The body lay hanging upon the barbed wires like a wet blanket left out to dry in the sun. Blood had seeped out of the body through the bullet holes and dripped on the brown soil underneath, forming a brownish puddle that spread across both sides of the barbed wire fence that formed the border between the two countries. The guards patrolling the border had been well trained not to show or betray any sort of emotions. Maybe, too well trained; maybe they had exorcised all sorts of emotions from their psyche to be able to do what they had to do. Maybe, any or all remnants of humanity within them had vanished, transforming them into robots without feelings. Otherwise, how could they watch the body decaying in front of them, silently, doing nothing.
The body belonged to a girl who had been on this earth for a
mere 15 years. She was the third daughter of a brood of seven siblings, born to
parents who could ill afford to bring up even a single child; a girl whose
parents, unable to feed or provide for with even the basic necessities required
to exist on this Earth, had been forced to pry her away from her ragdolls and
sell her so that she and her family could continue existing on this Earth. A
girl who had been a mere eleven years old child when she had been snatched away
from the bosom of the woman who had brought her and six other children on this
already overburdened earth, snatched away to be sent off to a faraway land to
fend for herself and to be able to put food in her stomach, cloths on her body
and to support the loved ones she had left behind in her homeland. Snatched away from the pathetic shed that she
loved and called home; away from the makeshift car-tire swing that her beloved
Abba had put up on the mulberry tree outside the shed where she loved to just
lie and stare up at the sometimes-blue-sometimes-grey sky, painting it with
various hues of her imagination; away from the few books that her
scrap-collector father brought from the other side of the border in which she
had developed a keen interest. A girl whose dreams of being reunited with her
parents, of going back to her motherland and of having a family of her own,
kept her alive, even in unbearable circumstances.
She had been carried away in the stealth of the night, under
a shadowy moon that was playing hide-and-seek among the grey clouds that
littered the dark sky. It had been a journey fraught with grave risks, trekking
through rough terrains, fending off capricious hyenas and leopards and finally
crawling through a tunnel below the barbed wire fence that served to demarcate
the Earth, the land, into two separate entities; two countries.
The motely group carrying the sleeping Fatima had included
two youths and another girl, besides Fatima and her father. They were being
taken, by a person named Atowar, to Guwahati, a growing city in the state of
Assam in the Northeastern part of India, where the males would be absorbed in the construction
industry and the girls as household helps. The group had successfully managed
to cross the border as the patrolling guards had let down their guard for a
brief moment to admire the night sky that had, just at that moment, lit up with
fireworks as India celebrated the 57th anniversary of her independence.
Crawling and creeping over the open area in the cover of the darkness as the
moon slipped behind a grey cloud, they reached the safety of the tree line at
the edge of the forest a few meters away and heaved a huge sigh of relief under
the cover of the thick canopy of the forest.
Sleeping and hiding in the forest during the day and walking
at night, they steadily made their way towards their destination, hope for a
better life pulling and pushing them, not allowing them to lay down their
guards or determination. At one point they had to cross the river. It was very
risky as the Indian River patrol was very vigilant, even raiding the villages
in the char areas (riverine islands in the Brahmaputra river) regularly
searching for illegal immigrants. The people of the char areas were mostly
supportive, hiding them whenever possible. But if caught, all their troubles
would come to naught and they would be sent back to their homes. Or worse, they
could be forced into detention camps which, according to rumors were a fate
worse than death. So, with heart in their mouths and exercising utmost caution,
the group, under Atowar’s expert guidance, trudged on. Finally after three days
of travel they reached the comparative safety of Atowar’s village.
Atowar was a 4th generation Indian Muslim. In 1947, when the
British left India, after ruling over it for over three centuries, they tore
apart a nation, like limbs from a body, and left behind two bloody
"Independent" countries. And the people, who had been living in
harmony till then, found themselves uprooted from their homes, forced to leave
behind their land, property, and identity in search of new grounds to plant
their roots in. Their religion became their only property, their identity, and
the base on which they had to lay their new foundation. India became a secular
country allowing people of all religion to stay on in their place of birth, if
they so wished. And Pakistan was born to accommodate those who believed they
had no place in India and wanted a separate country led by one of their own.
