Continue the death story? Part 2

Part 😢2

I had already given my statement, but several questions still lingered in my mind. One question in particular kept nagging me: "Sadria, a 7-year-old girl, how did she end up alone outside on the charpoy in the freezing cold?" I tried to ask the girl's mother, but she was a Pashto speaker and didn't understand Urdu or Punjabi. Her eyes were filled with fear, and her face showed simplicity and helplessness. I asked her husband to translate: "Where did you put your daughter to sleep? Is it possible that she went outside on her own?" The mother looked silently at her husband, who translated: "My wife says she put Sadria to sleep with the other children in the room. When everyone fell asleep, she also went to sleep. After that, she doesn't know how the girl went outside."

The doctor's hesitation, the mother's cluelessness, and the father's indifferent attitude - all combined to turn a straightforward death into a mysterious one, where the truth was still hidden behind the curtain. The emergency ward was silent, with only the lifeless body of the innocent girl, a helpless mother, and a father whose eyes pleaded for something.

The father, a Pashto-speaking man, hesitated and said, "Sir, please let us take the body. We need to take it to our village. The community is waiting, and we're running late." His words were coming out of his mouth, but my mind was filled with questions. I stood there, frozen, feeling the cold seeping into my bones.

Was it really a natural death? Should I just follow the procedure or dig deeper to find the truth? The lady doctor's hesitation still echoed in my mind: "I examined the child... nothing seems apparent, but if you want, we can perform an autopsy." This wasn't a routine suggestion; it was a hint, a signal that only an investigative officer could sense.

Now, I had two options: hand over the body to the family and close the case or push for an autopsy to uncover the truth, despite potential opposition. There was tension all around - the Pashto-speaking father's impatience, the doctor's cautious silence, and my growing unease. Time seemed to stand still in the cold atmosphere of the room, but my mind had already made a decision.

"I will perform an autopsy," I said firmly. This decision was the result of a battle within me, demanding action. I immediately called SHO Thana Chklala, but he didn't answer. Then, I contacted the in-charge of the police chowki, who responded with a lukewarm attitude: "Sir, if the parents and doctor say nothing happened, why are you getting involved? Hand over the body and let them go. Why bother?"

I took a deep breath, and my doubts disappeared. I responded firmly: "Sir, I've made up my mind. This case isn't simple. I'll perform an autopsy, no matter what anyone says. It's my duty and responsibility, and I'll see it through to the end."

There was a moment of silence on the phone, and then the call dropped. But my resolve had grown stronger. I stood there, lost in thought, in the hospital's emergency ward. On one side were the parents, persistently requesting: "Please, sir, let us go... we need to take the body to our village... the community is waiting..." On the other side was my conscience, repeatedly asking: "This isn't a natural death. Something is being hidden."

In this state of conflict, a stranger approached me quietly, as if carrying a secret. He had been standing in the corner of the hospital and whispered: "Sir, I work with the girl's father... I'm a garbage collector. When he brought the girl to the hospital, I accompanied him for help." I nodded, and he leaned in closer: "When the doctors examined the girl, they were discussing something among themselves. I was at a distance, but it seemed like they said: 'The girl has been raped...'"

This one whisper turned my suspicion into certainty. A fire ignited within me. I looked up quickly - the father and mother were still pleading: "Please, sir, let us go... it was just the cold... our daughter... we need to take her to the village..." This time, I had to adopt a firmer tone. I approached the father and said clearly: "Be quiet! I'll hand over the body only after a thorough investigation." He fell silent, looking down and stepping back. The mother started crying, but I had made up my mind.

When my suspicion turned into a strong conviction, I decided not to delay further. I immediately sent a message to the homicide unit of Thana Chklala through the chowki's clerk: "Suspicious death of an innocent girl - urgent investigation team required." Meanwhile, I arranged for a 1122 ambulance to take the body to Civil Hospital Rawalp