The Colour of Gold (16 page)

"But they are
much too big to fight." Fatima said, her voice desperate with fear.
"They could easily destroy us."

"Even if we
don't fight them, we are going to be destroyed." Bala said grimly.
"They are forcing us to move our business to a place that we cannot
afford, a place where we cannot survive. It will take years before
people come to shop regularly at the Oriental Plaza and we cannot
survive that long. The rental is too high so we will be forced to
raise our prices. Most of the people that we rely on for business
come from Soweto and they don't want to shop at the Oriental Plaza
because they believe that the prices there are too high. But what
has become more important to me is that this is happening to us
because of the colour of our skin. The government doesn't force
white people to move their businesses and their homes. Why not? Are
they better than us? Are we inferior? No, my dearest, we have to
stand up against them even though I know that we can't and won't
win."

"I'm so
frightened." Fatima said.

"So am I." Bala
said.

***

Bala stood in
the doorway of his shop and watched the small white government
sedan park in an empty parking space nearby. A large white truck,
also with government number plates and with a number of black men
in orange overalls on the back, stopped directly opposite the
little shop. Mister Viljoen, the official from the Department of
Community Development, who had visited Bala two weeks ago, climbed
out of his car. In his hand he held a brown folder. He walked to
the truck and as he spoke to the driver he pointed over his
shoulder towards where Bala was standing. The driver climbed out of
the cab and motioned to the men in the back of the truck. They
climbed down and stood in a small group on the pavement.

Mister Viljoen
walked up to Bala.

"Good morning,
Mister Desai." he said. "As promised two weeks ago, we're here to
move your enterprise to the Oriental Plaza. I hope that you're not
going to give us any trouble. Here's the official order."

The government
official handed the document to Bala who made no effort to take it.
Viljoen released it and it floated down onto the pavement.

"I'm not going
to allow you to ruin me by moving my business to the Oriental
Plaza." Bala said, his voice shaking worth both fear and anger.
"What you are doing is wrong and unacceptable by any standard of
decency."

The white
official sighed and shook his head.

"Mister Desai."
he said. "I'm not going to stand here and argue with you. You're
being stupid by preventing me from doing my work. You are
obstructing the course of the law which is a criminal offence and
if you continue to do so, I will have no option but to call the
police and have you arrested. We've had a lot of experience in
dealing with people like you. Now stand aside so that my men can
enter these premises and do their job of removing the
contents."

"I will not
move!" Bala said loudly. "Call the police and have me arrested! I'm
not afraid of them! They've beaten me up before! Call them!"

"Mister Desai."
Viljoen said. "You're being foolish! You can't defy the law! Don't
make things more difficult for yourself! We're going to move your
business regardless of what you do. Now, please move aside."

"I won't move!"
Bala shouted, angry at his helplessness as he stared at the white
official and the men waiting behind him. He felt frustrated at his
own inability to prevent what was about to happen.

By now a small
group of spectators had gathered on the pavement nearby, most of
them Indians. Bala looked at them, seeing the anger in their faces
as they witnessed the injustice that he was being subjected to.
They began to mutter amongst themselves and then one man shouted at
Viljoen.

"Leave the man
alone! He is a South African citizen and has every right to do
business here! You can't force him to leave!"

Several more of
the spectators began to shout at the white official. Behind him,
the black men waiting to carry out the removal stood quietly trying
not to attract the attention of the angry crowd which had by now
grown considerably. Viljoen looked at the angry crowd and then
glared at Bala.

"Don't say that
I didn't give you a chance to stop trying to prevent me from doing
my job." he said angrily as he turned and walked quickly to his
car. He reached in through the open front window and pulled out the
microphone of a two-way radio. He spoke into it briefly while
staring at Bala and then replaced the apparatus. He walked back to
where Bala stood in the shop's doorway.

"I warned you,
Mister Desai." he said angrily. "I've summoned the police riot
squad. Whatever happens to you next will be your own fault."

