Indian universities are infamous for student unrest and agitation. Universities have become political playgrounds of the different political parties. Each party is interested in campus politics as a means of recruiting youths. Feuds between political parties often end up in street fighting, arson, and murders.

The youth do not learn lessons from their ancestors’ suffering, but for clever and cunning persons, colleges are well suited to building their political ambitions, and soon they get elevated in national politics and often become ministers, but they are very few in number.

Most of the students who indulge in political activities at colleges spoil their careers and end up either as goons for their respective parties or get accused of murder cases and spend the rest of their time in jails.

I became a scapegoat of campus politics and miraculously escaped out of it.

This story is based on my experiences in custody.

I was studying for law at a government college. Our college is infamous for its student unrest, and many of our dropouts have become big political personalities, business magnates, or infamous thugs.

One day, the leader of a communist youth outfit in our college came to our class and lectured about students’ immediate need for revising the curriculum, decreasing the fee, etc., and sought our help in a march.

He explained that the presence of girls would increase the glamour for the march, and media publicity would be high. We girls all agreed to his idea if it was done in a peaceful manner. He told us that they would not use anything other than beautiful placards for display at the march. Little did we know that this was a devious plot to score a political vendetta against the ruling party by the opposition (communist).

The march started from our college at 10:30 a.m. We had to walk about 2 kilometers to reach the minister’s office to submit our demands. There were about 100 boys and 20 girls in the march. In the front row, my two close friends and I were carrying a banner with our demands.

My friends, Susan and Sharon, are two charming girls. They had so many admirers in the college that they were reluctant to join the march and demonstration, as their family background is of peace-loving Christian families who hated communism. Therefore, if their family found out about their daughters leading a march on a public road, they would be shocked, and there was a chance that their entire study would be stopped, but I persuaded them, giving assurance that the march would be peaceful and that we would be the stars of the possible media coverage.

Being law students, we could not shy away from politics and struggles. They finally agreed to my arguments, and we three stayed together in one room in the hostel. Susan and Sharon came from big farming families about 200 km away from our college. There was not much chance for their relatives finding out about our agitation, so we took the risk in a gala mood.

After one kilometer of our march, we got really tired of walking. We were not used to such long walks, as we normally only traveled by scooter or car. Our colleagues bought mineral water, Pepsi, etc., to refresh us and keep our spirits up.

When we continued our march after taking a rest, I noticed some new faces had joined in the march. They didn’t look like students from our college. They had rough faces and were older than we were.

In law colleges, students are of different ages, so it is not distinguishable to select students from a bunch, but the newly joined members were shouting slogans as if they were well experienced, and most of their slogans were different from our student issues, being of a more political nature. They were also abusing the officials and police.

I called our union leader and asked about the presence of members other than students in our march. He told me that they were members of a political outfit sympathetic to our cause, and that they were well experienced in shouting slogans, and since we students were pretty tired and without good slogans, our march would lose its charm.

After about thirty minutes, we reached the minister’s office. There was a heavy police presence at the gate. There were women constables and policemen with glass shields and big batons in their hands.

Another thing I noticed was that most of our charming union leaders were missing from the march, and most of the faces surrounding us were the rough-looking people from the supporting political group, and we girls were pushed to the front of the march by this other group.

I felt something was wrong here, but we were at the end of the march, and after we submitted our demands, we could safely leave.

Susan and Sharon were thrilled at the sight of the police and media people around them, and they were shouting slogans far better than I was.

Then one of our leaders started talking about our demands, but soon he started changing the subject, and finally his talk was full of abuses against the officials and present ruling party and police.

I felt ashamed for joining such a demonstration where there was no standard of discipline like when we first started the march.

One high-ranking police officer came to us and asked two or three people to come forward to meet with the ministers, and all the others should sit there or move away without disrupting traffic.

While he was speaking to us in a pleasant tone, some stones were thrown at him from our procession. Soon the atmosphere changed and students or other hooligans started throwing soda water bottles and stones at the police.

The police officer took his megaphone and asked us to disperse immediately, otherwise they would have to use force.

