I'm a Master in India

Even though Anand was spun until his eyes turned black, the police didn't let him off.

Five or six men hit his body as he spun, hitting him continuously with all their might, the iron sheets and bamboo sticks making cracking sounds.

The stinging pain of the blows traveled through the ropes to his body, his face, arms, legs, and feet, none were spared.

He was bleeding, he screamed in pain, and he begged loudly for mercy.

But the police ignored him and continued to beat him.

Police torture prisoners for interrogation, but strangely, Anand's pleas for mercy received no response at all.

It was as if they were simply beating him, with no intention of making him speak.

Anand was beaten until he was half-dead, someone reached out and stopped the spinning, holding him still.

Just when he thought it was over, the person spun him in the opposite direction and continued to beat him.

After beating him enough, several police officers dragged Anand up the steel stairs, there were detention rooms upstairs.

He was tied up like a zongzi, dragged up the hard steel stairs, getting a bruise every time he hit a step.

Anand didn't even have the strength to scream, they threw him into the long corridor of the detention room.

The police officer on duty ordered the inmates nearby to untie the ropes on Anand, he stood at the door of the detention room, with his hands clasped behind his back.

When Anand was helped to stand up by the inmates, the police officer grabbed his numb face with his hand.

Anand opened his eyes groggily, and through the blood and dirt, he saw the police officer's distorted smiling face.

The police officer cursed at him and spat on his face. Anand couldn't even dodge because the other inmates were holding him firmly.

After humiliating him, the police officer threw him into the first cell, and when the door closed, the other person's expression seemed to say: Kid, you're finished, you're finished for life.

Metal clashed, the steel door closed, and keys jingled.

Anand looked at the inmates around him, all with lifeless eyes, crazed eyes, hateful eyes, and fearful eyes.

An endless chill quietly crept into his heart, making his body tense.

He had no idea what had happened, why he had been arrested, or why these people had beaten him severely and then ignored him.

However, his terrible days in the detention room had just begun, here, like outside, there were also ranks.

This police station had four cells, each about nine square meters. The corridor was only wide enough for two people to pass each other, and it was over ten meters long.

At the end of the corridor were one urinal and one key-shaped squatting toilet, neither had a door.

All four cells and the corridor held inmates, totaling two hundred and forty to fifty people.

They were packed together like a beehive, a termite mound, a large group of wriggling bodies pressed close together, with pitifully little space for hands and feet to move.

The excrement in the toilets was piled up to ankle height, and the urinals overflowed. The stench of shit and urine came in waves, filling every space here.

Mumbai in January was still a bit cold and damp, the cells were full of groans of pain, shouts, whispers, complaints, and screams of conflict that erupted every once in a while.

Anand was initially in the first cell, which only held about ten people. They were farthest from the toilet, the room was clean, and there was space to lie down.

Those held here were rich people, they could bribe the police to beat any other inmate who tried to squeeze in.

The inmates called this cell The Taj Mahal Hotel, a five-star treatment.

The second cell held about thirty people, all of whom were thieves with previous records. To protect their territory, they would use the most despicable methods to ambush challengers.

The third room held over forty people, they sat shoulder to shoulder against the wall, each taking turns to stretch their bodies in a clear space in the middle.

The people in this cell were not as vicious as the first two, but they were united and jointly resisted new invaders.

The last cell was closest to the toilet, the conditions were as expected, and the inmates inside were the most cunning.

Usually, newcomers would pass through the first cell, and they might try their luck there.

But each of those ten or so people had little followers in the corridor, they would push the newcomer away and verbally threaten him to leave.

Shouting next room! Next room! Get out!

The wriggling bodies desperately pushed the person towards the corridor, to the second room, where he might be suddenly ambushed.

At this point, the anxious newcomer could only go to the third room, but at the door, he was again simultaneously punched and kicked by several people.

Next room! Next room!

The newcomer was pushed all the way to the fourth room, where he would be warmly welcomed like an old friend.

Come in, brother! Come in, brother!

If someone believed it, that's when they were truly in trouble.

The fifty or sixty people squeezed into that dark and smelly room would immediately surround him and strip him naked.

The clothes taken would be distributed according to the hierarchy in the cell, jewelry, money, anything useful, nothing would be left.

The newcomer could only pick up dirty clothes that others didn't want to cover himself, at this point he either stayed and joined the next robbery, or went to the corridor to compete for territory with over a hundred people.

Finally, even in the corridor there was a hierarchy, and even a small foothold had to be fought for several times.

The area at the end of the corridor near the first room was the best, the area further back where the stench floated and the shit and urine overflowed onto the floor was the worst.

However, even by the muddy, sticky, nauseating toilet, people would fight fiercely for a small space where the mud was less accumulated.

Those who were forced to stay at the end of the corridor, forced to stand day and night in the ankle-deep shit and mud. Some would collapse from exhaustion and eventually suffocate to death.

Inmates were only allowed one meal a day, served around four or five in the afternoon.

It was mostly lentils and flatbread, or rice with thin curry sauce.

There was also a struggle for food, and those at the back of the line often got nothing, starving for a day or even longer.

The people in the first cell had already bribed the police, they even had a small steamer and six or seven plastic bottles and jars for storing tea leaves and food.

