Part 12: Looming Riot

The day began with an unsettling quietness, a silence so heavy it felt like the air itself was holding its breath. A tension, a heaviness, like the sky before a storm.  Mr. Ghosh had left early in the morning for Bhubaneswar due to some urgent work.

Meena was helping her mother fold freshly washed clothes when they heard it—the first shout. It was distant at first, just a murmur of anger carried on the wind. Mrs. Ghosh froze, the saree she was folding slipping from her hands.

“What was that, Ma?” Meena asked, her voice small.

“Probably just some argument,” Mrs. Ghosh replied, though her tone betrayed her unease. She quickly walked to the window, pulling the curtains aside just enough to peek through.

Outside, people were running—some toward the commotion, others away from it. The murmur grew louder, angrier. A vendor’s cart toppled over, spilling tomatoes onto the dusty road.

Just then, the phone rang sharply, breaking the uneasy calm.

Mrs. Ghosh picked up, her voice trembling. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Mr. Ghosh said, his tone urgent. “Stay inside. Don’t step out, no matter what. The riots… they’ve started. It’s between the Odia and Bengali communities. Khurda Road isn’t safe, and Kolkata is no better. I’ll try to get back as soon as I can.”

Mrs. Ghosh’s heart sank. “Yes, things aren’t looking good over here. But whythe riots are happening?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Just lock all the doors and windows. Keep Meena safe.” The line crackled, then went dead.

Mrs. Ghosh stood there for a moment, clutching the receiver as if it could anchor her to some sense of normalcy. She turned to Meena, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with Kassy, her pink teddy bear.

“Ma, what’s a riot?” Meena asked, tilting her head, her innocent curiosity cutting through the growing tension.

Mrs. Ghosh hesitated, unsure how to explain something so dark to her nine-year-old. “It’s… when people fight. But not like you and Kasturi arguing over who gets the bigger slice of mango. It’s much worse.”

Meena didn’t understand the full weight of that word—riots. But the fear in her mother’s eyes was enough to make her stay put.

From her window, she could see smoke rising in the distance. The sound of shouting grew closer, joined by the crash of something heavy—maybe a window or a door. The neighborhood, once so lively and united, now felt like a war zone.

Mrs. Ghosh busied herself locking the doors and windows, her hands shaking slightly.

The neighbors began to gather in hushed clusters, whispering about what they’d heard. “They’ve set a shop on fire near the market,” someone said. “The police aren’t doing anything,” another added. Fear hung thick in the air, making it hard to breathe.

Inside, Meena sat by the window, her face pressed against the cool glass. She could see groups of men running in the distance, some carrying sticks, others holding banners. The world outside looked different—angrier, scarier.

“Ma,” she called out hesitantly.

“What is it, Meena?” Mrs. Ghosh asked, her voice strained as she walked into the room.

“Why do people fight if it scares everyone? Kasturi always says that being scared is bad for the heart.”

Mrs. Ghosh knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter’s face. “Sometimes people forget their hearts, Meena. They let anger take over. But that’s why we have to be brave. You have Kassy with you, right? She’ll keep you company.”

Meena nodded, clutching the teddy bear tighter. “I wish Baba were here,” she whispered.

“So do I,” her mother admitted, her voice breaking slightly.

The hours dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. By evening, the sky had turned a dull orange, not from the setting sun but from the fires burning in the distance. The streets were deserted, save for a few stray dogs and the occasional shadow darting past.

In the Ghosh household, the atmosphere was thick with unease. Mrs. Ghosh sat by the phone, willing it to ring with news from her husband. Meena curled up on the sofa with Kassy, her young mind struggling to understand why the world had suddenly turned so frightening.

The night was the worst. The shouting grew louder, closer. Glass shattered somewhere, and a faint scream pierced the darkness. Meena pressed her hands over her ears, her heart racing. Mrs. Ghosh lit a small lamp and sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her daughter.

“We’ll get through this,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince—Meena or herself.

Meena was a bit angry as she hasn’t heard from Kasturi since the day she left. She wondered how long will it take her to write her first letter. She wished she could share all that was going on in Khurda Road.

And in the quiet of the night, Meena whispered to Kassy, “Baba will come back. He’ll make everything okay. Right, Kassy?”

The teddy bear, silent as ever, offered no reply. But in its pink fluffiness, Meena found a small, fragile thread of comfort to hold onto.

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