Two Nations, One Citizen

Two Nations, One Citizen

As a matter of fact i was born in a place called Sonamukhi, a village with very merginal development, in Bangladesh. That was my mother's native place. Thank god, I wasn't going to live in that hell. My dad lived in a semi-town, Ullapara. We have all modern facilities there, but good leisure places and modern thinking attitude of the people are still missing. Some of my best memories of childhood days are happened to be related to this place. It is a sub-division block town and a trading hub for the local farmers. My dad was a lawyer, though it has no courts now. Courts were recently moved to the district town. Dad have to make a one hour journey daily to do his professional duties. But courts were still not needed in places like those. Here all crimes were generally solved by the village elders meeting. Its rulings were not legally binding, but saved lot of money for the down-trodden. It had every issues under it to solve, ranging from rape cases to even murder crimes. I used to sometime accompany dad to those meetings. It generally started quite late in the evening and sometime dragged till morning tea. It had no permanent place to deliver justice, so place of those meetings happened on the premises of the concerned persons. But something that I used to like of this place was the Hindu-Muslim unity until the fateful series of incidents occured.December 1992, it was chill cold in Ullapara. Everybody was thinking of the coming New Year and the festivals that were to follow. Then something happened in India. I was too small then to analyse all of it....


The Report: By the author about how he interprets the incident himself. Dec 6, 1992:Some thousands of fanatic hindu orthodox, ran over the disputed land in Ayodha that had the centuries old Babri Masjid. They razed it to grounds. Nothing recognisable of the monument was left there. The mob was being influenced by some coward and selfish political leaders. The State and the Centre government were the mere spectators of this shameful act. The Demolition was followed by communal riots and it totally shaked the religious harmony and the very foundation on which the country stood. There were killings and bloodbath everywhere. Soon the fire of hate spread throughout the length and breadth of India. Children were being orphaned, houses being burnt, women being raped, ………everything that was wrong was being done and there was no one to stop them. Governments were acting half-heartedly to stop it. And soon this fire spread across the neighbouring countries. And my motherland was one of them. Afterward government started various inquiry commissions. But there is still no justice for the country and to the unfortunate victims. But time is the biggest healer. Most of the wounds have healed but to some it is still fresh.
My dad rushed into our drawing room. He looked so tensed and frightened. From his expression I thought he might have received a prior report of a massive earthquake-hitting the town. I was playfully scuffling with my own shadow, my twin brother . Our wrestlemania always ended in a draw and some solid thrashing from my mother. He shouted, "Get dressed, we are leaving this place and where the hell is your mom?" I showed him a red face. I hate when he is in his temper without any reason. He yelled again to enquire. I was a very stubborn kid. That roar didn't dislocate even a single hair in my body. Seeing the confrontation deterioting rapidly, my brother prompted,” Mom went to neighbour’s house, will be back soon". He asked us to get ready. Then he opened a big, solid steel almirah and began to pack whatever important he can get hold off. Suddenly I heard a big bang at the entrance. As if someone was forcefully entering our private villa. Dad shivered a bit. Then the entrance door opened, “My God, it was Mom. What the hell happened to her today? Why do she have to scare us to death?" I thought. Dad explained something to her very briefly. And for the first time didn't ask any explanation for what daddy was convincing her. I think she had already heard what was coming. We packed whatever we could and left. We took a neighbour's pick-up van. Of course, he was a Hindu. And more over in debt to my father. So he had no choice left, but to give the vehicle. My dad was driving. I thought he is a learner from the style he was manoeuvring the vehicle. Though the road was empty, our car was dwelling from left to right of the road and vice versa. Devil!! That was the worst ride I ever forced myself into. We reached the house of our local Muslim Councillor. He was providing shelter to many other Hindu families. A very "Holy Person", I thought. Moreover he was the leader of the political party my dad served. During elections, my dad has personally campaigned to every Hindu house in the town to gather valuable votes from our community. He gave us a small room to share. We were served food and the children went to bed.

".....shh.....shh, my brothers are very angry. They are thirsty for blood. Life for life. I will need to bribe them. Give whatever valuable things you have, anything, gold silver.........whatever. I can only stop them until morning." I was only half conscious. But I could hear everything very clearly. Our pious Councillor was asking money for our stay at his house to his sincere party worker, my dad."He is a big devil", I thought but kept silent and didn't move. My dad promised him that whatever he have, he will give him in the morning. With this assurance that wicked fellow left for his bedroom. My dad woke us up. It wasn't a very difficult task. We were already awake, just waiting for the next command from our commander. My mom, brother and me were now his speechless soldiers. We have nothing to suggest him. He told us to re-pack whatever we have opened from the bag. We had arrived there a few hours ago. The only thing we had unpacked from our bag were water bottles and the "BHAGBAT GITA". My mom turns super religious when she gets scared. He asked us to walk silently to the pickup van. Then dad started to walk towards the devil's bedroom. "What the hell! Is he going to inform the miscreant that we were leaving", I whispered to my brother. Then he did something unrespectable. In my case, my brains become a total empty vessel, when it was the time to think wise. Dad walked up to his leader's bedroom and then instead of knocking the door, he bolted it from outside. "Wow! that was really a creative idea", my brother wisphered to my shocked face. "Now run to the van", Dad screamed.

