August 16, 2008
Bhairava stood his ground, his grip tightening around the weapon in his hand, his breath steady. Across from him, Head Officer Narasimma stood unshaken, his gun aimed directly at Bhairava, unwavering. Around them, officers lined up, fingers twitching near their triggers, waiting ready for the slightest wrong move.
The air thickened, tension gripping the room like a vice. The head officer's voice rang out, sharp, commanding. "Drop your weapon, Bhairava." "You are doing wrong."
Bhairava stared at the officers with a blank, unreadable expression. His grip on the pistol loosened, and for a brief moment, it spun around his index finger before slipping from his grasp and falling to the ground with a sharp clatter.
As the pistol hit the floor, he released the knife as well, letting it drop beside the discarded weapon. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, a silent gesture of surrender.
An officer approached from the left, swiftly grabbing Bhairava's arm and pulling it behind his back. With practiced precision, he secured the cuffs around the boy's wrists, locking them in place. Meanwhile, the other officers remained on high alert, their firearms aimed and ready, their eyes scanning for any sudden movements.
The head officer gave a sharp command. "Look inside."
The officer stepped forward, cautiously entering the room. His breath was slow, measured, as if the air itself felt heavier within the walls. His eyes darted around and tension building in his chest. And then—his eyes landed on the body.
Two bodies. Geetha and Ashok. Blood soaked into the floor, the walls, the very air. It wasn't just death—it was violence. Brutal. Personal.
The officer froze. His lungs seized, his pulse thundered in his ears. A sharp inhale escaped him, but it did nothing to clear the suffocating dread.
Moments later, he emerged, his expression unsettled, his expression filled with unease. The weight of what he had just seen, what he had just confirmed, reflected in his eyes as he looked up… at Bhairava. The unease in his eyes shifting into something deeper. Something resembling horror. The officer's gaze flickered seeing Bhairava, unease evident in his eyes. Then he gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head.
Narasimma watched the officer's slow head shake. The silence that followed felt heavy, like the air itself had stopped moving.
His face changed.
The sharp focus in his eyes faded. His jaw, once tight with control, relaxed. His shoulders sank, just a little, as if the truth had finally landed on him and it was heavier than he expected.
Narasimma's voice low and firm. "What have you done to them?"
No answer.
Bhairava stood motionless, his eyes unreadable, his silence louder than any confession. The head officer Narasimma looked at Bhairava, as if waiting for him to speak, searching for a confession or an explanation. The silence stretching between them. Narasimma raised his hand, signalling for the officers to lower their weapons. Understanding the command, they swiftly obeyed, lowering their firearms and easing their stance.
As the tense atmosphere settled and the air seemed to lighten, then without a word, the head officer turned away and started walking. Immediately, two officers stepped forward, gripping the boy's arms firmly as they guided him to follow.
An officer stepped closer to the one who had just come out of the room, noticing the unease in his expression.
"Why are you looking at him like that?" he asked, his voice low with curiosity.
The officer didn't answer right away. He swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly. His eyes darted toward the boy before he whispered, his voice laced with fear, "I've never seen anyone like him. He… he is a monster."
The head officer, Narasimma, stepped forward first, his expression unreadable, his posture firm. Two officers followed closely behind, escorting the boy. The flashes of cameras lit up the scene like a storm of lightning, blinding and relentless. The crowd pressed in. The air was thick with murmurs, whispers, unanswered questions.
And then the reporters' voices clashing in a desperate attempt to uncover the truth.
"Why did he do this?""Did he really kill his own parents?" "Is he the killer you've been searching for all these days?" "His father was an esteemed officer, his mother a respected lawyer. Why would he do this?""Two months ago, his sister was dead, does this have anything to do with it?"
The weight of their words hung in the air, demanding answers. Narasimma moved forward, unwavering, choosing silence over explanation.
"Answer us, sir!" one reporter called out in frustration.
But there was no response. As Narasimma and his team pushed past, another officer stepped forward, facing the relentless press.
