people from both sides. I asked them their opinions
about the events, the rumours being fuelled. People had a chance to convey
their sentiments, express their feelings, their opinions. I showed visual clips
of destroyed property. I took my video camera and went to Ravla Baria village,
met local residents who let me in. I informed the rest of Beawar about when the
masjid had been built, where wazoo is done. People appreciated what I was
doing. But the administration did not like it.
Every night the city would watch my programme that
attempted to raise questions, air opinions and dispel rumours. The idea was to
show, to both sides, that rumours were baseless, that by believing them and not
dispelling them, fanaticism grows (kattarta badhti hai.
In Ravla Baria, I asked the villagers who were
Muslim: "When you know it is an illegal masjid, why are you objecting to
the demolition?" I was shocked and stunned by their reply. I must quote a
school-teacher with whom I work closely. She runs a school for girls. She said,
"Yeh jo tamaam mandir highway par aap dekhte hain, kya unke paas
municipality ki ijaazat hai? Aur agar nahin hai to masjid hi kyon sabki aankhon
mein khatak rahi ha?"¿ ("The numerous temples that you see lining
this highway, do any of them have municipal permission? And if those, too, are
not authorised, why is the masjid alone an issue for everyone?")
"I know that the masjid is illegal. But first,
break all the illegal mandirs. I will, then pull down the masjid with my own
hands," the school teacher added.
This interview stunned everyone in Beawar when I
telecast it on the cable network. People were stunned at the facts unearthed by
the coverage.
I interviewed one family in Ajmer at the time when
the violence had broken out. What would you have done if you had been in
Beawar, I asked. "I would have gone to the leaders of the procession and
begged the VHP to stop this madness. Where will it all stop?"
I asked many Muslims, "What about the issue
always made about Vande Mataram. What objection do you have to it?"
"Nothing, no objection at all," a good many
of those I interviewed replied. "We have no objection and will say so
willingly. But what is this threat, ¿bolna hoga?¿ What do you mean when you say
it? Yeh dabav hai (This is pressurising us) and that we resent."
Another Muslim added, "Ek doosre ke dharm mein
saath rah rahe hain hum; hamaari to Ganga Jamuna ki sanskriti hai; Kya desh ke
azaadi mein hamare haath nahin hain? To baar baar aise ghatiya naare
kyon?" ("The two faiths have co-existed for centuries. Ours is a
genuinely inter-linked culture. Have we not fought for Independence? Then, why
these provocative slogans always?")
The interviews were powerful and candid and they made
positive stories. We explored life under the curfew and what it meant for people.
We showed how police tortured innocent people, detained selectively, and how
their families lived through these detentions. We showed the harm caused to
both sides but did not gloss over the truth.
Yeh itna prabhav poorna tha ki sara shahar das baje
raat ki raah dekhta. (This was so effective that people used to wait for 10
p.m. every night). I received many appreciative letters, too, from my viewers.
But the administration was clearly not happy. Why? Because we showed how women and children living alone, especially Muslims, were harassed. Overturning beds and vessels in small