The Silent Wires of Kendupai: When a Hunt for Sustenance Becomes a Death Trap

Kendupai Hill, a place usually synonymous with the rustle of leaves and the quiet hum of nature in Odisha's Dhenkanal district, was, in truth, recently shattered by an incident so profoundly tragic it still echoes through the nearby village of Nuasahi. It wasn't the roar of a wild animal that brought fear, but something far more insidious: a silent, almost invisible killer.

You see, Anjan Pradhan, aged 45, and Ramesh Chandra Naik, 30 — both familiar faces from Nuasahi, under the Bhuban police limits — ventured into those hills, perhaps for their daily routines, or maybe, just maybe, for a bit of a hunt themselves. We can only speculate, of course, about their exact purpose that fateful day. But what is certain, agonizingly so, is that they never returned home. Their lives, honestly, cut short in the most brutal way imaginable.

What happened? Well, the grim discovery made by locals spoke volumes: two lifeless bodies, stark against the earthy backdrop of the hill. And nearby, a tell-tale sign of danger, a live electrical wire. A live wire, mind you, not some accidental fallen cable, but one deliberately laid out, stretched across the terrain, an invisible tripwire with deadly intent. Its purpose? To snare, to stun, to kill wild boars. A cruel irony, isn't it? Men, seeking prey, becoming the unwitting victims of a trap set by others, perhaps just as desperate, for the very same purpose.

The news, as it always does, spread like wildfire, reaching the Bhuban police. And quite swiftly, they responded, registering a case, launching an investigation. One can almost picture the scene: officers carefully examining the area, seizing that deadly wire — evidence of a hunt gone horrifyingly wrong. But for the families of Anjan and Ramesh, evidence won't bring back their loved ones. Only questions, perhaps, and a gnawing sorrow.

This isn't, tragically, an isolated incident, not by a long shot. Across Odisha, you hear these stories, whispers of live wires — often crudely, dangerously set up — used in the dark of night or the quiet of dawn to poach wild animals. It’s a risky game, a gamble with life itself, and for once, the dice rolled against the innocent, or perhaps, the unaware. It leaves you wondering, truly, about the lengths some will go to for a catch, and the terrifying, unforeseen costs.

And so, Kendupai Hill remains, but with a new, somber story etched into its memory. A reminder, surely, that some hunts, no matter the intention, carry a price far too high, leaving behind not just loss, but a deep, unsettling sense of injustice in their wake.