A young sporty son of a rich family, adored and admired, gets abducted by scoundrels and loses both of his testicles. He lost “everything”.


As a handsome 12 year old son of a rich family, a sport team captain adored by all girls, I was ready for a great future as a man. However, all my future was gone when I was abducted by villains who brutally took my testicles out of my body.

This book is an autobiography style gender swap fiction in “Hijra, the 3rd Gender” series. Hijra means a transgender individual adopted by a guru in the well organized transgender community believing in the same goddess and living in feminine attire. Hijra is referred to as “the third gender.” Rules and ceremonies for adoption, initiation, castration, etc. are well defined in the hijra community. Once you get nirvan (castration ceremony often done without anesthesia) you cannot go back to your former self.


Ashish Luthra (Asha): The principal character of the gender swap story. This autobiography traces his life from age 12 to about 21. Ashish is a tall, fair, good-looking boy whose gender is swapped during the course of the story. Ashish’s testicles are removed fairly early in the narrative, following which he is given female hormones. He’s emasculated during Nirvaan. After this, he is forced to work in a hijra brothel. Ashish makes it his life’s mission to find out who has ordered all this to be done on him.

Mahesh: A small puny, socially awkward genius. He is about 12 years old and is one of Ashish’s best friends. His brother Mohan/Mona is a hijra. Owing to this fact, Mahesh faces ostracism in school. Mahesh dies early on in the story.

Mona (Mohan): Mahesh’s hijra sibling who is 12 years older than him. She is tall, well-dressed and has dangerous-looking grey eyes. She looks like a woman, except for a square jaw and masculine looking hands and ankles. Mona is involved in the dhanda or prostitution business. This is how she provides for her family. After Mahesh’s death, Mona ostensibly commits suicide.

Shobhit: One of Ashish’s 3 friends. A shallow, status-conscious boy. He is ostensibly friendly with Mahesh but harbors deep contempt for him. Owing to parental disapproval, he stops talking to Mahesh a little later in the story. Shobhit grows up to join the IIT in Delhi. He plans to pursue M.Tech in the US.

Vivek: Another of Ashish’s 3 friends. He’s also class and status-conscious. Like Shobhit, he also has a disdain for Mahesh and stops talking to him later. Vivek too joins IIT, Delhi. He plans to join his father’s auto-parts business.

Arjun: Ashish’s classmate. A boy of about 12. Arjun is pesky, talkative and annoying. He hails from the same town as Mahesh and recognizes him as a hijra’s brother. He tells everyone in school about this. As a result, everyone (except Ashish) starts shunning Mahesh. Arjun also witnesses Ashish conversing with Mona and tells everyone in school about this as well. School-mates now start deriding Ashish.

Vijay Luthra: Ashish’s dad. A tall and handsome IAS officer. He provides Ashish with a good life and facilities to help achieve his dreams.

Reema Mehta-Luthra: Ashish’s mom. A former beauty queen. Mrs. Luthra adores both her children. She is a little more partial to Ashish and is proud of him. She is devastated when he goes missing. Sorrow makes her age before her time.

Anita Luthra: Ashish’s feisty elder sister. She loves partying and enjoying life. Anita marries a wealthy man early in life.

Gaurav: Anita’s wealthy husband. He’s a garment manufacturer and exporter. Gaurav has a friendly, sociable nature. He’s very protective of his wife and in-laws.

Karan and Kangana: Anita and Gaurav’s twin children.

Dubla: Ashish’s abductor and chief tormentor. He’s in his thirties. Dubla is lean and has a wheatish complexion. He has a huge cancerous-looking mole on his right cheek. Dubla kidnaps Ashish, sodomizes him and has his testicles removed. He inflicts several other brutalities on Ashish.

Kaalu: Dubla’s assistant. He’s a dark, hairy, stout man in his late 30s. He is also involved in the abduction and sodomy of Ashish. He makes scars on Ashish’s scortum and cuts his testicles off. He too commits many atrocities on Ashish.

