The day dawned like any other in June, gloomy and damp. Sukumaran gazing fondly at his wife Sarojini, wrapped his hands around her. Stifling a sniffle, she implored him to stay.
“I will be back by noon. It’s a simple job of erecting a pandal for some meeting. They are paying well. We need to save money for our daughter.” Sukumaran grinned.
“It will be a boy!” Sarojini exclaimed and added, “But I feel uneasy. Please don’t go.”
Planting a kiss on his wife’s bulging belly, Sukumaran hastened to join his friends who were waiting outside but not before informing Kamalamma the neighbour to take care of Sarojini until he returned. Sarojini blew her nose and wiped it on her sleeves. Sukumaran walked out with the image of his sobbing wife imprinted in his eyes.
Hours slipped by, and Sarojini went into labour. She moaned and stoically persevered to see their firstborn. The moonlight shone on her face through the holes on the thatched roof, yet there was no sign of Sukumaran.
The clock struck twelve, and it was 26 June 1975; While President Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed was declaring the National Emergency, Sarojini delivered a daughter as Sukumaran had wished.
When Sarojini held the baby close to her bosom and wondered about her destiny elsewhere, Sukumaran was locked up in a cell and tormented ruthlessly along with hundreds of men. Naive bystanders watching a protest were amongst those shoved into a police van.
Kamalamma sent her husband to check Sukumaran’s whereabouts from his friends and came to know that Sukumaran had lingered, shopping for his family while they had returned.
“The police have taken into custody numerous men based on suspicion for perpetrating unlawful activity, whacking the miserable men until the batons broke.” Reported Kamalamma the rumour mill.
Sarojini shuddered, praying for Sukumaran’s safety. Days became months, and Kamalamma enunciated about the innovative methods employed by the policemen. They traumatised and maimed people forever. Chicken claws were stuffed into the ears of the prisoners then were rendered a double ear slap which deafened them irreparably.
Some of the men released from captivity never walked, a few never breathed.
Over the next 21 months, the period of emergency thousands was imprisoned, to curb lawlessness, and only a handful returned home. With the suspension of civil liberties and the censoring of the media, people were thrust into the dark ages.
On the surface, life went on remarkably well with trains running on time and government offices functioning efficiently, but monstrosity thrived where the lawmakers turned to lawbreakers.
Sukumaran never returned home. A devastated Sarojini made futile rounds of several offices. Sukumaran was deemed dead in the Police atrocities.
His body was never found.
The young expecting couple had visualised a whole fantastic life for their child. Sarojini despaired at the bleak future that awaited her.
Sarojini had named her unfortunate daughter Indira as Sukumaran had desired. The irony was lost on Sarojini and the fatherless infant.
***
Photo By: Unsplash
This is an entry for the event #twelve #Five00-10 at ArtoonsInn Writers Room.
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