Atowar’s great grandfather considered himself as an Indian and stayed back in
India. But most of the family lines dispersed and crossed over to the Eastern
part of the newly born state of Pakistan. With India strategically placed squat
in the middle of the two regions of Pakistan, the East Pakistan and the West
Pakistan, governance became difficult. Finally Bangladesh was born as a result
of the dissatisfaction of the people of East Pakistan with the government who
ruled ineffectively from the West Pakistan. A civil war ensued. With India’s
intervention the new nation of Bangladesh was born in the year 1971.
India prospered while Pakistan and Bangladesh lagged behind.
People from Bangladesh, disillusioned with life in their newly formed country
started moving to India with a hope for work and better life. They mostly come
illegally, without proper documents, crossing porous border areas. Relatives on
the Indian side sometimes helped these immigrants unable to see the hardship
faced by their brotheren.
At first, absence of proper physical boundaries made it
fairly easy for the Bangladeshis to enter India. And Indians found cheap, easy,
and ready labor in this hardworking tribe of people who could work under
extreme conditions, and offered them shelter in lieu of work. Over the years
this practice changed the entire demography of the North East States of India
and Indians started to become hostile towards the Bangladeshi immigrants.
Meanwhile, the Bangladeshis had started putting down their roots in India and
were loath to leave this place which they found so lucrative. Politicians,
apathetic to the problems of the people, considered them as vote banks and
started a systemic policy of appeasing them, in return asking for their votes.
As problems compounded and reached a saturation point, the people of Assam
revolted and the government of India had to step in and offer a solution. Rules
become stricter and border security was strengthened. Illegal immigration now
become a risky affair but not impossible. With help from friendly and
supportive Indian relations the Bangladeshis kept crossing the border. Some
crossed over without getting caught, some got caught and were detained and
deported or deported directly and a few, who tried to offer resistance, got killed.
Atowar’s father was a staunch nationalist and was against
illegal immigration. He would help out his people financially in any which way
he can, but he never helped them cross over or gave shelter to anyone who did
cross over. For that Atowar’s father became an outcast in his own village.
Atowar was not cut out of the same cloth as his father. He could neither
tolerate the plight of his brethren in Bangladesh nor the ostracization of his
own family in the village. After his father's death, he started to lend a
helping hand to Bangladeshis wanting to cross over to India.
Though Atowar’s father and brothers were all
agriculturalists, Atowar deviated from this traditional path and become a
laborer in the booming construction industry. His diligence and hard work
caught the attention of his supervisors and he rose in rank swiftly to become a
supervisor himself. He left his village accompanied by his wife and began his
life in a big construction firm in Guwahati. His wife Amina trained to become a
beautician and soon established herself as a household name among the residents
of the apartments in the complexes built by Atowar’s employees.
It was here that Atowar could find his real calling.
Disappointed by his father's apathetic attitude towards their own people Atowar
had always wanted to help. But the way in which he could help always eluded
him. One day while having dinner with his wife, a custom they followed as
regularly as they did their Namaz, Amina was recounting her day and telling him
about the predicament of one of her customer.
"You know Mona Ma'am is pregnant! Allah has heard my
prayers, Al-hamdulillah (Praise be to Allah). But the problem is that the
doctor has advised her to be on bed rest. They have no other family to help
them out. Titu sahib prepared breakfast and lunch and left the lunch by her
bedside before going to office? How long can he do that? I felt sorry for them
and prepared their dinner so that Titu sahib does not have to cook after coming
back from work." Amina's words made Atowar hand stop midway on its journey
towards his mustached mouth.
"Wait! What did you do?" he asked incredulously.
"I just helped
them out for one day, Atowar," Amina replied exasperatedly.
