Teesta Diaries -The Valley of Dark Secrets

By Swapan Karmakar

Zoya Shroff is a rookie news reporter who lands up in the idyllic and sleepy town of Tistaang to enjoy a respite from her hectic schedule. But her scenic getaway soon transforms into a thrilling hunt for grisly serial murders.

She sets out to uncover the dark secrets that the unassuming little town is hiding with the help of her friend Ranveer, a police officer. What will they find?
In this Valley of mesmerizing landscapes, Can you believe what you see? Can you listen to what you hear?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swapan Karmakar
• Release date: Jun 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005174255

Book preview

Teesta Diaries

The Valley of Dark Secrets

Copyright © 2022 Swapan Karmakar

All rights reserved.

ISBN:

Contents

Prologue

1: Tistaang –The Last Station

2: A Scene by the Lake

3: Witch-Hunt

4: New People, Old Rivalries

5: Digging Deeper

6: A Bloody Affair

7: Toxic History

8: Ruma Bagchi’s Story

9: A Set of Suspects

Chapter 10: A Web of Infinite Puzzles

Chapter 11: Connecting the Dots

Chapter 12: A Wedding and a Death

Chapter 13: The Raid on Teesta Valley

Chapter 14: The Story of Jeevika Sanyal

Chapter 15: The Search For Eken Behari

Chapter 16: Unravelling the Web of Lies

Chapter 17: At the Marshes

Chapter 18: Two Years Later

Chapter 19: Aadya’s Story

Epilogue

Prologue

New Year’s Eve, 2003

Zoya frantically pressed the elevator buttons three times, juggling with her purse in one hand and her mobile phone in another. Her rental ride was already downstairs, and she hated to keep anyone waiting. But halfway down from her ninth-floor residence after having checked three times if she had taken all that she needed, Zoya realised she had left behind the most important thing for today – her red notebook.

Annoyed at the elevator that did not seem to be moving past the twelfth floor, Zoya decided it was best to simply take the stairs.

Zoya was a woman who liked to think on her feet. Having worked in media and journalism for a little more than five years now, she was accustomed to an exceptionally fast-paced life. News does not let you breathe, or fix your clothes, or take a sip of water, or in Zoya’s case now, wait for the luxury of an elevator ride. Things happen, and they keep happening one after the other, and if you have any wish or intention of telling the news to your audience, you must keep up – Zoya learned this the hard way. However, Zoya did not have any news to break today. She was simply late for her own book launch event.

It had been a whirlwind of a time for the 27-year-old from Delhi. She had to spare time to finish writing her book, all the while keeping up with her editing and anchoring duties at ROX News Agency.

When Zoya decided to go for a degree in journalism in college, she was warned by her friends and family about the risks of the media sector. It’s not safe, Zoya, some said. There are better professions for a girl of your type, others added. Zoya acknowledged the statements with a smile and a nod but paid no heed in her mind. The thrill of probable danger and the opportunity to see it from up close was precisely why Zoya wanted to pursue this career.

Even before she graduated, Zoya got an opportunity to work at one of the biggest media houses in private circulation. Before landing her job as the primetime anchor and editor at ROX, she built a prolific investigative portfolio at Sunprime News. She started learning hands-on the twisted ways the world of journalism worked. Some things met her expectations, others took her by surprise. But Zoya was ready for it all.

She took up the assignments that others were apprehensive to work on, starting from controversial political turmoil to gruesome murder mysteries in the remotest parts of the country. Soon, she became one of the most known faces in the industry, despite being only 20-something. Three years later, Zoya was now honoured with the ‘Best Young Journalist’ award and receiving congratulatory emails from media personalities she grew up admiring.

As an icing on the cake, Zoya was set to publish her book that she hoped was the first of many, and from what her agent and editor told her, it was going to become a bestseller in no time.

With all the success in the world, she still managed to be late for her book launch event, hosted by her alma mater, Nightingale Women’s College. When the alumni association and the teacher’s guild at the college heard about their star student writing a book of her own, they invited Zoya for an exclusive book launch event and say a few words on the subject matter.

Sister Bovary will certainly make a joke about me being late, Zoya thought to herself in the car and smiled, remembering fond memories from her college days. It was an honour for her to return to her prestigious educational institution after all, that too for such an event.

Welcome home, Zoya. We have been waiting for you. We thought you might have forgotten about the event, now that you have such a busy life to live, Sister Bovary greeted her at the front gate.

I know Sister, I humbly apologize, Zoya answered with a smile. She knew that hidden behind the oblique comments were nothing but love and pride that her teacher had for her.

Miriam Bovary was Zoya’s teacher for her Elective English course in college. While the main courses taught her all that she needed to know about the nitty-gritty of hard-core journalism, it is Sister Bovary who taught her how to dig deep and find out the truth hidden in any story.

Zoya was escorted to the auditorium by a couple of junior teachers and seated in the front row. After an opening dance performance by the students that once again reminded Zoya of her late teen years, the book launch event finally got underway.