Soon, ladies at the back row were seen running away from the march in fear of violence, but we could not skip like that, as we were holding banners and people were pushing us forward toward the police.

Soon, police started beating us with their batons. I saw Sharon hit on her shoulder by a policeman, and she became violent. She attacked the policeman, and he called his woman counterparts to arrest us.

One woman constable caught Sharon by her hair and took her to a nearby jeep. This brutal act boiled my blood. I felt I was responsible for Sharon’s trouble, and I jumped to rescue her from the hands of the policewoman, and I grabbed hold of her sari. Unfortunately, the policewomen of India wear their national costume sari instead of the more suitable pants even on occasions where a sari would inhibit their speed of motion.

My attack on the policewoman was quite unexpected to her. She fell down on the road, and another policewoman rushed at me. I saw through the corner of my eyes that Susan was also trying to rescue Sharon from the police jeep.

There were big fights taking place behind us between police and students and hooligans. There was a heavy commotion, and I heard our friends crying after being beaten by the police.

Most of the girls managed to escape, as there were no policewomen near them, and the policemen did not dare to touch them.

The policewoman who fell down at the road felt humiliated and stood up and charged at me, but her sari was falling down, and her legs got tangled, and somebody snatched her sari away from her. Now she was wearing only her undergarment, which was a loose old skirt. Her humiliation was quite predictable.

We immediately knew that our escape could only be possible if we could prevent this policewoman from arresting us. The policemen would not touch us, and the struggle was getting more fierce, and there were sure to be more police arriving any instant.

Susan and I snatched other policewomen’s saris, and soon three of them were shying away from the media men and us as they struggled half-naked in a public place. Susan and I proceeded into the jeep and managed to get Sharon away. At that time, I felt a blow on my head from behind. I turned and saw a policeman had hit my head with his baton. Soon I felt blood in my hands, and I collapsed and lost my senses.

When I regained consciousness, I was lying in a big police van. I looked around and saw that both Susan and Sharon were also there, and many women constables were sitting watching us. Somebody had put a bandage on my head, and the van was heading slowly to a hospital.

They took me to the government doctor and checked my injury. It was a minor one, and he bandaged me. I looked at my watch and saw it was 3:00 p.m. They then proceeded to take us to the court.

When we reached the court, we saw a lot of media men and most of our friends gathered there shouting slogans. One leader came to me and said there was nothing to worry about, and they would let us out on bail as soon as the court started its session.

I did not say anything. I felt deeply ashamed and embarrassed at having to appear before a court. As a law student, I was well aware that the charges going to be put against us would be obstructing a police officer on duty, and if they charged us with assaulting a police officer, we would surely be punished with six months’ imprisonment, and it would be the end of our career. It all depended on how the police would frame their case.

Our leader told me again that they had talked to the minister, and we would most probably be released with a warning. I could not believe his words. Susan and Sharon were weeping at their misfortune. I felt guilty looking at them. They might be perhaps cursing me silently.

The magistrate came to his bench, and he started calling the cases one by one. From my experience, I knew that if our charges were minor, we would be called first, and we could go home on bail.

Even if the charges were high, it was possible to get bail, as the court would not order three college girls to prison, and there was time for our advocates to argue our case, but the police were playing another trick. They did not submit our case records to the magistrate and were saying that the officer in charge was missing.

I guessed they were asking for time to frame a strong case, but the police were acting wiser. It was a Friday. They were forced not to charge us with strong cases, as it would ruin our future. At the same time, they wanted to teach a lesson to us.

The entire police force was angry at our attempts to disrobe the policewomen, and most of them were demanding to press a strong case against us. Thus, the police were in a dilemma.

At about 4:45 PM they submitted our case before the magistrate, and we were charged with a pretty minor case of obstructing a police officer on duty and illegal assembly. We were happy, and we were sure to get bail as soon as the case was presented.

The magistrate asked for our names and educational background and about our family. Then he asked about any misbehavior on the part of the police against us. He asked whether they beat us in the jeep, etc.

Our advocate seemed impatient and was looking at his watch. Then I remembered that with the impending weekend, if the magistrate did not give us bail, we might have to stay in custody for through the weekend.

