Five Past Midnight in Bhopal - Dominique Lapierre [47]
As for Shekil Qureshi, the Muslim who had taken part in the dangerous transportation of the drums from Bombay to Bhopal, joining Carbide as a supervisor trainee brought him a sumptuous marriage at the Taj ul-Masajid, the great mosque built by Begum Shah Jahan. Dressed in a glittering sherwani, a long tunic of gilded brocade, his feet shod in slippers encrusted with precious stones, his arm entwined with the traditional band inscribed with prayers soliciting the protection of Allah for him and his wife, a red silk Rajasthani turban on his head, the young chemistry graduate from Saifia College proudly advanced toward the mihrab* of the mosque, “dreaming of the linen coverall with the blue-and-white logo that was, as far as he was concerned, the finest possible attire.”
Such was the prestige conferred by a job with Carbide that families from all over came to Bhopal to find husbands for their daughters. One morning, sensing his end was near, Yusuf Bano, a cloth merchant in Kanpur, put his eighteen-year-old daughter Sajda on the express train to Bhopal with the secret intention of having her meet the son of a distant cousin, who was working in the phosgene unit on the Kali Grounds. “My cousin, Mohammed Ashraf was a handsome boy with a thick black mustache and a laughing mouth,” the woman later recalled. “I liked him at once. All his workmates and even the director of the factory came to our wedding. They gave us a very amusing present. My husband was moved to tears: two Union Carbide helmets with our first names interlaced in gilded lettering.”
For the twenty-six-year-old mechanical engineer Arvind Shrivastava, who was part of the first team recruited by Muñoz, “Carbide wasn’t just a place to work. It was a culture, too. The theatrical evenings, the entertainment, the games, the family picnics beside the waters of the Narmada, were as important to the life of the company as the production of carbon monoxide or phosgene.”
The management constantly urged its workers to “break up the monotonous routine of factory life,” by creating cultural interest and recreational clubs. In an India where the humblest sweeper is brought up on historical and mythological epics, the result exceeded all expectations. The play entitled Shikari ki bivi put on by the workers from the phosgene unit was a triumph. It exalted the courage of a hunter who sacrificed himself to kill a man-eating tiger. As for the first poetry festival organized by the Muslims working in the formulation unit, it attracted so many participants that the performance had to be extended for three additional nights. Then came a magazine. In it, the operator of the carbon monoxide unit, who was also the editor-in-chief, called upon all employees to send him articles, news items and poems, in short any material that might “introduce ingenious ideas to contribute to everyone’s happiness.”
These initiatives, which were typically American in inspiration, soon permeated the city itself. The inhabitants of Bhopal may not have understood the function of the chimneys, tanks and pipework they saw under construction, but they all came rushing to the cricket and volleyball matches the new factory sponsored. Carbide had even set up a highly successful hockey team. As a tribute to the particular family of pesticides to which Sevin belonged, it called its team “the Carbamates.” Nor did Carbide forget the most poverty stricken. On the eve of the Diwali festival, young Padmini saw an official delegation of Carbiders handing out baskets full of sweets, bars of chocolate and cookies. While the children launched themselves at the sweets, other employees went around the huts, distributing what Carbide considered to be a most useful gift in overpopulated India: condoms.