Wounds of Begum

In the turbulent backdrop of 1980s Bhagalpur, India, a haunting tale unfolds. Inspired by the indomitable spirit of Bunni Begum, a woman who endured the harrowing Bhagalpur riots of 1989, our protagonist, Afra Begum, emerges. This narrative, while drawing from historical events, weaves a fictional tapestry, shedding light on the profound losses suffered by those caught in the crossfires of communal violence. Through Afra's journey, we delve into the depths of human resilience, exploring the enduring impact of tragedy on the fabric of society, particularly on the lives of its most vulnerable members – women, children, and the elderly. This evocative work seeks not only to tell a gripping story but also to foster empathy and understanding for the plight of those affected by such tumultuous times. In the turbulent backdrop of 1980s Bhagalpur, India, a haunting tale unfolds. Inspired by the indomitable spirit of Bunni Begum, a woman who endured the harrowing Bhagalpur riots of 1989, our protagonist, Afra Begum, emerges. This narrative, while drawing from historical events, weaves a fictional tapestry, shedding light on the profound losses suffered by those caught in the crossfires of communal violence. Through Afra's journey, we delve into the depths of human resilience, exploring the enduring impact of tragedy on the fabric of society, particularly on the lives of its most vulnerable members – women, children, and the elderly. This evocative work seeks not only to tell a gripping story but also to foster empathy and understanding for the plight of those affected by such tumultuous times. The rich maroon of Afra Begum's Banarasi silk saree glowed against her rare golden oak complexion. Her thick, black braid cascaded over her right shoulder, a striking contrast to the delicate ringlets framing her cheeks. Javed Mian's gaze was drawn to her, and he pushed his palms against the charpai, taking two steps to reach her. She was immersed in selecting matching bangles on the other side of the room. His fingers tenderly adjusted the ringlets, tucking them behind her ear as their lips met. "Allah! What are you doing? Your ammi is in the Chaupal. Her friends will tease you for being a doting husband, and she'll ask my abbu to keep me in Sarovarpur forever." Afra silenced Javed with a gentle touch of her fingers on his lips. "Alright, Begum Afra, this broken latch has saved you today..." Javed replied with a romantic twinkle in his eye as Afra applied surma to her eyes. "By the way, what is the topic of discussion today?" "Ammi will tell--" "It seems serious." "Aa ha! Criticizing your daughter-in-law is hardly serious." Afra rose, gazing out of the window at the Chaupal, and began arranging her makeup box. Javed smiled, donned his cap, and headed for the door. "Begum, get ready quickly. Your abbu could arrive at any moment. And I will fix this latch before your return--" "Allah! What are you saying!!" "Why? I love it when you blush like that..." Afra smiled, her fingers instinctively covering her flushed cheeks. The sound of a crying child filled the room. "See, Rehmat Mian is also listening. He's awake. Get ready." Javed adjusted his cap and left the room. Rehmat was the sole child of Afra and Javed, serving as the vital link between Afra and her in-laws. When Javed's mother had proposed sending Afra back to Sarovarpur and arranging for Javed to remarry, it had caused quite a stir in Hussainganj. Born four years into their marriage, Rehmat was the apple of everyone's eye, particularly for Sultana Begum, his grandmother. The last six months of Afra's stay at her in-laws' had been the best, all thanks to Rehmat. "Afra, your abbu is here. You should leave early--" Javed entered the room, his demeanor indicating that he was troubled by some news. "What happened? Is everything all right? Ammi--" "Everything is fine. But there's a procession to Ayodhya today. It would be safer if you reached home before it passes through Puranabazar." Javed's concern was genuine. Puranabazar was a predominantly Muslim area. What if something untoward happened on the way? After all, the procession was to be led by Hindus, and it was rumored in the Chaupal that Santram Trivedi would lead it from Kishanpur, a mere four kilometers away from Hussainganj. There was a time when Santram Trivedi had controlled all the weapon trade in the entire region. He was known for his ability to kill a person while keeping them alive. Although