At three o’clock, I called Satish to inform him that the consignment was on the truck, en route to New Delhi.
“Very good, Bedi Saheb. But please be careful. Right after Indira’s death was declared, riots broke out all over New Delhi.”
With the country in chaos, I boarded the plane from Bombay to New Delhi, arriving at 9:00 p.m. Instead of my chauffeur waiting for me as I expected, Satish’s driver waved me down. “Bedi Saheb, get in the car quickly,” he said. “We will be going to Punjabi Bagh instead of East of Kailash, because people are already damaging moving vehicles, and riots have started on that side.”
Satish had communicated with Raj, and she informed him that people were throwing bricks at cars, and it did not seem safe for my chauffeur to go to the airport. As Satish’s driver brought me to Punjabi Bagh, where Satish and his family lived, I couldn’t believe I was heading for the safe part of the city while Raj was alone with our three sons. I could not get them out of my mind, and I prayed continuously for their protection.
When we reached Satish’s house, he met us at the door, relief written on his face. “Good, you are safe,” he said. “Bedi Saheb, I just spoke to Raj on the phone, and she wants you to know she and the kids are okay. They have gone to the neighbor’s house.”
Satish and I went to the living room, and as he talked about the assassination and the riots, I felt strange being so far from my family while so much violence and chaos was around them. There was no telling what might happen in the days to come. That night, I could barely sleep. I spoke with Raj at around 11:00 p.m., just before she and the kids moved back to our house to go to sleep. They would have the chokidar stay awake and watch the house the whole night, but I still couldn’t sleep much. I did not like being away from my family on a night such as this.
The next day, I wanted to get back to my family, so Satish’s driver took the back streets until we reached my house. The riots were spreading all over New Delhi, and it wasn’t safe to go into the streets anywhere. I was overwhelmed with relief and happiness to be home, and as I walked in the door, my kids ran to greet me. Raj, especially, was relieved to not be alone with the kids while the riots were happening right outside our doorstep. We stayed inside the house, and every now and then, we would go to the balcony to see what was going on. People were breaking into shops and carrying out items such as TVs, radios, air conditioners, and clothes. Any cars that risked venturing out were pelted with rocks and bricks.
On the second night of the riots, our doorbell rang. With great hesitancy, I opened the door and saw a Sardarji standing outside. He was the owner of the taxi stand in front of our house, and although he was a Sikh, I was always friendly with him and his partners, speaking Punjabi with them and greeting them pleasantly. Even though I am not a Sikh, I have always had good relations with them, and so whenever I needed a taxi, I would always get one from their stand.
On this evening, the Sardarji trembled with fear. He was taking a great risk to be outside our house at this moment.
“Saheb, can you help us?” he asked quickly.
“Sure, tell me what I can do,” I responded. I could hear the sounds of a fight breaking out just a block away.
“I have a nephew who is only eighteen, and he has nowhere to hide. Is it possible for you to give him shelter?”
Raj was standing next to me, and we both looked at each other, thinking the same thing: Giving shelter to this Sikh boy might put our family in danger. At the same time, my heart could not say no. Turning back to the Sardarji, I said, “Tell this boy, don’t say a word and just stay inside the garage.”
“I will do so. Thank you, Bedi Saheb. Thank you. We will not forget your kindness.” The Sardarji placed his palms together and bowed his head to me before rushing to tell his nephew the good news. The boy hurried to the garage and closed the door.
I shut the door, and Raj looked at me, a worried expression on her face. “I just couldn’t say no,” I told her. “What if he is killed tonight or tomorrow? I would not be able to live with myself, thinking that I said no and later learned this boy became a victim of the riots.”
Raj nodded in understanding. “I didn’t want to say no either,” she said.
On the second day, the Delhi government started a curfew to control the rioting. Hindus all over New Delhi were killing Sikhs, and the violence only seemed to be increasing. I witnessed with my own eyes a Sardarji being pulled from his scooter by a group of men who beat him, kicking and hitting him over and over. It was the cruelest thing I had ever seen. I did not like watching what was happening merely a few yards from our house, but there was nothing I could do. My heart aching with sadness, I went back inside and shut the balcony doors.
I advised the kids to remain in their bedrooms because I did not want them to see the violence. Raj leaned against the wall, her arms crossed as I came inside. Her face mirrored mine. We
