Abdul was in hurry. He had to reach the factory before 8:30AM otherwise Basher, his supervisor, would complain against him and would cut a part from his salary that he needed so badly that if he was on the death bed, he would prefer to work in the factory and get his daily wage, then only he would allow himself to die. His hundred rupees per day wage had that much importance in his life. Abdul was a carpenter who worked for a small scale industry named Mohamad Furniture, which supplied its furniture to every middle class family of Trilokpuri.
Abdul was in his late fifties. He had long brown beard on his chin. He always wore white kurta and blue lungi and perforated Islamic white skull cap. His hands were rough like rusted iron and he smelt like fish.
In no time, he was at entrance gate of the factory. Basher was furious. Abdul looked at him in all sorry, hoping for a tiny little sign of mercy. With his wrinkled helpless face and dull sunken eyes Abdul looked at him like an enmeshed deer. Basher hammered his left fist on his right palm and tightened his jaw. In fury, he rushed away, so much in Abdul’s relief. If Abdul had not been the savior of Basher’s sixteen year old son from the group of hindus who were about to behead his son when he was caught trying to rape panditji’s daughter, Abdul would have been a dead man.
Basher was about seven feet tall with broad shoulders and rock hard chest. He had a long scar across his face which made him look like an enormous monster. Apart from the factory, he had a butcher shop at his home. He used to slaughter one goat per day before coming to the factory which made him a ruthless, heartless Islamic fellow. He had connections with regional MPs. MPs who were never found sitting in the parliament. They were found naked either with their mistress or in their king size swimming pool, whereas Trilokpuri was in serious crisis of water supply for three years.
‘You lucky bastard, how did you save yourself from the wrath of Basher?’ Jafar, a colleague of Abdul said while sawing the wood.
‘I saved his son form the kafirs yesterday; that brat was trying to rape pandit’s daughter.’
‘She got raped?’
‘He was caught before anything could happen.’
‘May Allah forbid his sin. How about Rihan? Is he well now?’
Rihan was the only son of Abdul. Abdul had four more daughters who never got any affection from their father. They were in the age range of five to fifteen but nobody ever had seen the school. They were never allowed to go to school, not even when his eight year old daughter told him that she wanted to go school. Abdul was so drunk that night that he couldn’t see the dreams behind his little angel’s eyes. He slapped her and after that no girl ever dared to ask for admission in school. Rihan, on the other hand, was blessed with the male organ, and so with the only school of Trilokpuri, but he had a hole in his heart. Doctors were demanding a huge amount of money for the operation, the reason why Abdul could not afford a loss of hundred rupees just for being late on work. He was saving money bit by bit but wasn’t sure if that would be sufficient for the operation? His wife also used to work as a maid in nearby houses, but only of Muslim’s. She once tried to change her name and worked as Savitri in a hindu family but as they got to know about it, they had beaten her almost to death.
‘Yes he is recovering. Doctor says that after the operation he would be perfectly fine and would be able to go school and play like normal kids.’ Abdul said as his eyes shimmered with the little sign of hope and moist.
In the evening Abdul’s elder daughter came to factory and asked the gatekeepers to call her father. Rihan had got attack and was vomiting blood. That was not new for Abdul. He had been called several times from the factory when Rihan had those attacks. But this time her daughter told him that he was not responding after vomiting. He immediately decided to call it a day and asked Basher for a leave. Basher being a father of a boy granted him leave, only on one condition that Abdul would do extra time on next day and would not be paid for it. Abdul agreed. Abdul ordered his daughter to go to Doctor’s house and to bring him with her and also reminded her to bring injection for Rihan.
In the meantime, evening namaz had started in the only mosque of Trilokpuri. A huge size loudspeaker installed at minaret was echoing the ayats of kuran. The streets of Trilokpuri were calm and empty.
The condition of Rihan was critical when Abdul reached home. He had spat blood all over the floor. Abdul knew Rihan needed injection and in no time Doctor would be here and everything would be fine. He consoled his wife. Sometimes Rihan opened his eyes and closed again after seeing his father near him. They both were waiting, waiting for the doctor, and it was killing both of them. Suddenly there was loud and frequent knocks on the door. They were there. Doctor had arrived. Abdul got on his feet quickly and opened the door.
‘Pull out your sword, those motherfucker kafirs have burnt our houses.’ Jafar was there. He had long blood coated sword in his hands. The color of his sword was exactly like his eyes. Red and wet.
‘What happened?’ Abdul said in utter disbelief.
‘Pandit and his group has beheaded Basher’s son. They burnt our houses and raped our sisters. We need you now. Pull out your sword. We will cut them all.’
‘But my son…’
Jafar took Abdul’s arm and put a sword in his hand, ‘They will not leave anybody.’
‘‘And Abdul could not even see his only son for the last time. The entire Trilokpuri cried. Nation cried. Saffron cried, Green cried. But white was still silent like the streets of Trilokpuri, calm and empty. Watching everybody and hiding its tears. So in the unfortunate riots of Trilokpuri forty, two men and one child was killed.’’ A news reporter of famous news channel said in her mike.
‘So where are we going?’ cameraman said after shutting down his camera.
A drop of tear trickled down her cheek as she saw the ocean of bodies, a stethoscope and a broken bottle of injection on the streets of Trilokpuri.
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