7. The Separation: Faizan returns Saharabad alone
Almost a year had passed now. Things in Saharabad looked normal as described by news channels. We could now plan of our returning back to Saharabad. But we rarely talked about it. Maybe coz we both feared of separating. Sometimes she would ask me indirectly, “What have you thought about future?” But I never had answers to such questions. Maybe because I myself never wanted to return. Maybe because I too feared separation. I admit it that if it were in my hands I would have seized every those moments that we shared together. That small ramshackle house looked more comfortable to me than the villa we had in Saharabad. The food she used to make tasted a lot better than those cooked by the professional cooks we had. Things had changed. The human relation I had established with people there had become more precious to me than the million-dollar property we had there in Saharabad. I was happy being Avinash Singh than Faizan Khan.
Aarti never said but I could sense that she too had same feelings as mine about returning. But she was not so mean and hence one evening she asked me about it. Perhaps she would have convinced herself for the truth that we will have to separate someday.
“You should think of returning back now,” she said.
“And what about you?” I asked.
“I have some work left here in the hospital. There is a bit tension arising,” she replied scratching her head.
“What tension?” I enquired.
“Don’t worry about it. I have purchased a ticket for you of tomorrow. You are going back tomorrow,” she said.
“Cancel it. I am not returning without you. Whom should I meet there? No one is waiting for me there, come on. Forget that and tell me about it. What tensions you have?” I enquired.
“Look Faiz you should enquire about your parents now. I have collected some information about Saharabad. Things are lot normal now. Your kith n kin may be looking for you,” she emphasized on her words.
“I already have been enquiring about them but there is no new news of them yet” I replied as she gave a strong staring look at me in response.
“O.K, if you say... But I will return soon to take you. Now tell me what tensions you have in hospital,” I asked her.
She smiled and said, “Nothing important. I am just hung between my ethics and duty” She turned worried.
“Aarti…Don’t stretch it. Tell me clearly” I said.
She looked at me with a disappointed smile and said, “One day a man came to hospital with his 3-year old girl child. She has some problem in her heart and requires immediate surgery. The surgery would cost millions of rupees which is unaffordable to him.”
“I see,” I replied taking a long breath.
“Faizan, can’t we help that child” she asked almost begging me to help the child. “I mean she is just three. You once told me that children are most precious thing for you in life. Now prove it please… I beg you,” she said while tears filled in her eyes.
“Aarti don’t cry. I will go to Saharabad tomorrow and arrange some money for the child. I promise you she will be okay. Just don’t cry,” I said trying to console her but she hugged me and kept weeping. It was not her fault. Aarti had an iron personality from outside. But she also had a soft corner; a tender heart which would melt easily if a poignant incident was witnessed. She once told me that if you change others life you also witness change, simultaneously, in your life.
Nevertheless, I moved to Saharabad next morning. Returning to Saharabad after such a long break was a different experience. The whole journey I felt being haunted by the flashes of terrorizing experiences I had in the past. I had no news of Abbu and Ammi. I was wondering about my friends, relatives- whether they are alive or not? Somehow, I reached the station. It was raining. I scurried to the main building springing over the water pits but unwantedly mudded the jeans. Inside the station the atmosphere was hostile. People stared at me as if I was an alien to the town. A sense of terror moved down my heart. The curiosity of returning home had disappeared. There was something gloomy in the atmosphere. Nevertheless, I spotted a tea seller and bought a cup to fight shivering from cold. Further without wasting much more time I decided to move to the police station so I took a taxi cab for it.
“To the police station please,” I requested the taxi driver. The taxi driver looked weird. He gazed at me for a while and then started driving.
“Are you a tourist sir?” asked the taxi driver anxiously.
“No, I live here. This is my hometown. I just moved to a safer place during riots,” I replied.
“Hometown…huh! What is left here now instead of ashes, dead bodies and bad memories? What are you looking here for out of these three?” he asked rudely.
