You kafir, get down. I’ll first chop your head off and then take your rickshaw,” the giant growled and sprang forward.

“Time Pass Uncle,” Hari screamed and before Parvati could stop him, jumped out.

The giant froze for a few seconds and then lumbered forward.

“Whaaat...Hari....Is it you?”

“Y...yes Uncle. This is my father and my mother is inside.”

Shauqat Ali looked at Hari and then Narasimha.

“Get into the rickshaw. Quick,” he snapped at Narasimha.

“B...but.”

“There is no time to argue. A mob is coming this side. The three of you will be butchered. Get in and stay quiet.”

Narasimha and Hari squeezed into the rickshaw.

Shauqat Ali climbed on to the three-wheeler and started pedalling furiously.

After around ten minutes they could hear people shouting and screaming and sounds of doors and windows breaking.

“Shauqat mian. So you managed a rickshaw,” they heard a shout.

“Yes, Afzal bhai. Though I would have preferred an auto, something is better than nothing.”

Hari could not remember how long he sat cramped in the rickshaw. It seemed like hours. Finally the rickshaw stopped.

“Come out,” Shauqat said.

Narasimha jumped down and helped his wife and son out.

They were in a wide lane, lined by shops on either side.

Shauqat Ali walked a few steps and stopped in front of a shop. He bent down, unlocked the shutter and pulled it up. “This is my uncle’s shop. Right now he is using it only as a store. You are safe here. I will be locking the shop from outside. Stay put till I come.”

He shepherded them inside, took the rickshaw in and after pulling down the shutter, left.

Hari looked around. It was quite a large room. A number of boxes were lying around.

They sat huddled together. Hari did not realise when he fell asleep. When he woke up it was morning. The sunlight was filtering through the ventilator.

After sometime the shutter was pulled up. Shauqat Ali entered and pulled the shutter down. He was carrying a cloth bag.

“I have brought you something to eat. It is not much, but that is all I could get. There is curfew in the city.” He left a few minutes later after pulling down the shutter.

The whole day the three of them sat quietly waiting for Shauqat Ali to come.

He appeared in the evening after dark.

“The curfew has been relaxed for two hours. You can go now.”

“Is it safe to go home?”

“To Charminar?”

“Yes.”

“No. That is where it all began. Don’t you have relatives elsewhere in the city.”

“My brother lives in Barkatpura,” Parvati said.

“Yes, that place will be safe. Go as quickly as you can. You have to reach before the curfew is imposed again,” Shauqat Ali said .

Hari and Parvati got into the rickshaw and Narasimha wheeled the rickshaw out.

“Shauqat bhai, I don’t know how to thank you. You saved our lives,” Parvati said.

“You are calling me bhai and then thanking me. Does a sister have to thank her brother?” Shauqat said, looking at Parvati. “If Hari had not called me I would probably have killed Narasimha. I had a son, his name was Rahmat. In Hari I see my son. He was Hari’s age when he died.”

“H...how did he die?”

“There was a Hindu-Muslim riot in Hyderabad. My father was coming out of the Masjid with Rahmat when a mob attacked the Masjid. Both my father and son were killed by Hindus,” Shauqat said and after patting Hari on his cheek, turned and walked back.

»The end
Illustrations: Suman Choudhury