Chapter Twenty-Four

It seemed that the city had swallowed Dad. Involved in all kinds of cases as he was, the situation growing worse, as the 6th of January dawned we did not know his whereabouts. If one looked out of the window, which in our present confinement seemed the only thing to do, one noticed that nature continued, in its very insensitive fashion, to be what it was supposed to be, despite the unrest in the city. One almost felt angry with the sun, shining like all was well. But then if nature followed the city’s mood, we would never be able to predict the weather.

The mood in the city fast deteriorated from fear to hatred that very bright day. Dad’s job in the Nagpada Police Station became never ending. Seven cases of death by stabbing had been reported, and none of the deaths were random—all seven were Hindus who had unfortunately found themselves on either secluded roads or by lanes, where they were stabbed after the attackers had confirmed their religious identity. We heard on the radio that there were 18 stabbings in the city, and casualties in the Hindu community exceeded those of the Muslim. Paranoia mounted.

These deaths of strangers not even remotely connected to us, our neighbourhood, or our lives, unfortunately brought to our attention how time was running out...

We hadn’t heard from Ms. Ezekiel yet; we were now doubtful that we ever would. Maybe, just maybe, she’d been playing a return prank on us. Anna and Francis, however, had not yet passed the age of faith. I’m sure, I’m sure, Anna said, and Francis, forever her echo, added, yes we are, yes we are. It was drawing near to dusk and they still hung on the verandah’s cast iron balustrade, hopeful.

Closer to 9.00 p.m., the situation in Mahim, at the edge of Bombay, right beyond which the suburbs began, was reported to have gone out of hand. It was an area populated by a large concentration of Muslims. Muslim and Hindu mobs clashed violently, both in fear and in hatred. In various lanes and roads throughout the city, both sides, enraged largely by what they saw as lack of security protecting them from the other, decided to be proactive. In the confusion and rapid deterioration of civilization, it was hardly certain who or what or how. Who cast the first stone? Is that even relevant when people are killing each other? From a distance, it seemed like the question to ask. Who deserved to die depended on who cast the first stone. But we had missed the point. No one needed to die; no one should have; why were we fighting?

Excited voices emanated from the first floor as Surve’s son stepped out of their room with a sword in his hand and stomped noisily down the stairs to the street in front. He paraded up and down, brandishing the sword high above his head. This was the first time I had seen a real sword, not one made of plastic and sold in toyshops. He strode with a gang of other young men who carried sticks and hockey sticks and whatever weapons they could muster, as if protecting the neighbourhood. It seemed like a war dance, or the martial art dance Chhau of Orissa, except lacking culture and grace. And while everyone at their windows held their breaths in expectant voyeurism, the moon—leading towards the full moon calculated to appear on the 8th January—as if joining in our occupation, shone brightly on a thin line of white paper moving frantically under Ms. Ezekiel’s door.

Anna and Francis, still on vigil, froze. They looked around furtively. Anyone watching them would have been moved to investigate. But thankfully Surve’s son was now on the streets doing his dance; they ran down the stairs to the first floor. Anna whispered, ‘I am here, ma’am,’ as respectfully as she could, hands folded in prayer, hoping that it was not a trick. It is the hardest thing to hope that the person you’ve victimized will come through for you in your time of need. To be fair, Anna was not the transgressor; I take full responsibility. I cannot even blame Susan and Ivan, who only went along with all my pranks. I was the elder brother, friend, and mentor. Right then, I felt the pain of asking someone who I had taken such pleasure in penalising, to give up her privacy. One picks up lessons along the way, I suppose, I have reflected since, wanting to be forgiving of myself.

Anna and Francis came straight to Isabel, and she ran with the paper to Mr. Fernandes. Hidden behind a cloud, the moon smiled.

We sat looking at the paper, not knowing what to make of it. Once again it was brief. Don’t knock. Enter after 7 pm.

We did not know whether to be excited or worried. What if we take the Farooquis down there and she does not open the door? Do we have a backup plan? All heads turned towards Mr. Fernandes, who in turn looked at his wife.

“Nathie, darling, you know if we were in the same position we would go to anyone who would help us. But what if those we seek help from refuse us? We have brought up children with precepts from the Bible. How many times have we repeated to them, ‘…do unto others as you would unto thyself.’ I would not be able to live with myself—and besides, how can our children keep the faith if we are lax on our own principles? I suggest that Ali stay with us, and his mother”—he turned—“Isabel, would you keep his mother?”

Isabel looked at me and nodded. “Mr. Fernandes, you can fully rely on me. As it is, Mr. D’Souza will not be home with all this trouble in his precinct. So she can stay with me. She will be more comfortable at my home… not because your home is not comfortable,” she added kindly, always mindful not to make enemies over petty misunderstandings. “I mean, with fewer people around her, she will feel more comfortable. I am thinking of that disguise in black that they wear…”

With plan B now in place, we set to working on making room for the Farooquis in our homes. Mother bustled back and forth from our home to the Fernandes household, making space in the closet and taking out the mattress from storage under the bed to air out. Mr. Fernandes asked his wife to decide what Ali would need to be comfortable. “Same as Ivan, dear,” she said and went about the cooking.

We decided to make the move late at night, around ten the next day. First Ms. Ezekiel’s door would be tried at about eight to ensure that it could be opened. We planned to work surreptitiously with the transfer later.

That night we slept fitfully.