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ప్రథమ భాగం ​సమాజంలో జరిగే ఎన్నో అన్యాయాల మధ్య, మనుషుల మీద చేసే ప్రయోగాలు అత్యంత క్రూరమైనవి. ఆధునిక ప్రపంచంలో ఈ వ్యాపారంలో ఎంత లాభం ఉన్నప్పటికీ, ప్రభుత్వం ఇలాంటి చర్యలను సమర్థించదు. కానీ, ఇంత లాభదాయకమైన అవకాశాన్ని తెలివైనవాళ్ళు వదులుకుంటారా లేదా ఏది ఏమైనా కొనసాగిస్తారా? ఆర్. ఎస్. చింతలపాటి దర్శకత్వం వహించిన “ హంతకులు: ప్రథమ భాగం ”  లో ఒక సర్వసాధారణమైన వైద్యుడు తన సొంత ప్రయోజనాల కోసం ఉన్మాదులను నియమించుకుంటాడు. ఆ పయనంలో, ఫార్మసీలో అపూర్వమైన జ్ఞానం కలిగిన ఒక జైలర్ తో సంభాషణ ఎటు దారి తీస్తుందో చూడండి. రెండవ భాగం మనలో అత్యంత క్రూరమైన వ్యక్తికి కూడా న్యాయమైన విచారణ హక్కేనా? వాస్తవాలను సరిగ్గా విశ్లేషించకుండానే న్యాయాన్ని వ్యక్తుల చేతుల్లోకి తీసుకుంటే, మన వ్యవస్థ ఎలా కూలిపోతుందో ఊహించగలమా? కానీ, ఒకవేళ నేరస్థుడు పశ్చాత్తాపం చూపకపోగా, తన ఘాతుకాలపై గర్విస్తూ మాట్లాడితే? అప్పుడు, వ్యక్తులు న్యాయ వ్యవస్థను తమ చేతుల్లోకి తీసుకోవడం సమర్థనీయమా? ఆర్.ఎస్. చింతలపాటి రాసిన “ హంతకులు: రెండవ భాగం ” లో మానవత్వాన్ని గాయపరిచే ప్రాయోగిక వైద్యుడికి న్యాయమార్గం చూపే క్రమంలో న్యాయాధికారులు ఎదుర్కొన్న అంతర్గత సంఘర్షణను హృద్యంగా ఆవిష్కరించారు. ఈ కథ న్యాయానికి సంబంధించిన సున్నితమైన ప్రశ్నలతో మనల్ని ఆలోచనలో ముంచెత్తుతుంది. బృందం ఈ పనికి దర్శకత్వం ఆర్.ఎస్. చింతలపాటి , ఛాయాగ్రహణం: మనోహర్ కోవిరి , ఎడిటింగ్: నిఖిల కొట్నీ , డైలాగ్స్: మధులిక ఆచంట , నటించింది మీనాకుమారి కోనాడ , శ్రీకర్ అయ్యగారి & వికాస్ ఎలమంచిలి మరియు తరుణ్ చింతమ్ సంగీతం.

उदित और लता कॉलेज के दिनों से साथ थे और उन्होनें अपने रिश्ते को अंजाम देते हुए शादी कर ली। दोनों विपरीत व्यक्तित्व के होते हुए भी एक दूसरे का हाथ थामे जीवन के कठिन रास्तों पर चल रहे थे। लेकिन कब तक? जैसा कि सब लोग समझते थे, वास्तव में वैसी आदर्श जोड़ी थी उनकी? या फिर उनके रिश्ते की कई परतों में कुछ छिपा भी था? निधि पांडे की “इत्तेफ़ाक” पूछती है, मनचाहे व्यक्ती से विवाह करने पर भी, क्या जीवन हमेशा शांत और सरल रहता है? वो शुरुआती ख़ुशी हमेशा रहेगी? क्या जीवन के उतार-चढ़ाव में जीवनसाथी हमेशा साथ देते हैं? किए गए वादे हमेशा निभाए जाते हैं? श्रेय इस कहानी की कथानक  आर. एस. चिंतलपाटि  द्वारा निर्मित है,  निधि पांडे  द्वारा लिखी गयी,  मधूलिका आचंटा  द्वारा संपादित,  श्रुति किशोर साही  द्वारा आवाज अभिनय, और छायाचित्रण  मनोहर कोविर  द्वारा किया गया है।

स्नेहा बोयापल्ली द्वारा कवर फ़ोटो मेरा मन, एक हाड़ मांस के बने ढांचे में, सहेज दिया गया है। ना जाने कितनी कोशिशें की गईं, कितने दावे किए गए, पर सारे, मेरी देह से होकर गुज़र गए। हाथ, आँंखें और इरादे, मुझपर अधिकार जमाने की कोशिश करते रहे। सब व्यर्थ! मेरे मन पर, किसी का अधिपत्य नहीं हो पाया। क्यूंकि, मैं मन से आज़ाद थी। स्वतंत्र! पूर्णतः। मेरे अंतर्मन तक पहुंचना, इंसानी क्षमताओं के परे है। जमीन के टुकड़े के तरह, मैं ना ही नीलाम हो सकती हूँं, ना ही किसी जायदाद का हिस्सा। मैं टुकड़ों में बांटी नहीं जा सकती। मेरा मन, दहेज में बाँंधकर नहीं भेजा जा सकता। वो मेरे भीतर धंसा हुआ है। शरीर से भी परे। सात वचनों में, अस्तित्व का वचन कौन सा है? चूड़ियों की आवाज़ के तले, स्त्रियों का अंतर्मन छुपा दिया गया है। सर ढकने से तात्पर्य, सपने ढकने का तो नहीं था? या सबने मिलकर, सारी बेड़ियाँं गढ़ी हैं, सिर्फ नारी जीवन के लिए ही? जिसने मेरा जीवन बाँंधा हुआ है, उसके लिए मेरा मन बाँंधना असंभव है। तन से परे, मन का क्या? मांस के पुतले को हासिल करने वाले, मेरे मन तक पहुंचने से पहले, अपाहिज हो कर गिर जाएंगे। क्यूंकि, समर्पण किसी का अधिकार नहीं है। समर्पण प्रेम है, प्रेम सत्य है। और शरीर, एकमात्र भ्रम! श्रेय इस संकलन की समीक्षा निधि पांडे द्वारा लिखित, मधूलिका आचंटा  द्वारा की गई है, संपादन एड्लिन डिसूजा  द्वारा किया गया है, फोटो स्नेहा बोयपल्ली  द्वारा लिया गया है और अभिनय निखिला कोट्नी  और रश्मिता रेड्डी  द्वारा किया गया है। उत्पाद यह संकलन पेपरबैक के रूप में उपलब्ध है।

