Tough times don't last. Tough people do.

****

The day was going to be a milestone in Maya's life, however she was yet unaware of what was to come. The pages of the calender were flipped by the breeze, a mere mechanical passing of time that copied the impatience of fate.

It was a balmy afternoon in the queen of cities, Calcutta.

A mother's ginger tea was the solution to life's all stressful problems, apart from it being a successful guard against a sore throat– that was what Maya thought while closing her eyes and sipping the tea in bliss.

Maya's fingers twirled the fountain pen, splattering blobs of ink on the empty paper. The previous pages of the diary were already filled with plenty of verses– some free as the breeze and some rhyming like a melody. There were stacks of files on the table too– records of all the smaller cases that Maya had handled like a pro in the past months. Her time as a detective only increased after last year's Durga Puja.

With flourishing fame, Maya had two choices– to work as an independent detective or join an agency, and she chose the former. She had tried to keep this job of hers a secret and stay away from limelight but Sundar Babu, that businessman from Devipuram, sang her praises to all his affluent customers. Soon newspapers flooded with the tales of Maya's success even though she made sure not all details would leak out. Sundar Babu helped in that aspect too– he himself was very protective about the former case of his late brother Hrishav.

Her boss encouraged her to now start writing poetries beside articles. He was also there to promote her skills as a paranormal detective. Maya was grateful to all the people, who despite having no immediate responsibility of her, still attached themselves to her life.

Maya stretched in her chair and dropped back her head. The recent months saw a rise in the scale of cases she received– like Miss Sen's suspicion about her fiance's gambling lifestyle, the missing gold chain of the widowed Lady Graham– until it came to a standstill. For the last couple of weeks, Maya was free to do what she wanted.

And yet, she wasn't happy. Her mind wanted to sniff mystery in every corner, and without the adventure life seemed so bland.

Instead of succumbing to boredom, Maya went to the living room below and flopped down on the sofa. There were some salted nuts kept in a tray on the table. She took a handful of it and munched. Casually she flipped through the pages of the book that was kept near the tray. It was a short stories collection, all penned by the great Tagore. Her father used to narrate her tales from Raj Kahini and other classics. She had grown up, like every other Bengali girl, listening to fairy tales, stories of kings and queens, the epic tales of Rama and Arjuna. They had instilled in her a sense of morality and the superiority of not differentiating between black and white. So many childhood tales of monsters and great men kept hidden deeper symbolisms which were only decipherable at an older age.

Katie, her mother, was cooking their dinner– a rohu fish curry and roasted aubergines. Even though her roots traced back to England, she had found her home in the earthy spices and tadka of India. Upon seeing her daughter, she joined Maya in the sofa. "Any new case?"

Maya shrugged. "Nope. I think all the robbers and frauds have taken a break. Doesn't sound well for my profession."

Katie chuckled. "I never imagined you will be doing this out of all jobs. Running after culprits, but in the classy style of Holmes and Poirot. Guess what? We need more women like you!" She patted her daughter's back. "Take a breath and relax. You will get a new case soon."

"You say as if the society will never let me sit quiet for long?"

"It won't let you. The world is dark, deadly, dreary!" Katie wiggled her fingers and mimicked a witch summoning spirits. Maya rolled her eyes to which Katie pouted. "What? You don't want more voodoo? I thought that was where your expertise is."

"Maa, now all the ghosts are going to visit our house. Don't do what you are doing."

"Maybe one of the ghosts will ask you to investigate its murder..." Katie squinted her eyes, her voice lowering down to a guttural shrill.

Maya wheezed. "Maa, you really find my job funny, don't you?"

"Well, I can't show that I am scared. Am I allowed that?"

"Maybe. What scares you?"

The playfulness from Katie's wrinkled face vanished. She closed her eyes, suddenly growing so old and fragile. "I don't know. I thought life is very simple. You go to school, then head for university, find love and marry, have a job, get kids, see them grow up, and then die peacefully. But..."

"But?"

Katie's eyes glimmered with tears. "When I see you, I realise how grand life can be. However, this very thing frightens me. What if I lose you to chaos? What if the beings that you hunt one day hunt you?"

"It's inevitable, Maa. But I respect the other world. I don't involve myself in their affairs as long as they don't interfere in my own world." Maya recalled her very first case which centred around the unexplored sinister side of religion. "It's not in my nature to sit back and watch when darkness take over."

The conversation was put to a stop when the door opened and Maya's father, Ritam, came in and sat on a chair across them. He was panting after the quick walk from the post office. Maya noticed that her father carried a newspaper in his hand. "You bought the newspaper in the morning."

"This is not the one covered by your media house. This is another."

"Is there some other interesting news?"

Ritam wiped the sweat from his spectacles. "It's about death."

"Death!" Katie exclaimed. Maya's eyes enlarged for a moment too but she regained her composure, her gaze stuck on the newspaper. Her mother deflated and looked at Maya. Katie prayed this for not to be another case associated with the paranormal. Back in London, she had heard stories about the Grim Reaper, about Satan and vampires. Never did she know that they really existed. And never had she expected her beloved daughter to face the eerie side.

"Whose death?" Maya asked in a grave voice.

"The youngest son of the Das. They are a wealthy zamindar family from Khatra."

Outside, the sun was setting, bidding goodbye to the day in shades of blood red. The streets were getting colder. People returned back home from offices, kids refused to run for errands anymore and the beggar counted his earnings of the day.

Death.

Maya imagined Death walking with a staff in his hand, crossing the roads of Calcutta. In her imagination, he was a tall and fair man, with tired eyes refusing to see light. How tired of watching death everyday...

So many people died every day. Little did the world slow down for them. The Wheel of Time spun even faster, drunken on the sweetness of each stunted life. Calcutta was far from mourning. She always looked forward to the future, never turning her head back to the blackened past.

But in rural areas, people still knew how to sit back and contemplate. Did they not feel something sad, or perhaps fear?

Who dares to kill the son of a zamindar? Even after independence, zamindars still held some power. Their legacy still lived, in most cases through the businesses they ran. "We can reach Khatra from Bankura," Maya informed. "How did he die?"

"The newspaper says that they don't have the permission to publish the gruesome details, but they claim it is a murder. A cold-blooded murder."

Katie gasped. "Poor boy! How old was he?"

"They have given no details. Abhinoy Das was his name."

Katie clicked her tongue. "Must be some family feud. Rich people have their own peculiar problems."

"No doubt they do. After all they are zamindars of Khatra. Their name and fame spreads beyond the periphery of the village." Ritam opened the specific page and handed Maya the newspaper.

Maya skimmed through the lines and got the gist of it. "Hmm, it happened two days ago, at night. His body was found in the nearby forest."

"I wonder what the man was doing there in the middle of the night. It gets dark in villages sooner than in cities." Ritam lighted a cigar.

Interesting, Maya thought. "He must have had some work to do..."

The telephone in the hall rang. "You read the news. Let me see who is it." Ritam went to pick up the call. "Hello, Mister Ritam here. Whom am I talking to?"

"Is detective Maya present? I wish to appoint her in a case."

Ritam moved the phone and mouthed, 'it is a new case.'

A smirk tickled the corner of her lips. This can't be a coincidence. Maya's heartbeats raced and she took the call. "Hello, Maya speaking here. How can I help you?"

There was some shuffling noise heard on the other side. "I have written you a letter. It shall reach you soon, if not by today."

"Okay, but can I get some of the details before that?"

The man on the other side cleared his throat. There was a long pause. In a hesitant, cracked voice, the man continued, "I-I am Kalikacharan Das. My son was murdered."