some traces of his blue blood identity. But something strange was in his face; a shadow of intolerable agony had eclipsed his poignant eyes so much that it seemed as though he was going through an intense fight, non-stop, with his mind!

‘Hi……………….’ I got silent, looking for a proper word to start with.

‘I think you’ve come to see the new animal species in human flesh, right?’ Raghav replied with a grin.

His honest confession and appallingly calm personality made me interested to discover any special trait out of this Homo sapiens!

Another interruption– one of my colleagues called me, ‘Are you going to watch today’s high voltage football match: Real Madrid vs. Barcelona?’

Every time I pronounced ‘football’ I observed a mild enthusiasm flickering out of Raghav’s gloomy eyes.

‘Ronaldo vs. Messi - it’s a must. No question to miss,’ I replied with a chuckle and wrapped up the call as fast as I could.

After the phone call, I wriggled back to Raghav, and asked, ‘Do you like football? Have you ever played it?’ thinking if he had any interest in football.

‘Football!………’ the only word came out of his dry vocal cord.

His eyes became moist and voice got choked. Throughout my professional career, I never witnessed such personality extremism.

Raghav took a deep breath and then uttered,

‘Captain of Mumbai University Football team, 2010,’

‘Captain of Yorkshire Football team, 2011,’ as if reading someone’s biography.

‘Who are they? Do you know them?’ I asked him the most foolish question of my life.

He smiled.

‘Is it you?’ – I used my presence of mind and said in amazement – ‘I want to listen to your story.’

‘Okay,’ he said, rubbing his teary eyes.

I seated properly fixing my bewildered eyes as he started to uncover his life-story……………..

PART I

1

# Inter-University Football Championship

# Final Match, Nov 2010

R EFEREE’S WHISTLE echoed throughout the over-packed stadium in a bright November afternoon.

Three times champion Manipur, and first-time finalist Mumbai were to fight for the prestigious Inter-University Football Championship title.

‘It was my dream, brother. Every time I hear the buzz around the ground and see the crowd waves, it sends a thrill to my whole body,’ Adi said in a haughty excitement.

‘Chill bro! The trophy is ours,’ I said.

‘But it won’t be so easy, I assume.’

‘A few days ago, even reaching to the finals seemed a distant dream for us but still, we’re here. Just hold on your nerves and we’ll kick the ass out of the throne.’

The two captains, Picossa Thapa of Manipur and Raghav Roy of Mumbai stood facing each other. Picossa wanted to gaze me down, with a red-inflamed face, but I returned him an ice-cold stare.

As per the rule, both of us exchanged the players’ list and shook hands as a gesture. Two opposite stands were flooded with huge flags of both the teams. The loud cheers coming from the crowd made it hard for anyone to listen anything except the Woo’s or Ah’s of the supporters. Each face was flushed with overhyped enthusiasm along with thrilling sensations. For the last three years, Manipur had been winning the title with reigning supremacy. And they had maintained their dominance this year too. However this time the struggle seemed to be harder and fiercer than all the previous occasions, as the Mumbai team backed by two strikers, Aditya and Raghav were letting deep sighs on their neck.

The match began in due time, at 3.30 pm.

Manipur won the toss and took the left side.

From the kick-off, the defence of Mumbai faced a furious onslaught, which earned the Manipur boys three successive corners. Then, a free-kick by Rohan, a midfielder of Manipur, took the ball inside the penalty area of Mumbai and after a series of defensive blunders, the ball bouncing off Rohan’s boot would go straight into our nets, fortunately, saved by me.

‘Thank god!’ Yusuf exhaled a deep sigh of relief in the stand while biting out almost all of his nails.

Manipur’s captain, Picossa Thapa, couldn’t have had a better day than this occasion, as some selectors of The National Football team were present at the ground as special guests.

The breakdown came in the sixth minute when Tenzing, a midfielder of Manipur, raced downfield in a sharp dash dribbling past few Mumbai defenders followed by a short in- swinger across the stretched defence and the ball flew down to Picossa whose header struck the goalpost. As the ball rebounded from the upper bar, Picossa shot a back volley and that time it netted past the goalkeeper amid thunderous cheers.

‘Excellent,’ the remark came from a veteran football player, now one of the Zonal Selectors, after the swinging shot of Picossa shivered the opposition net.

Referee’s whistle confirmed the goal.

Manipur was up 1-0.

Indeed, Picossa had displayed a couple of fine touches and intelligent dribbling skills, racing the field with short passes, strengthening the midfield position. Manipur boys were desperately defending our sub-fierce assaults while hitting us back with raging counter-attacks, but thanks to some fantastic saves by Sumit, the ‘jumping jack’ Mumbai goalkeeper – we were still just one down!

