Syed Nissar H Gilani
The morning began with a sense of profound serenity. I had just returned from my daily walk, a ritual I observed religiously immediately after the Fajr prayers. The sun was ascending, casting a brilliant gold over the landscape, and the rhythmic waves of the majestic river nearby stirred a deep sense of contentment within me.
At my official residence, Lassa—the ever-agile peon who was a fixture of my daily life—was waiting as usual. He had breakfast ready, but I maintained my strict habit of a refreshing shower first. Once refreshed, I sat down to a breakfast of handmade parathas and fresh milky tea, prepared by the loyal Ghulam Rasool, whom we all affectionately called Lassa.
By 9:30 AM, I had already made significant headway into my pending office work, replying to official correspondence before I was due at the main office. Perhaps it was because the paperwork was lighter than usual that morning, but an uncharacteristic drowsiness overtook me. I decided to lie down for a brief nap.
I had been asleep for no more than twenty minutes when I felt a gentle, persistent touch on my shoulder. It was Lassa. His voice was hushed but urgent: “Sir, wake up. There is an urgent message from a village chowkidar.” The news he delivered shattered the morning’s peace. A gruesome discovery had been made in a nearby village. The chopped remains of an unknown person had been found stuffed into a large gunny bag, left callously at the doorstep of one of the village’s most respected residents.
The gravity of the situation took hold instantly. This was a “blind murder”—a case with no immediate witnesses—occurring just two or three kilometers from the police station. My official residence and that of the SHO, Mr. Sarwar, shared a common brick wall, joined by a small gate we used for frequent consultations. I immediately tried to reach him, but he was away on leave. His second-in-command, Sub-Inspector Anwar, responded and I ordered him to proceed to the site immediately.
Later, a wireless message confirmed the nightmare: the body of a young man, brutally dismembered, had been recovered. The victim was later identified as X, a robust man of thirty-five who had been missing for seventeen days. A specialized canine squad was summoned, and after a five-hour wait, the investigation began in earnest.
To ensure order, we requested the assistance of Mr. Joseph of the 126 Battalion CRPF. About two dozen men were lined up in a queue, awaiting the “judgment” of the sniffer dogs. From the interior of a jeep, we watched as the dogs were unleashed. Within forty minutes, they signaled out seven or eight individuals.
Under the weight of intense interrogation, the ice finally broke, revealing a story of a “heroine-like” beauty we shall call Marie. Married to a simple, hardworking soldier stationed in the far reaches of the country, Marie had been living a double life. Her heart belonged to X, a man possessed by an obsessive love—a true Junoon.
The catalyst for the tragedy was a night when the husband arrived home unannounced, surprising the lovers. The following day, consumed by jealousy, X (the Majnoon) pressured Marie to kill her husband. She seemingly agreed, but the trap was actually set for him. When X climbed through her window that night to commit the deed, Marie—struck by the sudden realization of her husband’s innocence and goodness—chose to protect her spouse. She swung a heavy axe, killing her lover instantly.
Together with her husband, who became an accomplice in the aftermath, they hid the remains beneath a fireplace. When the smell became unbearable a week later, they unearthed the bag and dumped it in a wetland. Stray dogs eventually dragged the bag to the doorstep where it was found.
My role in this harrowing case was strictly defined by my administrative boundaries. As the Executive Magistrate, I exercised my powers to grant a six-day police remand to allow for the collection of evidence. Once the suspects were formally charged, the matter passed to the competent courts. Marie and her husband were both sentenced to life imprisonment. They served their full terms, paying their debt for that dark night in 1986. Today, they live a quiet post-prison life, leaving behind a story where love, guilt, and Junoon collided with devastating consequences.
The author is a former civil servant from the administrative services.
Email nisargilani57748@gmail.com
Syed Nissar H. Gilani is a former civil servant from the administrative service and can be reached at nisargilani57748@gmail.com
