The Temple of Raktabich
Russel Sen was a journalist who believed that the world still hid stories that could shake people to their core. Working for a newspaper in Mumbai, he had written many articles—politics, corruption, accidents—but none of them gave him the recognition he desired. What he wanted was a story so mysterious and thrilling that it would make his career.
One evening, while sitting in a small café after work, his old friend Rakesh leaned across the table and said quietly, "If you want a real story, go to a village called Tejpur."
Russel raised an eyebrow. "What's special about it?"
Rakesh hesitated before answering. "There's an old temple in the forest there. The villagers say that about a hundred years ago, people worshipped an evil entity called Raktabich. Strange things have happened around that temple ever since."
Russel smiled. "Sounds like the perfect story."
Two weeks later, he packed his camera, recorder, and notebook and traveled from Mumbai to the remote village of Tejpur.
The Silent Village
Tejpur was small and quiet, surrounded by dense forest. The houses were old, made of clay and brick, and the air felt strangely heavy. When Russel arrived, he immediately began asking villagers about the mysterious temple.
But every time he mentioned the name, people reacted the same way.
Their faces turned pale.
Some simply walked away. Others muttered prayers under their breath.
An old man finally whispered, "Do not go there, babu. That place is cursed."
Russel wrote this reaction down carefully. Fear like this meant there was a story hidden beneath the surface.
For several days he continued asking questions, but nobody agreed to guide him to the temple.
Until one evening a thin man approached him.
"My name is Haradhan," the man said softly. "I can take you to the temple."
Russel felt a spark of excitement. "Why would you help me?"
Haradhan smiled faintly. "For the right price."
The amount he demanded was large, but Russel agreed immediately. A good story was worth the risk.
Journey Into the Forest
That night, just before midnight, Russel and Haradhan quietly left the village.
The moon hid behind dark clouds as they walked into the forest. The deeper they went, the thicker the trees became. Strange sounds echoed in the darkness—crickets, rustling leaves, and sometimes something else that Russel couldn't identify.
After nearly an hour of walking, Haradhan suddenly stopped.
"We're close," he whispered.
At that exact moment, the weather changed.
A violent wind swept through the forest. Thunder roared across the sky, and heavy rain began pouring down as if the heavens had suddenly opened.
Russel looked up nervously. "This storm came out of nowhere."
Haradhan said nothing.
Through the rain, Russel finally saw it.
An ancient stone temple stood hidden among the trees, broken and covered with moss. The structure looked abandoned, but a faint orange glow flickered from inside.
Fire.
Someone was there.
The Ritual
Russel and Haradhan moved closer quietly and peered inside the temple.
What Russel saw made his heart freeze.
Several people stood in a circle around a burning fire. They were dressed completely in black robes, their faces hidden. Strange symbols were drawn on the temple walls with red paint.
The figures were chanting something repeatedly.
"Raktabich… Raktabich… Raktabich…"
The air inside the temple felt suffocating.
Then Russel noticed something even worse.
In the center of the circle stood a small boy, no older than seven years old. The child was tied with ropes, trembling with fear.
Russel's stomach tightened.
"This is insane," he whispered.
One of the robed figures lifted a bowl filled with vermilion powder and smeared it across the boy's forehead.
Another stepped forward holding a machete.
Russel's instincts took over.
Before he could think twice, he rushed inside the temple.
"Stop!" he shouted.
The chanting stopped instantly.
The robed figures turned toward him.
For a moment, there was complete silence.
Then chaos exploded.
One of the men struck Russel violently with a wooden staff. Pain shot through his head, and the world around him spun.
The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Haradhan standing quietly beside the cult members.
The Truth
When Russel opened his eyes again, his head throbbed with unbearable pain.
He tried to move—but his hands were tied.
The fire was still burning inside the temple.
The child was beside him, crying softly.
Russel slowly realized the horrifying truth.
He was no longer the rescuer.
He was now part of the sacrifice.
Haradhan stepped forward, no longer pretending to be a guide.
"You shouldn't have interfered," he said calmly.
"You… betrayed me," Russel muttered.
Haradhan smiled coldly.
"We are the followers of Raktabich. Every five years we perform this ritual. A child… and an adult."
He pointed toward the machete.
"With this offering, the entity blesses us with wealth and prosperity."
Russel felt a wave of anger and fear.
"You're insane."
One of the robed figures approached with vermilion powder and smeared it across Russel's forehead.
The man holding the machete stepped forward.
The blade gleamed in the firelight.
Russel closed his eyes.
The Attack
Suddenly—
Shouts echoed from outside the temple.
"Stop them!"
A group of villagers stormed inside carrying sticks and torches.
The cult members panicked.
A violent struggle broke out as villagers attacked the worshippers. Within seconds the circle collapsed into chaos.
Two men cut the ropes binding Russel and the child.
"Run!" one of them shouted.
The cult members were quickly overpowered.
Moments later, police officers arrived, having been secretly alerted by suspicious villagers who had been watching the temple for weeks.
Haradhan and the other followers of Raktabich were arrested and taken away.
The nightmare was finally over.
The Unwritten Story
A few days later, Russel returned to Mumbai.
He sat in his apartment with his laptop open, staring at the blank screen.
This story could make his career.
A secret cult. Human sacrifice. A mysterious temple.
It was the perfect headline.
But something inside him hesitated.
If the story became public, curious people might travel to Tejpur searching for the temple… searching for the legend of Raktabich.
Some secrets, Russel realized, were better left buried.
He slowly closed his laptop.
The article was never written.
And the world remained unaware of the darkness that once lived inside the forest of Tejpur.