Jugal’s eyes glued to the newspaper. It has been several years since Jugal has passed
out of University. Armed with a degree of M.com he was yet to get a job. Every day he
would browse the second page of the newspaper in search of a job.
“No wonder there are lakhs of unemployed in our State,” he would murmur to himself
.However, this time he was not searching for jobs. The headline of the respective day
was strong enough to attract Jugal.
“Total Shutdown in Northeast against new Bill”, the headline read.
“…..the bill has been passed in Lok sabha recently. If it becomes an act would open
citizenship rights for foreigners… protesting against the decision of the government
many students union called for a bandh,” The particular news item highlighted.
2
Jugal had just finished reading and he wanted to know more about it. He switched on
the TV and tuned in to a local news channel. The channel was showing some
extraordinary visuals. Thousands of students were seen marching on the busiest street
of the city, the GS road. The GS road housed the commercial establishments, hotels
and restaurants.
The students at the front screamed at their topmost voice. The ones followed them
hailing the certain scream. It was a war cry. The cry that was deep and spirited and it
revived senses. “Joi Aai Axom” (All hail mother Assam), the students screamed. They
were holding placards that read “We will not accept foreigners” “We will bleed but not
accept the bill”
Soon Jugal’s father joined him to watch the news.
3
“It will be bigger than Assam Agitation of 1980’s. This government has no sense. Can’t
they see how people have come out to the streets? They don’t need this act. If the
Government is for the people is it not their duty to listen to the people?” Jugal’s Father
asked.
“Are they providing citizenship to the foreigners?” Jugal asked.
“Everybody is saying so. The scholars, leaders, and educationists among others are
Saying that the government is trying to grant citizenship to foreigners”
“What harm it will cause?”
“Are you able to find a suitable job even after browsing through the “Stuation Vacant”
section in the newspaper?”
“No”
4
“If more people come in will you be able even dare to dream about a job?”
Jugal went into deep thought.
“There is already scarcity of opportunities with the existing resources. With influx of
people there will be severe scarcity of jobs and others. Imagine, who would get jobs
and other Government benefits? These new people will, just because they are at
the government’s mercy and vice versa. The government will use them as their vote
banks for their political benefits. Moreover, our culture, language, tradition will be at risk
because incoming people bring along with them their own language, culture and
identity,” Father continued.
“Then we should oppose the law,” Jugal said with a frown.
“Anything that threatens the identity of our community should be opposed,” Father
adjusted.
5
“Students are marching ahead and breaking the police barricade….” The news reader
belted out interfering between Jugal and Father.
The news reporter with his shaky visuals, broadcast the protest that was gradually
turning violent. He was perhaps running and struggling to show exclusive visuals
.
Thousands of students like a river in spate broke the boundaries that restricted them to
move forward. They kicked and shook the iron police barricades. Situation went out of
hands when police charged against the students. The enraged men in Khaki swung
their lathis. The blows fell heavily on the protestors. They tried to defend with their bare
hands, which turned futile. They took the blows on their arms and back and heads
thereafter. Few policemen were seen preparing their tear gas cannons.
6
“Joi Aai Axom” the protestors from one side roared.
“No CAB” “No CAB” others from the others confirmed, shouting at their topmost voices.
Police knew no bounds at that time. They kept lathi charging upon the protestors, in a
way dispersing the crowd.
“You can see how the students are being beaten up. There are lady protestors and
there are no lady police personnel,” The newsreader in excitement seemed, as if he
wanted come out of the TV.
“History is repeating itself. Is it a repeat of Assam Movement of 1980’s,” The
News reader wanted to know as lady protestors were seen bleeding.
“They beat us mercilessly. Is it the end of democracy? Why we don’t have right to
protest,” a protestor asked in front of a TV camera while struggling to stand. Her college
uniform ripped. Her hair in frenzy, but her eyes were fueled by undying spirit of love for
7
her motherland.
Now it was a war like situation in the middle of the city. Residents never saw such a
protest but only heard and read. In no time commercial establishments were shut
down. The protestors then were chased by the men in uniform. They ran to a distance
only to regroup again.
“Hello,” Jugal received the phone.
“Are you watching TV?” Munin asked.
“Yes”
“I have never seen such a huge protest before,” Munin said.
“I have heard students have blocked the main roads of the city,” Jugal said.
“Police is beating everybody. I am coming to your place. We have downed our shutters,”
8
Munin hanged the phone.