We now welcome to the stage our beloved alumnus, Zoya Shroff. We are proud of her recent accomplishments, and we thank her for keeping the name of our educational institution shining bright, the headmistress beamed amid cheerful claps.

A deep breath.

Zoya was back on the stage where she partook in dozens of debates and extempore challenges not that many years ago. It raised the hairs on Zoya’s neck and sent chills down her spine to throw her mind back and imagine all that have happened in her life since then.

After the bouquets were received and the book cover was revealed to the audience, Zoya finally got to the main part of the evening.

I almost forgot to bring this notebook with me today, had to climb up and down a few flights of stairs to get it. Good for my cardio, though, Zoya joked. She hadn’t planned on it, but it connected well with the young audience she had in front of her. Confident, she continued.

"Thank you everyone for showing up for this event. It really means an awful lot to me to be able to launch my book in front of the people who moulded me into who I am. It is also an honour to be able to pave the way for those who come after me and show them that if you have a dream, you should always pursue it.

However, today is not only about the book reveal. Nevertheless, I will hold it up once again for those who do not know, which I assume will be the majority, Zoya spoke with genuine humility.

Zoya picked up one of the hardcovers from the table and held it up for her audience.

I was given an hour’s time today by our esteemed institution to read out certain parts of the book. But you are pursuing a college degree, I am going to go ahead and assume you can read. If you want to know what’s in the book, you are free to buy it and I’d be only too glad to sign. If you don’t want to, I will not bore you with its details. Instead, I have a very interesting story to tell you – the story of how I got the final push off the edge to write this book. I have it all written with me, right here in this notebook. Can I do that, Sisters? Zoya looked questioningly at the front row where all the teachers were seated.

Receiving smiling nods from everyone, she continued again.

"Great authors have often said that you cannot be a writer unless you are an avid reader. I am pretty sure they did not have murder mysteries in mind when they said that, but I have no shame in admitting that it is by far my most favourite genre. Growing up, I read a lot of Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, and the likes. Today I shall start my storytelling with one of Miss Christie’s quotes that I love.

"In her book Towards Zero, Miss Christie writes, ‘When you read the account of a murder - or, say, a fiction story based on murder - you usually begin with the murder itself. That's all wrong. The murder begins a long time beforehand. A murder is the culmination of a lot of different circumstances, all converging at a given moment at a given point.’ I could not fully comprehend the significance of these lines up until recently. I always wondered how a murder could possibly begin a long time ago. A few years ago, I found the answer to that question. Leaving that thought to be tossed and turned in your head, I’ll begin my story for tonight.

"On a very cold December night three years ago, I felt braver than I usually do and planned a sudden solo trip to North Bengal. It was a particularly difficult day at work. I had a fight with my mother the day before and we had not spoken since. I had a friend living there and he had been asking me to visit for weeks. I made up my mind.

"What I had in mind was ten days of breath-taking views, aimless wandering, gulping down momos, and catching up with an old friend I know from childhood. I’m not going to lie, I did all that to my heart’s content, and then I had plans of returning home and getting back to my usual life.

However, destiny had other plans for me, Zoya said, with a light shade of remembrance misting her eyes. Plans that involved six bloody murders with an even bloodier story behind them.

1: Tistaang –The Last Station

December 15, 1999

We meet after five years, and you are still late. Some things never change, S.H.O. Ranveer Sawant said, faking a sigh while trying to take Zoya’s backpack. He was a tall, handsome man, well-dressed in his fitted uniform, and clean-shaven except for a moustache that he recently started maintaining since his transfer to Tistaang.

It’s not my fault! The train was late, you know that! And I can carry my own luggage, thanks. Zoya exclaimed, punching Ranveer’s arm playfully.

I know, I know, but you’re my guest. Let me be the gentleman. How will I show face to my subordinates if I don’t even offer to carry my female friend’s bag?

Zoya and Ranveer continued their banter as they made their way out of Tistaang Railway Station. It was the last stop on this branch of North Bengal’s broad-gauge railway lines. Only a few trains were allotted to this station, and they almost always got late in winter due to night-time fog.

The town of Tistaang was farther away from the railway station. Ranveer’s jeep was waiting for them outside. The seat beside the driver was occupied by a constable. Zoya cast a glance at the name tag on his uniform. It said – ‘Vatsal Soreng’.

Do you always bring your subordinates with you? Do they carry around your stuff for you?

It’s for safety Zoya. I am having a guest over, I simply cannot take risks, Ranveer said solemnly.

For sure, she chuckled. I am here for only a couple of days anyway. Will you be able to take some time off your noble duty and show me around, officer?

I plan on doing that, yes. It’s not like there’s much for me to do here.

Oh? I thought you were some hot-shot here.

I have my position. It earns my salutes, this jeep, and people at my disposal if I want protection for my friend, yes. But that’s it. Tistaang is a lovely, lovely place, Zoya. There is such a sense of bliss in its very air. You’ll know when you see, yes, you’ll know. But it is too peaceful. Nothing ever happens here except the occasional theft, Ranveer spoke with regret.

