Riding Against Caste: The Night a Dalit Groom’s Dream Turned into a Nightmare in Mathura

Prologue

In the heart of Uttar Pradesh, nestled among the endless fields and ancient temples, lies Mathura—a city famed for its spiritual history but, like much of rural India, still shackled by the deep roots of caste. In the summer of 2024, an incident in the small village of Bhureka would shine a harsh spotlight on the prejudices that refuse to die, even as the world outside races ahead.

This is the story of Akash, a young Dalit groom, whose wedding night became a battleground for dignity and tradition. It is also the story of Kalpana, his bride, and of two families who dared to dream of happiness, only to have their celebration marred by violence and bigotry.

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Dreams of a New Beginning

Akash grew up in the village of Chandos, Aligarh—his childhood marked by both struggle and hope. His family, like many Dalits, faced daily reminders of their “place” in the social hierarchy. Yet, Akash was determined to rise above it. He studied hard, worked alongside his father in the fields, and dreamed of a life where his worth would be defined not by his caste, but by his character.

Kalpana, from Bhureka village in Mathura, was the pride of her uncle, Poon Singh. Orphaned at a young age, she was raised by her extended family, who poured their love and hopes into her future. When the proposal for her marriage to Akash arrived, both families saw it as a union of equals—two young people ready to build a life together, supported by kin who believed in their right to happiness.

The wedding was set for May 20th, 2024. Invitations were sent, sweets distributed, and the excitement in both villages was palpable. Akash’s friends teased him about his wedding procession—how he would ride a horse, as tradition demanded, to claim his bride. For Akash, it was more than a ritual; it was a statement. Riding a horse was a privilege once denied to Dalits, a symbol of status that upper castes guarded fiercely. Akash wanted to show the world that times had changed.

The Night of the Wedding

The wedding procession, or baraat, set out late in the evening, accompanied by music, laughter, and the rhythmic beat of the DJ’s speakers. Akash, dressed in a crisp sherwani, mounted the white mare with a mixture of pride and nervous excitement. His friends and cousins danced around him, their faces lit up with joy. The air was thick with the scent of marigolds and anticipation.

It was close to midnight when the baraat reached Bhureka. The villagers gathered to watch, some clapping along to the music, others peeking from behind doors and windows. Kalpana, resplendent in her bridal attire, waited inside, her heart pounding with a mix of happiness and anxiety. For her, this was not just a wedding—it was a new chapter, a promise of love and respect.

But as the procession reached the heart of the village, a group of young men appeared. They were from the neighboring villages of Navli and Maharamgarh, members of the dominant Jat community. Their faces were set in grim lines, their eyes cold with resentment.

Tradition vs. Change

The leader of the group, a tall youth with a harsh voice, stepped forward. “Turn off the DJ!” he shouted. “There’s too much noise. This is not your place to make a spectacle.”

Akash’s friends tried to reason with them, explaining that it was a wedding, a night for celebration. But the Jat youths would not be placated. Their anger was not about the music—it was about the sight of a Dalit groom, head held high, riding a horse through the village. It was about a tradition they believed belonged only to them.

When the DJ refused to stop the music, the situation escalated. The Jat youths began hurling casteist slurs, their voices echoing through the night. “Who do you think you are?” they spat. “Riding a horse like a king? You should know your place!”

Before anyone could react, violence erupted. The upper-caste men, joined by 20 to 25 of their companions, charged at the procession. They dragged the DJ operators from their vehicle and began beating them with iron rods. The joyous music was replaced by screams and the sickening sound of blows landing.

Akash, still on the horse, was yanked down by his collar. He hit the ground hard, dust filling his mouth and eyes. The attackers kicked and punched him, their rage unchecked. The baraatis—friends and relatives who had come to celebrate—were beaten with sticks and lathis as they tried to intervene.

