Penguin book of Indian Ghost Stories
“Smith The dirt-path was long and lonely and not a sound was to be heard save the distant howling of jackals. The numerous stars seemed like mute sentinels guarding the portals of paradise; but below, wintry night had enwrapped everything. It was in such a setting that I made my way through the Korya Khar (ravine of the lepers), a few miles from Agra; and the thought of being alone made me nervous. My bicycle was punctured and to seek help in the village could be inviting murder, for it was in t...he grip of dacoits. So, I tightened the muffler round my ears and clutching the rifle firmly, moved forward with courage and determination.
I had hardly gone a few paces when I kicked up the half-eaten body of a child who must have been buried just a foot or two below, for the bodies of children are not cremated. Consequently, the corpse had been unearthed by jackals. I walked more cautiously now, but stumbled all the same over a skull which seemed to stare at me in the starlight. The hollow sockets probably once contained the smiling eyes of a village belle.MoreLess
I had hardly gone a few paces when I kicked up the half-eaten body of a child who must have been buried just a foot or two below, for the bodies of children are not cremated. Consequently, the corpse had been unearthed by jackals. I walked more cautiously now, but stumbled all the same over a skull which seemed to stare at me in the starlight. The hollow sockets probably once contained the smiling eyes of a village belle.MoreLess
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