Chapter 8: The Confession

At first, Ramdas wasn’t certain Mr. Suresh was the perpetrator. He just wanted to ask this old relative to clarify things. After all, he had entrusted Anjali to his care.

Ramdas had trusted Mr. Suresh as family. When he knocked on the door of the school staff quarters, he still hoped to hear a denial, a comforting lie, anything but the truth.

When Ramdas found Mr. Suresh in the school staff quarters, Mr. Suresh expressed deep condolences and repeatedly apologised for not taking better care of Anjali.

Mr. Suresh put on a show—offered tea, shook his head in sorrow. "Bahut bura hua, kaka. Maine bhi koshish ki thi dekhnay ki."

But Ramdas didn’t blame him. He only wanted to know who had assaulted Anjali. Mr. Suresh, of course, claimed ignorance.

Ramdas, ever patient, asked again and again. "Bas sach bol do, beta. Ghar ka mamla hai. Mujhe toh bas sach chahiye."

But then, something strange happened.

Mr. Suresh’s hands began to tremble. His words grew sharper, his eyes darting nervously.

Under Ramdas’s persistent questioning, Mr. Suresh actually offered him a large sum of money, hoping he would let the matter drop and live well.

Ramdas folded his hands in supplication, voice trembling: "Sach bol do, beta. Meri poti ki kasam."

He pulled out a wad of notes—more than a schoolteacher should ever have. "Le lo, kaka. Chhodo yeh sab. Zindagi sambhal lo."

Ramdas sensed something was wrong and kept pressing.

Ramdas refused, saying, "Meri poti ke saath kya hua, woh batao. Paisa nahi chahiye."

Mr. Suresh gradually lost patience. Seeing Ramdas wouldn’t back down, he tried to drive him away. The argument escalated to a physical fight. Mr. Suresh, being younger and stronger, quickly gained the upper hand.

Suresh’s mask slipped. He grabbed Ramdas by the collar, shoving him against the wall, shouting threats that echoed down the empty corridor.

After knocking Ramdas down, Mr. Suresh flew into a rage, cursing him, and in his outburst, blurted out a shocking admission.

His words spilled out, venomous and cold: "Sab kiya hai maine. Kya kar lega tu?"

He said the three girls were all assaulted by him.

Ramdas, stunned, repeated the words to us: "Teenon ke saath kiya hai. Kya ukhad lega tu, buddhe?"

According to Ramdas, Mr. Suresh’s exact words were:

“I did them all. So what? Old man. I offer you money and you won’t take it—do I owe you anything?”

It was more than a confession—it was an act of defiance, as if he believed himself untouchable. The sense of impunity was chilling.

Hearing this, I was stunned.

The thana fell silent as I finished Ramdas’s statement. Even the constables, hardened by years of petty crimes and drunken brawls, were shaken.

This case had caused such an uproar. Any normal person would never say something so reckless.

Kunal muttered, "Pagal hai kya yeh aadmi? Ya fir kuch aur hai?"

Either he was out of his mind, or he was no ordinary person.

Only someone protected by power or madness could speak so brazenly.

We comforted Ramdas, told him to wait for news at home, and immediately rushed to the school to find Mr. Suresh.

We wrapped Ramdas in a shawl, promised him justice, and left for the school. My fists clenched as we drove—the urge to punish, to avenge, stronger than any professional restraint.

Because if what Ramdas said was true, then something was very wrong.

Something evil had taken root here, and it was more deeply entrenched than we’d imagined.

Why would he provoke and attack Ramdas with such dangerous words? It served him no purpose at all.

It was the question we couldn’t shake off. Was it arrogance, madness, or the assurance of protection from above?

And why did he offer compensation? Even if the school had such a plan, it shouldn’t be raised privately like this.

It was not the act of a man who feared the law. It was the act of someone who believed in his own impunity.

What we found at the school shocked me more than anything I’d encountered in all my years as a police officer.

As we approached the staff quarters, we noticed men in crisp white shirts—outsiders, not local teachers—huddled together, talking in hushed tones. The air was heavy with tension, as if something unspeakable hovered just out of sight. Kunal gripped my arm, and for a moment, I wondered if we’d ever be allowed to uncover the full extent of the truth. But as we stepped into the staff quarters, a door slammed shut upstairs—followed by hurried footsteps and the unmistakable click of a lock.