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Her Sadistic Karma(continued) Suddenly, a hefty man appeared on a black stallion. He fired into
the air, and the crowd parted. He grabbed the naked, bleeding, half-dead
girl and threw her on the horse, and moved out. I ran after him and
blocked the horse's path. He pointed the rifle at me. "Move; otherwise, I'll put a hole in your heart." "I want to purchase this infidel from you," I said. "How much do you offer?" "Three hundred rupees." "I can easily sell her to the pimps for more than twenty thousand." "Take one hundred as an advance, and I'll sell my land and bring
you thirty thousand in five days." "All right, give me one hundred and bring the money to Kohri Village." I gave him one hundred rupees. "What's your name?" "Rashid," he said. "What's your name?" "Gulam." Amrit was unconscious with swollen eyes. She showed no signs of recognizing
me.
I stayed one night in the mosque at Lyalpur. Next morning I walked
to Kohri Village and located Rashid's home. I hid in the bushes and
watched Rashid bringing men to his house. I could hear Amrit's moans
and cries, as she was being tortured. I slept in the village mosque
and planned to free Amrit. Next morning, I saw a big car parked in front
of Rashid's house. It had a Lahore license plate number, and I was sure
Rashid was selling Amrit to the pimps from Hira Mandi, Lahore. Next
day, there were no sounds in Rashid's house, and he didn't bring any
customers. This confirmed my guess. I rode the bus to Lahore and entered
Hira Mandi. I tried hard but failed to locate Amrit. Thousands of whores
practiced there, and hundreds of Sikh and Hindu girls had arrived recently.
I reached my village, told the tragic story to my parents, and asked
their forgiveness for stealing the money. I was shocked to learn many
of the Muslims in my village had been murdered, and the rest had left
for Pakistan. I went to the demolished mosque in my village and sat
there over the grave of a Muslim saint. I couldn't hold in my tears,
as I learned about the tragic murder of the village mullah. What a tragedy!
A few months ago, we lived like bothers and shared joy and sorrow as
one family. I began hating religion and its exploiters. The Indian government provided admission to the engineering college
students from Lahore in the neighboring state, Utter Pardesh. I joined,
completed my degree in civil engineering and secured a job as an engineer
in the Public Works Department, Punjab. However, the memory of Amrit
and her tragic, miserable life haunted me. I married, and God blessed
me with two sons and one daughter. Time, though, failed to heal my wounds.
Every Sunday I visited the Golden Temple and stopped at the spot where
Amrit and I had met while we were young. There, I prayed for her.
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