Sabarimala violence: How I got attacked by an angry mob of protestors in Kerala
When we stopped midway between Nilakkal and Pamba to uplink our footage, a Kerala government bus also halted at the same tea stall.
I spotted Madhvi sitting in a bright pink saree, looking out of the window and asked Sanjay, the video journalist accompanying me, to get the camera ready. Madhvi had been heckled by protestors at Pamba and had been forced to return from the hillock shrine of Lord Ayyappa. Little did I know that my decision would mutate into a nightmare that would expose how violence and venom is being spread in the name of religion in Kerala.
A few men sitting in the backseat saw us reporting and stood up to object quite aggressively. They blocked the camera and told us that we would not be allowed to shoot.
Even as I was reporting, they told the bus driver to start the bus. To stop us from reporting, they forced the ticket collector to ask us to buy tickets.
I asked the ticket collector to stop the bus, but he asked us to pay instead — and he wouldn't stop the bus. I knew we were heading towards danger; Nilakkal, after all, had been in the news for trouble. But the doors were locked and we couldn't get off the bus.
Just as the bus reached Nilakkal and its doors opened, we saw scores of people standing outside as if waiting for a cue to attack. They started booing at us. One of the men from inside told them something in Malayalam — I only understood the word "Sabarimala".
I realised we were in deep trouble. I wanted to bail us out of the situation but I was looking at an angry mob that was getting more agitated by the minute. I felt helpless.
Sanjay and I tried to pacify the mob. "I didn't go to the temple; it's not true!" I told them, but the crowd wouldn’t listen.
All of a sudden, the situation went from bad to worse. Someone tugged at my dupatta. Another person hooted. And then without warning, someone slapped Sanjay.
I knew we needed to act fast. I started walking aimlessly, looking for help. The men kept mumbling angrily as the crowd began to get restless.
Then the violence started. I got hit and pushed around.
Thankfully, two policemen came to our rescue. We sprang towards the police bus that was parked at some distance. Each step felt like a mile and each second an hour.
Just when I thought the nightmare was finally over, the people started pelting stones at us. Someone got hold of my hair and pulled at it. It hurt but no one seemed to care.
I knew I was just steps away from safety, but I needed to get on the bus. I felt like I was being sucked into a black hole as the men continued to claw at me. I needed to take just one more step to get to the safe haven. The few minutes almost felt like burning in hell.
“Come on, Mausami,” I told myself.
Just then, I was hit on the head and then everything went dark for a moment. Next thing I remember was crawling onto the floor of the bus. Sanjay pulled me in.
Once again, the stones started raining on the bus. The cops told us to duck down as men kept peeping through the netted windows.
The mob was frenzied by now and chanted “Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa”. As the chants reverberated in the air, the men circled the bus, almost as if performing a devotional dance. This lasted for at least fifteen minutes before the police ferried us out.
As a journalist I felt angry. But as a woman I was furious.
Self-proclaimed messengers of god, unleashing evil and then calling it an act of god is religious fundamentalism at it ugliest.
While I was being attacked, I did feel worried for my family; but I did not, for a moment, felt fear. I felt satisfied that I stood my ground and didn't let women like Madhavi down. Two days ago, when I had left for this assignment I had tweeted: “Be the change you want to see in the world.”
Well, I am here at Lord Ayyappa's door and even after all that went down, I don't regret being here and doing my job. And I will not hesitate doing it again.