Disclaimer: The following story is a figment
of my imagination based on current state of affairs, any resemblance to any
particular person or incident is purely coincidental.
“Who
are you?” the guy asked with bloodshot eyes looking at her with maddening rage.
The same question that you might be asking me. More apt question will be who
she is, because I am not her. But then what’s her name? How does it matter I
say! Has it ever mattered? Will it ever? For that matter is this her story for
it to matter? Or is it a story of the times, or story about something else,
perhaps it’s a story of us. So did I ask who are you…I didn’t! I didn’t even
ask you why you are here…for this story most likely won’t be to your liking.
But it still needs to be told, for I want to tell it, call it my “God complex”!
She
was also like that, she did what she felt right. That is why she was
there. Not one to answer questions but to ask them, after all she was the
journalist. A free and true one as she made herself to be. She realized much
early in her career that big
organisations are not really favourable for your journalistic freedom and integrity, no
matter which organization it was, how it worked, what side it worked for, it
always supported its allegiance and not the truth. So she soon quit to start
her own thing. No she wasn’t some rich kid whose dad could buy her a media
house. Hers was a small blog which she filled with stories of interest of
common folks that many times biggest of media houses gave a miss not for being
insignificant but these stories ruffled people whom they couldn’t afford to be upset. Now I know you must be forming an image of her in your minds after reading
this much. How many ‘isms’ she followed, what all ‘ist’ she was, how she
dressed, where she studied…etc., etc., etc.! But let me tell you before you go
any further with those images of who she is in your mind…she was nothing like
that. She was a happy go lucky girl, believed in good, even had faith in a
supreme being she believed did good of people and she tried to do her bit in
that as well. She went to her small worship place near her house on designated
days, as per the customs. She was always smiling, looking at bright side of
things, making people feel good and smile at her jokes and antics. She was also
fearless, from being a little girl who wanted to fight of ghosts in the dark
that scared her friends to now trying to expose dark secrets that high and
mighty wanted to keep hidden.
Here she was face to face with the carnage of hate to find truth in a locality
in one of the most sensitive parts of national capital, Delhi. Her own city,
which is called colloquially “Dilli Dilwalon Ki…”, the same city seem to have
lost its heart for some time now. Since the government brought these
controversial citizenship bills that made more mess than it cleaned up as
proposed. There were riots everywhere spurring up from one side or other. While
some of you may argue a big city like Delhi lost its soul long ago and all,
let’s face it such violence our national capital hasn’t seen in few
decades which was more than her entire lifetime so for her all this was new.
She kept getting information on violence, some by government forces sanctioned
officially, some by people in masks, sanctioned unofficially by interested
parties. She couldn’t sit back
amidst all that particularly at a time when media and journalists’ integrity
and credibility was under scrutiny like never before. She was now seeing the destruction first hand that people had brought on each other in one of
the worst affected areas. Burnt carcasses of cars stop dead, as their tyres
burning at a distant most likely been used further as an weapon by the
arsonists. While there were people still on the streets and she could see faces
looking out of alleys, windows, there was a deafening silence in the area. That silence was periodically getting broken by sudden chants that she had only heard at
places of worships and during festivals. Those very chants that filled her
heart with positivity and calm now filled her with dread perhaps for the first
time in her young yet fearless life. These people, the hostile expression on
their faces and the chants all felt alien to her. Her parents had tried
stopping her, her friends did too, saying these were not the time and place for
girls to go. She had rebuked them saying that way many say about the entire
city and even the country then should we sit on our asses and do nothing? Even
her buddy who had stood by her all the time seem to be wavering this time. He
had tried to reason with her that these were troubled times and even big reporters
from big media houses were not taking risks to reach ground zero despite their
clouts, alliances and everything. She reminded him how he had followed her out
of a job in big media house to help her run her blog as a photo-journalist
believing in her words of making a real impact as independent journalists
rather than part of some big network. She wanted to go and share real stories
that others weren’t willing to show and if he didn’t want to come along, and he
was free to do so. As these things go, he could never do that, and so here they
were in that precarious position now despite her assurances that God will look
after them as they were going to do good by bringing out the truth. The truth,
despite the dangers she felt, she tried to ascertain by asking few people here
and there. But her questions were met by hostile queries of their own as they tried to gauge who she was, one of their own
or not and depending upon the answer her fate they would decide.
