The sheep's head fell to the ground, and the black goat, which was still bleating just now, instantly turned its head in a different place, and its body occasionally twitched a few times due to the reflexes of nerves and muscles, which made the scene even more terrifying.

In the crowd of onlookers, the foreign tourists let out low exclamations, some timid female tourists had already turned their heads and could not bear to look at it again, while the daring male tourists quietly picked up their cameras or mobile phones and recorded this dark living sacrifice as a talking point to show off to others after returning home.

As for the Christians among the tourists, the feelings are even more complicated when they see the black goat, which represents evil and the devil, beheaded.

In South Asia, there are not many gods that need to be sacrificed alive, and the goddess Kali is one of the most famous.

Moreover, it is due to the progress of the times that the black goat is used for living sacrifices, and the traditional sacrifice to the goddess of Kali requires the use of living people, and the death of one person can be exchanged for the pleasure of the goddess for a thousand years.

In the backward villages of the mountainous regions of northern South Asia, living sacrifices to the goddess Kali are still quietly carried out, usually to boys between the ages of 3 and 12 or young women who have just menstruated.

According to official records, between 2014 and 2016, there were 51 human sacrifices in 14 of the country's 29 states, most of which were sacrifices to the goddess Kali, but in fact it may be much higher.

In a big city like Kolkata, no one dared to use human sacrifice, so they had to use animal sacrifice instead, and every day a black goat was beheaded in front of the Kali temple, but ...... Does this please the goddess Kali, who is accustomed to human sacrifice?

One of the two priests in charge of leading the sheep carefully holds the head of the sheep and places it on a tray, enters the temple, and places it in front of a black stone statue representing the goddess Kali.

The believers scrambled to gather around the carcass of the sheep, and the priest who had just been in charge of cutting off the head dipped his finger in the warm blood of the sheep and put it on the eyebrows of each believer one by one.

Quack-

Flocks of crows hovered and landed on the eaves of the temple, staring at the bleeding corpses of sheep.

Woohoo –

The wild dogs also rushed over when they smelled blood, hovering around the periphery of the crowd, waiting for an opportunity to move.

The entrails of sheep carcasses are minced and fed to crows and wild dogs, which is a daily lunch that they can't miss today.

Sometimes the mutton was sold, and sometimes it was given to the poor, so the believers who had been blessed by the blood of the mutton did not leave to see if they could be lucky enough to get a share of the mutton.

The outside of the temple was so bustling with blood sacrifices that no one noticed that she had quietly entered the temple.

She stood in front of the black statue, staring at the statue's face and smiling meaningfully.

After a while, she took out the empty glass, put it on the table, and picked up the tray with the sheep's head, and poured the sheep's blood into the cup.

The wine glass turned red again, except that this time it was no longer red wine.

She picked up her glass and drank the still warm sheep's blood.

Since she had some differences of opinion with her friend, in order to avoid being hurt and angry, she made an agreement with her friend that as long as her friend did not fail, she would not make a move.

Now that the friend is likely to have died of failure, the agreement not to drink blood anymore is invalid.

The blood of the sheep flowed into her stomach, it was very delicious, but it did not satisfy her, but seemed to awaken her hunger and thirst.

She thirsted for blood, real blood, human blood.

She had been thirsty for thousands of years, and it was time to indulge in the offerings.

She walked out of the temple, and the devotees who had been given the mutton and the tourists who had seen the excitement were dispersing one after another, and the rain was washing the blood of the mutton in all directions.

The beheading priest noticed her, raised his bloody finger to her, and motioned for her to remove the silk scarf that was wrapped around her forehead, as if to put sheep's blood on her eyebrows.

"Nope. ”

She waved her hand and walked away without looking back.

A sacrifice, I am not qualified to order Bindi for her.

She left the temple and instead of looking for a taxi driver, she walked to a nearby place.

The smell of corpses permeates the place where the dead are located, the dying home.

The Dying House, founded by Mother Teresa many years ago, shelters those who are seriously ill and cannot be cured, cannot be cured, or cannot be cured, or some elderly people who cannot take care of themselves, or seriously injured young people, and give them a place to live so that they can wait for death with dignity.

Many foreigners volunteer in the dying home, there are people who have lived in Kolkata for a long time, there are also people who have traveled through this place for a short time, there are men and women, most of them should be kind-hearted and want to dedicate their love and strength, and a small number of people have been volunteers in the dying home for a few days just to show off in the circle of friends and hang a "caring" label in front of friends.

The torrential rain had not stopped, and the sky was gloomy, and an old foreign man in charge of the gatekeeper saw her figure, recognized her, and nodded politely to her, after all, she provided a lot of financial support to the dying home.

In fact, he misunderstood, the money was not hers, but her friend's, her friend earned a lot of money from a foreign country, and she distributed it according to her friend's wishes, and a dime was distributed here, but it was also a large donation for the dying family.

As a result, she could come and go freely in and around her dying home, and no one would stop her.

She walked into the dimly lit room and immediately smelled a strong and familiar smell - the smell of death.

Dozens of dying people lay in rows of rudimentary single beds, with slight chirps that rang out from time to time, as if trying to prove that they were alive.

The volunteers may have just scrubbed their bodies, applied skin lotion, fed them bananas, and now they have gone to rest and eat, after all, it is lunch time, and the volunteers have to eat and rest.

Their bodies smelled of cheap skin lotion, but they still couldn't hide the heavy dead air.

A teenage and a half-year-old boy was badly burned, the wound was slow to scab over in the humid weather, and flies crawled over the wound. He opened his eyes and looked at her, and fell into a semi-comatose state again.

An old man in his sixties and seventies, with bony limbs, only his stomach was swollen and bulging, and a foul smell gushed out of his body with every breath. He saw her, as if he had seen something terrifying, and his throat gurgled in horror.

An older man, his skin was dry and wrinkled, like a newspaper that had been violently crumpled and unfolded, and was covered with dark spots, and the skin of his hands and feet was cracked inch by inch. He saw her, but as if he had seen a savior, he smiled at her with relief.

She wandered around the room, there were more and fewer patients than the last time she came, and there were many new faces, and there were often only one in a hundred who made it out of this place alive.

The patients who have fallen here are, without exception, all lowly castes, no different from livestock in her eyes.

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Stealing incense