“Tell me where he is! Tell me, goddammit! Tell me!" , yelled the tall inspector. His hands, were holding the perspiring collar of the prisoner he was manhandling and shaking him like a rag doll. The prisoner in question was in fact the owner of this dilapidated house, if you could call it one. The house, like most of the ones in that locality, which was given especially to hopeless souls like this person and that lacked proper and adequate space to even keep two legs firmly on the ground, was made up of only one room, which was crudely parted into a make shift kitchen, a small gaddi arranged as a bed and a hall which took up most of the space in that small room. That place was badly maintained, with dirt, grime all over the floors, windows and the ceiling, all which were paired with the overflowing open drain outside. It gave a very intolerable odour to the room, making it all the more unbearable to stay for longer than a half hour, let alone live here. The inspector desperately wanted to leave the place for good, but the guy on the floor was the only solid lead in a while and he wasn’t going to let it go that easily. He roughed up the figure on the ground again and forced him to speak.
The prisoner meekly...