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Saturday, July 22, 2006 |
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Murder of Rajiv Gandhi (May 21, 1991) by Tamil Tigers; demolition of the Babri Masjid in Ayodhya (December 6, 1992), followed by killings of Muslims in Mumbai and parts of Maharashtra; series of bomb blasts in Mumbai (March 12, 1993) taking hundreds of lives of all communities; the burning of a train compartment at Godhra railway station, followed by killings of innocent Muslims (toll of over 2000) in Gujarat. When things began to settle down came explosions in commuter trains with indiscriminate killings of people without distinction of religion, caste, creed or gender. Who did it and why, we are still not sure. It is a bloody record for a nation which likes to call itself peace-loving:we killed the father of our nation, two Prime Ministers and many thousands of others in 58 years. Let us face the ugly reality. Far from being peace-loving, we are quick to lose our tempers and pass judgements based on hearsay and are prone to violence. We continue to harbour religious prejudices and willing to commit the most diabolical of crimes in defence of what we believe to be right, which in fact is wrong and evil. Not only do we have to learn control our tempers, not come to hasty conclusions and seek revenge, we also have to defeat the evil-designs of evil-doers by defeating their attempts to sow seeds of discord between our communities. Never, never equate criminal outfits like the Lashkar-e-Toiba with Muslims. The apocalypse I hear of the searing heat in the plains with temperatures rising above 45 degrees centigrade and feel privileged sitting in the cool shade of a massive tree taking in the pine-scented air of the Shivalik hills. "Miserable plain-dwellers," I tell them in my mind "come up to the hills". Here when it gets too warm all I do is to change into shorts and a T-shirt and let nature’s cooling system do the rest. And more, in Delhi I heard the koel call only twice before I left, in Kasauli I hear it the first thing before sunrise and it continues screaming all day long till sunset. The koel’s preference for mango trees is a myth perpetuated by legend and song:Ambua hee daaree pe koel boley "kuhoo, kuhoo" . It is a shy bird and looks for trees with a thick foliage to avoid being seen but calls to make its presence known. We have no mango trees up here but plenty of thick-foliaged trees like horse-chestnuts and koels kuhoo away all day long. Many a time I’ve noticed them only after hill crows chase them away during their nesting time. One day it was stiller than before. Usually a wind picks up in the afternoon. Not that day. The sky was azure blue. I sat watching white-cheeked bulbuls and mynahs sporting in the bird bath I have put in my garden. They were fluffing out their wings and chirping away vigorously till the sun went down behind the line of trees and a full moon emerged to lighten the darkening skies. A blissful end to a gorgeous day. I retired for the night hoping the days to come could be like the one that just ended. At midnight I was shaken out of my slumber by a clap of thunder. It was followed by flashes of lightning on louder claps of thunder. My bedroom windows slapped shut, reopened and violently shut again by gusts of wind. Branches of pine trees came washing down on the corrugated tin roof. Then came hail and rain: it sounded like an army of malefactors throwing stones on my roof. I got up to see what was going on. As I expected, electric lines had been felled by trees falling on them. I groped around the room with the torch I keep by my bedside. I put on my sweater and went back to bed, this time under the razai. I could not sleep because of the peels of thunder and lightning and the bombardment on the roof. It seemed as if the apocalypse — the end of the world. It will not go with a whimper but with a series of bangs. I have never experienced the wrath of nature of this magnitude ever before. It is a miracle: we survived the ordeal. Peace and silence returned. After a while came the dawn. I stepped out to see the havoc caused by the storm. The roof and the garden were strewn with pine needles, dried twigs and branches with green leaves. It took the bijliwalas two days and nights to restore power. Perishable items in the fridge rotted and had to be thrown away. The geyser did not work; so there was no hot water for a bath. I had to light candles to take sundowner and my supper. No doubt romantic. In this mini-paradise in the Shivaliks one can find houris and wine but never rely on the weather. Twinkle, twinkle little star You have twinkled enough, o little star Your hour has come now to pack up and go Our own sun has risen already, and so. All western light from the eyes of mother India We must pull out and in the ocean throw. And you Baa Baa Black sheep You are not a sheep but a vulture, A wolf in sheep’s clothing, who’ll eat up Our centuries old solid culture. (Courtesy: Kuldip Salil, Delhi) |
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THE
bomb blast in overcrowded commuter trains which leave Mumbai’s
Churchgate station every few minutes to take thousands of working men
and women back to their homes every evening and took a heavy toll of
lives (over 200 dead and over 400 injured) on July 11 reminded me of
other bloody events in our history since Independence. Bapu Gandhi’s
murder (January 30, 1948), Operation Bluestar (June 6, 1984) in which
well over a thousand innocent men, women and children were killed in
the exchange of fire between Bhindranwale’s goons and the Army;
Indira Gandhi’s assassination (October 31, 1984), followed by a
massacre of about 10,000 Sikhs across northern India.