politics had whitewashed his past, nothing was hidden from the local public. Clad in a white dhoti, yellow kurta, a red tilak on his forehead, and a sikha protruding from the back of his bald head, even the blind could discern his religion from his attire. "Ya Allah... I just want my Rehmat baba to be safe," sighed Sultana Begum, sitting in the courtyard. "I'll take your leave now. We should reach home before the situation worsens," said Afra's father, Nasir Mian, to Sultana Begum. "Yes, absolutely. You've chosen such an auspicious day to take my Rehmat baba out. God forbid, but if something happens to him--" Sultana Begum replied in a worried tone. "No, no, Sultana Begum... don't worry. He is my responsibility now." Sultana Begum didn't reply and shouted, "Javed, Javed... where's the queen? If her makeup is over, then ask her to come out." "Yes, Ammi, she's ready," Javed replied from the room. "Allah! May my Rehmat reach safely," Sultana Begum prayed again. Afra emerged with Rehmat in her lap, and Javed carried a suitcase. "Baba... aaji will miss you. Come back soon," Sultana kissed Rehmat's forehead and blessed him. Javed accompanied Afra and Nasir Mian to the bus stop. "We'll take the next bus. It's quite crowded--" said Afra. "No, take this one. It clears up by Baratola. You'll have enough space after that. Come..." Javed placed the suitcase on the bus. "Abbu, take care," Javed said, planting a kiss on Rehmat's forehead. He stayed at the bus stop until the vehicle departed, then made his way back home. An announcement caught Javed's attention: "A procession for Ram Lalla is underway from Kishanpur. Our esteemed leader, Santram Trivedi, is leading it. The route includes Hussainganj, Chandinagar, Baratola, Puranabazar, and Sarovarpur, culminating in Kalashbagh, where more devotees will join to continue to Ayodhya..." Javed scanned the area. "These infidels are chanting slogans against us." "What kind of slogans? Did you hear anything?" "Yes, brother, I live in Kishanpur and heard these infidels..." Javed edged closer to eavesdrop, recognizing Faridoon, a colleague from the sugar factory, among the voices. The others were familiar faces, except for one stranger. "As-salamu alaikum, Javed Mian," greeted Faridoon, waving. "Where are you coming from? The factory is closed today." "Walalaikum As-Salam, Faridoon bhaijaan. Begum went to her father's house, so I accompanied them to the bus stop." "Ah... Javed Mian, did you hear what these infidels are up to?" "No... what happened?" "They're shouting slogans against us. Ask him, he lives in Kishanpur and heard it." "I don't think they'd do something like that; security is tight. And, brother, don't believe in rumors." Another man interjected, "May Allah punish me if I'm wrong." "No, brother, you're His messenger. Allah will grant you a place in paradise. Let's go, brothers. It's time to show our strength. Take your swords..." Faridoon declared, "we'll meet at the market in Puranabazar. It's a righteous cause, and I'm sure our Muslim brothers will join us there." With that, the group dispersed in different directions. Javed stood alone, his mind consumed with thoughts of his wife and child. He didn't know if they had reached Sarovarpur safely. His anxiety heightened because Faridoon, his friend, was leading the group. His mind was clouded, and all he wanted was to ensure his family's safety. He returned home, retrieved the sword from the wall, and headed to Puranabazar. Puranabazar boasted a sprawling market, its narrow streets bustling with vendors selling everything from roses to swords. The market was always alive with the chatter of customers. Vendors, behind half-open shutters, were always in a rush, as Puranabazar balanced on the edge between peaceful tranquility and ominous conflict. Thus, its people had to be prepared for both eventualities. The procession had reached Baratola, five kilometers from Puranabazar. Faridoon had already arrived at the market, rallying more people to his cause. Javed stood apart from the group, scanning for Afra's bus. "Brother, has the Sarovarpur bus passed?" he asked a vendor who was closing up shop. "I have no idea, sir. Dealing with customers is so hectic; I hardly notice what passes by and when," the vendor replied, locking his shutter. "But I think some buses stop here, and people disembark. That's all I know." With that, he hurried away. As the procession neared Puranabazar, the air filled with chants: "Ayodhya