Were there so many people still left in the city one wondered looking at the crowds. Only men were seen out on the streets, Hindus. Chandru went to the railway station. The buses weren't plying. They were all parked in a row. Red-shirted porters enjoyed a game of dice in the shade with squares drawn on the ground. At the Nizam's customs booth, the tall woman sat alone with the door ajar. SPG School and a few shops in front of the station were closed. Two Irani restaurants were open, a gramaphone played in each.
Chandru walked along Station Road, with the KEM Hospital on one side and the refugee shacks on the other. Smoke curled up from many of the shacks. Few city people passed this way. And the refugees didn't seem too eager to communicate with others. Nor did they bother about what was happening in the rest of the world. Their wash, also in tatters, was spread on the fence of the hospital. Their pitiable clothes and possessions went well with their sunken cheeks and eyes. A year had gone by since they first came to live in these three-foot bamboo shanties.
Chandru found a refugee looking him straight in the eye and smiling. If he had even a single anna on him, Chandru would have bought some snacks from him. But now what could he do in return for that smile? Nothing.
In Monda Market, the shops were still closed, but there were lots of people moving about, talking. Such a scene would not have met one's eyes two days ago. Not that anybody knew anything specific even now. But one thing was certain—Indian troops were out to punish the Nizam. All troubles were about to end. Maybe in a week's time, maybe two weeks, or a month at the most.
Despite this new surge of hope, the city was restrained. Order was kept, the law was obeyed. Perhaps the people were being very cautious because the present turn in the affairs seemed too good to be true.
After a day spent visiting every part of Secunderabad, Chandru returned home in the evening. There was some bustle and life in Lancer Barracks as well now. Even Kasim's door was open. Though Kasim himself was not to be seen, lots of other people, old and young, were there. Their expressions showed a readiness to agree with whatever you said. The men kept salaaming everyone who passed by.
Once again it was the Railways that had reliable and detailed information. Indian troops were advancing on the Suryapet-Hyderabad road without meeting any resistance. The confrontations. when they did occur, had an element of farce about them, like the one at Aurangabad.
There a college professor had tried to stop an armoured vehicle, with a hundred students armed with sticks. The first round of firing shattered twenty students and the rest just ran for their lives.
When taken into custody, the professor went on hysterically shouting 'Azad Hyderabad Zindabad!' The Razakars of Hyderabad were already a spent force and had ceased to be a source of worry.
The real cause for worry now was the condition of thousands of political prisoners in the State's fifteen-odd prisons. What had the Razakars done with them? As for the radio at home the light came on, and a hum like wasps. Nothing could be expected of it any more. So Father went and stood out on the front veranda and called out loudly : 'Kasim! Mr Kasim!' After the fourth or fifth call, an old man opened the door and peeped out. 'Kasim is not in town. But I am here to do whatever you want.'
'I would like to have your radio,' Father said.
'The radio?... Let me find out.' The old man disappeared. By now the whole family had assembled beside Father on the veranda. The old man came out again and said, 'I'm told it's out of order.'
'How? It was all right yesterday.'
While the old man smiled sheepishly, a female voice from behind him said, 'You're welcome to have a look at it. Take it if it works.'
Chandru said, 'Let me go and see.' There were no comments. Chandru vaulted the wall between their two gardens and reached Kasim's door. The old man stood aside to let him in.
When he stepped into the house, Chandru was confused. He felt the vein on his forehead throb. Deeper in the house, he found it suffocating, with swarms of people everywhere and an overpowering stench. Pyari Begum was there, too.
