Opinion Syeda Hameed writes: The deafening silence of those who need to speak about Junaid and Nasir and the torn pages of a Bible in Pragati Maidan

And the Delhi police — what was their stance? They simply said that they had received no complaint from the officials of the book fair. So there is nothing to be followed up. Pages of torn chapters were carried any which way by the March breeze.

What does this mean in the wider context? May 2024? G20? India’s image before the world?

I am between two journeys. I have just returned from Pakistan and I am about to proceed to Canada; both for personal reasons. Pakistan because of a family bereavement, Canada because of a family bereavement. In the time in between, I watch the events unfolding in my own country. Last week I saw Christians, Hindus and Sikhs moving freely on the streets of Karachi and Lahore. Next week, in Canada, I will witness the same. What shall I say to them about my own beloved country?

In 1947, one who would be Prime Minister of India for 17 post-Independence years jumped out of his jeep to stop marauders from attacking a Muslim kirana store. A country where the tallest freedom fighter, a Maulana, lashed out at Muslims for forgetting that it was their religious duty to join hands with Hindus and Christians in the independence struggle.

From time immemorial, rulers have been disbelievers. There was a Greek soothsayer named Tiresias who was blind. He foretold the ominous fate of two Athenian rulers, Creon and Oedipus. Every civilisation has had its soothsayers, poets, mystics and seers. But those in power sitting at the high table, no matter in which geography, think that this silsila is unending. They believe that religion is merely a means of staying in power, no matter how many torn pages from the Quran, Bible or even the Gita flutter in the wind. Kaifi Azmi, in his immortal poem, Doosra Banwaas wrote of the Maryada Purushottam Ram, when he returned to his kingdom and saw the Babri Masjid being axed down, preferred to return to the jungle.

Rajdhani ki fiza aayi nahin raas mujhe/ Chhe December ko mila doosra banwaas mujhe.

Today we are five days away from International Women’s Day and 12 days from the Ides of March. We read of the Hathras verdict where the UP Special Court has convicted one and acquitted three of the accused. We wonder what the next 12 days will bring. The deafening silence of those who need to speak about the dead Junaid and Nasir and the torn pages of a Bible in Pragati Maidan reminds me of these lines of the Inquilabi poet Habeeb Jaalib: Tum ne loota hai barson hamara sukoon/ Ab na hum par chale ga tumhara fusoon/ Charagar mein humhein kis tarah se kahoon/ Tum nahin charagar/ Koi mane magar/ Mein nahin manta/ Mein nahin janta. For years you have stolen our peace/ No longer now will your spell work on us/ How can I ever say you can cure?/ Not you, not ever/ Whether anyone accepts/ I will not accept.

The writer is former Member, Planning Commission