The Guru is Dead – Part 3
The meditation hall, once a sanctuary of peace, was now filled with tension. Candlelight threw flickering shadows on the walls, amplifying the eerie ambiance. Each attendee took a seat, their expressions a cocktail of fear and determination.
Arjun, standing at the front, had strategically placed a few retreat staff, including Mr. Ram, the gardener, at various exits.
Minutes ticked by, feeling like hours. The silence was only broken by the occasional rustling of fabric or the nervous clearing of a throat.
Suddenly, the lights went out. A cold draft blew through the hall, extinguishing the candles. Panic set in as attendees scrambled, their vows of silence replaced by gasps and whimpers.
When the backup generator kicked in, and lights slowly flickered back, a scene of chaos unveiled. Chairs overturned, personal items scattered, and in the center of the room, Mr. Bhatt lay motionless, a single white Himalayan flower placed on his chest.
But the killer was nowhere in sight.
Arjun quickly examined Mr. Bhatt. To his relief, he was unconscious, not dead. The flower, a symbol rather than a weapon this time. The message was clear: the murderer could strike at will.
Dr. Kapoor was immediately summoned, and he confirmed that Mr. Bhatt had been drugged.
“This sedative is local, derived from a plant found only in the Himalayas,” he scribbled on a notepad. “It’s fast-acting and not lethal in small doses.”
Ms. Lata, pale-faced but determined, approached Arjun. She handed him a torn page she had found during the chaos. The note read: “Too many prying eyes. Rajan’s secret dies with him. But his dream will not see the light.”
Frustration bubbled within Arjun. He was no closer to identifying the killer than he was at the start. The realization that the murderer was not just an avenger from Rajan’s past, but also intent on halting the retreat’s expansion, complicated matters.
A soft tap on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts. It was Mr. Ram, the gardener.
“Detective, there’s an old storage hut towards the north of the retreat. Very few know of its existence. You might find something there,” he scribbled hastily.
Grateful for the lead, Arjun made his way to the hut, guided only by the dim moonlight. Hidden amidst overgrown foliage, the hut seemed to have been untouched for years.
Inside, amidst the dust and cobwebs, Arjun found old blueprints of the retreat and land ownership documents. One particular file caught his eye. It was a rejected blueprint from two decades ago, proposing a massive commercial complex instead of the retreat. The primary investor’s name was smudged, but a chilling note was scribbled at the bottom: “If I can’t have it, no one will.”
As Arjun delved deeper into the documents, he felt a sharp blow to his head. The world spun, and darkness enveloped him. The hunter had indeed become the hunted.
Arjun awoke with a throbbing headache, his vision blurry. He found himself bound to a chair in what seemed to be the same storage hut. The dim light filtering through the cracks revealed his captor — an elderly figure with a recognizable, weathered face. It was Mr. Ram.
“Ah, Detective, you’re finally awake,” Mr. Ram broke the vow of silence, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’ve become quite the nuisance, just like Rajan.”
Arjun’s mind raced, piecing together fragments of the mystery. “So, it was you all along,” he said, struggling against his bonds. “But why, Ram? Why kill Rajan?”
Mr. Ram let out a bitter laugh. “Twenty years ago, this land was meant for a project that would have changed my life. It was meant to be a lavish commercial complex, a gold mine! But that dream was stolen by activists, environmentalists, and greedy businessmen like Gupta. And then Rajan came along with his plans for expansion, once again standing in my way.”
Arjun’s eyes darted around, looking for an escape. “You won’t get away with this,” he declared defiantly.
Mr. Ram’s face twisted into a grimace. “I already have. The retreat will be blamed for these incidents, its reputation tarnished. No one will want to invest or visit. It’ll crumble to ruins!”
Suddenly, the door to the hut burst open. Dr. Kapoor and a group of retreat staff and attendees stormed in, having followed the trail Arjun left behind.
Startled, Mr. Ram lunged at Arjun with a knife. But Dr. Kapoor was quicker, knocking the weapon away and restraining the old man.
As they led Mr. Ram away, his anguished cries echoed throughout the silent retreat, a chilling reminder of ambitions gone astray.
Later, amidst the attendees, Arjun unveiled the entire mystery. Rajan’s diary and the blueprints were undeniable evidence of Mr. Ram’s guilt. The retreat’s staff and guests were shocked that the gentle gardener they had known for years had such darkness within.
The retreat slowly returned to its serene routine, but the scars of the incidents lingered. Guests left with heavy hearts, but also with lessons in the complexities of human nature.
Arjun packed his bags, his thoughts heavy. The silent retreat had taught him that sometimes, in the midst of quiet, the loudest screams are those of past regrets and thwarted ambitions. As he descended the Himalayas, he couldn’t help but wonder how many such stories lay buried in its majestic folds.
The End
