Where the Lord was Born

Today the world celebrates Muharram, a day of mourning, a day to remember the martyrdom of the great Hussein, a day to celebrate the cause of truth and justice… the kind of day which makes every Indian proud of the rich culture of his motherland.. Today I had the chance to see the tazias being taken out in a procession to remember the martyrdom of Hussein. A sight worth remembering… the kind of experience that gets etched in your minds for the rest of your life… But I am sorry to say, for all the wrong reasons.

Siwandih, a suburb of Bokaro , a little place where most people lead their quiet lives all round the year mostly working in the steel plant. I had never imagined that such a small, out of the way place had so much energy in it. An undirected force, that was worth millions if properly channelized and directed. It’s a Muslim dominated region and Muharram is a big day… We were held up in the bus as the procession went on. Boys riding in the most rash and arrogant way you could imagine on their motorbikes, armed with swords, baseball clubs, hockey sticks and bamboo sticks. For once it didn’t seem to be a festival but a scene from the Hindi movie “Josh” … a gang of rowdy boys imposing their brawn and strength on the city.

This is what the wikipedia says about Muharram.

Muharram (Arabic: محرم) is the first month of the Islamic calendar. It is one of the four months of the year in which fighting is prohibited. Since the Islamic calendar is lunar, Muharram moves from year to year when compared with the Gregorian calendar. Muharram is so called because it was unlawful to fight during this month; the word is derived from the word ‘haram’ meaning forbidden.

“Fighting is prohibited”

What’s the point of bringing out swords, baseball clubs and hockey sticks then to the streets? Is violence only a physical thing or does it have something to do with the mind? If it has, can we term these processions to be non violent? Anyway, our bus crept at snail’s pace through the mob and we reached our destination harmlessly, but definitely an uncanny sense of fear gripped me as I saw the huge mob crying out slogans and brandishing their weapons. That fear will probably stay with me for a few days. I could only imagine what it would be like to face a mob trying to kill you just because they don’t consider you to be one of them.

The worst kind of mass crimes that the world has seen have been in India… Be it the Muslims or the Hindus, both have been guilty… I suddenly remembered a few lines from a poem I had written down few years back when our country was facing one of the worst examples of violent mob mentality ever… the Gujarat riots. I think it is only apt that I put down those lines here after praying to god not to let his sons repeat another Gujarat, another Ayodhya.

The noise of a riot

Where the Lord was Born

Where life begs for mercy
But death strikes and reigns
Where man prays for a peaceful blessing
But earns a curse of silence….
Look! The sky has turned black
Of the fire far beneath
And the earth has reddened
Of blood and of death.

Where every breath of air chokes
And every drop of water poisons
Where the time may stop
But not the bloodstained guns
Where the sky echoes with the cry
Of a desperate, helpless brother
Two more hands and a heart are born
To avenge the cruel deeds of another

Where the “Ravanas” of today
Empowered by venomous vice
Sell away the mother for power
And feed their voracious avarice
And raising the hundreds of heads
They fuel the flames of the fire
As Islam lies silent in its grave
And Hinduism burning in its pyre

Oh! The mother shivers
At the thought of a holy shrine
Built with the bricks of vengeance
By the hands of the cruel and the malign
Where the Friday sermon will only remind
Of those, for whom death was destined
And the temple bells will ring
Of the cries of those left behind.

Where Dussehra will be dark
And Id a melancholy day
Neither the peace of the cool moonlight
Nor the hopeful sun’s ray
Would reach the gloomy place
Ever, for it will be built
Of the blood of the innocents
Of sheer fright, shame and guilt

Our united India is shattered
We have bartered away harmony and bliss
For death, blood, tears and cries
Oh Mohammed!! Could you have taught this?
Where every hand is bloodstained
Every eye is filled with fear
And every heart aches with the question
Oh Lord!! Could you have been born here?

The silence of a riot