A Muslim boy saves the prestige of an orthodox Hindu boy: how did the latter return the noble deed?

Man, by virtue of his extreme Intelligence, has created so many ways and means for his survival. One of those forms is religion. By following a particular religion, you are creating a strong group that you use to fight other groups that owe allegiance to other religions. In India, there was a close civil war between two major religions during Independence, due to Partition. Its effects were dire when thousands of innocent people were massacred on both sides. While the effects were very severe in northern India, they were not so in the south. There is still the great threat of caste divisions causing deep-seated animosity among the people. After the Ayodhya dispute, community violence spread throughout India. But these communal differences did not affect the true friendship of two students at the school. This is the story of those two students who had a friendship and affection that transcended the barriers of religion and the bond carried over to future generations.

THE HISTORY:

‘Guru Prasad’ was the name my father Viswanatha Iyer gave me when I was born. My father had a candy stand that, although small in size, attracted customers from all over. Viswanatha Iyer sweets were popular across the country. Being a very orthodox Hindu Brahmin, he used to worship the Guru (Teacher). For Hindus, the order of reverence is mother, father, Teacher (Guru) and finally God. Brahmins especially have the habit of worshiping the Master even above God because they are the dispensers of all bliss and knowledge. They are the true guides for devotees to reach the lotus feet of God. That is why they called me Guruprasad, which means “gift from the Master.” Soon my name was shortened as Guru by friends and relatives, except for my parents, who preferred to call me using my full name until they died.

“Guru, it’s time to go to school, go immediately,” my mother shouted from inside the kitchen, which was her usual way of giving instructions. “OK amma”, saying that, I started going to school, carrying my backpack. I was ten minutes late. My friend would be waiting for me on the corner of the street. I soon joined him.

“Sorry Meeran, I’m late.” We walk as fast as possible. Yes, he was a Muslim by the name of Abdul Meeran who was shot as Meeran. He belonged to a very orthodox Muslim family who prayed in the mosque five times a day. His father owned a bakery. It was very strange for our people to see a Brahmin boy with a ‘lock’ on the back of his head and holy ash on his forehead walking hand in hand with a Muslim boy with a ‘kulla’ (cap) on his head. People in our neighborhood could not digest the fact that a Brahmin accepted a Muslim as his best friend and vice versa. Regardless of their discontent, our friendship grew stronger day by day. It was only because of Meeran’s excellent character, intelligence, and understanding of subjects that I considered that I was very lucky to befriend him. We used to share ranks with each other on alternate exams and we didn’t allow anyone else to break our records.

Our place was a semi-urban center with a population of around two lakhs. Most of the pernicious effects of modernization had not yet reached that city. However, people would frown at us and say, “Look, this orthodox Brahmin boy is holding his hands with a Muslim boy. This is Kalyug and a sign of destruction.” Ignoring him, we walked fast and arrived at the school when the bell rang.

It seems our class teacher had entered class early. We got into class just in time and the classroom teacher was waiting for all the students to take their assigned seats. “Welcome friends, do you come little by little seeing all the movie posters?” he commented sarcastically. We both walked in with a shy face. I took my seat in the front row and Meeran, the seat in the last row, as usual.

After the regular lesson ended, the teacher announced: “Look students, tomorrow you must come to school with caution. Some political parties will hold a dharna (protest) in front of our school. Please be cautious and if you cannot enter , you can go home. “

We were stumped. Later my father told me during dinner: “My son, this is against some castes, especially us Brahmins. They plan to cut the locks and the ‘Poonul” (sacred thread on the chest) in protest against the Brahmins. “

I was worried. But he was determined to go to school.

The next morning, as usual, Meeran and I arrived at the school. Fortunately, only a handful of protesters were there, shouting slogans against gods and Brahmins. Only one policeman was assigned to security.

My teacher came and told us, “Take no chances, go away, go home immediately.”

We started our journey to return.

It was my bad luck that two protesters saw me.

“Look, here’s a brahmin boy. Grab him.”

They approached me. I started to shake. People watched helplessly.

