Charles Sobhraj: Inside the Heart of the Bikini Killer by Raamesh Koirala | Prologue

In 2003, there were nearly 190 countries in the world. Only one country had active cases of murder against Charles Sobhraj. He was free; he was a celebrity. He was believed to be making a
hefty sum of money from interviews and photo sessions. Why on earth did he come to Nepal to find himself behind bars? I was a doctor trying to fix his ailing heart.

But I was consumed by the question.
I had to find the answer.

Prologue

‘Sir, I will make the skin incision.’
‘And I will cut his sternum.’
The two young doctors—Subita and Ansu—rattled off their wish-list in a single breath. It seemed like a pledge. Or a demand. I cannot say what exactly it was. I was used to seeing these young doctors giggling and gossiping every day, always as cheerful and excitable as schoolgirls. Their conversations usually
seemed merry, far away from thoughts of dusty Kathmandu or its political system. Neither of them had even bothered to register their names in the voter list for the recent local election.
And yet, all of a sudden, they were making demands like these. No giggles. No smiles. Just a final, unchangeable decision.
They looked at me with solemn faces, determination writ large in their eyes. After a moment’s consideration, I nodded, and pretended to get back to my papers. From the corner of
my eyes, I could see their excitement—the excitement to cut open Charles Sobhraj’s chest.
Subita and Ansu had been working at the hospital for a year. They had made up their minds to resign before something happened to change the course of their lives. It wasn’t unusual in the medical community for young doctors to take time off for postgraduate entrance examinations. But both of them had postponed their plans for one reason—to witness the surgery
that would fix Charles Sobhraj’s heart.
Now, not only were they getting a chance to witness the surgery but they would be an integral part of it. They would see his heart beating, almost human and yet not quite. I was beginning to understand their excitement.

*

‘Hey! Did you know I am repairing Charles Sobhraj’s valves?’ I was back home and called out to Poonam, my wife. She was in the kitchen, marinating a chicken for dinner.
Poonam is a doctor herself and is always very interested to hear about the cases I pursue. But today, she did not answer. Perhaps she hadn’t heard me.
‘I am fixing Charles Sobhraj’s heart,’ I repeated.
She turned around to look at me. There was no excitement on her face, no happiness for the challenging case her husband had been entrusted with. It was most unusual.
‘Okay,’ she said.
It dawned upon me at that moment—the reason for her
cold, almost scared response.
Poonam’s father had been a junior police officer at Tihar Jail in India—the jail from where Charles Sobhraj had escaped several years ago. Although Poonam had then been a little girl, she had watched her father fret every night, consumed by anxiety and unable to sleep. And now her husband was talking about
the same notorious man—Charles Sobhraj.

My wife spent the next couple of hours locked up in her room. From the sound coming through the door, I could guess what she was up to. She was watching YouTube documentaries on Charles. She wanted to find out all she could about the con man, the cold-blooded murderer who had brought untold
trauma to her father and had now sprung up in her husband’s life. During dinner that night, I tried to read her emotions. It was a quiet and tense meal; Poonam’s mobile phone was lying next to her plate, overheated from streaming one video after another. I could still see a film by National Geographic on the
screen, paused midway.
My wife met my eyes, voicing a question I had no idea how to answer.
‘Does he even have a heart?’

Get the book here.