Dhampir of Kalika

৬. chandrasekhara

There are creatures who know the other world.

****

Maya, drenched in sweat and adrenaline coursing through her veins, dragged herself to the spot of the murder– the temple premises. No one in the Das palace seemed to care about the murder except the soft-spoken Khirodh, and thus Maya set out on her own.

But she had seen a faint glob of fear swimming in Kalikacharan's eyes. Mrinjay gave in to nothing– he was sad as a human would be, but more concerned with the death of his brother.

Maya walked to the temple now. The rickshaw pullers were unwilling to go there after the news of the homicide, so she had to take the long road. Upon reaching there she found a big gathering of people.

Most of the faces were draped in a shroud of fright. It had an eerie touch to it, a flickering sign of the uncanny ways of life being associated with the murder. The people whispered amongst themselves how it wasn't a usual murder, but something important, something that was symbolic, something that was meant to happen.

Maya meandered through the crowd like a shallow stream of water finding its way to the bigger river. It had a purpose– a wish to merge with what was greater and find meaning in getting lost. Maya reached her destination, and what she saw almost gave her a heart attack.

A teenage girl it was, covered in a red saree. She was pale and pasty, skin white as a piece of paper. Her bluish veins struck out from beneath the golden bangles. She was embellished like a goddess going for her marriage, with sindur layered on her forehead, sprinkles of which fell on her nose. In the traditional Bengali belief, sindur was a sign of marital status and peace, and if the powder fell on the nose by chance, it was said that the husband would be extremely loving.

Maya didn't know who the husband in this case was. And whether he was associated with the killing.

She walked closer to the body. The people there stared at Maya in shock. She was a newcomer in the village and had the guts to approach a corpse as tormenting as of this. Maya felt the cold limbs of the girl, and then her eyes fell on her neck– it was covered with bloodied marks. Someone had pierced the skin and let the blood ooze out of the body. The ichor painted her gold ornaments in crimson too. There were no other injuries visible on the body.

"Who are you?"

Maya turned back to see a man, probably in his fifties, standing in front of her. From his simple white garb he looked like a priest. He was of lean stature and looked of humble origin. The hair on his temples were greying. He walked barefoot and wore a janeu to showcase his status as a Brahmin. "I am Maya. I am here to investigate the murder of Abhinoy Das."

"Oh..." The man's eyes lit up, though his face was as dull as before. His cheeks were sucked in and dark bags were present under his eyes. He looked very helpless and poor. "I have heard about you. Many of us have. It's a small village. News spreads relatively faster than in cities."

"And as you may understand, I am going to put my attention to the murder of this girl too." Maya looked at the kohl-lined eyes of the dead body. They were half-closed, as if in a trance. "What a pretty soul, what a short life."

"This is the fifth murder," the priest said. "Four more girls have been killed before."

Maya's eye widened. "And no one thought of asking for help?"

The priest flinched. "We couldn't. Pardon me, but I am not aware of everything. I may not be of much use."

The people parted the way for the priest. He spared one last glance at the corpse and joined his hands in a solemn prayer. Then he went towards the temple. "Mother cannot be kept waiting for this petty murder. Mother shall move on..." he muttered.