Ajmal's voice carried a note of urgency. "Accident? What happened?"
Robin's face was a mask of confusion. "I don't know, Dada. I went to the car, but there was no sign of an accident. I heard he's in the hospital."
"Does Shiva know about this?" Ajmal's concern was palpable.
"I didn't say anything," Robin admitted.
Ajmal nodded decisively. "Well, anyway, let's go to the hospital."
The Blue Dragons wasted no time and headed straight to the hospital. By the time they arrived, Balachandran had already been moved to a room. After a brief conversation at the reception desk, they were directed to where he was being kept.
Balachandran, the general manager of the Durga Group of Companies, was more than just an executive. Satyanarayana Varma treated him like family, and so did Shivatmika. This bond was well understood by the members of the Blue Dragons.
As they entered the room, they found Balachandran lying on the bed, his legs and arms encased in plaster. Two staff members from the company stood vigil by his side.
Seeing Ajmal and his friends, Balachandran managed a weak smile. Despite his condition, the sight of Shivatmika's friends—often the source of much of the town's playful mischief—brought him a measure of comfort.
Ajmal's voice was gentle yet urgent. "What happened, Uncle?"
Balachandran sighed. "I had a little accident on the way from the office to the bungalow."
Ajmal's brow furrowed. "Uncle, don't lie. If there was an accident, wouldn't there be at least one scratch on your car? How could you get hurt if the car isn't damaged?"
Robin's question hung in the air, the doubt mirrored on the faces of the others. Balachandran saw their skepticism and realized there was no point in hiding the truth any longer. He gestured for his company colleagues to leave the room.
Once the room was clear, Balachandran faced the Blue Dragons, his expression serious. "My children, I know you very well. Besides being friends of Siva Mol, you're always at the forefront of everything in this town. Even if I don't tell you now, you'll find out eventually. And that could lead to trouble. I thought it best to tell you the truth. But you must promise not to go and ask about this."
Everyone exchanged puzzled glances, trying to decipher the gravity of Balachandran's words.
Ajmal finally broke the silence. "Well, whatever the matter is, we're not going to ask or argue about it. Now, Uncle, let's talk."
Balachandran took a deep breath. "To tell the truth, my children, I didn't have an accident. Someone hit me."
"Hit? Who hit you, Uncle?" Neeraja's voice trembled with concern.
Balachandran hesitated. "Maybe you'll know him if I tell you his name. Just keep an eye on him anyway. Don't ask any more about this and get into trouble."
Sanju's face darkened with anger. "So he beat up Uncle and we should leave him alone?"
"I'm telling you this because you promised you wouldn't go after it," Balachandran reminded them sternly.
Ajmal exchanged looks with his friends, then turned back to Balachandran. "Alright, if Uncle doesn't want us to pursue it, we won't. Tell me who."
"Akhil... Akhil Viswanathan."
The name hung in the air, sending a shockwave through the group.
"Akhil Viswanathan," Ajmal whispered, the name a bitter taste on his lips. Memories flashed through his mind: Akhil controlling the rutted elephant at the Gajotsavam, Sanju spotting him leaving a bar with Surya, the theft of the Durga Group's business proposal. And now, this attack on Balachandran, the general manager of the company. Who was Akhil really, and what was his true purpose?
"Why did he hit you, Uncle?" Ajmal asked, voice tight with anger.
"I don't know. He didn't say anything. Maybe it's just business rivalry. Do you know him?" Balachandran replied, his tone weary.
"Yeah, we've been keeping an eye on him for a few days," Sanju said.
"Just be careful. Don't go asking questions or stirring up trouble," Balachandran warned.
"Okay, Uncle," Manish replied, his voice steady but eyes filled with determination.
After spending a little more time with Balachandran, the Blue Dragons team left the hospital. The mystery of Akhil Viswanathan weighed heavily on their minds, the unanswered questions etched on their faces.