మనోహర్ కోవిరి ఫోటో తీశారు ఆకృతి లేకుండా ప్రతీ అచ్చు ఈ మట్టిని ఆధారం చేసుకుంటుంది తెరచాటు పుడమిలో మిళితమైన పదార్థాల గుట్టు, కళంకం అంటని పరిశీలించే కంటికి కాక మరెవరికి తేటపడును..? పుట్టుక ఎన్నేన్నో పొరలు చాటున ఎవరికి వారికి తమతోనే పూర్తి పరిచయం తెలియక సాగిపోతుంటుంది హృదయం నిన్ను కన్నప్పుడు అక్కరకు రాని ప్రతీ రాయి తొలగిపోయి లోలోపల వెలికితీసి విలువనిస్తుంది సుఖాలు, వేదనలు మరెన్నో భావాల మధ్య నీనుండి నన్ను వేరుపరచి అధికారం కోసం ఊగిసలాడుతూ దాసుని కమ్మంటుంటాయి ఈ బ్రతుకు కాలంలో కలిసినప్పుడు విశ్రాంతి వాటికి బదులిస్తుంది బృందం ఈ పుస్తకాన్ని మిరియాల సుధాకర్ రాసినది , హర్ష మోదుకూరి  సమీక్షించారు, మధూలిక ఆచంట  సంపాదకత్వం వహించారు మరియు మనోహర్ కోవిరి  ఫోటో తీశారు. ప్రకటన ఈ పద్యం ఈబుక్ మరియు పేపర్‌బ్యాక్‌లో అందుబాటులో ఉంది.

In this series, artisans discuss their process, learnings, and journey as artists, often in the form of anecdotes. Contents Episode 1: Pankaj Tottada Episode 2: Manognya Bethapudi Episode 3: Ravindra Patoju Episode 4: Sreekar Ayyagari Episode 5: Tarun Chintam Episode 6: Sneha Boyapally Episode 1 Pankaj Tottada Listen in Spotify ! ​​In our first episode, Pankaj Tottada  talks about his craft in photography, directing & cinematography alongside his journey with the community since 2015.   The podcast discusses the prospect of pursuing a career in visual arts, how going to film school might help, how family plays a vital role in pursuing arts & how to enhance one’s cinematic language.    Check out the artisans’ work here → Episode 2 Manognya Bethapudi Listen in Spotify ! In our second episode, Manognya Bethapudi  talks about her craft in writing & editing alongside her journey with the community since 2014. The podcast discusses why art is a part-time activity, how to address societal issues, how family plays a vital role in pursuing arts & how to work on consistent writing. Check out the artisans’ work here → Episode 3 Ravindra Patoju Listen in Spotify ! In our third episode, Ravindra Patoju  talks about his craft in photography & filmmaking alongside his journey with the community since 2020. The podcast discusses how in art, everything is unique, how to address if there is no support from family, how to address originality, time-lining and collaborations. Check out the artisans’ work here   → Episode 4 Sreekar Ayyagari Listen in Spotify ! ​In our fourth episode, Sreekar Ayyagari talks about his craft in editing & proofreading alongside his journey with the community since 2020. The podcast discusses how editors work, what they seek, and what challenges them. Check out the artisans’ work here   → Episode 5 Tarun Chintam Listen in Spotify ! ​In our fifth episode,  Tarun Chintam  talks about his craft in editing & about his journey with the community since 2017. The podcast discusses how originality is to be explored, what editors seek, and how to choose which stories to tell.  Check out the artisans’ work here   → Episode 6 Sneha Boyapally Listen in Spotify ! ​ ​In our sixth episode, Sneha Boyapally talks about her journey as a photographer and with the community. The podcast discusses why it is important to train in the craft of photography and what it is like to be a female photographer in India.   Check out the artisans’ work here   →

Credits This work was created by R. S. Chintalapati , reviewed by Nikhila Kotni , edited by Manognya Bethapudi  & illustrated by Ekta Pathak Mishra .