Silence unused for a few moments after which Atowar asked,
"Why doesn't Mona Ma'am get a full time helper?"
"Do you think it’s easy to get a good help
now-a-day's?" Amina rolled her eyes.
And that's when the idea struck Atowar. He could bring girls
from the other side of the border near his village. But would the Hindu
families allow Muslim girls to work for them. After a moment of silence, Atowar
remarked," Ask Mona Ma'am if she would allow a Muslim girl to help her.
There may be girls in my village that needs work. If she says yes, I can go and
bring one."
And that's how it all began. Mona being a modern woman and
in urgent need of a helper readily agreed and accepting the girl’s religion
never even thought of asking about her citizenship.
And the girl whom Atowar brought back was so efficient that
soon the demand for "Atowar’s girl" increased and opened a
clandestine passage between India and Bangladesh. Fatima was Atowar's 9th
successful mission. Secrecy was of utmost importance as even a small whisper
could trigger the authorities to whisk away Atowar and subject him to inhumane
torture and imprisonment. For two days, Atowar provided shelter to Fatima and
the others of the group in his own ancestral home in the village before they
were finally taken to Guwahati.
It took them around 8 hours of travel by bus to reach
Atowar’s residence in Guwahati. After lunch Atowar left with the boys to
introduce them to the chief supervisor of the construction company where Atowar
worked. He would allot both work and accommodation to them.
Meanwhile Amina look Fatima and Noor to Dr. Rupam Dutta's
home on the same complex where Atowar and Amina lived. Fatima's father also
went along. Fatima who had never seen such huge buildings in her life looked in
awe all around her, forgetting her fears in her wonderment. It was a beautiful
complex with 5 multistoried buildings arranged in a row, spread out over acres
and acres of green lawns interspersed with beautiful fountains.
Atowar's one bedroom apartment was housed in a building at
the back towards the end of the property along with other staff members like
the security guards, drivers and the maintenance staff. Dr. Rupam's flat was on
the 7th floor of the 3 building and as Amina took the elevator to reach the
flat the three were struck with terror and wonder as the elevator moved up. It
made Amina laugh. They were greeted by Dr. Rupam's wife, Dr. Shazia who was
also a doctor. After discussing the details of Fatima’s employment, Mashraf was
ready to leave. He would be returning
that same day to Atowar's village and from there undertake the perilous journey
to and across the border. Noor would be going to a different complex and so she
also had to say goodbye to Fatima.
Both Fatima and Mashraf hugged each other tightly and Fatima
had to be pried away from her father who, unable to bear the pain of separation
left the building hurriedly with the pitiful sobs of his young daughter ringing
in his ears even after he reached Bangladesh.
And for the next 4 years Fatima slogged in Dr. Rupam’s
house. The couple had no offspring and Atowar had imagined them to be kind and
generous people. But it seemed that the darkness that lurks within other people
soul is not easily recognized and is effectively hidden by a bright countenance
offered by glittery material objects, particularly among the rich. At first the
abuse came verbally. A small error on her part would tear way the mask of
civility from Dr. Shazia's face making her look so ugly that on the very first
occasion Fatima witnessed this unmasking she was so terrified that she ran to
the small storeroom beyond the kitchen, that was her room, and wept bitterly.
Slowly, the beatings along with the verbal abuse started, and that was followed
by starvation; long days of starvation when only water quenched Fatima's thirst
and hunger. Fatima began wasting away.
Atowar and Amina remained unaware of Fatima's conditions. An
elaborate cover up by the devious couple during the initial days kept Atowar
and Amina from knowing the truth. Dr. Shazia cautioned Amina from meeting
Fatima saying, “I’m trying to wean Fatima away from her former life so that she
can make a beautiful life here with us. Maybe one day she could think of us as
her parents. We would love that very much. Allah has blessed us with everything
except a child. Maybe he has plans for us to become parents of someone like
Fatima.”
