It will be a revenge for the brutality and atrocities against his community. Whatever happened in Hashimpura, Meerut or Gujarat were just the more explicit and more known incidents of what has happened in this so called secular country in the last 6 decades post independence. The fact is that this country has never accepted and perhaps will never accept them as their own. He himself lives under a constant scrutiny all the time, people look at him with suspicion, as if he is carrying a gun or a grenade in his pockets.

So let it be! Yeah he has done it, in fact ‘we have done it’, and he knew that from today onwards life will never be the same for this Rajputana city of Jaipur. What he has done is just a small act of service to the community. Tomorrow even if he is traced and captured and then hanged, it’ll all in the name of the God. But….being traced out..exposed.. unimaginable torture thereafter before finally being hanged.. he shuddered at the thought. Who will take care of ‘Ammi-jaan’? What will happen to Aslam’s studies? After all this is his final year of graduation and he is doing so well in studies. And what about Aasmaa? What will she do without him, will she ever forget him? Forgive him?

All these thoughts left his throat dry; he looked at the clock, 7:05 pm. He didn’t know about the exact timings. All he did to help the mission was to procure 2 new and 1 old cycles from the city and arranged for 3 old bags for Haafiz-bhai. He was quite sure that today was the day, he got that hint by whatever conversation he could overhear, he wished to play a more active role in this but was kept out of the riskier tasks.

To think about something else than the possibility of his arrest, he focused back on his anger. Whenever he looks at prosperous Hindus, he feels that they are so because they have taken an undue advantage of his community. Even his boss Mittal-bhai whom they fondly call as Mittal bh****, behaves like he has done a great favor by giving them this job. Almost half of the workers in his shoe factory are from his community. He once overheard him saying jokingly “I have no option but to employ them, and any way these sons of pi** look good doing this kind of work”.

Today is the day when several such Mittals will learn a lesson; he was much less frightened now.

He noticed increasing activities in the locality, people started screaming, and telephones started ringing. He has switched off his own mobile phone as per the instructions of Haaafiz-bhai.

He switched on the TV. He was thrilled to see the destruction; the ticker was flashing “More than 50 feared dead”. Not bad, this is better than what he expected. He felt proud of what has been accomplished by them. Suddenly he heard a knock on the door.

His heart stopped for a bit too long, he regained his mental poise only after hearing Saadiq’s voice “Shaqeel bhai!”. He opened the door. “Shaqeel bhai SMS Hospital chalo jaldi… blast hue hain.. kam se kam paanch.. Ya Allah sab Illake waalon ki khair kare…. Aao jaldi se Aslam bhi wahin hai..phone kiya thha usne..appka switched-off hai ..isiliye mein…”

He could not hear any further.. the mere mention of Aslam left him almost paralyzed, He took a while to understand that Aslam is there only to help the victims.

He was talking to himself “What has this boy done? He is there in such a situation, this is not the time of helping anyone but to be safe yourself. These people and police together will search for any Muslims like vultures in the days to come, they will not leave him. This will take a communal turn anytime, I’ll have to go and bring him back before it’s too late” and he rushed out.

The scene outside SMS hospital was not for weak hearted persons. Just near the entrance he saw dead bodies of 2 young boys. Both of them wore identical clothes..very much like He and Aslam used to get from Abba-jaan in their childhood. He was pushed in to the gallery by a rush of new bodies brought to the hospital. Sounds of wailing were deafening. The helplessness of hundreds of mothers, fathers, wives, sisters, and children had a piercing power. Suddenly he found himself very weak. “Beta, tumhara bloodgroup-O+ hai kya? Mere bête ki jaan bacha lo” said a crying, helpless father. He looked into his eyes, the eyes that have perhaps seen the world for more than 50 years were filled with pain and utter despair today.. he has seen this face before.. yes it resembles the face of his late father he saw when Aslam was down with Malaria for more than 30 days. It just did not matter who he was.. his mental state was close to that of his own father when he saw his son almost dying due to lack of proper treatment. He just went with him.. Doctors took a sample of blood. He saw at the other corner of the room. He saw Aslam donating his blood. He could also see Rehmaan bhai, trying his level best to help the victims and their relatives.

Doctors returned shortly after and took him to the blood-donation room. He laid there thoughtless.. sounds of wailing were even more piercing now. Clearly more and more bodies were being declared as dead bodies, more and more children were losing their fathers and mothers.. wives were losing their husbands ..more and more homes were getting converted to permanent haunting houses.

After the process he felt dizziness.. but he walked out.. he wanted to walk out of this mess.. otherwise perhaps he would collapse there. Suddenly he hit a man.. he was.. he was ‘Mittal-bhai’. He was in a devastated state, he clutched his hands as if he wanted to say something.. no voice came out, but lips said everything “my son”.. Shaqeel did not know what to say or do, he moved a few steps further, then looked back. He was not the Mittal-bhai known to him, he was just a helpless father. He went to him.. Without much thoughts his arms were around his shoulders.. Mittal bhai looked up and clutched him again like a child.. he was trying to stop himself till then..perhaps he could weep now.. when his wife won’t see him weeping..Perhaps he didn’t care anymore know. It was a cry that Mittal-bhai was trying to control as hard as he could.. just those gasps for air would let it out. Shaqeel was shaken to the hilt. Mittal bhai recovered in a few minutes, sat in one of the corner.. with hands joined he started to pray for his son’s life.. Tears were still rolling from his eyes incessantly.

Shaqeel also found his hands together, subconsciously, this moment he knew that Mittal-bhai and he were referring to the same person.

The person that all of us remember when we are completely helpless is the same. It didn’t matter anymore if there was an Idol in front of you or not.. whether you call it Allah or Bhagwaan.. whether you are a laborer or a factory owner..with those trembling hands, sinking heartbeat, and teary red eyes.. you pray to the one .. you become a mere beggar.. and you beg for the lives of your loved ones.

He got up.. moved towards the blood donation room once again.. he wanted to drain all his blood there itself.. he never wanted to come out of that hospital.. he wanted to die amongst those cries..those eyes..where homes were being destroyed one by one.. he did not want to be alive till the final count.. he just wanted to add one to it..If only the doctors could drain out all his blood.

The post 50 dead and still counting.. God’s own man! appeared first on Bhanu Sisodia.