The wait: One day before NRC, how five from Assam await the final verdict

But for most, with another date, and another appeal, the wait is far from over.

Sati Purkayashta, 73

On February 22, Sati Purkayastha, turned 75. She was surrounded by her friends and family — a cake was cut, and payas, Purkayastha’s favourite rice-pudding, was had. Yet, that evening as she retired to bed, a question hung heavy on her head. Had she ever broken rules? Had she been a law-abiding citizen of the country?

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Purkayastha worked as a teacher in a local school in Guwahati. (Express Photo by Bhaskar Goswami)

Forty out of the 73 years of her life, Purkayastha worked as a teacher in a local school in Guwahati. Her father died when she was six, her husband when she was 46. “My mother raised her children alone, and I raised mine — I know what struggle is,” she says.

Yet, on July 30, 2018, life had another curveball for Purkayastha when she learned that her name was out of the NRC draft. All her family members, including her newborn granddaughter, had made it. “And my mother, the head of the family, was left out,” says her son Rahul, a medical professional based in Guwahati.

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In the run-up to August 31, Purkayastha, a spiritual woman, spends her time among her books and scriptures. Two days a week — on Sundays and Wednesdays — she meets women from her neighbourhood to discuss the Bhagavad Gita. “When you have faith,” says Purkayastha, “everything falls into place. Because in my heart, I know I am right. I know I am an actual Indian. Neither did I run away, nor did I steal. So why would I be scared?”

Shankar Rai, 43

Last March, at an NRC hearing centre in Gossaigaon in Kokrajhar district, Shankar Rai felt like a fool. “I know I am just an ordinary man who fixes cars and never have I claimed to be anything bigger than that — but that day when I realised my documents had an error, I really did feel like a murkho (fool),” says Rai, who lives in Lokhra, on the outskirts of Guwahati.

Rai lives in Lokhra, on the outskirts of Guwahati. (Express Photo by Bhaskar Goswami)

At the centre, Rai, who belongs to the Koch Rajbongshi community, one of the oldest inhabitants in the region, learnt that a spelling error on his Pan Card, was the source of his problems that started on July 30, 2018, when he found his name excluded from the NRC draft.

“The officers shouted at me and called me a ‘fool’ while my wife begged them to give us more time,” says Rai. And ever since, the 43-year-old has been racing against the clock, rectifying errors in his documents. “Every time I go to the centre, a new issue seems to come up,” says Rai.

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His wife, Shubhadra, is taking it particularly hard even if she made it to the draft. “The other day, I was sitting here in my balcony, minding my own business, when a neighbour came and told me that they will take my husband and kids to detention. That was it. I spent all day sitting and crying,” says Shubhadra. “Do we not look Assamese enough? Do you not see jaapis (traditional Assamese hat) in our home? Despite being Assamese, why are we being treated like this?”

Shubhadra and her husband both support the NRC drive. “We have heard that it will be good for Assam,” she says, “But I worry for my children. They are out too. Do you think any respectable Assamese will want to marry my daughter if her name is not on the NRC?”

Read | Assam NRC Final List 2019: How to check if your name is in National Register of Citizens

Rafiqul Islam, 25

New words have entered the lexicon of 25-year-old Rafiqul Islam’s life ever since the “NRC kheli meli”, or mess, started. “Legal, Illegal, FT case, Detention camp, D-Voters — these English words were never used by us before,” says Islam. But then news started filtering in: a relative became a “D-Voter:, a woman on TV died “in detention”, and he himself became an “illegal”.

Islam wants to join the police force — an ambition he is slowly trying to “forget.” (Express Photo by Bhaskar Goswami)

In his hometown Karaibeel, in Assam’s Chaygaon, poor farmers and daily wagers fumble with documents and grapple with phrases, as the deadline to August 31 nears.

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Many times they come to Islam, one of the few educated people in the village, for guidance. “They ask me ‘what will happen?’” says Islam, “I too don’t know, but I tell them that all will be well. I have to be strong for them.”

Islam wants to join the police force — an ambition he is slowly trying to “forget.” “Nowadays I wonder…without my name in the NRC, do my dreams really matter?”

Read | NRC countdown: What next is key question as Assam awaits final list

In Islam’s village, many kids don’t end up going to school. For most of the year, the village is inundated, and rickety boats are the only means to going to school. Many times, when the rains were particularly heavy, the boats would topple. Then Islam would have to swim to school. “I remember being scared then — would we make it to the paar/bank? We always did. I tell myself — we will this time too.”

Samiron Nessa, 19

When she was growing up, Samiron Nessa, was told that there are many things she shouldn’t do — she shouldn’t study, she shouldn’t get a job, she shouldn’t go out. “These are things girls don’t do…but my mother paid no heed. She was not educated, but she was different. She insisted I study, she insisted I become independent.” says Samiron. Now the 19-year-old is set to study law so that she can “help others who have the same fate as hers.”

Samiron spends her time tutoring little kids in the neighbourhood to earn some extra money. (Express Photo by Bhaskar Goswami)

Last July, both Samiron and her mother discovered their names were out of the NRC. As the only educated member of her family — her father left them when she was 9 — Samiron has been running around trying to get their names on the list. In books, she has read about the benefits of being a ‘nagorik’/ citizen. “But without the NRC, we won’t get any of these— is there any point to living?” she asks, “I explain all this to my mother but she is still hopeful, she thinks we will make it.”

Read | NRC coming, Assam BJP in distress over exclusion of ‘genuine’ citizens

Till then, Samiron spends her time tutoring little kids in the neighbourhood to earn some extra money. “I know there will be more hearings to go to and more appeals to make. The cash will come in handy then.”

Aizuddin Ali, 7

“Do little boys go to jail? What do they do in jail?” seven-year-old Aizuddin asked his father, when a friend in his madrassa told him that the police were going to take him to jail.

These days Ali spends his time playing cricket, going to school and asking his father questions about what the future holds. (Express Photo)

Javed Ali, his father, a marginal farmer from Kharupetia, Mangaldoi district assured his son that there was nothing to worry about. Yet, the Tuesday after, when the child had to appear for a hearing to clear his name, he wouldn’t budge from the little hut he lived in with his parents.

Read | Deadline approaching: What it is to be a name on NRC list — or off it

“He started crying — we had to drag him out and take him to the NRC hearing centre,” says Ali. “Our lives have changed since June — in our entire family, not one person is a D-voter, yet they have made this little boy Aizuddin a foreigner.” The notice came in June, when Ali learned that his son’s name was part of the “Exclusion List” — a list of people who the NRC authorities said were wrongfully included in earlier drafts.

The very next day, when a reporter came to Ali’s house, the shy Aizuddin giggled into the camera, and ran away on being asked a question. “How will he understand — he is just 7,” says his father.

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These days the boy spends his time playing cricket, going to school and asking his father questions about what the future holds. “I keep hearing that ten-twenty years later, those who are declared foreigners now, will be picked up. I am scared for my son. If nothing happened to me, how could this happen to my son. Do they think I brought my boy from Bangladesh?”