The Colour of Gold (13 page)

"When will the
demonstration take place?" Bala asked.

"On Monday
morning at eight o'clock." Mister Dhupelia replied. "We are going
to present a petition to the head of the Department requesting that
the forced removals be stopped and then we will disperse. We do not
intend to cause any trouble. We will have placards but we have
decided that there will be no shouting or chanting that might
aggravate the situation and the whole affair should be over within
two hours."

"Do you have
permission to hold this demonstration?" Bala asked. "I thought that
demonstrations of this kind were illegal."

"They are, and
no, we don't have permission." Mister Dhupelia said. "We applied
for a permit but there has been no response. We therefore decided
that we would demonstrate peacefully and then disperse promptly. By
doing this we do not expect any interference from the
authorities."

Bala was
concerned about there being no permit for the demonstration. He had
read and heard a great deal about the violence that the South
African Police used to break up demonstrations of any kind,
especially ones that were illegal. He didn't want to be a victim of
such brutality. However, he stood to loose his house and possibly
his business and thus his whole livelihood if these forced removals
continued.

"If it's only
going to take a short while you can count on me to be there." Bala
said. "My wife will be able to look after the business during that
time and usually Monday mornings are quiet at the shop. Are you
sure though, that there will definitely be no violence?"

"From our side
there will definitely not be any violence." Mister Dhupelia said.
"We are going to great lengths to show that this is a peaceful
demonstration."

"Okay, I'll be
there." Bala said.

***

Bala stood on
the pavement outside the offices of the Department of Community
Development. Mister Dhupelia stood next to him. A crowd of about
fifty Indians milled about behind them, the women wearing
traditional saris and the men dressed in suits. Several of the
protesters carried placards with messages such as: DON'T SEND US TO
LENASIA!, IT'S OUR RIGHT TO LIVE IN PAGEVIEW! and FORCED REMOVALS
ARE WRONG! Bala glanced at his watch. It was ten to eight. Cars
swished passed in the street and a small gathering of spectators
stood watching silently nearby.

The Department
building was a single-storey building of dark red brick with a red
corrugated roof and white gutters and window frames. Two large
wooden doors in the centre of the structure barred the entrance.
Bala could see a number of white people staring at them from behind
the windows.

"Is someone
from the Department going to be here to receive our petition?" he
asked.

"I hope so."
Mister Dhupelia replied. "They haven't acknowledged our request for
someone to accept the petition but I know that the request was
delivered to them by hand."

Bala looked
around nervously. Although there was no police presence he had no
doubt that it wouldn't be long before the riot police arrived.

"I hope that
this is over before the police arrive." he said to his
companion.

At eight
o'clock the crowd quietened and turned expectantly towards the
Department's building. Minutes passed and the doors remained
closed. Suddenly Bala heard the distant wail of police sirens. It
grew louder and louder and the protesters began to look at each
other with alarm. Bala saw some of them walk away hurriedly. Mister
Dhupelia turned to face the crowd.

"Do not fear,
my friends." he shouted. "As citizens of South Africa we have a
right to protest against the injustices that we are experiencing.
We must remain resolute and not be intimidated!"

The crowd
stared down the road in the direction of the approaching sirens. A
convoy of five yellow police vans, their headlight and the blue
lights on the top of their cabs flashing raced towards them.
Several more of the protesters hurried away. The crowd of
spectators grew larger. The air around the protesters reverberated
as the police vehicles arrived.

The police vans
stopped in the road. White policemen in dark blue uniforms and
peaked caps climber out of the backs of the vehicles. Each man held
a long black sjambok or quirt in his hand. With practiced
efficiently they spread out until they had completely surrounded
the group of defenceless Indians. An officer climbed out of the cab
of one of the police vehicles and walked to the front of the
Department building. He turned to face the demonstrators.

"Where is your
leader?" he shouted, glaring at the Indians.

Mister Dhupelia
stepped forward.

"We don't have
a specific leader." he said. "But I will take responsibility."

"What's you
name?" the police officer asked angrily.

"Mister
Dhupelia."

"Mister
Dhupelia." the policeman said. "You and your followers are breaking
the law! You do not have a permit to hold this gathering!"

Mister Dhupelia
nodded.

"That's true."
he said. "We did apply for a permit but we received no
response."

"Just because
you didn't receive a response doesn't give you the right to break
the law!" the policeman replied. "I'm giving you ten minutes to
disperse your group. If you have not dispersed within that time,
you and your followers will be arrested for holding an illegal
gathering and failing to obey police instructions. Do you
understand?"

"Yes, but…"
Mister Dhupelia began to reply.

"No buts!" the
police officer interrupted. "Don't you dare argue with me! Get your
people out of here now or face the consequences!"

Bala heard some
of the protesters behind him muttering angrily. The policeman
turned his attention to them.

"You have ten
minutes to disperse!" he shouted. "If you haven't dispersed by then
you will all be arrested and charged with attending an illegal
gathering, causing a disturbance and disobeying police
instructions!"

Bala glanced at
the policemen surrounding the crowd. He could see the hatred in
their eyes and their eagerness to attack. Some were even licking
their lips in anticipation of the violence they were about to
inflict on the helpless Indians. He looked up at Mister Dhupelia.
He could see that the man was growing angry and defiant.

"We have a
right as South African citizens to protest at the way we are being
mistreated!" Mister Dhupelia said.

"You don't have
any rights!" the policeman shouted. "You Indians don't have any
rights in this country. If you want rights then go back to India
where you belong! This is our country, not yours!"

"I do have
rights!" Mister Dhupelia said angrily. "I was born in this country.
I am a South African citizen regardless of what your illegitimate
government says!"

