Seven Deadly Sins: Wrath

The city was tense. Local election was nearing its D-day. As usual, leaders of all the political parties in the fray had gone into a hyper drive delving into the usual blame game and name calling as well as the constant flavor of the season, fanning religious sentiments in order to consolidate their vote banks. The humble bovine had again shot into limelight with everyone having an opinion about its perceived importance in the thick of the things.

Hindus were crying hoarse for a complete ban over cow killing in the state. Some learned Muslims agreed with the thought saying that the Qoran never mentioned about killing of cows for food but disagreed with the way some fringe right wing groups had taken upon themselves to teach those people a lesson who were rumored to have been killing cows. Some Muslim hardliners were absolutely against this and said that they had the right in a democratic country to eat whatever they wish.

Reports of some feuds between the two communities had started creeping in from different parts of the city. One could almost taste the tension floating in the air. The city was reaching its tipping point and it just needed one small push to go off the edge.

Khalid Mohammad had been following the events and had a strange feel of déjà vu. All the events brought back the thoughts of 2002. He was in Ahmedabad during that time, running his garments shop. In the riots that ensued, his shop was set ablaze. When some of his acquaintances informed him about it, he went there, hoping to douse the flames and salvage something. It proved to be an exercise in vain. He cried for help but, fearing the backlash, no one was willing to help him in the Hindu dominated area. He somehow managed to get hold of a bucket and used the handpump in the locality to fill it and use the water to somehow stop the fire. But it only stopped after consuming his source of livelihood. He couldn’t remember how many buckets he had filled and used. He knew that he was doing that for the last 2 hours. He was completely tired. More so mentally, than physically. But life wasn’t finished with him.

Dejected, he returned home, tired and totally covered in soot. As he was reaching his neighborhood, he could sense something amiss. The neighbors had encircled his house and everyone looked shocked. As he made his way inside, he saw a trail of blood, leading inside. He ran, hoping against hope, only to find bloodied bodies of his wife and 12 year old daughter. The frenzied mob, upon knowing that Muslims lived there had forced their way in and raped the woman and the girl and upon satiating the devil inside had killed them and mutilated their privates. He wept and when he looked up at the onlookers the only thing they could see in his soot covered face were his eyes. They were red, filled with flaming rage. He picked the dagger left by the criminals and was about to end his life too when he heard his two year old daughter cry. The beasts must have spared her because she was sleeping in the next room, nestled between pillows away from the prying eyes of the wolves that came into his house.

That incident changed his life forever. He developed a deep hatred and anger for Hindus. He left his business, came back to his hometown in UP and joined a hardliner Islamic group that did propaganda about crimes against Muslims, from Kashmir to Palestine. He regularly ranted against the atrocities committed by Hindus on Muslims and, over the years, had become quite prominent face in political sphere as well.

But now, as the city was on boil, he felt that the ghosts of Ahmedabad had followed him home. He sweared to god that any Hindu who would set foot in his part of the mohalla would earn his wrath. An anger that he has kept preserved for the last 14 years. He took out the dagger that he had found in his house on that fateful day. A few people from his neighborhood had come to his house to discuss plan of action in case of any communal incident. As they were discussing the matter, they got the news that someone had thrown a bovine carcass in the Hindu dominated neighborhood next to his and that fringe Hindu groups had found the opportune reason and going to attack the Muslims living in the area. Hearing this, he asked his now sixteen year old daughter, Aamna, to stay put and made a few phone calls to this group members and ask the people with him to follow him, “Aaj to inn saale kaafiro ko bata hi denge ki Musalman ko ungli karoge to haath hi kaat denge. Saale bhadwe log!”

He reached the spot with his group, heavily armed with swords, daggers, sickles and torches. Upon seeing them the Hindu group started pelting stones. They returned fire with stones and Molotov cocktails. The clash could have taken a turn for worse but timely police intervention averted the crisis. Khalid was taken in custody with a couple of his group members along with a few of the Hindu group as well. When they were released after an overnight stay at the government ‘guest house’, they received news that in retaliation to the other day’s incident, someone had thrown a dead pig in that part of his neighborhood where Muslims were larger in number. A bloody clash had broken out where 7 people have been reported dead. Even his house was attacked.

Fearing the worse, he ran towards his house. The horror of 2002 flashed before his eyes. He imagined the limp, lifeless body of Aamna, her modesty snatched away from her by the wolves. He ran and ran until he reached house. He saw a crowd surrounding his house. He could feel his worst nightmare coming true. He shoved everyone and made his way and could see the blood splattered door. He stepped in and saw Aamna crying, blood all over her clothes which was torn at places. He quickly embraced her and started consoling her, when he saw Manohar, the neighborhood mechanic come out of his bedroom, clothes disheveled and blood all over them. Khalid now had a face to put on the beast that had haunted him for the last 14 years and now he just wanted to slay it. He leaped at his throat, trying to choke the life out of him. His fingers pressed to the beast’s throat when he heard his daughter’s voice, “Papa, leave him. He saved me. Last night when the mob was going berserk, two people with sickle entered our house and tried to rape me. He came in between. They lunged at him with the sickles. He got severe cuts on his arms and back but he fought them and pushed them off. And stood watch at the gate the entire night. He averted a certain disaster, Papa. If he hadn’t been here, even I wouldn’t be.”

Khalid Mohammad looked at Manohar for a few seconds and then tears started rolling from his eyes. He fell to his knees and cried profusely. The demon of wrath that he had been feeding for the last 14 years had now been exorcised by the small needle of humanity.