He then drove us to a friend's house. He was another Muslim who was just back from HAJ journey a week ago. "My God, not a Muslim again." I told myself. He gave us a warm welcome. He was still in his HAJ robes. But from his expression, he looked equally tensed like my dad. He was not expecting us. He didn't want to shelter any Hindu and fall into trouble. Is he going to inform his so-called "Muslim Brothers" about us like that earlier crook. I don't know." I was so confused. I didn't had any good feelings about this person at all. We all lied on the floor on his hall-room to sleep. After fifteen minutes he came rushing to us. He pleaded our help. I thought all this time we were pleading for his help. His wife was nine months pregnant. She was undergoing an intense labour pain. There was no-other person at home to help him. His neighbours were too scared to move out to help. I thought maybe that's why he looked so tensed earlier. My mother readily stood up to help. She rushed inside the bedroom. We waited patiently outside.

My mother returned back to us. She said us to arrange some clean rags, sterilised scissors, cottons, dettol, .....etc. That man and my dad agreed and rushed into the kitchen and the first aid box. I helped to get some clean rags, chairs, knife, spoon, ear buds, etc. Not all of that was of any use. But I didn’t know what to collect. I was not used to doing all this at all. I just wanted to help them. My brother collected some other unnecessary items. My mother carried all that she needed into the bedroom-cum-maternity ward and shut the door behind. Our anxious wait have just began. We would hear the lady scream in pain and my mother trying to comfort her. I began to think of my mother. She had become a full fledged "Di-amma" from her double experience of delivery at one go. I have a twin brother, remember. But it was taking a long time. The going to be new father became more tensed. He decided to go out and fetch a doctor or a nurse.....anyone, who could help him. My dad offered to go with him for the search. He declined. May be he thought a Hindu guide could land him in more trouble. He was absolutely correct. He left us to get the doctor.

"Waanhh....., waanhh!! I heard a baby crying loudly. My mother yelled from inside, "Its a girl". My dad flanged his hands high in air with joy and to thank his saviour, The Almighty, Sri Krishna. I hugged my brother. We now waited for my mother to come out of the room. After sometime she rushed outside. My mother was crying louder than the beautiful child she was holding. My dad took the baby in his hand and named her .....’Asha’. Dad asked mom why she was crying and how was Asha's mother. Mom remained dead silent. Dad asked her again, this time his tone more tensed. I thought my mom was crying out of her joy. After gathering enough courage she declared that Asha's mother did not live to see her daughter's face. There was dead silent in the room. We just looked at each other in total shock. Then dad controlled himself and asked mom to go in and clean Asha's mother's corpse and that we shall now wait for Asha's father to return. It was already daybreak then. We closed all the doors and windows and waited in the hall-room like sitting ducks.

After sometime, the baby began to cryout in hunger. Dad handed the baby to me and both rushed into the kitchen. There was enough food in the kitchen for grown-ups to last a month but not a single item for small ones. Dad began to think of some plan. Then they both went into the bedroom. Asha, my brother and me waited outside to see what was coming next. After sometime a Muslim man came out of the bedroom along with my mom. "Shit, who is he and how did he get in? Is he going to kill us? Where is dad?” These were some of the thoughts that struck my head on seeing this unknown Muslim man. Then he said,” Sons, you both wait here with your mom and Asha. Don’t worry about me, I will be back soon". Oh!!my God!! That Muslim man, I had feared as a stranger, was actually my own dad. He had dressed himself into a black Kashmiri kurta pyjama and also wore a Muslim cap on his head. His own unshaven beards made him look like a perfect "Muslim". He opened the door and left.
Time started to pass slowly. Thoughts of my dad began to creep up in my head. But I was convinced he would not get caught. His own sons dis-owned him as their father when they first saw him in that make-up. So there was no chance of him getting caught, unless he does something silly. I assured myself with all these silly thoughts prepared by my own-self. Then mom spoke of something that I need to confirm a thousand times more till now. She said that she wanted to make Asha her daughter-in-law. We both brothers were dump founded by her this remark. Did she mean that either of us has to get married to Asha. Woh....if that was what she meant then I believed it was a personal tragedy for me too on that very moment. How do she know what will be my choice 17 years from then. And moreover how would she say so. Don’t she remember that Asha was a Muslim and we were Hindus. Personally, I don’t mind marrying any girl from any caste or religion. But she, I thought would dis-own me as a her son if I had ever run-away with a non-Hindu girl. "Does Asha’s father still need a doctor", my brother's voice interrupted my thoughts. "No, he needs a coffin and a burial ground for his beloved wife", I wanted to tell him but thought it was not the right time to do so. Then there was a knock at the door. Alas, it was my dad.

