The platform at Howrah station is always loud. It crackles with the sound of steel, hurried footsteps, impatient whistles. But every so often, something moves within that noise. Something evil. On a cold November afternoon in 1933, a young heir passed through that tide. Surrounded by family, on his way home to a princely estate, he walked — as so many around him did. And like so many others, he might have forgotten the bump of a shoulder, the brush of a sleeve, the feeling of a moment too fast to register. Except he didn’t. Because that day, that brush, that fleeting second — it left behind something no one could see. Something that would turn a routine train journey into one of the most unbelievable true crime stories of pre independent India. This is the story of Amarendra Chandra Pandey.

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