Amina and Atowar sucked up these lies like bees suck honey
and they were happy that they were able to uplift the life of a poor soul. And the couple covered up their lies with
beautiful photos and public demonstrations of love. After a few months, Atowar
and Amina, busy with their own work and lives, lost interest in Fatima. And
because it was not feasible to cross the border, her parents began to believe
the photographs that Atowar sent along with the generous amounts of money and
found solace in them. And Fatima endured the irony of her fate for four long
tortuous years. Years, when she was locked up alone in the house when the
doctor couple went out to work or on vacation; years, when she had to go for
days without even seeing the blue expanse of the sky, the sky that she had
loved to gaze at while swinging on the makeshift tyre swing that her beloved
father had made for her; years when she had been rendered speechless, because
there was no one to talk to.
But she endured it all. At first she would cry in the cubby
hole that was her room. And then slowly her tears dried up. Sometimes she would
think of ending it all, but then she would remember the promise made to her
father and she would become strong again and endure.
Sometimes God tests
the very best of us by putting hurdles on our way. And at the end, the one who
endures is duly rewarded. But those who are evil are also punished in this
world itself. The atrocities perpetrated by Dr. Rupam and his wife Dr. Shazia
had to come to an end. And it did.
Dr. Rupam had been gifted with a gun along with a license by
a powerful MLA (A minister in the state government) friend a few months
earlier. He was brandishing it in front of his wife which had led to a heated
argument. Dr. Rupam had almost fired the gun, but sobriety and civility had
pulled him back from the brink of madness and averted a major incident. He had
a special glass cabinet made just to display his prized possession in the
living room and after that near fatal incident he had kept it locked in the
cabinet.
In the wee hours of the first day of the year 2010, they had
returned from a New Year Eves party completely drunk and arguing hotly. The
arguments had turned to blows. A broken and bleeding nose had made Dr. Shazia
run and lock herself in the washroom at the end of the corridor. The triumphant
Dr. Rupam had laughed hysterically at the sight of his wife running and
followed her in a drunken stupor. But he was stopped short by the slamming door
and he had plopped down on the floor stationing himself in front of the door,
shouting obscenities at her. Suddenly his eyes alighted on little Fatima who
was crouching behind a cabinet in the kitchen trembling in terror. She was
wearing a thin camisole, her youthful curves highlighted by the LED lights of
the kitchen. Dr. Rupam’s eyes glazed over in lust and crossing the threshold of
propriety and humanity he transformed into a monster staggering towards the
little girl who could just gape, uncomprehendingly, in terror, till he was upon
her, holding her by the shoulders in a vicious grip and lifting up her
shivering body and crushing it with his tightly wound one. She screamed then,
her voice a meek sound of protest at first. But terror loosened all muscles in
her vocal chords and she screamed as she had near screamed before, not even
when she had been burned with a hot iron or when burning coal had been dropped
inside her panties. Oh! She had screamed then too, but it seemed like a hum
compared to the voice that had now been loosened by an unidentified terror.
Such was the intensity of the scream that even Shazia was shocked and was
brought out running from her room. Seeing the scene in front of her, Dr. Shazia
had broken the glass cabinet and snatched Dr. Rupam’s new revolver. "Leave
her, Rupam!" Dr. Shazia’s chilled voice cut across Fatima’s screams and
silenced her.
Rupam just looked at her sarcastically and cackled, evilly.
Without a word he just turned towards Fatima and viciously ripped away the
delicate cotton fabric exposing the skin on her thin body, made glossy with a
sheen sweat. His nails scratched her shoulder drawing blood and Fatima started
wailing in terror once again.
Shazia, who had been cruel to Fatima in all possible ways
throughout the span of years, could not, however, tolerate sexual abuse and
till now had never allowed Dr. Rupam to transgress this code of moral conduct.
But, today, Dr. Rupam was beyond reasoning.
"Leave her, I said. Or, I'll kill you!” Dr. Shazia
yelled. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, limbs akimbo, her hands,
raised to shoulder level, holding Dr. Rupam’s new revolver.
