A girl and a river - Usha K R

In a reckless flush of patriotism Setu joined Chapdi Kal and his rag-tag-and-bobtail gang, game for anything bordering on the lawless, but the excitement of holding a tin of black paint while Chapdi Kal misspelt 'British-Go Home' and 'maharaja-shame shame' on the walls of disused buildings or throwing fire crackers into post boxes, which only turned cold in the womb of governmental authority, waned. We must do something truly earth-shaking, Chapdi Kal said. We must outdo the Youth Movement, Setu said, and that Shyam.
Then one evening, Chapdi Kal turned up with one of Mr O'Brien's kittens. Mr O'Brien who worked at the mission's carpentry workshop, had a siamese cat, admired for its beauty and its temperamental disposition. Mrs O'Brien had to take the cat in her lap and feed it with her own hands, no leaving milk in an enamel bowl for this cat. Mr O'Brien had also acquired a reputation for another reason. When his cat littered, he would give away as many kittens as he thought would be looked after, to deserving homes, and drown the rest in a tub in his backyard. Chapdi Kal had managed to fish one of the kittens out from the tub and it now lay supine in his arms, a dark wet furry rag, blinking wearily when they poked it. Chapdi Kal said that they were doing it for Bhagat Singh, just as the man in the maidan had said. A rope was found in the cow shed. The mango tree held out its branch invitingly. They were consumed by the attendant ritual, getting the equipment right. The rope in the cowshed turned out to be too thick, string would do for a kitten or better still, Setu suggested, the twine with which his mother hung her paintings. Finally, they got the right kind of rope, the kitten was given some warm milk and then it was strung up on the mango tree. They got it right the third time, when it jerked and struggled and swung and finally went limp. Then they ran round the tree and whooped and whistled and clapped, just as they did at the speeches in the maidan. Then they cut it down and buried it at the foot of the tree, hoisting a hastily contrived tricolour over the mound and decorating it with red flowers. But the dogs dug it up in no time at all and chased the carcass around till it was thrown away by one of the servants.

After all the riots and massacres and acts of barbarism that i've heard about, this is the saddest thing i've ever read. Don't you feel sorry for the kitten??