Page 208 - Musings 2020

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The Great Divide

Challapilla Satya Praneet 2017A8PS0428P and Lakshay Nagpal 2017A4PS0308P

They were outside. Patrolling the streets. Swords in hand, blood on their mind, and hate in
their hearts. If Farhaan steps outside, he’d be killed for sure. They were out for blood.
Farhaan was filled with regret. He shouldn’t have gone to celebrate. They got independence,
from the British, but not from the shackles of society. It was obvious that his community
would be targeted after the British.

Now, he was stuck in this shoe shop, with no means of escape. He hadn’t eaten for two days.
He didn’t catch a wink of sleep. He spent the time praying. For his family, his community,
even the people outside. All in the selfish hope that he would be spared. Only if he had gotten
to the dargah in time. Allah could have given him protection. Maybe it was his fate to die
here. Farhaan prayed for his family. He hoped they had escaped the massacre. He didn’t dare
to enter the neighbourhood as he had seen flames from a distance. The rioters had descended
upon the unsuspecting Muslims already. There must be riots happening all around the
country. Maybe every member of his community will be driven from Hindustan.

The weird sense of calm came upon Farhaan. Reflecting on these horrifying events brought a
sense of acceptance of him. It didn’t matter anymore. He would die one way or the other. He
would rather die in Allah’s presence than this shoe shop. Recovering from his thoughts,
Farhaan noticed that the commotion outside had died down. It was deathly silent. People had
retired for the night. Maybe his prayers had been answered. Farhaan pushed the benches he
set up as barricades against the door. He hesitated for a second, maybe it was a trap. Uttering
a small prayer, he dashed outside. Farhaan ran for his life.

He ran through familiar streets and through unfamiliar sights. It was carnage, destruction, hell
on earth. The shops around him were broken into and pillaged. Nothing of value was left
behind. On the walls, slurs were written demeaning his faith, his people, and their way of life.
As he entered the housing neighbourhood, he heard not a peep. Not a soul was left alive. The
doors of every house were broken and pillaged. Some people must have escaped with
whatever they could get their hands on. Farhaan prayed for their safety. He didn’t have the
heart to enter the houses to see if any survivors were left. Even the dogs were stoned, their
carcasses littering the streets. Then he saw the dargah. Tears welled up in his eyes. The
largest in the town, the forefathers of this neighbourhood had spent years building it. Now it
was razed to the ground, nothing but a few walls and a half-broken roof. Allah had forsaken
this place. Muslims were no longer welcome here. Farhaan had to leave, as he had nothing to
go back to. He had to go to Pakistan.

Farhaan had to make a plan now. He didn’t hope to trek across the border, it would be heavily
monitored. The only way to escape this hellhole was through a train. He couldn’t wait for
daylight as he would be recognised immediately by his long beard. Having no access to a
blade didn’t help either. He had to get to the railway station by the cover of the night. He had
no choice but to leave for the station immediately.

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