THE WOUND WITHIN
It seems, we, as a nation, have pinned all our hopes on Kasab. Our hope is: If and when Kasab is hanged, all our problems would end. The terrorism included!
"Why do you take so much time to hang him?" a young man asked. "Do we need any more evidence to prove the magnitude of his crime?"
"We can not do that in a democracy like ours," replied the other man. "A court has to sentence him after a fair trial."
"Fair trial?" the young man shouted. "You mean, fair trial for a monster like him?"
"Well, that's the greatness - or weakness - of a democracy." the other man said. "Every human being is entitled to defend himself."
"But, he is not a 'human being'; he is a heartless monster," protested the young man. "He needs to be treated the way they treat such savages in those Islamic countries: Gun down publicly; finish them ... Put an end to the story."
"Yes, that would finish a menace called Kasab. But, not the menace itself. He goes, and a hundred Kasabs are born. How will you finish them? Again by gunning them down in public?" the other man asked.
"What is the other option? Treat them with kids' gloves?" asked the young man.
"Look at this way. The men who groomed Kasab - the entire terror machinery of any kind - believe like you do: They believe that if they gun down, indiscriminately, people all around, and send shock waves the way they have just done in our city, they can solve 'their problem'. What is their problem? We, as a nation, as a religion, have been unfair to them! So, gun down some innocent citizens. They think, they have achieved their objective; they have solved their problem. And, what do we think? Gun down these monsters, and we have achieved our objective; we have solved our problem," said the other man.
"What should be done, then?" the young man asked.
"Stop pinning your hopes on Kasab," the other man replied. "His death makes no difference to us. It just makes us bring out our pent-up pain and anger. We will dance, rejoice, when he is killed, just the way they danced, rejoiced, when they killed the innocents. Don't forget, that they truly believe they are innocents, that they fight a 'holy war'!" the other man said.
"Yes, then what? What is the solution?" the young man was agitated.
"This," the other man pointed.
"This ... what?"
"First end your own agitation, end your own fire ... heal the deep wound within you," said the other man. "Unless you do that, you will not be able to 'see' any hope. The hope is within you and me."
The young man couldn't help, but laugh. "Crazy!" he swore, and went away.
Many years ago, my wife and myself, along with our two-year-old son had gone to Goa on a holiday. It was the tourist season. We came back with some bad memories. The worst one - the the most enuring one - was this.
We boarded the bus for our return journey around 3.00 in the afternoon. The bus was packed with families. There were some elderly couples, and many families with small children. The driver of the bus began to amuse every one, by cracking his filmy dialogues. Everyone seemed to enjoy it. "He is a Nana Patekar," some of them cheered him. What none of us realised was, how this amusement would, slowly and surely, disslove into our deadly nighmare.
The driver pulled his shirt and threw it on his cleaner. He drove with neck-breaking speed. He stood while driving. He passed funny comments on people who were moving by on the road. He abused the other motorists. And, laughed like a monster. He manhandled his cleaner by one hand as he kept driving with the other, at high speed. There was the substitute driver, who evidently remained subdued. Every thing was happening so fast that, we the passengers knew, by now, that there was something seriously wrong with this man. We knew our lives were in this crazy fellow's hands. Some one pointed this to him. The shirtless driver stopped the bus and challenged the passenger. It had turned dark, and we did not know where we were. We had small children who were watching the drama and crying. We decided to to be patient ... watch and wait. Yes, at a huge risk. After some time, the bus stopped for dinner. Some did not get down; some of us did. We spoke to the other driver. We asked him to take over. He seemed to be helpless. But, he assured us that nothing unfortunate would happen, that it was the 'routine' show for them. He asked us to bear with this 'pain' for an hour-or-so more. Then, he would take over.
We trusted this man.
During the dinner time, we saw more drama. The crazy fellow had ugly exchange of abuses with the drivers of other buses. The only thing that did not happen was: no one killed him, then and there. So, provocative he was!
Any way, the journey resumed with the same 'unpredictable' monster back on the drivers seat. Our fears became more intense, more crippling. "How long?" every one was almost, paralysed.
We had barely travelled a half-an-hour distance. And, this man stopped the bus, collected something and disappeared somewhere into the darkness. We began to wonder looking out of the windows. We couldn't see anything.
"What happened? Where is he gone?" some of the passengers asked the other driver and the cleaner.
"His sister's house. For bavdooch," we were told.
"When is he going to come?" someone asked.
There was no answer.
"Why can't you takeover?"
There was no answer.
Night journey. Unknown place. And, an unpredictable despot was driving us to and unknown destination!
I stood up and yelled, "Why can't we stand up to this bully, together? I think we shouldn't allow him to drive anymore. I don't' mind spending my night here in the bus. But, with this driver, no way I will travel with my wife and little child."
Some agreed. "But, what if ...?"
The resolve was weak. There was helplessness and apprehension in the dark air, thick as a fog.
And, lo, the monster returned. He quickly collected his shirt and something; gave some mouthful to his colleagues and off he went, again, back into the darkness.
The other driver - the weakling - now, mounted on the driver's seat ... and the journey resumed.
What I will never forget is this: The whole bus - the old, the young and the children - began to cheer and clap. So loud and so long ... that some one would think - we were just returning after winning a great battle, after vanquishing a mighty enemy!
Every thing that was pent-up in us, came out in that one, long moment. Yes, we celebrated our victory!
Our misery ended when that monster driver disappeared.
