Smita was a 22-year-old college student in a small town near Lucknow. She had just finished her final exams and decided to take a shortcut through the old, abandoned construction site on the outskirts to reach her rented room faster. The sun was setting, painting the sky in deep orange hues. She wore a simple salwar-kameez, her dupatta loosely draped over her shoulders, her long black hair tied in a ponytail. She was innocent, ambitious, and had no idea what waited for her in the shadows.

The construction site had been deserted for months, but a group of five old men—retired laborers and watchmen in their late 50s and 60s—had turned it into their drinking den. They were rough, uneducated, and frustrated with life. Their names were Ramu (62), Chhote (58), Babulal (65), Sohan (60), and Mahesh (55). They had been drinking desi daru the whole evening, their eyes bloodshot and their minds filthy.