Mandir to ban jaayega
Par Ram kahan se laaoge?
Uss masjid ki deewaron ko
Kya pak kabhi kar paaoge?
Jis chaukhat par log jale
Ram wahan na jaayenge
Jin galiyaron mein khoon gira
Maula kya reh paayenge?

The curtain should be down on the 30th. Yes, some characters wake up late, do some improvisations, and add a dramatic, last minute twist akin to our Hindi movies, which get mixed responses. But the Ayodhya saga seems to be moving towards a closure. Like most I am relieved too. However, we have a history of being fond of sequels. And it is this 'carry-forward' that worries

In 1949, idols of Ram, Sita and Laxman 'mysteriously' appeared in Babri Masjid; in 1950, Mahant Paramhans Ramchandra Das filed a litigation in the court. On December 6, 1992, Babri Masjid was demolished. The politics of 'mysterious appearance' had played its part. The deal was big. But my friend Sana and a seven-year-old me understood neither 'mysterious appearance' nor its big deal.

When the nation witnessed the Godhra carnage and the riots that followed, my city and its twin, Ayodhya were as peaceful and harmonious as usual. In March-April 2002, there was an influx of karsevaks into my city. The city was barricaded.

The point I am trying to bring home is that public history and the public memory of Ayodhya dispute branch out into a figment called personal history and the personal memories of Sana, our city and mine. And if the nation chooses to acknowledge, this figment has the power to make all the difference. Because the seven year old Sana did not know what 'Babri Masjid' is; because the 16-year old student's concern is her exam; because her city is irritated at being usurped, while she identifies little with the karsevaks and their temple. Her Ram resides in her home, her heart; just as Sana's Allah resides in hers. Because, when Sana is told: "Zarre-zarre mein usi ka noor hai/ Yaar mera har taraf bharpoor hai; was the same: "Ram to ghar-ghar mein hain/ Ram har aangan mein hain/ Mann se Raavan jo nikale/ Ram uske mann mein hain."

There would have been many Sanas and Niveditas all along - in 1949, in 1950, in 1992, and later. Our memory is of co-existing faith and love. Once the twin-cities of Ayodhya and Faizabad were proud of their inter-faith heritage, socio-cultural harmony and long syncretic tradition. I hate it when you suddenly remember the city and put it all over the newspapers as a cause of religious discord. Where do you disappear when we grapple with the problems of infrastructure? Why don't you follow us when we set examples of communal harmony? There is more to us than your memory chooses to retain. If only you could see them and share.

The city of my birth is being 'prepared' for the judgment. The rest of the 'sensitive' pockets in the country too are being put on alert. My mom calls me today; just the way she did on the 23rd, asking me to 'be careful and avoid going out' for a couple of days. I ask her to do the same. Isn't justice supposed to be liberating? Do you realize the anticipation of this verdict has terrorized all of us? What kind of justice is going to be meted out on the 30th? A justice that robs our freedom to move? A justice that puts our fundamental right to live under probable threat?

I am happy that the sanctity of the court has been upheld. But, honestly I don't care about the verdict. Neither does Sana. Nor do the twin-cities. Please, this time care to see and share.