During the February 1983 elections of Assam, the Brahmaputra Valley was on fire. The dreadful scenes of horror in Assam matched that was witnessed at the time of formation of Bangladesh in 1971.
In the turbulence sparked by Opposition to hold the elections Assam exploded. The foreign national issue had virtually shut down the State. The polls were a disaster and its impact is still felt in Assam.
Public memory is short. But individual memory — very persistent! Intrusive memories that one cannot forget — even when we wish we could. It is something that we just cannot block. Even this, could be described as unloading of distressing emotions. Years have gone by the picture is etched clearly, even now.
But can I ever get over the unnatural sound the woman in green sari made as she ran to safety clutching her baby and two young kids following her. The answer is No. Her shriek also meant she had survived. The woman running to safety had forgotten how to cry. In stark contrast of a young woman floated in Demal Bil (rivulet) with a spear in her back. There were more bodies in Demal.
There were two others —who more by journalistic instinct than design — witnessed the terrible mayhem. There was a complete slaughter and one stood helpless.
The magnitude of death and destruction as they unfolded in the open clear picturesque setting still overwhelms. It was eerie.The unintelligible cacophony produced by hundreds of armed men as they chased their target still rings.
If the image of woman in green saree is imprinted so is the jerky rabbit like movement of a boy of six or seven years of age who has been left behind by his folks, was trying to hide from an impending danger as a man in a dhoti wielding a dao was closed in. He had no place to hide. The width of the meandering rivulet separated us. Time lost its meaning. Fingers tightened. Near striking distance, the man switched the weapon from his right to left hand to give the boy a hard slap. There was a low pitched scream. He survived.
Though true that until the hundreds of traditionally armed mob crossed the Demal, did we realise that the mob was out for a bloodbath. The CRPF jawans were late by hours. Standing on the other side of Demal, asked them to help a crying baby. “You are talking of one baby. The whole village has been butchered”, one of the jawans had shouted back!
The memories, of the black Friday afternoon, borders on guilt. Had called on one of the Inspector General MIS Iyer a few days later and blurted, “Could we have saved some peopleIJ” Iyer took a round of the table put both his hands on my shoulders to say, “We could not, how could you!” His word always comes back with a sense of ‘doubtful reassurance’.
Reporters covering calamity are left shocked. I have been to earthquake sites and flood areas reporting miseries. Nellie was not a natural catastrophe it was human butchery.
A lifetime story as a journalist has been a lifetime agony. (Exactly 31 years ago the author was an eyewitness of of Nellie massacre on February 18, 1983. The toll around Nellie villages in seven hours of daylight mayhem stood at 2,191- leaving 370 children orphaned!)