Sonu Chhina follows the path of the riot from Malegaon to Parola over a week and discovers the power of rumour

Drive north for half a day from Mumbai. Under the full moon, touch the unbroken rock of the Ghats — it is hot. The wavy ribbon that is the Mumbai-Agra highway brushes past Malegaon and it’s been singed. Cracking the joints of their fingers and letting out huge yawns, red-eyed truck drivers from Punjab collapse on string cots in dhabas. They stare fixedly at the skeletons of motor shacks, trucks, cars and jeeps. The tin of the shacks is coal black, the old Mahindra jeep has lost its feet. The tyres seem to have been vapourised, there are no remnants at all.

At last count, Malegaon had 13 dead in its most recent blowout. It all began on the last Friday of October. For almost 10 days, the lava — red-hot and hungry — snaked 160 km south, right past the vineyards of Nashik, and 70-odd km up to the adjoining districts of Jalgaon and Dhule.

The metallic roar of the powerlooms in Malegaon fell silent on jumma, October 26, when a policeman snatched a poster, urging a boycott of goods made in the US and England, outside Jama Masjid. That was it.
An argument began. The Muslims said there was nothing objectionable about the poster, the policemen slapped a couple of boys around. And the thousands, streaming out of the mosque after the prayers, reacted. The police opened fire. Mohammed Ibrahim, 18, took a bullet in the head. Salim Ahmed, 25, was shot in the mouth; the bullet blasted three teeth from the lower jaw and went out through the back of his throat.

The mob let out a howl.

People picked up stones, and aimed at the policemen. Some struck windowpanes. The roadside vendors gathered their loose change and ran. People in the houses around started boarding up. The mob coursed through Mohammed Ali Road and Kidwai Road, the lane that divides the Hindu and Muslim colonies. On Mohammed Ali Road, a policeman’s bullet hit Bilkizbano, a grandmother drying clothes on her balcony.

The sound of shopkeepers pulling down their shutters travelled down the road and into the bylanes. A roadside stall was set on fire, then a car. Next, whatever came in the rioter’s way. The flames shot up and the smoke billowed to the sky, a signal of the disturbance for miles around. Phones began ringing in houses and mothers counted their children, the men who had gone to work.

The riot travelled at the speed of a man running. Through Peri Chowk, Pivli Pump area, Mosam bridge. The petrol pump attendants rolled out huge drums to block off the entrance. The man ran, yelling at the top of his voice, carrying the news of what had happened at the mosque.
He leapt over a drain, scaring two pigs, and took the turn for his basti. The lane narrowed. He knocked his knee on a cement drum that holds water for the 10X10 houses on that lane. Another turn and on Gali number 5, Abbas Nagar, he reached his house. His mother, five brothers and four sisters were having lunch. Ignoring his mother’s pleas and curses, he took two of his excited teenaged brothers, who picked up a chopper and two iron rods and headed back for the mayhem — to Sardar Chowk.

At the chowk, a new weapon in this riot is at work — the LPG cylinder. Drag it out of the kitchen, take it to the shop of your choice. Use long metal rods to tear open the shutter. Rob, loot. Fling a lit kerosene-dipped rag in the shop and put the cylinder in the middle of the shop. Open the valve, and boom! Half the shops on Old Mumbai-Agra Road and Satana Road went like that.

The loudspeakers on top of police vehicles began blaring curfew at 6.30 pm. It made no difference. Just that the riot’s tide turned. The Hindu worker in the powerloom wore his day clothes, gathered his tiffin and rode his bicycle home to the neighbouring village, Soyegaon. He carried back horrific tales of Muslims running amok. Shops, vehicles owned by Hindus had been torched, he said. The few Hindus in their colonies were in danger, he said. They were not even sparing policemen, he said.

Enraged, the men collected, climbed on lorries and drove in the direction of the burning city. Timber mills were torched, the fires that started in the powerloom godowns raged for the next three days. For each Hindu shop, vehicle burnt.... Malegaon burned through the night.

The mosques blared the azaan through the night. It was a call for peace, say the mullahs. They terrorised us, say the Hindus.
The same night, the minority families in Malegaon began their exodus. The Hindus moved out to schools in nearby villages, the Muslims to madrassas inside Malegaon.