NIGHT OF THE HUNDRED BIKES

We had just returned from the holidays, and campus life resumed its usual rhythm. It was an ordinary afternoon—around 4 o’clock, if I remember correctly. Amit from my branch was standing near Monginis when a fourth-year senior called him and asked him to fetch something from the back gate. No one knows what exactly sparked the argument, but within moments, they began hitting Amit.

Dealing was returning from the back gate. Being our self-appointed leader, he stepped forward instinctively, asking, “What happened, brother?”
He didn’t even get the answer. The seniors charged toward him.

What happened next felt straight out of an action scene—Dealing ran as if his life depended on it and, with a single leap, cleared the small reflective pond near the Mechanical building. Before anyone could blink, he disappeared into the hostel.

Amit seized the moment, got up, and sprinted toward the New Boys Hostel. But the seniors weren’t done. Fueled by rage and ego, one of them—Pranav—jumped onto his scooty and raced after him, perhaps imagining he would “teach a lesson.”
Little did he know he was about to learn what happens when arrogance meets consequences.

When Pranav reached the New Boys Hostel, a few Mariners were heading to their rooms. He barked abuses, demanding Amit be called down. The Mariners confronted him, but he continued mouthing expletives. Meanwhile, Amit had already narrated everything to his friends upstairs, and their anger boiled over.

The moment they heard the commotion below, the juniors stormed to the spot.
Pranav saw Amit and his group and hurled abuses again. He even tried to grab Amit by the collar.
That was the spark.

A tight, resounding slap cracked across the corridor—the sound echoing off the new hostel walls like a gunshot.
Meet from Mechanical, a first year, had landed it.

What followed was unprecedented in campus history. The juniors snapped. Their fury—long suppressed under ragging and intimidation—exploded.
For the first time ever, juniors raised their hands on a senior.

In seconds, punches and slaps flew everywhere. The Mariners joined in too. Pranav fell to the ground. Seeing the opening, Sam and Rahul kicked him hard—so hard he almost coughed blood.

Up in the old hostel, we heard the cheering. Curious—and clueless about the cause—Dealing, Rishi, and I rushed to the second-floor corridor to watch. By then, the warden and guards had arrived, pushing first-years back into the hostel. But before dispersing, some juniors smashed Pranav’s parked scooty to the ground, expressing the anger they couldn’t unleash on him.

Pranav could barely stand. His friends carried him away.

Dealing and Rishi returned to narrate the whole story.
Just then, Dealing’s phone rang.

His face changed instantly.

He had been warned:
Leave the hostel. Now. Before they come for you.

We couldn’t understand why seniors would target him specifically—he wasn’t even involved. But he insisted, panicking, restless. I finally told him, “If you feel it’s necessary, go.”

He slipped out through the back gate.

Inside the hostel, life seemed normal again. People were confident:
“We’re inside campus. What can anyone do?”
A dangerous illusion of safety.

Soon more phones rang—this time seniors’ brothers and sisters from other colleges were calling our batchmates:

Get inside your rooms.
Lock the doors.
Do NOT open.
Something big is coming.

We had no idea how badly the seniors’ egos were bruised. They were now out for blood.

S1 from room 115 looked out toward the highway—and froze.

“They’re coming…” he whispered, breathless with fear.

We rushed to the corridor.
A massive swarm—easily a hundred bikes—was thundering toward the college gate like a biker gang in a revenge film. The sight sent chills down our spines.

The New Boys Hostel, still without iron grills, was exposed. Ironically, the very block where the attackers of Pranav stayed was the least protected.

But instead of fear, that hostel erupted in adrenaline.
When they heard the seniors had arrived, they marched to the gate. Abuses and threats flew from both sides. In a moment that the seniors would never forget, Rahul—our very own Spartan—stepped forward, shouted abuses, and urinated in front of them.

That single act sent the seniors into a blinding rage.

Our hostel gates were locked, but Rishi and I searched for an exit. From the bathroom window, we spotted a sand heap and a bamboo ladder lying nearby. Someone had to jump and place the ladder.

Apurv volunteered.

A few followed.
Once the ladder was positioned, we climbed down and hurried toward the main gate… only to see our batchmates retreating.

New orders came:
Return to your hostels immediately.

We obeyed.

But seniors found an unguarded corner of the fence and jumped inside. It wasn’t possible for guards to cover every inch of the perimeter. The moment they broke through, the war began.

They stormed into New Boys Hostel, roaring like a mob, thrashing anyone they found with sticks and hockey bats. Cries echoed through the campus.

Some students climbed down sewer pipes to escape. Some jumped.
Semab from our branch jumped and broke his leg. A few friends carried him up the same bamboo ladder into our hostel.

We pulled the ladder inside. Both hostels suddenly felt united by fear.

Seniors then arrived at our hostel, but couldn’t enter because of the iron grill gate. We hurried to our room and prepared for the worst. Abhishek was still in the washroom when Rishi panicked and shut the door. Abhishek kept knocking desperately.

Pankaj and I insisted, “We can’t leave him outside!”
We opened it. He burst in and scolded Rishi.

Moments later Apurv came running, but by then Rishi blocked the door entirely. Apurv took shelter in room 115, where Amit hid inside a cupboard and Semab writhed in pain.

We barricaded our door using two heavy beds in a lock-and-wall formation.
I hid my phone inside Pankaj’s locker.

Suddenly—
A loud THUD.
Glass shattered.

We froze.

The attack had reached our wing.

Someone gently knocked on another door and said:
“Gopesh, relax… nothing will happen to you.”
We exchanged confused, bitter glances.
Why not us?

Meanwhile, rooms were being broken into. Whoever opened was beaten mercilessly.
Room 115 had a target on it—thanks to Rishi’s genius handiwork during the strike, when he’d written “Bihari Tigers” on their door. Seniors believed the occupants had attacked Pranav.

They tried breaking down 115’s door using metal objects.
Inside, Abhijit and Apurv held it shut with their bodies while S2 sat dramatically near the window, whispering to his girlfriend:

“They’re here, my dear… they’ve come. You might never see me again…”

Apurv shouted at him to stop the nonsense.

Miraculously, room 115 survived.

In our room, we waited in terrified silence. Sandy’s phone lit up—his dad was calling. Rishi panicked:

“Switch it off! They’ll see the light and break the window!”

The fear was so real that even absurd worries felt legitimate.

But no one knocked on our door.
Maybe because we’d always maintained a peaceful rapport.
Or maybe just luck.

After about half an hour, we opened the door. Police had arrived. The seniors fled the way they had come.

Some students who believed “We’ve done nothing wrong, we don’t need to hide,” were beaten brutally—reminding everyone that innocence doesn’t stop the lion from attacking.

Around 9:30 PM, security told us to go for dinner.
As we were about to leave, Rishi asked Pankaj and me to stay. He was in shock. He asked Pankaj to get water and me to recharge his mobile. I had to call my father for that.

Then he did the unimaginable—he decided to leave the hostel for the night.

We pleaded with him to stay. He wasn’t involved in anything. But he was adamant. He climbed down the bamboo ladder and attempted the college wall multiple times before finally scaling it. He waved at us before disappearing into the darkness.

(We later learned he spent the entire night alone at Rettang Station because Dealing didn’t take his call.)

Pankaj and I went to have dinner—chole, puri, and kheer.
On returning, the campus buzzed with theories. Some believed the seniors came because of Dealing and Rishi’s presence in our hostel. Their absence twisted the story further.

Night fell slowly over a campus that had no idea what tomorrow would bring.