The Mysterious Death of Riya Oberoi

Death is certain when dark secrets are revealed.

I wasn't apprehensive at all. I always make my plans with the greatest of care. Murder is a serious business after all and you cannot be imprudent about it.


For Riya I had chosen Abrin.


Yes, Abrin – the deadliest of biotoxins. It’s even deadliest as compared to Arcin which is itself Six thousand times more lethal than cyanide. No antidote, No trace and no tell-tale symptoms. It was safe for the murder and certain death for the victim, stupid, unsuspecting Riya. 


When she visits me this weekend I will offer, her favorite chocolate specially prepared by me, mixed with Abrin powder, the yellowish-white color powdered poison would camouflage in the dark color chocolate, making it impossible to trace.


She would unsuspectingly consume the deadly sweet. And then, she would take the Rajdhani express to Delhi to attend her International conference on Fashion Designing.


On Sunday the Abrin would begin to act on her. 


First, she would develop vomiting and diarrhea that may become bloody. Severe dehydration may be the result, followed by low blood pressure, which is normal if someone consumes the too hygienic food from our train pantries. 


Most likely, the workaholic and careless that she was about her health and food habits, she’d pop in a pill of Flora-Q for diarrhea, feel okay, and continue working.


Suddenly late on Sunday night she’d be in distress – high fever, severe cough, vomiting, kidney failure and circulatory collapse.


By Monday morning Riya would be dead.


Of course there will be a post-mortem at some hospital in Delhi.


The Diagnosis: Food poisoning, leading to death, as failure to take proper treatment.


It was as simple as that. 


A precise threshold dose of Abrin was critical. 


An overdose would be disastrous – she’d probably drop dead on my doorstep. 


And an under-dose would be exercise in futility.


If I waited, it may be too late, before I could get such an opportunity again.


My wife Anita would return from her parent’s place on Thursday and life would be normal once again.


I cross-checked everything, there was no room for error. The work of perfectionist – everything would happen exactly as planned by me.


Riya’s chocolate was ready, specially prepared by me with a significant dose of Abrin, 50 micrograms to be precise. 


I put the chocolate in the plastic wrapper and placed it on the dinning table.


Suddenly a thought crossed my mind. Suppose she didn’t eat the chocolate?


No problem. I had plenty of back-ups my sleeve.


Abrin dissolved in tea or juice. Three days to certain death due to severe jaundice followed by irreparable cirrhosis of the liver.


Or maybe I’d give her a face tissue, to freshen up before she leaves. A lavender scented face tissue laced with Arcin powder Transdermal delivery through her rosy cheeks.


But that would be a last resort. Mitali had dropped dead even before the train reached Thane. The tabloids had said: “Massive Heart Attack” as the cause of death. Just imagine – that’s the state of forensics out here. You can get away with anything, even murder.


Mitali gone now only Riya remained.


Riya was the only surviving link to the dangerous skeleton I had kept safely locked up in the cupboard of my heart. She had been my best friend. Riya knew things about me that no one else did, not even my parents. We had spent lot of time with each other and had loads of memories to cherish.


I was young, handsome, and affluent and on top of it the college life, carefree, reckless, moments of indiscretion in the flush of youth that cost me dear. It had been easy to kill Mitali. No pangs of conscience she was a crude blackmailer. All that she ever wanted from me was my money.  


But with Riya, it was different. She had been my closest friend. Riya knew things about me that no one else did, not even my parents. It was Riya who had helped me out when Mitali had claimed she was pregnant with my child and threaten to make it public if I don't pay her a hefty amount to abort it and shut her mouth forever. To safeguard my Dad's political career that was the only option I was left with and had to succumb to her blackmailing.


After college was over, she suddenly disappeared to USA for higher studies and we lost contact, till she surprised me in the lobby of the Taj Hotel the other day, chocolate dangling from her lips. Riya looked vivacious, in tight jeans and a close-fitting T-shirt. We hugged.


“It’s been a long time,” she said.


“Ten years,” I said. “Let’s go home".


She looked around my luxurious flat on Bandra, and from the shelf, picked up the framed photograph of me and my wife.


“Your wife, she’s very beautiful.”


“Yes. Her name is Anita. She’s gone to her parent’s house for few days”


“Kids?” asked Riya.


“Yes a girl. She’s studying in III std now it’s a weekend so she has accompanied her mom too.”


“You are really lucky, Adi. You’ve got everything and I’m still struggling…” Riya paused for a moment, and suddenly smiled,


She talked about herself, her divorce, her success in the fashion industry and then she suddenly asked me, “Does she know?”


“Who?” I asked.


“Anita, your wife. Does she know?”
       
“What?” I asked with a bewildered look on my face.


“About you and Mitali?”


