The Long Way Home..

"Zoya, why don't you wear those green danglers of mine? I think they'll go perfectly well with your lehenga!"

Zoya beamed at her mother. She had always adored those earrings! So dainty, so delicate, she thought. And Ammi is right; they'll look gorgeous with my dress.

Zoya pulled out the earrings from under the mattress of the bed she shared with her mother. Her mother smiled as she put them on and examined herself in the mirror. "Ammi! These earrings looked so much better when you wore them. Why don't you wear them anymore?"

The smile drained off Amina Rehman's face. Often such innocent questions sting your heart more than anything else in the world. And the pain is unbearable. Zoya's father and Amina's husband Shauqat Rehman had died fighting the Pakistani forces in the war of Kargil. He had laid down his life trying to save two of his subordinates- Kashmiri Lal and Tej Chand. While the duo survived, Shaukat took the enemy bullet in his right lung. Zoya had been four years then. The army recommended his name for a gallantry award and Amina was taken down to Delhi to receive her dead husband’s ‘gallantry award’- a scroll of honour and a medal. Even today, the medal held a place of pride in their modest home.

He used to dote on Zoya, Amina recalled- making her sit across his shoulders and taking her around the town, teaching her how to march and salute, and Zoya used to love it so! For an oblivious little four year old mind, the loss of a member of the family who only occasionally came home had been almost unnoticeable. But it had wrecked Amina's life. It had been three years but Amina still hadn’t come to terms with the loss. The government had not even given her a proper compensation. Somehow, anti-Muslim spirits had been high and it became tough for Amina to even acquire a decent job. For a Muslim widow whose husband had not left much behind, life had turned to hell.

But Zoya continued with her prattle. She had probably not even waited for her mother's reply. "I think I look fairly well." She chirped in her squeaky, girly voice. "Tasneem won't be too happy though. I think she has always been jealous of me." She added thoughtfully.

Amina beamed. Her daughter was now the only reason behind her life. The only reason she felt it fit to struggle on.
"Oh yes." She said "You'll look way better than the bride herself! You're the best daughter in the world Zoya, and the prettiest too. Now come on quick. We have to be back early too."
"Okay!”
Amina Rehman looked at the figure of her seven year old daughter as she skipped out of the house. She is such a lovely girl, she thought. Fair, grey-eyed, with such deep dimples on both her cheeks. She has had an awful past. Allah, protect her from all evil.

Her thoughts were broken by Zoya's call. "Ammi chalo na! Jaldi!!"
Amina smiled to herself, quickly locked up their little one-roomed house and stepped out into the darkness.

                                                                     * * *

The groom was a Hindu. The family had opposed- oh yes, very vehemently indeed. The father had faked three heart attacks and the mother tried every possible filmy emotional blackmail dialogue she knew. But they failed. Nothing worked and the two frustrated families finally gave in to their children’s intense love. Zoya had never seen a Hindu wedding, nor had Amina, but Zoya had seen Shah Rukh get married to Kajol, Priety, Rani, Madhuri, Priyanka and oh so many more actresses the ‘HINDU’ way.
However, this was different. No dancing, giggling girls to steal the groom’s shoes and shamelessly demand money from their ‘jijaji’. And the pundit did not even crib about time being wasted and the bride being missing- in fact the bride reached half an hour before she was supposed to, just to watch all her wedding ceremonies take place! Different, yes but that was how it was to be. The bride was a Muslim and almost none of her relatives knew what was to be done. Each one of them, however warm and courteous to the ‘baraat’, was absolutely dazed by the way things were going around them.
That was part of the fun, and Zoya absolutely loved it. What if the others didn’t know what was to be done – she did! And so did Tasneem. And together they went around, creating havoc, giving a Hindu wedding its spirit, weaving in and out, in and out, in and out of people’s legs. Scolded not once, not twice but a whole of SEVEN times by the elders but did it subdue them? Oh no, not for more than seven seconds.
But now it was eleven, very late indeed and Zoya and Amina needed to get back. Amina kissed the pretty bride on her forehead, bade her goodbye and walked out of the pandal, holding Zoya’s hand.

