"The roots of humanity are still strong", murmured Fathima Beevi's lips as she witnessed the crowd receding away from her, slowly but definitely. She is now safe atleast for the time being. She went into the drawing room from the entrance of her house to make a call to the school. She did not know whether the Government had declared a holiday today in view of mounting riots and vandalism. The phone was dead.

As she lay on her easy chair to take a breath, the spine chilling moments that had just passed off came to her recollection. Only ten minutes back as she came out of the house standing on the threshold she could hear some noises and she waited for a moment. She thought that some political leader was celebrating his birthday or his followers were observing his death day. She wanted to brush it aside as yet another casual group of some jobless youths or an association of misguided fans of a reigning film star.

She wanted to know whether her usual auto driver Muthu has reported, as the time was 8.30 AM. In her 18 years of service she had always been punctual, thanks to Muthu. She was rewarded for her punctuality and was made the Principal of the school 8 years ago. She had been alone for years, since the day the marriage broke with the word "Talaq". Her unscrupulous husband married a girl much younger to him. She forgot and forgave him. Her mission was to serve the school and the downtrodden.

She had seen such gatherings, rather mobs, in her span in and out of school. But none of them were for any religious cause as the one she witnessed now. She had never seen anyone - any student as a matter of fact any human being - other than a human being and there can be no line dividing on any issues, particularly on religious grounds. In fact, her father was a famous astrologer in Tanjore and even some of the Brahmins living in the neighbourhood used to consult him for various things. He was popularly known as Betal leaves Sahib as his main trade was selling betal leaves to the shops in and around Tanjore. Never in his lifetime he had seen any conflict between the Hindus and Muslims. Even during partition, there was no resentment against any community and he used to tell his friends that Man is a man first and last and religion was purely a personal affair. We may belong to any religion, but our roots are Indian.

But days have changed now. Politicians have corrupted the minds of every individual and have sown the seeds of hatred, just to remain in power. What we did not see in 300 years of British rule, is now being witnessed - the sorry state of affairs in 50 years of our rule. She thought for a while. She did not know the reason behind the uprising she witnessed just now. She switched on the TV to know what was behind it. There was no electricity. "Of course, electricity and telephones were the first casualties in any uprising." she comforted herself.

Just then she heard the knocking sound on the door. She was scared to ask who it was. But she heard the feeble voice "Amma, this is Muthu". She gathered courage and unbolted the door. Muthu was standing with a black face trembling and words did not come out easily. "Amma there is some trouble in Gujarat and a train was burnt. Many lives were lost. They were returning from Ayodhya after Karseva. Now the Hindus are taking revenge on Muslims. But we have no such history in our land. This is quite uncommon. I think we have lost our sanity and there is no salvation for this."

"Don't worry Muthu. Of course, this is quite unwanted. But I don't agree that there is no salvation for this. You know half an hour back there was a crowd in our street. The unruly mob was irrationally and indiscriminately damaging the properties of my neighbours, most of them Muslims. When I opened the door to see whether you had come, the crowd rushed towards me. I thought I was nearing death and those were my last moments. But you know, the leader of the gang was Rajagopal and he was a drop out from our school."

"I thought he was a useless guy, but he was the one who spared my life today." He said, "Teacher, I am sorry. I did not know that you were staying here. You may not remember me, but I studied in your school till the 10th standard. In spite of my irregularities and indiscipline you treated me at par with others. It's a misfortune that I could not continue my studies. I am sorry. I can never imagine of hurting my own teachers." They all returned immediately.

"I am sure the roots are still there and the politicians have to correct themselves before the situation goes out of hand."
Muthu nodded his head and it was a nod of disbelief she understood!

Vasantha Parthasarathy

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