The Crimson Devotion

Episode :- 1

The year was 1952, and the humid air of the late summer monsoon hung heavy over Calcutta. Inspector Anurita Mukherjee adjusted her starched white saree with its crisp red border as she stood by the platform, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd for her train to Chandipur. The station was alive with the noise of hawkers, steam engines, and the occasional laughter of children.

She tucked a stray lock of her jet-black hair behind her ear, her mind preoccupied with the telegram in her satchel. It spoke of strange disappearances in the remote village of Chandipur, tied to rumors of a resurgent cult. For weeks, whispers had reached the higher offices of the force about unusual activities in the area—symbols carved into trees, shadows seen in the forest, and now a missing Woman.

It wasn’t her first investigation into the occult, but something about this case felt different. The telegram had been accompanied by a personal request from a senior officer: “This needs your expertise. Approach with caution.”

When the train finally arrived, she boarded quickly, finding herself a quiet corner. Her reflection in the window showed a woman in her late twenties, with a focused expression and a hint of weariness around her dark eyes. It was the face of someone who had seen too much too soon.

______________________________________________

The train pulled into Chandipur station hours later, its brakes screeching in protest. The station was a stark contrast to Calcutta’s bustling hub—a small, sleepy place with little more than a tin-roofed building and a few wooden benches.

As Anurita stepped off the train, she was greeted by a thin man holding a hand-painted sign with her name on it. He wore a loose-fitting kurta and dhoti, his face sunburned and his demeanor anxious.

“Inspector Mukherjee?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Yes,” she replied. “And you are?”

“Ramesh, madam,” he said, bowing slightly. “The magistrate sent me to guide you to his office. He’s waiting for you.”

Without another word, he led her to a waiting bullock cart. The journey to the village was slow and bumpy, the cart creaking with every turn. Anurita watched the landscape shift from open fields to dense forest, the tall trees casting eerie shadows in the fading light.

“Is it always this quiet here?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Ramesh hesitated before replying. “The village has been... uneasy, madam. Ever since the child went missing, people are afraid to go out after dark. They say it’s not safe.”

Anurita frowned but said nothing. The rest of the journey went in silence as Anurita was keenly observing the uneasy atmosphere surrounded by darkness.

_____________________________________________

The village magistrate’s home was a modest two-story building with whitewashed walls and a tiled roof. Inside, the air was cool, the walls adorned with portraits of deities and the occasional faded photograph of colonial officials.

The magistrate, an elderly man with a balding head and kind but tired eyes, rose to greet her.

“Inspector Mukherjee, this is Binoy Ghosh, thank you for coming, ” he introduced himself and  gestured for her to sit. “We’ve been at our wit's end with this case.”

Before she could respond, another voice cut in from the corner of the room.

“I’m not sure what a city inspector can do that we haven’t already tried.”

Anurita turned toward the source of the voice—a tall man in his mid thirties, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He wore a simple kurta and trousers, his glasses slightly askew on his angular face. His expression was calm but carried an air of quiet skepticism.

“And you are?” she asked, her tone cool.

“Anindya Dutta,” he replied, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “Former professor of comparative religion at Presidency College. I’ve been studying the strange happenings here for months.”

“Studying?” she repeated, arching an eyebrow. “This is a police investigation, Mr. Dutta, not an academic exercise.”

“And yet, you’ll find my expertise invaluable,” he countered, unperturbed by her sharp tone. “The people behind these disappearances aren’t ordinary criminals. They’re part of something far older and far more dangerous. If you think this is just a matter of evidence and logic, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

Anurita squared her shoulders, her dark eyes locking onto his. “I deal in facts, Mr. Dutta, not superstition. If you have something useful to contribute, I’ll consider it. But don’t get in my way.”

The magistrate cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “Perhaps we should focus on the matter at hand. Inspector, I’ve arranged for accommodations for you near the forest. Mr. Dutta has been staying there as well. I suggest you both start your investigation tomorrow morning.”

Anurita’s lips tightened into a thin line. The last thing she wanted was to share her workspace with an arrogant academic.

____________________________________________

That evening, as she unpacked her belongings in the small, rarely furnished guesthouse, Anurita couldn’t shake the tension from her encounter with Anindya. He was clearly intelligent, but his dismissive attitude grated on her nerves.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She opened it to find Ramesh, holding a steaming cup of tea.

“Madam, the Binoy Babu asked me to tell you that dinner will be ready soon,” he said, placing the cup on the table. “Will you need anything else?”

“No, thank you,” she replied, closing the door softly.

As she sipped the tea, her mind wandered to the case. The Woman's disappearance, the strange symbols, the fear in the villagers’ eyes—it all pointed to something far more sinister than she had anticipated.

And then there was Anindya. Whether he was a help or a hindrance remained to be seen, but she couldn’t afford to let his presence distract her.

Nonetheless she went for having her dinner shrugging aside the thoughts.

______________________________________________

Later that night, as she lay on the narrow cot, the sounds of the forest seeped into the room—the rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, and the occasional cry of a jackal. Sleep didn’t come easily, her thoughts tangled in the web of mysteries that awaited her.
.
.
.
.
The End of Episode 1
.
.
.
.
Hey dear wonderful readers! Here's i'm with this new update of my new story. Hope you will find it intriguing. As I'm not an excellent writer of mystery / thriller still I wanted to write this story so badly. If you find any mistakes please pardon me. I only hope that you will like this story. Thank you for giving it a read. Do vote and comment.

I will meet you with next update soon, not really soon 😅( kyunki bhai sochne mein samay lagata hai na vaise bhi iss genre mein strength kam hai meri 🤗🤧) but will try to update as soon as I can. Till then stay tuned! 💙💛