In this series, authors discuss their project ideas and execution details, often in the form of anecdotes. Contents Episode 1: His Past & Her Future Episode 2: A Walk in Paradise Episode 3: Pebbles & Petals Episode 4: Burning Beacons Episode 5: Modukuri’s Musings Episode 6: నివసించు Episode 7: Quest for Slumber Episode 8: Ghostly Girl Episode 9: स्त्री Episode 10: Detective GovindaM Episode 11: Sahis’ Anecdotes Episode 1 His Past & Her Future Listen in Spotify! In our first episode, Nikhila Kotni & Rajiv R Nair discuss the ideas, changes, and execution details for our novelette “ His Past & Her Future ”. Published in 2021, this novelette is about a boy and a girl coming from different cultures and religions finding peace in each other’s abode while their families issue ultimatums of disowning them if they choose to lead a life together. Get your copy now! Episode 2 A Walk in Paradise Listen in Spotify! In our second episode, Edlyn ​D’souza  & Santhosh Annabattula  discuss the ideas, changes, and execution details for our anthology “ A Walk in Paradise ”. Published in 2020, this anthology is a collection of ten poems on the topics of death, downfall, duty, faith, hope, liberty, love, revolution, society, & soul. Get your copy now! Episode 3 Pebbles & Petals Listen in Spotify! In our third episode, Edlyn ​D’souza  & Santhosh Annabattula  discuss the ideas, changes, and execution details for our anthology “ Pebbles & Petals ”. Published in 2022, this anthology of relatable and engaging poems was compiled to take the reader along on a journey. The first part of the collection has verses revolving around pithy observations expressed with hints of sarcasm & the second part, in contrast, deals with verses built on an emotional voyage, taking the reader through stages of coping. Get your copy now! Episode 4 Burning Beacons Listen in Spotify! In our fourth episode, Nikhila Kotni , Rajiv R Nair  & R. S. Chintalapati  discuss the ideas, changes, and execution details for this story “ Burning Beacons ”.  Published on 30th June 2020, this story asks & explores a few philosophical questions: Are humans only as powerful as their thoughts? Does karma affect them? Does God exist? Do they possess a soul? Are they prosecuted for their deeds? Get your copy now! Episode 5 Modukuri’s Musings Listen in Spotify! ​ In our fifth episode, Harsha Modukuri  & Rajiv R Nair  discuss the ideas, changes, and execution details for our anthology “ Modukuri’s Musings ”.  Published in 2022, this anthology of engaging prose deals with one or more contemporary issues in our society through a fictitious narrative while showing our shortcomings collectively.  Get your copy now! Episode 6 నివసించు Listen in Spotify! In our sixth episode, Sudhakar Miryala  & Keerthana Muguda  discuss the ideas, changes, and execution details for our anthology “నివసించు”. Published in 2023, this anthology of engaging poems deals with one of the three categories: love, nature, and inspiration in our contemporary times. ​ Get your copy now! Episode 7 Quest for Slumber Listen in Spotify! In our seventh episode, Nikhila Kotni  & Keerthana Muguda  discuss the ideas, changes, and execution details for our novelette “ Quest for Slumber ”. Published in 2023, this novelette tells the story of King Tanish, who is on a quest for a slumber that eludes him. But as he delves deeper into his pursuit, he uncovers a love story woven with sacrifice and devotion. ​Get your copy now! Episode 8 Ghostly Girl Listen in Spotify! In our eighth episode, Sharon Mathew  & Keerthana Muguda  discuss the ideas, changes, and execution details for our short story “ Ghostly Girl ”. Published in 2023, this story tells the story of a lean, frail girl who, due to her actions, did not have any friends. One day, she comes across a companion who sticks and truly understands her. However, before she’s contented, life bumps something up. ​ Get your copy now! Episode 9 स्त्री Listen in Spotify! In our ninth episode, Akansha Pandey  & Nidhi Pandey  discuss the ideas, changes, and execution details for our anthology “ स्त्री ”. Published in 2023, this collection is a journey of a woman’s life struggles, courage, and hope in every difficulty, dedication and faith in relationships, how she protects and maintains herself in the world, and her efforts to remain a lotus even while living in the mud. Get your copy now! Episode 10 Detective GovindaM Listen in Spotify! In our tenth episode, Rajiv R Nair  & V. K. Telkepalli  discuss the ideas, changes and execution details for our anthology “ Detective GovindaM ”. Published in 2024, this collection showcases how Detective Govind grew up hunting criminals and facing the harsh reality of life over the years. ​ Get your copy now! Episode 11 Sahis’ Anecdotes Listen in Spotify! In our eleventh episode, Nidhi Pandey  and Vaidurya Pratap Sahi  discuss the ideas, changes, and execution details for our anthology, “ Sahis’ Anecdotes ”. Published in 2024, this collection of anecdotes from Tamkuhi Raj, a province in northern India, tells the stories of royal staff, cooks, pets and commoners, alongside the accounts of the rulers, queens and their children. ​ Get your copy now!

