Twice in Bombay and before the age of 16, I had witnessed death at first hand come and grab it's victims. In one of the incidents I was an actor in a minor role. I am not talking of facing death. That I have done on more than a couple of occasions in later lifetime. No, I am talking of death wreaking actual vengeance there and then.
It was Sunday morning and I was crossing the street in Byculla to go for morning mass at the magnificent Gloria Church. I was still a little dazed from getting up early and if there were any thoughts in my head, they were of which part of the Church to sit in. Should I go to my usual place next to the empty confessional where Patsy and Nancy would await me. Or should I go mid-nave which was the place where a group of pretty school girls always sat. Should I go very near the side altar to impress Glenda who was always a prayerful girl and who I was keen on initiating in the pleasures of the flesh. Such were my only thoughts. Jaywalking was common and I don't remember ever taking pedestrian crossings seriously. About 30 meters to the right a man was also crossing the street, probably also to Church. Before I could blink an eyelid a double decker BEST bus rammed into the man. There was the screech of tires and a unmistaken thud. A crowd of people rushed to the scene and I too with them. I saw a full human brain laid out on the road less a small portion that had detached itself. I was nauseous but I proceeded to Church. I tell you, quaking throughout, that was the best mass I ever heard in my entire life. The next time was during one of the Bombay communal riots. Byculla though generally peaceful, had an element of the Muslim community that owned butcher shops, wholesale fruit vends and controlled the blackmarket in cinema tickets at Palace Talkies. Although Byculla at that time was mostly Catholic Goan and Anglo-Indian populated, they were left in peace by these Muslims who did not consider them a threat. But any time a Hindu gang from across the other side of the tracks ventured to assert hegemony, they would be fistfights. Hindu Muslim riot time was a different matter. The fists went out and the knives came in. The Muslims used big butcher knives and the Hindus swords. Riots would flare up suddenly. One minute a peaceful vignette on the streets and the next there would be mayhem. It was during such a period that Mum had an extra emergency shift at the hospital and had told me to get some food (yummy fish curry and tasty mutton) from Best Ford restaurant across the Church. As I was walking on the kerb I saw a group of about 4 men chasing a lone runner who was yelling "bachao, bachao" (save me, save me). Without a thought with the fearlessness of a 15 year old I dashed between the hunted and the hunters. I did not know what I could achieve besides slowing down the chasing men. They swiped at me with a brute force and I was rolled out of the way. A few meters ahead one of them caught up with the runner and stabbed him in the stomach. It was not just a stab. It was a large vertical cut with a deft pulling out of the knife that brought out the entire contents of the stomach out. The man held his spilt guts and still tried to run. No one came to help him and I too was by now utterly scared. He collapsed and died on the path. Not before I could see him writhing in his death throes. This has been the curse of Bombay. The politician-generated hate between Muslims and Hindus that spell numerous violent deaths from time to time. They say that now Bombay is prosperous. That everyone is too busy making money and raising their living standards to find time to hate and break out in communal violence. I certainly hope so. -- Roland Francis 416-453-3371