Two days ago, the village had seemed a totally different place. Today, I felt strangely tense as we began walking away from the house. I simply could not stop thinking of the missing corpse. It could well be lying behind any of the bushes and shrubs we passed . . . no, no, I must not dwell on it, I told myself firmly. We found the bamboo grove and turned into it. It was appreciably darker here, and the creepy feeling I was trying to overcome grew stronger. But at this moment, I saw the mime artist, Benimadhav, walking towards us. The sight of a third person helped me pull myself together. ‘Hey, where are you off to?’ he asked genially. ‘I was going to your house. Didn’t I tell you I’d come and show you my acting on Friday?’ ‘I know,’ Lalmohan Babu replied, ‘but after what happened, none of us are in the mood to watch a performance. I mean, who knew such an awful thing was going to happen? We’re all worried and upset. You do understand, don’t you?’ ‘Of course, of course. You’re not going back to Calcutta immediately, are you?’ ‘No, we should be here for another three days.’ ‘Good. So where are you going now?’ ‘Nowhere in particular. Is there something we should see? You should be able to tell us!’ ‘Have you seen the Bat-kali temple? It was built in the seventeenth century. It’s full of bats, but the outside walls still have some carvings left. Come with me, I’ll show you.’ I did not tell him I had seen the temple this morning. At that moment, of course, I had not had the time to look at wall carvings. We reached it in three minutes. I began to get goose pimples again. It would have been far better to have come here during the day. There was a banyan tree next to the temple. Its roots had grasped the roof, making it crack and crumble. ‘This is where they used to have sacrifices, sir,’ Benimadhav said, pointing at a spot near the trunk of the banyan tree. ‘S-sacrifice?’ Lalmohan Babu asked, his voice hushed. ‘Yes, sir. Human sacrifices. Haven’t you heard of Nedo dakaat, the famous bandit of Gosaipur? He used to worship Kali and hold sacrifices here. Why, you could write a whole book on him! Would you like to go inside? Have you got a torch?’ ‘In-inside? No, I don’t think so. Didn’t you say it was full of bats? Besides, we didn’t bring a torch.’ ‘No, the bats will have gone out now, on their evening excursion . . . heh heh. If you wish to see them you’ll have to come back—’ ‘No! We have no wish to see them, thank you.’ ‘All right. Look, I’ve lit a match. May I smoke a beedi?’

‘Yes, certainly. Smoke as many as you like.’ Benimadhav lit his beedi, then held the match near the broken door. What I saw in