Diya

Gandhi. All his friends teased Aman saying that he was the last Gandhian. I knew how much he admired the old man, but I didn’t realize how serious he was about non-violence until I watched him stand there and take a fist in the face.

The leader of the gang of thugs punched him. Aman took the blow without flinching. I tried to get to him but they held me back. I screamed and fought. And Aman just stood there while he was hit again and again.

‘This one is a smart-ass,’ said the leader. ‘He’s going to need some more teaching.’

He nodded at the other men. One of them stepped forward and jammed a stick into Aman’s stomach.

I screamed. I kicked. I was so petrified. Aman fell to the ground.

The secretary asked politely, ‘Her father doesn’t want you near her. You going to stay away from her now?’

‘Will you beat me if I don’t?’ asked Aman, struggling to get his breath back.

‘I’m afraid so. You see, you have to learn your lesson and learn it well.’

‘I’m not going to stay away from her.’

‘Go!’ I begged Aman. ‘Leave me and go!’ He just looked at me and got back on his feet.

‘This guy is a slow learner. Let’s teach him a good lesson.’ The secretary nodded to the men with him. They began beating up Aman with sticks. He made no attempt to defend himself or to fight back; he just fell to the ground, curled up and tried to save his head. He began to bleed.

‘NO!’ I screamed. ‘If you hurt him any more, I will hurt myself. I will take a knife and cut my wrists. You tell my father that.’ It was the only thing I could think of. And I meant it.

The secretary turned to look at me. Then he pulled out his phone and dialled a number. He held the phone to my ear.

‘Papa, listen to me,’ I said. ‘You can’t watch me every second of every day. I will find a time and I will hurt myself. The more you hurt him, the more I will hurt myself. You want me to get married? I’ll burn my face. You’ll never find anyone to get me married to. Listen to me, Papa!’

There was a long silence. No one threatens my father. In my desperation, I tried.

Then my father said, ‘Hand the phone over.’ He gave instructions. One of the men shoved me into their car. I tried to fight my way back to Aman but they wouldn’t let me. The last sight I had of him was him lying on the ground as they beat him. I had no idea if they were going to let him live.

I screamed as loudly as I could, ‘I love you! Aman, I love you!’ Then the car started, and I was driven away.