14.3 Lockdown

If I remember correctly, that was a Tuesday and the Wednesday night would be New Year Eve. On Tuesday they raised the alert level to YELLOW and we had to wear the overalls and gasmasks. When I peeped out of the gate, I saw by the far corner, those juveniles from Fisherman’s Ode, the gang, wearing those strange white colour outfits and lolling on the road, with the hoodies slopped back. None wore a gasmask. They could not ride their motorbikes and they were pissed. I was peeping behind the gate not to expose myself to radiation, I hoped. And I figured some of them did not wear the overalls. I learnt that some of them and quite a lot were protesting not to wear these comical outfits. They demanded to pause this lockdown during the New Year.

On the television, the situation here in Safa was ludicrous. Some radical clerics were the heads of Safa and this gave an opportunity to do what they always want to do; to control the masses. The Soleimani were the stronghold here. I switched bands; CNN, BBC, Sky News, Fox – those few channels I could get. None of the international media channels talked about this high drama unfolding in Los Varados.

On WTF TV, the local channel, it showed scenes around Safar Kada Mosque. People were protesting. Some in overalls and some of them wearing nothing. They did not want this lockdown. This mosque stood right next to the town hall and they took to the ground of the mosque to protest. There were the clerics wearing those overalls and addressing the public on loudspeakers.

They were calling, “Nobody from Safa is allowed to go out of town and nobody from another town will be allowed to come in.”

I decided to join the protest. I picked my phone, cigarettes, lighter and wallet. Locked the door and walked out of the gate.

I treaded to cover five hundred metres to Safar Kada Mosque that stood near Avenida Medio and joined the crowd. Meanwhile, those clerics had called a backup force to disperse the crowds. Most of them in the crowd wore those overalls except a few. I was wearing red shorts and a light blue shirt.

Safar Kada Mosque stood freshly painted with green domes and doors framed, a marble floor. Trees cut and lawn mown, no creepers climbing the walls. It was in fact a huge structure and a large floor to serve the masses but hardly forty people attended prayers, so I was told.

Among the protestors I met Asmr wrapped in a falda and I noticed a thick silver girdle around his waist, other beads and ornaments on his body, a blue bandana with a white pattern fastened on his head. He was holding a thick old book with a brown leather cover. At the same time, I noticed Stella and Shehenaz in the mosque ground acting along with the clerics taking orders and just doing their duties. I asked Asmr, “What is that old book you are carrying?”

“The Book of Sorcery,” he flipped the pages and showed to me some old calligraphy and the ink burnt on paper or papyrus, “Do you see this graph?” I could clearly see that graph but I won’t be able to read or understand which language it was. Their Divi of course. The portion Asmr pointed contained a series of symbols plotted in a group of six squares. A border inked in red enclosed this progression.

“Yes, I can see that,” I uttered.

“They have stolen our freedom,” he spoke, a tall guy standing over me. “They know now how to suppress the people and bring the masses to obey them. What I am saying is that they have the power to spell people, scare people, nag at us, condemn us, remove our free will and drive us to some kind of ignominy where they tell us what to do and we do as we are told.”

“That does not sound good.”

“Not at all but they understood it after they stole the theory from this book. The secrets of coercive control and now they will remove us from our support systems, put us under their monitoring system and deny all our freedoms.”

“What part of the book says that?”

“This script I am showing,” he ran his finger on the progression, “They sent a band of convicted thugs to Nativa and they looted the houses. Safa clerics purchased these pieces from the bandits for huge sums.”

“Who sent them?”

“Mayor Brando,” he was worked up, “Do you see this red border?”

“Yes, I do,” I said inquisitively.

“Do you notice that on the edge this red border is missing here?”

“I see that.” Like he said, a portion on the margin was torn off the page, a small portion about two inches in length and half in breadth. That portion took away the red line of the border close to the margin.

“They stole the line,” he said viciously.

“Is that it?” I asked in utter incomprehension.

“Damn well it is!” now he was getting angry.

“It’s only a shred!”

“It’s all they need. If they have any portion of the book, they have the knowledge. This book is life and life to come. That little scrap of a paper with a tiny little line inked in red can take away your freedoms.”

“Mi falda!”

He shut the book and left me baffled. I took that chance to ask Asmr, “Why are those two girls not wearing protective suits?”

This Divi expressed, “Head Cleric allowed them to wear that uniform because those two girls are lesbians. You can see their boyish looks and gent shirts. And those clerics love to have them around. Stella and Shehenaz are excused to loaf in their lesbian affairs. Only those two are allowed not to wear maximum clothing. You know what I mean! They make rules. They make laws. Religion is man made. It is all unnecessary. If we let them have their way, they will take the better of us and eat us alive.”

By then the fire engines, the backup force called in, released the water hoses and the crowd dispersed still in their white overalls. And I took off to walk away from trouble. I ran like waking up from a dream but it was not over yet. As I turned to Kala Hara Lane, I saw someone in the white overall and gasmask standing at the junction of Kamana Boulevard with hands on the hips.

At first sight, it appeared to me like some alien creature standing in the middle of the road. And that was the only person out on the road.

She dropped that mask on her chest and relaxed narrowing her legs, dropping the hoodie on the back, her hands off the hips and negotiating, “Where did you go?” It was Sophie Nadz with boyish cut hair.

I said panting, “They are dispersing the crowd of protesters around Safar Kada Mosque.” I came to a pause with hands on my knees and gasping. I just noticed those thick black boots she wore.

“How long do you think this lockdown will last?”

“I don’t know. Maybe weeks. Maybe they do not want to lift it ever.”

Sophie placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “Shall we get out of town, Kawla! Safa is not a good place to stay during the lockdown.”

“I think we shall go to Salt Waters.”

“Yes, we go to Caba.”