The Mystery Of Bharalu Sarovar Apartment

The buzz outside Flat Number 006 of Bharalu Sarovar Apartment was deafening. The flat, usually rarely visited because of its somewhat “unfriendly” occupants, was packed with people.

People were rushing in and out of the flat—some shocked, some expressionless, while some were on the phone, talking to someone and sharing details of what they had witnessed.

In short—everything was different—chaotic, if I have to summarise it all in a nutshell.

Meanwhile, someone had called the police and the ambulance.

“Now who called the police?” the apartment’s secretary, Manoranjan Saikia, asked. He definitely didn’t sound pleased.

“And who the hell called the ambulance?” he blurted out in frustration when the ambulance pulled into the campus, looking at the residents standing nearby.

Everyone looked puzzled and confused.

“We don’t know,” they replied, almost in unison.

“These…” Saikia left in anger and walked towards the police.

He approached and spoke to the police team as the residents watched from a distance, trying to understand their conversation.

To everyone’s surprise, the police team left after shaking hands with Saikia. They seemed relaxed.

As they were talking, Saikia noticed that the ambulance staff had already entered the flat.

The moment the police team left, he dashed to Flat 006 and asked everyone to leave.

“Stop creating a scene here. Leave.”

He also politely asked the ambulance staff to leave.

He spoke to them seriously, explained the situation, handed them some money, and asked them to leave.

The staff took the money, gave Saikia a cold look, and left, nodding in utter disappointment.

As soon as they left, Saikia closed the door and bolted it from the inside.

Everyone outside was looking at Saikia with amusement.

“What is Saikia Da up to?” asked someone.

“Don’t know,” replied another.

“Something has happened in the flat… something serious,” said a third person.

“I sensed that too. Else why would the police have been called?” added another.

“And, still…” Before the speaker could finish the sentence, the crowd outside heard loud cries coming from the flat.

“Tch! Tch! Poor guy,” said someone.

“Hmm. Such a serious situation, and Saikia Da did not let the police do their work,” another one grumbled.

As the crowd outside chattered among themselves, the flat’s door suddenly opened.

Slowly, Narendra Patgiri, followed by his wife Minati Patgiri and their children Mitali and Soumen, emerged from the shadows. Their housemaid, Priyanka, was last in line.

“What? I mean, how? Huh!” the apartment’s watchman, who was watching everything from a distance, shouted at the top of his lungs as he ran towards the flat like a madman.

Seeing him run like a madman, the crowd’s attention immediately went to him.

“What happened, Biren? Why do you look so surprised?” someone from the crowd asked.

He stopped, looked at the person, and knelt, breaking into inconsolable sobbing.

Pointing his finger at Priyanka’s lap, he cried, “Look there! It is Lucy’s body. Lucy died.”

Everyone looked towards Priyanka, who carried a body wrapped in white cloth.

There were questions written all over their faces.

“Lucy? Lucy?” There was a hushed murmur, everyone trying to know what had happened to Lucy; most importantly, who was Lucy?

Seeing their confusion, Manoranjan Saikia, who was walking ahead of the Patgiris, approached them and spoke in a hushed tone.

“Lucy was the Patgiris’ pet cat. She… she was not eating for the last few days as they had kept her locked in a room. This morning, when they went to the room to feed her, they found her dead. Her head was found dangling between the window railings.”

“What? How did she die?”

“It seems she committed suicide. I mean, that’s what the Patgiris believe,” Saikia replied, his tone blunt and expressionless.

“Cat?”, “Cat!”, “Suicide!?” There was a murmur all around.

Saikia, who seemed irritated by the murmur, looked sternly at the residents.

Soon, there was pin-drop silence.

“Well, someone said Lucy committed suicide, and without knowing who Lucy was, someone called the police and the ambulance,” Saikia added.

This time, no one spoke a word. Everyone just looked at Saikia, and then at the Patgiris, with expressions that are better imagined than I can write or narrate here in words.

Soon, everyone left for their respective apartments, leaving the grieving Patgiris, Biren and Manoranjan Saikia on their own.

The dispersing footsteps echoed for a while, and there was silence again.

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