Sacrifice, p.1
Sacrifice, page 1
Sacrifice
Table of Contents
Title Page
ALSO BY DIPA SANATANI
Invocation to Kala Bhairava
Preface
Part 1
1 The Sacred Flame
2 The Shadow Self
3 The Yajna
4 The Departure
5 The City of Carthage
Part 2
6 The Father
7 The Shepherd
8 The Son
9 The Trauma
10 The Silence
11 The End
12 The Burial
Part 3
13 The Discarded Self
14 The Madness
15 The Great Beyond
16 The Dictator
17 The Isolation
18 The Affliction
19 The Façade
20 The Self-Immolation
21 The Fire
22 The Merciful Oneness
23 The Fear
24 The Gift
25 The Intellectuals
26 The Rebirth
27 The Jasmine Petals
28 The Histories
29 The Forecast
Part 4
30 The Act of No Contrition
31 The Bondage
32 The Samskara
33 The Root
34 The Moksha
35 The Sacred Mirror
36 I am Isaac
37 He is Isaac
38 The Archangel
39 The Page
40 The Akedah
41 The Farewell
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ALSO BY DIPA SANATANI
The Guardians of the Lore Trilogy
The Little Light
The Heart of Shiva
The Prophetess of Dharma
Fiction
A Thousand Names
Illuminator
Divinely Destined
Poetry
Oneness
The River Empress
Ink Stained Soul
Kingfisher
Creative Non-Fiction
The Merchant of Stories
Sacrifice
Copyright © 2025 by Dipa Sanatani
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by Singapore copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher TWINN SWAN.
ISBN Hardcover: 978-981-94-4313-0
ISBN Paperback: 978-981-94-4314-7
ISBN E-Book: 978-981-94-4315-4
National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing in Publication Data
Name(s): Sanatani, Dipa.
Title: Sacrifice / Dipa Sanatani.
Description: Singapore : Twinn Swan, [2025]
Identifier(s): ISBN 978-981-94-4313-0 (hardcover) | 978-981-94-4314-7 (paperback) | 978-981-94-4315-4 (ebook)
Subject(s): LCSH: Sacrifice—Fiction. | Psychic trauma—Fiction.
Classification: DDC S823—dc23
The Book Cover is designed by Dipa Sanatani.
TWINN SWAN
Singapore
www.dipasanatani.com
Invocation to Kala Bhairava
Sanskrit (Devanagari)
अट्टहासभिन्नपद्मजाण्डकोशसंततिं
दृष्टिपातनष्टपापजालमुग्रशासनम् ।
अष्टसिद्धिदायकं कपालमालिकाधरं
काशिकापुराधिनाथकालभैरवं भजे ॥
भूतसंघनायकं विशालकीर्तिदायकं
काशिवासलोकपुण्यपापशोधकं विभुम् ।
नीतिमार्गकोविदं पुरातनं जगत्पतिं
काशिकापुराधिनाथकालभैरवं भजे ॥
Transliteration
Aṭṭahāsa-bhinna-padma-jāṇḍa-kośa-saṃtatim
Dṛṣṭipāta-naṣṭa-pāpa-jāla-mugra-śāsanam
Aṣṭa-siddhi-dāyakam kapāla-mālikā-dharam
Kāśikā-purādhi-nātha Kālabhairavam bhaje
Bhūta-saṃgha-nāyakam viśāla-kīrti-dāyakam
Kāśi-vāsa-loka-puṇya-pāpa-śodhakam vibhum
Nīti-mārga-kovidam purātanam jagat-patim
Kāśikā-purādhi-nātha Kālabhairavam bhaje
English Translation
I salute Kala Bhairava, whose thunderous laughter shatters the cosmic lotus shell, whose powerful gaze annihilates all sins, the stern and just ruler; granter of the eight supernatural powers, adorned with a garland of skulls, the lord of Kashi.
I salute Kala Bhairava, leader of spirits and beings, bestower of vast fame and glory, purifier of the good and evil deeds of those dwelling in Kashi; the ancient lord of all worlds, expert in righteous conduct, who eternally reigns as supreme lord of Kashi.
— Kala Bhairava Ashtakam, Verses 7-8, by Adi Shankaracharya
Preface
Sacrifice is a work of fiction that situates itself within a synthesis of contemporary political concerns, ancient faith traditions, and enduring theological concepts. In the book, disparate epochs, events, and spiritual traditions converge to create a unified narrative.
The purpose of the book is to engage with the subject of sacrifice as it appears in spiritual, religious, and political contexts. The work resists easy sanctification—since such glorification can obscure violence, mask structures of coercion, and transform individual suffering into an abstract ideal. Instead of treating sacrifice as a noble gesture, this book attempts to answer the question of what transpires when such an offering is not made by the self alone, but by exacting a cost from others who did not voluntarily choose the path of surrender. By foregrounding this tension, it unsettles the boundaries between devotion, coercion, and societal responsibility.
