No Man's Land

His headlight was focusing on the twigs placed abruptly on the track. They did not seem to have fallen off naturally from the trees canopying the graveyard. It was as if someone had left those twigs to indicate a direction.

Iqbal muttered, “I think these guys left a track. We have to spend our night here until we see and record this transaction. Ambrose please click photos for evidence.”

“But Iqbal, this is unofficial. We can’t possibly produce this evidence to the Commissioner. Until we find something concrete. Let’s not fall into confirmation bias.”

“Brother, we are very close to getting a solid clue. We have put immense time and effort to come to this point. Any lead we get, even from the peripheral gang is essential for us to hit them right in the middle. As far as my hunch goes, their rings are splendidly diverse, especially in Bombay. Their men, sometimes women have to involve local people. This cultural closure is making them so successful! We are doing this unofficially so as to produce less noise. You see they have ears inside the judiciary and also the force. We can’t trust anyone anymore. Now, put on your night vision. We have to make sure we record the voices if we find any. They might be speaking in other languages.”

Iqbal and Ambrose were proceeding with caution. It was difficult to cover up the small noises that erupted due to their movement. It was obvious that they needed to be agile and invisible like dark shadows. Any electromagnetic radiation emitting from their devices could be detected by their archrivals – the Barood (gunpowder in Hindi).

The Barood gang as they called themselves were an impeccably armed, apparently untraceable group of agents who operated in South Asian countries. They were involved in drugs trafficking, weapons smuggling and in poaching animals for trophies. The stranger thing is that that this shadowy nightmare was supposedly an offshoot of a terrorist organization namely Bangla Tigers, based out of Sylhet, Bangladesh. They were rumored to have several forestland territories in Jaflong in the Sylhet district. They had chosen their colony very carefully because it was adjacent to the Indian state of Meghalaya, which was almost devoid of the administrative red tape and the local authorities in the Indo-Bangladeshi border could be befriended very easily. They had been consistently using the Dawki river for shipping and transportation. The Barood’s main business was undoubtedly from their Indian clients. So, they had to designate a safety mechanism for their operations which involved tax evasions and money laundering. For that, they had categorized their business accounts under the real estate and cement industry – the industries with less stringent auditing requirements and it acted as cushions for several mafias. Paperwork to legalize their establishments were constantly managed by corrupt lawyers and even approved by state ministers. These shell companies acted as conduits for black money into the Indian market, and the profits poured into multiple offshore Cayman accounts, which were used to fund their acts of insurgency. Besides, they had routed their presence into Pakistan and Sri Lanka.

Ambrose who headed the technology department of the Indian Police Force in the Eastern Indian state of West Bengal, had been extraordinarily meticulous in observing in illegal digital footprints throughout his career– was amazed at the technological prowess of their enemies. The Barood seemed to be using highly secure peer-to-peer network applications for messaging and file transfers, highly upgraded version of swift servers and cryptocurrencies for monetary transactions. They were also using drones to monitor their forest territories to the minutest bit. The drone technology was radically enhanced usage of on-the-fly landscape contouring and flagging red alerts. Red flags were produced if any kind of natural or human danger was predicted. The drones could also track down natural resources like coal or river sand by using the laws of refraction and reflection of light in physics. Earlier, the police had extracted evidence of their usage of drone technology from a laptop they found in an abandoned forest bungalow. Apparently, it was revived from a near death situation after its owners had lost it in a one of the frequent floods that keep on happening around this area.

“Sure, our devices will be covered? Whatever they do or perform is a black box for me.”- Ambrose seemed tensed.

“Until a designated radius, I don’t hope they will be able to. Besides, we are here at their client meeting. Let’s keep our devices down after we are on visual range. We have to keep ourselves camouflaged. No movement. After they approach the river, the water will interfere with our noise.”

The client meet was supposed to happen at the riverside graveyard at three a.m. in the morning. The site was a burial spot for the martyrs in the syndicate. Sometimes, they also contained army officers who were killed in encounter.

The forests seemed to have witnessed years of experiences. So many horrors happening here everyday at the crack of dawn. And the Kabristan(graveyard in Hindi) hid heroes and villains alike inside its chambers.

They had trekked three kilometers along the hillock to this infamous graveyard. They tiptoed to the rendezvous point.

