The accused, Rahul, spent four earning the trust of the man who murdered his father. He was arrested following a shootout last week
This is the story of a man who couldn't forgive or forget.
Rahul Kumar was eight years old when his father, Satyabhan, was killed. He was shot dead by Jaiveer, his close friend.
A farmer by profession, Jaiveer was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. But in 2021, he walked out on bail and resumed living his life.
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What the 50-year-old didn't realise was that someone had not forgotten the events that took place 15 years ago.
Rahul played the long game -- he spent four years slowly gaining the trust of the man who had destroyed his family.
And then, earlier this month, the 24-year-old pulled the trigger.
At the crime scene, a hamlet in Uttar Pradesh's Shamli, no one is surprised by the turn of events.
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Nestled between UP and Haryana, Manglaura is a Jaat-dominated village with fewer than a hundred homes -- mostly pucca structures with open courtyards with a few kaccha houses scattered in between. Most families own a few acres of farmland and a pair of buffaloes tethered in their courtyards. The winding roads are dusty, growing narrower as they snake deeper into the village.
Jhanjhna police station, under whose jurisdiction Manglaura falls, is more than 20 km away.
As one approaches towards the village, on either side, the roads are lined with sugarcane fields that meet the horizon and the air smells faintly of gur (jaggery) -- Shamli, after all, is the sugar bowl of western UP.
The Yamuna bridge cuts through the village. On either end, two policemen sit under tin sheds, the outposts barely visible behind tall grass. It was near this bridge, police say, that Rahul alias Chhotu allegedly killed Jaiveer.
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In the evenings, men gather in their open verandahs, smoking chillums. In one such garage-like verandah, a group of men sat on plastic chairs and string cots. These were men from both families -- Rahul's uncles and cousins, and Jaiveer's younger brother Bir Sen were among them.
They pass the chillum in easy rhythm, their words laced with both regret and a strange sense of pride, as if violence was just part of village life here.
"We live barely a few houses apart," says Sanjeev Singh, Rahul's uncle, exhaling a plume of smoke. A middle-aged man with a thick white moustache and a neatly tied turban, Singh sits cross-legged in his all-white kurta and dhoti.
"When we heard Jaiveer was getting out of jail, his family came to us and said, 'If you want, we'll hand him over -- do whatever you think is right.' But we said no. What was done was done. He had served his jail term and we didn't want more blood."
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He pauses for a moment, adjusting the chillum. "We'd sit together, eat together, even help each other with farm work. It was like nothing had happened -- we had all decided to forget or at least we thought we had. We have now realised that Rahul never spoke much to Jaiveer."
He stops to take another drag from the chillum before passing it on.
Recalling the night Satyabhan was killed, he continues, "... They were both drunk. Jaiveer swung his pistol in his hands and asked Rahul's father if he should shoot. He thought it was a joke and said, 'Haan haan maar de (Go ahead, shoot me).' He actually fired. It was a drunk joke that turned into a killing. Rahul was just eight back then."
Nawab Singh, another relative, leans forward, the gamcha on his shoulder faded to an off-white colour, possibly from the dust, sweat and sun on the fields. "After his stint in jail, we believed Jaiveer had changed. He would quietly tend his fields. We had moved on because he was like a father to Rahul. But about a year ago, the past resurfaced. It started when Rahul's mother asked Bablu [their next-door neighbour] to return the money she had lent him; she needed it for her daughter's wedding."
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"They had grown up together. But Bablu had become a goon -- posting photos with guns on Facebook. When mami (aunt) asked for her money, he refused to give it back. It led to a fight between Rahul and Bablu. We even went to the police to help us resolve the issue, but nothing happened."
Nawab adds, "One night, Bablu jumped into our house from the back wall, firing shots in the air. He shouted -- 'tere baap ko jisne maara, usko toh dost banaye hue ho, mera kya bigaad logey (You've made friends with the one who killed your father -- what harm could you possibly do to me?)."
Shivam nods. "This became his routine. He would enter our house from the back entrance at night, fire a shot in the air and scream this every time -- 'You befriended your father's killer, and you think you can scare me?"
Inside the house, Rahul's sister makes tea. She listens from the kitchen, occasionally calling out a correction -- as though repeating an old family tale.
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When the tea arrives, the conversation circles back to Jaiveer's killing on October 4.
"It had to happen," says Nawab finally.
"After years of fighting, he [Rahul] did what he had to do. That morning, Rahul first left the house to work in the field, came back home and fed the buffaloes, took a bath, had his lunch, and then left again. We were later told he had shot Jaiveer -- on the same road where his father was killed. Three bullets. One went straight into the chest."
After nearly a week on the run, Rahul was arrested following a shootout with the Shamli Police on October 9. Officers say he was traced to the Singra forests, where he allegedly opened fire before being shot in the leg during retaliatory firing.
A Rs 25,000 reward had been announced for his arrest. Police claim Rahul admitted to killing Jaiveer to avenge his father's murder. "I have no regrets," he has told the investigators.
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Shamli SP Narendra Pratap Singh says the murder is rooted in an old enmity that began with a drunken quarrel. "Rahul's father and Jaiveer were close friends. Fifteen years ago, after drinking one night, they had a dispute. Jaiveer had a pistol and fired at him. Rahul was a child then."
Jaiveer was sentenced to life imprisonment, but was released on bail after serving about 11 years. "When he came back, both families lived peacefully," Singh says.
"People thought the matter was over and that Rahul was too young to remember. Jaiveer... resumed life as usual."
"But Rahul had grown up watching his widowed mother struggle," Singh adds. "He saw Jaiveer living freely and one day decided to take revenge. He bought a country-made pistol for Rs 1,500."
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On the afternoon of October 8, he says, Rahul waited for Jaiveer to return from the field. "When Jaiveer reached the same road where he had killed Rahul's father years ago, Rahul allegedly shot him dead. He told the police that he was waiting to kill Jaiveer for a long time...," said the officer.
In Western Uttar Pradesh, guns are not hard to find -- or make. SP Singh explains how country-made pistols continue to fuel violent crimes across the region.
"Ismai zyada paisa ya setup nahi lagta hai (It doesn't need a big setup). People make them locally -- in sugarcane fields or even inside homes. A five-by-five-foot space is enough. The parts needed are not hard to find -- pipes from large vehicles like Scorpios or jeeps, and a simple spring... all these things are easily available in the market."
Singh adds that most are built by local blacksmiths using scrap material bought from scrap dealers. "The entire setup costs maybe Rs 5,000-6,000. If the police come, they pack it up and vanish in minutes. Even if they abandon the tools, it doesn't matter. One gun costs about Rs 500 to make and sells for Rs 1,500 to Rs 2,000."
While the Station House Officer of the Jhanjhna police station who was initially investigating the case has since been transferred to another posting, officers who had accompanied him after the PCR call said that even in the immediate aftermath of Jaiveer's murder, the two families were seen sitting together.
"You wouldn't believe it -- even after the murder, the two families were sitting together, talking like nothing had happened. The entire village is desensitised to the killings," an officer says on condition of anonymity.
For the residents of Manglaura, the killing hasn't come as a shock. In this border village, such things are discussed as casually as crop prices or cattle rates.
As the residents say, "Yahaan bandook utni hi aam hai jitni bhains (guns are just as common as buffaloes)".