Compass Courage 
Citizen Junction / जनता कक्ष

Compass Courage

She turned to the crowd, raising her voice. This is not just my fight. To every girl out there, don't let fear silence you. Take what you have, stand up tall, and know that your strength has the power to break any chain.

Prithul Lochan

Through an Ordinary Morning

The streets of Thane came alive with activities that Friday morning, July 18, 2025. The clock read 11:08 AM IST. An incoherent orchestra of honking rickshaws, vendors hawking their wares, and distant laughter of schoolchildren filled the air. Golden rays of sunshine poured over the dusty road, glittering as the auto-rickshaws sped like beetles to their destinations. Among these was Nirali, a 16-year-old girl with sharp, inquisitive eyes and a determined set to her jaw. Clad in her school uniform, blue backpack, she looked an odd sight, really, for St. Mary's High School, not so far away, was just a rickshaw ride away. Her geometry set was clutched in her hand, its compass glistening faintly in the morning light, which she had used to work through the angles for her most recent math assignment.

Nirali settled herself in the rickshaw with the equations banging in her head. Late again, thoughts of Mrs. Sharma's class gnawed at her. St. Mary's, quick, was her way of instructing the driver, who appeared to be a thirty-something man with a weather-beaten face and cap pulled low over his eyes. He nodded curtly. The rickshaw lurched, melting into the city traffic. A familiar city rhythm enveloped her, the perfume of masala chai wafting from a nearby stall, the spluttering monotone of the rickshaw. For a minute or two, she experienced the sweet solace of a routine, her mind wandering to a geometry problem she was trying to solve. Find the angle of elevation if the height is 12 meters and the distance is 5 meters.

But something had changed. The rickshaw turned sharply with the driver veering onto a narrow lane with crumbling walls on either side, shrouded in shadow. Nirali's brow furrowed. This wasn't the way to school. The tightening of her stomach was now accompanied by the crawling sensation of unease along her spine. Excuse me, she said, leaning forward, steady but cautious. This isn't the way. Stop, please. The driver ignored her. A malicious grin spread on his face, a glint of malevolence in his eyes as he pressed hard on the gas. The alley grew quieter; the sound from the main street was now far away.

A rush of panic overtook her. Stop the rickshaw! she shouted, her voice soaring. The driver turned, his expression cold. Stay quiet, girl. Noone is coming, he growled. Nirali's heart banged against her ribs. This wasn't a blunder. This was attempted kidnapping. A cold and paralysing flood of fear washed over her, but underneath it all, there was a spark of defiance. Her fingers tightened around the compass, its metal shaft digging into her palm. I will never let this happen, she thought. Whatever it takes, I will fight for myself. This thought became a silent vow that instilled a bit of confidence in her.

The Fight

The rickshaw jolted as the driver reached back with a meaty hand to grab Nirali. Her breath hitched, with instinct kicking in. She swung the compass with all her strength, the sharp end grazing his forearm. He cried out in pain as the rickshaw swerved dangerously, sputtering in defiance of the appalling control the driver was trying to exert. You little! he hissed, face contorted with pain and rage. Blood trickled down his exposed arm and onto his sleeve, but this time it seemed to have fuelled his anger. He lunged again, brushing to grip her wrist.

Nirali's brain screamed at her to get away. The alley blurred past, carrying her with a swift knife of a rickshaw. Her gaze flicked toward the open side, with the pavement going past at an alarming rate. Can I make it? A shred of doubt clawed at her heart; after all, there was no way she'd want to be dragged deeper into this nightmare. Adrenaline rushed through her, drowning out any remnants of fear. With a hoarse cry, she threw herself toward the edge and jumped.

Time flickered. The ground rushed up, a sickening thud as she hit the pavement. Pain erupted in her knees, her elbows, and her side. The skirt tore, creating a loud sound, while the books scattered along the road, covered in dust. She rolled on, gouging her skin against the gravel, gasping for her breath. For a brief moment, she lay still whilst the world around her tilted, her body shaking from shock. The roar from the rickshaw engine came like a distant gunshot, the curses from the driver fading away into the horizon.

Tears stung her eyes-not from pain, but from the gut-wrenching trauma of just surviving. Gasping for breath, she began to push herself up, wincing with every scrape of her knee. From the not-so-distant shadows appeared bystanders woman with a basket full of vegetables, a man on a bicycle, their voices faded in and out. Are you okay? Should we call the police? the woman asked, fluttering her hands helplessly.