It raises questions around consent and complicity: can an act still be regarded sacred if it places an unwanted burden on those not freely offering themselves? Is sacrifice, in such a case, an exalted practice, or does it slide into violence disguised as piety or political necessity? The work suggests that the legitimacy of sacrifice—whether spiritual or political—cannot be divorced from the agency of its participants, inviting reflection on whether the true measure of sacredness lies not in the grandeur of the offering, but in the spirit with which it is given.
In tracing the thread of fire sacrifice across diverse traditions, the book exposes the fault lines where veneration meets violence. Amidst the ritual flame, the question is not only what was offered, but what was irretrievably taken away, and whether the offering, once translated into smoke, could ever justify its cost. The inquiry does not seek to exalt the act, but to keep its ambiguities in view: a gesture revered as holy, yet shadowed by loss; a practice enshrined in memory, yet never free of the silence it demands.
The chapters which feature the binding of Isaac are a reimagining from the Book of Genesis. My narrative delves into the unspoken tensions and emotional complexities of this episodic event, drawing from a broad heritage of theological exploration that retells this narrative with both reverence and critical examination. This approach allows the story to function as a palimpsest, with a modern, fictional account inscribed over a layered and ancient text.
The sections in the book which deal with collective trauma were inspired by the Jasmine Revolution of Tunisia and the film Ghodwa, which captures the haunting emotional aftermath experienced by those who have experienced political upheaval. It meditates on the deeper internal reverberations of trauma that linger long after the visible unrest has faded. For when an experience shatters our ability to speak, the act of writing becomes a powerful means of resistance.
The three interconnected stories serve to explore how the written word can become an instrument of narrative reclamation, offering a path to articulate and take ownership of a history that would otherwise remain inexpressible. In this context, the act of putting pen to paper becomes a quiet, yet revolutionary, act of healing.
At the heart of the work lies the Hindu concept of samskara—the subtle but persistent marks left by experience, particularly trauma, which are etched deep into the individual, familial, and collective psyche. Rather than offering simplistic remedies, the book ventures into this shadowed terrain of mental impressions to confront and unravel the complex psychic residues that shape identity and memory.
Through this, the narrative engages an intergenerational inquiry into how we carry unseen burdens within us. The theological perspective in the book seeks to navigate the layered subconscious to confront the imprints left behind by trauma. It offers an exploration of healing that resists easy closure and insists on honouring the complexity of the human psyche.
The book murmurs a solemn warning through the language of ritual flame: never claim another’s life as offering, least of all that of the innocent— whose sacrifice settles into the karmic ledger like a silent weight, impossible to undo or forget.
Om Namah Shivaya.
Part 1
Yajna, the Fire Sacrifice
1 The Sacred Flame
I am Yajna—their chosen sacrifice. They've chosen me to be the sacrifice, not because I am a failure or a coward, but because in th
To them—the elders—the sacrifice is merely a transaction. They are not giving up a hero, a leader, or a precious child. They are simply offering a life that, in their eyes, adds nothing and subtracts nothing from the community. My unimportance is my fate. It is the perfect currency to pay for their continued prosperity, a life with no story to be mourned or to be missed.
To them, this is a ritual steeped in community, continuity and responsibility.
♖
Voices rose in sacred chant as the mantras uttered consecrated the fire. The crowd, a sea of motion, pulsed in sync with the ceremony. As the chant's rhythm took hold, a shared history caused the entire community to sway as one. The axis point of the ritual was the fire deity: a consecrated column of illumination invoked to destroy the forces of darkness.
As sound gained weight and texture, the sacred flame emerged as a living force. In the sacred circle, my senses were heightened—realigned into unfamiliar patterns. I traced the rim of the sacrificial spoon, not truly understanding the real reason for the ritual I was asked to preside over. I scooped offerings, my eyes on the elders' serene faces, their belief in the power of the ritual an impenetrable wall I couldn't breach. Even though I was inclined to dismiss their chanting as a meaningless tide of sound and their movements as theatrical formalities, I knew that there was a deeper significance to all of this. Every time I asked why, the answer was always the same: I was here to perform a duty, not to understand or question it.
The circle tightened around me. The consecrated fire murmured as it was created. It was abundantly clear that this was not an ordinary combustion. The fire before me burned with sacred presence—its flame a living paradox, simultaneously warm and cool, a fierce destroyer and gentle creator intertwining in timeless dance. The atmosphere itself felt different, heavy with a promise I hadn't personally made, but was now inextricably a part of. My ignorance had been a key, and with it, I had unlocked a door to a new fate for us all. The ritual wasn't about what I believed; it was about what I was destined to unwittingly set into motion.
The elders generally come out of habit, drawn by the familiarity of a shared history and heritage, yet few truly comprehended the deeper significance of the sacred flame. Caught in the bind of ancestral memory, they remained largely oblivious to the veiled power the ritual sought to invoke. Their presence held both desire and innocence, a community tethered to ancient practice, but unaware of the fire’s deeper revelations.
