Ghansipur’s Cold Heart 1
1967 Words
Anjali woke suddenly. Her body remained rigid, muscles locked in fear, as she strained to hear whispers from behind her. She knew she had been sleeping for a very long time.
She was unclothed, lying in a prone position on a long, hard wooden desk that stood in the absolute center of a massive, windowless room. The space was sterile and suffocating. Bright, harsh light bulbs blazed at different corners, with one pointed directly at her, like a surgical spotlight. Beside the desk sat a long stool cluttered with swabs of cotton wool and surgical instruments she dared not identify.
“How long has she been sleeping?” A strange, cold voice sounded, hushed but sharp, behind her.
“Daktar-Saheb; she’s been sleeping since last night,” Vindya replied, her voice soft but close enough to send a ripple of cold fear through Anjali. Vindya paused, moving closer to peer at Anjali, who lay still, feigning deep slumber.
“Let’s go meet your father. We still have more time before the drugs expire.” The doctor’s voice was clipped and clinical.
Vindya followed him closely, their voices fading as they moved toward an unseen exit, plunging Anjali back into isolated silence.
Anjali could feel an intense, crushing headache, radiating occipitofrontally—a relentless migraine pounding against her skull. She fought to open her eyes, but the effort only made the pain flare stronger. A loud, guttural groan escaped her lips: “Oh Bhagwan, my head pounds!”
She felt weak, wasted, like someone struggling back from a deep coma. Her vision was a nebulous, watery blur for several minutes as she adjusted to the shocking white light. The entire room felt stuffy and wrong, dominated by a pervasive, sickening odor—the thick, metallic stench of rotten meat.
Meanwhile, Prakash’s compact Premier Padmini, battered and reliable, managed to maneuver the tight turn into the overgrown, bushy compound that led to Ma'am Roshni’s abandoned Bhavan. He brought the sedan to a chaotic, shuddering stop, the intense screech of the brakes cutting the heavy silence of the Mohalla.
“I really don't think Anjali would come here all by herself,” Shanti whispered, pulling herself out of the vehicle and immediately scanning the dark windows of the house.
“That’s obviously because you do not know your child, or you’ve chosen not to know your child,” Prakash shot back, his tone rough with anxiety and accusation.
They all alighted, gathering in the dust of the compound, their worry palpable.
“This is what we will do,” Prakash instructed, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “We have to break into different directions to make the search efficient. One person should check the back. The rest of us will check the different rooms inside this Bhavan. And someone needs to stay out here. If there's danger, make a loud scream that can be heard across the fields!” He gestured urgently, mapping out their strategy.
He entered the desolate house with Mengah. They began checking individually, moving quickly through the oppressive silence, room by empty room.
“Anjali, are you there?!” Mengah called out every few seconds, her voice thin with growing fear, but she was met only with disappointment and the dusty echoes of her own hope.
The search grew frantic and intense. Every single room: the kitchen, the study, the bedrooms, was scoured, but all to no avail. Anjali was not in the bhavan.
After long minutes stretched into agonizing hours of futile searching, they finally converged back in the compound. Each person was hissing in worried exhaustion; the whole place was thick with tension and failure.
“Why don’t we inform the Thana?! Prakash, at this point, I don’t think we can do this anymore. We need to inform the police!” Shanti wailed, her shoulders slumping with fatigue and sheer terror.
“Shanti, you do not want St. Joseph’s to be on the ground, do you?” Prakash replied hastily, his jaw tight. “Let’s just take this whole thing off the Thana for now. I still believe Anju is somewhere, and we will find her. This is not in her character, and I am sure we will find her soon,” he insisted, clinging desperately to control.
“What if she has been abducted?” Mengah asked, concern etched on her face. She was visibly trembling, her body shaking like she had just seen the very monster Anjali described.
“I don’t think so. Bhagwan forbids it! Ratanpur might have bheriya eating up our people, but not that,” Lailai intruded, trying to inject some logic into the rising panic.
Lailai suggested they check other houses around the Mohalla. The neighborhood was eerily quiet; it was chillingly true that most inhabitants had already vacated their homes for fear of the anonymous night attacks.
They checked each and every house around there, some firmly bolted from the outside, some left unlocked, and others standing eerily ajar. There was no single sign of Anju.
Everyone was visibly drained after the long, fruitless hours of searching and decided to retire back to the center of the village where they lived. The search, however, was far from being over.
While retreating, they decided to stop by Sushi’s place, just to be absolutely certain Anjali hadn't sought refuge there.
“Namaste! Welcome you all, please come in.” Mother Ganga greeted them, bowing with her hands pressed together in a hurried Namaskar. She was clearly surprised by the group of worried visitors at her door.
“Kripya andar aa-ee-ye! (Please come in!)” she urged, beckoning them inside.
They entered sluggishly, their faces etched with exhaustion, and sat heavily on the upholstery.
“Water? Pancakes?” Ganga asked, looking hastily at their troubled faces.