Even during detention, they could enjoy hot tea and snacks, the fuel came from the clothes and shoes of other inmates.

The five-star hotel treatment was not limited to this, they even had people to serve them when they went to the toilet.

There, rich people would stuff their nostrils with shirts or cloth strips, and hold a hand-rolled cigarette in their mouths to ward off the stench.

They would pull their trouser legs up to their knees, carry their sandals in their hands, walk barefoot into the pile of shit, and then squat.

The toilet's flushing function was good, but with over two hundred people using it every day, if someone didn't aim properly, shit and urine would accumulate in piles.

Rich people would walk through the filth and wash under the tap. There, someone would help them wipe their feet with a rag to get the cigarette butts the rich people had finished smoking.

Anand was personally escorted into the first room by the police, the people inside determined that he was a rich man.

He stayed there safely until the next day and was even invited to have afternoon tea by the people in the first room.

Anand had been beaten black and blue, and he was starving and thirsty.

So there was no reason to refuse, he ate and drank greedily, acting like a starving ghost.

The people in the first room looked at each other, suspicious. They exchanged glances and started chatting with him.

Anand was naive and, while burping, spilled all his secrets, including his surname.

He firmly believed that indian people were loyal and righteous, and that everyone here was in trouble and should help each other.

He even boasted that after getting out, he would give them generous rewards and so on.

But when he wiped his mouth and looked up, he saw that everyone in the room was staring at him with ill intentions.

"Wha-what's wrong?" He had a bad feeling.

"Throw him out!" Someone waved their hand in disgust.

Before he could even struggle, several people came in from the corridor, slapped him a few times, and then grabbed him by the hair and dragged him outside.

Anand screamed all the way, his old injuries hadn't healed, and new ones were added.

He shouted and yelled, saying that he knew people in Mumbai, that he knew Police Officer Rajesh, and that he and Ron. Sur were good brothers.

No one believed him, the people in the first room even burst out laughing.

Mr. Sur, the famous Mr. Sur, would be brothers with a Dalit?

This Dalit has gone mad!

The people squeezed in the corridor watched him make a fool of himself, neither helping nor kicking him when he was down.

They were all the eliminated ones from the four rooms, the bottom of the detention room.

After being severely beaten, Anand stumbled to his feet, someone tried to tear off his clean clothes, but he screamed and pushed them away.

The experience of just a few hours made him dare not trust anyone easily again.

He was pushed back by the wriggling bodies in the corridor, "Next room! Next room!"

The people in the second room were watching him like tigers, they were already prepared with vicious ambush tactics.

Anand hesitated for a moment, not daring to step forward. So he was pushed back again, cowards didn't deserve to stand here.

He kept retreating, his short, stout figure being pushed and shoved.

The stench grew stronger and stronger, and before he knew it, his feet were standing in a pile of shit and urine.

His instinct told him to stop, this was the fourth room.

"Come, brother, come in." They greeted him warmly.

"You're injured, I'll help you bandage it."

For a moment, Anand almost took a step, but he stopped himself just in time.

It was this sentence, he had often heard it before.

He missed Ron.

The crowd continued to push him, but Anand didn't move.

Someone squeezed over, he was a little taller than Anand, and also a little fatter.

He grabbed Anand's arms with both hands, trying to search him.

Anand struggled and cursed, the two were in a standoff.

Everyone watched silently, their exhaled breath swirling around the two.

Anand gritted his teeth and held on, he couldn't retreat any further.

Behind him was the toilet area, at the end of the corridor, a figure lay motionless in the foul-smelling filth.

Those who were driven there would not have a good outcome, most would not last a month.

But he was injured after all, and his strength gradually failed.

Just as he was about to be pinned to the ground by that person, Anand suddenly headbutted his nose bridge.

Three times, five times, seven times, his forehead was just at the person's chin, and the person was covered in blood from his headbutts.

The crowd watched him in horror, they pushed him, pulled him, and held his hands down.

Anand desperately lunged forward, he bit the person's face, tearing at it like a madman.

The person screamed and let go, flailing his arms and legs desperately, crawling hard in the corridor, trying to escape towards the iron door.

Anand chased after him, grabbing his clothes. The person clung to the iron door and shook it, screaming for help.

The guard came in and saw Anand spitting out flesh and blood from his mouth.

A piece of the person's ear was missing, and blood flowed non-stop.

The iron door closed again, the guard just looked at him with suspicion and then ignored him.

Anand squatted in the corridor, this was the doorway of room two, this time no one drove him away.

"Brother, nice move." Someone next to him struck up a conversation.

Anand remained silent.

"How did you get in?" The person continued to ask.

"I don't know." He replied.

"Don't know?"

"They arrested me at night, didn't tell me what crime I committed, and gave me a good beating."

"Then you're in trouble, you might have to stay here for two weeks."

"Can I get out after two weeks?" His eyes lit up.

"No, after two weeks you'll be sent to Arthur Road Jail. And they warned the people here not to help you, especially those who leave. Did you offend a big shot? yaar, I don't dare help you either, or I'll be in big trouble."

Anand's expression was despairing, he had to find a way to contact the outside, at least get the word out.

As long as Ron got the news, he would definitely come to rescue him.

Alas, Anand sighed again, not knowing if Ron Baba had returned from Uttar Pradesh.