“Stephen
Dayashankar is a visual artist who has been taking photographs for over fifteen
years. He became interested in photography at the age of sixteen upon seeing
the works of Robert Capa and has since devoted his life to creating expressive
images.” The announcer’s voice barely registered in his mind. “Why do you want
to kill me? We were friends yesterday.” A little boy engulfed in terror. A
masked face brimming with anger! He closed his eyes. It made no difference!
The
anchor’s words resonated across the audience. “In Stephen’s own words, the
language of photography is potent and expanding by the day. Photographs hold
infinite power to influence, reform, incite, heal, provoke and cure. The pictures
that hold the most power are quite often the ones that are the most
devastating.” A sword smeared in warm blood flashed through his mind opening up
a wound in his heart.
“Stephen
has dedicated his life to mirror people’s lives, echo their sufferings and
transmit those emotions to the world. We pruned several hundreds of photographs
before selecting his masterpiece for the “Photograph of the Year” award. This
picture was not powerful because it was on the front page of newspapers. It is
powerful because it is in the minds of the people of this country. Its
influence was birthed by the audience and the movement that it spurred.” The
voices in his head were getting stronger. “You should not be here Sir. You
should leave right now if you want to live.”
“His dramatic
capture etched the entire horror of Deogarh into our memory. The small boy
running for his life being chased by another young lad clad in saffron will
haunt us forever. A blood dripping sword in his hand, his assailant’s masked
face conveyed an emotion unlike any other. The small boy’s visage and fate half
captured as he runs past a brick wall with the sword inches away from his neck.”
The anchor’s chronicle of his photograph sent a shiver down his spine. He could
hear a distant wail. A helpless yelp of looming death amidst loud cries of
anguish, clanking of swords and disturbing smell of rotten flesh and frozen
blood! He closed his ears. It grew louder!
“So
without further ado, we present to you the man who inspired us all to rise
above communal hatred and work religiously towards bringing down the iron
curtain of religion with his poignant photograph: Mr.Stephen Dayashankar.” A
headless torso twitched violently trying one last time to hang on to life. Acid
smoke engulfed his lungs. A tear droplet made its way out.
“Sir, could you please come forward to receive
your award?” The sea of people in front of him metamorphosed into an ocean of
corpses and skeletons. One of them slowly limped towards him with one arm
extended.“Mr.Stephen…
Are you all right?”
He walked out of the auditorium with tears running down his
cheeks profusely.
---------------------------------#**********#-------------------------------------
Ravikant
Pandey sat at his desk sipping his tea lazily and glanced through a case file
rather reluctantly. He thought a few inmates would trickle in but did not expect
a visitor.
“You
don’t seem from around here. I don’t think you have come to the wrong address
either. What do you want?”
“My name
is Stephen Dayashankar. I am a photojournalist. I believe you were the
Inspector in charge when the riots of Deogarh happened.”
The
mention of the riots brought a stark change in Ravikant’s expression. “Your
face seemed familiar. Now I know why. What do you want now?”
Stephen
ignored the generous sarcasm in the Inspector’s voice. “I want to know what
happened to a few people who were entangled in the riots.”
“The
ones in your photograph?” Ravikant’s voice was stern.
“Yes.
Have you seen it?” Stephen offered a copy. The inspector showed it away.
“Everyone in this country has probably seen your photograph. It is not worth
seeing again.”
Stephen
was prepared for insults. “Do you know what happened to these kids?”
Ravikant
continued perusing his file. “Probably dead!”
The lack
of emotion in Ravikant’s voice annoyed Stephen. “Probably? Are you not sure?”
“More
than 200 people died that day. I didn’t keep track.”
Stephen
was clearly flustered. “Please don’t be so irresponsible and insensitive to
human life.”
Ravikant
was nonchalant. “If you see as many deaths as I do, you will be worse.”
Stephen
was writhing in anger. “I will probably do something to prevent those deaths.
Back to my question: Are both of them dead?”
“I can’t
say for sure. Several bodies were mangled so badly that they were completely unrecognizable.
But as far as I could tell, Ilyas, the boy who was being chased was most likely
killed. There was no way he could have escaped. As for the boy who tried and
probably killed him, Neeraj, there is a chance he could have fled the town,
though I would give it a very low chance.”
Stephen
was not impressed. “Can you give me their addresses?”
Ravikant
gave him a sharp glare. “You have done enough already. Can you leave them
alone?”
Stephen
had had enough. “Look here Inspector. If you want to play hard ball, be my
guest. I can make one phone call and you will get one the very next minute from
your superiors and then you will be forced to give me the address yourself. I
don’t want to that yet. And trust me, I am not here officially. I am here for
my own sake. Any conversation I will have with their families will stay and die
with me.”
Ravikant
grudgingly wrote the addresses on a piece of paper and handed it to Stephen who
walked out of the police station in a hurry.
---------------------------------#**********#-------------------------------------
Mustafa
was a middle aged man in his late forties. He was tall and well built, walked
with a slight limp and had a long half white beard. He seemed quite surprised
to see a visitor at his door. He ushered Stephen in. No words were spoken for
several minutes. Stephen finally decided to break the silence. “I am here to
talk about your son.”
Mustafa
remained stoic. “What is left to talk?”
Stephen
spoke with a heavy heart. “I had seen his eyes just before they disappeared
behind that brick wall. He was pale and terrified. Fear and horror had engulfed
him. But I also saw a small glimmer of hope in his eyes. I couldn’t understand
that. How can one feel hope in such despair? How can one think about life when
death is inches away? Those eyes have haunted me for the past six months. I
haven’t been able to sleep. He must have been a special boy.”
Mustafa
smiled for the first time. “Extremely! I have not seen a happier child in my life.
He was happy with everything. He lived life with abandon. He had a small world.
He painted it with smiles. May be God wasn’t happy without him and wanted him
back to spread joy in heaven. In a way, I am glad I didn’t see his corpse. I
have never seen him without a smile on his face and at least it will stay that
way. I can spend the rest of my life with the image of his beaming face
emblazoned in my heart.”
Stephen
dreaded his next question. “Why are you still here?”
Mustafa had
made his peace already. “This is my home. This is my world. I have lived here
all my life. These are my people. The people I have known for years. I have
spent my life’s best days here, shared happiness and sorrow alike with my
friends. What happened that day was unlike this place. It was possessed by some
evil spirit. Darkness had consumed us that day. The people who killed were not
from here. They came from some wicked place, unleashed terror and slipped into
the night, leaving us broken and battered. But they still could not divide us. No
one will ever. I will die here knowing that there will be more than four people
ready to shoulder me to my grave.”
Stephen
decided not to rekindle any more painful memories. “Thank you for talking to
me. I can’t offer you any solace but you will be in my prayers every day. I
need to talk to some more people. Can you tell me where this address is?”
What Mustafa said sent a shiver down Stephen’s
spine. “Oh… they are our neighbors. Wonderful people! Ghanshyam and I have been
best friends for the last 20 years. Ilyas and Neeraj were inseparable. But life
has played a deadly game with them too. They lost Neeraj that day and have
never been the same ever again.”
TO BE CONCLUDED (NEXT WEEK)….