The moment Bhairav went missing, our home was no longer the same. What followed was a hurried, emotional search, driven more by instinct than by logic.
The moment I reached home and told the family that Bhairav was missing, the atmosphere changed completely.
Siddu was rushing to catch an educational tour scheduled for a couple of days. He was already late and had no choice but to leave, unable to join us in the search. That left Yashu and me to trace Bhairav.
We took our two-wheeler and went around the neighbourhood — every street, every corner we could think of — but without success.
Very soon, Yashu broke down.
He started crying uncontrollably and blamed me for being irresponsible. He warned me that I had to bring Bhairav back, otherwise he would never forgive me for the rest of his life. I had never seen him in such a state before.
His words pierced me deeply.
I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and cursed myself for my negligence. I was solely responsible for what had happened. Surprisingly, my wife — who had always kept a distance from Bhairav — also broke down. Her silence and tears said more than words ever could.
I gathered myself and assured everyone that I would bring Bhairav back, come what may.
With that resolve, Yashu and I set out again.
We searched every street within a five-kilometre radius, enquiring with passers-by, shopkeepers, and anyone who looked remotely helpful. There was no sign of Bhairav.
While returning, we noticed an elderly gentleman who sold vegetable juices and packed sprouts to morning walkers near a nearby park. He seemed to have been there every single morning.
We asked him if he had seen a small dog pass by.
To our relief, he had.
He told us that he had seen two boys carrying a small dog on a motorcycle. Something about the scene had struck him as odd, and he had even stopped them to enquire. The boys, visibly nervous, had claimed that the dog had been roaming unattended for two or three days and that they were taking it home to look after it.
The juice seller was not convinced.
Trusting his instinct, he had discreetly noted the motorcycle’s registration number on his palm.
That small act suddenly felt like a lifeline.
Though grateful, we were unsure whether the number was noted correctly. Still, it was the only tangible clue we had. We decided to approach the nearest police station, not to register a case, but simply to request help in identifying the address linked to the vehicle number.
The police station was buzzing with activity — people in groups, animated discussions, officers moving about. After waiting for a while, a constable approached us and asked about the matter. We requested to meet the Circle Inspector.
The CI listened patiently as we narrated the incident. Understanding our situation, he immediately instructed his assistant to help us trace the address linked to the registration number. Despite being busy with preparations for an upcoming visit by the Chief Minister, the officers showed compassion.
After some effort, the address was traced and given to us.
For the first time since Bhairav disappeared, we felt a sense of hope.
This is Part 2A of the Bhairav Stories series.
Next: Bhairav – The First Disappointment Stories series.