A fool walks in where the brave fear to tread

When I entered Presidency College in 1966, Naxalite movement had just begun in real earnest.
There was an abandoned building behind the College which
was used by the Naxals for making bombs.
It was a hideout where the police didn't dare to enter.
One day there was a huge blast and smoke engulfed the ruined
building and even entered our first floor library where
I was chatting with my classmates.
I ran down the stairs and went towards the building.
Nobody ventured to enter.
The smoke cleared and we saw a young man hanging by
the railing of the verandah.
I went to have a closer look. He was senseless.
The palm of his left hand was almost blown off and two
fingers were severed from his palm and hung from the skin.
The next action that I took was instantaneous and foolhardy.
But I had no time to think.
Seeing his serious condition, I called a taxi and took the young man
to the Hindu Hostel which was a den for the Naxalites.
My friends later scolded me for what I did.
I could have been arrested by the police.
The plight of the injured young man had obliterated all sense of self security.
What I did was done at the heat of the moment.
But I never regretted it.