"I'm sorry, Crunchy, I forgot that!" the young detective justified, driving his Benz.

"Meaaooow!" Crunchy argued angrily.

"I'm again sorry for forgetting your Birthday," the young man said. "Do you really think we're not going to have a party? C'mon, you're my only brother!"

"Mew!" Crunchy rolled his eyes.

This wasn't the first time when the young man had forgotten Crunchy's birthday.

"Okay," the man parked the car in front of a café and leaned back towards Crunchy. "So, cat–food?"

"Weaow!" Crunchy demanded.

"What?" the man shouted as when he translated Crunchy's words in his head, he found that Crunchy had asked for vegetarian food! "Where on Earth are cats vegetarian? Weirdo!"

Soon, the man realised what his little Crunchy wanted. 

"Okay," the young detective said. "So you want dog–food."

Before the young Indian could open the door of his Benz, his phone vibrated. It was a call from an unknown number.

He picked it up. "Hello?"

"Is this Private Detective Ritesh Dhawan?" an old raspy voice cracked through his phone.

The young detective hesitated for a moment. "Who's this?"

"You know me", the voice replied.

Agent Dhawan focused his eyes on his phone screen. He was not familiar with the number flashing on the screen. 'How the hell do I know you?' he thought.

"I'm sorry, may I know your address?" he said, politely. He thought it would be someone from RAW, NSA or any other such agency.

"The first Bungalow near Connaught Place", the voice answered.

Dhawan's eyes widened. He understood who the caller was. He had met her several times. She was a popular American Sanskrit scholar currently living in India.

"Mrs Annabelle Broom?" Agent Dhawan inhaled.

"You better take this case solemnly, detective," she sounded playfully urgent. "The dead shall sing the ballad of the broken shell..." And then, she hung up.

Dhawan turned back to Crunchy who was waiting for his response. "I'm sorry, Crunchy. I was wrong. We've more work for the day."

Crunchy frowned.

'The first bungalow near Connaught place,' the young agent mused as he walked closer to the bungalow in front of him, 'I know this place very well.'

He pushed the calling–bell of the bungalow. The bungalow was in a rich condition - yellow painted three floors and a balcony on each floor, and the glass windows were beautifully framed with wood. The door was twice the height of the young detective.

A weak old woman opened the door. Her skin was very much white and she looked pale. Her hair was turning grey. She had blue eyes which could barely see anymore, but her vision was strong enough to see a bald man and a white furred cat beside him.

"Who are you?" the woman asked.

Dhawan was surprised that she didn't recognise him. However, he could easily recognise who she was. A moment later, he realised why she didn't recognise him. He pulled out a water–bottle from his backpack, opened its cap and showered its water on his head. The thick skin coloured paste which he had painted on his hair washed down with the water and  jet–black hair was again visible on his head now. His jacket soaked with water. Crunchy had already jumped away from him to save himself from the water fall.

"Oh, agent, it is you," Mrs Broom apologised, "I'm sorry, I didn't recognise you."

"It's okay", Agent Dhawan said, trying to rinse off the water from his head using his hands. Mrs Broom was not impressed with his behaviour and looked at him sternly. Then only did Broom's eyes fall on the white furred cat beside the agent with more attention.

"Don't let it in," she pointed towards Crunchy. "I'm afraid of cats."

The young agent whirled back and saw a few street dogs on the road in front of the bungalow. "And he's afraid of dogs."

Crunchy gazed up at Broom with big innocent eyes and nodded.

"Okay, but keep it away from me", Broom said.

They entered the bungalow. The house was well maintained from inside too. Broom took them into a blue walled room. They seated around a circular table.

"Tea?" Broom had asked before sitting.

"No, thank you," Dhawan said. "So, what's the case?" he asked.

Sanskrit scholar Annabelle Broom placed eight postcard sized photographs on the table.

"Do you recognise them?" Broom asked.

The young detective studied the photos for a few seconds, and then turned back to Broom. "I do recognise a few, but not all of them."

"Okay," Broom leaned little closer, "then I must introduce these to you."

Broom kept her pale ring–finger on one of the photographs. It was the photo of an old man around his seventies. The man was wrinkled all over his face and had weak bones. His eyes were opened wide, other than that no expression on his face could be easily detected.

"His name is James Grunt", Broom told Dhawan.

Then she moved her finger towards another photo. It showed an old man too. This man had south Asian features. He was brown skinned and had weak bones too. He was smiling, looking straight at the camera. His black eyes had a unique glow because of the flash–light of the camera.

"This man is Manav Dutt", Broom said.

The next photo showed an old English man. It showed Professor Christopher Frost.

"This is Christopher Frost. Also known as Chris Frost", Broom told him.

She pointed towards the next photo which showed a weak old woman with a tight bun on the back of her head. The old woman had freckles above her nose and on her cheeks.

"Luna Cluster, her name is", Broom said.

The next photo was of an Indian woman. She was old too. Her white hair and wrinkled skin were enough to say that.

"She's Karishma Shekhawat", Broom said.

The next photo was of an African–American man. He was bald and had weak bones. He was old too.

"Todd Lamb, his name is", Broom told him.

"And this one is Manchester Fury", Broom pointed towards another photo which showed a white coloured old fellow.

The last photo was of Sanskrit scholar Annabelle Broom herself.

"Do you find anything similar in them?" Broom asked.

"Mow Mew Maw!" Crunchy mewed.

"What's he saying?" Broom asked.

"He's saying that these all are Sanskrit scholars who were taught by the same teacher", the young Indian told her.

"Correct", Broom said.

Crunchy exhaled proudly.

"Do you watch news?" Broom asked.

"Not regularly", Dhawan replied.

"Then I should inform you about this," Broom collected the photos of James Grunt, Manchester Fury, Karishma Shekhawat, Christopher Frost and Manav Dutt, and pushed them towards Agent Dhawan. "They've been murdered, just a few days ago."

The young detective examined the photos. "What do you want to say?"

"I want to say that all the students of Guru Bhaskar are being murdered, one-by-one. Only three of them are left now", she told him.

"You're saying that you all are taught Sanskrit by a single teacher, and this is the reason you all are being murdered?" Dhawan asked.

"Yes," Broom told him, "and not only this, we've stones."

Dhawan eyed her. Stones? He didn't expect that to be the case. He tried to create a flow–chart in his mind. Sanskrit scholars...being murdered....five died...three left...same teacher...stones?

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Get out!" Broom boomed, widening her eyes.

'Is she mad?' Dhawan thought and crossed his eye–brows, 'What the hell is happening?'

"Pardon?" 

"You should go now," she whirled her eyes around her. "Someone may be hearing us."

"Okay," the young detective stood up, "then you can tell me everything on phone."

"Switch your phone off," Broom demanded. "Someone may be tracing your phone."

Dhawan did so. He thought frowning, 'Her case, her rules.'

"So, how would we contact?" he asked.

"Come to meet me tomorrow morning, between eleven and twelve."