T…T...T...T…T…T…T...T...T.T…T…..

“Tolstoy. Talkative. Taranath. Tantric. Teutonic turmoil. Tirish. Tritiyo. Trishul.

Tughlaq. Tarpaulin. Tere Naam. Terrabyte”

Officer Akshar’s lips fluttered like the wings of a butterfly; his tongue hitting the
teeth before rolling, flexing, doing somersaults and falling back on them once
more.

“Tobacco. Tears. Tectonic. Trouble. Taj. Tudor. Tumor. Tractor. Trisha. Trick.
Tale. Telling. Tandoor. Truck.”

It was silent in the dark alley beside the police station. Silence was what he needed.

“Tuberculosis. Temperament. Tencent. Trump. Terrifying. Tring tring. Tick tock.

Tick tock.

The words faded into thought as the bearded officer entered the alley. Akshar
noticed the cigarette burning his fingers. He dropped it, crushing it with his feet.

“Ki khobor?” asked the newcomer.

“Terrific,” Akshar replied, “Totally terrific.”
“Hmm. Shunlam aajker khobor ta. Dumdum e chase dili?”
Akshar nodded.
“Bhaari bhir okhane. Tokeh mere palalo shunlam?” said the newcomer, lighting a
cigarette.
“Tala diye. Temple e. Ogyaan hoye gechhilam tokhon e. Bokachodar naam tao
jene gechhilam. Ekhon mathay e aashchhe na.”
“Taayi bhaabi, tokhon theke konay dariye pitir-pitir kore jachhish.”
Akshar shrugged, “Bhetore ki concentrate kora jay? Ei FIR, oi arrest. Paperwork
er toh naam nish na. Ei serial killer der jaat taayi kharap. Lokeder toh maarbe e,
tar upor chaar din er paperwork lekho aabar enar jonnyo.”
The bearded officer burst out laughing, “Thik, bhai. Thik thik. Bokachodar dol
showb.”

Then, there was silence.

Then. There. Therefore. Tam al’Thor. Trakand.

“‘T’ diye naam chhilo lok tar,” Akshar muttered.

“Pardon?” said the other officer, breathing in the last bit of smoke his cigarette had
to offer.

Akshar shook his head, “Kichhu na.” He was getting close. He could feel it.

Telepathy. Telekinesis. Tendon. Terrorist. Taliban. Tanker. Tamarind.

“Hmm. Aami bhetore gelam ebar. Bhaabchhi aaj station ei raat katabo. Tui o
beshikhon baire thakish na eka,” said the bearded officer, gingerly, “Shomoy ta
bhalo na.”

Akshar, however, didn’t listen to his colleague’s words. Akshar didn’t see him
slowly walk away, his hands nervously fingering the gun attached to his belt.
Akshar felt like an eagle, circling in on its prey.

Tesephone. Tease. Teat. Tit. Tit-tat. Tit. Tat. Tit. Tat. Tit…
“…TATHAGATA TALUKDAR!”

The bearded officer stopped, and slowly turned around. A wide grin crept over his
face. His blank eyes betrayed no emotion.
“Ki re? Ei naam diye toh dakish na aamakeh,” said Officer Talukdar, his hand still
resting on his gun.

The air filled with smoke.

Maybe from the cigarette.
Maybe not from that.

***

“LETTERMAN” STRIKES AGAIN: 19th August, 2021.

The notorious serial killer popularly known as the “Letterman” claimed their
twentieth victim last night. Police constable Tathagata Talukdar’s dead body
was found by a fruit seller in a lake near Dumdum police station early this
morning. Preliminary reports have all but confirmed that this is the work of the
aforementioned serial killer. “The stab wounds are from the same weapon,”
commented Mr. Shukla, the forensic expert on site, “Furthermore, the name of
the victim also leaves no doubt that this is the work of Letterman.” This serial
killer has raised pandemonium in the streets of Kolkata, murdering people in
“alphabetical order”. The last victim of the killer was twenty-seven year old
teacher Sanchayita Sarkar. (contd. on pg. 2)
Akshar’s hands crumpled the newspaper. He had already read the FIR report
thrice. Tears threatened to break from his eyes as he looked upon the empty desk
formerly occupied by Tulka-da. He remembered talking to him just last night in
the alley beside the station. Only, he had forgotten what they talked about.

Well, not completely.

He remembered Taluk-da telling him – The fucker’s name starts with ‘U’.

Words flooded into his mind.

Underground. Underneath. Understand. Underpants. Undercurrent. Underoos.

Unstable. Usable. Ukelele. Utopia.