I try to pacify them. The Indica man seems to calm down. Then, without warning, he races back to his car and pulls out just the fine car accessory you might have expected—a long, sturdy lathi. Before I can say a word, he brings it down violently on my driver's forearm. So hard that the lathi actually breaks in two. He leaps into his Indica and is gone. Blood flowing from his arm, my driver doubles over in pain. A curious child picks up the broken lathi. People stare and grin and move on. I stand there in the sun, horrified, speechless.