Seeing his most precious possessions in Shazia’s hand, Dr.
Rupam was blinded by a wild rage and flinging aside Fatima as if she was some
inconsequential object, he lurched towards Shazia and reaching her in a single
giant step landed a powerful punch on the side of her face.
She staggered and fell down on the floor in a heap. The
revolver dropped from her hand and clattered away underneath the kitchen
cabinet. Seeing Shazia on the floor, holding a bleeding nose and mouth and
whimpering, Dr. Rupam began to laugh maniacally. Fatima was terrified out of
her wits, but she did not lose her good sense. She had been bidding her time
and waiting for just a moment like this and she seized it without a second
thought. She crawled out of the kitchen slowly towards the living room. Once there,
she made a run for the door, stopping for a breath as her eyes lit upon
Shazia’s scarf that lay discarded on the sofa. Even in her terrified state,
Fatima was aware of her semi naked body. She picked up the scarf and covered
herself before making a rush for the door. Finally after 4 years of
imprisonment, she was free. Well almost. She ran down the flight of stairs as
if the very devil was after her and reaching the parking lot she crouched
behind a car to hind and think about what to do next. She had to go to Atowar.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember which way she had come, on that
fateful day, from Atowar’s home. Though it happened such a long time ago,
Fatima found that she remembered every detail of that journey she had taken
from her home to Atowar’s village and from there to Atowar’s home in Guwahati
and ultimately to her prison in the doctors couples home. And now she retraced
her steps back to Atowar flats, all the time looking over her back, fearing to
be caught by a running and panting Dr. Rupam at any moment. But Dr. Rupam had
lost all his senses and lay sprawled besides his bleeding wife to be found in
that same state in the early morning by the security guard who brought in their
milk and bread.
It was almost morning and after a night of New Year revelry
everyone was fast asleep, unaware of the event that had occurred in Flat No 7C,
Petunia Block, Garden Villa. The loud urgent banging on the door of Atowar’s
flat woke up all the occupants of the house, causing the youngest member, to
protest with loud wails at her sleep being disturbed at such ungodly hour.
Amina tried to rock her year old baby back to sleep as Atowar rushed to the
door. A look of relief washed over Fatima’s face as she saw Atowar opening the
door. Throwing a frantic look over her shoulder she tried to rush past him into
the house. But, Atowar held her back restraining her from barging inside.
"Wait! Where do you think you are going? Who are you? How did you get
inside the complex?" asked the shocked Atowar and was about to call
security, when the girls voice stopped him. "It's me, Atowar bhaijan!
Don't you recognize me? Fatima, from Kurigram? Please save me! Please take me
home!" Atowar was shocked. By this time Amina had also come out and the
girl’s words had stopped her in her tracks. But she recovered her senses in a
moment and ran towards the crying girl and took the matter out of her husband’s
hand.
“What are you doing Atowar? Can't you see her condition?
Come inside and get her a glass of water and some food too,” Amina ordered.
Atowar obeyed meekly and went to the kitchen. Fatima gulped down the water and
the food as both Atowar and Amina looked on incredulously. Fatima’s appearance
already told them half the story. But they had to hear it from her. Soon, the
whole story gushed out, along with a deluge of tears, as if the gates of dam
had been opened up. Hearing Fatima’s story Atowar and Amina were shocked beyond
belief. How had the doctor couple managed to keep such heinous acts under
wraps? And then another realization dawned upon Atowar. If the police got
involved with the couple’s business, they were all going to get caught. Fatima
would be exposed as an illegal immigrant and that will be the end of Atowar and
his family. He'll be jailed. Fear made him take charge and he ordered Amina,
"Get her some clothes. We need to go right now, before the police get
involved and Fatima is again handed over to the couple. They are powerful
people, they are bound to pull strings and get Fatima back. "
Fatima shivered as she heard Atowar’s words. "No,
Atowar bhaijan, no. Please take me back to Amma and Abba. I can't stay
here!" She pleaded weeping.
