People True story

ONE Hameed and I in front of the small police station in Batha He stood for a long time like a loser. There are two policemen sitting in the cage next to the gate. Someone is reading something. That sitting, head nodding and half-closed eyes assures that some religious book is being read. A second policeman is on the telephone. You can hear his chatter, laughter and screams all the way to the road. Although sitting very close, both of them are in two worlds. Both worlds do not care about us. ... There is a wild lime tree leaning towards the road not far from the rock. We were squatting on the ground for its shade. Hoping that one of the parayus would be relieved of their actions and listen to us. We sat like that for a long time. Meanwhile, a couple of Arabs hurriedly walked inside the police station and at least three or four people went back lazily. They had no need to pay attention to us. Meanwhile, a vehicle came out from inside the wall of the station. We jumped up and looked at them. But the vehicle S from the main road There will be no benefit. He would have moved on to the next call without even a moment's pause. The book reader, the second parav, does not seem to wake up immediately from his reading. As part of an attempt to attract attention, we walked in front of the rock shelter two or three times. Yet they don't listen to us or ask anything from us. How many stories have we heard during these days of how many unfortunate people who have to go out without a flag for some random necessity and are caught red-handed in public places, markets and in front of mosques. But how many days we have been walking through the vegetable market, the fish market and the public road in Bata with the same desire... how many pearls have passed us by. No one stopped us. How many policemen did we come across? No one checked us. Why did we walk around in front of many mosques and at many times without praying. And no one cares about us. One day, I even pretended to trip over a policeman's leg to get attention. Instead of holding me and examining me, he made me stand up and asked for forgiveness in the name of Allah and sent me away mercilessly. How sad that even misfortunes hesitate to come to us when we wish, isn't it...? Finally, he decided to come and stand in front of this police station without being fulfilled. Still no result. After a long time, we decided to pass the paravas and enter the police station. When such an idea came from Hamid, I got up and gave it a go as if I was waiting to hear it. I could not bear to wait any longer... After crossing the long iron bars of the gate, the book reader raised his eyes and called us from behind. Saying that I want to see Mudir, I went to the rock shelter. Waving his hand to leave, the second rock turned back to the book. When I reached the third photo in the fourth row, my eyes froze like polar fog. I shook my head and took another look. My doubt doubled. Suddenly my heart started pounding. I was struck by a fear that I had never had before. To confirm my suspicions, I unconsciously moved towards the photo board. Ibrahim Qadri! I accidentally put my hand on my chest!! Do you know him? Suddenly the policeman asked me. I was shocked. staggered Anyone could understand my expression. Still shook his head no. Mudir called me closer. As soon as I reached the front, Mudir jumped up and slapped my ear. Ha! The only thing I remember now is a hot blast of pain escaping through the other ear. Then why did you go to look at that photo...? Mudir yelled. I bowed my head. Again he asked something in Arabic. I didn't answer anything. Finally he took another step and sat down in his chair. I didn't cry. But Hamid cried. So he got nothing. Mudir gave some instructions to the policeman. He took us to the next room and handed us over to another policeman. He opened the cupboard and took handcuffs and locked our hands. Then sat on a bench there. There were four or five other people like us sitting in handcuffs here and there. In fact, it is doubtful whether their faces had the secret happiness that was on our faces. In the afternoon, we were handcuffed and transferred to a cell there. There were six of us in that cell which could barely fit three. I remember there was a Malayali named Kumar among them. Contrary to my and Hami Din's stories, Runna Kumar was taken away from a vegetable shop by an Arab on the charge of theft. The remaining two were Arabs and one was a Pakistani Sani. I don't know what the charges against them were. No one could sleep well that night in the cramped conditions of a well-crowded train compartment.