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Journey Of Hell | CH:46 (Andhakupa, The Dark Well)

The Yamduts dragged my pulped and reconstituted soul from the grinding mills of Sukaramukha. The landscape shifted. The deafening roar of industry faded, replaced by a damp, earthy silence. We were at the edge of a deep, dark well, so wide I could not see the other side. A foul, musty odor rose from its depths, the smell of forgotten cellars and things long dead.

This was Andhakupa. The Hell of the Dark Well.

“This Naraka is for those who are cruel to the helpless,” a Yamdut’s voice whispered, a cold rustle in the silence. “For those who torment creatures who cannot fight back. The ant, the bird, the beast of the field. And the human who, in their heart, is weaker than you.”

They shoved me over the edge. I fell into a lightless, airless void. The landing was soft and squirming. The floor was a living carpet of creatures. Every small life I had ever harmed or disregarded was here, now grown monstrous and hungry.

The cockroaches I had poisoned in my kitchen were the size of dogs, their antennae twitching as they swarmed me, their clicking mandibles echoing in the dark. The spiders I had crushed were giant, hairy things that wrapped me in sticky, suffocating webs.

The Yamduts dragged my pulped and reconstituted soul from the grinding mills of Sukaramukha. The landscape shifted. The deafening roar of industry faded, replaced by a damp, earthy silence. We were at the edge of a deep, dark well, so wide I could not see the other side. A foul, musty odor rose from its depths, the smell of forgotten cellars and things long dead.

This was Andhakupa. The Hell of the Dark Well.

“This Naraka is for those who are cruel to the helpless,” a Yamdut’s voice whispered, a cold rustle in the silence. “For those who torment creatures who cannot fight back. The ant, the bird, the beast of the field. And the human who, in their heart, is weaker than you.”

They shoved me over the edge. I fell into a lightless, airless void. The landing was soft and squirming. The floor was a living carpet of creatures. Every small life I had ever harmed or disregarded was here, now grown monstrous and hungry.

The cockroaches I had poisoned in my kitchen were the size of dogs, their antennae twitching as they swarmed me, their clicking mandibles echoing in the dark. The spiders I had crushed were giant, hairy things that wrapped me in sticky, suffocating webs.

The mosquitoes I had swatted were bird-sized horrors, their proboscises sharp as needles, draining my spiritual essence with a high-pitched whine that was the sound of madness.

It was a hell of a million tiny, crawling, biting torments in absolute darkness.

Memory. I am Maya, a child. I have caught a grasshopper. For my own cruel amusement, I pull off its legs, one by one, watching it struggle. The memory, once a forgotten flicker of childhood cruelty, is now a living torment, as a giant, spectral grasshopper, its multifaceted eyes burning with an ancient intelligence, tears at my own limbs.

Memory. I am Dimple. A stray dog, thin and scared, is cowering near my apartment building. I don’t help it. I call the municipal service to have it “removed.” I know what that means. I chose my own convenience over its life. Now, the spirit of that dog, its eyes burning with a righteous fury, is a massive beast, its jaws closing around my neck.

In Andhakupa, there is no escape. The well is a universe of darkness filled with the ghosts of the helpless you harmed.

Here, I understood that the cosmos keeps a perfect account, not just of our crimes against humans, but of our cruelty to all of life. Every life is sacred, and for every one you mindlessly destroy, you will be destroyed in turn by its amplified, avenging spirit.

Index of: Journey Of Hell: The Unforgotten Promise

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