Munin worked in Car dealer as a sales consultant. His workplace being at GS road
already been shut due to the impact.
By the time Munin reached Jugal’s place Curfew was imposed in the city by the Government.
Gradually the protests took ugly turn towards evening. In many part of the city public
properties were vandalized and protestors set ablaze everything that they thought
would irritate the government. Police had barricaded the State Secretariat in the capital
which was broken by the protestors. Strong jets of water from the cannon dispersed the
protestors to a distance. This angered them more and led them regroup again. The
public buses were set ablaze in front of the police itself. Iron fencings on the road
dividers were uprooted. Police resorted to blank firing first then launched tear gas
shells.
9
“I have heard the government will scrap internet service,” Munin looked tense.
“Just like Kashmir. See the government is trying every way possible to turn Assam
restless. They are same as the previous one,” Jugal said.
“While coming here I saw people burning tyres to block the roads. There are police
everywhere”
“But why are they vandalizing everything? They are not the locals for sure,” Jugal said.
“Should we go and have a look at the chowk,” Munin suggested.
The chowk wore an aggressive look. The street lights were off, shops closed and there
were many people on the road. Residents from nearby apartments circled round the
burning tyres and logs. Locals with iron rods and sticks guarded the fire. They directed
anyone travelling by the road to change direction to reach respective destinations.
“Have you seen Robert? He was armed with an iron rod. What is he up to? It seemed
10
he is going to trash somebody,” Jugal said
“The government maybe”, Munin said
Robert a local of the area along with others was seen interacting with anyone who tried
cross the blockade of burning tyres and logs. Tall flames gave out black smoke He
also had the same fire burning in his eyes. He first told them politely. If they hesitated
his loud “Go back!” was enough to make anyone who tried to cross the blockade either
on foot or in vehicles to abandon plans.
“Are you not Assamese? Haven’t you heard about the bandh? Return to your place,”
Jonti, another local was heard shouting at a driver. The driver out of fear turned his car
and hurriedly accelerated back.
Tyres were burning at every 50 metres on the Basistha road that ran through the Chowk
and connected to the Dispur road. The air smelt of burning leather. Black thick smoke
11
emanating from every corner gathered overhead. The fire from the tyres and the logs
illuminated the surroundings. Youths at one end guarding the fire would shout in unison
to check the spirit if it had died at the other end, “Joi Aai Axom”.
“Joi Aai Axom”, someone replied from the other end.
The next morning headlines of the newspaper carried persistence of the protestors that
they would carry on with the protests if the government brought new law. The other
news told about the adamant Government which said that the new law would not be a
threat to the local people.
The TV News channels were broadcasting congregation of student leaders and people
gathered to attend a protest meeting at Lataxil Playground.
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“Do you have enough oil?” Jugal asked
“Yes”
“I guess we have to walk many miles in order to reach there. Can’t risk riding a bike to
the venue,” Munin said.
“We have to be careful”
Jugal who would otherwise busy in his daily life searching for a suitable job was worried
over the future of his birthplace now. His fate now depended upon his Motherland’s
future. It applies same for Munin. He on a normal day would chase job related targets.
He would profit incentives from the number of cars he would sale per month.
Sometimes in a hurry he would even forget to have his lunch while answering call from his clients.
But the situation was different now. Love for his Motherland and lending a voice for the
13
support of the protest was important than anything.
They tied Gamochas on their heads and wore black shirts and rode to the venue which
was 12 kms away.
“Joi Aai Axom”, they greeted each other.
The once beautiful city was vandalized completely. Army and police personnel patrolled
almost every street. Munin and Jugal couldn’t ride to the venue given road blockades
on the way. They had to change multiple routes
.
“No you can’t go by this route. We have blocked here,” a youth told Munin. The youth
along with several others were blocking the VIP road at Narengi. The youth was clad in
black T-shirt and track pants. He was carrying a bag with him as if he was taking part in
every protest that was taking place in the city.
.
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Others that backed the youth were aggressive as well and told Munn that they had
recently set ablaze a bike.
Hearing him Munin turned his motorcycle to another route.
“He doesn’t seem like native of this place. I felt he has been hired to be here,” Munin
told Jugal riding pillion.
“I wonder from where these big logs people brought from. Why are they burning and
vandalizing things?” Jugal asked.
“Someone supplied those. Some has been taking advantage of situation. They
intentionally been supplying big logs and tyres to keep the fire burning,” Munin smelled
fishy.
