The Double Fork
“We are on our way, sir. But we can stop this anytime you want.”
Mr. Ambarish Mithra, Deputy Inspector General of the National Investigation Agency, said into his phone as he sat in the back seat of the SUV. He had taken charge of the investigation into the IPK party and its leader, Chitrasena Mallik, over alleged illegal funds received from international organizations.
On the other end, Mr. Brijesh Das, Director General of the National Investigation Agency, simply replied, “Yes.”
Ambarish let out a deep sigh.
“Ambarish.”
The voice that followed sent a shiver down his spine.
“Yes, Prime Minister Bheeshma,” he responded instinctively, straightening slightly.
“I am well aware of the consequences this will have on the upcoming elections,” Bheeshma said. “But we cannot delay this any longer. Before the election, we need to uncover who is behind everything that is happening and bring them to light.”
He paused briefly before continuing.
“We have already sent him two summons notices. He ignored them—and used them as a political weapon. That is why this arrest is necessary.”
“Yes, sir. I understand,” Ambarish replied.
He adjusted the collar of his plain blue formal shirt and slipped the phone into the pocket of his black trousers.
“How much longer?” he asked, turning to the officer seated beside him—a man in a white formal shirt and black pants.
“Ten more minutes, sir. We’ll reach Mr. Chitrasena’s office.”
Ambarish took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He turned his gaze toward the dim light of the early morning filtering through the window.
The SUV followed a police pilot vehicle carrying five officers of different ranks. Behind it, two armed combat SUVs moved in formation, carrying fifteen heavily armed personnel in suits. A white transport SUV followed, along with a backup black SUV bringing up the rear.
Ambarish tightened his grip on his knees.
“Everything is ready?” Chitrasena asked, seated behind his desk.
“Yes,” Rudraaj replied from the chair opposite him. “Reporters and cameramen from all major media outlets are set up outside, along with seventy-five of our party members.”
Chitrasena grinned.
“Five days. Don’t forget. By then, you must arrange my release from custody.”
Rudraaj nodded.
Outside, chants rose—loud and rhythmic—hailing the IPK party and its leader.
Chitrasena turned toward the window. SUVs rolled in.
“They’re here.”
Rudraaj stood and walked toward the door. “Do not forget the speech,” he said before stepping out.
Chitrasena took a deep breath, steadying himself. The chants grew louder.
Minutes later, the door opened.
Two men entered—one in a blue shirt, the other in white—followed by a videographer and three policemen.
“Ah, Mr. Ambarish,” Chitrasena said with a faint smirk. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Ambarish walked forward and took the seat opposite him, unfazed.
“Not going to ask for permission?” Chitrasena added, his tone sharpening.
“Mr. Chitrasena, we are here to arrest you on account of your failure to respond to our summons. Please come with us without creating any problems.”
Silence stretched.
“You—” Ambarish began.
“Okay. I will come,” Chitrasena interrupted calmly.
Ambarish’s brows drew together for a moment. Then he exhaled and stood.
“Good. SP?”
Two officers stepped forward.
Chitrasena rose. The group moved out—Ambarish leading, Chitrasena in the middle, flanked by officers.
At the entrance, Rudraaj stood with three party leaders. As they began to approach, Chitrasena raised a hand.
They stopped.
The doors opened.
Eight armed personnel formed a perimeter as they stepped outside.
The chants exploded.
“All hail IPK! All hail Chitrasena!”
The crowd surged forward, pushing against the security cordon. The officers pushed back, forcing a path through the mass.
Inside, the three leaders joined the swelling crowd. Rudraaj remained at the doorway, watching.
The convoy reached the gate.
Reporters and cameras swarmed.
“Mr. Chitrasena! How do you see this arrest?” a reporter shouted, thrusting a microphone forward.
Chitrasena steadied himself against the pressure of the crowd and spoke, his voice rising above the chaos.
“You already know what this is about. I don’t need to repeat it. Do not waver. Neither JPL nor Bheeshma can stop us.”
The crowd roared louder.
“We will take back our country. Whatever happens, remember—the power is in your hands, my fellow countrymen. Do not let this shake you. Whatever conspiracies they throw at us, we will turn the tide in a single day.”
He paused, eyes burning with intensity.
“On election day.”
A beat.
“Whether I am dead or alive… take back our country from them.”
At the entrance, Rudraaj’s gaze scanned the surroundings.
A faint voice crackled through the device in his ear.
“Now.”
His expression didn’t change.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
A gunshot split the air.
Chitrasena’s body jerked—then collapsed against the policeman beside him, blood spilling from his temple.
For a second, everything froze.
Then chaos erupted.
Ambarish lunged forward, catching him. “Get him to the hospital!” he shouted.
Officers rushed in, lifting Chitrasena and carrying him toward the SUV.
The crowd screamed, surging violently toward the vehicle. Security forces pushed back with full force, struggling to contain them.
Cameras shook. Reporters shouted. Sirens began to wail.
Chaos multiplied with every passing second.
At the doorway, Rudraaj turned away.
And walked back inside.
Prime Minister Residency, 7 Lok Kalyan Marg, New Delhi
Bheeshma watched the chaos unfold on live television, his eyes wide.
Across from him, Brijesh Das sat frozen, his mouth slightly open in shock.
“W… what is happening in our country?” he muttered, bringing a trembling hand to his mouth.
Bheeshma leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table, his palm pressed against his temple. For a moment, he said nothing.
Then—
He slammed his fist onto the table.
“Send more men. Now!” he shouted, turning sharply toward Brijesh.
Brijesh jolted to his feet, fumbling for his phone as he hurried out of the office.
Bheeshma stood still for a second, his chest rising and falling.
Then he turned and walked toward the window.
Outside, the world looked unchanged—calm, distant, indifferent.
Inside, everything was beginning to fracture.
He stared out, his expression hardening, thoughts racing beneath the surface.What is this clan?
(To be continued)
Karun G Nath 
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