Once upon a time in Ayodhya
Ayodhya means a place without war. But 20 years ago, on the morning of December 6, 1992, as I stood in front of the Babri Masjid, I watched thousands of freshly minted karsevaks reduce it to rubble, cheered on by the leaders of the Sangh Parivar. I knew nothing in Ayodhya or beyond its boundaries was sacred anymore. Politics was the only dharma. Twenty years later, I visited some of the families who had suffered during the riots that followed the demolition.