"I don't care!"
Bala shouted above the increasing noise from the spectators. "I
won't let you ruin my business and my life!"

Viljoen turned
and walked to the waiting removal team. He spoke to them and they
listened quietly. Above the noise Bala heard the distant wail of
police sirens. He braced himself for the coming onslaught, relieved
that he had insisted that Fatima not come with him to the shop that
day.

The sound of
the approaching police vehicles grew louder and Bala saw some of
the spectators move away quickly. He felt his fear well up in his
gut as three yellow police vans, their headlights and the blue
lights on top of their cabs flashing came to a halt in the street
opposite the shop. Policemen in blue uniforms clambered out, their
long black quirts held firmly in their hands. Quickly they
surrounded the gathering and stood poised to strike. The crowd
shouted and booed them and Bala could see the hatred on their
faces. An officer holding a loud speaker walked over the Viljoen.
The two men spoke briefly and then walked up to Bala.

"I'm Major
Kruger and you are obstructing the process of law." the police man
said to Bala. "If you do not move away and let these men carry out
their instructions I will have no option but to arrest you. You
have ten second to move away and let the officials continue with
their duties."

"I won't move
aside!" Bala shouted. "You can't do this to me! I'm a South African
citizen by birth!"

The policeman
shook his head in frustration and turned away. He beckoned to two
hefty policemen. They hurried closer.

"Take this man
and lock him up in one of the vans." the officer said. "He's
obstructing the course of the law and creating an illegal
gathering."

The two white
policemen stepped forward and grabbed Bala by his arms. He tried to
resist but they were far too strong for him. They marched him
across the pavement and into the street. The crowd shouted and
ridiculed the men. One of the policemen opened the van's back door
and the two men hurled Bala headfirst into the interior. His shins
struck the floor of the truck with a painful thunk. Pain shot up
from the injuries as Bala slid across the metal floor. The smell of
stale sweat and old vomit rushed into his nostrils. The door of the
van slammed closed behind him. He struggled to sit up and as he
peered out of the side window of the vehicle he saw someone in the
crowd throw a large stone at Viljoen and the police officer. It
struck Viljoen on his right cheek, causing a deep gash. The man
staggered backwards, blood streaming down his face and dripping off
his chin. The police officer turned to his men.

"Disperse
them!" he screamed. "Knock the shit out of them!"

The police
contingent hurled themselves at the angry crowd the "swish-wop" of
the whips resounding through the air as the policemen lashed out at
the crowd. The defenceless people scattered, knocking two elderly
women to the ground. The police turned on the two unfortunate
women, lashing them mercilessly. As one woman tried to rise a
policeman kicked her viciously on the face knocking her
unconscious. Men shouted and women screamed. Gradually the pavement
in front of the shop emptied except for the two elderly women, one
trying to crawl away and the other lying motionless. Two Indian men
rushed forward and picked up the unconscious woman while the police
lashed them with their sjamboks.

"Okay, that's
enough!" the police office shouted through his loudspeaker.

The policemen
gathered in small groups, breathing heavily and grinning at each
other.

As Bala watched
from inside the police van, Viljoen beckoned to the waiting removal
team. The black men entered the shop and a few minutes later began
coming out again carrying armloads of fabric and clothes that they
threw onto the back of the truck. The men returned to the shop and
brought out the small glass counter, the silver cash register, the
two sewing machines, the two chairs, the cutting table and the
clothing rack. They loaded everything onto the back of the truck
and climbed in as well. The white driver got into the cab, started
the motor and drove away.

The police
officer and Mister Viljoen walked to the police van where Bala sat
imprisoned. A policeman opened the back door and the officer leant
in.

"Come out!" he
shouted, his voice filled with hatred.

Unsteadily Bala
clambered out of the vehicle his shins burning painfully from their
injuries. Mister Viljoen handed him the keys to the shop.