Peering at me like she wanted to climb into me and hide herself from the world, Maaya stated, “Whoever said eyes are windows to the soul clearly never saw you!” They say I am cold, that my silvery depth is evil. But I find them frightening. Of all the living things in this world, it is Humans who scare me.  “Dull eyes that no eyeliner can fix,” she complained as she dipped the little spindly stick into the cold black liquid before carefully lining the curve of her eyelid. Every day I watch her, berating what she saw in me. They call me cruel, unkind, and unforgiving. But I only show what I see.  Her eyes were of almond shape. I heard that comparison play out as a song on the old radio and found it fitting for her. She is an old soul trapped in a new body, with a repaired octogenarian radio still shining on her wooden table. Her mother’s old sarees worked into patchwork quilts stuck to her walls, her father’s old clock proudly ticking on the side. All her possessions were always in a neat little decor project around her. She calls it home. And sometimes, most times, I feel my silver melt when I see the way she touches, no, caresses her objects with care.  “Maybe I should get a lip job done. Ha ha ha…” she laughs, “as if lips can ever be the priority when I go under the knife.” It pains me that she pinches the spilling skin on her tummy, as she said. The skin there reddened slightly and then bounced back. Her eyes stayed at that spot for a while, with a storm of hatred inside them, and then they reverted back to her face. She puckered her lips and proceeded to paint them with bright red.  Illustrated by Akshay Dogra It was the first time in three years she applied that lipstick. Red. Her favourite colour, which was passionately hated by her Ex. She had stopped putting it on. She smacks her lips and stretches them almost into a smile, and then it morphs into a grimace. “I look like shit. Well, it is as good as it can possibly get,” she comments before turning to pick her dainty tulle top pink.  “What a slut you are…” he had said one day, I remember, his lips curling into a thin smile. Her eyes met his through me. By then, a swirl of a storm had started resting in her eyes.  “I hate that red lipstick. Can’t you be decent for once?” She cast her eyes down and never looked back at me or herself the same again. Even if I break into a million shards, I could never cut into anyone like that. It was not just one comment in which his malice seeped into her. He had slowly sliced her skin and planted venomous seeds in her. Something about her skin, her eyes, her smile, her thighs, her laughter, her joy. He had snaked his arms around her and squeezed her happy self into a small, suffocating box of his expectations. And then, one day, he left. Left her with so many sprouts of those venomous thoughts. The night he left, the storm I saw in her eyes had become a deluge. For months after, it threatened to engulf her every day. But she survived. Only barely. Wearing darker shirts and baggy pants, loose oversized tees, sometimes forgetting to brush her hair, sometimes not meeting her own eyes through me. And sometimes, when she did, I saw the storm in her eyes dance relentlessly, never raining nor receding.  She finished wearing her clothes—her pink tulle top and sleek black leggings. She looked good, better than so many people these days. Not that she believed in herself or cared for the person she saw in me. She opened her door, and in flew a panicked sparrow.  “Oh, my god!” she exclaimed, quickly turning the ceiling fan off before the hapless sparrow cut herself.  The sparrow flew across the room in an unhappy spiral. “Are you being chased, little one?” she said in a gentle tone. A low coo from outside was enough for her to get who was chasing the sparrow. The sparrow zoomed into the small crevice in the loft and peeped out a moment later.  She huffed a kind laugh, not minding to hold a refuge for her tiny guest.  “Shh... you will be safe here,” she said, opening her door into a sliver that could hardly fit her. A  loud coo met her exit, sending the sparrow to cower in fright. The door clicked close, and eventual silence cajoled the sparrow from her cover. She is a brown bird with flustered feathers and beady eyes peering curiously at her new surroundings. And then she flew around the room once again.  She flew first to the patchwork quilts, finding a warm loop to get under and slide out. She hopped onto the wooden table next, inspecting the old radio, rustling papers, and mesh window that held the view of trees in great interest. And then she flew around the room once again. Her sanctuary and entrapment. A slight edge of anxiousness filtered through her beaded eyes. Now that its predator is no longer the threat. And then she spotted another bird within my silvery depths.  She froze in her flight and then scampered back into her cover under the loft. She peered right back after a whole moment. Now actually peering at the strange contraption showing a loft of another bird. Ruffled feathers and all. Maybe the bird she saw in me looked easier to intimidate than whatever was chasing her outside. Like a small furry bullet, she launched into my cold, harsh surface. Her tiny thick beak took the impact of the folly. I wish I could say I felt the impact. But I cannot lie. My glass only gave a resounding clink. The hapless sparrow, now disoriented, flew back and forth like a little misguided missile.  She launched an attack after attack, hurting herself in the process. To feel safe, bullying the fearful bird she saw in me. With one last flutter of feathers, she collapsed, bleeding at the beak. Her failing heart fluttered at the throat, wings at odd angles splayed along her tiny body. Just then, the door clicked open. And in came Maaya, pink tulle and all. Curly hair spilt across her face in great w aves, and she picked the little one gingerly into her palms.   “Oh, no… no, no… darling… what could have happened to you?” she said, cooing to the dying sparrow nestled in her palms. A trail of blood that spotted me told her enough of my innocent crime.  She stared at me, and the realisation hit her. With tears spilling from her eyes, she said, “No, no, no…  little one… it was just you in that mirror.” She cradled the unfortunate bird and cried.  “It was just you in the mirror…”  “Yes,” I wanted to say, “It was just you in the mirror.” Credits This story was contributed by Laasya Kannepalli , reviewed by R. S. Chintalapati , edited by Sanskriti Sharma & illustrated by Akshay Dogra .

