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Suhan alias Suhasini was waiting at the bus stop to take the last bus home when she heard the cries for help. She looked around and except for huge, mute trees she couldn’t find a soul.  The cries for help grew louder, and Suhan got on her toes. She flipped up her phone. “Somebody is hurt for sure” she thought. She dialed 108.  With the receiver placed near her ear she walked towards the direction from which the distress signals were coming.
“Help!”, and it only got louder.
Suhan. The 22 year old post graduate student with a firm, busty physique walked down deeper into the darkness of Cavaliers Street.
“Help!”
“I’m coming!” and Suhan started running towards the giant Banyan tree which looked like a large, black towering jellyfish which was ready to poison the night, with its tentacles spread all over and behind it was the only blind spot on the fleeting footpath. She held the phone near her ear, but her body was pumping adrenaline into her blood stream at such a rate that she couldn’t hear the operator talking over the other side.
Suhan reached the Banyan tree, and saw a man writhing in pain. Suhan lunged forward to help him.
“Sir, are you okay?”, she asked him but he definitely didn’t seem so.
“God!” . There was something unbearable going on inside the man who was rolling under the black blanket.
“What’s the problem? Let me see” and Suhan slowly raised the blanket and suddenly a shot of liquid flew through the air from below the blanket onto Suhan’s face.
“Swallow my cum, Bitch? Oh yea!” and then out of nowhere a blanket covered her face. Pain. There was pain all over her head. Somebody just hit her.
Two men brutally tore Suhan Chakraborty’s clothes and raped her under the shade of the Banyan tree outside the Cavaliers cricket ground with her cell phone lying on the footpath just near the tree’s trunk. They didn’t notice the shiny little Motorola, through which the alarmed operator was already coordinating for a search for the ill fated caller. Truly, the atmosphere was filled with darkness.
Suhan was slapped several times and she could feel nails piercing through her breasts.
“Get me the acid”
And by the time the police found her body at 2 in the morning, she lay dead on the Cavaliers road, her naked body absorbing the warmth of the nature and her feet spread at an angle and black charred muscle between them.
Meanwhile, the two sugar mill operators who deep fried their last drops of semen inside Suhan’s body with concentrated nitric acid were on their way into oblivion. From the police, and from everyone.


“Pass me the chisel”
The cement crust on the top was flaky. It was brittle and broke off like an egg shell. The brick layer beneath it was still damp by the water which seeped through the 2cm thick cement layer. What does that mean? It means that the grave was fresh and the corpse it was protecting is fresh. Fresh, not more than 3 days old. It’s funny how people want to make a morbid thing like death look beautiful.  The colorful graves, ebony coffins and the glossy plaques. Well, here we were digging in a small cemetery over an encroached hillock, the kind which you see from trains and buses, situated beside a huge drain or a slum. These kinds of cemeteries lack the hype but contain the substance. This is a kind of a cemetery where those drunkards, sick parents and the neglected were buried. Buried in those cheap polyester suits and the rubber shoes. They say never judge a book by its cover but we can judge a grave by its plaque.

If the plaque said, “In memory of the soul, who dedicated his life for the Lord” the coffin usually contained a pack of cards, cigarettes along with the corpse.
If the plaque contained a biblical quote, then the dead man in the grave was the kind of person who didn’t have a say in the family affairs or the family didn’t tell him much because of his affairs. Either ways these graves were devoid of all materialistic comforts. But they had what we wanted. Corpses. Fresh corpses.

These graves never smelt the fragrance of flowers neither did they see the shadows of their families over them. These were the kind of people that the world wants to forget. For 400 bucks a grave, you can forget a person forever. These are the kind of graves where we can open the coffins the very next day after they’re buried and not get caught. This was the place for recycling the dead. Dead, unwanted and forgotten. And the next time you leave a bunch of flowers at a grave remember, that the one you cried for once might not be there before you, six feet under.

“Hey Jehovah, bring me the spade”
“Righto man”
“Hold it tight, on the count of three, one, two and…”
Jehovah pulled down the spade which was half immersed in the ground, one end into the latch of the coffin.
Imagine a piece of cake, soaked into sewage water and then left on the pavement for ten days to ferment and rot and later kept in your lunch box for you to eat. Imagine its smell not the taste. Well that’s how a corpse inside a coffin smells like.

“Jehovah, hit the legs man”
Jehovah stuck his four foot long spade into the coffin and with controlled adroitness he managed to get the dead man’s legs into the scoop of the spade. He slowly lifted up the scoop and I grabbed the legs when they were in my reach. Jehovah through the spade as aside and grabbed the man’s head. And with one final burst of energy we threw the apparently 80 kg body which seemed like a 100 hundred kilo one onto the ground.

