“The banging is only going to get louder. Should I open the door?” asked Kalyaan, frantic from the sight of the mob outside on the railway station.
“What if they are Muslims baying for Hindu blood? We don’t know anything for sure!” Seema whispered, her eyes constantly trying to recalibrate to form the usual energy.
But all energy was electric. Kalyaan and Seema were each and together grappling a range of emotions. More than anything, they were feeling, for the first time, history passing through them and history never really had any mercy for the ordinary beings.
“Yes!” echoed Kalyaan almost in synchronisation. “But there is also a chance that they might be fleeing persecution. As I said, the banging is only going to get louder. We don’t want them breaking in when we can let them in and perhaps talk to them calmly. That might ease the pressure. What do you think?”
Seema wasn’t used to such “thinking”. She wasn’t really brought up to think all that much all her life. Until then she didn’t even know that a wife ever had to do the thinking for the husband. But Kalyaan was different. He always was different. And Seema knew it from the first time she met him. Nonetheless, they were only 4 months old and were yet to breach that barrier of thought that came with an arranged marriage.
“I really don’t know! I really don’t know! I can’t…I can’t seem to think of anything right now. Do you think these people will…?”
“No. Not at all. Come here.” Kalyaan cuddled up to a shivering Seema, trying to comfort her. In his mind, he too had nothing to think except for bad thoughts. He was 31. And he was a man. He knew the depravity of men and mobs and he had read about how depraved the Hindu-Muslim riots could get in this country. Being brought up in Assam in an upper-class family kept him away from the rancid Hindu-Muslim animosity that constantly gripped the rest of the country, but it didn’t exactly elude him either. Yes, the short lessons didn’t elude him like it doesn’t elude anyone when they’re young and naïve, in this country. The cautionary tales, the ratcheting of the mind through fantasies and nightmares about the Muslim and Islam.
It’s not just them who had gone blank, the mob outside had too, long ago, irretrievably. What would he say to them, he thought. What could you say to a mad crowd that had long departed from the tipping point? It would be futile to show them the tipping point now. But for a few people in the coupe, he thought he could have a bargain.
So, he opened the door to a family at Barauni. A Muslim family of five rammed into the first-class coupe, all occupying the lower berth. Kalyaan and Seema moved to the upper berth. The coupe’s concentrated silence now turned hostile. There wasn’t any talking at all, just uneasy glances and eye dialect. The parties were both thinking of the same thing, only that they couldn’t say it. All that had to be said, was being enacted outside, painted on the streets with blood. For the first time in their lives, the adults in the room decided in silence that they would be much better off with the children’s chattering and screaming. But this was no ordinary situation and extraordinary situations free us from many truths and call for many “first-times”. For the first time in their lives, the adults in the coupe understood that if silence is golden, our words must be worth more.
Seema convinced Kalyaan to see God’s grace in this situation. She said, “whenever we go through something terrible, an ordeal of any kind, personal or collective, we must try to see God’s grace in it. It frees us of our personal torments and lets us see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
Kalyaan didn’t have to say anything to that. He just smiled. It was the reason why he married Seema, for these little moments when she would leave her speechless and grinning like a school boy. He saw his mother in her and that’s how he knew it had to be her.
“I guess God’s grace is in binding us together and giving us something to tell our kids. Of how we made through the terrible night of 7th December, 1992.” Kalyaan replied.
There is something magical about facing death up so close. It takes you to your most vulnerable stage, destroys you and sets you free, because it is that stage where you are so close to the truth of life – death.
“Could you please pass me that bag, just underneath your berth?” Kalyaan asked the man below, sensing that the silence in the coupe, if prolonged, would turn into cancer and kill them.
“Yes, sure.” the man, did as was asked, sort of reciprocating an uneasy smile at Kalyaan.
“We’re getting down in Semapur” the man continued in a hesitant tone, his voice breaking character in between.
“That’s the next station.” Kalyaan responded, trying to ease the both of them into the conversation.
