Having suffered immensely at the hands of such rogues not too long ago, she was in the mood to settle scores. She walked resolutely towards the cop and with all her strength kicked him in the groin. He screamed again and doubled over in pain—his right hand gripping his vitals, his body writhing. Bibi waited for him to settle in one posture for a few minutes. Then she walked towards the other end of the room and lifted the flowerpot kept close to the wall. She walked back and waited. The SHO had turned on his back again. She held the pot over him and dropped it on his groin with full force. The pot broke into many pieces. The injuries caused by the shards made the cop cough up blood and lose consciousness.
Bibi stared at him for signs of activity, then, not finding any, dusted her hands, walked towards the door, opened the latch and flung it open. The havildar had gone to get help, so he wasn’t there to catch her. Not that she cared. Without showing any signs of hurry, she quietly stepped out and shut the door firmly behind her. After a brief pause, she removed her burqa, which had bloodstains from the struggle, smoothened her hair, wiped her dried tears and turned towards the door. She found a lock hanging from it. She pulled it out and latched and bolted the door. ‘Thank you, Waheguru,’ she said softly and then began walking towards the tonga that seemed farther up than she’d left it.
She saw the old woman and the horseman rushing towards her. ‘Are you okay, Bibi?’ they inquired. It was now the old woman’s turn to be surprised as she gazed at her stern, anger-filled expression.
‘Yes, Badi Bee,’ Bibi said evenly. I’m fine, and everyone else will be fine, because the SHO will never look at any woman lustfully.’
As she sat in the tonga, her face was calm, composed and bereft of worries and fear of the far-reaching consequences of her actions.