"We will investigate it," he stated, firm yet careful.
But the reporters were unsatisfied.
The head officer lifted his hand signalling to clear the crowd. The other officers moved swiftly, pushing back the restless swarm of reporters and civilians, ensuring order. Bhairava stepped forward, guided by the firm grip of the officers. His face remained emotionless, almost distant.
The weight of his presence sent ripples of unease through the gathering. People whispered. Their eyes carried uncertainty.
Then, from the crowd, a woman stepped forward. Aarya.
A neighbour. A friend. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, Aarya; her face streaked with tears. She looked at Bhairava like she was searching for the boy she used to know, the one who used to laugh quietly at her jokes, the one who once protected her from shadows.
Her mother reached out, gently pulling her back, but Aarya didn't move.
"Why?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why did you do this?"
Bhairava turned his head slightly, his empty and hollow gaze meeting hers. And then, without a word, he continued walking, stepping into the van as if nothing had been said at all.
From the crowd, whispers began to spread. One woman leaned toward another, her voice low but sharp. "Did you see his eyes? There is no guilt in them."
The other woman nodded quickly. "Yes… and I also heard he's been violent lately. They say he nearly beat the minister's son to death when that boy misbehaved with Shivani."
Aarya heard the gossip. Her heart twisted. She looked back at Bhairava inside the van, her face filled with worry.
Near the vehicle, Head Officer Narasimma raised his walkie, his tone steady as he communicated, "We got him. Everything will settle."
Just then, another police van and an ambulance arrived on the scene.
Without hesitation, Narasimma signalled to the medical team.
The doctors rushed inside, their stretchers carried alongside and the officers escorting them. Nearby, Head Officer Narasimma turned to one of his men.
"We're leaving," he stated, his voice firm. "You're in charge here on my behalf. Escort the forensic team and medical team carefully. If there's any issue, reach out to me immediately, and send me a full report once everything is clear."
The officer straightened, saluting. "Yes, sir."
With that, Narasimma handed over responsibility, stepping into the passenger seat of the vehicle. The hum of the engine filled the silence, a low, steady sound that barely masked the tension inside the vehicle.
From the front mirror, his gaze flickered to Bhairava seated in the back, positioned between two officers. The boy's posture was stiff, his head bowed, his expression void of any emotion - too silent.
Something weighed on Narasimha, something unspoken, something lingering, something gnawed. A question, A doubt, A frustration, he couldn't push aside. He asked "Why did you do this?"
Silence. No response. Not even the slightest movement. Just emptiness. The weight of Bhairava's silence pressed against the air. Narasimma exhaled, his tone calmer now, edged with something akin to plea.
"Please tell me… I know you are not this kind of person."
The words hovered between them.
"Your father is a high-ranking officer. Your mother one of the finest lawyers in the city. You once told me you wanted to be great journalist."
"Then how? Just, how did this happen? Did someone force you? Were you threatened?"
As expected, Bhairava remains silent, an absence that stretches like a shadow, heavy with unspoken truths.
Narasimha didn't speak again. He turned his gaze to the road, letting the silence settle like dust.
The van pulled into the police station. Officers stepped out first, guiding Bhairava inside. They uncuffed him without ceremony, then pushed him into the holding cell. The door clanged shut behind him, the lock clicking with finality.
Bhairava stood still, eyes lowered, his silence thick as stone.
Narasimma approached, his face tight with concern. He stopped just outside the bars, voice low but firm.
"Bhairava, just tell me what happened. I'll do my best to help you."
No answer.
Bhairava turned away, walked to the corner of the cell, and sat down. His movements were slow, deliberate. He didn't look back.
Narasimma stared at him for a moment longer, frustration rising in his chest. Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
The silence returned.
And then Bhairava lifted his head. His eyes were calm. Focused.
He looked straight ahead at nothing, or perhaps at something only he could see.
And he smiled.
Not wide. Not cruel.
Just a quiet, knowing smile.