Dad hurried himself inside and lached the door. My brother and I ran to him to help him with his bags. It was full with some baby food and baby clothes. Also it had a pair of Muslim outfits for early teenage boys. I didn’t understand why dad had bought those. Mom took the cow's milk and hurried towards the kitchen. Then she woke up Asha and feed her with some hot milk. Asha then went back to sleep. Mom prepared some quick dishes and we sat for dinner. I thought of my dinner at home. As a rule in our house, every member has to be at home for dinner. No one was allowed to miss that routine, not even our boss, my dad. But today was largely different. We were dinning at someone else's house, where the lady of the house lies cold-blooded in the next room and her breathing baby sleeping next to us. "Why are you so tensed yet, everything will be fine, and what happened to Asha's dad? He is not back yet". My mom enquired dad to comfort him. He looked at us in fixed eyes and slowly informed that he heard someone in the market saying that Asha's dad was burnt alive to death while crossing across a Hindu neighbourhood in his Hajj attire. The killers misunderstood him as a rioter. Our jaws jammed. WE could no-longer chew our food. I didn’t even start my dinner properly, but I was feeling completely filled.

After dinner, we all sat in the drawing-hall. Dad declared to us that he wanted to discuss something very important. We prepared ourself for the next tsunami in life to strike us. He stood up to announce, “We are leaving this country". Now that sucks. How can he decide that? I have all my friends here. My school, relatives, everyone. I thought, in my family we follow some democratic principles. We take decisions on majority votes. But dad being the boss, had the power to veto. And this time, he used his power to veto us even before we could use our franchise. “I have arranged a truck to take us to the Indian border. It’s a two hour journey. Everyone gets dressed up into Muslim outfits. And I will not entertain any discussion on this matter". We leave at sharp 1 o'clock at night. That command from him sounded like an ultimatum by a dictator and not from my dad. But I didn't protest. "What about the child". Mom spoke. Mothers always speak for children. "She is going with us", dad pronounced the verdict as he took a quick look at Asha. "Moreover asha's dad did not have any relatives. Her mother's parents were already dead long ago." We got busy to pack.

By eleven we were ready to leave. We were now waiting for the vehicle to arrive early. Suddenly we noticed something we didn’t expect to happen even in our wildest dreams. A mob of angry rioters, with flame torches in their hand had gathered in front of Asha's house. I asked dad as who has blown the whistle. Dad thought for a moment and said, "The pickup van parked outside the house must have alerted the rioters". "What shall we do next?” I wanted to know from dad. The mob outside got more suspicious with each passing second. Dad looked at mom and then to his two sons and declared viciously,” Prepare yourself for War". That very sentence was enough to fill my blood with a killing instinct. But still, we were a very small band of army against those thirty odd angry rioters. We shifted all the furniture of the house in front of the wooden entrance door as our defence barrier. Now the mobs outside were trying to enter the house by force. After some time they got really ugly. They torched the pick-up van. We too became ready to kill anything that would come in our way. We took anything in our hand that was a potential weapon for us. Dad took a shovel in his hand. My brother holds a medium sized butcher knife. I got hold of a old cricket bat. And my mother holds Asha in her both hands. Now we waited for our enemy to break into our territory and then kill them all or become martyr. "I think we should take the back-door", Mom said in a soft voice. The two brave child soldiers and their commander-in-chief looked at her face. Then my brother and I looked at dad for his next move. Surprisingly, dad dropped his weapon and got hold of our journey bags. "Everyone follow me to the back-door", he said and took the lead. His band of army quietly followed him. I think a woman's brain work more logically than a man on battlefield. I would tell that from my own experience on that night.