They could hear soft murmurs of a group of men. About six to seven adult males. They were wearing trekking boots and each were holding a tree branch. One of them was wearing a headlamp. He was switching it on and off in intervals to check the river bank. They didn’t seem to carry weapons.

“I think they are speaking in Sylheti Bengali. But my hunch is that they will switch to Hindi for their Indian clients.”

The only sources of light were the stars and a distant lighthouse whose rotating light sometimes offered a glimpse of the forest line and the river. The sky was cloudy, enveloping the few stars that peeked in and out playing hide-and-seek.

The muddy smell of earth indicated that it had rained recently. Crickets making their usual sound. The wind blowing softly in phases was bringing the odor of fermented fish that were meant for the villagers here who often stored them for canned pickles. It was the beginning of the monsoons.

“They seem relaxed. I was expecting they’d be on high alert. After all, they don’t want to disclose the identity of their client and impact their relationship”, Iqbal said.

“Maybe they usually don’t expect any danger around this time. They keep on shifting their rendezvous points. Besides, it is a well-known fact how they have been distributing largesse to the government and villagers. They are local heroes or something. Which is why they have fresh recruits every year. It is an expanding army. It is quite natural to be confident in your own environment.”

“True. But it is fishy. They use drones to scan their forests. But they are unguarded during a transaction! Unless they are very proud of the fact that nothing can touch them. Someone is protecting them. And you and I don’t know about it. Did you find any army officers on the road?”

“Nope. Not a bat even. It is unusual indeed.”

The forest was very silent except for the few insignificant noises only to resonate with the saying Death does not sound a trumpet. It was almost eerie for these two brave men who had plentiful experiences throughout their life. The torturous stillness awaited some phenomenon - as if the darkness would spring to a ravenous monster running away from its trance far away to the bottom of the river. The river which was hauntingly beautiful because of its transparent waters would be consumed into blackness by this demogorgon. The forest was an unbreakable, uncontrollable entity and only humans who were accustomed to Death had a rite of passage that led to an unknown peril.

They spotted the gradually increasing sound of a motorboat.

“It has arrived.”

They could hear footsteps on the rocks at the bank of the river. The silhouettes of a larger hooded figure surrounded by four other figures were arriving closer. Nothing could be inferred about the shape of their faces, possibly due to the opacity of their outfits.

But one thing was clearly visible after they stopped before the men, the figure in the middle was abnormally tall. Almost seven feet in height, an unusual height for an average Asian man on the streets. Even his incoming companions were above six feet in height at least.

The gang members bowed down low so as to venerate the guests. The tall figure stretched out his right hand to bless the others. One of the hosts directed the others to the west side of the graveyard. They started walking in a straight line towards it. However, the guests had a conspicuously abnormal gait. They walked with varying speed for as low as a hundred meters, sometimes stooping down very low towards the ground.

This portion of the Kabristan was seemingly different in view than the other sites. It was relatively flatter because the leaves and other vegetation had been removed from the forest floor. The earth smelled distinct. Freshly dug. And a pungent smell overpowered all the other human senses.

Iqbal and Ambrose silently traversed towards the smell to observe more closely. By then, the policemen’s eyes had got accustomed to the darkness.

“Is it phosphine? The stench is excruciating. Cover your nose.” – Ambrose said with half-disgust, covering his mouth with a handkerchief.

“I don’t know. None of the others are flinching. Maybe it’s the corpses. Or it could be coming from our guests and besides, phosphine is toxic. I don’t think it is phosphine.”

There were around ten to twelve tombstones. Their names of the dead had been scratched off to conceal their identities.

Suddenly, the hooded men started to dig the graves with their bare hands! Were those human hands?

They were able to see clearly – five pairs of large arms with long fingernails digging into the fresh earth, very aggressively! They also heard growling noises. Unmistakably, they were coming from the guests.

“What in the name of God are they? Is it really possible for average humans to do that?” – Ambrose seemed awed.

The seven feet tall man pulled away his clothes to expose his bare body. And then, he took out a corpse and started digging his teeth into its flesh. Large canine teeth reflected the rotating light of the lighthouse.

Iqbal took his digital camera to capture the unreal vision. He clicked multiple times.

