Ritwik Sen Part 1 The Hooghly looked different at night, heavier somehow, as if the current carried with it the weight of centuries, of sailors who had come with strange tongues and strange flags, of traders whose goods had been swallowed in monsoon storms, of nameless villagers who had slipped into its depth and never returned. Anirban leaned over the rusted railings at Bagbazar ghat and lit a cigarette, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t wasting his time. He had been chasing the story for three months—rumours of a ferry that crossed the river at midnight even though the…
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Meenakshi Varadhan Part 1: The White Desert The train had left him at Bhuj, dusty and sun-beaten, a town that seemed more like the last outpost before the world ended. From there Kabir Deshmukh rode in a rattling jeep to the edge of the Rann, the salt flats spreading like a white ocean under the burning sky. He was thirty-eight, an archaeologist who had mapped ruins in Rajasthan and caves in Maharashtra, but nothing had prepared him for the silence of this desert. No trees, no rivers, just the crunch of crystallized salt under his boots and the horizon quivering…