Fact from the Police
Next afternoon Shreeja woke up sober. Her pillow and neck were wet, though the air conditioner was working fine. Her eyes were swollen. She felt as if she had wept her heart out. Her recollection of the day before brought her bitterness and grief back. Rushing downstairs, she felt lighter. She was glad that she was not hung over. Scanning through the morning newspaper, she pointed to Saurabh's piece. It was good. Reluctantly she went through her piece. She found that Moumita added a few twists to blame misogyny and kept the tone of the series intact. But it did not excite Shreeja anymore. She texted Saurabh, “You SoB, up by one score.” She took a shower, got dressed, ate lunch, called a cab to arrive at Park Street Police Station. The police station, too, was under the spell of Independence Day celebration and related security preparations. It was totally distracted from rape cases. Shreeja waited for the duty officer to allot her a desk. It took more than a quarter of an hour. The sub-inspector at the desk was a woman. Her name was Manidipa Mitra. Shreeja was direct, “Ms. Mitra, I’m here to take note on status of the rape cases.” Young and enthusiastic Ms. Mitra replied, “Oh! a lot has been going on. As you know the accused persons are in police remand.” She stopped there. Shreeja waited for some more spunky frivolity. But nothing other than silence emanated. Shreeja asked, “What’s new?” Sub-inspector Mitra replied, “Several things.” She paused and shared, as if confiding, “Can’t share. This’ an ongoing investigation.” Shreeja enquired, “Are you the investigating officer?” Monidipa Mitra replied, “No. A task force of senior detectives and police persons are pursuing the cases. I’m representing this police station among other stations involved in the case.” Shreeja got a notch to scratch, “Are everyone in the team women?” Monidipa Mitra appeared clever, “We don’t encourage gender bias in the department. Is there anything else I can help you with?” Shreeja expressed dissatisfaction, “You’ve not shared any useful information at all. Ma’am your youth and enthusiasm seem false for you’re guarding important public information from the public you serve.” Manidipa mustered up a bitchy smile and responded, “I’m at your service, madam. Please don’t call me ma’am. My colleagues call me Mitra. You can call me Mitra, too. Also, you should understand that my duties are to the public but not to corporates in the news business. My job is to save people from criminals, even risking my own life. It’s not to save your job. Also, speaking of information, you can lodge an information request under RTI act at Lalbazar.” Shreeja thought she had wasted much of her day. She headed for a notary office to buy a few stamp papers each worth rupees ten. Then she headed back to office to type her enquiries, on those stamp papers, as prescribed under the Right to Information Act. One for her assignment on rape spree. The other was on the beggars. She submitted them at the city police commissioner’s office at Lalbazar just by five in the evening, daily end hour for receiving RTI act requests. Shreeja could not help but enquire about meeting detectives on duty. The mail office reluctantly guided her to the detective department. From desk to desk she asked for information on both the rape spree and begging ring. She got some answers from Sub-inspector Somlata Kundu. She sent Shreeja to her colleague Shiuli Pal at the Missing Persons squad. Shiuli Pal beamed to Shreeja’s encounter with beggars. She opened some logs and advised, “If possible lodge a police complaint at Maidan Police Station about beggars begging on the street.” Shreeja protested, “I had no intention to get a poor misguided woman arrested.” Shiuli suggested, “Mention begging rings. Claim the woman to be a victim. Mention details of your conversation with her as you’ve done with me. Even mention your meeting with me. And my advice.” Shreeja was listening. Hence, Shiuli continued, “They’ll give the diary number; convey it to me by a letter, along with a copy of your complaint to Maidan Police Station. Give me a copy of the letter attached with a copy of your complaint to Maidan Police Station and, also, a copy of the receipt details of my office. To help me start immediately.” Shreeja was still listening. Shiuli Pal stood up, opened a cabinet, and brought a few files. Opening one of them, she showed a picture of a girl, aged around ten to twelve, and explained, “This is Anamita Das. Missing over fifteen years. She had turned twenty-five last spring, if alive. We’re still clueless. There are a few like this.” She pointed to other files and continued, “Jayati Sinha, Jayeeta Ray, Millie Majumder, Mohul Saha. We’re still looking forward to their return to their respective families.” Shreeja asked, “None here specializes in begging rings?” Shiuli replied, “We don’t pursue begging separately. Often street offenses are all linked to the same ring, same gang, same cluster of criminals. If we can crack open a piece, we may get a chance to crack the whole thing wide open and get everything resolved. Somlata last year found a victim who was my long-time case. Hence, we share facts and work together. If you stick to it, with or without support of your employer, even without your professional approach, then you shall watch us to see through till the end of this.” She paused a little and added, “My gut says we’re about to get somewhere with these beggars.” Shreeja had some epiphany. She had notions of police persons being typical inefficient corrupt public servants. Shiuli made Shreeja believe in the public system and its will. Shreeja showed the photo she took with the woman and the baby to Shiuli. Shiuli requested Shreeja, “Please email me this photo. I can start pursuing them even before you go to Maidan Police Station.” Going to office, however, Shreeja wrote how misogyny had been driving the police force and turned its women into ineffective liars protecting its secrets, hiding information from the public. She emphasized that the only secret happened to be inefficacy, amounting to doing nothing for the victims of a misogynistic society. She did not have much information to deliver. She must wait another week for getting responses to her RTI act query. Thus, she could all write about ugly things she imagined of sub-inspector Manidipa Mitra. Later, at night, at the watering hole Saurabh caught up, “What’s about the beggars?” Shreeja shared everything she encountered till Shiuli Pal’s advice. Because both Saurabh and Shreeja knew that every sensation dies after some time. They knew, in a month or two, current rape spree sensation would take a back seat. News cycle would be fed with some new sensations and gradually would delve in indulging the one most enjoyed by the consumers. Saurabh and Shreeja chalked out a plan for their beggar story. They needed something to survive, first for their soul, then for feeding the news cycle, though with a portion of their soul, as usual. They would make it a money churning game, probably. Until then they would keep digging the truth.
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