The One Legged
Shortlisted for the JCB PRIZE FOR LITERATURE 2024About the BookThe Bad Seed meets We Need to Talk about Kevin in this gripping psychological thriller set in rural India with a shocking horror twist. Praise for Sakyajit Bhattacharya“When our illness is expressed in health, the unease that creeps through the depths of the night, Sakyajit Bhattacharya has sought to alert us to the contours of that affliction.” – Indian ExpressRearing a child is not easy, especially with monsters lurking around and within. On one leg, leaning,Picking tamarinds, swaying. In one hand a pot of salt,In the other, a knife.Cutting ears, sprinkling salt, house to house. Old Bengali folk song on the one-legged ghost When the moldy wall of the old mansion began to heave and the shadows of the cursed tree ruffled his nights, Tunu learned how darkness lives not only at night– that the home itself is like a sleeping giant, shrouded in secrets, grief and loss. As the receding history repeated itself, Tunu turned slowly, but definitely, into someone else. Into something else. From the Back Cover Tunu wasn’t scared, yet the thrumming in his chest seemed to pull him back. Did the tree just graze his neck? He ran; knowing heavy footsteps were right behind. Clenching his teeth, he treaded on– almost there… just a few steps more…
Product Information
Product Information
Shipping & Returns
Shipping & Returns

The One Legged
The One Legged
Shortlisted for the JCB PRIZE FOR LITERATURE 2024About the BookThe Bad Seed meets We Need to Talk about Kevin in this gripping psychological thriller set in rural India with a shocking horror twist. Praise for Sakyajit Bhattacharya“When our illness is expressed in health, the unease that creeps through the depths of the night, Sakyajit Bhattacharya has sought to alert us to the contours of that affliction.” – Indian ExpressRearing a child is not easy, especially with monsters lurking around and within. On one leg, leaning,Picking tamarinds, swaying. In one hand a pot of salt,In the other, a knife.Cutting ears, sprinkling salt, house to house. Old Bengali folk song on the one-legged ghost When the moldy wall of the old mansion began to heave and the shadows of the cursed tree ruffled his nights, Tunu learned how darkness lives not only at night– that the home itself is like a sleeping giant, shrouded in secrets, grief and loss. As the receding history repeated itself, Tunu turned slowly, but definitely, into someone else. Into something else. From the Back Cover Tunu wasn’t scared, yet the thrumming in his chest seemed to pull him back. Did the tree just graze his neck? He ran; knowing heavy footsteps were right behind. Clenching his teeth, he treaded on– almost there… just a few steps more…
Original: $4.09
-70%$4.09
$1.23Product Information
Product Information
Shipping & Returns
Shipping & Returns
Description
Shortlisted for the JCB PRIZE FOR LITERATURE 2024About the BookThe Bad Seed meets We Need to Talk about Kevin in this gripping psychological thriller set in rural India with a shocking horror twist. Praise for Sakyajit Bhattacharya“When our illness is expressed in health, the unease that creeps through the depths of the night, Sakyajit Bhattacharya has sought to alert us to the contours of that affliction.” – Indian ExpressRearing a child is not easy, especially with monsters lurking around and within. On one leg, leaning,Picking tamarinds, swaying. In one hand a pot of salt,In the other, a knife.Cutting ears, sprinkling salt, house to house. Old Bengali folk song on the one-legged ghost When the moldy wall of the old mansion began to heave and the shadows of the cursed tree ruffled his nights, Tunu learned how darkness lives not only at night– that the home itself is like a sleeping giant, shrouded in secrets, grief and loss. As the receding history repeated itself, Tunu turned slowly, but definitely, into someone else. Into something else. From the Back Cover Tunu wasn’t scared, yet the thrumming in his chest seemed to pull him back. Did the tree just graze his neck? He ran; knowing heavy footsteps were right behind. Clenching his teeth, he treaded on– almost there… just a few steps more…