Cover Photo by Pankaj Tottada A hole in my chest, a void in my mind, Lost in a world that feels unkind. I chase, and I run, yet fall behind, My purpose fades, too hard to find. Working like a dog, no rest, no sleep, Feeding my life to a promise I keep. My art is starving, my heart’s not fed, Dreams are burning while I sit in dread. Where am I in this endless race? Why do I bow? Why give up my place? Should I surrender, or should I fall? Or was I never meant to stand at all? A journey to glory or a path to despair? Each step feels heavy yet leads me nowhere. My hands are tied, my voice is weak, I scream inside but dare not speak. Will there be a change? Will light breakthrough? Will I rise and start anew? When will I smile, when will I see, The life I lost still waits for me? Where is the peace? Where is the war to cease? Or is the end my one release? But if there’s still a spark in me, Perhaps there’s more I’m meant to be. So if I fall, I’ll rise once more, Step by step, not keeping score. I’ll feed my art; I’ll free my soul, And piece by piece, I will be whole. Credits This poem was written by Nikhil Narayanasa , photographed by Pankaj Tottada  & acted by Hareeth Chiluveru .

Cover Photo by Manohar Koviri A woman steps out of the house and slips her feet into her sandals. Distant prayers can be heard vaguely from places of worship. It is still early dawn with a bluish glow all around. Drops of dew fall over the railing on the gate when she pushes it open with a creaking sound.  She wears a white cotton saree and has long, untied hair covering her slender, graceful figure. She walks briskly while carrying a cotton bag over her shoulder as if on a mission. A flock of pigeons fly away at the sound of her firm steps. Sweepers clean the roads of the previous night’s trash. Her silhouette contrasts sharply with a grey-bluish dawn as she walks ahead. She crosses the main road, which is almost empty now. Suddenly, out of nowhere, three men on bikes cross her at a high speed. They see her, take a turn and start circling around her, drinking and mouthing foul words and passing dangerously close to her. She stands defiantly on her ground. One of them tries to touch her and, in turn, slashes a cut on her hand. She wriggles out of her way and walks away steadily from them. She is ruffled up by the incident but composes herself. She turns and continues walking steadfastly. Newspaper boys pass by, ringing their cycle bells. The red sun dawns on the orange sky, throwing a yellowish hue on her face, which is now steady and focused. The sound of the radio’s adjusting frequency from a nearby vendor stall disturbs the tranquillity of the morning.   She walks through a narrow market street lined with old dingy shops on either side. The distant sound of shutters opening and men chatting sleepily fills the air. She walks in the middle of a narrow street when someone tugs at her bag from behind. She turns and stares at a man who is sneering, lowers her head and turns forward when another confronts her and blocks her way. He approaches her face and sniffs as she stands her ground determinedly. He takes a long puff of his half-burnt cigarette, blows it on her face, and smiles. She tries to avoid it but in vain. Her eyes turned into a mild reddish hue, her lips pursed tightly. The two rogues come disturbingly close to her and grope her indecently. She tries to fight them, but they keep touching her uncomfortably. One of them pulled her saree, and she turned and stared angrily at him. Just then, an auto rickshaw turns into the street, and the two men leave her and recede into a dark alley. The woman walks briskly and crosses the dreaded street. The sun is fully out now, with daylight filtering through leaves and casting shadows on the road. Despite the awful incident, her face is devoid of any expression. She stifles the anger and pain bubbling inside her. Her saree is slightly soiled and wrinkled with that encounter. She maintains a determined pace in her footsteps. She walks on the main road with children running hurriedly to get to their school buses and office goers scurrying across in a hurry to get to their destinations. She keeps walking on the footpath when an SUV appears on the road behind her, tailing her slowly. She walks, unaware of its presence. Suddenly, the vehicle speeds and stops alongside her; two men come out and drag her forcibly into the vehicle. No cries or yells can be heard outside except for the dull revving of the engine. The SUV moves away from that place with her bag lying on the footpath. Nobody notices her absence as they walk past casually. The same vehicle stops on another road, and she is thrown out forcefully. She lies in extreme pain on the road without uttering a sound. Her face is filled with shock and pain. Her body bears the wounds inflicted by those men who abducted her, and her saree is now blood-stained. Her trembling hand tries to take support of the road beneath her to lift herself up, but she falls down. A passer-by on a scooter comes across and sees her. He stops for a second, looks at her pain, and drives away indifferently. She tries again to lift herself up, and she succeeds this time. Her silhouette appears against the sun likewith a halo emerging around her head and shoulders. She takes strong, deep breaths, gulps down her pain and starts walking again. She limps slowly this time but stays determined in her footsteps. She finally reaches her destination, out of breath. There is a lot of noise and buzz in this place. Some people are scampering across in colourful costumes. Make-up artists give finishing touches to the actors while scriptwriters hurriedly shout instructions at them. She stares blankly at them when a lady comes behind and takes her inside. She is seated in front of the mirror. She stares weakly at her reflection, bearing the scars and bruises of her encounters this morning. The make-up artist comes and cleans her hands and face. He washes the oozing blood from her wounds, conceals them with makeup and applies red shades on her lips and cheeks. He drapes her in a new white cotton saree with an orange and green border. He combs her hair straight and puts a crown on her head. The make-up makes her look wholly garish and artificial. She is now standing in bright sunlight at the top of a makeshift stage. Adjusting the microphone is heard in the background, with people passing unfocused on before her. She stares in silence as if in a trance. The pain and suffering she had to go through finally shows in her eyes. Multiple shrieks and cries of pain echo faintly inside her, and her eyes start watering. A tear starts forming in her eyes from the horror when a loud electronic sound of “Silence, please” breaks her thoughts. A tricolour flag waves in her background, and she stands catching a trident with a crown on her head. Men from various religious backgrounds are kneeling before her. Men from all walks of life are paying their respects to her. There are banners hung in the background quoting slogans like “Incredible India” and “India Shining”. A symphony of instruments pierces the silence. A group of female choir singers start singing “Vande Mataram” on cue from the director.  A street play begins in honour of the beloved motherland on the occasion of Independence Day. There is a lot of pomp and revelry all around. Everyone sings the National song in chorus, swelling with pride. All except for one person. The tear that formed in her eye never got out. It drowned in an internal sea of despair, just like the muffled voice and the stifled cries. Credits This story was written by Santhosh Annabattula , edited by Sreekar Ayyagari , & photographed by Manohar Koviri .

