Dadi Leela’s tale about jealous siblings and revealing omens had burrowed deep into my mind. Ravi’s continued avoidance whenever the Vishwa Sewa Sangh was mentioned felt like a physical weight in the air between us. I knew I couldn’t wait for omens to appear. I had to go digging for the truth myself.
My quiet investigation led me to the Vishwa Sewa Sangh building the very next morning. It was a sprawling, vaguely colonial-style structure, its aging brick facade reflecting the morning sun. Inside, the main reception area was a hive of quiet, frustrated activity.
I approached the information desk, trying to keep my voice even.
“I’m Amara Patel,” I began.
“I was hoping to inquire about my professional license status.”
The young woman behind the desk, her expression already weary, barely glanced up.
“Still processing, ma’am. Massive backlog. Everything is slow right now.”
She gestured vaguely at a stack of folders.
“But I was specifically told there was a manual override on my record,” I pressed, trying to sound genuinely confused, not accusatory.
Her gaze finally met mine, a flicker of irritation in her eyes.
“Manual overrides need a supervisor. And supervisors need the registrar who filed the initial report. And *he’s* not here.”
She sighed, running a hand through her hair.
“Look, everyone’s asking about Krish Khera. He’s the one who handles most of the professional licensing.”
My breath hitched. Krish Khera. The name from my license records.
“Krish Khera?” I repeated, making sure to sound merely inquisitive.
“Is he… on leave?”
A man in a crisp shirt, carrying a briefcase, stepped forward from the small queue behind me, his voice sharp with impatience.
“On leave? The man vanished! Nobody’s seen him in weeks. The entire department is in chaos because of it.”
He turned to the receptionist, his tone demanding.
“When will someone be able to approve my new permit application? It’s been three weeks already.”
The receptionist threw up her hands.
“Sir, I told you, until we hear from the police regarding Mr. Khera’s whereabouts, or a new registrar is appointed, everything is stalled.”
Police. Missing persons. The words hit me like a cold wave.
“Police?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
The receptionist finally looked at me properly, her expression softening slightly.
“Yes, ma’am. There’s been a formal report filed. He just… didn’t show up for work one day, right after a big internal audit, actually.”
“And it’s causing a real mess for all of us trying to get things done,” the man with the briefcase added, huffing.
“When did he… go missing?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“About three weeks ago, I think?” the receptionist said, tapping a pen against her desk.
“Let me check the system.”
She clicked away on her computer, then winced slightly.
“Yes, it says here… the official report was filed exactly three weeks and two days ago. Right after your license was flagged, actually.”
Her eyes widened slightly, realizing the coincidence.
My mind raced. Krish Khera, the registrar directly responsible for my license revocation, had vanished *immediately* after the manual override. It wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Ravi’s nervous behavior. Dadi’s tale. It was all swirling together into something far more sinister than I had imagined.
A stern-faced woman in a dark sari, who seemed to be a senior official, emerged from an inner office, her gaze sweeping over the waiting area. She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly on me as I stood there, motionless.
“Is there a problem here, Sunita?” she asked the receptionist, her voice low and firm.
“No, Mrs. Desai,” Sunita replied quickly.
“Just another query about Mr. Khera’s absence. I explained the situation.”
Mrs. Desai looked at me, an unspoken warning in her expression.
“Some matters are under investigation, young lady,” she said, her tone leaving no room for further questions.
“It would be wise to allow the proper authorities to handle it.”
I understood the veiled threat. They didn’t want anyone digging. But I couldn’t stop. Krish Khera’s disappearance wasn’t just bureaucracy; it felt like a chilling message.
I excused myself, my legs feeling unsteady, and stepped out into the bustling street. The sunlight felt harsh, too bright for the dark thoughts swirling in my head. I pulled out my phone and dialed Priya’s number, my fingers trembling slightly.
“Amara? What’s wrong? You sound… breathless.”
Priya’s voice was instantly laced with concern.
“Priya, it’s Krish Khera,” I blurted out, unable to hold it in.
“The registrar. He’s gone missing. There’s a police report.”
A beat of stunned silence on the other end.
“Missing? What do you mean, missing?” Priya finally managed, her voice hushed.
“He just disappeared. The Vishwa Sewa Sangh said he didn’t show up for work, right after my license was revoked. They filed a missing persons report.”
“Amara, this is… this is not good,” Priya said, her usual outspoken confidence replaced by genuine fear.
“This isn’t just about someone being jealous anymore. This is serious. What if he was… silenced?”
The word hung in the air, chilling me to the bone.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice strained.
“But it feels too coincidental. All of it. Ravi’s behavior, Dadi’s story… and now this.”
“You need to be careful, Amara,” Priya warned, her tone urgent.
“You’re digging into something big. Bigger than you or Ravi. If someone made a registrar disappear, they’re not going to hesitate to… to do other things.”
A cold knot formed in my stomach. Priya was right. This wasn’t just a professional slight; it felt like a genuine threat. But the fear was quickly replaced by a quiet, fierce resolve. Krish Khera was a person. His disappearance wasn’t just a plot point; it was a human tragedy, potentially linked directly to the injustice done to me. I had to know what happened to him, and what role Ravi truly played in it all.
I looked back at the Vishwa Sewa Sangh building, its facade now seeming to hold a dark secret. The question about Krish Khera’s fate echoed in my mind, leaving a chilling premonition of the dangers that lay ahead.
+ There are no comments
Add yours