“We the people of India
having solemnly resolved to constitute India into a sovereign, socialist,
secular, democratic, republic…..”…embossed in golden monotype corsiva font were
the words borrowed and understood from all the noble sources of the world. They
sprung out loud in proclamation. LIBERTY …JUSTICE…EQUALITY…FRATERNITY…
How solemn! – He thought.
He felt a surge of pride and honour at the solemnity of
those words. The clock struck five as Kabir stepped out of the library
precinct. As he approached his car his eyes fell on a poor but dignified couple.
He must be a Muslim, Kabir thought judging by his appearance.
Hesitantly, the man gestured for him to come closer. The sun
parched face, the gray hair, the lines that age had etched on his face and
those beseeching eyes were too compelling to ignore; particularly his eyes.
They looked glassy as if the flood of tears were too terrorized to come out and
had crystallized to give him a stoned look. Kabir found it unsettling.
The old man and his wife mumbled incoherent phrases a pidgin
of Gujrati and Urdu. Whatever Kabir understood was appalling. He had read about
the riots, what the media had termed as a pogrom, an ethnic cleansing but all
in the unfeeling black ink of newsprint. The images on television were at best
disturbing but comfortably distant and it didn’t touch his world. After all, our
world is as big as we imagine it to be.
“They destroyed everything in connivance with the ‘sircar’-
the government. They maligned my pregnant daughter and once the whole gang was
through they hacked her body with swords, and scythes. We even saw the foetus
convulse in her. The Hindus burnt alive our three young sons .We fled from that
hell. ”- The old man said. The woman hid her face, half in despair and half in
prayer.
Kabir felt disgust and in front him those headlines swam in
mad animation.”21 cities and 68 districts on communal pyre- Government
willfully paralyzed as Gujarat burns- Gang rape, murder, arson ensnares Gujarat-
40,000 Muslims left homeless- Godhra avenged , says a Hindu fundamentalist leader “
Sick on waking up to
a rendezvous with realism Kabir asked him – “ Baba , what can I do for you?”
“I used to make idols of Hindu Gods for a living…”- and from
what the old man mumbled further with embarrassment Kabir knew he was asking
for help. Perhaps the human under layers of insensitivity was still alive in
Kabir. He reached for his wallet and was pondering what dole out would befit
both the tragedy and his magnanimity. In the midst of a choice between ten rupees
and rupees fifty, a voice called him - Kabir!
Kabir saw Ishita
waving excitedly from across the road. They had dated several times in the past
month and had found each other’s taste very impressive and sophisticated- be it
movies, literature or friends.
With a sudden turn Kabir moved away from the old man a bit
unsure, a bit embarrassed towards Ishita and kissed her cheek.
“How have you been? And who are these people?” – Ishita
asked.
“Beggars” – Kabir said. He knew his voice had deceived his
soul and conscience. LIBERTY …JUSTICE…EQUALITY…FRATERNITY…didn’t
sound very solemn and that sanctimonious.
They drove away on the tree lined road and the old man still
stood under the statue of Alexander Pushkin. Pushkin and the old man looked on
as the car took a turn and was out of sight.
That evening Kabir and Ishita went to a Discothèque, rocking
to music and alcohol. After that to an upscale restaurant serving Thai cuisine
and then a late night movie called ‘Schindler’s List’, trying hard to
understand the tragedy of life through it. The terror in the eyes of a victim
was disturbingly similar to that of the old man.
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