"Ji we are here to discuss Devi. The woman who died a few weeks ago."

"Ruhi? I don't know any Ruhi! And if she had cried a few weeks ago, then why are you bothered about it, huh? I have dealt with many men like you, bah!"

For the umpteenth time, he let out a sigh. He could not do this anymore. He just couldn't.

"Ji, it's Devi not Ruhi! The girl who lived next to you."

"Devi ... Durga Mata? Lived next to me?"

The constable nearby snickered. One glare and he shut up. The deaf lady was giving him enough trouble. He could not bear the disobedience of his inferiors as well.

The grey-haired lady looked around. She had no clue why she was in that place. And that one particular khaki—the one asking questions—was very rude to her. But the others were nice. Especially the women decked up in khaki, the one's who brought her tea and snacks. No matter what, she liked the place, she decided. It was at least a change from her boring pale blue walls.

Not to disappoint the young man questioning her, she tried to recall Devi. After all, he was so kind, this was the least she could do for him. Devi. The word instantly made her remember Durga Puja—the glam and grandeur—associated with it. But that was not what he was asking for, she mused.

Devi. Hmm. Devi. It couldn't be that girl or could it? That blabbermouth who visited her on a daily basis? Come to think of it, she had not seen her for many days. Or did she? God knows.

"Devi. Yes, I remember her now. What about her?"

Relief swept over him.

"When did you last see her?"

Now, when did she last see her? Yesterday? Or was it today? No, it had been quite some time. But she did distinctly remember receiving her money order. And that girl was the one who used to pass it to her, right? But did she see her? She might have.

"When I got my money order. That's the last time I saw her."

Point noted. Check with the Post Office, Bagchi reminded himself.

"Did you at any time on the seventh of this month, see a person entering the house? Specifically in the morning?"

"Yes."

Her own answer had shocked her. In her excitement, she had said 'yes'. Or did she? Was it because she really did see someone? I must've, she thought.

Bagchi was surprised. Thrilled and surprised. Now he was having some progress. Mumbling to the constable, the forensic sketch artist was brought in. The frail man had neatly tied his hair into a ponytail and with a pencil in hand, settled on the plastic chair.

"Ma'am, describe the man please!"

Uh. What to do now?

"Medium height. Not too tall neither too short. Quite like you, young man!"

"Ma'am the face, please. Let's start with the eyes?"

Eyes? Eyes are usually brown, right? Or are they black? She couldn't decide.

"Dark. Dark eyes. Very very mysterious!"

Her voice added the effects. She was enjoying it. And so she droned on.

"Uh ... long face ... ?"

The pencil dancing on the crisp paper was the only sound heard in the whole room. Unless you count the excited heart of Bagchi. But that's when the old Anglo-Indian lady stopped. She seemed to have lost track of what she was saying. And that's when he decided to help.

"Did he have a beard?"

Now. That sure does describe someone familiar. A faint sketch of a man was painted in her mind. Someone she had seen at some point of time. And did he have a beard?

"Yes. He had a beard. A thick one! And bushy eyebrows, mind you!"

The hands were brushing against the page quicker.

"Ji did he also have any headgear?"

Headgear doesn't suit the man, she decided. But her memory seemed to say otherwise. And she was not in control of her tongue anymore. The words were flowing on their own accord.

"Yes. A white skull cap."

That did the trick. That did the trick.

A huge grin was plastered on his face once he saw the sketch. And he was not a person to smile unnecessarily.

Sending the artist away, he observed the sketch. And that's when his phone rang. A gruff voice spoke up on the other side.

"Any luck?"

"Yes. I believe the case will be closed in a few days."

"Good for you. It's your promotion after all and I was just a well wisher."

And all this time he had a smile on his face. All the time.

Ordering another tray of tea and snacks for the lady, he walked out of the station. His eyes forward, he looked forward to the future. He was surely a lucky man. A very lucky one. But he knew his job was not done. Not yet.

The drops shattered down with ferocity. Trying their best to wipe out the city.

She herself wished the same. To be wiped out. She was tired and defeated. Tired mainly. And for those who called her a 'dying city', she was not dying anymore; she was dead.