In the last ten minutes of the first half, Mumbai had their first chance to score. A speedy run by Kamte, through the left wing with a good cross into the six-yard box, Adi dashed towards it and received the ball, but a rough tackle got him down. Adi stood up and went for settling down the matter with a Manipur defender Courien, who was rattling our attacks with harsh tackling right from the start. I interfered at once and resolved the problem as the match resumed after a two minutes break.

The forward players of our opponent had higher possession of the ball. We had no answer to their speedy thrusts till the 42nd minute when my long chase was cut short by Gomsi and luckily conceded us a corner. Fuck! Their efficient goalkeeper ruined our attempt.

Manipur ended the first session, with 2-0.

During the break, our coach gave us a short briefing on our tactics for the latter half. But as I turned to my team, I could only see shattered shoulders with a few dark faces already given up hope of any revival.

‘What happened guys? We’ve still the second half left,’ I tried to lift the morale of the team.

My confidence injected a new life to others as the whole team was tuned with high spirit, the determination of which was radiating from their energised faces regardless of the bulldozed first half.

The Second session resumed after a fifteen minutes break.

From the beginning of the second half, we emerged as a different team altogether, going for onslaughts, with relentless attacks to the rival defence. However, Manipur goalkeeper frustrated our first attempt with a splendid dive and saved off a wild shot by Adi following a nasty corner.

I sighed and turned to coach sir for a piece of instant advice. He indicated the left-wing and soon the whole side fitted into that new plan.

We started exchanging our positions rapidly to eradicate the man-marking traps set by our opponent. As The Mumbai eleven’s attacks increased in fury, Manipur, for the first time in this match bit the punch of collapsing. We availed a good chance when I lifted a back-pass from Adi with Suresh coming up creating a vacuum at our opponent’s defence and this was skilfully exploited by Adi in the 55th minute. The whole gallery buzzed with excitement as he slipped past a defender and then dashed a right-foot drive into the net.

Goal!

Cheered by the home crowd, we were slowly overturning the match, gaining control over it which wasn’t visible during the first half.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Picossa howled at his defenders.

Moments later, the left-in player of Mumbai dribbled a ball right into the penalty box, but the referee marked him off-side. Next to that, Adi tried to pierce through opposition’s defence, but once again a harsh foul crashed him down to the field, again by that rowdy defender Courien.

Adi fell to the ground on his knees……….due to some massive elbow push of Courien to Adi’s chest, while jumping in for a header.

But the best part of it, for the first time it reached to referee’s eyes – Courien saw a yellow card.

Our supporters passed a loud roll after that decision.

I looked at Adi.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes bro!’

I lent him my hand and pulled him up.

Almost like a dramatic sequence, Mumbai stuck again in the 69th minute. It was a cannonball drive that brought a gasp of wonder from the crowd making the scores equal 2-2.

‘We’ve done it, bro,’ Adi cried out in excitement.

‘The match is still even. We’ve not won it yet,’ I reminded him.

Game was moving in nobody’s favour, every sign predicting that the match would go for the tiebreaker.

At the last minute of the extended injury time, we got a corner. I had pushed all our players to forward line leaving only the goalkeeper behind. And then, I flicked the ball over a Manipur defender and aimed at the near post. The superb kick flew the ball straight into the net.

GOAL!!……………………

Referee blew the whistle to mark the goal as well as for the end of the match!

Thus fell the last resistance of the Manipur. They had certainly put up a gallant fight, but the Championship title went to the first time finalist, Mumbai! The acclamations of the crowd cannot be described as the new champion had emerged in glorious style. At the presentation ceremony, Mayor handed the trophy over to me as I immediately turned to my team members and made a triumphant call, ‘come boys. Let’s feel it.’

Every member of our team – players, coach, crew, all dashed to the stage, kissed the cup and lifted it.

We had embossed our name as the winner, in the history of the Inter-University Football Championship!

2

# Celebration Party at Raffles’ Disco

# Santacruz, Mumbai # 7.30 pm

‘T HREE cheers for Mu mbai! ’

‘Three cheers for Raghav!’

A crazy, dazzling beat that seemed to be bouncing from the concrete walls and resonating in the air as D’J Robin had been mixing the bollywood dance numbers quite well. Sound of which was reaching out even to the brightly lit disco entrance when the over-excited Mumbai team was entering with a triumphant smile into their glowing faces.

‘Hey! Put the dance number –Hum logo ki thokar mein hain yeh zamaana,’ someone from the crowd requested the D’J.

Multi-coloured fusion lights hit the young faces, all in their early twenties while matching their steps with their partners –a troupe of girls from a nearby engineering college, was also attending the party. Revolving flashes along with strobe effects, swallowed up in a swirling galaxy of ultraviolet stars and the deafening music never stopped, not for a single second. The tunes were so powerful and fantastic that even the ghosts would love to jingle over there!

‘Hey look at Raghav,’ a young girl of about twenty-two cried out suddenly to