The late hour had taken its toll on the little girl- she was sleepy, quiet and slightly disoriented. As they walked hand in hand down the lonely dark street, Zoya yawned and stumbled on her lehenga. But it was a long way home.
 “Hey, Zoya, don’t you go off to sleep baby.” Amina cajoled. “We must get home fast.”
Zoya yawned and dragged her feet. Slightly spooked by the stillness of the night, Amina quickened her pace. It wasn’t till she had crossed Manibazar Chowk that she realized something was wrong. It was far too still. Not a soul stirred in the place. Even the dogs seem to have slunk away. Where was everyone?
As if in an answer to her musings, a lean faced tall man in a dirty white kurta and churidar turned round the corner, “Allah Khair, Mohtarma! What are you doing here out on the road on a night like this? Don’t you know there is a curfew in town? Riots have broken down in the old city and at least four people have been killed. Khuda ke vaaste, just hurry up and go home!” Riots? Amina’s heart skipped a beat. Home was atleast another half a kilometre away. She began to run, dragging the half asleep Zoya behind herself by hand.
As she crossed the purani haveli, she heard sharp shrill voices from just round the corner. Someone was screaming- “No, please, don’t!”And a thousand voices screamed “Maaro! Maaro!”
Amina stopped short and looked around for a place to hide. Nothing. But a few yards behind her was the house of an old friend of her husband’s- Jignesh Shah had gone to the same school as Shaukat. In desperation, she decided to knock their door. At first, no one answered her knock. Amina was getting frantic. The voices were much nearer, shriller now. At last a window opened on the upper floor and someone peeked out cautiously. It was Jignesh’s wife, Radha.

“Pease open the door Bhabhiji. It’s me, Amina. Zoya is with me too. We’re trapped Bhabhiji, they’ll kill us! Please be quick!”
But Radha made no move to budge from the window.
“Please Bhabhiji! Jaldi!” Amina urged.
Radha’s voice was cold and chilled Amina’s heart- “Please don’t get us involved in this Aminabi. We are Hindus, and we can’t be seen sheltering a Muslim. Please leave my door immediately- I’ve got my kids in here too.”

Amina opened her mouth to speak out as she glanced back- but no words came out. The mob had turned the corner. The frontrunners, some frenzied youngsters in jeans and bright orange and yellow t-shirts, had spotted them.
Someone was screaming “Pakdo! Maaro!” Amina began to run- Zoya was scared and began to cry. “Pakdo! Chhodna Nahin!” came another shrill voice- it was almost inhuman. Some of them were carrying rods, others tridents. Some knives, everyone seemed armed. The mob was like a multiheaded hydra- almost on top of them. Amina wanted to run but all her limbs seemed paralyzed, frozen. She knew it was pointless. She turned with folded hands and tears in her eyes.
She pleaded “Bhai Sahib, I’m a bewa- Please spare us. How have we harmed you? For your Bhagwan’s sake, spare our lives. The words came out of her parched throat.
Zoya had spotted her school bus driver among the frenzied mobsters. Innocently she ran up to him- “Jai bhaiyya, it’s me, Zoya. Please tell these people we are O.K!”
But Jai looked at her and seemed to just look through her. “They are all Pakistanis.” Someone in the mob shouted. Others seemed to agree- “Haan haan! Sab Pakistani hain!”
Later, Amina did not even recall who struck the first blow. But from amongst that very mob, someone had lifted a rod and struck it hard on Zoya’s head- she fell like a puppet. Amina didn’t recall any more. She had fainted. But just as she was slipping into oblivion, she could hear the sirens of a police car in the distance…

                                                   * * *

Amina had been found unconscious by the police, the mobsters having all dispersed. Zoya was rushed to the hospital, but declared brought dead. The day Amina got back from the hospital, the first thing she did was to take down her husband’s medal from the mantelpiece and put it away at the bottom of the trunk- along with her darling Zoya’s green danglers…