Night Attack - On My Little Sister

We burst into the headman’s courtyard, and I banged on the iron bell meant for fires and floods.

“Meera?” My voice was a cracked whisper. night attack on my little sister

The dark under the jackfruit tree was absolute. But shapes moved there. Two men, low to the ground. One held a jute sack. The other—his hand was over Meera’s face. She was kicking, her small legs flailing, her eyes wide as broken plates. We burst into the headman’s courtyard, and I

The man with the knife laughed. Soft. Like gravel rolling downhill. “Go back to sleep, little cock. This is not your business.” But shapes moved there

“Let her go,” I said. My voice belonged to someone else. Someone older. Someone who had already died once and had nothing left to lose.

The second man dropped the sack and lunged for me. I was small, but I was fast—fast from chasing goats, fast from running from village dogs. I ducked under his arm and brought the pestle up into his ribs. He wheezed, folded, and stumbled over the low wall of the well.

Then I heard it again. A wet, choked sound, like someone trying to speak through a hand clamped over their mouth. It came from the old well behind the jackfruit tree.