Deaths of Kulgera

Hundreds died by drying in lush hills of Kulgera

Sep 06, 2024

Three hundred people died by drying in the hilly area of Kulgera.

And twenty-seven, he would correct. The bodies resembled the mummies Inspector Prithvi Singh had seen on the Egyptian travel brochure his wife had shown him, without the white bandages.

Forty-one years had passed since he went through the rough terrain to investigate the matter. Obsessed with solving puzzles, he still didn’t have the last piece for the only unsolved case of his career.

Till he received that letter.

There was a smell of smoke attached to the envelop that took him back to the time in Pandal and all the local cigarettes he smoked, a nasty habit he picked up while solving the case. Mrs. Singh made sure he left it behind with the post. But she let him carry on his obsession even after the retirement to the similar mountains as the highest-ranking police official of the state.

He wouldn’t have believed the answer served to him in the pages if it weren’t for the name written at the bottom. Yet, it made sense with everything that happened afterwards and it was as bizarre as the reasons he had had pondered over.

Various theories had popped up over the years, mass murder with a secret weapon, gas leaks, alien invasion and some of the most adventurous ones floated the idea of a supernatural cult. It had been on the lists of mysterious unsolved cases since the national newspaper ran the story after a month.

The police force was forbidden from giving interviews and the rest of witnesses were reluctant to talk to any outsiders. The case was shut down officially after a year but the people associated with it never left their own investigations.

Prithvi didn’t want to admit it to Shobha, but for the last few years, he had also given up hope of finding the reason behind the tragedy. There were simply too many variables that didn’t make sense from the starting of the case.

There were still ninety-one corpses under the pandal when Singh reached the sight that was alight with diyas and holy chants just two hours earlier. They were being loaded up in the bullock cart to be taken to the crematory. It carried more than usual. Most were already sent to the local crematory grounds.

Prithvi pinched the bridge of his nose, “Take them to the station. They will be released after Doctor Sahab has taken a look over them.”

The young man, forced into work because of his father’s ailing body looked at the cart piled high with bodies that barely resembled humans and then at the imposing figure of man in uniform, “Sir! There is nothing left to inspect.” He clutched the handles tightly, the cart slipping with weight.

Prithvi clenched his teeth.

“Eee Tinnu, Do as Sahab says. Take them to the station.” Balu took the handles and moved the cart in direction of station.

With that problem solved, Prithvi turned to the tent while giving out orders to his new recruit, “They shouldn’t even be touching the bodies till we have taken note of everything. Ask them to hold their work. Tell a constable to get the bodies from shamshan ghat too.” He went to the jeep and took out his walkie, “Puneet, come in, Send up a camera, and all the remaining officers. Tell the Doctor Sahab to call for help and prepare for the whole night.”

Constable Balu’s uncle looked at him in horror from his seat. He had taken a lift with them in the back of jeep uphill. He was sent running down the hill to inform them of the screaming devotees inside the red tent.

“The dead belong to the fire.” The skinny man came around the Jeep to stop the blasphemy.

Prithvi’s stature didn’t invite counters and his orders were to be met without delay. He went in without a word with his lips pressed tightly together. There was no need to get in an argument with the elder man.

He would have retched like many on sight if he weren’t hardened through his years of service in areas of famine in his younger years.

But these people did not die of dehydration. It looked like someone had sucked out all the blood and water from their bodies, leaving behind charred skin on brittle bones.

Singh almost broke one in half by accidentally stepping on what would have been a man’s torso, judging by the kurta around him.

Balu had taken his place at the right side to narrate what he knew. Everyone was gathered there for the Maha Pujo that was organized once a year. There were lines of chowkis covered with rice, ghee and large extinguished diyas.

At Prithvi’s raised eyebrow, the new recruit started blabbering, “Pradhan Ji holds it every year before the rice is thrown in ground. All of his family and the villagers are invited for better harvest.”

It explained the absence of hysterical relatives. They were all here on the ground. The Inspector had been here for a few months but he knew that the local people were close and always in each other’s business. It made solving the cases easier but crowd control more difficult.

Balu let out an embarrassed laugh when asked why he had not taken the day off to attend the event. It seemed to be a major event for the locals, “We are not invited, Sir!” He looked around warily, afraid someone would call him out for standing inside the Pandal, and not doing anything.

He was often reprimanded by his older brother for prancing around the Rewa area with his senior and not helping them. Balu preferred his uniform against the job his brother had taken over begrudgingly.

All of the Karmetha was standing outside when the incident happened, not able to help their masters inside.

“Did anyone survive?” Prithvi looked around and spotted a man in uniform with his head in his hands, shaking his whole body from left to right. Balu whispered in his ear how the man had ordered his uncle to run down the hill for station. The disdain couldn’t be masked for the insult to older man.

They had been out on patrol when they were called on by a frantic officer to go up as soon as they could. Prithvi could still see Balu’s uncle at the edge of Pandal, peeking in with fear in his eyes.

The senior officer marched over to the grieving subordinate and placed a hand on his shoulder. He had taken his permission for a leave for half day, to report back in the evening.

Jatin’s bloodshot eyes looked up at him. Dried of tears after an hour, he was going crazy from his surroundings, “I could have saved them if I had been here.” He took two of the bodies in his arms, a child and a woman, “I could have saved them. Pan…Pandit Ji sent me out to get more roli…” Fresh tears found way out of his eyes. The red powder was spilled around him.

He hiccupped, “I could have saved them.”

Unlikely. Prithvi didn’t know what happened here but he considered Jatin lucky, and his sole witness for now. He had noticed his shriveled left hand, like the bodies, and it seemed like another piece of puzzle to solved.

Prithvi bent down and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, gently taking away the bodies with another, “I am sorry, Jatin.”

The man didn’t listen and kept talking, crying all the way, “I heard the screams from outside. My son was tearing his clothes off,” Many people had their clothes off, “My wife’s skin had started turning brown. I tried Sir! I tried to get them out.” He clutched Prithvi’s shoulders with an energy that didn’t suit his frail frame, “But the flame was too hot.”

“What flame?”

Jatin reared back as if shocked out of a stupor, “The flame.” He looked at the stage where the Hawan kund sat, extinguished and surrounded by three corpses, all male, dressed in finery.

“Hawan agni?” Prithvi looked at the stage then him in question.

Jatin fainted.

Next Part