is jubilant, there's excitement... welcome, Lord Ram." Suddenly, a whisper spread through the crowd: "They've killed our Hindu brothers. Fourteen of them lie dead in a well in Hussainganj." The whisper repeated, reaching different ears. Finally, Santram heard and exclaimed, "Let's go, brothers. Ram Lalla will be pleased if we avenge his children's murder..." The crowd turned into a mob, chanting: "Whoever belongs to Ram is ours, the rest are traitors," shaking the streets. Javed was frantic, searching for Afra and Rehmat. He knew Afra's father was old and wouldn't be able to handle the situation. He wandered aimlessly, lost in worry. "Don't panic, sir. Today, we'll teach these infidels a lesson. Come, stand with us," urged Faridoon. But Javed's ears were tuned to the sweet voices of Rehmat and Afra. Afra Begum and Rehmat arrived safely in Sarovarpur. "Oh, my dear Rehmat... my eyes have longed to see you," said Afra's elder sister, Asalah, as she cradled Rehmat in her arms. Afra ran and embraced her younger sister, Minaz. "Get me a glass of water. I'm tired from walking from Puranabazar to home," Nasir Mian requested. Minaz hurried inside and brought water for Afra and Nasir Mian. "Why did you walk, Abbu? Didn't you find a bus?" asked Asalah. "Yes, we were on the bus. But we had to leave it in Puranabazar, and we couldn't find any other transportation," replied Afra. "Rush to Jamuna Kothi if you want to stay safe. There's hostility in Puranabazar, and they're heading towards Sarovarpur," a man with a drum announced as he passed by. His voice faded into the distance. "Abbu, do we really need to go to Jamuna Kothi?" Asalah asked Nasir Mian. "Yes, let's go. Bring only what's necessary," Nasir Mian decided, and the family hurried to Jamuna Kothi. Jamuna Kothi, a grand palace now used as a warehouse, belonged to Jagmohan Lala, known for his generosity. As Afra entered, she saw women of all ages, along with elderly men and children, filling the hall. Young men guarded the outskirts of Sarovarpur with swords and axes, while some hid behind the entrance of the Kothi with swords at the ready. Afra found a corner for herself, holding Rehmat in her lap, surrounded by family. Rehmat cried incessantly, but Afra couldn't breastfeed him in the presence of the men. Puranabazar was stained with blood, a hue that knew no religion. Javed wandered, searching every nook for his wife and son. His heart raced, regretting the moment he had let Afra go. He ran, joining the procession without realizing it. The slogans faded as he heard only the voices of Rehmat and Afra calling out to him in his mind. He walked aimlessly, a sword suddenly piercing his chest, sending him crashing to the ground. He felt the pain but was soothed by the imagined voices of his family. Surrounded by the wounded and dead, he struggled to rise, desperate to find them, but failed each time. Javed lay on the outskirts of Sarovarpur, fighting to stand. As part of the mob entered Sarovarpur, they approached Jamuna Kothi. Afra sat in a corner, Rehmat still crying in her lap. People arrived, warning of the approaching "traitors," instructing the women and children to remain inside while the men went out. "Abbu, please don't go out. You can't handle this... please, Abbu," Minaz pleaded with Nasir Mian. Outside, a tumultuous clamor grew, and bodies lay scattered at the door. Children cried, and women stifled their sobs. A man in black leather shoes, dhoti, kurta, and spectacles that magnified his eyes appeared before Afra. "Sister, your child is crying. Take him inside the storeroom and feed him," he advised. "Thank you, but my sisters and Abbu--" "The room is small. If I let you all in, others will insist. Take your child; no one will see you." "Afra, take Rehmat to the storeroom. Go... his safety is my responsibility. Go," Nasir Mian urged, and she left for the storeroom with Rehmat. After a while, the mob stormed Jamuna Kothi, and chaos ensued. Swords clashed, and amidst the turmoil, Jagmohan Lala attempted to reason with Santram Trivedi. "Trivedi ji, please stop! Spare the innocent lives. They are women and children who know nothing of this. What harm have these old men done to you?" pleaded Jagmohan Lala. "Come now, Lala. This is your Kothi, isn't it? You've harbored these traitors, haven't you?" Santram Trivedi's eyes blazed with anger. "Yes, they are innocent--" "If they are innocent, then you are a traitor. You should be the first to die." A sword