Blood Sacrifice (Prompt 25)

Maganlal stood holding an umbrella, cursing the torrential rainfall, on the edge of the highest hill in the small village of Balna. He prayed diligently for a crack in the black clouds rimming the skies above him. Even an iota of sunlight would do. Anything at all to break this horrid rainfall. Nothing was forthcoming. He spent the entire day, begging religiously, but to no avail. The rains didn’t stop.

Dejected and melancholic, Maganlal descended from atop the hill. His feet sluggishly slithered to the heart of the village, where no doubt, everyone would be waiting for him. What excuse should he make today? The villagers had started to lose faith in his sermons. They would soon start to look elsewhere for answers. As he approached the village hall, he could make out small clusters of people. They were waiting for him, standing beneath the extended metal roof of the hall.

Maganlal feigned a bit of confidence in his walk. He couldn’t appear doubtful or nervous. These villagers were like dogs. They would smell his vacillation, his insecurities. He gave a firm nod to a few, the most influential of them all and stepped inside the hall. The others followed.

Maganlal took his usual position in the front centre, while the villagers sat on the floor. Seeing them sitting in front of him like dumb fledglings, ready to absorb his every word, obey all of his commands, replenished Maganlal’s confidence.

The village hall was nothing but a small four walled room, with a single source of light and a solitary ceiling fan. Although it was only early evening, the surroundings were already dark due to the satanic cloud cover. The overhead tubelight illuminated parts of the hall. The fan had stopped working a long time ago.

Most of the families were represented. Only the aged and the faithless, which were only a handful, had not turned up.

‘The gods are angry.’ Maganlal started in his booming voice. His voice had a rhythm to it, which ensnared his listeners’ attention right away.

‘What more can we do?’ Jogaram, the village’s oldest fool, interrupted. ‘We have already consecrated part of our reserves to appease God.’

‘The gods have rejected our offerings.’ Maganlal replied. He held up his hand to arrest the arguments from others.

‘I have spoken to them.’ Maganlal continued. ‘They are enraged at the insult that we have dished out. They thundered at me with ballistic fury. I was lucky to be spared.’

Maganlal looked around the room. The idiots believed every single word.

‘They want to test us, my dear friends. They want to test our devoutness, our loyalty. They ask for blood.’ The villagers gasped in unison.

‘Who’s blood?’ Krita, a lowly cleaner, asked. Apparently, this was the only question going through everyone’s mind. There was a murmur of restlessness amongst the crowd. A wave of fear spread across them.

‘I am afraid, it’s someone we know.’ Maganlal said, unsure of who could be sacrificed.

‘Who? Who is it?’ A few voices asked simultaneously. People were starting to get up, dreading they might be the ones.

‘Wait!’ Maganlal shouted. ‘I will visit the gods once again, to beg for mercy. Let me reason with them. I need a day’s time.’

That night Maganlal didn’t sleep. He pondered over and contemplated his situation. He was fighting a losing battle. He had no way of knowing when the rains would stop. In his arrogance, brought upon by his deliriousness and ambition, he, in all probability, had signed his own death sentence. Even after the sacrifice, if the rains didn’t stop, he would surely be beheaded. In this scenario, there was only one thing to be done. Run. He packed his meagre belongings in a rucksack and made his way to the riverfront, hoping to hitch a ride out of this crazy village.

The village of Balna was disassociated from all neighboring lands, primarily because of the surrounding mushy lands. Once a week, a boat from the neighboring villages would trade fish and salt for dairy and meat. Over the last month, no boat had been seen due to the weather, but his own stupidity and hollow sermons had left Maganlal no other alternative.

He waited, patiently at first, for some fish boat to arrive. When none did, he began to fidget in desperation. He walked to and fro, trying to calm himself. As he was debating whether to swim across to safety or drown in the arms of the river goddess, he finally saw a silhouette of a boat against the backdrop of the crashing raindrops.

‘Maggu?’ Maganlal focused on the person in the boat. It was Chandan. Suddenly, Maganlal’s prospects started to look better.

Chandan had known Maganlal since childhood. They grew up together in the village of Kitaan. While Maganlal's destiny had brought him to Balna, Chandan had gone to the city to try out his luck. 

‘What are you doing here?’ Maganlal asked, as Chandan alighted the boat and started tying it to one of the posts.. He couldn’t keep the surprise off his voice. Chandan smiled at him and hugged him. 

‘Me? What are you doing out in this weather?’ Chandan asked, removing his cargo.

‘Do you trade here?’ 

‘What?’ Chandan was lost for a moment and then realized what Maganlal was talking about. ‘Oh, these? These are just some supplies for my father-in-law. You might know him. Ramlal Kakodi.’ 

Maganlal nodded, a strange thought forming in his head.

‘Well usually my wife makes the trip once every year. But with this terrible weather, she was spending sleepless nights fearing her aged father’s safety. So I thought I might check on him.’

‘You married Lalita?’ Maganlal’s face had transformed from relieved to shocked in moments.

‘Oh, you know her? The odds!’ Chandan laughed.

Maganlal controlled his thoughts, lest they betray him and put on the best of his poker faces. He made an excuse and left his friend with promises to meet him in the evening. A staunch observer would have noticed the look of gloom and disgust on Maganlal’s face as he turned away from Chandan. 

A human mind works in evil ways when confronted with envy and hatred.

Maganlal went back to his preferred hill, to meditate, to rid himself of the memories of the past. Alas, just as the incessant pouring of the rains and the unhindered thundering of the clouds, Maganlal’s mind couldn’t free itself from the thoughts of his only true love! Filled with madness, Maganlal took the recourse of a furious, chided lover.

The aged Ramlal and his able son-in-law were dragged out of their home by the anguished villagers. Their protests fell on deaf ears, as they were tied to a post, in the proximity of the village hall and burned to death. Their shrieks could be heard all across the village. The villagers watched in silence, with hope in their hearts. Maganlal heard the haunting screams and sighed in satisfaction. This time he didn’t pray to his God to stop the rains. He was only thankful.

The next day, the blissful villagers woke up to a clear blue sky and the shining rays of the sun. They were overjoyed. They chanted the hymns of Maganlal, expressing their gratitude to him and hailing his holy connection to the almighty.