“Yes. But I doubt how long it will take us. The rate at which we are getting to the next station doesn’t seem to be very encouraging. Plus, you know, people are mad out there, it’s madness out there. We just want to make it home, somehow!”
“How old are the kids?” Kalyaan asked, trying to divert from any discussion on the situation outside and to appeal to the man’s heart.
“Oh! Zaid is 9, Sameer is 8 and little Suhana here is 3!”
“How lovely! They must be thrilled to be going home!” Kalyaan remarked, almost immediately wanting to cover his mouth at the realisation of having something really inappropriate for the situation they were in.
“Oh yes they certainly are” said the man, breaking into an awkward laughter. “But you know things are crazy out there and we just hope to reach safely. You saw what happened at Ayodhya yesterday?” the man asked with a dull grin on his face.
The moment escalated so quickly for Kalyaan that he almost felt like a six-blade knife cutting through his heart. Seema too, robbed of words in that moment, gripped Kalyaan’s arm tightly, almost squeezing it. What was worse? The crimes that were being committed outside in the name of religion or that they are discussing the origins of the fire as it slowly engulfed them?
Gasping for breath, Kalyaan made his way back into the conversation somehow saying, “yes of course. Who hasn’t?”
“It’s shameful what happened yesterday. The madness of the crowds. Advani, Singh, Bharti are misusing people’s emotions, playing with them, manipulating them.” Kalyaan said, carefully measuring his words, perceiving an opportunity to ease and kill any atmosphere of hostility in the coupe. Seema slowly eased her grip on Kalyaan’s arm. This was no skirmish and this was most certainly no battle. It was quite literally a battle of words. Any word less or any word more could change their destiny. It is then that they understood the old adage “words spoken, bullets fired and time can never come back” in toto. That words could actually wage war was an idea that most definitely eluded Kalyaan and Seema until then.
“Yes, and that stupid Prime Minister of ours? He acts like a fool who doesn’t know a thing! And what about our President Mr. Sharma? And what about the Supreme Cou…” the man hurried through the conversation, getting agitated with every breath he drew and every word he spoke about Babri.
Kalyaan was quick to cut him in between, “Yes, but it is us common people who are suffering right? Look at us. We are just trying to get home from our month-long honeymoon.”
“Oh, I see. Many congratulations to you and your wife!” the man said, blushing and avoiding any eye contact. He tried covering up his girl with a blanket to divert attention from his blushing but Kalyaan and Seema noticed it alright. It was a good ice-breaker and it was a good conversation-breaker. Politics couldn’t get them out of the mess that politics got them in in the first place.
“Thank you”, clipped Kalyaan, extending a courteous smile and ending the conversation. It wasn’t the man. It was the whole uneasy tension in the coupe and the climate outside. They were better off fighting their predicament in silence. Kalyaan thought it funny, that even after fraternising with a stranger and finding almost no defect in him, he couldn’t trust him one bit. The well had already been poisoned. Or maybe it was his bigotry that was only finding credence at this moment? He couldn’t be sure. He certainly was in no mood for the truth. All he wanted was reassurance.
Semapur came two hours too late. It was turning into a space travel for Kalyaan and Seema but with every station crossed, they knew they were one step closer to home and away from all the madness.
“By the way, you didn’t tell me your name.”
“I am Kalyaan. And you didn’t tell me yours.”
“I am Aadil. Very nice to meet you and thank you for letting us in. I’ll be forever grateful to you. And I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life. I know you will too.” the man said, with a smile reflective of his gratefulness and also, relief, of what,Kalyaan wouldn’t want to guess. They both understood it to be unfit to be extending their hands for a handshake as a courtesy to what was going on outside. The family quickly made their way out of the coupe, almost as quickly as they had made their way in. But the inflow of people, desperate people waiting to get out, was not to stop at Barauni. At Semapore, there again was a huge influx of people into the first-class compartment without any reservations. Fortunately, there weren’t any religious mobs looking for blood this time. A sharp looking army man, possibly a jawan in his 30s, hopped in and made his way into Kalyaan and Seema’s coupe.
