For them, time does not heal. The hurt, the anger and the sense of betrayal remain. What the families of the 2,733 people killed in the anti-Sikh riots in Delhi demand is justice. They have waited for 21 long years, but it has eluded them. They have seen how the government set up commissions without much result. The Justice Ranganath Mishra Commission, which first probed the riots' causes, ruled out the organised participation of the Congress. But it indicted the Delhi Administration and the police. Three committees were appointed later: one to look into the conduct of the police, the other to examine riot cases and the third to determine the number of people killed. The committee that examined the role of the police indicted 72 officers in 1990. Since then action has been taken against only four-two were censured, one was warned and in the fourth case, pension was reduced. Another committee found the main flaw was that the firs were all clubbed together, so no individual probes were done and convictions were almost non-existent. Compensation has been tardy and paltry, says H.S. Phoolka, a senior counsel for many of the families. Last month, the Justice Nanavati Commission, while absolving top Congress leaders of guilt, observed that the local ones like Jagdish Tytler and Sajjan Kumar "very probably" had a hand in the riots. Under pressure, the Congress-led UPA Government got Tytler and Kumar to resign from their official posts. Prime Minister Manmohan Singh apologised to the Sikhs. But the affected families are far from satisfied. As the first-person accounts of five of them in the following pages reveal, many are losing faith in the country itself.

VIBHA SETHII, 65 "I saw my husband and son being hit by crowbars. I lay on my husband's body and pleaded with the crowd. They hit me too."

CRY, MY BELOVED COUNTRY : The former schoolteacher lost her husband and son in the riots. Only her daughter survived. The injustice of the riots is a wound that continues to fester. As do the questions: Why did the government not help the Sikhs? Why were the instigators never punished? Why?

What was the fault we had committed? I have been asking this question all these 21 years. All my life I believed in all the religions. I made special sweets for the children during Holi and Diwali or any other festival, telling them these were also important. My son's dream was to join the NCC and march on Rajpath on Republic Day. The first thing I remembered after the tragedy had befallen us is that our family didn't even consider itself Punjabi. I was brought up in Lucknow, where I got my masters degree in English. Neither my father nor my children spoke Punjabi. My husband was from Gujranwala in Pakistan-his family had shifted to Delhi after partition. He did his post-graduation at the Delhi School of Economics.

In July 1984 we had just moved to the house we had built in Raj Nagar (in West Delhi), an upcoming colony. I was teaching in a school on the outskirts of Delhi and usually left home early in the morning. My son, who was 18, had just joined Khalsa College and was studying economics. My daughter was 14 and was studying in Sardar Patel Vidyalaya. My husband worked as senior manager in the India Trade Promotion Organisation and commuted to work by scooter. We had just begun to enjoy the fruits of his hard work.

On the evening of October 31 we heard on TV that Indira Gandhi had been assassinated. That evening and night, there was nothing to suggest that anything was amiss in our area. The next morning the two maids who worked for us came and did their work as usual. We had read in the morning newspapers about the disturbances elsewhere in Delhi. So my husband told my son to go to our neighbour's house and call our relatives to find out if all was well and to tell them not to venture outside.

As a precaution my husband took out our nameplate that was hung on the gate.

By the time my son returned a huge mob had surrounded our house and he had barely enough time to close the door. I have always wondered how come when everything seemed peaceful a crowd of thousands of people landed up at my place all of a sudden. It could not have happened spontaneously. The mob then started shouting and throwing stones. We had shut the doors and there was no chance of going across to the neighbours as our house was in an isolated area. A truckload of policemen came on the scene, but they didn't stop the crowd-they went away. A helicopter flew over our house and my son waved to them frantically but that too disappeared.

In the evening, the assault worsened and they stormed the house and set the furniture ablaze. My house started to burn. I saw my husband and son lying on the ground, being hit by crowbars. I lay on my husband's body and pleaded with the crowd: "Don't do it." But they hit me too-I had six or seven fractured ribs after that, a gash on my head that would require 20 stitches and a badly hurt hand. Now every time somebody asks me about the deformity on my hand, I say this is what the nation gave me back for being faithful to my country.

PICTURE SPEAK

"I cannot forget the wry smile on the police constable's face when I asked him if his orders were that all Sikh men should be killed."