“Yes. We are going right away. Common Amina. You too shall
have to come with me. I can't leave you here alone with the baby. The police
might harass you.”
An intelligent woman,
Amina agreed without arguing and, packing a few necessities, she was ready
within half an hour and soon they were on their way to Dhubri on Atowar’s new
car. They reached Atowar’s village in the evening, stopping for breakfast and
lunch on the way. Even after reaching the village, Atowar couldn't lower his
guard. So, he decided that he had to take Fatima to her village that very
night. They couldn't take the risk of someone coming to get Fatima from
Atowar’s village, as the doctor couple could get Atowar’s address from the
company register. So, the sooner Fatima was with her parents, the better.
Bidding a tearful farewell to Amina, Fatima left for the final leg of the
journey with Atowar. Fatima’s heart sang with joy. Within a week she would be
with her family, she would be home. Home after four long years. Her chest
tightened with happiness and her footsteps become lighter and swifter. Atowar
could sense Fatima’s excitement, her euphoria, but he could not rejoice along
with her, not now. Not till they had crossed the border. Not till he reached
back safely to his wife and daughter. Killings of Bangladeshis trying to cross
the border had decreased over the years, but by no means was it over. Instead,
patrolling had become stricter. It was still a dangerous business. Atowar had
stopped his clandestine job since the birth of his daughter and he had no wish
to start again. But he also couldn't risk Fatima getting caught. So he promised
himself that this would be his last journey to and from Bangladesh. He was not
going to jeopardize his life and his family anymore. Atowar and Fatima reached
the border within 5 days, without any incident. Once there, they waited under
the cover of the trees till the sun went down and the stars blanketed the earth.
They could see the border fence from their hiding place and Fatima’s feet
itched to run over, cross the border and get back to her beloved home and
family. But she knew they had to wait till nightfall. She gritted her teeth and
thanked Allah that, at least, she was free and within a few hours she would be
home.
Munching on the rotis that Amina sent with them, they waited
for midnight when there would be a change of guards. This would give them the
opportunity to make a run for the tunnel that would lead them right under the
fences and across the border.
Atowar checked his watch. There was no moon tonight and
except for the twinkling stars the night was quiet dark. The hands of his watch
had crossed the midnight hour. Now was the time. He indicated Fatima to be
quite and follow him. The rubber soled shoes did not make any sound as Atowar
ran over the yard of open space in a crouching position. Years of practice had
made him adept at this maneuver and he reached the tunnel in the blink of an
eye. Fatima, depleted of all her energy, was unable to keep pace with Atowar
and she crawled slowly. From his position in the tunnel Atowar could see an
armed sentry strolling over towards them. For a moment he froze. Recovering, he
frantically indicated Fatima to lie low. But Fatima mistook the signal and,
thinking that Atowar was telling her to hurry; she got up from her crouching
position and started running. The sentry who was strolling along in a relaxed
manner saw her dark figure running towards the fence. He raised his rifle, took
aim and shouted, "Halt who goes there?"
Fatima froze. Atowar knew that they were doomed. He prayed
that Fatima would stop right there. But his prayers went unanswered today.
Fatima saw only the fence and the land beyond the fence; the road that would
lead her to her home. Home where her swing must still be waiting for her. Home,
from where she could gaze at the endless blue skies which she had missed for
four years. She could not let anyone stand in her way. She had to get across
that fence. And so she ran!
"Stop! Stop! I'll shoot!" The voice came urgently
from behind her. But Fatima kept running. She passed the tunnel from where
Atowar watched horrified and reached the fence and began climbing nimbly. She
had just reached the top of the fence when the sentry, a raw young recruit,
opened fire. The staccato burst of gunfire caught Fatima by surprise and she
just had time to look back at the sentry as bullets blasted through her skinny
body, boring holes through the skin and delicate fragile bones and she died before
she could realize that her dreams would never be fulfilled. Her body lay
hanging upon the barbed wire fence, mocking humanity.
Nisha Mahanta Bordoloi