“My family,” I replied.
“Do you know where they are?” he asked me.
“No, but I feel I should report an FIR against their missing. I have been looking for them since separation in the riots but failed to collect any information about anybody,” I said to the driver. He sniggered at me looking in the mirror.
“If these bastards (the policemen) do their job rightly why would we suffer so much? They are simply puppets of the ministers- the real terrorists. Until you do not feed them cash they won’t utter a single word out to you, huh, bastards,” murmured the taxi driver.
“What happened here after the riots?” I asked him curiously.
“After the riots? Huh! After the riots many people died due to lack of medical facilities, women and children were raped. People are dying of hunger. And the government? Huh! Well it is in the news that they are accused of bungling the money they got as relief fund for the victims. Public properties are being looted by the robbers here quite openly. Nobody says anything. Even the media, they hardly care to show our condition on television. They find Bollywood news more important than Saharabad riots. And why would they? People themselves rank social issues down to celeb issues. Who cares to care about a small town like Saharabad? After all it is not Delhi or Mumbai huh…” he said.
I was not shocked. It was not the first riot I had seen so he was describing nothing new. Outside the window I could see the dreadful scenario of the town as if a blanket of misfortune had enveloped the city. Meanwhile I reached the police station that looked like a beer bar and the police officers; they looked more like gamblers than cops. It was a complete mess of the system where most of the policemen were not in their police uniform. Moreover, the table contained bottles of liqueur, cigarettes and cards instead of complaint file and documents.
“Sir I am a party member of Muslim Samaj party. One of our members had registered an FIR of missing of our party leader Md. Ahmad Khan months ago. I wanted to know how far your investigation has reached. Is there any news of him?” I asked one of the police officer there.
“Muslim Samaj Party? Huh! They are history now. After the riot most of the leader ran away and many are still missing. About 7000 corpses have been counted and the counting is still on. Who has time to identify each one of them,” the officer said rudely and enjoying his liqueur.
“What do you mean who will count? It’s your job, come on. And by the way it’s a mass leader, the present MLA of the state I am talking about,” I shouted at him but it hardly affected him.
“Ex-MLA mister. As I said he is history now. I believe you do not have any information what happened here after the riots. The motive of the riots was to suppress the leaders of your party to come into the power. Manav Kalyan party rules the town now and there is no opposition. The whole town was set on fire. Now what makes you believe that your leader is still alive,” replied the officer.
“Because he was a politician and a politician never dies in a riot. And for you, well it seems to me that you are not interested in doing your job. Instead, you like to lick feet of that Younis Khan, isn’t it” I said angrily to him.
“Keep you zeal cold pal. There’s no one now who will save you here,” said the officer.
His behavior annoyed me and I soon realized that it is meaningless to expect any help from police. I thought better to leave and look for someone else who could provide me some relevant information.
Outside the police station the world was very different than the world I knew. A very hostile wind was moving. The people of Saharabad were known for their honesty, politeness and their jolly attitude. But it appeared as if the riot had changed everything. People standing out there looked dead, expressionless, busy in their work. I took the cab for way to my home.
When I reached home I saw something ‘different’. There used to be a beautiful villa of ours here but what I saw could not be my home. It was empty, ramshackle, something like a ghost house. Blood stain could be still seen at the lower parts of the walls. The garden was destroyed. Soul of the house was gone. My heart really turned desolate seeing the miserable condition of my sweet home which used to be echoing with laughter and shouting and all kind of mischievous activities of my siblings. A house, which used to be packed with ministers and guests and their political meetings, was empty and silent that day. It was heart filling. My eyes had got wet remembering old childhood memories associated with the house. Moreover, it had been sealed, probably just after the riots. The yellow ribbon with ‘NO ENTRY’ labeled on it was still hanging there. I was unable to figure out what to do next- should I return? Or should I look for someone else. I thought of meeting Zeeshan, my friend before leaving. I had to arrange for the money too.