Mohammed Akhlaq went to bed early on the night he was murdered. His wife, Ikraman, stayed downstairs to clean up the kitchen and help her mother-in-law onto the cot in the living room. Around ten, Ikraman was laying out mattresses for her daughter and herself when she heard a loudspeaker crackling nearby: “People, assemble near the electric transformer. Go quickly, quickly!” She didn’t pay attention; it was probably the priest at the Hindu temple in their village, Bisada, and as a Muslim she was used to letting its announcements and devotional songs wash over her. By ten-thirty, she had…