This was an entry written in October 2020 for the event #twelve (the prompt was to include in the story ‘the clock struck twelve) #Five00-10 at ArtoonsInn Writers Room. I rarely research and write, because I tend to get lost in the process; I prefer to write slice-of-life stories. This is one of the rare moments when I researched the ’emergency’ and wove a tale. The atrocities meted out to common people had my heart searing.
THE NAMESAKE
The day dawned like any other in June, gloomy and damp. Sukumaran, gazing fondly at his wife Sarojini, wrapped his hands around her. Stifling a sniffle, she implored him to stay.
“I will be back by noon. It’s a simple job of erecting a pandal for a meeting. They are paying well. We need to save money for our daughter.” Sukumaran grinned.
“It will be a boy!” Sarojini exclaimed and added, “But I feel uneasy. Please don’t go.”
Planting a kiss on his wife’s bulging belly, Sukumaran hastened to join his friends who were waiting outside, but not before informing Kamalamma, the neighbour, to take care of Sarojini until he returned. Sarojini blew her nose and wiped it on her sleeves. Sukumaran walked out with the image of his sobbing wife imprinted in his eyes.
Hours slipped by, and Sarojini went into labour. She moaned and stoically persevered to see their firstborn. The moonlight shone on her face through the holes in the thatched roof, yet there was no sign of Sukumaran.
The clock struck twelve, and it was 26 June 1975. While President Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed was declaring a National Emergency, Sarojini gave birth to a daughter, as Sukumaran had desired.
When Sarojini held the baby close to her bosom and wondered about her destiny, elsewhere, Sukumaran was locked up in a cell and tormented ruthlessly along with hundreds of men. They were naive bystanders watching a protest, shoved by the police into a police van, and imprisoned.
Kamalamma sent her husband to check Sukumaran’s whereabouts among his friends and found out that while the others returned after erecting the pandal, Sukumaran had lingered, shopping for his family.
“The police have taken into custody numerous men based on suspicion of perpetrating unlawful activity, whacking the miserable men until the batons broke. Maybe our Sukumaran was picked up.” Reported Kamalamma, the rumour mill.
Sarojini shuddered, praying for Sukumaran’s safety. Days became months, and Kamalamma enunciated about the innovative methods employed by the policemen. They traumatised and maimed people forever. Chicken claws were stuffed into the ears of the prisoners, then they were rendered a double ear slap, which deafened them irreparably.
Some of the men released from captivity never walked, and a few never breathed.
Over the next 21 months, during the emergency period, thousands were imprisoned to curb lawlessness, and only a handful returned home. With the suspension of civil liberties and the censoring of the media, people were thrust into the dark ages.
On the surface, life went on remarkably well, with trains running on time and government offices functioning efficiently, but monstrosity thrived where lawmakers turned a blind eye to lawbreakers.
Sukumaran never returned home. A devastated Sarojini made futile rounds of several offices. Sukumaran was deemed dead in the Police atrocities.
His body was never found.
The young expecting couple had visualised a whole fantastic life for their child. Sarojini despaired at the bleak future that lay ahead of her.
Sarojini had named her unfortunate daughter Indira as Sukumaran had wished. The irony was lost on Sarojini and the fatherless infant.
***
Photo By: Unsplash, Sahaj Patel