© Writers Pouch The train was booked, and a coach was reserved for the Raja of Tamkuhi [1] and his staff. It had been a busy day, and everyone was eager to reach Tamkuhi. Raja Sahib, along with Babu Kodai Roy [6], Lallan Babu [7] and a retinue of staff, had left the councillor’s residence and were on the way to the railway station.  On the way, Raja Sahib was informed by his private secretary, Lallan Babu, that only one coach was booked, and it was set to change at one place in between. Given that Raja Sahib was a Member of the Legislative Council and an important zamindar [2] of the province, protocol was followed and staff of the railway department escorted him to the coach.  It was a busy day, and there were more people at the railway station than usual. The steam from the engines and the smoke from the coal added in, making the atmosphere around the platform hot. Among the staff were the khansamas [3], tahloos [4], pahalwans [5], the driver, and a few more people. Raja Sahib had an entire cabin for himself where he had already started to come into relaxation mode. Babu Kodai Roy and Lallan Babu were in another cabin, and the other cabins were occupied by the staff along with the luggage.  While Raja Sahib was resting, there was a commotion at the entrance of the Tamkuhi coach. Staff of another entourage, that of Raja M Chand, were having an argument with Raja Sahib’s staff. They wanted to enter the coach reserved for the Tamkuhi party and claim seats for their Raja M Chand, an influential zamindar of Benares.  The argument continued for a while before Raja M Chand himself arrived, along with a police constable. Noticing this was getting out of hand, Tamkuhi staff informed Lallan Babu and Babu Kodai Roy about the situation.  Lallan Babu and Babu Kodai Roy came rushing to greet Raja M Chand before trying to explain very politely that the coach had been reserved for the Raja of Tamkuhi. Their discussion continued for a while, and after overhearing the continuous discussion, Raja Sahib came out.  The Rajas greeted each other, and by this point, a big crowd had gathered. Raja M Chand, who looked tired and perplexed, told Raja Sahib that his men were undisciplined and needed controlling. This complaint annoyed Raja Sahib to such a degree that he visibly showed displeasure. Raja M Chand smirked and made a passing comment about Tamkuhi being a rogue zamindari, to which everyone was shocked. For a moment, everything was silent, and suddenly, a pistol was pointing in the face of Raja M Chand.  Raja Sahib Tamkuhi, in a rage, took out his pistol and pointed it at Raja M Chand’s face. In the meantime, the station master and other senior police officers arrived, noticing the huge crowd. Before anything untoward could happen, Raja Sahib was dissuaded and calmed down. Raja M Chand was given a place in another coach, and the train started.  A couple of days later, the commissioner of Gorakhpur invited Raja Sahib for tea. When they met, the commissioner started talking about the train incident and casually informed Raja Sahib that Raja M Chand was making a formal complaint, and the governor was also made aware of this decision because of which the commissioner had to bring up this conversation. It turns out that Raja M Chand wanted the Raja Sahib to apologise by coming to Benares. Raja Sahib listened patiently, thanked the commissioner for tea and without responding to the pistol episode, left the commissioner’s residence.  After much persuasion, Raja Sahib was ready for a compromise but on the condition that the other party should come to Tamkuhi. It was a clash of egos which had now been inflated. For a while, no solution could be reached until the commissioner came up with an idea. He proposed to invite both parties to Gorakhpur for a compromise. Since Raja Sahib was adamant about not going to Benares since it could reflect on him being submissive, the commissioner told Raja Sahib, “You are the biggest landlord of the district, and by virtue of that, Raja M Chand is coming here.”  On the other hand, he sent a message to Raja M Chand that the meeting would be held in Gorakhpur and not Tamkuhi. Since this decision was a middle path, both of them accepted it. A day was fixed when all parties met, and a compromise was made, thus ending the clash of egos. Footnotes Raja Indrajit Pratap Bahadur Sahi: One of the longest-serving Rajas of Tamkuhi, who has greatly impacted the people of Raj Tamkuhi. He was a very upright man with a broad vision for the development of the Raj. He served in different public capacities as a Member of the Legislative Council, District Board chairman, and member of many committees. He was politically active and affiliated with the All-India Hindu Mahasabha. He established hospitals, schools and places of religious importance for the public. In order to provide employment, he founded two indigo factories on his estate. A visionary, he made primary education compulsory and free in Raj by providing midday meals. During his reign, Tamkuhi developed as a cultural centre in the district of Gorakhpur. He was a good horse rider, hunter, and football player. He promoted musicians, poets, artists, wrestlers and writers in his kingdom. He died in June 1945. Zamindar: A landowner, especially one who leases his land to tenant farmers. Khansamas: A male cook, who often also assumes the role of house steward. Tahloos: A manager of household concerns, a servant. Pahalwans: Wrestlers Babu Kodai Roy was amongst those who could be considered the gems of Tamkuhi Darbar. He served not just as a private secretary to the Raja, but was also one of the settlement officers of the Raj. B N Singh, alias Lallan Babu, was Raja Sahib's personal assistant. Credits This contribution is written by Vaidurya Pratap Sahi , reviewed by R. S. Chintalapati , edited by Edlyn D’souza  & cover offered by Vaidurya Pratap Sahi . Product This story is also in an anthology. Get it to support the community & read more stories!