"Major Kruger
has decided not to take you into custody." he said. "But you have
caused us a lot of trouble and it won't be forgotten. I would
advise you to change your attitude before it gets you into serious
trouble. There are still a few things left in the shop that you'll
have to remove yourself. Make sure that they're out of the place
before five o'clock this afternoon or they'll be confiscated. Your
shop at the Oriental Plaza is number twenty two. See the centre
manager, Misses Dadoo, when you get there."

Mister Viljoen
turned and walked away. Major Kruger waved to his men. They climbed
into the back of the police vehicles, the engines roared into life
and they drove away. Bala walked to the pavement and stood looking
at what had been his little shop. The only thing left was the sign
above the door. The document that Viljoen had handed him lay on the
pavement, brown footprints obscuring the message. Bala picked it up
and walked into the little shop. He began collecting the items that
had been left by the removal men.

***

Bala put the
cardboard box down on the pavement in front of him. His shins still
ached from the blow they'd received when he'd been thrown into the
back of the police van earlier in the day. He stared at the huge
beige brick building across the road. Designed to create an image
of India, the name "Oriental Plaza" stood proudly above the main
entrance in large cut-out brass letters. Fatima stood beside him
clutching his arm for support.

"Well, my
dearest." Bala said. "This is it. This is where we either succeed
or fail. The government seems determined to deprive us of our
rights. We must not let them succeed."

"Yes." Fatima
said. "But the whole place is deserted! How are we going to survive
here?"

"I don't know."
Bala replied. "All I know is that we have to survive somehow. Come
on. Let's go inside and find the manager."

Bala picked up
the cardboard box that contained the items that the removal crew
had left at the little shop on Fourteenth Street. He smiled weakly
at Fatima and stepped into the street. She followed, a worried
expression on her usually placid face. The couple walked through
the imposing entrance and into the mall, their footsteps echoing in
the silence.

As Bala moved
further into the complex he was relieved to see that most of the
shops were occupied. What worried him though was the dearth of
shoppers. At this time of day he had expected the centre to be
crowded.

"I only hope
that the sign we left in the old shop's window is seen by our
customers." Bala said. "That's our only hope. We can't expect much
business from passing trade here. Hopefully our old customers have
been satisfied with our service and will bring their custom
here."

Fatima pointed
to a sign nearby.

"Look. There's
a sign pointing towards the manager's office." she said.

Bala and Fatima
set off in the direction that the sign indicated until they found
the office occupied by the centre's management. They entered the
room and Bala placed the cardboard box on the floor. A middle-aged
Indian woman, dressed in a colourful sari stood up from behind a
desk at the back of the office and walked closer.

"May I help
you?" she asked.

"I'm Bala Desai
and this is my wife Fatima." Bala said. "Our belongings were moved
here earlier today by the authorities. I believe we've been
allocated shop twenty two."

Bala showed the
woman the dirty summons that Viljoen had given him.

"Oh, yes." the
woman said. "I'm Misses Dadoo. Welcome to the Oriental Plaza. I'm
the manageress. I hope that your stay here will be happy and
prosperous. I sympathise with the way that you've been treated by
the authorities and I'll do whatever I can to help you establish
your business here."

"Thank you."
Bala said struggling to build up any enthusiasm.

Misses Dadoo
picked up a bunch of keys that had been lying on her desk top.

"Come with me."
she said. "I'll show you to your new premises."

Bala and Fatima
followed the manageress along the quiet corridor until they reached
shop number twenty two. It was right at the entrance number three.
The shop had a large plate glass window on each side of the glass
front door and the interior walls had been painted a pale shade of
blue. Fluorescent strip lighting attached to the white ceiling lit
the room that was about three times the size of the shop that Bala
had previously occupied. The clothing, rolls of fabric, sewing
machines and other items from the old shop had been put down
haphazardly on the floor. Bala was relieved to see that nothing
appeared to have been broken or stolen.