As he turned the camera to see the captured images, he only saw a partially destroyed floating corpse in all of them! As if it was held by some invisible entity! But no sign of the tall man!

“Is he some prankster? I am out of ideas.”

“I have a theory. It is far-fetched. But I will explain later if we are able to get out of here safely. This is not a normal enemy, that we can be certain of. Tonight, we observe.”

The hooded figures finally finished eating the corpses at a frightful speed. When they stood up, the officers could get an approximate idea of how they looked like.

Their faces were human like but having large teeth. Their legs seemed to resemble the hind legs of a wolf. And arms, with abnormally grotesque fingers. Nails that were meant to cut flesh.

They wore their coats again. This time, they looked more massive. As if, they had absorbed the flesh they had just eaten to recharge their own systems.

The seven men bowed down in front of them again and started chanting something in unison. They were raising their voices gradually. It was nothing short of a ceremony that was addressed to their clients. Iqbal understood that this was some scarce cultic worship he was witnessing. The devotees were now speaking in some ancient Arabic dialect.

Iqbal whispered, ”The Qutrub.”

“What is the Qutrub?”

“I know it sounds unbelievable but I think it is a kind of a Jinn(demon in Islamic theology) that haunts graveyards. Those who summon him offers him prayers and the dead in exchange for literally anything. I didn’t know much about the reality of devil worship until I was transferred here. The belief in the occult is not an uncommon thing in unemployed and illiterate villagers. But they actually put it to practice. The Barood, I think has summoned the Qutrub for protection of their forest camps. I have come to this sudden conclusion because of a supernatural experience I had in Chittagong. I only know about the Qutrub from folklore I had heard in my childhood. If he really is protecting them, I don’t know how to stop him because bullets won’t.”

“Unless we anger him.”

“How?”

“Let’s assume what you say is true. The Qutrub as you pronounce is helping them because a deal is being executed. Food in exchange of protection. The demon is appeased. Remove the food, see what wrath is unleased upon the Barood.”

“Wow Ambrose. I thought you were a man of science. But what you say is logical.”

“I have seen a particular trend of cult worship in some Indian villages. In Goa particularly, where I grew up, the pastors used to speak about the existence of demons. Of course, I was a brave kid. I didn’t like to tamper my personal beliefs with unproved stories. Until I finally saw a glimpse of a spirit one summer evening.”

“Whose spirit was it?”

“My mother’s.”

“What a coincidence! I think our paths were destined to cross. Let us not underestimate our opponents or the Jinn himself.”

The chanting got louder. Suddenly, the tall figure exploded into several hundred shards. A shadow emerged out of every shard. The black figures ran across the forest sometimes disappearing into the darkness, getting absorbed into the shadows of trees or even submerging themselves into the earth. Some shadows entered into the bodies of the members. They didn’t emit any sound while moving. Rather, their fluid like mass made them capable of taking any shape.

The tall man diminished into nothingness along with his demonic companions. What only remained was the distinguishable pungent smell of rotting corpses.

The hosts stopped their chanting looking unaffected by the recent events and started receding towards the eastern end.

The murderous silence resumed. This time the forest really seemed to consist of an audience of a thousand spirits. The policemen knew that every little piece of vegetation and natural element was haunted.

An empty boat was hitting the rocks on the river bank.

“Let’s wait until dawn. I have instructed Ali to pick us up. This is an outrageous case. Maybe we will have to consult mythologists. There are obviously some human agents at play. We have to track them down first.”, said Iqbal taking a long breath.

An unexpected turn of events might have changed their lives forever. Some police cases were indeed stranger than fiction. They questioned officers the designs of morality, societal standards or even science. Humans do read their own selves wrongly because they think they are a product of a set of principles taught by their families and theory or their personal faiths even, just like a potter shapes his pot through his artistic twists and turns. Until that pot is exposed to extreme heat or water. Similarly, the strength of the foundation of a human is shaken when one is exposed to stimuli that is absolutely unreadable. Hence, the response mechanism can have deep mental impacts. The meaning of one’s “Identity” is being questioned.

As they saw the first light of dawn, they started receding towards the police bungalow, where Ali was supposed to be stationed.

“Commissioner...” – the two men spotted him smiling from a distance.

As they got nearer, they started sensing a distinct smell – the putrid smell of rotting corpses.