Cover Photos by Kevin Braun  24th April 2006 “Mr Maniratnam, a renowned businessman, was brutally murdered yesterday. His head was clipped off with an axe. Local police and the forensic team were already at the crime scene,” briefed DCP Sharma as Govind and Ankitha followed him. Standing at a distance, they saw the forensic team scattered all over the place, with Mr Subhash giving a broad smile noticing Govind.   Amongst the chatter, Govind could hear Mrs Maniratnam’s cry while noticing the stunned silence of the servants who stood at the entrance along with them. Stepping inside, Govind saw blood spread over the white sheets and Mr Maniratnam’s body lying on his bed. Approaching it, he noticed a clean cut. As he stared, Subhash whispered, “Our money is on an axe…” With a smirk on his face, Govind nodded while noticing Ankitha talking to the family members. Subhash continued, “The clean cut seems professional. Mr. Maniratnam might not even know what hit him.”  Glancing at the ripped, bloodstained pillow, Govind gazed around the room before asking, “Any signs of forced entry?” With Subhash shaking his head, indicating no, Govind stared at everyone in the room. Meanwhile, Ankita approached to inform, “Nothing productive. Just praises to the dead soul.” Noticing Subash completing his paperwork, Ankita queried, “Why kill a reputed businessman?” While Govind pondered, Subash asked, “Even if someone did. Why the head?”   Govind’s mind was racing with questions. He noticed no bloodstains in any other part of the room, and the bedroom was unusually closed from all sides. Presuming that the murderer had entered through the main entrance, Govind still wondered how the murderer carried the head? At a distance, Mrs. Maniratnam, still weeping, tried to speak to DGP Sharma but found it challenging to say, “I... I don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him. He was well-respected and is certainly a good man.” Later that day, in the office, Govind sat in his chair trying to solve the Rubik’s cube while Ankitha read the intel they had gathered about Mr. Maniratnam’s life. Facing him while skimming through the information, she informed, “This might be interesting. A servant at their place called Krishnakanth apparently is from the same village as Mr Maniratnam and had been working for him for a year.”  Holding his play, Govind agreed. Thinking about it for a minute, Govind instructed, “Ankita, why don’t you dig into this more? I think there is more to this than what meets the eye.” The next day, they attended Mr. Maniratnam’s funeral. While Govind observed everyone closely, trying to find any clue to help him solve the case, Krishnakanth stood beside him and asked, “Are you an atheist, sir?”  Govind nodded, and Krishnakanth leaned towards him to confess, “I am a God-fearing man, but I cannot stand funerals. I’m about to leave; you could join me to escape this annoyance.”  With a smile, Govind declined the offer. Returning a smile, Krishnakanth left, and Govind continued noticing the widow and her only daughter weeping at a distance. He thought they genuinely seemed to be lost in sorrow, to which Govind couldn’t help but wonder if there was a dark underbelly to Mr Maniratnam’s life that even his family was unaware of. His thoughts went back to the missing head, a gruesome puzzle piece that eluded them. He again thought, “What could be the significance of taking the head? Was it a message?” After the funeral, Govind requested a search team to scour the whole mansion. Their inquiries led them to the mansion’s study, a place where Mr Maniratnam spent most of the day. Inside, they found a lot of journals, pages filled with cryptic entries, which suggested secret liaisons and undisclosed financial transactions. The businessman had indeed led a double life, concealing his failures from the public eye. Those journals also revealed that Maniratnam’s brother was involved in these shady dealings & Govind could not help but bring him to questioning.  As Govind delved deeper into the investigation, he began to suspect that the murder might be linked to the clandestine activities documented in the journals. His intuition told him the missing head might hold the key to unravelling Mr. Maniratnam’s mysterious double life. With his brother’s involvement, Govind and Ankitha intensified their scrutiny of the family dynamics, looking for any signs of animosity or conflict. They decided to interrogate every family member. They set up their interrogation in the same study room, starting with the brother.  Govind started calmly by asking, “So, Mr Sandeep Manirathnam…it isn’t uncommon for families to have disagreements and secrets. Can you tell me about your relationship with your brother? Were there any unresolved issues between you two?” Sandeep replied, taking a deep breath. “Well Mr Govindam, like any other siblings, we had our differences and we had our agreements. We were close to each other. I don't think we had any unresolved issues.“   Leaning back in his chair, Govind studied Mr Maniratnam’s brother closely. The man’s perspiring forehead and the tremor in his voice hinted at a deeper layer of apprehension beneath his words. So, Govind altered his approach to evoke a sense of empathy; he said, “I understand that this is an incredibly challenging situation for you. It’s never easy to be under suspicion, especially when it involves your own family. But we need your cooperation to uncover the truth.” Noticing the middle-aged man nod in agreement, Govind continued, “What can you tell us about your whereabouts on the night of the murder? Any alibi that can support your statement?”  