Nilotpal Ghosh 1 The late afternoon sun slipped between pine branches as clouds gathered around the quiet ridges of Kalimpong. Avik Sengupta stood near the edge of the crumbling garden path, watching as a spade struck something solid under the wet soil. It was supposed to be a simple renovation—the old hilltop villa his grandmother left him had been locked for over a decade, its wooden beams rotting and windows sealed shut against mountain winds. But what the workers unearthed beneath a cracked stone slab was far from debris: first a skull, then a tangled set of ribs, and a…
