I was 9 and in school when it happened. School was Jln Kuantan 2 - smack in the middle of the city. A mere stone's throw from where it all started.....Pasar Chow Kit.
I remember being let out of school early. Ruby and I waited by the front gate for our ride....which never came. Cikgu Mahat, my BM teacher, waited with us until it was almost dark. The road in front of the school was completely deserted - most unusual at that hour. I then decided to take the bus. Cikgu Mahat reluctantly let us walk to the bus stop about 150 meters away.
When we got there, not a soul or vehicle was in sight. This normally busy and bustling stretch of Jln Pahang was like a road out of Twilight Zone! Ruby was getting scared by then - on the verge of tears. Being the "older" sister, I took her hand and we started walking home.....a 9-year old leading an 8-year old, along Jln Pahang toward Setapak. A long way from home.......
Ruby was already crying when we reached Setapak. She was hungry, tired and thirsty. We had stopped at several pipe stands along the way to quench our thirst. I remember looking at the tightly closed shutters of the shophouses and thinking, "Where is everyone??". It was spooky to the max! But I couldn't let Ruby see my fear or she would start bawling her eyes out!
So I egged her on to walk a little bit further, saying that we would stop at the Setapak police station and get them to call home. At one point, maybe 20 meters from the police station, Ruby rebelled and refused to walk a step further. I cajolled her and promised her everything under the sun to get her to move. Which she reluctantly did. It was at this point that I sighted a taxi turning into Jln Gombak! How relieved I felt!
Before I could hail the taxi, it stopped, drove toward us and the pakcik driver eyed us suspiciously. When I asked, "Pakcik boleh hantar kami balik tak?", he looked at me ...and Ruby, incredulously! Rupa-rupanya dia ingat kami ini bukan orang Melayu! Ruby looked like a Hong Kong film star while I looked like a Bollywood wannabe at that age. As we were both tall for our age, the pakcik couldn't believe that we were both under 10. When he discovered that we were Malay, he jumped out of the taxi and gave us a hug, and quickly bundled us into his car. Ruby and I were perplexed at his antics but didn't say a word.
There was a crowd in my neighbour's back yard when we reached home. Mak, maktok and the assorted makcik2, pakcik2, kakak2 and abang2 all gave us big hugs. Ruby and I just looked at them, and at each other...totally clueless as to why they were crying and rejoicing at the same time.
It was then that I knew a major fight had taken place between the Malays and Chinese. Both were mercilessly slain just for being born into those ethnic communities. It was days later that I found out that Pak Lang was barricaded in the Utusan Malaysia building at Jln Chan Sow Lin. Surrounded by the Chinese who tried to clamber over Utusan's walls. Food supply was running low there.
We hadn't heard from bapa. His office was at Batu Road then. On the fourth day, he came home. He told us that he was in a meeting which finished at around maghrib. After his prayers, he drove home using the Kg Baru route. He was stopped at Kg Baru, told to recite the syahadah by a group of youths in headbands and carrying sharpened bamboo shafts and parangs. They advised him that all roads to Ulu Kelang were not safe and that he should stay put in Kg Baru until the army arrived. Which he did. For three days. He was barely with us for 24 hours when he was called back into service.
The late 60s wasn't the internet era. Most homes didn't have phones. Heck, many homes didn't even have televisions. So news weren't easily available. Compound that with curfew and blackout hours and you have a breeding ground for all kinds of suppositions. Top that with low food supply and you have a very worried/anxious community.
Young men in my kampung carried sharpened bamboo shafts, parangs, kerambit, knives, etc on their rounds. Now and then I could hear cries of "Allahuakbar!". There were numerous warnings of "invasions/attacks" when we had to scoot to our hiding places. And kept real quiet. Sometimes too scared to even breathe. Prayers going on inside our heads.
The army brought Pak Lang home after almost a week. Bapa was still away. Came home just to wash up and change into a fresh set of uniforms. Then bapa's army buddies started disappearing - they, too, were called back into service. School was out for a month.
The 13 Mei fiasco was the aftermath of the election. It was bad. Much as I hate the thought, I could envisage this [or worse] being reenacted after PRU13. It would be really, really bad as civillians now have firearms, the internet, electronic media, cellular phones etc. Unlike 13 Mei, where the "war zone" was contained and confined to just Kuala Lumpur, the "war zone" this time around would most likely be nationwide.
None of us would win. And all of us would take years to lick/heal our wounds. Some of us would not even be around to pick up the pieces......we would just be names on tombstones.
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