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Shortened Third-Person Narration Script_ Assault and Defiance

At fifteen, Phoolan faces severe ostracism and abuse from the villagers, particularly from Suresh, who leads a gang that ultimately rapes her. Despite her mother's inability to protect her, Phoolan vows revenge against her attackers and seeks to punish them for the humiliation she endured. Her determination grows as she resolves to make the perpetrators pay for their actions, solidifying her path of vengeance.

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P0le Sai
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Shortened Third-Person Narration Script_ Assault and Defiance

At fifteen, Phoolan faces severe ostracism and abuse from the villagers, particularly from Suresh, who leads a gang that ultimately rapes her. Despite her mother's inability to protect her, Phoolan vows revenge against her attackers and seeks to punish them for the humiliation she endured. Her determination grows as she resolves to make the perpetrators pay for their actions, solidifying her path of vengeance.

Uploaded by

P0le Sai
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as TXT, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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At fifteen, Phoolan was a pariah, her forehead bare of the red mark, her sari’s end

forgotten. Villagers saw her as disreputable, a girl without a husband’s


protection, fair game for their sons. The Sarpanch’s son, Suresh, hounded her, his
taunts escalating to traps. One dawn, he lured her to his house with a false
message, only to reveal a gang of rough men. She fled, their laughter chasing her.
He and the Pradhan’s sons blocked her path, waving rupees, hurling stones when she
dodged them.

One morning, alone by the river, Suresh grabbed her, his hands roaming with an evil
glint. Panicked, she slapped him and ran, stones pelting her back. “Why me?” she
cried to her mother, Moola. “It’s your situation,” Moola sighed, unable to shield
her. She went to the Panchayat, pleading, “If he wants her, let him marry her.
Otherwise, stop him!” The Sarpanch expelled her, roaring, “Get rid of that girl!
She dishonors us!”

That night, thunder broke as danger struck at home. Past midnight, Phoolan and
Moola lay on hay in the storeroom. A shiver woke her; shadows moved. A hand clamped
her mouth. “Stay, Moola, and watch!” Suresh sneered, rifle in hand, leading a gang.
They pinned Phoolan down, slapping Moola, ignoring her father’s pleas: “Spare her!
We’ll leave tomorrow!” Two men raped her, grunting, as her spirit flickered. “See
what happens if you defy me,” Suresh spat, vanishing over the wall.

Phoolan collapsed into Moola’s arms, sobbing, “Amma, throw me in the well!” Bhuri
and her brother wept, too young to grasp the horror. Moola shook her head. “Why did
I birth you? I’m ashamed!” Her father bolted the door, urging silence. Unlike Putti
Lal’s private abuse, this public violation ruined her. Choking on pain, Phoolan
wailed, “I want them punished! I’ll kill them!”

Sleepless, rage consumed her. She vowed revenge, yearning for someone to shame
their wives as she’d been shamed. The villagers’ whispers grew louder, her
ostracism complete, but her resolve hardened. She’d find a way to make them pay.

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