Fear. Shock. Anger. Helplessness. Grief

The bomb was set to explode at the time the faithful were to leave the mosque

KARACHI: Every major incident of terrorism in Karachi follows the same pattern. First, comes fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear for one’s life; for the lives of the loved ones who were present at the scene. Fear of never being able to see them again.

Then comes shock. Could this really have happened? Why did this happen? Even in a city as volatile as Karachi, these questions always arise in the wake of each catastrophe. You can never get used to these incidents; can never come to terms with the fact that all it takes is a few seconds to change your life. Or end it.

A few seconds did save the lives of several on this fateful Friday. The prayer leader said the dua by a few minutes. The faithful left the mosque later than usual. The bomb placed just outside the Saleh Mosque exploded at the preset time.

Luck wasn’t completely on the side of the faithful, though. Two of them perished; eight others were injured. Hundreds left to mourn.

The Bohra community had been desolated. Their small, deliberately invisible existence was in the spotlight. And for all the wrong reasons. The huge blast had ripped apart their defences.

The mosque itself is located in an inner street, behind Burhani Hospital, a few metres away from Pakistan Chowk. On any other day, the street is usually a hustle bustle of activity — the paper market being a busy trading point for paper products of all kinds. This Friday, however, the businesses had come to a standstill. The hustle and bustle was of a different kind as volunteers and neighbours scurried to help the injured and account for lost loved ones. Law enforcers filled the street outside Burhani Hospital. They were, however, far outnumbered by the men wearing the traditional white caps, patterned with golden thread — the trademark of the community’s men.

The small alleyway that houses the mosque had been cordoned off. Rangers personnel stood guard to ensure no unwanted persons went close to the crime scene. A solitary paramilitary trooper was positioned atop a four-storey building opposite the entrance to the alleyway, keeping a watchful eye over the crowd that had gathered below. Bohra scouts, in their khaki uniforms, scanned the on-lookers in the street.

An hour had gone past. Now the feelings of shock turned to anger. Tempers flared, especially among the youth. They wanted the on-lookers to disperse. Even wanted the rescue workers to leave. “Your work is done here. Go away,” said an enraged youth. He was, however, quickly reprimanded by a community elder who was passing. “Lower your voice,” he commanded the young man sternly. “Such behaviour is not befitting of our community’s values.”

A little while later, the politicians and police officials who had come to the site to make their presence known, came out smiling from the barricaded alleyway. Each wanted to say something to the media. Each wanted it to be known they had come to the aid of the minority community. Each mumbled the age-old rhetoric, before vowing to combat terrorism.

In the end, there was just helplessness. And grief. For the families of the two victims so mercilessly killed. For  thousands of others whose blood has been spilled in the mindless war. One community elder spoke out. “It is not that they [government] cannot stop such attacks,” he said. “We have held meetings with various politicians and bureaucrats for security arrangements at our places of worship. Each time, the meeting ended on the note that there was a shortage of personnel.” The elderly man smiled. “Every major politician has at least two police mobiles parked outside their home. The shortage is just for schools, imambargahs and mosques,” he lamented. “They do not lack personnel. They are lacking in sincerity.”

Published in The Express Tribune, March 21^st, 2015.