The body.

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The body was found by the kids who had gone to fish in the creek.

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Its sprawled limbs were spread out, and the face was buried in the mud. The kids were from the slum, wise in the ways of the world.

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They knew the man was dead, murdered, and nothing of value could be there on him. But still, it was an opportunity, they went through his clothes and found nothing. They went back to their fishing.

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The sun rose up and the body lay there, it was now stinking a bit, the smell of rotting flesh.

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But the smell mingled with the other odors, of shit and piss, of drying fish, of the wood and coal cook fires, and the many smells of a Mumbai slum.

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The dogs found it next, hunger drove them and they ripped that rotten flesh. They squabbled over the choicest pieces and the noise brought Kalu, grumbling, there. He had a hangover and there were drummers in his head banging behind his head.

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“Bhenchod, kutte” he scowled and picked up a stone and saw the body. He squished through the mud, and the dogs ran. He turned over the body with his leg.

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The face was beaten to a pulp. There was a rag stuffed into the mouth. The body stank of death decay and fear.

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Kalu stood up, thought a bit, and informed Ganpat.

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Ganpat looked at the body, it was an opportunity for him to get his suspension revoked and back into active police duty. He smiled.

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When the police party came to investigate, Ganpat’s heart sank as he saw Inspector Gothaskar. 

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Gothaskar was in charge of the police station, a no-nonsense career officer. There was no way he would ever overlook Ganpat’s assault on sub-inspector Patil.

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He nodded to Ganpat and went to look at the body.

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Gothaskar sighed as he saw the body. Another gangland killing. This seemed to be a man in his late twenties. There were no obvious wounds that he could see.

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His support team went into action, they photographed the body, did a rather cursory check of the body and nearby area, and then loaded it on the body wagon wrapped in a piece of canvas.

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In was the nineteen eighties and Mumbai was rocked by gang wars. Every street had a gang, every colony seemed to be filled with young men out to kill and maim other young men.

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Gothoskar sighed, his thana was in Tilak Nagar, Chembur. It was a hotspot of the gang wars that covered the city with blood.

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Gothoskar took out his plastic container of cigarettes, he lit up and offered Ganpat one. Ganpat was shocked, Gothoskar never shared his cigarettes and maintained a distance from the constables.

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The inspector smiled, “I will not offer you one when you get back on duty, but now it is ok.”

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Ganpat took a cigarette and broke it in half. He carefully saved one half in his shirt cuff. He lit the other half, his face turned away from the Inspector. He smoked with his face turned away from Gothaskar as a mark of respect.

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They finished their smoke in silence. “I

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