In the quiet rural stretches of Faisalabad’s Chak 62-GB Channan village, a night that should have ended in peace instead spiraled into unthinkable horror for a young Christian couple. On March 25, Adnan Masih and his wife were returning home, the hum of their motorcycle slicing through the stillness of the night—unaware that this journey would mark the beginning of their worst nightmare.
Adnan, a 34-year-old brick kiln worker, lives a simple life defined by hard work, faith, and family. He and his wife, humble and devout Christians, had little more than their dignity and love for each other. But that night, even those were stolen from them.
As they rode through the dark, two masked men stopped them at gunpoint. Adnan recounted the moment with a rawness that words barely capture.
“They took my phone, my money… I told them I was a poor Christian, just a laborer,” he said. But it wasn’t just a robbery. That one statement—I am a Christian—triggered a cruelty so savage, it defies comprehension.
The attackers called a third accomplice. What followed was a monstrous act of hatred and inhumanity.
“One of them pulled my wife into the nearby sugarcane fields,” Adnan recalled, his voice shaking. “They used the string of my shalwar to tie me to a tree. I couldn’t move. I screamed… but no one heard. I watched helplessly as they took turns raping my wife.”
His words hang heavy, drenched in the anguish of a man who couldn’t protect the one he loved. “I do not have the words that can express the helplessness and agony I felt during that time.”
When his wife emerged from the field, her torn clothes and silent tears spoke volumes. She untied him. They didn’t speak. They just sat, two broken souls clinging to each other beneath a moonlit sky, swallowed by silence and sorrow.
Their motorcycle had been sabotaged. They walked home in the dead of night, guiding the damaged vehicle and each other through a fog of shock. When they reached home, their three children waited, unaware. “We just couldn’t tell them. We locked ourselves in our room and cried. We prayed,” Adnan said. “That’s what gave us the strength to live through the night.”
The next morning, Adnan called the police. An FIR was registered, but no swift action was taken—until the incident hit national media. Only then did the machinery move. Within a day, all three assailants were arrested, thanks in part to the intervention of Punjab’s Chief Minister and the heartfelt efforts of Christian lawmaker Ejaz Augustine.
Augustine, a long-time advocate for minority rights, expressed both relief and frustration. “I’m thankful justice was set in motion. But it grieves me that crimes like these keep happening. Minority women remain vulnerable—they are seen as easy targets, disposable.”
He added, “Our justice system must go beyond reaction—it must become protection. I pray that Chief Minister Maryam Nawaz ensures full justice for Adnan and his wife.”
This isn’t just a story of brutality—it is a cry for humanity. A cry from a poor Christian laborer, tied to a tree in the middle of the night, forced to listen to his wife’s screams. A cry from a woman who endured unspeakable pain simply because of her faith. A cry that should rattle every soul who believes in justice, dignity, and the right to live in peace—no matter what god they worship.
Let their tears not be forgotten. Let their prayers not go unanswered.