We lived in a rustic dense chawl of Kanjur marg that populated majority of factory workers migrated from small districts of Uttar pradesh and Bihar. There were quite many local maharashtrians as well. But not many had agricultural land back at home town, we were elated by the fact that in the event of major mishap, we will have secondary source of income and we can always go back to our village in Ayodhya and make our living. My maternal uncle was general manager in some big company in mumbai and lived in classy appartment in mumbai. We were as good as his servants that time. Thats the reason, he never liked to visit our place,a dingy residence.
That day, Sun rose from west and he arrived in his luxurious mercedes to our place. He scornfully looked at asbestos roof and mediocre flooring of my house. Despite his attitude, I liked him because he was a self-made person. He was another rags to riches story in himself. His driver slept in the car itself. He decided to stay at my residence that night. It was going to be a dreadful night for him and his driver.
By the late evening, news started to come that weapons have been ceased by local police in the nearby mosque. The mosque lied adjacent to dairy farm owned by a muslim called Saeed. Saeed was a tall handsome person. He owned more than thousand buffellows and few hundred cows. It was quite a lot of business. But I have always seen him, injecting some medicine to sick beasts and delivering milk at the counter. The area near mosque was plush with muslim people. One could make out there number during Eid and Muharram. However, during riots we stopped buying milk from that muslim owned dairy farm. But we always missed that quality of milk. The purest one.
Soon after the news broke, curfew imposed again in the area. My maternal uncle couldn't go back even if he wanted. That night, he had to stay with us. Police constables manned the area, shouting, 'Jagate Raho'. (Be Alert!!). Anything could happen that night. Some constables hit the doors with their sticks, not with the intention that somebody should open the door, but to reinforce the message that 'One should be alert!!'. As and when somebody hit the door, my heart pulsated faster. My grandfather lived with us. He was very frail and frightened kind of person. In order to be prepared for any mischance, he has bought hard steel rods. As somebody hit the door, he gripped again the rod and pursed his lips, as if he could take them all, whosoever comes.
Door was knocked again and again. We were used to it. Finally we all slept, carelessly. After some time, I heard some noise and opened my eyes. Two constables were discussing with all elderly people in house that some people have pelted stone on the car, parked a bit distant from our place. Driver was missing. We couldn't go to the car,as it was curfew time and waited for next morning at 9 O'clock until curfew lifted. Elders waited while talking, but I slept.
Next morning, the car was found burned to ashes. The missing driver was found dead near the mosque area. His name was Raqib. My maternal uncle has employed him a month back.
I didn't see my maternal uncle again. After 15 years, I got the news that he died of heart attack.
That day, Sun rose from west and he arrived in his luxurious mercedes to our place. He scornfully looked at asbestos roof and mediocre flooring of my house. Despite his attitude, I liked him because he was a self-made person. He was another rags to riches story in himself. His driver slept in the car itself. He decided to stay at my residence that night. It was going to be a dreadful night for him and his driver.
By the late evening, news started to come that weapons have been ceased by local police in the nearby mosque. The mosque lied adjacent to dairy farm owned by a muslim called Saeed. Saeed was a tall handsome person. He owned more than thousand buffellows and few hundred cows. It was quite a lot of business. But I have always seen him, injecting some medicine to sick beasts and delivering milk at the counter. The area near mosque was plush with muslim people. One could make out there number during Eid and Muharram. However, during riots we stopped buying milk from that muslim owned dairy farm. But we always missed that quality of milk. The purest one.
Soon after the news broke, curfew imposed again in the area. My maternal uncle couldn't go back even if he wanted. That night, he had to stay with us. Police constables manned the area, shouting, 'Jagate Raho'. (Be Alert!!). Anything could happen that night. Some constables hit the doors with their sticks, not with the intention that somebody should open the door, but to reinforce the message that 'One should be alert!!'. As and when somebody hit the door, my heart pulsated faster. My grandfather lived with us. He was very frail and frightened kind of person. In order to be prepared for any mischance, he has bought hard steel rods. As somebody hit the door, he gripped again the rod and pursed his lips, as if he could take them all, whosoever comes.
Door was knocked again and again. We were used to it. Finally we all slept, carelessly. After some time, I heard some noise and opened my eyes. Two constables were discussing with all elderly people in house that some people have pelted stone on the car, parked a bit distant from our place. Driver was missing. We couldn't go to the car,as it was curfew time and waited for next morning at 9 O'clock until curfew lifted. Elders waited while talking, but I slept.
Next morning, the car was found burned to ashes. The missing driver was found dead near the mosque area. His name was Raqib. My maternal uncle has employed him a month back.
I didn't see my maternal uncle again. After 15 years, I got the news that he died of heart attack.
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