God's Own Retribution

Abba taught me to shut the door and I obediently complied every time, as if my presence was inconsequential. I was taught not to make a fuss about petty issues and be content with whatever was provided because my life was supposed to be an offering to Allah, the divine. Therefore, I muted myself to the genocides and swears that my abba and his adversaries carried on, in the name of a sacrosanct, imaginary supernatural being who never showed himself. Maybe the "Allah", abba spoke about was scared of these barbarians himself. What abba failed to realize was that he shut the doors to tolerance, simple perception and brotherhood; and instead opened the window to blind religious orthodoxy. Outside the cold winter was omnipresent, love could melt the ice, but Abba chose to hammer it with orthodoxy. Hindus and Muslims knew not that they were of the same species- it always looked as if a clan of curs battled the others to maintain its own sanctum, only, here it wasn't to defend one's rights, it was to encroach upon the others'. I knew it could not stop until it had taken a share of someone's happiness, until it had snatched away the rightful share of someone's life. Abba believed that the collateral damage would justly serve a noble purpose if we were the ones assigned to make sacrifices,

Division ruled a land, unabated by tolerance. The candle started flickering, the state was at war with itself, struggling to make its own existence prominent; but I knew where it all would lead to with such war-mongers that ruled their kinds by the sword and not by sense- that same kid sulking in the corner of his room, who had to shut the door every time because his father had asked, rather directed him to; afraid of an unjust apprehension, afraid of his father's wrath.

I looked outside my window, still searching for a glimpse of humanity, more stubborn than ignorant- and found the answer. The banyan tree in my front yard winked at me; winter winds kept blowing and every night that a mosque was brought down or a temple massacred, it unleashed an unprecedented fury all over again, but the banyan tree, remained unwavered. Winters do not last forever. The next morning when my house was conspicuously vacant of its cardinal inhabitant, my Abba, I found my chance to go out.

I walked unaware of the peril I put myself into by walking alone as a Muslim boy, whilst the Hindus could be anywhere, I looked on and the presence of my Abba made it conclusively evident that the winter wind was about to unleash its fury. As soon as the temple was dealt with the first blow from one of Abba's compatriots, many masculine figures came out of nowhere. I was at a safe distance away from the action to be spotted, but I did not care much about it either. A sudden influx of adrenaline stimulated me to jump and run, and be involved in a meaningless rant, just to defend Abba from peril. But war cannot end with reason from hotheads, it needs a higher observative and calm mind, I was not much but at least I surpassed the mass by NOT being a hothead. In my proximity, were stones being hurled aimlessly, hammers and swords clanging and thudding, occasional sounds of agony from the sparring members who were injured… and then, something magical happened and the sun gleamed straight through the heart of the overcast that terrorized the land.

Being in the heart of the action my palpable figure was as vulnerable to the stones, or weapons as was any impervious-skinned, weapon-yielding adult. I reached Abba and tucked at his kurta, a sudden expression of surprise and fear spread all over him; one that I never knew could exist in his constitution. Maybe the Allah he talked about, never truly created anomalies. And suddenly in a whiplash of a moment a sword yielding magnanimous figure with one vicious blow of his sharp edged weapon attacked rushed towards me with a voluptuous fire in his eyes, perhaps he realized that I was the son of the head of the Muslim clan that was involved in an attempted sacrilege of their divine temple. And then, what happened changed the whole scenario interminably, one from among the masses rushed towards the humongous swordsman and with a swift move of his fist, disarmed him throwing him to the ground in one big thud!

"Bachcha hain woh!"(He's a kid)
He screamed at the prodigious creature fallen on the ground with a perplexed face.
"Sharam nahi aati tumhe?" (Aren't you ashamed of yourself?), still screaming.

The man on the ground looked at him with a vengeful ferocity, but on noticing my surprise benefactor's volcanic demeanor, decided that it was better to look away. By now, everyone had stopped. I stole a glance at my father who looked as confused as everyone. "Ramesh ji aap beech mein mat aiye!",( Ramesh ji, don't interrupt us!) exclaimed one of my benefactor's compatriots. And then I realized, that my benefactor was one of the "Hindu swines" (as my father always called them with animated abhorrence).

"Are you men, or animals? Have you lost even the slightest bit of sensibility, that you attack a child?" 'Ramesh ji' shot back and a look of dismay spread across the faces of the masses. Everyone nodded though unwillingly. "Which shastra imbibed you with the genius of attacking a child," he screamed louder than before. I was scared, even though abba was an aggressive man, I had never before seen him involve himself in a collaborative war with another group of people. "Abba ko chor do! (spare my father)," I wailed; I couldn't keep my composure. Abba believed in maintaining his pride, even though that would mean laying down his life, but I never bore similitude to my father anyway. I wailed like a newborn infant did when it came out of the womb of its mother; I wailed like it rains on heavy monsoon days- monotonously, until there were no more tears to shed. Everyone, irrespective of his religion stared at me, whilst 'Ramesh ji' stepped forward to give me a reassuring hug. Abba stepped forward through the crowd, his face blotted with benign docility, and bent down and hugged me tightly, he was scared. For the first time, he was ready to let down his stubbornness to embrace his son. I realized, that no religion could surpass humanity. Love was a language that translated, unspoken across all sects, creeds, colors and races.


Our land never knew of communal riots any further. Ramesh ji, became a close compatriot to abba and abba wasn't the rowdy aggressive stubborn barbarian he used to be. There were no 'Hindu swines' or 'Muslim dogs'. There was just extended arms and warm hugs. The flickering candle rekindled its flame, the wind eventually turned powerless and the ice melted away forever.

Hate is in-efficacious, love- omnipotent.