The tenure had brought an era of undeclared curfews – or did they declare it by beating to pulp residents early in the morning. It saw thousands and thousands of police and troops holding residents to ransom, barging into localities, breaking bones and window panes. It saw break in Friday prayers for seven consecutive weeks at the Jamia Masjid. It saw thousands of people brutally injured by rubber bullets and tear gas shells shot above their waists. It saw gun butts and staffs catching unshielded passers by.
Last August when I heard the window panes of my house break, I heard them chant slogans of Bharta Mata Ki Jai from the street. Then they chanted Har Har Mahadev and hurled more stones at our windows. I shuddered inside my room, hoping my bones don’t meet the fate of glass.
Who could I complain to in an unaccountable Governor Rule. Whatever pretensions (of governing people), the state had in the past years had been shed. It was now an open police state. That is why, when they told me in January that the Governor Rule has ended, I smiled. I admit I became happy. Alas! They had lied to me. The undeclared curfews continued. The police continued to rule.
Last week as I watched paramilitary troops barge into my locality and beat to pulp men they could get hold of, I wondered why they had lied to me. When they roughed up mourners at the killed boy’s home, I wondered when it will end. It did not. Last August, at least, they gave us a break, to attend the funeral of a neighbour, and organise his last rites. This time they barge into mourning ceremonies and fire teargas shells at funerals.
They fire teargas shells at our heads and chests. They break our bones. They break widow panes. Peaceful protests are met with brute force. Slogans are silenced by batons, bullets and shells. Then they blame the media. Ask us to cooperate.
But who can I complain to in a Governor Rule?
I hope it ends. Please let me know when it does, and yes, please don’t mislead me this time.
