Godra, Gujarat: POTA-affected
 Families Struggle To Survive
Almost six years after a deadly wave of genocidal
attacks that targeted Muslims in Gujarat, the victims
of the state's worst case of anti-Muslim violence
still wage a tough battle for survival. In one of the
worst-hit parts of the Gujarat, the Panchmahals
district, scores of Muslim families have been reduced
to penury after having lost their homes and
possessions and with their male earning members still
languishing in jails.

Immediately after a coach of the Sabarmati Express was
set on fire near Godhra, a major town in Panchmahals,
which then led to widespread attacks on Muslims in
other parts of Gujarat, dozens of Muslims were picked
up from the town and thrown into prison. Some 80
Muslim men from and around Godhra still remain in jail
charged under the draconian Prevention of Terrorism
Act (POTA). Many of these men are said to have been
wrongly charged with being allegedly involved in the
burning of the coach. Exemplifying the total lack of
justice in Gujarat, not a single Hindu has been
charged under the same deadly law in Gujarat, despite
the deaths of over 3000 Muslims at the hands of Hindu
gangs in 2002.

Ayesha Bibi, aged 65, is the ailing wife of Husain
Bhai Mohammad Bhai Dhobi, a POTA detainee. She lives
in a Muslim slum in Godhra in a dark one-room hovel
that is covered with a tin roof with gaping holes. She
tells me that her husband was picked up by the police
while he was washing clothes, which he used to do for
a living. She, like most of the other relatives of
Godhra's Muslim POTA detainees, cannot afford the
exorbitant cost of hiring a lawyer to fight her
husband's case. 'I have left it all to Allah', she
says with a deep sigh, her eyes streaming with tears.

Ayesha's friend, Salma, relates the same traumatic
story. Her husband, Asghar Ali Bohra, is the only
Bohra among Godhra's POTA detainees, the rest being
from the Sunni Muslim community, mostly from the 'low'
caste Ghanchi or oil-presser caste. Asghar Ali used to
eke out a living by selling trinkets on a push-cart.
Salma says that he had nothing to do with the burning
of the train, a point made by the wives and mothers of
all the POTA detainees in Godhra whom I met. She, like
most of them, is desperately poor, and cannot visit
her husband, locked in Sabarmati jail in Ahmedabad,
very often. The reason: she cannot afford the two
hundred rupees that she would have to spend traveling
to Ahmedabad and back. She now survives on a paltry
five hundred rupees that she receives every month from
the Bohra community. Her desperate poverty,
exacerbated by the fact that the only bread-earner in
her family has been in jail for almost six years, has
meant that her sons' had to be withdrawn from school
and forced to take up low-paid manual jobs.

A young lad opens the tin door of a miniscule one-room
tenement when I knock on it. 'Has my father come
back?', he asks and stares at me. I recognize him as a
spastic. Anas, aged 15, has a mental age of probably a
three year-old child. His mother, Ruqaiyya Begum,
invites me inside. She apologises for not having a
chair for me to sit on. I am embarrassed, and, not
wanting her to feel odd, sit on the ground.

She tells me how her husband, Siddiq Badam, was picked
up by the police when he was in the mosque and how she
cannot afford to see him regularly, not only because
of her desperate poverty but also because she cannot
leave her son alone, for fear that he might run away.
She scrapes her livelihood by washing clothes for her
neighbours. She talks of how she has to work extra
hard to buy medicines for her husband, who, she says,
has lost much weight and has developed pain in his
heart while in jail.

'I have no one but God to help me', she goes on. She
was just two when her mother died and she has no
siblings. 'I had to sell off my cooking utensils to
get money for keeping our home going', she says.

Anas, who knows we are talking about his father, hugs
his mother and murmurs, 'Papa used to carry me on his
shoulders to the railway station'. Ruqaiyya's eyes are
now brimming with tears. I sit helplessly, and tell
her that the only thing I can do is write her tragic
story.

Raziya, mother of four daughters and two sons, is
Ruqaiyya's sister-in-law. She lives in a one-room
structure, which she has taken on rent. Her husband
Shaukat Badam, a daily-wage labourer, was placed
behind bars under POTA more than a year after the
Godhra train incident. This mother of six struggles to
keep her family alive by working as a maid-servant.
She tells me that her husband has now developed
tuberculosis, and that she has to buy the medicines
for him, because the medication that he receives in
the hospital is not effective.  This, she says,
consumes much of her paltry earnings every month.

In her early 60s, Abida Abdul Haq Khoda is a mother of
four sons. Her third son, Tayyeb, was arrested under
POTA when he was just 19 years old. He was sleeping in
a truck when policemen picked him up on the day of the
burning of the train. The only son who lives with her
now, aged 21, is out of work. He used to work in a
cold storage company but he developed an illness that
now prevents him from doing so.

Abida survives on a modest sum that her two other
sons, one a worker and the other a maulvi in a
madrasa, give her occasionally. She tells me how
Tayyeb has become very ill and pale, and she wonders
if he will ever be released. 'Every day I pine to see
his face, but God alone know when that will happen',
she says, raising her hands upward in supplication.

In the wake of the Gujarat massacre, scores of NGOs
entered Gujarat, providing or claiming to provide
relief to its victims. Today, however, the relatives
of these POTA victims have almost no one to turn to.
Most of them have no idea about the legal formalities
involved and have no lawyer to handle their cases. Nor
has any NGO taken upon itself the task of providing
these hapless people any sustainable means of
livelihood.

'Numerous NGOs came and gave some money to some of the
victims ', explains Hasanbhai, a local shopkeeper,
'but instead of giving people fish, and making them
dependent, they should have taught them how to fish,
by providing them some source of livelihood, which
could have enabled them to stand on their feet
instead'. He tells me how some wives of POTA detainees
in Godhra have, out of sheer desperation, been forced
to take to sex-work to survive.

Ilyas Bhagat, a Godhra-based social activist, explains
that the grinding poverty of most families of POTA
victims in the town has caused the education to their
children, numbering several hundred, to suffer. 'If
only we could collect a modest sum of say eighty
thousand rupees a year, we could cover the cost of
their studies', he says. 'To make sure that donors
feel that their money won't be misused', he adds, 'the
money could be sent directly to the schools where
these children study'. Most of these schools are
privately-run by local Muslim educationists.

This, as well as income-generating projects, Ilyas
says, are urgently required to address the pathetic
plight of the POTS-affected families of Godhra, almost
all of whom are very poor. But most NGOs, he laments,
have forgotten these families now, leaving them to
fend for themselves in an increasingly hostile
environment.



•       Yoginder Sikand works with the Centre for Jawaharlal
Nehru Studies, Jamia Millia Islamia, New delhi
•       If you would like to donate some money to the women
mentioned here, or would like to help out with the
education of the children of some of Godhra's POTA
detainees, please write to Yoginder Sikand on
[EMAIL PROTECTED]


Sukhia Sab Sansar Khaye Aur Soye
Dukhia Das Kabir Jagey Aur Roye


 The world is 'happy', eating and sleeping
The forlorn Kabir Das is awake and weeping

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