"Betichudan maa ke laude, tera to mai pura khandaan ko chod ke narak bhej doonga."
He lay on the ground, not moving, whimpering at every word. The chain swung from the goon's hand- the very same chain that had once held the same neck that'd belonged to his wife.
"Teri biwi ka to maine leliya, gand marke, chut phaadke. Ab mai kaunsa anadi ka bhatija lagta hoon, chamanchutiye? Tujhe vapas mere hi paas aana tha? Ek baari kaafi nahi? Abe gandu, tere us bheje ke andar kya bhagwaan ne sirf do takiye ki tatti bhar ke rakh diya kya?"
Again the chain fell, propelled by an almighty hand. Lakhan's screams echoed into the alley, but no one heard him; no one who wanted to. All around them the doors were shut, the lights were off, the windows barred; no one challenged the single man who stood on Lakhan's hand, grinding the sole of his heavy boot into Lakhan's fingers.
"Ay, woh bhi jawan chut thi. Har jhalak me aisa nasha.. madarchod lagta tha ki uske har shabd ke picche ek aur awaj bol raha hai, mera chut hai bistar- aake tasreef rakhiye... aur aap to aisi rand ke pille, jiska dil dariya aur gand samandar." He paused in his whipping of the prone, bleeding Lakhan, as if coming to his senses.
"Betichod mai bol raha hoon woh sun bhi sakta hai kya? Tadka, kya is madarchod ke kaan abhi sahi salamat hai, ya kya mai likh ke report karu, dastakhat ke saath?" Tommy "Tadka" Jalal grinned back at him, then proceeded to lift Lakhan by one ear. "Tadka" he was called because of his love for food and drink- spicy, hot stuff- much like the girls he enjoyed. His immense girth was easily recognisable- no one else could down four chickens like Tadka could. Lakhan screamed again as his ears were nearly ripped off by the man's efforts.
"Bhau, lakta hai iske kaano me ab bhi jaan hai. Kai re mutreyaa, tula hindi yeet nahi ka? Tar kasha me Bangla bolu kai?" The grin on his bearded face vanished instantly, replaced by rage. "Chutmarike, ab tak jo hum bol rahe hai woh tere bheja me kya mujhe ghusana padega, garama-garam chaini ke nok pe?"
Lakhan shook feebly, trying to get his words past a swollen tongue and bleeding lips. His face was worse off than the rest of him, and that was saying something. Almost every bone in his right leg was fractured thrice over; he hadn't felt his left arm since five minutes back. His ribs hurt with every breath, and he bled from over a dozen wounds across his body, some wide gashes and others open holes in his skin.
"Tadka, isse edhar hi chodna hai, ya thoda insurance lena chahiye?"
"Pata nahi. Kya hume insurance lena chahiye?" Tadka asked the man, shaking him like a leaf. Lakhan tried to scream, but even taking the breath hurt, his throat was purple from when one of the goons had stomped on it.
"Nahi.. mai kuch nahi bolunga," he managed to get out before coughing out blood, and his throat felt both dry and wet at the same time- there was so much blood on the streets that Lakhan knew he'd die if the bleeding didn't stop soon.
"Chal, thik hai. Teri biwi ki thukayi ke kasam, tujhe is baar chod diya. Agli baar agar haath uthana pada, to behen ke laude, sun le. Tere aakhon ke saamne teri bacche ki jaan leloonga- hathode se uska ek ek haddi tod dunga. Lekin tu zinda rahega- bena zabaan, kaan, haath ya pair; phir dekh tu police ke paas kaise jayega. Tadka, chod de. Ashfaq ke ghar pe naye raande aaye hai.. aur raat abhi baaki hai."
They left Lakhan there- battered, bruised, bleeding, but as they left, Lakhan fixed their retreating backs with the only thing he still had on him; bloody, brutal hate.
More to come. What goes around comes around- what you do unto others comes back threefold, and so on and so forth. Fun times.