Now, we think: When Kasab goes, will also go our misery!
GERALD D'CUNHA
"Why do you take so much time to hang him?" a young man asked. "Do we need any more evidence to prove the magnitude of his crime?"
"We can not do that in a democracy like ours," replied the other man. "A court has to sentence him after a fair trial."
"Fair trial?" the young man shouted. "You mean, fair trial for a monster like him?"
"Well, that's the greatness - or weakness - of a democracy." the other man said. "Every human being is entitled to defend himself."
"But, he is not a 'human being'; he is a heartless monster," protested the young man. "He needs to be treated the way they treat such savages in those Islamic countries: Gun down publicly; finish them ... Put an end to the story."
"Yes, that would finish a menace called Kasab. But, not the menace itself. He goes, and a hundred Kasabs are born. How will you finish them? Again by gunning them down in public?" the other man asked.
"What is the other option? Treat them with kids' gloves?" asked the young man.
"Look at this way. The men who groomed Kasab - the entire terror machinery of any kind - believe like you do: They believe that if they gun down, indiscriminately, people all around, and send shock waves the way they have just done in our city, they can solve 'their problem'. What is their problem? We, as a nation, as a religion, have been unfair to them! So, gun down some innocent citizens. They think, they have achieved their objective; they have solved their problem. And, what do we think? Gun down these monsters, and we have achieved our objective; we have solved our problem," said the other man.
"What should be done, then?" the young man asked.
"Stop pinning your hopes on Kasab," the other man replied. "His death makes no difference to us. It just makes us bring out our pent-up pain and anger. We will dance, rejoice, when he is killed, just the way they danced, rejoiced, when they killed the innocents. Don't forget, that they truly believe they are innocents, that they fight a 'holy war'!" the other man said.
"Yes, then what? What is the solution?" the young man was agitated.
"This," the other man pointed.
"This ... what?"
"First end your own agitation, end your own fire ... heal the deep wound within you," said the other man. "Unless you do that, you will not be able to 'see' any hope. The hope is within you and me."
The young man couldn't help, but laugh. "Crazy!" he swore, and went away.
Many years ago, my wife and myself, along with our two-year-old son had gone to Goa on a holiday. It was the tourist season. We came back with some bad memories. The worst one - the the most enuring one - was this.
We boarded the bus for our return journey around 3.00 in the afternoon. The bus was packed with families. There were some elderly couples, and many families with small children. The driver of the bus began to amuse every one, by cracking his filmy dialogues. Everyone seemed to enjoy it. "He is a Nana Patekar," some of them cheered him. What none of us realised was, how this amusement would, slowly and surely, disslove into our deadly nighmare.
The driver pulled his shirt and threw it on his cleaner. He drove with neck-breaking speed. He stood while driving. He passed funny comments on people who were moving by on the road. He abused the other motorists. And, laughed like a monster. He manhandled his cleaner by one hand as he kept driving with the other, at high speed. There was the substitute driver, who evidently remained subdued. Every thing was happening so fast that, we the passengers knew, by now, that there was something seriously wrong with this man. We knew our lives were in this crazy fellow's hands. Some one pointed this to him. The shirtless driver stopped the bus and challenged the passenger. It had turned dark, and we did not know where we were. We had small children who were watching the drama and crying. We decided to to be patient ... watch and wait. Yes, at a huge risk. After some time, the bus stopped for dinner. Some did not get down; some of us did. We spoke to the other driver. We asked him to take over. He seemed to be helpless. But, he assured us that nothing unfortunate would happen, that it was the 'routine' show for them. He asked us to bear with this 'pain' for an hour-or-so more. Then, he would take over.
We trusted this man.
During the dinner time, we saw more drama. The crazy fellow had ugly exchange of abuses with the drivers of other buses. The only thing that did not happen was: no one killed him, then and there. So, provocative he was!
Any way, the journey resumed with the same 'unpredictable' monster back on the drivers seat. Our fears became more intense, more crippling. "How long?" every one was almost, paralysed.
We had barely travelled a half-an-hour distance. And, this man stopped the bus, collected something and disappeared somewhere into the darkness. We began to wonder looking out of the windows. We couldn't see anything.
"What happened? Where is he gone?" some of the passengers asked the other driver and the cleaner.
"His sister's house. For bavdooch," we were told.
"When is he going to come?" someone asked.
There was no answer.
"Why can't you takeover?"
There was no answer.
Night journey. Unknown place. And, an unpredictable despot was driving us to and unknown destination!
I stood up and yelled, "Why can't we stand up to this bully, together? I think we shouldn't allow him to drive anymore. I don't' mind spending my night here in the bus. But, with this driver, no way I will travel with my wife and little child."
Some agreed. "But, what if ...?"
The resolve was weak. There was helplessness and apprehension in the dark air, thick as a fog.
And, lo, the monster returned. He quickly collected his shirt and something; gave some mouthful to his colleagues and off he went, again, back into the darkness.
The other driver - the weakling - now, mounted on the driver's seat ... and the journey resumed.
What I will never forget is this: The whole bus - the old, the young and the children - began to cheer and clap. So loud and so long ... that some one would think - we were just returning after winning a great battle, after vanquishing a mighty enemy!
Every thing that was pent-up in us, came out in that one, long moment. Yes, we celebrated our victory!
Our misery ended when that monster driver disappeared.
Now, we think: When Kasab goes, will also go our misery!
GERALD D'CUNHA
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