Hunger pangs

In response to Varun Gandhi's over-the-top overture in the wilds of Pilibhit. Had written a long time back, though.

The mob moved ahead, weapons brandished as if they were divine gifts. Their leader, a restive young man in ruffled hair and a cheap orange shirt from the pavement, was urging his followers to move on, reclaim what was once theirs.
The mob didn’t need to be told that. They were hungry, yes, they were. For exacting revenge on the cut-dick bastards who had gone over the top this time. This time, once and for all, things had to be sorted out.
“Remember those martyrs, those pure of heart, who got burnt alive. Those innocents, roasted inside a compartment just the way these fuckers roast their goats. It’s time for us to show them who we really are, won’t we?” the man asked upon his crowd.
The colony looked haunted. Dark - the lights had been cut off a long time ago – except for a yellow bulb giving short glimpses whenever it came within the range of their eyes. It seemed like the gods were on their side – darkness would be the perfect time for a massacre. All the blood, it could seriously unnerve some of the younger ones. Plus if there are any witnesses…..nay, there wouldn’t be.
But they were too late. The entire colony was empty. Not a single human soul now resided in the huts, nor moved among the dark alleys, stepping over the drain that flowed onto the road.

They had moved out in the very first days of the riot.

“Shit. I think these fuckers have already gone to the relief camps,” one of them shouted.
“I knew these guys were too smart to stick around waiting for us to attack.”
“They must have left at night, when our boys went back home.”
Slowly, the mob reached a frenzy. Heated discussions over whose fault it was became the point of the hour. Fingers were pointed, abuses to one’s mother began simmering in the air.
But all of them heard the whimper.
It was a sound of pain, of immeasurable agony.
“It came from this corner,” pointing towards the alley opposite.

A dog slowly appeared in their view. It was an emaciated bitch, her ribs’ presence overpowered by the bulge in her stomach and the overflowing teats.
“It’s just a bloody dog.”
It came towards them, wagging her tail, expecting a bone or if lucky enough, a piece of meat as the others did before they left.
It never saw the blade’s glitter before its head rolled off to the side, its body spraying blood and thrashing around.
“What did you do that for?” asked a man, closest to the dog and recipient of a splatter as well.
The restive man just shrugged, and said “I think it was one of theirs’.”