Shymalabai: A tall, well-built hijra aged about 50. She is the Jamaat guru of the hijra house Ashish is brought to. Shymalabai conducts an atypical Nirvaan ceremony on Ashish—the way in which it is carried out clearly goes against traditional Jamaat rules. She makes the emasculation ceremony as harrowing as possible for Ashish.

Ratna: Shymalabai’s assistant. Aged about 35. Conducts an atypical, torturous Nirvaan on Ashish along with Shymalabai.

Govind: One of Ashish/Asha’s clients. He’s in his early thirties and good-looking in a beefy, rough-hewn kind of a way. He’s a real estate agent and a mafia lord.

Vibha: Govind’s wife. She is a fat, plain woman aged about 30. Vibha is the daughter of a bigger real estate agent and mafia lord than Govind. She is jealous of Ashish/Asha’s relative youth and beauty and takes a sadistic pleasure in witnessing him being harassed by Govind.

Vikram: A tall, hefty man in his 30s. He poses as a CID detective inspector.

[Sample text – less than 10% of the story is shown due to restrictions of KDP]

I had walked for barely fifteen minutes, when a truck started stalking me. Apparently, I was over-reacting as it stopped. A man got out. He was lean, had a wheatish complexion and a very cancerous looking mole on his right cheek. ‘Is your name Ashish?’ he asked me.

‘Yes’, I said. ‘Now what was going on?’

‘Your father has had an accident–they asked me to fetch you–I’ll take you to the hospital’ the man said.

Dad had gone driving on his own to Lutyens’ Delhi. Perhaps he’d collided with another vehicle on the way. Was he alright?

‘Get into the truck, quick–his condition is critical’, urged the lean man whose name, I learnt later, was Dubla.

The word ‘critical’ served as adrenaline. I was in the front seat of the truck in a flash. It had a dark, hairy, stoutly built man at the driver’s seat. Dubla jumped in from the other side and banged the door shut swiftly.

The driver started the truck. He seemed to be steering it in a direction opposite of Lutyens’. I opened my mouth to protest, when a chloroform laced handkerchief was held against my nose. Triangles, swirls and other patterns danced in front of my eyes. Then slowly and reluctantly, I was sucked deep into the quagmire of unconsciousness.

I woke up in a deep dank cellar. It had ungainly walls with chipping off paint and smelt strongly of some horrible rancid oils. There seemed to be some food of sorts and a bottle of water in front of me. A little light emanated from a lone window in the cellar. I saw cockroaches had swarmed to my plate of food. A rat was nibbling away at a chapatti or flat wheat bread. Nauseated, I shirked. I felt something tug at my hands. It was now that I realized I had been bound by a chain as thick and crude as a dog’s. Where was I? And had I been lied to about my father?

‘How are you doing, sweet prince?’ Dubla had emerged out of nowhere, leering.

‘Where’s my dad?!’, I asked in panic.

‘Cushy and comfy in your Greater Kailash home’ said Dubla in a sing-song voice.

I realized I had been kidnapped. These men had probably put a call across to my parents and asked for a hefty ransom in return of my safe release. Meanwhile, the bondage was beginning to get acutely uncomfortable. My arms had turned painfully numb.

‘Unchain me, you rogues!’ I demanded.

‘Wow! We do have fire in our belly, don’t we?’ mocked Dubla’s accomplice, who I learnt was called Kaalu.

‘Let’s see if the spirit persists, after what we do’ said Dubla in a dangerous sweet voice. Kaalu had me turn on my stomach and chained my arms tighter. He gripped my legs and moored them firmly to the ground. Then they yanked my pants down and sodomized me. They did it repeatedly and took turns doing it. It was terrible. Hurtful and mortifying.

My mind recalled lyrics of a famous Marilyn Manson song from its back attic. “White trash, get down on your knees/Time for cake and sodomy”. This was that albeit for a small change–the ‘White Trash’ could be substituted by ‘Little boy’.

I could hear the TV blaring in the next room. It seemed like the news of my abduction had reached national news channels for I caught a sophisticated female voice saying ‘Twelve year old Ashish Luthra, son of IAS officer Vijay Luthra, has been missing since 2 pm today….’.

