Outburst

I worked as a government official before the India-Pakistan partition. In my office, colleagues called me Binal babu. Our staff consisted of Hindus and Muslims working under English officials. Irrespective of what was happening around me, British rule, and fights for freedom, I led a relatively normal life, working at my office and going back home in the evening, eating good food, going for long walks, and thereafter sitting and chatting at the tea shop with my best buddies, Karim, Usif, Abdul, and Sharma till 8 pm. That was the best part of the day. When I was with my friends, it never occurred to me about the concept of religion.

I often wondered how revolutionaries managed to have so much courage and could tolerate unimaginable pain. Shedding blood and sweat was just not my cup of tea. Anyhow, I enjoyed hyper­ talking, discussing, and commenting on current issues with my friends at the tea shop. They enjoyed it too. Sixty percent of the population were like me.

At my office, English babu treated me and other Indian colleagues like inferior creatures. They were unforgiving of our minor mistakes, shouting, being abusive, and making faces. Their hurtful words pierced our hearts and souls. I wondered where they got so much bitterness from.

I tried to ignore them by thinking positively, but it was difficult. I hated them internally but pretended to be humble. I worked as well as I could, but at the back of my mind, I was eager to go back home. Hanging around with my friends was the only support system.

I never wanted to lose my job as I had a family to support. Frustration was building up inside me, but what could I do? When things became intolerable, I shouted at my wife. She might have found me irrational too. A few hours later, she would act normal and pretend everything was alright. When she had enough of me, she took it out on our children. 

Finally, the British left our country. India-Pakistan partition was declared. Suddenly, 60% of the suppressed population, including me became brave. I received the devastating news that my brother and his family were killed in Lahore. Initially, I was deeply sad and suddenly  I got so angry. I joined a group of aggressive men and behaved violently.

So much anger in me, I surprised myself, why the hell did I not participate in the freedom fight? I guess, now I was in my comfort zone. 

It did not take much time to realise what I had done. How could I take revenge on innocent people who had nothing to do with my loss? It was like searching for a lost coin on a distant street which I had lost at home.

For the first few years, I kept telling myself what I did was right. They started the fight at first. I gave myself the reference to Holly books that it was a God’s play and we were merely puppets. Also, I wasn’t alone in the violence, and I wouldn’t be alone in hell either.

But why didn’t I feel peace inside me? Why wouldn’t my thoughts leave me alone? What people say about the ‘hell’ afterlife, I was experiencing it within me. No one blamed me, punished me, or thought it was a crime. Yet, I wished I could manipulate my conscience in the same way. One thing I was sure, that I didn’t want to pass this bitterness and negativity any further. How to accomplish that?

I started helping people and doing charity. For the first few years, it was comforting and I felt good. But during relaxed moments, my inner guilt and fear surfaced. What would people think about me if they came to know my past? “Cat went to Hajj after eating 100 mice”

I began practicing meditation. After 10 years of intense practice, I became a different person.  Still, I wish I had not done what I did, but now the pain doesn’t consume me in the same way.