A mother, her two daughters, Anjali 28, and Ezil 18, and her son 21; are traveling for a religious pilgrimage, it’s late and they can’t find a bus. It’s raining and the sheer saree’s and kurtis become revealing. A cop car stops but they don’t help, instead they assume that the ladies are must be of bad character and takes them to the station to inspect them. Everyone is an adult and it’s consensual.
The mustached inspector’s calloused hand slid beneath the soaked blue silk of Savita’s saree, cupping her breast roughly as he pushed her further over the desk. “Such devotion for a widow,” he grunted into her ear, his other hand hiking up her drenched petticoat.