A Prologue

A chilly wind blew across Vincent Rajan’s face as the train came to a screeching halt at the Central Railway station. It was unusual at this time of the year, when the temperatures usually were indicative of the scorching sun. He looked around; the station was relatively calm, but filled with fast paced footsteps of the white men clad in greasy boots. Rajan could sense it had been raining in Madras, the city he grew up with.

The forensics expert missed the scent of home, and the Seiko on his right wrist reminded him of the years he was away from home, showing him the year that was 1918.

“It feels like a long slumber”, Rajan thought. He was walking towards the rear entrance of the Madras Central with his leather suitcase and a worn-out hat; complementing it wearing a white veshti that was five-folded with a green and gold border. As he moved his hand across his graying hair, he knew why he was here.