Govind hoped to elicit a response that could provide a vital clue in the investigation. Sandeep shifted in his seat, his gaze flickering toward the floor. “I was at home that night, working on some personal documents. No one was with me; I prefer solitude when dealing with important matters,” he explained, his voice strained with a tinge of agitation. “Understandable,” Govind acknowledged. “Can you suspect anyone who would keep an eye on you without your notice?” The brother’s hesitation was palpable as he stammered, “I... I don’t think so...in the past too there were attempts…Guess my brother inherited my father’s enemies along with his questionable dealings.” Govind nodded, noting the evasiveness in the brother’s responses. “I see... My apologies for the inconvenience, but as you might agree, we must establish a clear timeline of events. Could you please share these details of these dealings with my colleagues here? We’ll need to verify your statement too. You understand the gravity of the situation, don’t you?” The brother’s eyes darted around the room, his discomfort becoming increasingly apparent. “Of course... of course. I want to help in any way I can. But I don’t know how I can prove my innocence. I had no motive to harm my brother. He was family, despite our differences.” “Indeed, Mr. Sandeep, we appreciate your cooperation. Please don’t hesitate to share anything from your end,” Govind urged, aiming to maintain a sense of open dialogue with the suspect. The brother nodded, visibly relieved to have the opportunity to contribute to the ongoing investigation. “I will do my best to recall any details that might be helpful. It’s just so shocking to think that someone could commit such a heinous act, especially to a member of their own family.” “I understand your sentiment, Mr Sandeep. Sometimes, the truth can be difficult to fathom, especially when it hits so close to home,” Govind acknowledged, keeping his tone empathetic yet probing. As Mr. Maniratnam’s Brother’s left, Govind intended to find out what his suspect was doing on the night of the murder. Govind felt his responses had a mix of guilt and anxiety, hinting at the possibility of a more significant role in the tragic events that had unfolded. He asked Ankitha to investigate Mr Manirathnam’s father’s background.   An hour later, Govind began again with his next one in line by asking, “Mrs Maniratnam, did you notice any unusual behaviour or receive any threats directed towards your husband before his untimely demise?” Mrs. Maniratnam wiped a tear from her eye and took a deep breath before responding, “No... nothing.” “Can you think of anyone who might have held a grudge against your husband, perhaps due to business or personal matters?” asked Govind, leaning in slightly. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze distant. “There were competitors, as always, but I never thought they would go this far. My husband was always cautious in his dealings.” “Understood. Was there anything troubling your husband that he might have concealed from the public eye?” questioned Govind, but before Mrs Maniratnam replied, Govind’s phone buzzed.  Apologising, Govind left the room to hear Ankita say, “We got him.” The following day, assembling all the members involved in the living room, DCP Sharma informed, “Our Inspector Ankita wishes to narrate a story related to this story. I would request all of you to please cooperate with us even though this might seem like a stretch.” Looking at the dozen people, including the killer, Ankita cleared her throat to say, “There was once a nineteen-year-old girl who lived in a remote village deeply in love with a boy who was just three years older than her. Though they were nothing alike socially, their hearts were one. At least the girl loved him wholeheartedly, while the boy was in for a little fun & spice but nothing else. Their bond lasted as long as the boy was available, and one day, as anticipated, he was no longer available.” Looking at the killer, realising they got him, Ankita continued, “The girl was heartbroken & stayed alone for a day in solitude until one day the boy summoned her for a little bit for fun. When she denied him the privilege, the boy molested her. When they sought justice, the boy’s father, a powerful businessman, denied accountability. Sent his son to the city and brought the local panchayat to paint the girl in a bad light. They claimed everything, including the fact that the girl was a leech. She took all she could until one day she couldn’t anymore.” Everyone in the room was shocked yet sceptical about where this was going. “The boy got married and built a reputation as a businessman while the girl’s father was broken, lost and cried in silence. However, there was one thing that the girl’s father waited for. He waited for his son to return from jail. Though many tried, through some means, justice did set the son free, and when he knew what was done to his sister, this lumberjack of a man who hacked three in the past made his way to the boy’s home in the big city, served him for a while to plan his exit and clipped his head off when he thought he could not be caught.” When many in the room mapped the dots, Krishnakanth announced, “Sooner or later, we get what we deserve.” Saying so, he extended his hands to be taken into custody, and as he was taken away, Govind approached Mrs Maniratnam to inform her, “I am sorry for your loss, but your husband had it coming.”  As he left, Govind thought, “Killing is never a solution, but for a guy like Maniratnam, it was mercy to be killed in his sleep. For what he has done, there were worse ways to go!” Credits This story is written by V. K. Telkepalli , reviewed by R. S. Chintalapati , edited by Tarun Chintam , proofread by K. M. Sindhushree , & photographed by Kevin Braun . Product This story is also in an anthology. Get it to support the community & read more stories!