We hide ourselves inside a cowshed that belongs to Asha's neighbour. We kept silent. We all prayed to the Almighty for help. The last thing we wanted was Asha waking up from her nap and then crying for some more food. But she didn’t. We waited for the mob to leave. The mob tried to break into the house. But our deserted defences were far better than we thought. It didn't give up easily. Tired of their offence, they gave up. But not completely. They torched the house before leaving. The house that gave us shelter in our hard times was burning down in front of our very eyes and along with it was Asha's dead mom. Both of Asha's parent's were being given a Hindu style cremation by the Almighty, I thought. I felt sad for their tragic ends. But we prayed to God to grant them the highest abode in heaven. I felt that they were the purest of pure Muslim."ISLAM is great”, cried dad in a low voice.

The time passed by. But this time rather quickly. Dad looked at his watch and said tensely, "Its 2 O'clock. Where is the truck?" Just then the truck pulled up in front of the burning house. The driver halted. He took a look and was about to leave when dad shouted at him to wait. He noticed dad and from his expression he looked dead shocked. I didn't know the reason then. We all went inside the vehicle and it started to move through the empty streets. The driver was a young Muslim fellow. I mean a very good Muslim otherwise he would not have taken the risk to help some needy Hindus. My dad wanted to enquire about the other Hindu families that were supposed to be travelling with us. The driver informed that no one lived to make this journey except us. He told that he felt dishearten when he saw that burning house. Now I realised why he looked shock when he noticed dad. We kept silent and the lorry moved on along the silent road. The driver had switched off his headlights to avoid attention. But the sky was quite lit up from the burning houses in so many villages along the roadside. I thought why I was travelling to India. It was for that country, that I was leaving my own motherland. Then why was I leaving behind my once peaceful home and moving towards the very land from where all the trouble had originated. I didn't want to ask these curious questions to my dad at that moment. Because this time, unlike other time, he surely had no answers for my questions. And till today in my mid-twenties, I don't have answers to most of these questions, if not all. We reached the border at 5 in the morning. Before crossing over to India, dad gave the driver a gold chain. He was reluctant to accept it, but dad forced him to accept it as a remembrance. After crossing into India, officially as illegal immigrants, we headed to our relatives’ house.

And now this is what I am today. Fifteen long years have passed by. I am now an well-educated and a responsible citizen of India. Got the right to use my adult franchise. I even have a pure blooded Indian girlfriend. I am cent percent proud to be an Indian. But inside me I feel I am still incomplete. I have so many unanswered questions inside me."Why did those fanatic Hindus clamped down a mosque?"Who allowed them and why? Why are those culprits not still prosecuted. Why did people in my town attacked my houses. I haven't harmed the mosque. For me it doesn't still matter if there is a mosque or even a temple there before. Why do I had to leave my own motherland? Why was my childhood snatched away from me? Who and why was Asha's parents were killed for, like many others on those fateful nights. I both love and hate India. I hate India because it was this place where the shameful incident all started for which I am a refugee now in India. I love this country now because it is my home now. It imparted in me whatever I am today, education, home, job, girlfriend and many more. Moreover it gave us the final resting place after our two days of nightmarish dreams 15 years ago. I too love and hate Bangladesh. I love that country because I was born there, it was my motherland. I have some fine memories of my childhood spend there. My ancestral home, my blood relatives, childhood friends everyone live there. My father could not stay in a foreign land for long. After the situation calmed down, he went back. Mom had to followed him. My brother and me, were put into the hostel. And till today, they are living Bangladesh. Yes, things have drastically changed after that storm. But I think time is the biggest healer of all. It has healed most wounds, I suppose. They visit us sometime, but I believe my parents, unlike their their children wants to have their final resting place in their motherland. I also hate Bangladesh because though I was born there, I have to flee that country. I was punished for life term though there was no mistake of mine. It took away my childhood from me. Due to these reasons of mine, I still feel like a divided soul."INSIDE ME I FEEL LIKE A SINGLE CITIZEN DIVIDED EQUALLY AMONG TWO GREAT NATIONS".
You all must be wondering what happened to Asha in all these years. Well after we crossed over to India, things changed in India for some betterment. We both brothers were put to hostel. Mom wanted to keep Asha with her and to grow her into a well cultured Hindu girl. But dad refused. He didn't want to change her religion. He wanted her to grow-up in her own great religion. Dad believes Islam is a Great religion; especially after seeing what sacrifice Asha’s parents did for us. So he gave her for adaptation to a childless Muslim friend of his. And today Asha has grown-up into a gorgeous beautiful girl. She is decent, religious, educated and very well-mannered. My family visits her sometime. My mother still expresses her keen willingness to make Asha her daughter-in-law. That would have added some fresh troubles to my own personal life. I already have a Hindu girlfriend, with whom I wanted to share babies. But I think I am relieved. As I know my brother and Asha have some soft-corners for each other. And that is what I feel my life is today. I am a very happy man, after all there is a true saying “All is Well, that Ends Well.