The old man said, 'Here it is,' and pointed at the radio. The room was dark and unlit. Chandru looked round. Then Kasim's wife flicked a switch. As the light flooded the room, the plight of this cringing mass of humanity seemed even more pitiable. The old women pulled on their veils. Chandru switched on the radio. Nothing happened. Not even the light came on. Chandru turned the knobs. While turning the last knob, he happened to slide the radio a little. Something caught his attention. There were pieces of fine broken glass under the set. His suspicions were now aroused, and he turned the set round and looked at the back. It was a valves set and he found two broken. It was impossible for them to be broken like that unless someone had done it on purpose. The old man stood by with a meek look and Kasim's wife glowered at him. Chandru vaulted the wall again and was home. The lights went out in Kasim's house and Mother said 'Well?'
'It's no use.' Chandru said.
'Why, it used to play so well.'
A grass cart came in the morning. A hawker brought guavas. And after a long time, a woman came selling corncobs. A beggar sold them half a seer of rice. There was quite a crowd today on the street, even the big shops were open. Vendors were selling fresh vegetables. Tailors and barber shops were also open. A barber known to Chandru called out to him. 'I don't have the money,' said Chandru. 'It's all right. Pay me tomorrow.' And even when Chandru said 'I'm going to have a bath when I go home,' the barber put some hair oil on his hair and powdered his face. He seemed to be in high spirits today. There was a newspaper lying in his shop, from Bezwada. If only he'd learnt Telugu, thought Chandru wistfully, he could have now read it and got some news.
For there was a lot to know. The Nizam's commanders had made it clear that no more fighting was possible. For one thing the Nizam's forces were never a match for the Indian army with its vast numbers and weapons. For another there were no fortresses or garrison towns in the state to stop the attacking army and compel them to give battle. The south-eastern part of the state was a plain for the most part and afforded no protection against the onslaught of the Indian tanks.The question now was, what was Pakistan going to do to help the Nizam? It was evident that it couldn't do much. A complaint was to be lodged with the UN, not directly but through a member country which would obviously be Pakistan. The Nizam's representative to the UN, a Nawab, was said to have taken a sizeable quantity of gold and other valuables from the state treasury out of the country. Was this true? Possibly.
It was everyone for himself now. Save your own skin.
The people's guesses about future events could no longer be dismissed as childish—a battle might be fought in this very place in another month, no ten days, possibly even a week's time.
There were fewer policemen out today than yesterday. Ninetyfive per cent of Hyderabad's police were Muslims. Muslims were not to be seen anywhere today.
But there were Muslims who couldn't help being seen, hundreds of them, all refugees. They had made the pavements of the streets their home. They were highly visible, in the centre of the town, near the railway station, opposite the main hospital, by an old Christian church. Cooking smoke still curled out of their log huts. God knew if they had had anything to eat but they went on preparing snack-food and selling it to the Muslim restaurants. With the money, they bought gram flour and oil in the black market and prepared some more food. Did they eat a little of what they made? But then, looking at them, was this the look of people who ate? Chandru was looking for the refugee who had smiled at him last evening. No, he wasn't there. But there were others, quite a few of them, all of them very very calm. While the whole town was agog, these people just didn't have it in them to feel anything. It was not the patient wait for something to happen, but the indifference of those past caring, past caring even for their children whose clothes were among those drying on the hospital fence.
In Kingsway, groups of people stood talking in the middle of the street. The house of the socialist leader of Secunderabad, Mahadev Sin
gh, was somewhere nearby.
He had been in jail for eight months now. His family was allowed to meet him only three times in all those eight months. For two days now, they had been trying to meet him, or at least to find out if he was still alive. Ne information was forthcoming, although it was known that political prisoners from prisons in other towns were to be brought to Hyderabad Central Jail. Perhaps they were already here. In Gulbarga, the Razakars had entered the jail and beaten up the Congress prisoners. One had died. Now that the Razakars had reason enough to be incensed, who could imagine how they would react?
The only vehicles on the streets were bicycles and tongas. But the tongas were mostly empty. It looked as if no one had the patience or need to engage a tonga.
