She was spreadeagled on iron spikes—bare feet dangling, stomach impaled, head thrown back like a paused scream. In the sweltering April sun of Delhi’s Hauz Khas, a teenage girl’s body was suspended on a boundary wall. A haunting image etched into Inspector Kumar’s mind—and now into the reader’s—in the opening chapters of Rudraneil Sengupta’s chilling debut crime novel, The Beast Within (Westland).
Sengupta has years of experience reporting on sports along with three years of reporting on crime stories. He is the author of the non-fiction wrestling chronicle Enter the Dangal. “As a reporter, you’re just stating facts. Fiction allows you to dive into detail, into motivations, into systems,” he says.
Growing up in Kolkata, Sengupta was drawn to detective fiction—from Sherlock Holmes to Satyajit Ray’s Feluda. “I was obsessed,” he recalls. Later, inspired by Japanese author and fellow journalist-turned-novelist Hideo Yokoyama, he saw fiction as a way to tell deeper truths. Journalism gave him access, but fiction gave him freedom—to connect dots, add nuance, and explore the emotional and societal aftermath of crime.
Although inspired by his real-life experience with the Delhi Police while working on this novel, it is primarily a work of fiction. “I relied heavily on the notes I took while working with the force and the conversations I had recorded,” Sengupta says. “A lot of the book draws from those transcripts and lived moments.”
At the core of The Beast Within is Inspector Kumar—a Crime Branch officer navigating Delhi’s bureaucratic maze, quietly battling cynicism, and driven by an inner moral compass. He’s no superhero, and Sengupta isn’t interested in vigilantes. “If you're a good officer, you try your best to solve a case—but you can’t just go rogue. That won’t get you anywhere,” he says.
Kumar is an amalgamation of many officers Sengupta encountered during his reporting. His realism—the frustrations, limitations, quiet rebellion—is what makes him interesting. “A good protagonist in crime fiction needs that inner drive to keep going, against all odds. That’s Kumar.”
Crime behind the crime
What elevates this novel is that the crime isn’t just about whodunit. It’s about what the crime reveals. The victim, Sengupta points out, is someone no one would miss.“She is someone who has no one to look out for her, and nobody cares about. She could have disappeared just like that, without a trace, and no one would have known — and that is a reflection on society.”
The novel becomes a lens to examine caste, class, religion, and the invisible systems that decide whose pain matters. Sengupta’s years reporting in Delhi informed this narrative. “Everyday discriminations—your caste, where you’re from, your religion, your economic status—shape how power works, and how justice plays out when a crime happens,” he says.
In the age of clicks and virality, even crime has become entertainment. True crime content has exploded online, often spotlighting real victims and tragedies. And Sengupta is critical of the voyeuristic turn the genre has taken. “The line between awareness and entertainment has collapsed across society," he says. "With social media and the way we consume content now, it's extremely invasive—and pretty mindless.”
While researching the book, he rode the metro to observe the scenes he was writing. “What struck me was that 90 percent of people were just glued to their phones. No one looks around anymore. I was probably the only one noticing things. That felt strange—and very telling.”
Ultimately, The Beast Within asks the most urgent question: Who gets believed, who gets protected, and who gets forgotten? “It’s not just Delhi or India—it’s everywhere,” Sengupta says. “But in India, caste adds another layer. Class and economic divides exist globally, but here, these hierarchies are sharper, harder to escape.” With this novel, Sengupta doesn’t just tell a crime story—he dismantles the silence that surrounds certain victims. And in doing so, he forces us to confront the beast not just within the pages, but within ourselves.