Oh. I see, Zoya said, slightly taken aback that Ranveer turned quite serious all of a sudden. But isn’t that a good thing, Veer? The fact that Tistaang is not infested with crime is a testament to how well you are doing your job here, isn’t it? Zoya tried to cheer her friend up.

Not really. The place was already like this. There are only a handful of residents in the town. They mostly live behind the walls of their own estates. There are a few villages scattered towards the foothills – farmers, woodcutters, household helps – the likes of them stay there. Everything is always in harmony. I joined the force to make a difference, you know right? I feel like my skills are getting wasted here, Ranveer said.

Zoya patted Ranveer’s arm lightly.

There, there now. I would be a bad person if I wished crime upon this slice-of-heaven town, but I’m sure something or the other will pop up soon enough and you will get to use that sharp brain of yours to catch the villain.

Ah, I don’t need your sympathy. It’s best that nothing happens while you’re here, Zo. I don’t want you to get caught in any police business.

Zoya laughed out loud.

Hey, you still think of me as your lanky, runny-nosed next-door neighbour, don’t you?

Well, you haven’t really changed all that much, Ranveer said with a grin. You’re still short, still got that huge mane of curly hair, still wearing those round-framed glasses, still wearing your washed denims and sneakers. In my eyes, you haven’t altered even a little bit.

Have you forgotten I am a journalist now? My job literally requires me to talk to the police at all times. I have a bunch of them on my contact list too. You know, resources.

I’m sure their lives are riddled with exciting crime, Ranveer sighed.

You haven’t changed much yourself, sir, Zoya took a jibe ignoring Ranveer’s remorse. "Except for that moustache. That goes well with your uniform.

Keep your false compliments, Ranveer feigned annoyance. The jeep took a sharp hairpin turn as the entire Teesta Valley opened up ahead.

Wow, that is magnificent, Zoya exclaimed.

The valley was glistening as the slanted rays of the sun hit off the woods that grew thick and green along the Himalayan foothills and then merged into the mountain walls like an expensive tapestry. There were houses lined up along the ascent to the summit. The crests of the mountains were hidden in light grey, cotton-like clouds. Far below, River Teesta was flowing, thicker and cheerier here than any of the other towns Zoya visited, and with a constant gushing sound.

The air here was crisp and delectably fresh. It reminded Zoya of a newly opened bottle of champagne.

You can feel it right? It’s in the air. It looks even prettier under a clear blue sky. It’s a bit overcast today, Ranveer said.

Zoya nodded.

The jeep arrived at Ranveer’s government-sanctioned residence in another twenty minutes. It was agreed that Zoya would board with Ranveer only. It was the more economic option, and with little to no proper hotels in Tistaang, it was convenient as well.

I suppose when the town becomes a tourist spot, we would see some spike in wrongdoings. I hope that does not happen though. Tistaang is too pristine to be messed with. I might not be here when that happens anyway, Ranveer said, getting Zoya’s luggage from the back of the jeep.

It was a nice bungalow that housed Ranveer in Tistaang, Zoya observed. There was a lovely garden out front with tiny rose bushes lined up along the pebbled driveway in the middle that diverged and met again circling a tiny fountain. It was defunct and covered in dust. He had a man servant, a cook, and a gardener at his disposal at all times. From the balcony outstretched at the back of the bungalow, one could get a clear look of the mountains, and on sunnier days, perhaps a glimpse of Mount Kanchenjunga as well.

Zoya felt a tinge of envy in herself.

All these, and he is still not happy with his job, she thought.

Some other houses were visible in the distance from the balcony. Zoya pointed at a three-storied one and asked Ranveer who it belonged it as they lit cigarettes.

Oh, that’s the Oberoi Mansion. They’re probably the wealthiest people around. Mr. Suresh Oberoi owns half of all the tea estates in this region. He owns a lot of other properties scattered all over North Bengal.

Tistaang’s own business magnate? Fascinating.

He is not from here, obviously. None of the people who live in mansions here are actually from North Bengal. They have just settled here because of the peace and tranquillity.

Lunch was served quickly. Zoya was delighted to have home-cooked food after a week of dry snacks and roadside meals.

Over the next couple of days, Ranveer showed Zoya around Tistaang. There weren’t any mainstream attractions in Tistaang, but if one knew how to appreciate nature’s bounty, the town had a lot to offer. They met a few trekkers on their trip and even offered hitch-hike rides to a few.

We don’t get a lot of visitors here, but you’ll find a lot of foreigners who love to trek and explore the uncharted territories. They mostly stay out of the main town and take up lodging at local homestays, Ranveer explained.

Their last stop on the day before Zoya had to catch her flight back to Delhi was at a humongous tea garden. It was not open to the public, but Ranveer had pulled a few strings and made arrangements. The board that hung on the steel gate of the tea garden said in bold letters, ‘OBEROI TEA ESTATES’.

Remember the house you spotted from my balcony? This belongs to them. The Oberois. They wield a lot of power in this region, but they also do quite a bit of charity work. A lot of the locals are employed in their estate as well.

A shaggy-looking security guard finally showed up at the gate after Ranveer’s driver had honked the horn thrice.