He looked alarmingly happy for the situation he was in. Either it had to be plain ignorance or plain madness. “The name is Manvender, how do you do?” he said, with a bright smile, exuding over-confidence and perhaps, intellectual bankruptcy. But the name came as an instant relief because Kalyaan was sure he would be a Hindu. So, he eased into a smile himself.
“Hello, I am Kalyaan and this is Seema, my wife.”
“Wonderful! Where are you headed?” Manvender inquired, maintaining his bright smile.
“Guwahati, Assam.” Kalyaan replied, knowing what would come next to that reply.
“Oh! Isn’t it all jungles out there?” Manvender asked, breaking Kalyaan’s face into a smirk.
“Isn’t that the whole of India?” quipped Kalyaan.
“Oh! C’mon now, I’m only pulling your leg. I know all about Assam. Been posted there myself once, back in ’89. Chabua.” said Manvender, patting Kalyaan on the back as some sort of compensatory display of affection. Kalyaan saw it as more of a vulgar display of power but he played along. But he was relieved nonetheless.
“Do you see what is happening out there? These mullahs are going crazy. They want our blood! They’ve always wanted our blood! They want everybody’s blood!” exclaimed Manvender, his voice now at a steadier but higher pitch.
“It’s a lot more complex than that. What business did we have going and breaking that masjid?” Kalyaan got back at Manvender, the recent friendly encounter with Adil having left a good impression in him.
“Well, we sure as hell have the right to claim what is rightly ours. You give these mullahs too much space and you know what happens. How was this country partitioned? Because we gave these mullahs too much space.” Manvender was wearing his bigotry on his sleeve. Too bad the sleeve belonged in the army, Kalyaan thought.
“Alright you have a point. But we are the only ones who lose because of all this madness. We lose our lives, we lose our livelihoods, we lose everything, and for what, but to be mere footnotes in history.” Kalyaan said, conceding to Manvender. He was trying to conceal the bigot within him but was finding all the outlet that he needed in Manvender. Manvender spoke what Kalyaan couldn’t dare say and he found some solace in that.
“But who has stopped you from fighting? You are a loser if you fight and lose. But if you fight, at least you stand a chance to win as well. If you don’t fight at all, you are already a loser.” declared Manvender resting himself against his berth, and pulling his feet up.
“I don’t want to fight. We don’t need to be constantly fighting. We shouldn’t be fighting at all if we seek progress in this country. We need peace first if we want progress.”
“Oh c’mon! Peace is the ultimate tranquiliser. Human beings are made for greater stuff than peace. Conflict is what breeds greatness among us. Conflict and suffering. Peace puts us in a state of inertia. Look at Switzerland. So many years of peace and what do they produce? The cuckoo clock!”
“Oh c’mon now you two! Stop with all this. I need some food. I’m very hungry. I haven’t eaten anything since the morning.” interjected Seema gently.
“Yes, certainly. I haven’t eaten anything either and the train has run out of food.” said Kalyaan, with a hinting glance at Manvender for some food. Manvender was quick to take stock of the glance, replying “well, I wish I had me some food but you know what it’s like out there. I reckon the stations are our only hope. I am not all that hungry anyways.” Once he laid bare the equally agitated citizen in him, Kalyaan sensing a window to his soul, offered help. It’s the first thing anyone would do, or is emotionally compelled to, once someone undresses themselves emotionally for the first time. After that, it’s always a choice. But that first time carries some sort of piety for anyone witnessing the revelation. He too was a human being after all, a citizen beneath the uniform, agitated, frightened by all that was happening outside. More than anything, he was a Hindu, who could perhaps share the governing anxiety of the moment.
“I’ll get down here, don’t worry. I’ll buy us all some food. I’m sure there is some puri-sabji stall somewhere around. Wish I could get my hands on some newspaper at least. Anything works at this moment.”
