They took her. She was sleeping with her 5 year old son and 7 year old daughter. Her daughter saw ‘them’ pick her mom from the bed they shared. A few moments later she heard her mom scream a little away from their home in the mid-night. Villagers heard a gun shot too. The villagers heard ‘their’ jeep rush through in the night.
Next morning, the villagers found her slipper and her silver necklace lying on the dust beside the wall. The villagers also found an empty jug lying on the dust road. The jug had had water which was used to cleanse blood, her blood.
Later ‘they’ gave villagers her dead body.
The villagers were angry. The villagers wanted explanation. The villagers in 3-400 went to ‘them’. ‘They’ opened fire. 6 villagers died and 5 are still missing.


My day had been hectic. I had attended one of those lab classes. My friend wanted to catch a cup of coffee and maybe chat a bit over the coffee. I wanted to go to the library after the coffee and she wanted to go to the dorm. We checked out in the hospital canteen. The hospital canteen is just beside the emergency, maybe made for privilege of those medical professional who work in the emergency round the clock.
Me and my friend reached there when already 22 of the villagers who had suffered bullet injuries had been brought. The canteen and the emergency premises were overflowing with people, with medical professionals, with human rights activist and of course the press. We understood the story from the canteen owner. We were sipping coffee when the red cross van arrived. We watched with coffee in our hands as they brought in a women with her hand fractured and injured neck, a man with his legs soaked in blood and an unconscious woman.
These women, were women like my mom, of my mom’s age, in their late 30’s or early 40’s. These were women who would be the last ones to be involved in any kinda violent activities. These were women with husbands and kids they loved. These were women who had cooked afternoon lunch for their families and most probably were worrying about their evening meal when they decided to protest against what they felt very strongly to be wrong.

My friend couldn’t bear it. She left. I walked to the library to search for some friend to talk too. I couldn’t bear to stay there. However after around 15 minutes, I found myself walking back to emergency. A bunch of my friends were already there. None of us were speaking much. There was just a lull, an intense sadness that escapes words. I could see there the jolly faces of my friends overshadowed by greyness, their minds raging with anger, with a sense of unjust, their hearts with love… I could see their eyes reddening… And, yes there was that incredible, incredible sense of helplessness that we all felt.

We stayed around, heard the same story of pain again and again. We talked to a woman who had her 17 year old daughter in the emergency with 8 bullet shots. We talked to some human right activist. The bright sunny afternoon had given way to rosy rosy evening, an evening as beautiful as any other. And yet that immense sense of sadness and unjust this beauty could not nullify…

I wonder about that 7 year old daughter. I wonder what explanation her family gives to her. I wonder if the kid can ever believe in fairy stories. I wonder if the kid can ever develop a sense of trust. I wonder if she can ever escape the scream. I wonder if she can ever forgive ‘them’… I wonder if she can ever sleep in the bed she shared with her mom without remembering the night ‘they took her’…

As I scribble this, strong winds are blowing… winds that might have witnessed that night, winds that might have witnessed murder and injustice, winds that might have witnessed those amazing people who cared for those injured, I whisper my prayers to this wind…