Fear and Fortitude

 

The Indian Express Front Page

Every year since 1984, when the date October 31 comes around, I feel I should pen down my thoughts on that fateful day which tested my abilities as a young teacher.  And every year, I let it pass as though it never happened to anyone but me. But this year, a former student of mine, Shivaji Dasgupta, wrote a piece in the online magazine at https://www.newsdrum.in/opinion/the-day-nehrus-daughter-died. I wrote back to him telling him about how I felt and he insisted I write.  So here it is.  

I put it into this blog - Learn Develop Grow - because I think it formed a bit of all three on that fateful day.

Just another Day

Another October day in my sixth year of teaching at St Xavier's began as usual.  I am sure through the fuzziness of memories long gone, there must have been the usual classroom tricks and tantrums, the occasional unit test and a few jokes as only schoolboys know how.  Towards the afternoon there was this rumour floating around that the Prime Minister had been assassinated.  And in next to no time, the school was declared "off" and teachers, students, parents and even a few office bearers started vanishing in fear of impending doom. The phrase on everyone's lips was that there was rioting and they were targetting the Sikh community.  I have a vague recollection of shut offices, with no one to reach out to.  No mobile phones were in existence then.  Students scampered here and there, obviously concerned about how they would get home.

The School Bus, run by Mr Varma, a teacher, was all ready to leave with its load of kids. Parents were offering to drop their neighbours' kids home. There was a lot of chaos and suddenly the enormity of it all dawned on us.  We realised we would have a fairly large bunch of frightened kids who would not easily make it home, especially the kids of the Primary department.

Flight

Many teachers and persons in positions of responsibility chose to leave immediately and head home. Three of us, our Headmaster Fr Adrian Wavreil, Elphage Rozario and myself, grabbed blank registers and pens and headed for the Primary section.  Once there we were met by the School Captain, Aditya Khaitan - today a captain of industry - and Mrs Cecelia D'Souza, the larger-than-life teacher in the Primary.  There were a few other teachers there, all trying to manage the kids who were most happy to have extra time in school. 

We started with trying to list all the kids classwise into various registers, while Fr Wavreil and a few teachers opened the school filing cabinets and pulled out phone numbers. Remember there were no computers to ping and no Google .. so we were totally dependent on technology that millenials will not believe were our only data management tools -- registers and ball point pens.

Meanwhile, seeing the kids bursting with energy, Aditya and I took to the field and organised games of various types to distract the kids (and ourselves) from the crushing reality of what was happening. 

Fight

It's all a whirl now, and I can't completely recall the sequence of events, but these are some of the things that happened that day:

• Mrs D'Souza rushed home, changed from her sari to a pair of trousers and a top which gave her greater flexibility for the runaround that soon ensued. I think Aditya too, went and put on his sneakers.
• Two ladies from the ITC building opposite the school, Lita Menezes and Reva Puri, arrived on the scene loaded with orange squash and whatever they could find in the way of biscuits.  Kids were getting hungry. 
• Fr Wavreil brought out his trusty orange Lambretta scooter and took boys home four at a time - I think he did quite a few trips before the mob drained the air from his tyres and he wheeled the scooter back to the school, after dropping off some more kids.  Then he prepared to start walking the nearby boys home.
• I was asked to accompany Mr Varma's school bus towards the south with a busload of boys.  We had reached somewhere beyond Lower Circular Road when a mob  stopped us with a branch of a tree thrown across the road.  I recall my instant reaction was to push the two Sikh kids under the seats and stand in the doorway.  All they wanted was Sikhs whom they hoped to beat up or worse. After much cajoling, with my heart firmly in my mouth and my pathetic grasp of Bengali, they allowed us to go and drop the kids off.  This did not happen again, but on the way back in the empty bus, the driver, helper and I were forced to park the bus across Lansdowne Road, blocking traffic.  With no option, I walked back to the school.
• A parent arrived pushing a cart which is normally used for earthen tea cups (bhaars) which he had "bought" from a vendor.  He had come walking from Salt Lake about 15 km away.  He arrived past 5pm and offered to take some 6-8 kids home with their bags.  Must have been some ride. We could only hope for the best.
• One kid went missing that evening - he was listed and no one could find him. Eventually, Fr Wavreil informed us later that a call from his parents past 2 a.m. confirmed that he had walked home to Lake Town (or somewhere equally distant), perhaps 20+ km away.
• It was late evening when Aditya, Elphage and I left.  We had accounted for more than 300 children. Elphage had stayed with the registers, organising the pick ups and despatches and helping with the crying kids.  We walked back to Ripon Street and Serang Lane respectively, promising to check in the next morning.

Evening Madness

The madness, for me, did not end there.

As I reached home my mother asked me to go to the house of some people from our community. They had called - we fortunately had one of the rare telephones at home - and said they were terrified and that I should come and be with them that night. A mother and her two daughters living alone in a building full of Sikhs!  I went.  Walking the distance in fear and alert for anything.

When I reached the house, they were so terrified that they wouldn't open the door till I slipped a piece of paper under it with my name. The rest of the night was pure terror as marauding bands of rioters banged on the doors, screamed outside and pulled furniture and fittings from the neighbours houses. This was at the corner of S N Banerjee Road and Wellesley.  We watched in horror through window slats as they piled goods onto the road and set them on fire.  And regular though intermittent pounding on the front door had us all alert and in total fear.  I must admit that I wasn't the seniormost "child" there, being in between the two daughters in age. But I was a man, so that helped.  

The next morning, after a delightful breakfast made lovingly by the family, I left to see how my mother was doing. I passed smouldering piles of burnt possessions, and smouldering passions slowly cooling in the baleful glares we were all receiving from each other, over the smell of burnt rubber tyres.

There was an aura of guilt too.  The burning and carnage was only part of the story.  The looting of Sikh houses was the take-home for the mob.  Known to be fairly well off, this unfortunate community lost wealth, possessions and a lot of courage that night.  Not to mention lives - maybe less in West Bengal than in the Delhi region, but a few who were known to me.

In silent dignity, showing exemplary fortitude, many of them headed away, back to Punjab.  The ubiquitous and ever-polite Sikh taxi driver dwindled to a small minority.  They have been replaced by a brand of uncouth cabbie that leaves us cringing and begging on the roadsides. Businesses shut, dhaba fires went cold, houses were sold and many of my friends left this city.  The ones that were left behind bounced back slowly but surely - such is the resilience of the community.

[I have finally got this off my chest.  It's as true as I remember it.  And in memory of Fr Adrian Wavreil, my first Principal, and Elphage Pradip Rozario, my closest friend and colleague.  Perhaps I have missed a few people here and there, but these memories are as fresh as if they happened very recently. As Shivaji quoted in his article, "Fear is the Key" - it is the key to bringing out the best in people. In our case, between Flight and Fight, we chose Fight.]