🔪 1965: A Murder in the Mist

 In the winter of 1965, Ghaziabad was a sleepy railway town, fringed by sugarcane fields and colonial-era bungalows. There were no high-rises, no traffic jams—just the shrill whistle of passing trains and the scent of wood smoke in the air. It was in this quiet backdrop that a brutal murder shook the town’s peace and became a tale whispered for decades.

On the morning of January 12, 1965, the body of Advocate Harish Bhatnagar was found in his study in Kavi Nagar. He had been stabbed clean through the heart with a silver-handled dagger—an heirloom from his grandfather's time in the British Indian Army. Nothing had been stolen. The windows were locked from the inside. The servant, Ramdeen, found the body while bringing in his morning cup of chai.

The case fell to Inspector Abdul Karim, a chain-smoking veteran of the Uttar Pradesh Police, who had spent the last ten years chasing smugglers along the Delhi–Saharanpur rail route. Karim knew one thing immediately—this wasn’t a robbery gone wrong. This was personal.

Bhatnagar was a respected man, but not beloved. He had represented local zamindars in land disputes, evicted tenants, and crushed labor strikes. His own daughter, Meena, had eloped two years prior and hadn’t spoken to him since. His younger brother, Shyam, lived in the same haveli but claimed to have been asleep the whole night. The only outsider seen that night was a telegram delivery boy—who left a message at 8:30 PM and never returned.

Then came the strangest clue: the ticking of a pocket watch. Found under Bhatnagar's chair, it was set exactly 15 minutes fast. Karim recognized it—it belonged to Dr. Vijay Saxena, a former friend of Bhatnagar and once a suitor to Meena. A man who had disappeared from town months ago after a public argument with the advocate.

Karim began to dig. He took the 9:05 steam train to Meerut, where Saxena’s cousin revealed a bitter truth—Bhatnagar had destroyed Saxena's career by falsely accusing him of medical negligence in court. He had lost his license and livelihood.

Three days later, Saxena was found hiding in a railway warehouse near Ghaziabad Junction. Under questioning, he broke. “He took everything from me,” he said, eyes hollow. “I didn’t plan to kill him… but when I saw the dagger on the shelf… it felt like justice.”

The town watched as Saxena was led away in chains. Some said he was mad. Others, that he was a hero. But for Inspector Karim, it was just another reminder that even in a town as quiet as Ghaziabad, murder could bloom like smoke from a dying fire—silent, swift, and unforgettable.

And so the fog rolled in again. Trains came and went. But the memory of that winter night in 1965 still hangs in the air, like the ticking of a broken watch.