sliced through his neck effortlessly, and in an instant, Lala lay lifeless. His soul departed, seeking refuge in the lap of Ram Lalla or the embrace of Prophet Mohammed. The Jamuna Kothi filled with fearful cries. Rehmat woke up, crying. Afra, unsure of what to do, instinctively nursed the child. As Rehmat quieted down, she breathed a sigh of relief. But her attention was soon drawn away by Minaz's voice. Every time she looked away, Rehmat resumed crying. "Please be quiet. I beg you," she whispered, kissing him. Eventually, Rehmat fell back asleep. Suddenly, Nasir Mian's voice rang out, then fell silent. Afra realized what had happened but couldn't believe it. "Ammi will return, my child. Just wait here and stay asleep until she does," she whispered to Rehmat, leaving him on the floor. Minaz was in tatters, Nasir Mian lay dead, and Asalah was barely clinging to life. Before the scene could fully register, a sword aimed for Minaz. Afra threw herself in its path, attempting to shield Minaz. But the sword found its mark, severing Afra's thumbs and grazing Minaz's neck. The next strike aimed for Afra's neck, but she dodged, only to lose her breasts to the blade. Everything blurred, and all she could hear was a siren and people fleeing. Then, silence... darkness enveloped her as she collapsed. Twenty days passed before Afra regained consciousness. "Can I have some water?" she asked a lady sweeping the floor, her voice weak. "Here you go..." "Thank you, Aapa..." Afra reached out, but her shock was palpable when she saw only eight fingers. Tears streamed down her face. "Where is my child? Where is my husband? Why am I here?" "We couldn't find your child. We didn't even know your name until your mother-in-law came a week ago. You're in the hospital. You can leave when the doctor discharges you." "My mother-in-law came? What did she say?" "She said she lost her son and someone named 'Rehmat baba'..." "Rehmat... Rehmat is my child. He's alive. He was in the store room. He's safe. I have to tell her... where is she?" "She left and asked us not to tell you about her. She was cursing you--" "I have to tell Ammi about Rehmat... and Javed is safe. He went home. He's safe... I know." Afra tuned out the lady and started talking to herself. The lady left the room. Afra resolved to find Javed and Rehmat. "Doctor sahib, I'm leaving now." "Where to?" "To my husband's house, but I have to get my son from Jamuna Kothi first." "Your wounds aren't healed yet--" "They will heal once I see Javed and Rehmat." The doctor relented, giving her some money and clothes, which she accepted reluctantly. Afra went to the store room at Jamuna Kothi, finding it empty. Searching desperately, she found a small bangle. "Rehmat baba... my son... where are you..." She sat on the floor, sobbing. After a while, she gathered herself. "I'll find you with your Abbu. I know you're safe." Rushing to the bus stop, she boarded a bus to Hussainganj. Hiding her wounds with a shawl, her hair disheveled, she touched her chest beneath the fabric, feeling only pain. Her father and sisters' faces flashed before her eyes, and she cursed her fate. The bus arrived in Hussainganj, and Afra hurried to Sultana Begum's home. All eyes were on her hands and chest, which she continued to conceal. "Thak Thak!" Sultana Begum opened the door. "Ammi, where's Javed?" "How dare you return to my door after taking both my precious ones?" "Ammi, you can curse me later. Please ask Javed to come with me. I can't find Rehmat in the store room. He was sleeping there--" "Allah will never forgive you. You devoured my children. Go away..." Sultana Begum knelt, crying. "Bring back my Javed and Rehmat from wherever you sent them. You killed them and yet you live..." She stood, lunging at Afra, who dodged and ran. After a while, Afra felt numb, her legs moving mechanically while her eyes turned to stone. She stopped at a barber shop, where a radio broadcast caught her attention. "The police have recovered 14 bodies from a well in Hussainganj, identified as the family of Hafiz Anwar. The cause of death remains unclear. Recent speculation suggests that the Puranabazar riots may have been incited by deliberate rumors spread by a particular group. The government has formed a committee to investigate..." Afra continued walking, her eyes now calm and stony, as she discarded the shawl that had hidden her wounds. She kept walking, the shawl left behind on the road, ownerless and without a shoulder.