I remember there were two or three policemen standing around. I asked the constable: "Can't you do anything to help?" He told me, "You ladies can go but these two (my husband and my son) cannot be spared." I asked, "Why? Do you have orders to do this?" I will never forget the wry smile on his face. Then I requested the mob to spare them. They said: "Call your gurus and see if they can save you now." I remember my daughter pulling me away from my husband's body, saying, "Mama let's go. Let's go." I remember people dragging us away. We took shelter in a house that was being constructed a few blocks away. The chowkidar helped us. The mob came looking for us but he said there was no one there. We stayed the night there in the darkness. I gave my daughter the telephone number of my brother-in-law who worked with the Revenue Department. Someone must have phoned him. The next morning he had arranged for an army truck and we were taken to a gurdwara. After three days he brought the remains of my husband and son in a sack and said, "Say your farewell." Fate did not even offer me a chance to perform the proper last rites.

My brother-in-law went back to our house to recover whatever was left. It had been fully burnt down. A colour TV was the only thing left, apart from a steel cabinet which had some key papers. Some papers were destroyed but the insurance policy wasn't. That helped us. I don't know if it was premonition or not but my husband had got the house insured against riots and arson. Since then I have mechanically moved through life.

What do these commissions do other than reopen old wounds? One or two resignations that is all that the government does to atone for what happened. I didn't expect much from the Nanavati Commission. There had been earlier ones-it is just like a routine exercise one after the other. My first experience was with the Ranganath Mishra commission. I had filed an affidavit and I wasn't called for a hearing. After that somehow I lost faith.

Then there were other committees like the Agarwal Jain Committee-I appeared for that and also for the police probe. At the identification parade, the policemen who were present that day when my husband was killed were not called. There is a roster in every police station that tells you who were on duty at the time. Why didn't they call those people for us to identify? I am sure the police constable had no authority to do what he did that day. So whose order was he following? When I was summoned to court once, my statement had already been written by the policemen. And they asked me to endorse it. It said that by the time the police had reached my house everything was destroyed. I refused to sign the paper.

After that I was never summoned.

Another thing came up afterwards. I saw a picture of a person who looked very familiar to me as the man who instigated the mob. That happened to be a local Congress leader-I mentioned it in my affidavit. There was a police enquiry but nothing seemed to be coming out of it. I was then living alone with my daughter and got some threatening calls. One of my colleagues casually mentioned, "You have a daughter. So try and save her. Don't proceed with the case." That scared me. That was when I told them to close the case.

I feel betrayed. I have lost faith in the country. Look at the way the system failed. Why was the government not there to help us? Why was standing beside Indira Gandhi's body more important for MPs than protecting those who had voted them to power? Manmohan Singh's apology that came after so many protests carries no weight. All that he has said was what he should have said before signing that Action Taken Report. More than being angry I feel hurt and ask: Why this discrimination? Why am I being treated like a foreigner in my country? I have never felt different so why am I being treated differently?

At the moment I wish only for peace for everybody. I don't want my grandchildren to grow up with any animosity. Their laughter brings cheer. I never talk to them about these things. I still instil in them love for the nation. My daughter's mobile set has Sare jahan se achcha Hindustan hamara as its ring tone. Maybe bringing them up to be good citizens-that's the least I can do.

NARINDER PAL SINGH, 59 "I decided to make a comeback. I learnt Spanish and sold my garments in South America. My friends there call me Columbus."

RISING FROM THE ASHES: When he returned from New York after a business tour, Narinder (Pali) Singh saw His garment factories reduced to ashes by the rioters. For him, revenge was not the answer. He got no government help, but Singh rebuilt his business from scratch to log a turnover of Rs 100 crore now.

I was in New York negotiating a garment export deal when I learnt that Indira Gandhi had been assassinated. I called my father immediately and told him, "Papa, this is a bad situation. Since a Sikh has killed her we should be careful. You should seek some kind of protection." My father didn't listen to me, and he said, "Don't worry. Nothing will happen." Our two garment factories in Uttam Nagar had over 600 workers and were mainly focused on exports. Before that I ran a poultry farm but my father, who is very religious told me, "Every day I pray to God for the betterment of life and for peace and you kill so many birds. How can you be successful in this venture?" So I closed that down and set up the garment business in 1973. I built my house next to it and we lived as a joint family. Our business had started doing well. On the day that I was leaving for the US, I bought a Maruti 800 car and I drove it to the gurdwara nearby for blessings.

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