The food shops were all empty now. Everything had been sold out in an hour. Betel leaves were selling at an exorbitant four rupees a hundred. Other tradespeople were not greatly bothered about sales. After waiting in the shops for a while, most of them had left their plumped up bolsters to have a chat with other shopowners.
'Police action' was the term All India Radio used to describe the entry of Indian forces into Hyderabad. The troops were still advancing, they claimed. Radio Hyderabad suddenly asked its listeners to stand by for an important announcement at 4.30 p.m. This was repeated every ten minutes, the interval being filled by playing recorded music. But this announcement did little to increase the general pitch of excitement which was high even otherwise. Long before 4.30.p.m. it was known that the Indian troops had reached Bongir. Just thirty miles to Hyderabad.
At 4.30 came a cryptic annuouncement: 'A royal proclamation will be read out by the Nizam himself over the radio at 7.30 p.m.' The curfew had ceased to matter. The whole city, that is its male half, was out on the streets by 6.30 p.m. There were a few bold women as well, vendors of vegetables, fried peas or gram-patti. Such was their faith in the people's honourable proclivities. To be sure, the city and its people had kept peace without the benefit of any reminders from the authorities for four days now, since military action had been initiated.
More people listened to the Nizam's fírman from the streets than from within their houses. They had been waiting for some time with every radio in every house and shop set at full volume when the Nizam's voice came over clearly, in English:
'We are aware that our land and our subjects have been experiencing extremely unusual conditions in the recent past. In order to alleviate this without further delay, certain measures have been undertaken by us. The president of our Executive Council and his colleagues have tendered their resignations this morning. We have decided that the State of Hyderabad shall accede to the Indian Union. In pursuance of this our first instruction had been to our troops and para-military forces to cease all hostilities against the Indian armed forces. An order had also been issued to implement such measures as shall lead to the installation of a civil administration. In the interim period, the governance of the state shall rest with the representative appointed by the Government of India.
As a step towards normalisation, all political prisoners in the state have been ordered to be released. The curfew and other precautionary measures which were brought into force at the beginning of this week stand cancelled with immediate effect. It is our hope that our subjects shall undertake it as their duty to ensure that our State continues to function in a manner not detrimental to its ancient prestige and glory. It behoves us to express our gratitude to our friend, Chakravarti Rajagopalachari, the Indian Governor-General and Mr K.M. Munshi who had been with us as the Indian Agent-General for the assistance rendered towards arriving at an amicable settlement and avoiding a grave situation.'
The broadcast ended. Those who had been listening didn't evince any undue excitement or enthusiasm. A few isolated cries of 'Jai Hind!' and 'State Congress Zindabad!' broke the silence but failed to be taken up, and died away. Strangely, that was when, for the first time in those four days, Chandru felt a snake of fear.
As if to reassure him, a general buzz rose from the crowd—there had been no mention in the Nizam's speech about the Razakars or their leader Razvi, people pointed out. Didn't the Indian Government consider them culpable? Was there going to be no retribution for their brutal and barbaric deeds ? What about those countless people who fell victims to the Razakar atrocities? Had their blood been shed in vain, their lives been sacrificed for nothing?
Others spoke in a different vein. How could one expect the Nizam to refer to all that? He could only mention the vital points. Anyway Hyderabad had finally acceded to the Indian Union. So it was now up to the Indian Government to take further action. Something must be afoot even now. It would be known tomorrow, perhaps.
Kasim's door stayed shut. The windows in front and at the back were all closed. How long could some thirty or forty people live in two rooms depending on a ventilator on the high roof for air? History has it that in Calcutta about two centuries ago, 146 people were shut in like that and 123 of them had died in a single night.