The magistrate was an old man, and he seemed very calm and slow in his proceedings.

Then Sharon made a mistake. She told the magistrate that she was kicked in the jeep by a policewoman. The magistrate was furious on hearing this point. He asked the police officer to check whether the allegation was true, and the officer reported that the policewomen had left the office, and he needed time to check the facts.

The police were acting clever. I could see that all the policewomen were standing around the court.

The Magistrate looked at the clock and saw that it was 5:00 p.m., and our case was still pending. He declared that he would look into the matter on Monday, and till that time, he asked the police to keep us in safe custody, and he instructed them not to hurt us in any way.

Our advocate frantically asked him for bail, saying that there was no space for ladies in a police station, and we would be harassed by them, but the magistrate said that he would like to punish the persons who kicked Sharon, and therefore he cannot grant bail, but he would surely consider it on Monday.

He directed the police to keep us in a women’s police station or at a juvenile home and instructed that we should not be harassed, whatever the cause, and should be submitted before court on Monday at 10:00 a.m. sharp. The court was over for the day.

Our union leaders came to us and expressed their grief and helplessness. I was getting a feeling that they were happy about our custody, and that they were planning to agitate more tomorrow on our cause. They had already started throwing stones at buses and disrupting traffic. Media men were also taking pictures of us, and one media man asked me to tear my blouse a bit so that he could get a snap of me wearing torn clothes, that it may be proof of police atrocity against us.

I denied his requests and proceeded to walk into the van waiting for us.

We three were taken to a newly opened police station manned only by women. When we reached the station, it was evening. There was a change of duty going on. The employees of the day shift were handing over charges to the night shift personnel.

The inspector in charge was a lady about 6 ft tall with a body of an athlete. She was writing something when we reached there. Her deputy was standing at attention near her.

It was our first time visiting a police station, and we were trembling with fear, but we thought we might not have to face any problems, as it was a police station manned by women, and it was a model police station as per the government notification.

We three were taken to the reporting officer in charge. She was a mature lady of 45 years and was sympathetic to us. She asked our names, age, charges, and noted them in a register. She scolded us for behaving badly and participating in such agitations without thinking of our future.

“You fools, if you are charged with assaulting a police officer, you could get six months and can never get a government job.”

We did not say anything. Then she asked us to sign in the register and asked a constable to take us to the inspector. She asked her to measure our weight, etc., and give us uniforms to wear before taking us to the inspector. We were separated and taken to separate areas of the station.

I was taken to a room with one lady who was sitting there. She asked me to remove my clothes. I looked at her for uniforms to wear, but she was not looking at me and was scribbling something in a register.

I did not know what to do. She had not offered anything for me to change into.

After a few seconds, she lifted her eyes and shouted, “What are you waiting for? Remove your clothes and stand on the weighing machine.”

I told her I needed something to change into.

“Obey orders! You will get your uniform in the next room,” she said, and again started writing.

I decided to obey. I had to obey or else they could do whatever they wanted to me. I removed my shirt, jeans, and shoes. I was standing wearing only my bra and panties.

“You rascal, remove all clothes and put them in a pile,” she shouted again.

I fumbled with the hooks of my bra, yanked my panties away, arranged all my clothes in a neat pile, and stood before her in my birthday suit. She was inspecting me with hungry eyes. She asked me to stand on the weighing machine, and read the weight to her. I read 55 kg and told her.

“Only 55? You look more. See your fat ass and tits? Let me see.”

Saying this, she slapped me in my buttocks. She then looked at the reading, and while looking at the reading, she pressed my breasts with her arms.

“Okay, go to the next room. You will get a uniform there, and after putting it on, you are to meet the inspector.”

I walked hurriedly in the hope that I could soon cover myself. I saw a woman in a uniform sitting there and asked her for my uniform.

“Uniform? Oh yes, ah, we don’t have a good one at present. I have been told to get some from the store. You go and meet the inspector and come back. By that time, your uniform will be ready,” she said.

I was at the end of my wits. I cursed myself for all my faults and entered the inspector’s room.