“Careful there mate, don’t be so harsh on him, remember God’s own men?”
God’s own men. The wet, little grave behind this abandon church up on the Carson road. We were pulling this five year old corpse and in the process I pulled the head with more force than I should have and the next moment we were staring at a decapitated body in Jehovah’s hand and its seat of miseries in mine. Slimy, stinking blood gushed down due to gravity and the man’s insides poured out. Corpses. I still don’t know why people bury them. Burying in ebony coffins and cushiony interiors doesn’t let the body decompose well, totally contradicting the reason why the dead are buried in the first place. Maybe the idea of millions of insects and germs eating your body when a person is dead scares man. It’s just like an abortion, it’s the people who love you that suffer, and not you as you’ll be mercilessly flushed down the toilet.
We lifted the corpse up and stuffed him into a garbage bag and threw into the back of the van and we sped through, into the horizon.


“…The body of the unidentified murder victim found late yesterday night has been identified today morning as Suhasini Chattwal a 22 year post graduate student from the local Presidency College. The police have subsequently informed her family and her bereaved father, a visible shaken Sandeep Chattwal confirmed his worst doubts. The police suspect an act of hatred and rape hasn’t been ruled out. The police are on the lookout for possible suspects. The city has started mourning for Suhasini since today morning and the Presidency College is surrounded in a pall of gloom. Shocked women’s groups have called for a blockade protesting against the weakened security and the ever increasing crimes against women. As you know, this is the fifth murder in this month. Police are investigating deeply into this case and the body has been sent to post mortem and more clues can be expected then. This now leaves us with the Topic of the Day, are today’s women really safe? We have an elite panel consisting of …”
The pompous newsreader that went hyper over the entire situation calmed down as the elite panel consisting of war veterans, attorneys and what not, screamed on top of their voices on why women were the most targeted lot in the society. Well, I don’t know, maybe because of their boobs?


Think of a water hose. When you cut it when the water is running, water comes out with great force. If you cut when there’s no water flow, the leftover water in it just falls down due to gravity. Think of the human body. When alive the first case applies and when dead the second one. Suhan, the young lady was raped and there’s no doubt to that. Her vaginal cavity was charred beyond recognition; it looked like the epicenter of a nuclear explosion. All that was left was little stubs of public hair; the burns were severe with most of the muscle disintegrating. And the best part, the poor girl waited for over four hours for help to come. She lay on the footpath crying for help, with her insides burning. Apart from the broken amino acids in her muscles, her fried hair, there were samples of urine. Imagine. Well, the nearest I can think of is the burning feeling you get after having a mug of beer. And it really burns. Beer a slightly acidic drink burns the inside. Now imagine nitric acid coming directly in contact with your genitalia, and you being left naked on a pavement on a cold winter night. Well, not the kind of way you’d like to spend your night especially if you are not acrotomophilic. Someone really had taste in hiding his crime, I’ve seen one case where the suspect made an half baked attempt to pull the girls uterus out, but nothing as classy as this.

The report that’ll reach the police commissioner’s office in the morning will state that Suhasini Chattwal was not raped but she was beaten and murdered probably for money. Rape cases attract a lot of attention and the conservative parents generally don’t want their neighbors talking about the girl’s character at her funeral. It’s like they can be raped, but they shouldn’t talk about it. The best way not to attract attention was to tell the world that she wasn’t raped. And what about her being left naked on the pavement? Every man has his fetish, and we’ve found some traces of semen on her face. We took Suhan’s body and placed it in the freezer box. Tomorrow morning, the Chattwals residence will mourn for her daughter wrapped in a shroud. After a few hours, before sunset her body will be nothing more than a huge lump of ash. Some of it which maybe even smuggled out to make quality jaggery or homemade toothpastes.  May her soul rest in peace, Amen.


“Hello, is it Mr. Sandeep?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Commissioner Shah, your daughters post mortem reports have arrived sir.”
“And?”
“Sir, your daughter was not raped; she was beaten to death, possibly for resisting a robbery attempt or for making a call to the emergency number”
“What?”
“Sir, could you please come to police station as soon as possible?”


“…In what looks like a sensational development in Suhasini Chattwal’s murder, her father a local attorney Mr. Sandeep Chattwal has alleged that his daughter’s post mortem reports have been tampered with. He directed a statement towards the city’s CDR hospitals accusing the doctors for making a false autopsy report. The hospital staff launched a quick defense attack blaming Mr. Chattwal of trying to get some publicity by blotching the name of the city’s one of the most respected hospitals.
We have our special correspondent Samir Quereshi outside the Police Commissioner’s office.

“Samir, what is the situation out there?”
“Poulami, there’s a lot of activity up here since 9 in the morning, when Mr. Chattwal arrived to meet the commissioner. He alleges that his daughter Suhasini has been raped and killed, for which he says he has some proofs. He has given us an interview a few minutes back which I’ll be playing now”
“…My daughter has been raped and the hospital is trying to hide the facts.
Quereshi: Sir, what makes you think that your daughter has been raped?
Chattwal: She didn’t have any valuables with her at the time of the murder and also if it was for money how can one explain her cell phone being left out and she being stripped naked? The police already moved the body before we got to the scene and we haven’t seen her ever since. Doesn’t that indicate that something’s being hidden?
Quereshi: The hospital management has reacted saying that you wer…
Chattwal: I am not the kind of person who tries to gain publicity through cheap stunts, especially in situations like this. Do you understand that my daughter, my little kid whom I’ve guarded for 22 years is dead? “
Gosh. The man broke down. He cried like an ant bitten baby.
“Quereshi: What do you intend to do next?
Chattwal: The red… the Red Cross society have come up voluntarily to conduct a second morte… Sorry I can’t take…”
“Poulami, as you can see that the Chattwal family have decided to give the body of Suhasini Chattwal for a second post mortem to the Red Cross society. This time the…”


