It was pitch dark and the narrow mud road was barely discernible in our car's headlights. Somewhere on the outskirts of Dhenkanal, our vehicle scratched its way through some bramble on an increasingly narrowing path. "Babu," our driver Kalias voice quavered, unsure of the way ahead. "Please let us go back into town and take a lodge," he pleaded in Oriya. Eerily, we passed by a Kali temple, whose female leonine doorkeepers wore skull garlands and wielded a bloodied sword, clutching a decapitated head. We caught Kalia looking at it nervously out of the corner of his eye.




