IPC Section 302

 

 

"Hi, I am Raksha Trivedi from the editorial team of the most popular magazine in India- Section 302. I am recruited for proofreading. Today is my first day at work, and I feel honoured to share the table with you all."

My brief introduction was followed by whispered greetings from my colleagues. I returned them, smiled, and walked towards the meeting hall exit. Before I could enter my cabin, a seemingly-uptight woman made me pause. She asked for all of my crucial documents, including my passport.

I had them ready in a folder. As I extended my hand for her to have a look at the contents of the folder, she grabbed it instead!

"Procedures demand these documents to be in the lockers with us. Can't help it," she said.

It wasn't particularly comforting to have my passport locked up at someplace I don't have access to while my visa was on the verge of expiring. But I didn't have much say here. I was well aware of the fact that Section 302 had strict and extreme policies. I was also very well aware of my financial condition. So come what may, I would have to dance to their tune and work by their terms as long as doing so paid my bills.

Just as the discomfort of not having my documents with me was beginning to fade away, the woman demanded I submit my cellphone.
Now that one was hard. But I gave in. I had to...

Section 302 was known for reporting every single murder in India first. Funny how none of their offices was even near India. Don't let that bit cloud your judgement though. Kid you not, the Section 302 team was so up-to-date and quick that on some occasions they had their articles published even before the cops were at it. Considering that level of speed and secrecy, of course, they would require certain precautionary measures from their employees.

After she was sure I meant no harm, the woman showed me my way to the cabin. It was grand. Perhaps the most spacious workplace I have seen yet.
The table seemed to be made of some extremely expensive wood. On top of it was sitting a proud Macintosh, angled right towards me. I leaned in to have a better look at the screen.

There were pages after pages of stories covered. Months' worth of old editions seemed to just not end even after continuous scrolling. After mindlessly scrolling for a while, I started looking for the editions yet to be reviewed. To my surprise, there were twelve of those...
So much work, I thought to myself.

A few minutes into the first magazine, I sensed something off. Which month was it, again? June. And what was the crime scene area? A Christmas celebration party hall. I scrolled up to see if it was from the previous year December. It wasn't.
 

Maybe they got the year wrong? Maybe this was the same as the one they published last year? Nope. I checked. It was unpublished.

How in the world did I miss it?
The dates.
All those editions I mindlessly scrolled through? They were not dated the current year. They were for one year HENCE. And they weren't empty templates either. They were full of lines after lines of blood-tainted stories- MURDERS, yet to happen...

I had always wondered how the reporters from Section 302 could muster the courage to interact with the accused. I admired how they somehow risked everything to get the stories out. But I was so, so wrong.

What would they ever have to fear when they are the ones others need to be protected from?

My first instinct was to call the cops but it came to me after I fumbled with my pockets that my phone was with them.
And so were all my important documents.
I decided to get out of the cabin and think through a plan later but the doors were all locked- from OUTSIDE. 

They had me.

And I sat back on the chair hopelessly, resigned, exhausted, helpless- having nothing to do except check the grammar of mishaps yet to happen...