*************
Several days passed without any notable developments. During this time, the Blue Dragons team tirelessly investigated Akhil Viswanathan's background. Their efforts yielded a single, stark revelation: Akhil was the son of Viswanathan, the benami for Minister Vasudeva Menon's businesses. Despite their best efforts, the team couldn't unearth any other personal information about Akhil.
He maintained a low profile, creating no suspicious situations, except for being occasionally seen with Surya or Minister Vasudeva Menon. Yet, Akhil Viswanathan's name and persona lingered under a cloud of suspicion, casting a long, uneasy shadow over the Blue Dragons team.
***************
In the grand hall of Minister Vasudeva Menon's residence, the air was thick with tension and anticipation. The major leaders of Menon's party had gathered, their faces a mix of resolve and cautious optimism. The upcoming assembly elections loomed large, casting long shadows over their discussion.
Vasudeva Menon, currently the Minister of Industries, listened intently as Party President Thomas Chacko spoke, his voice a blend of confidence and calculation.
"This time, we are hopeful for continued governance," Chacko began, his gaze sweeping the room. "The government's actions have managed to blind the people to some extent. I spoke to the opposition leader yesterday. They don't have much hope this time. They're also afraid that the LCP will overtake them. So, they've asked for some adjustments. If we win the influential constituencies, the opposition party can campaign in such a way that we secure the government."
"Are we almost certain to rule, then?" one leader asked, the question hanging in the air like a challenge.
"Yes, yes. Isn't that why we called a meeting like this today?" Chacko responded, a hint of impatience in his tone.
"Shouldn't we decide on new candidates?" another voice interjected.
"It must be done," Chacko agreed. "Let's make a few people from the youth organization candidates. Give them constituencies with less influence. If they have the ability, let them win. There won't be any complaints that we didn't make candidates."
"That's right," another leader chimed in. "What about the next ministers and the chief minister?"
"All the front parties will have to be given a ministerial position," Chacko replied.
"Isn't Kora sir the chief ministerial candidate again this time?" someone asked.
"Oh, spare me this time," Kora responded, shaking his head. "I will not contest. I've been the chief minister twice... I can't do it anymore. All my children are out. It would be good if I stayed with them for a while."
"Oh, sir, how can it be okay if you stay away..." Vasudeva Menon intervened, his voice cutting through the murmurs of agreement and dissent. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the seasoned minister, awaiting his next words.
"What if I don't, Vasudeva? This time, you should be the chief ministerial candidate," Kora declared, his voice carrying the weight of his years in politics.
"Yes, yes… we all agree," another leader chimed in. "The new initiatives brought by the Minister of Industry are enough. That's the main achievement of this government. Moreover, there has been good development within the constituency."
"And the trust named after the minister does a lot of charity work. People have a good opinion about that too," someone else added, their voice ringing with conviction.
"Right. Vasudeva Menon is the best choice for the chief ministerial candidate this time," Thomas Chacko confirmed, solidifying the consensus.
Kora turned to Vasudeva Menon, his eyes sharp and discerning. "Does Vasudeva have anything else to say?"
Vasudeva Menon took a moment, his gaze sweeping the room, seeing the expectation and hope in his colleagues' faces. "If it is your wish, so be it," he said finally.
The room erupted in applause, the sound echoing off the walls, as Vasudeva Menon was hailed as the party's chief ministerial candidate for the next election.
*************
In the heart of Durgapuri, the godown stood as a silent sentinel of secrets. The sprawling plantation warehouse, owned by the influential Minister Vasudeva Menon, was a hub of clandestine operations. Beyond this imposing structure lay two or three more godowns, their presence known only to a select circle of the Minister's inner circle. Within these walls, Vasudeva Menon orchestrated a web of illicit activities, from drug smuggling to contraband spirits, their very existence veiled from the scrutiny of even the most trusted intermediaries. Surya and his close associates, including Pradish, meticulously supervised these operations in accordance with the Minister's precise instructions.