Mother was sound asleep. Everyone was sound asleep. After all, they had spent the whole year here and had not run away to save their skins, though many had done so. Tomorrow was to be the dawn of a new era. An era that knew no fear, no horror, no terror. Perhaps. Sleep eluded Chandru and he came out. The night was pleasant. Time for Secunderabad's second monsoon, the season of the fugitive rains. There would be rain at night and the sun all day, making you wonder if it had rained at all. It was on a day like this that Nasir Ali Khan had first invited him to cricket practice thus acknowledging him as a player and a friend. What was Nasir doing now? Did sleep elude him as well? What if he had lost his father ? Was it his father, by any chance, who had led those two thousand Razakars to the massacre?
He went to the banyan tree. He had come to the banyan tree at midnight once before, when there had been the sound of distant music in the air. There were no sounds tonight, only the crickets. What time was it? How long before daybreak ?
Chandru went round both rows of Lancer Barracks. Of the twentyfour houses, half were dark because they were unoccupied. The rest had adapted themselves to darkness after months of going without light. Did it mean that there was no one in these houses who needed a night lamp? No child, no sick person, no student? It was merely that the happenings in the land had seeped into its homes, insidiously altering the lives of people.
Someone was coming every night to Krishnaswamy's house just to sleep there and keep an eye on things. He seemed to have set his alarm for now. It rang when Chandru walked past the house and then stopped. Chandru felt his legs ache. But that was not entirely unexpected after all the walking he had done in the last two days, walking aimlessly, limitlessly.
It won't be long now to sunrise, he thought. This calm was the stillness of the night's last moments. In the hushed silence, he began to hear a muffled roar like a noise coming from the bottom of a well. To be so faint on such a still night, the source had to be at least a mile away.
The noise was heard again and again. From the direction of the railway station. Suddenly there was a flare on the horizon and it threw a red glow. The calm of four days was shattered.
Barely conscious of what he was doing, Chandru ran towards the station, mesmerised by the red streaks on the horizon. Once he reached Regimental Bazar he knew what had caused the glow and the screams. Right in front of the police station, two groups fought with sticks and brickbats.
Chandru ran towards the mob with no thought for the consequences. It was just here that a riot had started once earlier—the same flour mill, the same tailor's shop. The doors of all the shops and houses in the street were closed now. It must have been the terrified screams of the women and children that Chandru had heard first.
Suddenly the people began to run in all directions, and the whole mob dissolved away, as if by magic. They disappeared down the surrounding lanes.
Even as Chandru wondered what had caused this, he knew the reason. A shot was heard—someone firing at someone else somewhere. Chandru
ran through a lane, He found the whole neighbourhood awake. People stood outside. It was a predominantly Hindu locality. A lot of people had fled the town but a number still remained. There was no more need for them to cringe with fear. But the sight of them standing there made Chandru grow cold. He went through the twisting lanes at a half-run and reached the railway station. In front of those Irani restaurants where the gramophones had played even yesterday was a huge bonfire, the flames reaching twenty feet or more.
Things from the shop were being thrown into the fire, tables and chairs, cooking coal and firewood. A dozen people kept throwing crockery into the fire, the crash feeding the frenzy of the crowd of onlookers. This had been the flare of fire in the sky, visible as far as Chandru's house.
Chandru's fears lay centred elsewhere, because in these shops he knew that after an interval of a few days, new tables and chairs would be bought and business would go on as before. Since the same places were being attacked time and again in every riot in Regimental Bazaar, these attacks couldn't have been entirely unanticipated. The real horrors must be happening elsewhere.
Chandru ran on and turned at Station Road. At first every thing appeared dark, but the night lamps of the hospital shed some light on the street and slowly, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, the picture emerged. What he had feared had happened. The refugee shacks had been razed to the ground. Not a single one remained. The street was savagely strewn with broken pieces of pots and cooking pans, and with clothes, vegetables and foodstuff trodden underfoot. Street dogs roamed the place. Of the hundreds there even the evening before, not a person remained. They must have been attacked a few hours ago. Poor men and women, they had been living in peace there. Where could they all have vanished, without a trace ? This time round, did the refugees take away anything with them?—not that they had anything to take away!
The Eighteenth Parallel Page 17
