Yeh Dosti

It was the holy month of Ramadan in the summer of 2015. Faraaz Hossain, an eighteen year old, said Khuda Hafiz to his mother as he left his Dhaka home to meet two of his friends at an upmarket eating place of Holey Artisan Bakery where they loved eating bagel, croissant and coffee. Of course the ambiance was also very appealing. The restaurant was in the diplomatic area and security was hardly a concern. Around 8 pm, a group of eight mad boys armed to the teeth with guns, knives, swords and explosives entered the place and took all the guests and the workers at the Bakery as hostages. After rounding up all, they spoke about the bad influence the western culture was having upon the pure Islamic way of life.

By now the news had reached the security forces about the terror attack and they had surrounded the restaurant completely but refrained from entering fearing reprisals on the hostages which included over a dozen foreigners. Meanwhile the terrorists made an offer to the hostages, “Recite from the Holy Quran and you can walk out free. Fail and we shall damn you to hell!” The Bangladeshis among the hostages quickly recited from the Holy Quran and they were let off. Faraaz could have easily done as others had done before and walked to his safety. The terrorists asked him repeatedly to recite the Quran but the young man stood there and said, “I will recite but you will have to also let go of my two friends Abnita Kabir and Tarishi Jain. They study with me at America and are my guests here. I will go but not without my friends!”

Next morning after the security forces stormed the restaurant, they found the body of Faraaz which was hacked by the terrorists. There were signs of major injuries on his palms and shoulders which indicated that Faraaz had resisted the terrorists physically holding the sword which had been raised to kill him and his two friends whose mutilated bodies were also found.

I’ve often wondered if friendship can be such a powerful force which makes a boy of eighteen forget his safety and life and makes him stand before death to say, “No, not without my friends.” Around thirty years ago, I had an experience which makes me question this excessive glorification of the Sholay song,,,Yeh Dosti….hum nahin todengey…chodengey dum magar, tera saath na chodengey (This friendship we will never break…will give up our lives but never leave the friend’s side). The scene was quite alike as in Dhaka- an upmarket place near a diplomatic enclave, friends, cops and big trouble.

It was early December 1985 when my mind was occupied with football, football and more football. As captain of the college team, it was so important for me to play well and make sure the team won the Inter-College Championship. Just at that moment one of my closest school friend Sumit decided to get married. And as luck would have it, my first championship match and his marriage date fell on the same day. I had decided to play the match and then go to his house in the evening to attend the marriage. Nope…my friend and some more school mates landed at my place the evening before and forced me to pack my bags. The plan was to enjoy the Bachelor’s Night, stay overnight at Sumit’s place, next day I would be allowed to go to college to play during the day and from there I would return to his house to go for the reception.

Started off as an unwilling hostage in the group but gradually started enjoying the fun evening that went into early morning when we hit the bed going from restaurant to restaurant and from bar to ice cream parlour, the night seemed young. In the morning, however, while the other folks were in deep slumber, I got up, packed my small bag with the football kit and left for college. The match started in the afternoon and I found it difficult to keep my eyes open in the most important match of my football career. Surely Ronaldo would have felt alike playing in Stade de France playing the World Cup Final in 1998- completely looney and lost. Fortunately we managed a draw against a team we had beaten so many times in practice matches, thanks to the numerous missed chances by the captain who appeared to be taking a stroll in the park. Disappointed, distracted and dejected I returned to my friend’s place to freshen-up and get dressed for the big party at night.

The reception was being held at Taj Palace Hotel which happened to be part of Delhi’s diplomatic enclave. Not having been to five star hotels, the place really looked fit for kings with the opulence seen in every quarter. Many guests came decked up in gold and silk and so did my family- my father, mother and elder sister. Having known Sumit since class 5 it was almost a decade of friendship and a friendship that was really thick. So on his insistence my family members were there and enjoying the grand party. Suddenly there was commotion in the banquet hall. Someone had stolen the purse in which the jewellery and cash that was being gifted to the newly-weds was kept. Sumit’s mother claimed that there were two saree clad women who were near the stage who surely had stolen the bag and had left the hall. My mother and elder sister who were at that moment returning from the rest room to the banquet hall when they were surrounded by a host of people with Sumit’s mother pointing a her finger at them shouting, “Yehi hain who dono!”

Large hotels had the CCTV coverage available so the hotel security asked my mother, sister and father to go down to the floor below where the footage could be viewed. Sumit’s father accompanied by some of his influential Punju friends and relatives also barged into the room. The footage was played over and over again. We could all see two women, who definitely did not look remotely close to my mother and sister, walking out with a purse being tucked beneath the saree. The head of hotel security confirmed that the suspects were different and surely not my people but Sumit’s father insisted that my mother and sister be searched thoroughly. I rushed to my friend Sumit to tell him what was happening and what his parents were doing to my family, but he stood stoic and kept quiet. My mother and sister were let-off after a physical search. We returned home, almost all of us in tears of shame.

After a couple of days a police van came home and an inspector knocked at our door. He was very courteous and said that Sumit’s father had lodged a police complaint against my mother and sister and they would have to go to Chanakya Puri Police Station next day for enquiry. He said since the video footage was clear, the matter would be easily sorted out without much hassle. He assured us nothing bad would happen anymore. Happy that the police were convinced at our non-involvement and eager to close the case once and for all my mother, sister and I took an auto-rickshaw and went to the police station where we were informed that the inspector who had come home the previous evening was on leave. We were to meet another officer who was initially friendly but the moment Sumit’s father came along with a Superintendent of Police known to him, the situation changed. The police got abusive and compelled my mother to confess to the crime and tell them where the loot had been stashed. I tried to intervene upon which the inspector said one more word and they would put me behind bars along with the rest of my family. I tried telling them that my elder sister was unwell and was a special child, they, however, would not listen to anything. The grilling went on for over an hour when they asked me to bring my father to the police station. Leaving my mother and sister to the mercy of the police there, I took a bus home but before going home went to a friend’s place whose father was a Senior Advocate for CBI and requested him to come along with me. He refused to get involved. I reached home and asked my father to come along. By the time we reached the police station, the SP and Sumit’s father had left and my mother and sister were let off after interrogation.

Next morning I went to college and spoke to a classmate whose father was the Joint Commissioner of Delhi Police. While narrating the ordeal and the case, I broke down. I needed help and she understood. When she came back to college on the following day, she asked me to go to the Police Headquarters at ITO and meet her father’s deputy. Undaunted, I went there that very evening all alone and narrated the whole episode and how the police and Sumit’s father had been harassing my family for no reason. The officer took down the case details and names of the police officers who had invited and interrogated. He assured me of acting quickly and, for once, the police did act with haste. Within two days the police, with the help of the video footage captured at the hotel, were able to catch the two thieves who confessed to the crime. They had a past record and the modus operandi was always similar. The jewellery was recovered but the cash was all gone. Next morning the same police officer who had invited my mother and sister to go to the police station came down to our house to apologize and confirm that the case had been closed.

For all these thirty years despite having lived at Delhi for long after that, Sumit never came face to face. Thank God for him and me for don’t know how I would have reacted. He never apologized for the way his father behaved, for the spineless way he himself had behaved….that’s why I sometimes doubt the word called friendship. But life has given me more than one Sumit. I don’t know where I would be without many a wonderful friend in this journey of life who have given me so many opportunities to laugh and love life. Have come across many a Faraaz on the way so I sitting on my mobike of life with my family sitting behind as pillion and friends in the side car just like Jai & Veeru singing  Yeh Dosti, Hum Nahin Chodengey….

SS