♖
Sparks flew upwards as the ancient power was summoned. The atmosphere which surrounded me thickened with each offering that the fire consumed. The blaze trembled with an otherworldly presence. It leaned towards me, breathing into the Sacred Silence.
It was the very first time I had ever summoned the sacred flame and I still could not understand why I was the one who had to do it. Each log I had offered, each syllable I had chanted, was a part of a larger collective consciousness. The fire was a mirror of a choice already made, a fate arriving upon a burning wind.
The sacrificial fire rose on the altar, its flames alive with restless motion, weaving forwards and backwards in a solemn symphony. A living presence, born of the sacrificial offerings, pressed in from all sides. The sacred fire was not only burning and breathing; it was speaking.
The fire’s speech was summoned from the furnace that first conjured it into being. Each tongue that emanated was an after-breath of that initial ignition. Every word that emerged was a fragment of the flame—searing, weightless, impossible to hold, yet branding the world with shape. Every syllable that rose from the sacrificial fire was a spark, every phrase an incandescence, every silence the hush that follows the offering’s consumption.
The sacred flame smouldered as the air grew dense. In their golden light, the sacred syllables took form—each word a physical and legible manifestation of sound. From the low sizzle of the fuel, the long, swollen vowels unfurled, rising into the night as a soft resonant hum emerged on the wind. Sharp consonants broke with the wood’s splitting, a crisp percussive snap that grounded the rite.
In the first sacrificial fire I ever presided over, speech was the sacred flame discovering itself.
♖
“I am Agni, the sacred fire: the mouth of the rite and the bridge between worlds. These offerings I consume, but I do not keep. They ascend through me to the unseen ones. What you offer the sacred flame does not perish, for it is transmitted in subtle form to its intended recipient.
“The departed soul which appeared to you is the soul of someone whom you have known for five lifetimes. His soul wishes to erase and expunge the karmic debt that is owed to you. The soul that longs for release from the obligations it has carried forward from its past lives still lingers, for the sacred duties entrusted to it were left unfinished and unfulfilled.
“He never stepped up to the responsibilities that were his to carry. He never offered the protection of a husband, never carried the responsibility of a father, never gave his wife and children the emotional, mental and spiritual support of the head of the family. He intentionally left himself and his own children undefended, and his soul, bound to the weight of that faithlessness, cannot move beyond the cost of his own betrayal.
“Thus, his spirit has no choice but to wander, neither alive nor truly dead, watching the living with eyes that can neither sleep nor rest.”
♖
The atmosphere suddenly grew taut, heavy with memories that were not my own. Each burst of heat pressed words against my mouth as though some other voice had chosen my throat as its voice. The fire made no space for refusal. Its rhythm compelled, its glare insisted and the smoke which emerged from the sacrificial offering entered me like inheritance. Sounds began to rise unbidden, rasping at my throat, forming syllables I had never learned.
I understood then that I was not the one presiding, but the one being presided over. I was not the one who summoned the fire; it was Agni, the fire deity himself, who summoned me. The fire forced its language through me, as though silence itself had conspired with other beings to push me here and to make me the unwilling vessel of its utterance.
The fire did not wait for my willingness. It surged upward as though it had been waiting centuries upon centuries to be summoned. The smoke coiled about me, insistent, pressing old impressions against my skin—languages I had never spoken, accents I had never learned, cadences belonging to lost voices long scattered into ash.
I was chosen, conscripted and compelled to preside over the sacred fire against my own will. Circumstances had coerced me to lift the ladle of ghee and to breathe in the smoke that clung to me. The flames knew of my reluctance, but they did not relent. They surged upward as if fed by a will beyond my own. The crack of the wood was not an invitation, but an insistence.
Each snap of the wood struck me like an instruction. The blaze opened chambers inside my body I did not know I possessed. Tongue, throat, even marrow seemed to realign, as if the rituals of speech had been carried in my blood before I had any right to utter them. I could feel the syllables trying to claw their way out, incandescent and irrepressible.
The fire was making me its vessel. My reluctance, my resistance, all dissolved into the rising tempo of the flames. I finally understood that I was not officiating, but being officiated. Meaning surged before me without choice as an inevitability. A towering astral figure leaned close, drawn to the sacred flame that burned brightly with uncompromising clarity and conviction. The fire rose in a sudden flare, unveiling the hidden truth and declaring its decree.
I knew then: no one ever invented language. One can only wait for its arrival; the moment when fire cleaves the silence and names erupt whether or not the person consents to their undeniable date with destiny.
♖
“The soul which has sought your help is not a spirit resting in peace, but a restless spirit suspended in a state of purgatory between realms. In countless lifetimes, he repeatedly evaded his earthly responsibilities, buried his failures deep, and mistreated his wife and children.
