Abhaya was suffocating as she could now taste the soot and ash in her mouth. She could see the smoke engulf her. The boxes around her turned into shadows in the blurred vision. She opened her mouth to breathe, but the choking air wanted to make her cough. She ran, stumbling upon some boxes and utensils, towards the window on the other side. It was shut firmly, and her weak hands could do little to move it an inch. She placed the end of her saree over her face and coughed, hoping not to be heard from the outside. The sound of chaos and footsteps outside was increasing. She heard a scream. Was it her mother? Her sister? Or one of the sisters-in-law? Were they escaping? Should she try too? She tried to find something to break the window with, but instead, she froze at the sight of flames entering through the cracks of the door she had shut behind her. Abhaya said a soft prayer. This is how it ends.
This was not the country her father served. This was not the country her mother read stories of. This was not the country she loved. This country was filled with hatred, intolerance and a hunger for bloodshed. She, in her fifteen years of life, could not understand what these protestors wanted. Her father often said, “If one of them is doing it for the right reasons, ten are using the chaos for their benefit, mark my words.” Where were they? Her father, mother and siblings? Were they alive or dead? She had heard the explosion from her window. She had seen the car go up in flames, and the chants of the anarchists filled the air. She could see them break down the main door and kill the guards. All she knew was to hide. Hoping she would disappear into oblivion before they found her. She could hear their guns and swords clash. It seemed like they had entered her father’s office and ransacked it. Were they looking for something? Was this some kind of retaliation?
Abhaya could suddenly see shadows of men lurking in the corner of the storeroom. She could hear them empty the kerosene can, and the burning torch brightened the office room, going to and fro through the corridor. She could see the light escaping from the edges of the door frame. “Burn the papers, Burn the evidence.” She heard them speak in muffled tones.
“There are bodies here.”
“Leave them behind. Make it look like a burning accident.”
“This was not our plan.” One voice seemed agitated. “We only talked about killing him and burning the office room.”
“It was not our fault that his sons retaliated. We expected them to be asleep.”
“They had guns in here.” Someone else snapped. “It's kill or get killed.”
“What about the women and children?” The agitated voices spoke again. Abhaya’s heart skipped a beat.
“Don’t be stupid, they either save themselves or they don’t.”
“The back door is closed from the inside.” There were more murmurs. Of panic and chaos. Arguments about what was to happen.
“What is done is done, steal a few valuable things like dacoits would, and run.” Someone was instructing them.
Abhaya felt like she knew them, yet she did not. Never had she imagined her family being attacked because of her father’s profession. She had been scared of him all her life and believed everyone else was too. Abhaya wanted to scream. Her voice was lost. She also wanted to be as quiet as possible and not alert the intruders. God only knew what they would do to her. One of the shadowy figures lurking in corners of the room, looting its contents, ransacking the place she once called home, kicked the door down as the noise of chaos outside increased. The shadowy figure suddenly noticed her move. Even in the darkness and smoke, Abhaya felt a chill run down her spine as they made eye contact. The man was wearing a black cloth over his face. Only his eyes were visible. Abhaya’s vision blurred.
“There is a girl here.” She could hear a hoarse voice as she tried hard to stay conscious. The lack of oxygen was making her dizzy. The very next moment, Abhaya could sense the men coming towards her. She kicked and shouted, but her scream died in the noise. Her hand fell on a hot metal, something like a scrap. The moment one of the men leaned in to grab her, she swung it at him as he groaned and fell on the floor, his blood spattered across her face and clothes. Another man grabbed her by her hair, and the metal fell from her hand when Abhaya felt the irritation growing in her hand. The throbbing sensation of burning was nothing compared to the sense of her life at stake. It was then that this man, perhaps older than her father, dragged her out of her hideout, and she could feel the floor on her hip being dragged down the stairs by her hair as she screamed and resisted in vain. She wished the floor would open wide and she would jump into it. But it was not to be. The man reached the end of the staircase and breathed heavily. She could sense the men sneering at her.
“Kill her.”
“She is one of them, kill her.”
“We can torture her for some information.”
“Better kill her, corpses cannot speak.”
“She has seen us.” Another voice.
“Why not torture her? Just like they did to our women.”
“We can make her pay. For her father’s sins.”
“Move aside.” A firm and familiar voice was heard. Abhaya opened her eyes at the voice of the man who spoke.
Abhaya could now see the figure coming towards her in the flickering light. She gasped with the little strength she had. This figure unveiled his face and knelt to look at her closely. It was his father’s childhood friend. She had grown up knowing him and his family like her extended family. Had he killed her parents? How could he? Are they losing their humanity in their cause? Abhaya lost consciousness.