Her
friend again dissuaded her from this, told her never to answer who she was
correctly but make it according to situation. All he wanted to take her away
from here safely but alas god perhaps had a different plan. Due to this group
of people he tried to avoid while she was busy questioning some women she found
on a window he had to move away to another street. By the time she finished her
futile questioning things had taken a turn for the worst. As she frantically
looked for him, she found him in next alley lying knocked out with a bleeding
head wound from the same man and his buddies now confronting her. She tried to
reason with him, told him they were there to listen to their issues, make the
world listen and take note. But sadly these are different times, none believed
her. He asked her point blank if she took him for a fool? You are media people,
he said. You are paid by government to tell only their story. We will not spare
you today and teach you a lesson that your leaders will remember. She tried
explaining how they were not with anybody and ran their own independent venture
but all fell upon deaf ears. He said let me show you how we deal with insolent
bitches like you. You want us out of this country, but we will spread the
nation of Allah to the whole world including India. Kaafirs will die only we true believers
will remain. Unashamed, uncovered women like you will be taught their right
place not to speak over a man. They
closed in on her, started pawing her from all sides, tearing her clothes up.
She couldn’t believe what was happening to her at first. In the name of God
these men were brutalizing her! How can God be allowing this? She was there to
tell about their plight. Maybe it was the Shaitaan, as Maulaviji had said, who
takes over the mind and soul of people to make them do evil deeds to undermine
God. But despite the raging eyes and attacking hands she somehow couldn’t see
any Shaitaan there anymore! If god the almighty, the all merciful was allowing
this to happen to her was it Shaitaan that was controlling these men? She tried
fighting hard but they were overpowering her surely. Her companion himself
incapacitated much to intervene and police, well let’s just say they were
acting very godly by not intervening from far-far away, busy in some more
pressing concerns perhaps!
As
some time passed, the ravaged body of the girl on the street started to stir
out of unconsciousness. Her first thought if all her assailants were gone and
if her friend was ok, despite the physical and mental shock she tried to keep
her sanity intact somehow. She tried to look around, seeking help and trying to
find her injured friend. But her vision was blocked by a pair of boots. The
sight gave her some hope, she looked up to see a helmeted policeman looking
towards her. She tried to speak up and ask for help but she was choking up for
pain. The policeman asked her, who she was? What had happened? But as she tried
answering by her own pleas of help, another voice from opposite side answered
before her from and No it wasn’t her friend! Looks like the Mullas have raped
her and fled leaving her to die here. Maybe because she is a Hindu, we should
help her, said the other voice. He asked directly, tell us girl you are a Hindu,
right? Who did this to you? Sahab ji is here, we will help you! The physical
pain and shock was excruciating for her, but the constant questioning of her
religion just pushed her further down as if now all her hoped drowned. The guy
said to police officer, perhaps she isn’t Hindu but a Muslim, that’s why she
isn’t speaking up. These Mullas are idiots, they may have raped her thinking
she is Hindu. But let’s not spare her, she will bore more of those scums and
who will fill the country with filth. Let us teach her a lesson on who are the
real men here! The policeman shrugged him off saying these were troubled times,
media eyes were everywhere and this girl herself looks like from media. There
will be ruckus if someone saw him or worst filmed him. The other guy was free
to do whatever he wanted but he needed to go as there was lot of work for him
other than to get busy in such stuff now.
As
the policeman turned his back towards the girl and walked off to some other
site perhaps to uphold the law in his own unique ways, the other guy looking at
the disheveled state of the girl started having a glow in his eyes as he
lowered his pants and himself onto her. She looked at his face thinking surely
this is the devil himself, a mighty evil Rakshasa is out here to rob her of her
last bit of life. But this guy was no dark skinned Rakshasa with an evil laugh.
He looked like rather handsome prince god she saw regularly at the temples, the
king who was the perfect man of all and who’s kingdom this guy was saying he
will spread far and beyond. As her senses finally started leaving her and this
senseless world due to the assaults becoming too much for her the final words
she heard, “asli maja to ab ayega…kate hue se thodei hota hai, pure ka maja
lo!”, perhaps summing up the change in the society and its beliefs. But is
anything really changing, yes maybe the chants, the colours, the names and
faces but the cycle of violence perpetrated in the name of those revered
figures continue to happen without any change. In the end you may again ask me
who she was, but I wonder who are we and who are they...god or devil, in whose
name we forget ourselves so brutally!
