It Was A Wednesday…

Sudeshna Guha Roy Justice Nanavati submitted his report on the Godhra Sabarmati Express incident stating that it was a pre-planned move, giving a clean chit to Narendra Modi and his government. Politicians pan-India thereafter came up with their comments, statements, opinions and beliefs; some in favour of it, and the rest opposing it.But I…I don’t know how to react…… What makes me write this article is the tugging memory of that day… Everything came back to me like a movie scene… Not that my family was under threat. But I saw how it is to be under constant fear of your life. I know how it is to see someone you know packing their bags and fleeing just because they are of the minority group. I remember, the barren streets of Vadodara, which lay naked with shops burnt everywhere, a fearful stillness and with the humans who were unsure if there was going to be a tomorrow. I remember that evening when it all started… 27th February, 2002… It was a Wednesday…The Wednesday My mom and I were waiting for my dad to return from office. I had come back early from my tuitions. I refused to accompany my friends to Fatehgunj for a hot-dog treat. Dad had made plans to have dinner at Havmore, a great restaurant at Alkapuri, and one of the best in Baroda (the name hadn`t changed to Vadodara then). It was around 7:30 in the evening; he would have been back anytime.… But instead he called up my mom… "Where are you? And where is Mannu (that`s what my dad calls me)?", he asked frantically. "She`s back. She came back early today. Where are you and when are you coming? We had to go for dinner, remember?", Mom questioned back. "We are not going anywhere; did you watch the news channel? Watch it, right now. I will be home in ten minutes?" "Not going…? News Channel?" These words were enough to set my sister to crying (for not going for dinner) and my mother to panic (for being asked to watch the news channel, right then). Godhra station mein Sabarmati Express ke coach number S6 mein aag lag gayi hai. Aisa mana ja raha hai, ki yaha ke sthaniya musalmano ne train ke dabbe mein aag lagayi. Sutro ke anusaar, is coach mein kar sewak maujud the, jo Ayodhya se laut rahe the. Is hadse ke baad, Gujarat ke kafi hisso mein tanaav ki khabarein aayi hai. (Coach Number S6 of Sabarmati Express was set on fire at the Godhra Station. It is understood that some local Muslims propagated the incident. Sources reveal that the passengers in the concerned coach were none other than the Kar Sewaks who were returning from their Amarnath Yatra. Communal tensions have been reported from many parts of Gujarat after the incident) That was it… My mom started praying for my dad`s safe return. The news that my father bore when he returned scared us even more. A man had been stabbed at the Vadodara Railway station following reports of the Sabarmati incident. "Why would anybody do that papa? Why would somebody kill someone? And why would somebody burn the train?" I had a million questions in my mind, but my dad had no answer for a 15-year old. The next morning`s newspaper was the worst I have ever seen. And I had no idea that in the next couple of days, I would be reading reports that would be even more horrifying. Photographs of the burnt coach were published. There were rumours that young girls were raped, cut into pieces and burnt in the train. Besides, men and kids too were burnt alive in the bogey. No one was spared. My dad explained that the revenge for the Babri Masjid may have grown so intense, that some extremists may have taken steps so heinous and insane. Never mind Babri Masjid, I just prayed things to be fine soon. But how was I supposed to know that things will not subside soon. The Hindu`s had to take revenge too, said many. The next few nights were the worst nights… sleepless, dark and scary. We lived in Nandanvan Society, a residential area adjacent to the Narmada dam with a Muslim village on its other side. Communal riots had taken a firm grip. We had not been on the streets since that Wednesday. I was in touch with the outside world only through our telephone. My friend Dhanashree used to tell me how some people with swords entered a shop near her house, killed the Muslim owner and burnt his belongings. The newspapers also told me many stories. A Muslim family in a nearby village was burnt alive; small kids were thrown into fire, women raped and then set ablaze. At nights, the men of our colony (my dad, other uncles and my friend Karn) went up to the terrace with sticks, knives and axes to protect the women in case something happened. If ever we felt something suspicious, we used to beat stainless steel "thaalis" to alert the whole of the colony. The fear aggravated so much that a slightest of noise scared us.That Night still haunts One night a friend of mine, who stayed just a block away from mine, called up at 2 o`clock. Crying out of fear for life, she asked me to stay alert as some people had pelted stones at her house, banged their door vigorously, but left eventually after getting no response. "They might come there. You don`t stay far off. Please hide yourself, please don`t come out." That was the first time I felt the fear of dying. I wanted to live. I wanted my dad, my mom, my sister to live. I ran up to the terrace, started screaming and asked everybody to hide. "Muslim vasti paachhad che. Ae loko aavta hashe. Baddha ghare gusi jaao. Ae loko mara friend na ghare pan gaya hata. (The Muslim village is just behind our colony, they`ll be here anytime. Please get into your houses. They had even gone to my friend`s house)," I pleaded everybody in my `not-so-perfect` Gujarati. But my dad and uncles decided to stay up there and asked the ladies to go down and sleep… The mob never came. I, however, could never sleep. That night still haunts… The Ugly Vadodara About a week and half after the riots broke out, my dad and I braved out on the street, and buy some eatables. The stock at home was fast depleting. It`s been over a week that we didn`t have eggs, fish or chicken. Despite my mom`s repeated warnings, Dad started his green-colored Bajaj Chetak, and I boarded myself behind him. The roads were empty, we were as alone in a barren land. My city, My Baroda, never looked so ugly. Shops burning, trees burning, tyres burning, even my eyes started burning… suddenly a drop of tear came down my eyes… I don`t know if it was because of the smoke, or the fear of losing the "real" Baroda… We proceeded to Aslam chacha`s shop, the place from where we brought eggs and daily grocery items. The shop had turned into abandoned charred room, with its shutter wide open. Chacha had fled to his village. Some miscreants had attacked his shop last night and even tried to kill him, but he had escaped. Moments later, cops came from behind. Their cars headed straight towards us. "What do you want? Su joye chhe? Why are you out? Go back home. Ae log tame pan maari naakshe. They`ll even kill you?", said a fat policeman. He had a big gun too. "But we need to buy some food and milk. My younger daughter is just too small. She needs milk", said my dad. "Go to Swati Market. A person there sells milk and other grocery. He`s the only one. Do it fast. And be careful." Just when we were about to leave, a tall man (in a suit and well polished shoes) approached the cop. "The laundry shop just round the corner is also owned by a Muslim,” he said. Not understanding his point, we left. We shopped as fast as we could and returned home. Next day, we went to buy milk again. Just as we reached round the corner, the Laundry Shop, which was fine till the day before, too stood there charred and assaulted. Life was never the same… Later, our board exams got postponed. Who would send their kids out on the road when a mother didn’t know if she would see her son or daughter again? The matter subsided… Things started turning back to normal. But the fear took a long time to fade away. The sleepless nights weren`t eased… The tainted hearts weren’t soothed. I, being a 15-year old then, failed to understand, why people were killing each other? What`s wrong if the owner of a shop is a Muslim? Why was the Sabarmati Express set ablaze after all? Why did the peace loving, safe and secure Baroda turn so ugly, unsafe and insecure? That was 2002… Now in 2008, I still haven`t found the answers to many of my questions. But there is one thing I am sure of; if the Sabarmati Express was a pre-planned move, then the riots were also a politically motivated agenda. A report by Justice Nanavati may have given a clean chit to Modi and his saffron brigade, but the people who were witness to the whole episode, would surely know that no one is innocent; neither the ones who burnt the Coach S6, nor those who set the laundry shop on fire.