The leaves of the ancient Banyan tree that canopied the I village oldies sitting below, shuddered and swished feebly, clutching on to the cold grey sky as smoke from endless puffs of weed drifted upwards, thickening in the dense air around them. Their heated discussion refused to die down. For days, it was on the brutal murder of a lady on Minerva III. Banka, the handyman, who worked in almost ten bungalows in the Minerva lanes of I, II and III, and who was always in and out of other houses on account of his multiple skills, was in the spotlight on these sundown gatherings.
He wore a supercilious expression as he sat with a pompous air amidst these simple mountain folks, recounting the oft repeated details of that fateful night. He tended to add a few juicy bits with each narration, basking in the glory of his importance. The locals pleaded with him to inform the police about the mystery woman since he was helping them by sharing his observations and revelations pertaining to all the suspects on their list. These local inhabitants believed that though the ghost woman, who walked on their street had killed and tasted blood before, this time she had done it with an open vengeance. They worried that now she would go on a frenzied killing spree. The villagers of Pindhauri were simple people, steeped in superstitions and they feared for their lives.
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