Chronicle of a broken idol
- Express News Service
27 Sep 2008 11:04:00 AM IST
KOCHI: While she wept she stooped into the tomb, and she sees two angels in white sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. Those say to her, �Woman, why do you weep?� She says to them, �Because they have removed my Master, and I don�t know where they put him.� _ John 20:11-13
It was also a Sunday morning when they found me. The sexton, a good old man who took care of the church and the cemetery like his most beloved place, had his heart a-tremble as he ran to the vicar�s room. He was the first one to see me fallen, with my torso cut in two, with my arm broken and lying apart.
They marched from a church to another church, with the Bishop leading the mourners. On the first day, men and women came to stand around me, staring in shock and silence. Then the Fisheries Minister came followed by the Law Minister. They stood with their arms folded as if in prayer and stood looking at me. Then came the Home Minister for whom an officer lifted up my arm for a closer inspection.
He said the government would �take all efforts to nab the culprits.� As the sun warmed up, the policemen came to drag away a tramp, an old, frail man who couldn�t even walk by himself. No one knows where he has vanished since.
The state secretary of CPM walked over to my side and told the people who stood around flashing cameras, that the Hindu extremists did this.
And a day later, came the young Hindutva leader, who in his speech reminded the people that the Marxists sent hooligans to attack me to smear the BJP.
At nights, I see eight policemen roaming around the church. Sometimes, I hear them laughing. Six special squads of police with three policemen each, all in mufti, go around in this district and the next ones, asking in whispers about the men who had done it.
The DySP meets the SP every day at unspecified locations to discuss the progress. The SP with a sad smile tells the reporters that he hasn�t got any conclusive proof yet.
I�m still in the cemetery. Both halves of my body are down on the ground remaining upraised, left in the sun and then the silence of the cemetery.
My broken arm still lies a little away, in the mud. Later, when they erect a new statue in my place, I�ll be left away to turn into dust.
(As conveyed to Joshua Newtonn, who visited the Akaparambu church cemetery in Kochi)