(The Times of India
20 Jul 2007)
Editorial
Driven to despair
by Jyoti Punwani
On January 10, 1993, Hajirabi Qureishi saw her husband and eldest son dragged from her house by Shiv Sainiks who used to hang around the local Sena shakha. When she tried to stop the sainiks, they pushed her off the parapet and she lost consciousness. She never saw her husband and son again.
Much before his inquiry into the 1992-93 Mumbai riots was complete, Justice Srikrishna wrote a letter to the government recommending immediate payment of compensation for missing persons in cases that he had personally investigated. The Qureishis headed that list. Hajirabi should have received Rs 4,00,000; instead she received Rs 2,00,000 eight years later for her husband. Compensation for her son Saleem Qureishi continues to form the subject matter of petitions being heard for the ump-teenth time in the Supreme Court.
Unable to cope with memories of their disappearance, Hajirabi left the Hindu-Muslim chawl that had been home for years to live in a Muslim ghetto. Every known and unknown Muslim organisation had its offices there, including SIMI. Yet they could not recruit Hajira's son Rizwan, his father's favourite.
Farooq Mapkar should have been an ideal candidate for SIMI. Shot in his shoulder on January 10, 1993, while praying inside a mosque, this bank employee saw a namazi being shot dead at point-blank range despite coming out of the mosque with his hands up. Along with the other namazis, Farooq was charged under Section 307.
Fourteen years later, Farooq continues to take leave from his job to attend court hearings in a case declared false by the Srikrishna commission. Contrast this with the case of sub-inspector Nikhil Kapse. The commission found him guilty for unprovoked firing that killed six innocent Muslims. But he was exonerated by a bunch of policemen entrusted with implementing the commission's findings.
The policemen didn't think it necessary to talk to those who testified in front of the commission about the incident involving Kapse. In these 14 years, Kapse hasn't faced a day's suspension. More than Farooq and Rizwan, Abdullah would have made the ideal jehadi. As a 12-year-old, he saw his handicapped father being dragged down the stairs of the madrassa where he taught and shot, pleading for water as he lay dying. Abdullah continued to live in the same madrassa. Eight years later, he joined the legal battle to put behind bars the policemen charged with murder for this incident. When he lost, the entire madrassa felt betrayed.
Even while lashing out at the government's indulgence towards policemen charged with murder, Abdullah was packing his bags for further studies in Deoband. He had graduated from his madrassa with flying colours, with full marks in logic. "Why don't you study law", i asked, "you could fight for your father". "My world is the hereafter", he replied. "He can't get involved in all this", added his teachers.
Mumbai's riot orphans have grown up deprived of their childhood, seen their mothers struggle alone - and often fail - to give them the education their fathers desired for them. They've seen those who led the violent mobs become ministers. A sitting judge pronounced these policemen guilty; his report became an election issue and made ministers out of nobodies, but has yet to be acted upon.
They've seen, over the last year, those who took revenge on their behalf by killing innocent Hindus, being made to pay, some even with life sentences.
Last week, as two Muslim accused in the July 11 train blasts in Mumbai confessed on TV (by a mysterious coincidence, all channels got hold of the footage exactly a year after the blasts), the news anchors screamed: "This man not only betrayed his nation, but also humanity. Doesn't your blood boil when you see this traitor"?
Narendra Modi could be accused of having done the same. No channel asks these questions about him. These double standards are now part of being a Muslim in India's "vibrant" democracy. We should be thankful hundreds of Kafeel Ahmeds haven't produced a swadeshi version of jehad.
The writer is a political commentator.
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