“Ah! I think we are better off without the newspaper. I’ll tell you what. This will be a day we’ll remember for the rest of our lives and we sure will reach home, safe and sound. Don’t you worry about it brother.”
That sounded comforting to both Kalyaan and Seema, coming from an army jawan. Kalyaan had heard that before recently in the day, from Adil and that wasn’t as reassuring coming from Adil. Kalyaan realised that power could not just be frightening and menacing and all things bad, sometimes, it could be the only comforter. The man he felt spoke from some sort of power. He was radiating power with that uniform, but it was power Kalyaan could trust. Seema, breaking Kalyaan’s long chain of thought, slightly nudged him.
“Yes, yes I am going. Doubt this train will leave this platform anytime soon anyhow. Puri-sabji it is right? Anything else you want?” asked Kalyaan, expecting no answer to that, since he didn’t want to be shoved around as an errand boy by a stranger in front of his newly-wed wife.
“No, thank you. I’ll have whatever you guys are having.”
Kalyaan got up from his berth, and looked at Seema, smiled at her, thinking how lucky he was to be with her. And he was sad to leave her, even for a minute. It was that love for something new and of having achieved or acquired something you have longed for all your life and after having done so, not knowing what to do with it except to just think of it and smile about how really magical the whole episode was for you. As you grow older, happiness becomes more of a radical emotion and you long for such small moments. So, he left the coupe, for the first time in almost 24 hours, and ventured into the madness outside. It was chaotic, but it was chaos emblematic of any railway station in India, there wasn’t really any chaos about the dark episode that the country was going through in the moment. The shopkeepers were going on about their business as if nothing had happened, the PCO boy was going on about his business as if he hadn’t heard a thing and the coolies were going on about their business as if they hadn’t seen a thing. Strange, Kalyaan thought, to be alive during such a ghastly time and to have not witnessed anything ghastly. He almost felt guilty of that thought. Kalyaan expected everything to be upended by Babri, but it was nothing more than a talk where he was currently. History’s apathy for ordinary people is only a reciprocation of ordinary people’s apathy for history, he realised. His mind was constantly racing between the trauma of a childhood in a conflict state to what he was witnessing in the present. He was trying to make sense of it all although he did not want to. It sickened him, making sense of things.
He rushed the guy at the food stall to give him three plates of puri-sabji and a bottle of water and he paced back to his compartment through the heaving crowd. But just about then, he caught a glimpse of a very familiar uniform. It was Manvendra. But he seemed to be in a hurry. Kalyaan shouted at him, “Manvendra! Where are you off to brother?” Kalyaan remembered the earlier feeling of comfort that that uniform provided him. But now suddenly he wasn’t too sure about it. Manvendra glanced back at Kalyaan, briefly, and in that brief moment that their eyes met, Kalyaan’s heart almost collapsed. He felt his heart pierced by the truth in his eyes. Manvendra ran as fast as he could and Kalyaan couldn’t run for his life in that moment. His legs were paralyzed. He slowly made way to his compartment, his fear not receding. The tribulation within had already started and Kalyaan was constantly prosecuting his thoughts. Why did he look at me that way? Why is he running away when he had just stepped in? Kalyaan was not really looking for any answers. He found the questions terrifying enough. He hadn’t fell this kind of sickness since the time he saw his lovely mother’s dead body, when he was 14. That’s what it was beginning to make him – sick. He had lost all his other senses in that moment. Everything else was numb. His hands couldn’t even feel the hot plates of puri-sabji. His eyes weren’t blinking anymore.
He finally made it into his coupe and all emotions just vaporized in that moment. He couldn’t get a breath out of his mouth, leave alone words. Everything around him felt darker. It was his Seema and it was the ghastliest sight he had ever seen in his life. He was now running a temperature on the cold night of 7th December, 1992. The only words that were constantly ringing in his mind were from what he had earlier heard from Adil and Manvendra – “this will be a day we’ll remember for the rest of our lives.”