Shadows in the Crowd
From Amit's Perspective
"Chacha, hum check kar ke aawat hai."
"Hum bhi chalat bani. Ee chhota kaam na hai. Agar koi gadbad hai to saath mein rehna thik rahega."
(I'm coming too. This isn't a small matter. If there's any trouble, it's better to stick together.)
We walked quickly, the evening crowd thickening around us. The 'Cool Corner' stood out with its bright blue signboard and blinking fairy lights. A young man with slicked-back hair stood behind the counter, looking bored.
"Tu nai ba? Pehle na dekhlain tohar muh. Dukaan kab se khol ke baitha hai?"
(You're new? Haven't seen your face before. Since when have you been running the shop?)
"Haan, chacha. Uncle ki tabiyat thik nahi hai, toh main aaya hoon kuch din se. Unhone bola thoda madad kar do."
(Yes, Chacha. Uncle's unwell, so I've been helping out for a few days. He asked me to help out a bit.)
"Achha… ek baat poochni hai. Jaruri baat hai."
I pulled out my phone, the screen displaying Deepak's innocent, smiling face.
"Ee chhotka ladka aaya tha kya aaj? Ice cream lene? Dopahar ke time pe?"
(Did this little boy come here today? To buy ice cream? Around afternoon?)
The shopkeeper's eyes flickered nervously. He hesitated for a fraction too long. "Pata nahi bhaiya, bohot log aate hain. Main naya hoon, sabke chehre yaad nahi rehte."
(I don't know, brother. A lot of people come. I'm new, can't remember everyone's face.)
But his Adam's apple bobbed, and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple despite the cool air from the refrigerator. My focus narrowed. I closed my eyes for a moment, drawing on that inner stillness, listening beyond the superficial.
His heartbeat—dhak-dhak… dhak-dhak-dhak… faster, more erratic than normal. He was lying. The subtle shift in the air around him confirmed it. "Kuch toh chhupa raha hai, zaroor." I thought to myself.
(He's hiding something, for sure.)
But I kept my expression neutral. Making a scene here would only alert whoever was involved.
We thanked the shopkeeper and moved on, the unease growing. We checked the feeds from other cameras, the flickering images offering glimpses of the busy street but nothing concrete about Deepak after he passed Ramu Chacha's shop. Most were positioned poorly or obscured by trees.
Then, as we reviewed the footage from a beauty parlor, I saw it. A fleeting image in the reflection of a large mirror facing the street. A white Bolero, its windows tinted dark, slowing down near the curb. It didn't stop completely. A small figure in a familiar blue school uniform seemed to be quickly ushered inside. The vehicle then accelerated sharply, heading towards the main city road. The reflection was distorted, but the boxy shape and the hurried nature of the interaction sent a jolt through me.
"Chacha, kuch toh mila hai. Dekhiye!"
(Chacha, I found something. Look!)
We followed the blurry image of the Bolero through the feeds of two more shops, confirming its direction towards the main artery leading out of Sangrampur and towards the city. Night had truly fallen now, the streetlights casting long, dancing shadows.
"Chacha, aapka bohot shukriya. Aapne bahut madad ki. Aage kuch mila toh main turant batayenge."
(Chacha, thank you so much. You helped a lot. If I find anything further, I'll let you know immediately.)
"Haan beta, dil se dua hai ki bachwa mil jaaye. Kuch bhi mile, turant batana. Hum sab saath hain."
(Yes son, my heart prays that the child is found. If you find anything, tell me immediately. We are all together in this.)
I walked alone towards where I had parked my bike, the image of the white Bolero burned into my mind. As I passed the 'Cool Corner' one last time, I saw the young shopkeeper standing just outside, his face illuminated by the flickering neon sign. He was on his phone, his voice low and laced with panic.
"Aapne bola tha kuch nahi hoga! Ab koi photo leke poochhne aa gaya! Woh… woh local ladka tha."
(You said nothing would happen! Now someone came asking with a photo! He… he was a local boy.)
The voice on the other end, though muffled by distance, sounded chillingly calm. Confident.
"Arey tension mat le. Tu naya hai. Hum log purana player hai. Police bhi kuch nahi kar payegi. Bas apna kaam theek se kar."
(Don't stress. You're new. We're experienced players. Even the police can't do anything. Just do your job properly.)
"Par log pooch rahe hain sab jagah! Agar woh police ke paas gaye toh?"
(But people are asking everywhere! What if they go to the police?)
A dry, humorless laugh echoed from the phone. "Humne bola na… kuch nahi hoga. Aur raat mein paisa mil jaayega. Time pe pahuch jaana woh purane godown ke paas. Samajh gaya?"
(I told you—nothing will happen. And you'll get your money tonight. Reach the old warehouse. Understood?)
He hung up abruptly. The shopkeeper stood frozen for a moment, his eyes wide with fear, before quickly ducking back inside.
I kept walking, pretending not to have heard. But the pieces were falling into place with a sickening clarity. This wasn't a simple case of a child getting lost. This was something far more dangerous.
I reached my Enfield, the cool metal a familiar comfort. I kicked the engine to life, the roar momentarily drowning out the turmoil in my mind.
I had a direction. A vehicle. And a chilling glimpse into the shadows lurking beneath the surface of our quiet town.
The hunt had begun.
To be continued…