Inside the house, Kalpana heard the commotion. Her dreams of a beautiful wedding night were shattered by the violence outside. She clung to her aunt, tears streaming down her face, as the sounds of chaos reached her ears.

A Village Divided

Word spread quickly through Bhureka. Some villagers tried to intervene, but most stood back, afraid to challenge the powerful Jat youths. The attack was not just on Akash and his family—it was a message to the entire Dalit community: know your place, or suffer the consequences.

As the violence raged, someone managed to call the police. The attackers, seeing the flashing lights in the distance, scattered into the darkness, leaving behind bruised bodies and broken spirits.

The police arrived and took control of the situation. Under their watchful eyes, the wedding ceremony finally proceeded. Akash, battered and bloodied, exchanged garlands with Kalpana. Their families wept—not with joy, but with relief that the worst was over.

But the nightmare was not yet finished.

After the Wedding

The police stayed until the ceremony was complete, then left, believing the danger had passed. But the attackers returned in the early hours, emboldened by the absence of law enforcement. They stormed into the house, beating anyone they found, including Akash and his relatives. They looted whatever cash Akash had brought for the wedding, adding insult to injury.

By morning, the news had spread far beyond Bhureka. Local journalists arrived, eager to capture the story of a Dalit groom attacked for daring to ride a horse. The images of Akash’s bruised face and Kalpana’s tear-streaked cheeks flashed across social media, igniting outrage and debate.

The Investigation

Poon Singh, Kalpana’s uncle, filed a formal complaint with the local police. He named the attackers, described the sequence of events, and demanded justice for his family. The Circle Officer, Gunjan Singh, assured the media that a case had been registered and that the accused would be arrested.

But the truth was more complicated. The police, under pressure from powerful local interests, downplayed the incident. They insisted there was no evidence that the baraat had been stopped or that the attack was related to caste. “There was a dispute over the DJ music, nothing more,” they said in their official statement.

The Dalit families knew better. They had seen the hatred in the eyes of the attackers, heard the slurs, felt the blows. For them, this was not just about music—it was about dignity, about the right to celebrate their joy without fear.

The Aftermath

The incident left deep scars on both families. Akash struggled to come to terms with what had happened. His wedding night, meant to be the happiest of his life, was now a memory stained with violence. Kalpana, too, found it hard to move on. She had dreamed of a new beginning, but instead found herself at the center of a storm.

The community was divided. Some villagers expressed sympathy, quietly acknowledging the injustice. Others remained silent, unwilling to challenge the status quo or risk the wrath of the dominant caste.

For weeks, the police investigation dragged on. A few of the attackers were arrested, but most remained free, protected by their connections. The Dalit families lived in fear, worried about further reprisals.

A Larger Struggle

Akash and Kalpana’s story is not unique. Across India, Dalits continue to face violence and discrimination for asserting their rights, for daring to dream of equality. The tradition of riding a horse during a wedding procession—a simple act in most parts of the world—remains a dangerous challenge to the caste order in many villages.

Activists and journalists took up the case, demanding justice and protection for the victims. They pointed out that despite decades of legal reforms, social attitudes were slow to change. “The Constitution guarantees equality,” one activist said, “but on the ground, caste is still king.”

Reflections

As the days passed, Akash and Kalpana tried to rebuild their lives. They found strength in each other, in the love and support of their families. But the memory of that night lingered—a reminder of the price they paid for dignity.

The incident forced the village, and the wider society, to confront uncomfortable truths. Progress is not just about technology or economic growth—it is about changing hearts and minds, about challenging the prejudices that divide us.

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Epilogue

Months later, Akash and Kalpana returned to Bhureka for a family function. This time, there was no procession, no music, no celebration. But as they walked through the village, head held high, they knew they had made a stand. Their courage had sparked a conversation, inspired others to question the old ways.

The struggle for equality is far from over. But as long as there are people like Akash and Kalpana, willing to fight for their dreams, there is hope that one day, every wedding will be a celebration—free from fear, free from hate.