Insaan
Chapter 1
Bali: The Sacrafice
Mr. Aritra Bose stood in a large room. It was dim, almost dark and the place smelled profusely of
incense and flowers. There was a night light that burned at the end of the room dimly illuminating a
statue that stood below it. Aritra’s bare body glistened as he stood there sweating in that hot room.
The silence was suddenly interrupted by the approaching footsteps. A man entered the room with
his head bowed and walked towards Aritra.
“Lakhan pakda gaya , Babu.” Said the man in a jubilant whisper.
Aritra’s body stiffened and a fanatical glint crossed his eyes. He was not happy nor excited. His face
showed a purposeful resolve. He walked slowly towards a stone sacrificial table a good ten feet in
front of the statue. The table was crude with no ornamentation, just a plain black slab of stone
splashed with smudges of dried blood. He stood in front of the table, joined his hands and bowed his
head in reverence before the huge decorated statue of the Goddess Kali.
Finally. My men have caught the man with the information, he thought. Maa Kali is generous, he
thought.
The door of the room opened once more and two men entered the room dragging a tied Lakhan.
They brought him to the sacrificial table and slammed him on his back.
Aritra did not take notice of Lakhan being brought in. He was looking in the face of the Goddess Kali,
praying that Lakhan had the information he so desperately wanted.
“ 4 saal se sukha para hai, 4 saal se.
Mone hoye, Maa rege royche. Ab Maa ko kush to karna hoga, aur Meri Maa ko kush karne ke liye
mujhe pata hai kya karna hai.” Aritra for the first time set his eyes on Lakhan.
Lakhan was sweating. There were bruise marks on his chest and hands. He was bleeding from his lip
and also sported a black eye. It looked like he had been beaten by Aritra’s men. He was gagged and
his utterances was muffled.
Aritra suddenly stooped down and grabbed Lakhan by his hair. He picked up an axe which was
leaning on the sacrificial table.
“Tui Jaanish ota ki? Pata hai?” he said with a guttural scream with the blade of the axe close to
Lakhan’s cheek. “Bali.” He laughed. “Kehte hai bali jab bhi do, humesha dil se deni chahiye. Aur tu
unme se hai, jisne mujhe mere dil se door kiya hai, to aaj tere Dil se hi mai, Maa ke dil tak
pahuchunga. ”
Lakhan was scared and sweating. His eyes searched in the room for a savior, a hero who would
vanquish this evil and set him free. His chest rose and fell rapidly. He tried to jerk his hands and feet
free but the knots on the ropes were secure.
He ungagged Lakhan and Lakhan looked into his eyes. Aritra was looking murderous.
“Nahi, Bose Babu, Nahi. Khoma kore dao. Maaf kar do.” Lakhan was crying. Tears flowing down the
side of his temple
“Maaf kar do?” Aritra asked in a slow guttural voice. “Maaf kar do?” he got up and walked towards
the massive statue of the Goddess Kali looking directly into her face, pointing his right hand at the
sacrifice.
“Maa, dekh Maa. Bol raha hai ki ‘maaf kar do’. He said in a loving voice addressing the statue of the
Goddess Kali. “Ye pagol ko ye nahi pata ki maaf mai nahi, Maa karti hai.”
He walked back to Lakhan.
“Mai tumse ek baar puchega. Sirf, ek, baar.” He said slowly emphasizing on the last three words.
“Mai…Mai aap ko sab bata hoon. Batata hoon. Mujhe pata hai aap apni patni ke katil ko dhoond
rahe ho. Mujhe pata hai vo kaun hai, mujhe pat hai.”
“Kisne?” asked Bose in a voice that sent a chill down Lakhan’s spine.
“Chowdury Babu aur uska bada ladka Zaid.” Lakhan blurted.
A rage filled Aritra. His face red hot with anger and his eyes semantically cold with purposeful
murder. He had got what he wanted. He had got his information. Aritra took it as a sign that the
sacrifice was acceptable. Maa was happy. Why else would he have got the information?
A conk shell was blown somewhere outside, followed by an orchestra of dhol, chimes and temple
bells. So loud it was that it would have surely reached the heavens above. The time for adoration
had begun.
Aritra stood up with open arms still holding the axe.
Lakhan was shouting, screaming and writhing on the stone table. His voice drowned by the
orchestra.
“Jai Maa Kali.” Shouted Aritra bringing the axe down with force smashing through Lakhan’s ribs. His
eyes staring deep into the abyss of fear in Lakhan’s eyes.
Lakhan screamed. Blood spurted and sprayed on Aritra’s chest. Lakhan was still alive. Blood flowed
from his mouth and he retched like a fish trying to breathe out of water.
Aritra now dropped the axe and reached into the still breathing chest of Lakhan. He could feel the
warm blood making his hands slippery. He pulled out the still beating heart and raised it with both
his hands. An offering for the Goddess Kali.
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A white ambassador drove towards an old but well-kept manor. As the car took a right, the gates to
the manor opened to let the car in the drive way. One could see the name of the family that lived in
that manor. The Chowdhury’s.
The car slowly drove past the sprawled lawn and stopped under the entrance archway. Two of the
house-helps came quickly to carry the luggage.
