I
passed over to
him my passport at the counter; he took a look at it and then looked at me. He
didn’t stamp my passport, instead he said “take that exit corridor the officer
there will guide you further” I didn’t like the tone of his voice, but I had no
other go I had to take his word as I walked over to exit door where a queue had now formed, I looked over to
the other passengers making their way to the luggage counters, their eyes momentarily
resting towards the direction of the exit corridor. A handful of heavily guarded
army officers were stationed along with an immigration officer specially
assigned to the “exit corridor” I joined the queue. The man in front of me,
turned to me and said “they are going to kill us all like how they killed the Jews
and the rest of the nation is just going to watch us all get killed”. A sudden
gloom took over me, maybe he was right but I hoped otherwise. This was not the
right time to come back to this god forsaken nation but I haven’t heard from my
family in months, the last I heard they were taken to an unknown concentration
camp somewhere in India.
The exit corridor immigration officer examined my passport. He stamped my passport and said”move along” mustering all my courage and as politely I could I asked”Sir could you please tell me, where this corridor leads to?” I didn’t get any reply from him but instead I heard over my shoulder
“move along you muslim fuck” the army office who took the pain to answer me then hit my shoulder with the edge of his Ak-47 rifle, I didn’t fight back, I didn’t say a word back, I looked at him like a hurt mute animal, he then pushed me through the exit to a corridor that had no windows, a straight path that led to another room, guarded by another set of armed officers. They didn’t speak a word to anyone who came through the door; they grouped us all together men in one group, women and children in another. All muslims who came in from the flights from all over the world were now being detained in holding cells. There was tension building among the people, loads of questions and uncertainties, we were made to wait there for a while, more people joined the holding cells, all of them confused, more questions and more uncertainties, they had now reached a tripping point, some were losing their temper but we got no answers.
They started
emptying the holding cells, they made us walk in a long file to the open grounds
of the airport, it was evening now and we were given neither water nor food. I
felt a pang of hunger mixed with dread, the combination wreaking my already
tired legs, each step ahead felt heavy; I prayed for strength, I got none.
We were told
to board a truck, they started separating the women and men again, more army
officers poured in, they were rude, there was a lack of respect even towards
women, there were children crying, women wailing, men arguing, I stood by the
sidelines watching the mayhem unfold, there were slaps and heavy blows dealt to
those who resisted, shots were fired into the air. All those who protested fell
back in line quietly and quickly, I stood watching all of this, thinking; show
your might and men would naturally crumble and bow down before arms, accept
defeat without putting up a hard fight, but I am a coward too, I didn’t protest
either. As I boarded an already overcrowded truck I couldn’t stop thinking of what
must have become of my family, the thought kept coming back to me that last
phone call my father had made telling me that the whole nation has gone insane,
that all our assets were frozen, that every muslim men women and child in the
neighborhoods were being told to report to certain locations within the city
and that those who failed to show up would be forced. My father being a
peaceful man who avoided any form unpleasant confrontations decided to take the
family and go to the said location, I never heard from them again.
My initial
rage at being mishandled, the initial disbelief that this was happening to me
now vanished and was replaced by this sense of harsh reality, reality was
waking up within me. Coming back was a mistake but staying away and not making
an effort to find my family a sin, I began to worry deeply what must have
become of them; I began to wonder what would become of me. The women, men, and
the older children were separated had all finally boarded, echoes of crying and
wailing, I made myself as numb I could. Our hand luggage's were taken away, my
passport now held a seal that read”Passport Invalid” all this because I was
born a Muslim in the wrong era, in the wrong country. The trucks started moving
followed by a squad of army men in a jeep.
I felt like an outcast, I am an outcast. After 15 years of right wing Hindu radical democratically elected political party rule, it had finally come down to this, the rounding up of the muslim population of India, in the last few months. They call us outsiders. They say we don’t belong to this soil, because Muslims came to India with the Mughal invaders. Their political logic that the descendants of those Muslim invaders who stayed behind are still invaders that they don’t belong to India, that we don’t belong to India, that I don’t belong to India. They say we are a burden to the nation, they say we do nothing other than steal the livelihoods of the indigenous Indian people, so they say should be rounded up and be forced to pay the nation back what they say was rightfully theirs, they say we should be sent to concentration camps where we can be then used for the benefit of the nation. I have read somewhere, history repeats itself often, here was the proof and this was happening right before my own eyes. The man next to me said “wiki leaks say the excess work force is being executed, can you believe this?” I didn’t want to listen any further; I didn’t want to believe in those rumors, a part of me just didn’t want to believe.
It was still evening,
the truck carrying us all cramped up together moved along a steady pace. The
children on the streets threw stones at our truck and many bystanders were egging
them on, calling us names. I looked into the eyes of my countrymen, for help,
for an ounce of hope, but they looked the other way. There was fear in the eyes
of my countrymen, I saw defeat there, I saw shame there, maybe when they looked
into my eyes, they saw the same too, my fear my defeat and my shame.
It was night now, the truck had been traveling for a while, it started raining a very slow drizzle, we all drank the rain water thanking the heavens for this ounce of mercy, and we were all wet now. I used to love this rain but tonight I took no joy in it, foreboding of an impending doom, nobody spoke a word, maybe they were all regretting their decision to come back to this wretched nation, pondering about the hours and days to come. They took us to the far end of the city, the other trucks that started along with us were nowhere to be seen our one truck followed by a lone army vehicle, where did the other trucks go? I tried not to think too deep into that matter. They told us to get down, it was pitch dark except for the lights of the army vehicle and that of the truck, and it was still drizzling. After we got down they made us walk in a line to the front of the truck, in that yellow light they took a head count, they took our passports and ordered us to stand in a straight line, one next to the other. One man tried to make a daring escape, he was shot, a single shot to his back. The sound of gunfire numbs my ears.
Panic, then calm and an eerie resolve. The
officers now screamed at us, ordering us to turn and look away from the truck,
we all did as we were told, I looked at the man next to me, the last face I
would ever see, I said “Asalamu Alikum” he smiled and replied “Wa Alaikum Aslaam”
the last smile I would ever see. He then did something unexpected, he turned to
face the army officers and stood his ground, I don’t know why but I turned
along with him and I too stood my ground, my last act of defiance. They opened
fire at us all; I felt the bullets zip through me, as I fell, knee first. I thought
to myself I should have asked him, his name.
Mithun.M.K
