Page 131 - Train to Pakistan
P. 131

The lad glared angrily at Meet Singh. ‘What had the Sikhs and Hindus in
               Pakistan done that they were butchered? Weren’t they innocent? Had the women
               committed crimes for which they were ravished? Had the children committed

               murder for which they were spiked in front of their parents?’
                  Meet Singh was subdued. The boy wanted to squash him further. ‘Why,

               brother? Now speak and say what you want to.’
                  ‘I am an old bhai; I could not lift my hands against anyone—fight in battle or
               kill the killer. What bravery is there in killing unarmed innocent people? As for
               women, you know that the last Guru, Gobind Singh, made it a part of a

               baptismal oath that no Sikh was to touch the person of a Muslim woman. And
               God alone knows how he suffered at the hands of the Mussulmans! They killed

               all his four sons.’
                  ‘Teach this sort of Sikhism to someone else,’ snapped the boy
               contemptuously. ‘It is your sort of people who have been the curse of this
               country. You quote the Guru about women; why don’t you tell us what he said

               about the Mussulmans? “Only befriend the Turk when all other communities are
               dead.” Is that correct?’

                  ‘Yes,’ answered Meet Singh meekly, ‘but nobody is asking you to befriend
               them. Besides, the Guru himself had Muslims in his army …’
                  ‘And one of them stabbed him while he slept.’
                  Meet Singh felt uneasy.

                  ‘One of them stabbed him while he slept,’ repeated the boy.
                  ‘Yes … but there are bad ones and …’

                  ‘Show me a good one.’
                  Meet Singh could not keep up with the repartee. He just looked down at his
               feet. His silence was taken as an admission of defeat.

                  ‘Let him be. He is an old bhai. Let him stick to his prayers,’ said many in a
               chorus.
                  The speaker was appeased. He addressed the assembly again in pompous

               tones. ‘Remember,’ he said like an oracle, ‘remember and never forget—a
               Muslim knows no argument but the sword.’
                  The crowd murmured approval.

                  ‘Is there anyone beloved of the Guru here? Anyone who wants to sacrifice his
               life for the Sikh community? Anyone with courage?’ He hurled each sentence
               like a challenge.

                  The villagers felt very uncomfortable. The harangue had made them angry and
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