Warning:
This story depicts the terrifying and dark forms of superstition, which may be mentally disturbing for some readers. If you are sensitive at heart, please proceed with caution. My intention is not to scare anyone, but to expose the brutal truth of superstition prevailing in society.
Deep in the forest was a village named Sarppur — the name itself hissed like a snake. This village existed on every map, just not for the government. There were no roads, no hospitals. But one thing was always in the air — superstition.
The biggest fear of Sarppur was — "Chhaya."
The elders used to say, “Chhaya” is not a woman, she is a curse — who descends upon the village every third year on the night of Amavasya. Whenever she comes, a mother loses her child, someone’s blood runs dry.
It was the year 2005, the month of Sawan. It was raining heavily, and the village had turned into a swamp. That year, four women in the village were pregnant.
Their husbands — some drunkards, some unemployed. But one thing was common among them — fear. "Chhaya will return this year."
The village elders called a panchayat. The faces of the council looked like fungus on old banyan trees — rotten, decayed, yet holding the village tightly.
At the center of the council sat the exorcist Balveernath — dressed in saffron robes, his face smeared with ash, a lemon-chili necklace around his neck, and deception in his eyes.
Balveernath spoke:
"If Chhaya is not offered a sacrifice, the village will be destroyed. The first child to be born will be dedicated to Chhaya. This is the goddess's command."
The people bowed their heads. The souls of the women trembled.
Anushka, the youngest pregnant girl in the village — merely sixteen. Forced into marriage with a man twice her age and a drunkard.
Seven months later, Anushka went into premature labor. It was a stormy night, thunder roared. No midwife, no medicine — just an old cot and the chants of the exorcists.
As soon as the baby was born, Balveernath arrived.
"It’s breathing, but not for long. The goddess’s sacrifice must be completed."
The baby was placed in a bamboo basket and taken to Kal Khoh — a place from which no one ever returned.
Anushka screamed, writhed — soaked in blood. But her cries only bounced off the village walls.
Three days later, a miracle occurred.
A goat from the village, who had wandered near Kal Khoh that night, went mad. Blood dripped from its mouth, and its eyes turned white.
The exorcist declared:
"Chhaya is not satisfied. Some impurity occurred."
Then began a series of deaths in the village.
First, the oldest council member — his eyes left open, his face frozen in terror.
Then the second — black strands of hair were found on his cot, and his chest was torn open.
The third — Balveernath’s own disciple, found dead in a pool of his own blood at midnight.
The villagers believed — Chhaya is angry.
Balveernath said:
"Chhaya needs a mother. The sacrifice was made, but the mother did not surrender. Anushka must be purified."
Purification meant hellish torment.
Anushka was brought to the temple, stripped naked, burned with ash, and iron rods with chants were seared into her back.
But that night, Anushka didn’t scream.
She stayed silent. Her eyes were vacant. Then she began to laugh — a laugh that could melt stone.
That night, smoke rose from Kal Khoh. And when the exorcist went there the next morning, he found the bamboo basket — inside it was the severed head of his own disciple.
Panic engulfed the village.
Anushka had changed.
There was a tremor in her walk, darkness in her eyes. People said — Chhaya has possessed her. But the truth was something else.
Chhaya was not a spirit.
Chhaya was that hatred, that rage, that grows inside every girl who is called impure and sacrificed.
Anushka took revenge — one by one.
The council member — nailed to death.
Balveernath — burned alive.
And the old women — who stayed silent — were hung upside down in the well.
The matter spread so widely that it made headlines from local to national newspapers.
Later, police investigations revealed that Savitri and Anushka were behind the events. Savitri too was a victim of superstition — her child had also been sacrificed.
The atrocities committed against them had broken their mental state to such an extent that the entire village paid the price.
Doctors declared both mentally unstable, but the court sentenced them to death — not because they committed crimes, but perhaps because it was the only way left to free them from the torment superstition had inflicted upon them.
Other culprits involved — who escaped Savitri and Anushka’s wrath, but participated in the crimes under the name of superstition — were sentenced to life imprisonment and even death.
This was perhaps the first case in the world where the death penalty was awarded not just for justice, but because there was no other path left.
Year 2025
Sarppur is now deserted. The walls bear bloodstains, the temple bells are broken, and smoke still rises from Kali Khoh.
But they say — when any girl hears the word “sacrifice,” Anushka’s laughter begins to float in the air.
Now Chhaya is not fear — she is justice.
Friends, there’s a very thin line between belief and blind faith — one that’s easy to cross. But its consequences are often borne by the helpless and the weak.
That’s why it’s important not to ignore the evils and superstitions prevalent in society, but to raise our voice against them.
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