The Butcher's Feast
(Amit's Perspective)
I followed the faint sound of Raghu's heavy footsteps up the creaking wooden stairs of the dilapidated administrator building. The air inside was thick with the musty odor of decay and disuse, a stark contrast to the pungent smell of illicit liquor that permeated the factory floor. He moved with a familiarity that suggested this abandoned place was anything but to him.
The footsteps led to a closed door at the end of a short, dusty corridor. Hesitantly, I pressed my ear against the cracked wood, straining to hear what lay beyond. The sounds that filtered through were muffled but distinct – voices, the sizzle of cooking, and the low hum of a cooler struggling against the night's oppressive heat.
Slowly, carefully, I pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. The room was surprisingly different from the rest of the factory. It was a large hall, relatively clean and free of the pervasive dust. A few pieces of mismatched furniture were scattered around – some old, stained sofas and a collection of rickety chairs. My gaze was immediately drawn to two men sitting on chairs huddled around a hissing LPG gas stove, a large pot bubbling away between them, emitting the rich, savory aroma of mutton curry – enough to feed a small army, certainly more than the few men I had seen downstairs. Four other men sat on nearby chairs, their faces relaxed, the tension from the factory floor seemingly absent here. A noisy cooler in the corner whirred at full speed, a desperate attempt to combat the stifling heat, even at this late hour.
"Raghu bhaiya aagye! Baitho," one of the men near the stove called out, a wide, toothy grin spreading across his face. "Aaj toh hum mutton bana rahe hain! Mutton and alcohol… oh ho! It's enjoyment time!"
Raghu smiled, a slow, unsettling curve of his lips. He shook his head slightly, a gesture that could have meant anything, before lumbering over to the cooler and sinking onto a saggy sofa nearby, the springs groaning under his weight.
"So," Raghu began, his voice taking on a chillingly casual tone. "How many 'packages' did we secure this week?"
A man I hadn't seen downstairs, a wiry individual with shifty eyes, spoke up. "Titu handled the pickups. Ten children, around ten to fifteen years old. Different areas around Patna city."
"That's… good," Raghu said slowly, a disturbing satisfaction lacing his voice. "And the delivery?"
Another man, stockier than the others, with a greasy sheen to his hair, answered. "Manu is coordinating. In two days."
My blood ran cold. Ten children. Pickups. Delivery. I strained to hear more, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Where are they now?" Raghu continued, his casual tone sending a wave of nausea through me. "You drugged them to keep them quiet, right? I don't want any… mishaps."
Manu, the stocky man, nodded. "Yeah, they're in the next room. Door's locked from the outside. They won't be causing any trouble."
Raghu chuckled, a low, guttural sound that echoed the darkness of his words. "That's good. Very good. Human trafficking… or maybe even body parts trafficking. Risky business, but the profit margin… substantial. Still," he added, a hint of pride in his voice, "I'm quite content with our liquor business for now. Steady income, less… complications."
I reeled back slightly from the doorway, a wave of shock washing over me. Human trafficking. Body parts. The casualness with which they discussed such horrors was sickening.
"But," Raghu continued, oblivious to the turmoil he had unleashed in my mind, "the money from this… this trafficking venture… that's the real goldmine. That's what will allow us to set up our own large-scale, illegal duplicate liquor factory. Establish ourselves properly. No more of this small-time brewing."
Raghu continued to talk, outlining his twisted ambitions, his voice a venomous whisper in the dimly lit room. I remained frozen outside the door, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place, forming a horrifying picture. The missing child, Deepak… could he be one of these ten? The thought sent a jolt of icy fear through me.
After what felt like an eternity, one of the men from inside the room, the one who had first greeted Raghu, emerged, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. He glanced around the corridor, his eyes scanning the shadows. My breath hitched in my throat. I had to move, and fast.