NEWS

Not me, your honour

He was 15 and in love. So he penned his feelings to the 14-yearold object of his adoration – but the villagers descended on his house, dragging him by his hair down the road. His screaming mother followed, pleading for his life. But they threw him in front of a moving train. His sin? He was of a lower caste than the girl. I read the three paragraphs hidden on page two of a national Sunday paper more than a decade ago and decided this boy couldn’t die in vain. He needed a book blowing Death by Dishonour wide open….

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