The inspector was still writing, and her deputy was standing at attention near her. They did not look at me. I did not know what to do. I coughed and tried to catch their attention. Then a side door was open, and two ladies entered the room. They obviously looked like two inmates of the station. They were ugly-looking and were crying and abusing each other.

“What is this nonsense? Again, problems?” the inspector asked them.

One policewoman entered the room and said, “Madam, these two bitches started fighting once again.”

Nobody was paying me any attention. Here I was standing completely naked for the past fifteen minutes, and nobody gave any care.

“What is your problem, Omana?” she asked the elderly lady.

“Sir, Sarada scratched me, and she bit on my tits,” Omana said.

“You filthy bitches, you want to be fucked all the time, no? You can’t live without a pole between your legs, you cunt suckers. Constable, remove their clothes and give them ten slaps each.”

The constable removed their clothes around the waist, and I could see two more pussies. Both of them were shaved. They didn’t have any hair on their pussies. Then the constable used a cane and gave them ten beatings on their buttocks. They never showed any pain and were standing unabashedly looking at my nudity.

I was terribly upset. I could feel their hungry looks at my pussy and wondered how could I spend a night if I was put with them. Surely, they would attack my pussy if they got the opportunity. I could see they were two sex-starved bitches. They were looking at me like a tigress eyeing a deer.

“Take them to their cells. Don’t give them food today,” the inspector said, and the constable took them away through the side door. Then the inspector looked at me for the first time.

“Who are you, shameless bitch, without any clothes? Is this a police station or Kovalam beach?” she asked me in a harsh voice.

(Kovalam is a beach where foreigners bathe nude.)

“I did not get any uniform, madam,” I said.

“Who are you, bitch? Say that first,” she said.

Then a policewoman, whom I had just seen before entering this room, entered and told the inspector.

“Madame, she is one of the students who attacked us at the secretariat and threw stones at us.”

“Oho, so you are the one who snatched our dress and humiliated us before the public? Where are the others?” she asked, then the side door once again opened and Susan and Sharon entered.

Susan was as completely naked as I was, and Sharon was keeping her hands fixed on her panties.

“So these are the bitches that dared to attack the police. Strip them all nude,” the inspector was roaring.

Sharon was protesting, and the constable moved to snatch her panties away. I could not understand why Sharon was making a problem again. We were all women here, and nothing was going to happen if she also became nude. Anyway, her two friends were there stark naked to give her company.

The constable gave her one slap and yanked her panties away in one swift move. Everyone was looking eagerly at Sharon’s pussy. I could not suppress my laughter. The reason was that Sharon’s pussy was shaved, and she shaved in a fashion that a tuft of hair was kept at the upper side of her pubis, and it looked like an ‘S’.

Everybody in the room was laughing after they saw the artwork of poor Sharon at her pussy. I could not guess how she did it without giving us any clues. It was evident that she had done it at the hostel after taking so much time and care.

Sharon was blushing red, and she was looking at me angrily as if I was the root cause of all of her embarrassment. If she had not complained to the magistrate about police abuse, we could have gotten bail before 5 p.m. I consoled myself that it was our destiny to spend two days in a police lock-up and suffer all humiliation.

The police inspector asked the deputy to give us our own clothes and send us to some hygienic cells. We were dressed and taken to cells. Susan and I were put into one cell that already had two inmates in it. They were the quarrelling women whom I had seen earlier in the inspector’s room. Sharon was put into another cell.

We were served dinner in an aluminum plate. It was some bread made of wheat flour and some vegetable curry. I had never eaten such horrible food in my life. I started to throw it away, but the other inmates warned us that it would be improper to throw away food, and if the policewomen saw it, they would punish us. I did not know what to do. Then the other inmates took our plates and ate the food we had left. We then washed the plates and returned them.

The room was an old one, and there were a lot of mosquitoes. There was no bed, and we only got two pillows. They were as old as the station and were smelling of urine and shit. There was a closet at one end of the room to urinate, and it was all broken and dirty. There was no privacy anyway. There was a dim light which could not be switched off. We were given one old blanket for two people. We were wearing our jeans and shirts, and there was no fan or any air circulation in the room. It was heavily suffocating to stay there even for one night.