“Water is fine with me. You can bring pancakes for the child,” Prakash replied, pointing toward Mengah as he spoke.
“Ah, Mengah, you didn't go to St. Joseph’s today?” Ganga inquired. “Please join me in the kitchen,” she said, and they both disappeared to fetch a jug of water and several cups. Ganga returned quickly, not just with water, but with a generous tray of properly made pancakes and Kerala stew in several small, pretty bowls.
The ladies and Mengah eagerly accepted the food, they were all famished. Prakash, however, stoically insisted he was fine with water, even when Shanti desperately beckoned on him to have at least one pancake.
“I am fine with water!” he blatantly replied, too consumed by worry to eat.
“Namaste, Namaste!” Prakash stood up to greet Sedat (Sushi’s father) who walked in while the anxious meal was in progress. Sedat was overjoyed to have visitors.
“Namaste, welcome, welcome,” he repeated continuously, moving around to greet each person individually, ending with a passionate hug for Mengah.
“Ah, you look tired, my child. What have you been doing, and why aren’t you in school?” he asked, moving with her to an empty upholstery opposite Mother Laila.
“Anjali is missing!” Mengah replied, the words cold and brittle.
The long moment of silence finally shattered as Ganga screamed in surprise, “Anjali? Missing? Here I am thinking she was safely at St. Joseph’s!”
“Yes, Anjali is missing. We woke up this morning and searched everywhere for her, and even now, Anjali is nowhere to be found,” Prakash interjected, leaning forward, the raw tension in his voice making the finality of the statement impossible to ignore.
“How is that even possible? Did she not sleep at the house yesterday?” Sedat asked, confused and distraught.
“She did. I was with her in her room until she slept, and I was there for a while ensuring she wasn’t having any further nightmares before I retired to sleep,” Shanti replied, her voice breaking.
“This is truly strange. What are we going to do now?” Sedat asked, standing up to pace the room in deep, helpless thought.
“We already checked Ma’am Roshni’s Bhavan and every other house around the Mohalla,” Lailai began.
“We also have asked every one of our neighbors, but no one seemed to have had a glimpse of her,” she continued.
“I was wondering if Sushi would have had any idea of her whereabouts,” Prakash interjected, pinning his hope on the school link.
“Sushi, oh, she will soon be back from school. You will just wait a while,” Sedat assured him. Turning back to Prakash, he asked, “How about informing the Thana? Don’t you think this is getting unsettling?”
“Right now, we do not want to involve the police. I just don’t want any further labels from her school. They’ve already labelled her as mentally unstable, trying to shove it down our throats,” Prakash said, the anger suddenly surging back as he reminisced about the cruel meeting in the principal’s office.
“The Principal is truly determined to make our daughter suffer for something she clearly didn’t do. They even said she’s a threat to other students…” Prakash continued, rubbing his temples in frustration.
“I am sure that woman knows nothing about Anjali. If she knew, she wouldn’t be saying that,” Sedat intruded, settling back down, rubbing his feet together in agitation.
“Or maybe she’s trying to protect the image of the school,” Ma'am Lailai voiced, suggesting a cynical motive.
“By labelling a child who was attacked right on the school’s premises? That’s selfish, and Bhagwan would certainly pay her in her own coins,” Sedat replied hastily, his anger matching Prakash’s.
For a moment, the room fell into a heavy silence, everyone exchanging worried glances, deep thoughts crowded in each person's head. They waited, suspended in dread, for Sushi’s arrival from school.
*********************************************************
Anjali was consumed by paralyzing thoughts. This was not the Ratanpur she had known: a safe harbor for all occupants. Now, stranger things were dominating: first, Ma’am Roshni’s brutal death, and now, predators disguised as human beings. She faulted herself for falling so easily for Vindya’s emotional tricks and games.
She slid down from the high desk, rubbing every part of her body as if checking for missing limbs. Unclothed, she instinctively curved her hands around her breast as she sought for Ma’am Roshni’s diary, her jacket, her bracelet, and everything that belonged to her.
Moving in strategic, quiet tip-toes, she circled the room. The stench intensified with every step, growing choking and metallic, a terrible odor of blood and disinfectant fighting a losing battle. The massive room had no visible windows, but it did have two doors: one leading to a small, dark corner room, and the other through which Vindya and the doctor had exited.
She soon located a cupboard made of metal: obviously rusty, with dark, viscous stains clutching its four drawers. Reaching out, she grasped the handle, opening each drawer one after the other with desperate hope of finding her possessions.
As she sprung open the second drawer, she stopped, a cold terror gripping her throat. Inside the metallic kidney dish, laid out on sterile cotton, were several human organs. They looked freshly harvested, glistening unnaturally under the harsh light. The sight was a sickening punch to her gut, and the smell of raw, butchered flesh made the already repulsive atmosphere unbearable. For as many as she could count, there were five major organs resting in the dish.
- Writer