He was going through a news report that morning that the authorities have sensed that
the vandalizing of public properties has been sponsored by some anti social forces by
15
taking advantage of the situation.
“The Minister said that locals have only protested but have not vandalized. But it is still
not clear who is behind all this,” Munin said. He took a right from the main road to enter
a lane.
They parked the motorcycle beside a school and went in the direction of the venue on
foot. Charred Buses along with other public transports, private vehicles stood by the
side of the road. Strict warnings to the Government were written on the road and on the
walls.
“No CAB” “Take back the bill” were written in black.
Thousands of people from all walks of life took out rallies that day. Like tributaries
flowing to meet the big river, small rallies from the lanes joined the big procession on
the main road. Munin and Jugal joined a similar procession to the venue.
16
Sea of people gathered at the playground. They all walked to reach the place. They
were not led by any organization but they came of their homes on their own effort. The
leaders in their topmost voices tried to raise sentiments of those gathered and those
stuck to their TV sets across the State.
“We have given enough shelter to foreigners but no more now. They have to take back
the bill or we will continue with our protests,” He yelled. Every after 3 lines from the
leader, roaring cheers from those gathered reverberated the surrounding. Majority of the
youths mandatorily tied Gamochas on their heads. They seemed restless and
demanded immediate change.
Some locals who stayed beside the playground provided drinking water to the
attendees.
“Joi Aai Axom”, he handed a glass of water to Jugal
17
Jugal replied with the same.
“Do you think they will return to power?” He asked
“I don’t think so” Jugal confirmed.
“There will be rise of the left. I can sense it. See in this gathering there is no rich and
poor. All are equal here” he said.
However, the real challenge lied ahead of Jugal and Munin on their way back home
from the venue. While coming to the playground they were in rally but while returning
they were all by themselves. With cautioned steps the duo moved towards Guwahati
club and from there they will proceed along RG Baruah road to the place where they
parked the motorcycle.
They soon reached a huge blockade created by several angry youths. They were
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raising slogans and were abusing the Ministers in power. They were guarded by burning
tyres and huge Logs and whatever wooden could be seen in the vicinity. They were
launching their verbal attack to a group of policemen gathered several feet away from
the youths. For some unknown reason they were not charging towards the youth.
Perhaps they awaited orders.
Just then a gunshot could be heard then at a distance. The policemen at the front
charged like angry bulls towards the youths raising and swinging their batons in the air.
They were just waiting for the tear gas shells to be shot.
The youths leaped from their spot like frogs and fled. They dispersed in all directions.
Some jumped off the guard wall beside the road to an office campus. Others sprinted
inside a lane adjacent the main road. The ones at the back including Munin and Jugal
were sprinting on the main road itself which with policemen at their back.
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Never in life have they faced the influence of a teargas shell. They felt like some minute
particles in the air have entered their eyes and burned them. The eyes were compelled
to shed tears out of the irritation. With blur vision the eyes were red in no time. They
dragged themselves inside a lane and stopping until they saw no police following them.
It took 2 hours for Jugal and Munin to reach the place where the motorcycle was
parked.
“With a blow from that that thick batons bones will be crushed into pieces,” Jugal said
remembering the chasing the policemen. He was sweating and the cold evening had no
effect. Munin was in a hurry to start his motorcycle and go home. Just then Jugal’s
phone rang feebly. A call from his mother displayed on the screen.
“I will reach home in an hour,” Jugal received the phone
“Robert has been shot dead,” Mother replied from the other side.
“What? But how?
20
“He was at the blockade. Police and army came to clear the blockade at the chowk.
Robert and others continued raising slogans and threatening the police who were in a
big patrol company moving towards them. While policemen were dispersing Robert and
others, a gunshot was also heard. The bullet went through the dark smoke and
camouflaged with the flame. It hit Robert’s stomach. He was first shocked as something
in the air came and disappeared in him. He fell on the ground”
Munin and Jugal rode back to their homes. They didn’t talk even once. They didn’t know
how to react when a neighbour has been martyred. They felt for the first time that
protests can lead to loss of life. They were scared initially and adjusted with the fact
that they could be shot down anytime now.
There saw and crossed many blockades on the way. More youths gathering near the
21
burnt tyres and logs. They raised slogans as if inviting the police to chase them and kill
them. As if they love to be chased.
“Will Robert’s death be fruitful? Will the government take note of this? Imagine his death
going in vain,” Jugal asked. He was muttering to himself
“Forget about Robert. What if we get shot?” Munin slowed down.