With Nirali slowly regaining her vision, she fixed her gaze on them with steely determination. I'm fine, she replied, her voice trembling but strong. I've got school. And let this be a lesson. Girls, never give up. Use whatever you have, fight with all your strength, because your courage can save you. The crowd murmured, galvanizingly inspired by her. Pain-punctuated with sheer determination-saw her limp toward the school gate. With every step she took, she fought against the memory of that rickshaw with everything within her. Inside, her heart raced from fear and pride, along with the determination that was building for others. I did it. And I will show others they can, too. 

The Classroom Sanctuary

By 11:30 AM, Nirali sidled into the classroom with the all-too-familiar scents of chalk and textbooks, granting her some sanity. Dusty from head to toe, her uniform caught the dust from her kneecaps and dripped blood on the floor. She quietly slipped into her desk as Mrs. Sharma, the maths teacher, called her to the board to solve the problem. The class swung around, whispers finally breaking into uproar as they finally acknowledged the dishevelled girl. Nirali's cheeks burned, but with all her concentration, she focused on the equation, the compass now a little bent, steady in her hand. From the rest of the class, she drew the lines, calculated the angles, her mind an impregnable fortress to the turbulent memories of the morning.

That's right, Nirali, Mrs. Sharma said at last, the tone of her voice begrudgingly admiring. The whole class clapped now, but their eyes were still on her. With her legs quaking beneath the desk at this point, Nirali just wanted to escape. Inside, relief that she was safe battled with terror at how close she'd been to disaster and an unnamed fierce pride. I hit back, she thought, her fingers tracing along the dented edge of the compass. Inside the classroom, she found her sanctuary, the one place she could reclaim her normalcy.

Lunch hour came, and Priya, her best friend, took her aside. What on earth happened to you? she whispered, wide-eyed with concern. Nirali hesitated, choking on her words. Finally, taking a deep breath, she leaned in. I was attacked in a rickshaw. I fought him off and jumped out. Priya gasped with the news and tears brimmed in her eyes. You're so courageous! But why didn't you tell anybody? Nirali shook her head. I had to keep going. Priya, remember, if it ever happens to you or anybody, don't freeze. Fight! Your voice, your strength, can change everything.

Priya nodded, totally enchanted, and something new ignited inside Nirali. She was no longer surviving; she was now lighting the path for others.

The Reckoning

The final bell rang at 3:00 PM, and Nirali knew she could not delay anymore. Heart heavy, with only one strap of her bag over her shoulder, she went to the police station. Nirali recounted her ordeal to the officer, a stern man with graying hair, who stood at the front desk. Her voice was steady; her hands seem to tremble as she held up the bent compass. He must have been about 35, she said. A dark rickshaw with a yellow stripe. I hit him with this.

The officer's eyes widened, and admiration flared for one second. You're a brave one, girl, he said, writing. We'll find him. Nirali nodded; she could hardly speak. Walking out, she found a throng of people, news of her heroics spreading like wildfire. The name Nirali, the compass girl, was travelling through the streets. A woman came forward, tears in her eyes. You're our hero, she said, and Nirali felt a rush of warmth and a sense of responsibility.

She turned to the crowd, raising her voice. This is not just my fight. To every girl out there, don't let fear silence you. Take what you have, stand up tall, and know that your strength has the power to break any chain. We are stronger than they think. The crowd broke into applause while tears crowded Nirali's eyes on her way back, as the pain in her knees faded under the weight of her utterance.

That night, lying in bed, she was gazing at the compass lying on her nightstand, its bent tip through a memory of her fight. Her body was aching; her spirit was soaring. I will always fight, she mouthed before drifting into an interrupted sleep filled with dreams of illuminating others.

Views expressed in Citizen Junction stories are that of the author and solely of the author, submitted to Jaano Junction through WRITE. Start writing on Jaano Junction to get your opinion published. Click Here to start your citizen journalism journey.

From Pony Handler's Son to IIT Madras: Know Kedarnath Boy Atul Kumar's Inspiring Journey

Harihar Kshetra Sonepur Fair Faces Indefinite Closure as Villagers and Shopkeepers Protest License Delay

India strongly condemns civillian deaths in Israel-Hamas conflict, says PM Modi

Renewed drilling begins to rescue 40 men trapped in Indian tunnel for fifth day

'Uncontrolled Re-entry': Part of Chandrayaan-3's Launch Vehicle Enters Earth's Atmosphere, Says ISRO