June was the Cruelest Month

In the scorching heat of June when the hot gusts of loo blind those who dare to step out the house in the afternoons, Lyallpur was set ablaze by the radio broadcast of Lord Mountbatten, the last Viceroy of British India. Dhaniram and Karunanand had switched on the radio and were intently listening to the broadcast on June 3 1947. 

For more than a hundred years, 400,000,000 of you have lived together, and this country has been administered as a single entity. This has resulted in unified communications, defence, postal services and currency; an absence of tariffs and Customs Barriers; and the basis for an integrated political economy. My great hope was that communal differences would not destroy this.

The colonial town was quiet for some time. Trouble began when they stabbed a Sikh in a red light area called Randi Bazaar near the mosque Jama Masjid. The news spread like wildfire. Hindus and Sikhs went on a killing spree targeting Muslims.

Ram’s school had closed for the summer vacation. But it opened for a week for students to join their new grade and get a set of textbooks and notebooks for the following year. Ram was happy that he had now entered the ninth grade and had opted for the science stream.  He had wanted to be a doctor ever since he had met his father’s doctor friend, an Englishman who worked at the Government Hospital. Mornings in the Anglo Vedic school began with a fire sacrifice accompanied by chanting of morning Vedic mantras. Ram could recite the entire chapter from the Rigveda even though he didn’t follow the meaning of the Sanskrit words. He closed his eyes and prayed that his hockey team would win the match on the coming weekend. Like all the teenage boys in his school, Ram loved hockey and aspired to play at the national level one day. After school, he would quickly finish his homework and race out to practice the game with his friends in the neighbourhood. He was made the captain of the team because he had a brand new hockey stick and an endless supply of balls.

His father Dhaniram, called Bauji by one and all, was against gifts in principle because Gandhiji said possessions were evil. He implemented Gandhian rules to the letter in his home in a Hitleresque fashion. No clothes, no shoes, no toys, not even firecrackers on Diwali. Ram recalled how Bhabhiji, as they called their mother, had bought him a woollen blazer one winter and all hell had broken loose. But his elder brother Karunanand who was visiting them could always be counted on for whatever one wished for. On his last birthday, Ram had asked Karunanand for a new hockey stick and had been gifted one along with half a dozen balls. The only thing that Bauji did not mind buying was fruits and street food that he shared with all those who visited his chemical dealers’ shop. Ram would visit the shop everyday partially because he was expected to help Bauji but mainly for the goodies he got to eat. “Puttar(son), go and buy leaf cones of pindi chhole for all of us,” Bauji would hand him a few annas and Ram would race to the street corner where the pindi chhole vendor would park his cart. Ram was already dreaming of the treat this evening when the school attendant barged in with an anxious look and whispered something to the teacher. Pandit Sharma immediately stopped writing the line on the blackboard and escorted the students to the schoolground with a grim face. ‘Why was the school being shut at 11 a.m.?”, Ram wondered, “Had a national leader died?” He knew better than asking Panditji who had a temper even the Principal could not control.  

All the students were being hustled into the school buses that were waiting to take them home. Everyone was excited about leaving school early. “Oye, Chup karo (Keep quiet, boys),” A stern warning from the driver with a big moustache in his booming voice stopped the incessant chatter. The conductor who was a jolly fellow was also not in a mood for jokes today. They drove on the main road along the canal which was absolutely deserted. Then the bus reached the Rail Road and dropped the children at the end of the road. The busy neighbourhood was unusually quiet. All the shops had pulled down their shutters. No one was walking on the road. An eerie silence greeted him as he entered the lane on which their house was located.  When he was 200 yards away from his house, he noticed a poor Muslim vegetable vendor being hit by a number of people. Then a Sikh pushed him into a drain. Together, the mob stoned him to death. Ram was transfixed with fear. Then the mob began to attack another Muslim. Ram ran up to his house and loudly banged on the door. Bauji opened the door, let him in and hugged him tightly. His mother was in a state of shock and was being fanned by his sisters. She rose from her bed and began to caress him and kiss him. He kept thinking about the Muslim vegetable vendor in the lane. Was he alive? Why did the mob kill him? Why didn’t anyone come out when they heard him screaming? These questions haunted him the rest of the day and the rest of his life. He did not tell Bauji or anyone else what he had witnessed. The image of the Muslim being stoned was buried deep in his subconscious like many other things he was not supposed to see.

Two hours later the police arrived on the scene and took control of the situation. Curfew was imposed on the city.  All schools, colleges, shops and establishments were closed. Bauji had to shut down the shutters of his shop.. There was no question of Ram’s going to play hockey with his friends. But the curfew was not observed seriously.  Muslim mobs from across the Dussehra Grounds would arrive with sticks and knives threatening to kill Hindus and Sikhs. The Sikhs would emerge out of their houses with swords and Hindu Rashtriya Sevak Sangh(RSS) workers follow with their lathis.

Ram thought he was imagining it but he spotted one of his senior schoolmates called Hari among the workers. RSS wanted Hindu youth to become physically fit. Ram’s school had a punishing  physical regimen for boys that began with simple drills that became increasing rigorous so that the Arya boys could defend the nation. Ram enjoyed participating in those physical activities that were designed to make them strong. He did not even mind their PE instructor hitting them with a stick to make sure they reached the optimum level of endurance as he shouted expletives, “Suar de bachche kam naheen karde [Sons of pigs, they don’t work out].” But the test of strength that his senior demonstrated on that day was beyond his imagination.

Hari was a puny little fellow whose spectacles came in the way whenever he attempted to take part in tests of strength. No one wanted him in their team because he was not able to tackle other players and made them lose the match.  He would cower when the PE teacher hit him for not being able to complete the race. But on this particular day, he seemed to be in his element. Ram’s gaze followed him as Hari followed an elderly Muslim vendor walking in the lane. Before the vendor could guess what was awaiting him, Hari had hit him on the skull. The vendor had fallen and was bleeding profusely. Hari and the other RSS workers marched on in search of other prey. On the second day, the Gorkha regiment was brought in. Both the communities were given a strict warning to return to their homes. Or they would be shot dead.  

Ram was strictly warned not to go to the terrace.  But his curiosity got the better of him and he would sneak up the stairs when everyone was taking their afternoon siesta. He could clearly see the mosque that was 400 yards away from his house. Then the sky would be rent with sounds of “Naara e Takbir” emerging from inside the mosque. Hindus would respond with “Bol Har Har Mahadev” from their houses, and the “Sikhs with Jo bole so Nihal”. After a brief respite, they would start shouting again.  

Curfew was relaxed only for an hour every day for people to pick up essential commodities. Ram recalled that the family had to make do with only roti and dal the entire week. Forget the snacks and other goodies they would have in the shop every evening, the children did not get even their evening glass of milk.  He couldn’t wait to get out of the house and play with his friends again. He drooled at the thought of  pindi chhole.

Six to seven days later the curfew was lifted. But the city was not the same any more. Ram’s Muslim friends had left the Hindu neighbourhood. The friendly match between Hindu and Sikh boys of the colony and the Muslim boys from across the Dussehra Ground could not be held. The school was closed. Friends had become enemies. Karunanand took his mother and siblings along with him to a town in the United Provinces. Dhaniram refused to leave but was forced to do so a couple of months later. They never returned home.