MALGHUT 🏠 By GAUTAM K MIRCHANDANI 🐉
Malghut was a beautiful village; it had a good, clean, deep beach, the sand golden in colour. The village lanes were clean and planted on their sides with coconut trees, which not only gave their thirst-quenching nectar but also shaded the village from the sun. There was ripening rice in the fields, and the sweet scent of flowers wafted everywhere. The villagers were a sturdy and hard-working lot; they also kept their village as clean as possible.
Inspector Vinayaka took in all this as the jeep travelled over the dusty trail to Pradhan’s house. They reached the large pond of sweet water that was refilled every year with bountiful rainwater.
Two women
were drying some pickles near the pond edge as they chatted.
The jeep
traversed the pond and entered a small lane at the end of which stood Pradhan’s
house.
Constable
Uttar Jeri parked the jeep outside the gate.
Pradhan was
waiting for them in his house's beautiful garden.
Greetings
were exchanged, and sweet lemon juices were offered.
Inspector
Vinayaka took a sip of his ice-cold sweet lemon juice and then turned to
Pradhan and asked. “Well, I believe there is something you want to tell me.”
Pradhan
Shankar Deshmukh nodded his head “Yes, yes, finish your drink, and then we will
go to a place.”
“Where?
Inspector Vinayaka questioned, finishing his lemon juice and keeping the empty
glass on the table.
“To Goral
Maar’s house,” Pradhan replied.
They got
back into the jeep and drove to the other side of the village near the hill
where Goral Maar lived.
I hope this
is something serious, the way Deshmukh is wasting the Jeep’s diesel. Inspector
Vinayaka thought wryly.
They came to
a house set amongst some trees near the road that led the way out of the
village.
“Sahib, this
is Goral Maar’s house, I don’t know if you know him or not,” Pradhan said.
Inspector
Vinayaka shook his head negatively.
“Thought so,
Goral lives here all alone, he has a son who stays and works in Bombay and
he visits Goral once every two years.”
“Deshmukh
Sahib, what is the problem?” Inspector Vinayaka cut in. He was in no mood for
one of Pradhan’s famous long stories.
“Vinayaka
Sahib, Goral has disappeared; he’s not to be found anywhere in the village or
near the village,” Pradhan replied without any further ado.
🔨
Malghut, a small, beautiful village with a secret tale to be unfolded that will never be forgotten by those who will live to tell. To read the complete story, click on the link below the book cover.
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