“Mr. Chattwal are you sure that you want to oversee the procedure?”
“Yes, I am”
“Do you have any history of any of these ailments? Epilepsy, heart disease”
“No”
“Please wear this surgical mask sir. I must warn you this might be a little uneasy for you to see and you can leave whenever you want to”
“Yes sir”
I was standing in a small dingy room waiting see my dear old Suhan ripped into a million pieces. God! Will she ever forgive me?
The lead doctor slowly took of the shroud. Suhan!
The stainless steel cadaver dissection table, shone coldly in the harsh white light. Small drops of blood dripped onto the table. The doctor expertly cut the shroud and threw away the linen into the stainless steel bin beside the table.
Right after that he let out a gasp.
“Mr. Chattwal, please come over here”
I went near the table, imagining the worst. Was Suhan decapitated?
“Is your daughter a genetic female?”
“What?”
“I asked you whether your daughter was a genetic female or not”
“What kind of a… Obviously”
“Well, I guess you’ve brought the wrong body here Mr. Chattwal. This is the body of a man, probably… middle aged.”


The liver stays alive for 24 hours even after death. The cornea of an eye can be transplanted before three or four hours after before the bacteria eats them up. The fat tissue in humans can be used to extract collagen, to give the old drooped boobs a facelift. For the acid attack victims, collagen is a boon under the dark. The tough hard muscle can be used for skin and muscle transplantations. A considerate amount of heparin has to be injected to prevent blood coagulation, the leading cause for the damage of valuable organs after death. The kidneys are removed and are removed in cold storage. Usually all this is done when the donor is brain dead and in the case of kidney’s its acceptable even if the recipient is cardiac dead. Ethics, who has them anyway? All of this worth over a million dollars, you sell it and you get it. Half day, the quickest way to make a million. Suhan was not dead when she was brought in here. We found a valuable asset and it’s the hospital’s policy of never let anything go waste.

 Tomorrow, Suhan will be another just another piece of biological waste that will hit the hospitals incinerator later tomorrow.
Right at this moment Suhan’s parents are performing the last rites to a man, probably not even known in his own family. A man who had the chance of having his last rites performed twice, just like an actor winning a double Oscar. Probably Suhan’s parents are weeping over a body, over which no one had previously cried, at least when dead. Resurrection. Maybe it was God himself, asking for recognition.
Sometimes when none of the organs match the profiles of recipient, the bodies are sold off in the local red light areas, to shanty sheds where necrophiliacs get their money’s worth. Sex sells even after death. I seriously doubt that the leading nurse for this floor gets her doses of passion this way some nights. Poor thing, stroking and kissing the dead when she could get a person who could die for her to do the same. Irony.

The human liver is peculiar, it can regenerate itself even if it’s severely damaged. This property is a boon. We can sell a liver to over two people for the same price. Money, don’t you agree those little pieces of paper can make a life complete?


“…In what can be seen as a shocking development, the managing director and the entire doctor team at the CDR hospitals is under extreme police interrogation after it has been found that the body of Suhasini Chattwal, the 22 year old post graduate student who was raped and killed two days ago was replaced by a four day old corpse. Investigation is on and early reports indicate a very high profile illegal organ trafficking being organized at the CDR hospitals with clients ranging from all over the world. Earlier today, when Dr. Sudeep Kishan stated in his postmortem report that the body was not Suhasini Chattwal’s. The angered relatives and supporters of the victim immediately attacked the hospital building which later was seized by the police. Investigation teams found several bodies and internal sources report that one body was definitely identified as Suhasini Chattwal’s. The Chief Minister has called up a quick meeting and has promised swift action against the accused. It’s to be noted that several complex organ transplantations were performed at the CDR over the past few years which arouses new doubts about the foundation of the racket. The police officials on the scene suspect various other middlemen and authorities in their own department for playing a role in the racket. This calls for a debate, as the topic for the day is ‘Should the authorities tighten their grip on the hospitals’? Tonight on the big show we have an emi…”

The fucked up slut still didn’t keep her mouth shut. Probably after a few months she’ll also be raped and her body be exchanged, with her soul living in a million other different bodies. And no one will suspect, especially with the attention spans we have.
“…the hospital paid a few criminals to bring in unsuspecting persons for organ transplants, in which they were first made Cardiac dead and then…”


A few months later:

By our Special Correspondent,
The Zeus hospital in the city has placed its name on the international medical map after the city Dr. Shaheed Kamal performing a herculean multiple organ transplant which lasted for over 56 hours successfully. The Nigerian minister who suffered a multiple organ failure earlier this week was brought to the city for treatment. Elated relatives thanked the 3rd party donor who dona…”
And I never saw the slutty news reporter again on TV.
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