"Listen to me,
Mister Doo…whatever your name is!" the police officer shouted, his
voice tight with anger. "I'm not going to stand here and argue with
you. You and your followers are breaking the law! Now, get out of
this area! Right now!"

Bala could see
Mister Dhupelia's defiance rise. He glanced at the protesters
behind him. He could see that they too were growing angry and
defiant.

Mister Dhupelia
drew himself up to his full height.

"We're not
leaving until out petition has been accepted by somebody of
authority." he said. "So you might as well arrest us now."

The police
officer shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the policemen
surrounding the crowd.

"Disperse
them!" he shouted, waving his arm towards the Indians. "And if they
resist, arrest them!"

The policemen
raise their sjamboks and rushed at the defenceless Indians. The
"swish-wop" sound of the whips striking human flesh reverberated
through the area. Women screamed and men shouted in fear. People
scattered in all directions, many of them stumbling and falling in
their haste to escape the assault. The policemen hit out
indiscriminately, raining vicious blows on people regardless of
whether they were protesters or spectators.

Before Bala
could move he felt a terrible pain across his back as a sjambok bit
through his jacket and smashed into his flesh. He was too shocked
to move as more blows rained down on him. A quirt wrapped itself
around his head, the tip slicing into his cheek. He felt warm blood
cascade down the side of his face. He fell to the ground in shock,
staring up at the policeman assaulting him and seeing the anger and
hatred on the man's face. The sjambok smashed down on Balsa's head,
pain lancing through his brain. He tried to struggle to his feet.
The policeman kicked him viciously in the ribs. The heavy boot
knocked the small man over backwards. His head hit the concrete
pavement with a dull thud and he lost consciousness.

***

Bala opened his
eyes slowly, the pain in his head so intense that he almost cried
out in protest. He stared at the faces peering down at him. He saw
the concern in their expressions as he struggled to orientate
himself. Then the memories of the protest demonstration and the
attack on the participants by the riot police came flooding back.
The image of the huge white policeman beating and kicking him made
him cringe. He moved his head slowly and looked about. He was lying
on his back on the pavement in front of the Department of Community
Development building with Mister Dhupelia and several of the other
Indians who had taken part in the protest standing around him with
anxious expressions on their faces. He tried to sit up. Mister
Dhupelia leant down to help him.

"Take it easy,
Mister Desai." he said. "You've taken a nasty knock on the back of
your head. Fortunately, there appears to be little damage apart
from some swelling. Here, let me help you to stand up."

Bala felt
several pairs of hands grasp him and lift him onto his feet. He
stood unsteadily, trying to control his balance. He looked around,
still dazed and confused. He turned his head slowly so as not to
aggravate the pain. The riot police were nowhere to be seen. Only a
small crowd of onlookers stood nearby staring at him. He put his
hand on the back of his head trying to ease the pain.

"Take him to a
doctor." someone said. "He's probably suffering from
concussion."

"Good idea."
Mister Dhupelia said. "Doctor Varachia's rooms are not far from
here."

The small group
of battered Indians, walking protectively around their injured
companion, set off, leaving their broken and torn posters and
placards lying on the pavement. Behind them the small crowd of
onlookers began to disperse.

"Was anyone
else injured?" Bala asked.

"We all
received lashings from the sjamboks," Mister Dhupelia replied, "but
fortunately no blood was spilt."

"We should lay
charges of assault against the police." Bala said.

"We could do
that." one of the men said. "But, apart from the publicity that we
might get, it would be a waste of time and money. According to the
laws of the country we acted illegally and the police were obliged
to act."

"With such
violence?" Bala asked. "We were never even given the chance to
disperse."

"Unfortunately
the police will deny that they used excessive violence. They will
say that we antagonised them and refused to disperse and they had
no option but to force us to disband." the man said. "Besides, our
little incident pales into insignificance compared to what is
happening in the black townships. I believe that it would be better
for us to accept what happened and be grateful that we weren't all
arrested and thrown into jail."

"We could still
be arrested." Mister Dhupelia said. "I noticed a policeman filming
the whole incident. It's quite possible that we could still be
visited by the police at our homes once they have studied the
footage and identified us."

As Bala walked
uncertainly towards the doctor's rooms he felt a deep anger begin
to grow within him. The police, representing the white government,
had over-reacted to the whole situation, probably because of their
hatred for people who were not white and who objected to the pain
and suffering that they were forced to endure. On top of this, the
government was illegitimate in the eyes of everyone except the
small number of its supporters who were themselves a minority. In
fact, the present government only existed because it was able to
use its military might to suppress the majority of people in the
country. Somehow they had to be stopped.

For the first
time in his life Bala Desai vowed to oppose the policies of the
government in every non-violent way that he could.

***

Bogdan picked
up the receiver of the 'phone on his desk.

"Buying
Department, Bogdan speaking." he said.

"Bogdan, it's
Julia." his wife said. "I've just received a telegram from
Belgrade. My mother's had a heart attack and is desperately ill.
It's very likely that she'll die. I must go to her."

"Of course you
must." Bogdan said. "I'll ask Gavin Moore if the mine can help by
arranging the tickets for your flight. In the mean time start
packing. I'll be home as soon as I can."

Bogdan 'phoned
the mine manager, Gavin Moore.

"My
mother-in-law's had a heart attack in Belgrade and is close to
death." Bogdan said. "Julia must go to her as quickly as possible.
Can somebody here at the mine please help me by arranging tickets
for her.? I'm afraid I don't know how to do that quickly."

"Of course."
Gavin Moore replied. "I'll get my secretary Janet, onto it straight
away. Go home and comfort Julia. Janet will let you know what time
the flight leaves. I presume that as Julia's still a Yugoslavian
citizen there'll be no problem with her getting into the
country?"

"No problem at
all." Bogdan said. "And thank you for your help, Gavin. I really
appreciate it."