Inside the dimly lit back room of the godown, Surya was engrossed in the flickering images of the English movie "Mission Impossible" on HBO. The excitement of watching Tom Cruise scale a perilous cliff captivated him, the dramatic music heightening the tension with every passing second. Meanwhile, his friends huddled around a table, their focus divided between their cards and the thrilling scene on the screen.
As Tom Cruise finally reached the summit, Surya exhaled deeply, a smile of relief spreading across his face. It was at this precise moment that the rumble of a jeep's engine broke the relative calm of the room. The sudden sound was jarring amidst the tension of the movie.
"Damn it," Surya muttered under his breath, irritation creeping into his voice.
He turned to Pradish, his expression one of mild frustration. "Go see who it is, Pradish."
Without a word, Pradish rose from his seat and headed towards the exit, his footsteps echoing against the concrete floor as he went to investigate the unexpected arrival.
Surya's attention was abruptly pulled away from the gripping climax of "Mission Impossible" when an uneasy silence settled over the room. The lively chatter of his friends, who had been engrossed in their card game, ceased abruptly. The sudden quiet was unsettling. Surya turned away from the television, his eyes narrowing as he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching from behind.
As he looked back, his eyes widened in surprise. Standing before him was Inspector Abraham Koshi, flanked by three or four constables. The inspector's stern demeanor was unmistakable, and the presence of the uniformed officers created a palpable tension in the air.
"Ah..." Surya forced a casual laugh, rising from his seat with an affected nonchalance. "What's up this way?"
Inspector Koshi remained impassive, his gaze sweeping over Surya and his friends with practiced efficiency. His eyes lingered on the half-full bottle of alcohol, the array of glasses, and the scattered food items on the table. A cigarette ashtray, overflowing with butts, completed the tableau of casual indulgence.
Finally, Koshi's gaze returned to Surya. Without a word, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. He held it up, the official stamp and seal glinting under the room's dim light.
"Search Warrant," Koshi said curtly, the words hanging heavy in the charged silence.
Surya's face went pale as shock washed over him, but he quickly masked his fear with a veneer of calm.
"What search?" he demanded, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Inspector Abraham Koshi's expression remained resolute. "We have credible information that heroin and hashish worth lakhs of rupees are stored in this warehouse."
He turned to his team of constables. "Begin the search."
Surya's eyes widened in alarm. "Hey, Inspector—" he began to protest, but his voice was cut off as the constables moved toward the warehouse's interior. Surya and his friends quickly positioned themselves around Koshi and his team, their demeanor defiant.
"Do you have any idea whose warehouse you're searching?" Surya challenged.
"It's the direct order of the DGP," Koshi replied, his voice unyielding.
Surya's face twisted with anger. "Regardless of any official's orders, nothing will happen here. If you want to eat for a few more days, turn around and leave."
Koshi's patience snapped. In a swift, fluid motion, he slapped Surya across the face. The force sent Surya sprawling backward, crashing into the wall with a thud.
"Don't think for a second that I'll cower before the minister or his son," Koshi growled. "This hand has been honored by the President. You lowlife scum, I'd rather dirty my hands than tolerate your kind."
Koshi's roar reverberated through the warehouse. "What are you waiting for? Search! Leave no corner untouched!"
Just as Inspector Koshi began to issue orders, a sharp crack echoed through the warehouse. Anwar, seizing the opportunity, swung a cricket bat with all his might, striking Koshi on the back of the head. The inspector let out a pained grunt, his body collapsing to the floor as he clutched his head in agony.
"This is my father's godown," Surya declared, his voice cold and commanding as he stepped over to where Koshi lay writhing.
He fixed his gaze on the fallen inspector with a menacing calm. "We'll decide what stays and what goes inside these walls. If you dare to interfere, investigate, or try to thwart us, I promise you, I'll make sure there's a warrant for your death, you filthy dog!"