My mind started ticking. Clearly, my abduction had been a conspiracy. But whom was it staged by? Was it bureaucratic revenge? Or had it been planned by the sand mafia my father had confronted early on in his career? Who could have master-minded this entire gruesome thing?

I wasn’t let off with sodomy. Worse horrors were awaiting me, I was to realize. Dubla untied my hands and legs and made me sit down. He proceeded to tether me again. Kaalu pulled my pants down and approached my private areas with a sharp knife. I was terrified out my wits and started screaming out aloud. Dubla clasped a rough bony hand around my mouth and smothered my screams right in their infancy. With the razor-sharp knife, Kaalu made a 2cm scar on each scrotum and removed my testicles. Yes, dear friends, I was spayed and neutered like a house cat. And without anesthesia too. I was horrified with the act itself and also with what it signified. I had been deprived of organs that manufactured sperm and testosterone. That means I’d never experience ‘wet dreams’ that the older boys talked about. Nor father babies. And what’s worse–everyone would know. In the absence of testosterone, my voice would never become deep and manly, and no hair would appear on my face. My body would remain that of a prepubescent boy and would never grow strong and muscular like my dad’s. Oh no! Why in the world had this barbarism been inflicted on me? What had I done to deserve to become impotent?

I was left to languish in the cellar for the next few days. My captors evidently wanted the scars on my scrotum to heal at lightning speed. Dubla, my chief tormentor, filled his mouth with some kind of a potent spirit (Whisky, I guessed. I had occasionally smelt it on my dad) and squirted it on the raw, gaping wounds on my scrotum. An agonized scream was wrenched out of my mouth as the searing liquid burned my scarred areas. It seemed like my scrotum were on fire.

Following this, Kaalu produced a first aid kit out of nowhere and dressed the wounds with some sort of an anti-septic ointment, cotton and plaster.

‘Now wait for a few days, Chicklet’, Dubla bent down and crooned creepily in my ear. I felt the hairs on my hair on my arm stand erect in anticipatory horror. What other brutalities had these scoundrels lined up for me after I had recovered?

The scars on my scrotum healed quickly. Dubla got a Saree and a blouse out of a packet and coerced me into wearing them. I felt ridiculous, standing there, draped in that floral printed flowing thing. As if this wasn’t enough, he made me wear earrings, a necklace, bangles and a wig made of long black hair. Kaalu got a pair of Ghungaroos or a dancer’s anklets and made me fasten them above my feet. Now, a Ghungaroo is basically a leather strap to which tinkling little copper bells are attached. Having them tied around me made me feel bovine like a cow or some such docile creature. My tormentors switched on a tape-recorder next and ask me to dance like a Hindi movie heroine–with suggestive movements of the hips, bosom and pelvis. For someone like me who detested Indian pot-boilers and considered them an unwholesome pastime (unlike sports), this was the pinnacle of humiliation. Yet I did as told for the fear of being sexually assaulted again.

Dubla and Kaalu ogled at me from head to toe and whistled loudly. ‘Oye check out this Chamak Chalo! (Hot chick)’ raved Dubla. They took turns to blacken my face and insulted me by calling me a ‘hijra’. This was the last straw; the emotions that I had been suppressing for many days started pouring out in a deluge. I wept copiously, thinking of an assortment of things that had made my life–a big-shot of a father, a loving mother and sister, an aptitude for cricket, popularity and the prospect of transitioning into a young man in the years to come….Alas! The past had lost its luminous sheen and the future its glimmering promise in the light of what had transpired in the short span of a few days. I could perhaps get over the trauma of sodomy, but my virility, so brutally taken away from me before it even had a chance to get activated was an irreparable loss. I must have grown light-headed and swooned after this; for when I woke up I found myself in the rear of the very truck in which I had been abducted. It was in motion. ‘The news item on TV must have frightened them’, I thought ‘and now they are going to dump me in front of my house’. The infernal saree and anguish at having lost my testicles still clung to me obstinately. I wondered how I’d face my family.

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