“No. Let’s have lunch” I said, trying to change the topic.


" Come on there’s no place for secrets between husband and wife, you should have told her everything. A relation stands on trust, don't worry when I meet her I will tell her in my own way. Don't worry she will understand, we all do mistakes in youth” Riya tried to convince me.


I shuddered to think what would happen if she told Anita everything about my past life that I had so carefully kept hidden. 


My world would come crashing down. The fairy-tale marriage, the “social triumph” the opulent lifestyle, the flourishing career, the perfect wife and my lovely daughter – everything would fall apart like a pack of cards. 


I could not allow Riya to meet my wife at any cost. She was too much of a blabbermouth. 


Before she left, Riya said, “Adi, I am dying to meet your pretty wife.”


“Not this time,” I said, “Anita is returning on Thursday.”


“No dear, I’ll meet her on my way back to the States. In fact, I’ll stay with you in your lovely house and we’ll all have a good time together, okay?” Riya said.


“Okay,” I replied.


Riya gave me a hug and walked to the door.


Suddenly she stopped at the door, turned around and said, “Have you meet Mitali recently?”


“No,” I replied, completely frozen. I recovered my composure quickly and said, “I lost contact with both you and Mitali ever since you left for America after college.”


“It’s funny,” Riya said, “I unexpectedly ran into Mitali at Sydney airport last year and she told me she was relocating back to Mumbai and that she would track you down”.


“Well, that’s good news but she didn’t” I said firmly.


“Strange! She’s just vanished, disappeared into thin air. Now we’ll have to track her down when I come back next week,” Riya said, as she left.


It was at that moment I decided to kill Riya.


Mitali was dead. Once Riya was dead, the ghosts of my past would never ever haunt me.


On Friday afternoon I took half a day off and hurried home from my office to get ready for the evening with Riya. 


I opened the door with the latch-key and was stunned to find Anita sitting on the sofa.


“Hi,” my wife said with a beautiful smile  “came home early?”


“What are you doing here?” I asked, “You were supposed to come back on Thursday”.


“I cut short my trip.”


“But you could have called me.”


“I took a last minute decision and everything was so uncertain and I thought I should surprise you”. Anita replied, looking a bit irritated, “Adi, I thought you would be happily surprised to see me.”


“Of course I am happy to see you dear. I’m sorry I was rude, but where is our sweet daughter by the way” I asked.


“She has gone to play with her friends as she was missing them a lot” Anita replied.


I sat on the sofa and it was only then that instinctively, my eyes went to dinning table and I saw the chocolate wrapper empty. It was same chocolate pack that I had spiked with Abrin.


An indescribable fear drilled into me.


“Who ate that chocolate?” I asked.


“I did,” Anita said.


“Oh, My God…” I barely managed to whisper.


“By the way, Adi, since when have you started making chocolates?” she asked.


“Not me, my friend. She forgot it here last evening,” I stammered.


“Friend?” she asked with suspicious look on her face.


“You don’t know her.” I replied


“Riya Oberoi? is it” she asked.


I felt as if I had been pole-axed. I stared dumbstruck at Anita.


“She rang up just before you came.”


“Who, Riya?” I asked somewhat astonished.


“Yes. She said she won’t be coming today. Something important has come up. But she said she would definitely come over on her way back next week.”


I felt a sense of relief. 


And then my mind became clear all of a sudden and I was panic stricken. 


Anita had eaten that chocolate but she did not look even a bit affected. 


Maybe the Abrin had yet not started taking effect. 


Oh. My God! The Abrin. No antidote. Irreversible. 


There was nothing I could do except watch my wife die in front of my eyes. 


It was terrible, unimaginable mental agony.


The day passed, Saturday, Sunday, and finally Monday. Anita did not die. In fact, she seemed healthier than ever. 


The Abrin hadn’t worked. I wondered what had gone wrong with my calculations according to which Anita should have been dead by now, but I was glad it didn’t work though.


As for Riya, I will have to think of something different. 


On Tuesday morning I opened the newspaper.


The news item on front page corner got my eyes. A small item: “Award winning internationally famous Fashion Designer Riya Oberoi (34) dies in Delhi. Fashion Industry shocked at sudden death. Post-mortem indicates Food poisoning, leading to death as failure to take proper treatment”.


My mind went into a tizzy. 


Anita eats the Abrin filled chocolate but Riya dies. 


Puzzling, isn’t it? 


Strange chilling thoughts start perambulating in my brain. 


I put a stop to my train of thoughts. 


It is best not to delve too much. 


Let bygones be bygones. 


It is time to forget the past and get on with my life.
________________________________________________________________________________

- Aditya Kasar (AK)







P.S:- The story is fictitious in nature and any resemblance to any person and place is purely coincidental and completely unintentional.