October 2008 
Year 15    No.135
Cover Story


‘The smell of blood is still in my head’

Malegaon: A town besieged by bombs and police bullets

BY MUBASSHIR MUSHTAQ

The deadly bomb blast which ripped apart bodies of the believers has left a deep scar on the psyche of the town. Within moments I was at Bhikku Chowk, the epicentre of the blast, which looked more like a battlefield than an ordinary chowk in a Muslim neighbourhood. Members of a leaderless Muslim community were busy helping the injured in their own individual way. A few emotional Muslims protested against the police claim that it was a cylinder blast. It hurts me deeply that a stone-pelting incident can alter the destiny of my community. Clashes between Muslims and police followed. Police first lathi-charged and then opened fire. People fell like a pack of cards.

From Bhikku Chowk I rushed towards Noor Hospital like a madman searching for sanity. Police bullets seem to have an ingrained bias against Muslims. Bullets chase Muslims till death. As I entered the hospital to inquire about the injured, I could hear gunshots being fired outside, in Mushawarat Chowk. With each shot, I trembled with rage and fear. Each shot amplified my heartbeat. The palpitation was so seismic that I feared my heart would leap out and leave me dead. On the one hand, Dr Saeed Faizee, Dr Sohail and Dr Faisal worked continuously to restore the faith of the Muslim community; outside, the naked dance of official bias was at play. Where was the humanity of the people?

The scene at Faran Hospital – where most of the 58 injured persons were brought – was chaotic. Curious onlookers and some family members of the injured were caught in the mêlée outside. As I entered the hospital, the smell of fresh blood grew unbearable. It is still in my head. The injured were being treated by Dr Saeed Farani and his dedicated team of doctors. The entire hospital was in collective mourning. The cry of a toddler will haunt me for the rest of my life. It could have been my nephew or anybody else’s. The bared burnt back of a bearded old man brought me to the brink of tears yet the call of my métier restrained me. I made sure the tears didn’t spill from my eyes.

In the operation theatre, I saw an open surgery being performed on one of the injured. The ruptured veins of his left foot were a terrible sight to behold. But the sight of the three dead bodies neatly lined up one after another froze my soul. I felt the awesome presence of death. As I photographed the scene, a thought crossed my mind: Is it fair for a journalist to take pictures of the victims mowed down by flying balls, nails and bullets? It was the call of conscience. In a split second I decided to go ahead. I saw myself as both a Muslim and a journalist. The job of a journalist is not to write but to communicate. The Muslim in me believed I must communicate to the world that my own community had been hit in its own backyard. Not once, but twice.

When the guns fell silent I returned to Bhikku Chowk at 3 a.m. Uninformed media persons were busy chorusing the official line: that the bomb blast had occurred outside the building where the Students Islamic Movement of India (SIMI) once had its office. No one bothered to say that the site of the bomb blast also happened to be outside a police chowky. These are matters of perception.

Why was Bhikku Chowk chosen as the site for the blast? Bhikku Chowk represents a strong Muslim identity, where Muslims from diverse sects and walks of life gather for a cup of tea or to socialise after taraweeh prayers during Ramadan. The attack was on Muslim identity. Why can’t the security agencies accept that there is in essence a turf war going on between communalists of different faiths, where bomb blasts are the weapons of choice? It is unfortunate that in this war the police often seem to be on the side of the majority community. This is the bitter truth albeit an uncomfortable one.

The next day home minister RR Patil uttered the usual platitudes, referring to the spate of bombings in the recent past. "It was an attack on national integration." I am sorry, Mr Patil. Bhikku Chowk is not the place to bridge the gulf that has divided two communities. It is a traditional Muslim ghetto. The attack was on Malegaon’s Muslim identity and not on national integration. Eyebrows were raised when I bluntly asked him, "How many people have died in the police firing?" He paused for a moment. Nikhil Gupta, Nashik superintendent of police, leaned forward to whisper something. "Nobody has died in the police firing. Police fired 58 rounds in the air so no one was injured," Patil claimed. This goes against both the public perception and a doctor’s claim in Malegaon. According to Dr Saeed Farani, at least three persons were injured in the police firing. The actual figure is obviously higher but no one is willing to say so in a town reeling under fear.

Id will be celebrated amid fear and anxiety. Every Muslim mother in Malegaon is praying lest her son becomes a "suspect".

Things will never be the same in this forsaken corner of Maharashtra but this much is certain: Indian Muslims will not allow India to become another Pakistan.

(Mubasshir Mushtaq is a freelance journalist who specialises in law and current affairs.)


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