Two weeks after Junaid’s lynching, no one from his village has boarded a train
This Thursday, Junaid’s brothers got on the train he was stabbed on only in the company of HT reporters. The train was sparsely crowded and conversation turned to Junaid and what emerged was a sharp division in views.india Updated: Jul 09, 2017 10:49 IST
About two weeks after a young Muslim boy was killed on board a train for being a suspected beef eater, the same EMU local between Mathura and Delhi was hurtling down the tracks.
A lifeline for residents of Ballabhgarh in Haryana from where 16-year-old Junaid Khan hailed, the train was sparsely crowded. In a compartment sat Junaid’s younger brother Afzal and cousin Faisal along with a few Muslim traders.
Everybody was sitting back and engaging in banter until the conversation turned to Junaid’s lynching on June 22. The mood suddenly turned grim.
Sabir Ali, a vegetable trader, insisted those behind Junaid’s killing were twisted in their heads. “In my experience, Hindu-Muslim relationship is fine. We live and work next to Hindus. No problems. It is only the politicians who gain from dividing the communities. This cow business is all about votes, right?” he asked.
Junaid’s brothers kept quiet but another co-passenger jumped in. “You are totally right,” Kundan Sharma, a middle-aged businessman agreed. “It’s all about politics”.
But what Sharma added thereafter sent tempers flying. “But we must also consider the influence of ‘bahari taqate’ (external forces) —Pakistan, Bangladesh,” he said after a few seconds of silence, turning the compartment into a war zone.
“You think we are from Pakistan?” Sabir Ali retorted, shaking with outrage. “Here, check my phone! See if it has a Pakistani sim card.”
“I don’t mean you,” a somewhat startled Sharma replied in defence. Ali responded, “Pakistan means nothing to us. The terrorists are terrorists. They have no religion. Indians Muslims love India.”
“Everyone should love India,” added Sharma. “There is no country like our country in the whole world.”
Junaid’s brothers stayed silent, their faces turning pale with horror at the words. Their destination was just 10 minutes away. On getting down at Ballabhgarh station, they told HT they are not too keen to step out of the safety of their village anytime soon. “Even thinking about it gives me a fright,” said Faisal.
Symbol of fear
It’s because of this fear that no one in his village, Khandawali, seven km into Ballabhgarh, had got on a train since Junaid’s killing.
His father, 50-year-old Jalaluddin Khan, can’t remember when people in his village stopped travelling out of fear last. Junaid’s brothers got on the train this Thursday only in the company of HT reporters.
June 22 changed everything for the village. Before that, he said, the local trains—a series of them pass Ballabgarh station on their way to Delhi every day-- were the common mode of transport for the villagers: cheap and quick. The villagers, mostly Muslims, used to travel to Delhi regularly for work and to meet relatives.
“Since that day, no one in the village dares to take that train again,” said Jalaluddin. “Fear has set deep in the hearts of everyone here.”
“My sons wear a kurta, topi and beard. It’s not a coincidence that only they were attacked in a compartment full of people. The train has become a symbol of fear for the villagers now” the father said.
“We have been assured that they will nab the man who stabbed him (Junaid) in two days,” said Hashim Khan, Junaid’s brother who accompanied him in the train. “If not, my family will sit on a hunger fast,” said his father.
Inside Junaid’s home, his mother Saira and sister Rabiya are still inconsolable, their wails echoing through the village.
“Junaid, mere masoom bachche kyon chale gaye tum (Junaid my innocent son, why did you leave us?)” the mother cries out lying on a cot.
Even as the family grieves, local politicians, relatives, police and railway officials keep dropping in at their single-storeyed house.
One such visitor was an officer from Haryana Railways’ department for claims of injury and death while on-board a train. A college graduate was summoned by the family to interpret Amod Malik’s elaborate instructions on filling the forms and attaching relevant documents. “Then,” said Malik, “the papers would go to a court where a judge will decide, based on the investigating officer’s testimony, if the claims stand.”
A death in the train calls for a compensation of Rs. 4,00,000. Under railway rules, the loss of a thumb stands for Rs. 1,20,000; the loss of two fingers of one hand is worth Rs. 80,000.
But as the government calculates the value of Junaid’s life, his family reels from his death.
Faisal Khan and Afzal Khan had gone to Asaoti station to look for their brothers’ blood on the platform. It took them some time, but they finally found a blotch of dried blood between the bottom of stairs and an electric pole on Platform 3. “But this isn’t Junaid’s blood,” said Afzal, convinced of his instinct.
Junaid wasn’t the only bleeding man to be thrown out by the mob on that platform. Shaqir Khan, his younger brother, who had climbed into the train at Ballabgarh station after getting a panicked call from Junaid, was also stabbed multiple times until the train reached the next station, Asaoti, and left to die a few metres from Junaid.
“This is Shaqir ’s blood,” said Faisal. “This is the spot where he must have landed.”