People's Democracy

SAIRA (age 12), Afsana (age 11), Naina (age 12), Anju (age 12), Rukhsat (age 9), Nilofer (age 10), Nilofer (age 9), Hena (age 11)

They are all survivors from the horrors of Naroda Patia in Ahmedabad where more than 80 people were burnt alive and many women raped and maimed in what is probably the worst carnage in the current spiral of violence. The girls are young and for them making sense of what they have seen and heard seems impossible. But they have been scarred for life, their trust in Hindus shattered. They speak of ‘Evil Hindus’, The Hindu who burnt our home. The Hindu who didn’t let us escape.

Some of them have seen with their eyes things no child should see. Others have only heard things. But they are still things no child should hear. "Hinduon ne bura kaam kiya" (Hindus have done ‘bad things’ – a euphemism for rape) they tell us, as their eyes shift uneasily. They look at one another as if seeking silent affirmation of what none of them really comprehended.

Or, did they?

"Balatkaar" (Rape) – they know this word. "Mein bataoon Didi? (Shall I tell you?), volunteers a nine year old, "Balatakaar ka matlab jab aurat ko nanga karte hain aur phir use jala dete hain." (Rape is when a woman is stripped naked and then burnt) And then looks fixedly at the floor. Only a child can tell it like it is. For this is what happened again and again in Naroda Patia – women were stripped, raped and burnt. Burning has now become an essential part of the meaning of rape.

Hindus hate us, they tell me.

Why?

Because we celebrate all their festivals – we play Holi, we love patakas at Diwali, but the Hindus can’t celebrate our festivals. That’s why they are jealous. So jealous that this year they did not even let us take out Tazia processions (in fact the decision to not allow tazia processions on the 10th of Moharram was taken by the Muslim community itself for fear of violence)

These girls became friends only in the camp, although they all grew up and lived in Naroda Patia. Now they will probably share a life-long unspoken bond of victim-hood. But they are children still. Resilient. Survivors. Their eyes still bright and curious. They even giggle occasionally, as they follow us around Shah-e-Alam, scampering easily over human beings scattered like debris around the relief camp. But will they ever forget? Will Naina, who once had scores of Hindu friends, have them again? Will she trust again?