WRITTEN by a crime fiction writer with 300 books in Hindi to his credit, this is a crime thriller with a 29-year-old detective, Sudhir Kohli, working in Delhi for clients “spread not only to the elite but also to mawalis and gangsters.” One day while he is fast asleep, he is rudely jolted out of his deep slumber by a wrestler named Habib Bakra, well known in Delhi’s underworld and who is working for a don named Lekhraj Madan and his younger brother, Mathur. He is accompanied by his second in command when they forcefully capture Sudhir Kohli and dump him in their car to take him to their boss.
On reaching their destination, Sudhir notices with awe the mansion belonging to Mathur and is surprised at the palatial structure fit only to be the abode of a king. Here he becomes philosophical and thinks that “money for a rich man has restricted value at a certain stage in life. Money’s only utility left is to make it an instrument for earning more money.”
The detective is suspicious of Mathur also as he could have been jealous of his young wife’s attention to Shashikant. Now there is a twist to the tale and the murderer turns out to be someone who is least possible to be suspected.
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