“Idiot Brahmin, why should you have a lock? Why should you have a crossed thread? Is it to insult us? Do you want to show that we are inferior to you? No, it can never be.” He roared and pulled me to his side holding me tight. He forcibly removed my shirt so that I was standing bare-chested. His protest partner took a scissors from his hand and approached me with a threatening look. Although there were dozens of people around me, none came to help me.

The next moment, the scissors should have cut my sacred thread, if not for a sharp blow to his hand that caused him to throw the scissors away and scream in severe pain.

The blow came from my friend Meeran. I was surprised to see his ‘Viswaroopam’ (magnificent and gigantic appearance), which otherwise had a calm personality.

“Hei, what is this? You are Muslim. Why are you fighting for a Hindu?”

Meeran’s response was “get out of here or I’ll kill you.”

They were ready for a fight. But the sound of the siren indicated the arrival of the police van and the violent protesters fled the scene.

Meeran walked me home. Seeing that I was crying, my parents were shocked. Then they came to know the sequence of events. My father said, “Meeran, you have not saved my son’s life alone, but you have saved the prestige of our religion.” With that said, she gave him some packets of sweets and said goodbye to him.

My friendship with him continued alone for another four years. After completing the final of the school, he went to Calcutta and joined a university there. Later I learned that he became an IPS officer and joined the police service.

Some tragic events happened in our family. My father died of a massive heart attack at the age of 50. In two years, my mother went to her heavenly abode. I had to drop out of my studies and took over my ancestral properties and the candy stall.

Times have changed a lot. The incidents in Ayodhya, in which a mosque was demolished to make way for a Ram temple, have renewed the enmity between Hindus and Muslims across the country with more vigor and heat. There was a clear animosity between the two sects and in my city, they moved to a separate colony outside the city. Since that day we don’t know what was happening to the people in that area.

Even a small dispute will trigger a great revolt. Our place was declared a zone sensitive to communal violence by the Government.

Despite the vigil, community violence broke out again. A boy of one religion was reported to have eloped with a girl from the other. The stores caught fire. Almost a dozen people on both sides were killed in senseless violence.

He was sitting in the store. There was no customer and he was alone. I saw a boy running towards my store in a panic.

“Lord, please save me, they come to kill me”

I observed that it was a Muslim boy. The noise of the frantic people chasing him was clearly audible from the next lane.

There was no time to think. I asked him to come into my store.

In five minutes, the mob arrived at my house.

“Ayyar, did you notice someone from the nulla (Muslim settlement) entering here?”

I did not reply. They looked around the store.

Only one boy was taking his position on the ladder arranging the candy packets. Upon seeing the holy thread on his chest and back, a hooligan declared “Hey, he’s a brahmin, put him down.”

“Where could he go? We won’t let him live. We’ll look elsewhere.”

They left.

The boy came down the ladder.

“Thank you Lord, you have adorned me with the sacred thread, removing it from your body, which no Brahmin dared to do and therefore saved me. My whole family is indebted to you. Allow me to say goodbye to you, Lord.” He started walking.

I stopped him and asked, “Where are you going?”

“To my colony sir,” he replied.

“Do not go alone, they will locate you and kill you. I will take you in my two-wheeler”

He took the back seat and I drove my scooter to his house, which was a fifteen-year-old settlement, almost three miles away. I could see great devastation along the entire route.

“Lord, this is my place, I’ll come down Lord”

I saw that its people guarded the colony like a fortress with weapons.

“Okay. Come down.”

After he got off, I asked him “What’s your name?”

“Sir, Abdul Meeran”

I was shocked. With little faith I asked him “Are you related to Abdul Meeran IPS?”

“Yes sir, I am your grandson.”

I was surprised. “Are you really?” In total disbelief I fought for the words

“Where is he now?”

“Sir, he was killed in an ambush with terrorists in North India, sir. After his death, we moved to this place.”

My heart broke. What a pity! The communal division did not allow me to know the supreme sacrifice that my dear friend made for the country.

At least I was able to save your grandson’s life by worshiping him with the holy thread and making him a Brahmin for some time.

Abdul Meeran, the boy I saved, could not understand why his savior, with tears, gave him a royal salute.

That was my tribute to a great friend who fought for the defenseless to the end.