Easter is only a few days away, but far from any preparations, Youhanabad has become a vacant shell of a place, where a deathly calm hangs heavily in the air.

Shoe seller Sheikh Ghulam Mohiyuddin sits cautiously on his wooden bench, swatting flies. No one has come to buy his sandals. “I hope things become better.” He smiles bitterly and then adds, “On ordinary days at least a thousand people walked down this main bazaar. Since the police have started picking up youngsters from here, there are hardly 50 people passing by.”

As if to prove this he points at a woman who is walking quickly and nudging her little girl to speed up too. She even looks behind her suspiciously.

Everyone, it seems, wants to get off the streets as soon as they can.

The silence is almost haunting. Half of the locality, it appears, has cleared out. Many families have left the city, fleeing to Kasur or even further. Others have moved within Lahore to live with relatives. And there is a reason why only women or older men can be seen: over 100 young men have been ‘picked up’ by the police, as the law enforcers investigate the lynching of two Muslim men by a Christian mob in the aftermath of church bombings in the locality in mid-March.

A handful of Muslims do live in Youhanabad and Muslim shopkeepers also work there. But communal relations are hardly intimate. There is always a polite distance. Now, a greater rift has emerged between the two communities. The Christians feel even more victimised after the focus of the news and investigation has shifted to the lynching rather than the bomb blasts. Meanwhile, the Muslim communities living on either side (Nishtar Colony and Dullu Khurd), are full of antipathy regarding the lynching.

If it is a tragedy to be a target for terror groups or mobs, then it is an even worse torment to be sidelined afterwards. Along with despair, anger is also evident, especially in private gatherings.

“If we remember the mob that killed two Muslims here, we must not forget the mob that killed Shama and Shahzad at a brick kiln,” says Martin Javed angrily. Javed is an activist based in nearby Hamza Town, also a Christian locality. “And the numerous other crimes against Christians, which [were committed] by groups of angry and emotional [people], not militants. Murder does not have a religion.”

Almost all the residents say that the Christian youths who were wielding rods and canes and were involved in the lynching did not belong to Youhanabad. They were outsiders, perhaps from Kasur, and were a little too organised. “If my family is trapped in fire, I will try to save them,” says Bahadur Masih. “However, never will I be killing everyone else. This was a big set-up. Those boys were organised, and some were even drunk.” He smiles enigmatically. “Sometimes people are placed on location to sidetrack the issue at hand, or to [compromise] any kind of evidence.” He seals his lips, looks away and refuses to explain any further.

The lynching case has acquired a high profile and under new laws such as The Protection of Pakistan Act, 2014, suspects can be picked up without a warrant. Waqas, who was injured in the blast and has shrapnel wounds in his arms, legs and stomach, recently came back from hospital. But despite the fact that he was not present when the lynching took place, he is still scared of becoming a ‘missing person’.

“They are suspecting those who were not even in the video. Is this any way to investigate? Maybe,” he answers himself. “This is after all a police state.”

“There was a time when we were scared of more terrorists coming,” says Alishba, his mother. “Now the fear of the blast has been forgotten, and we have something new to fear: the police.” Her eyes reflect stifled panic.

It is not just the police that residents are furious at. It is also the political representatives. This was the very first time that Shahbaz Sharif won from this constituency.

“When he came for his speeches he [painted] a rosy [picture],” says Matthew Clement, a resident. “He promised to turn Youhanabad into Paris. Forget Paris; he has turned it into a graveyard, where the dead walk the streets.” He says that since the blasts took place the chief minister has not come to visit the people of the area. Even the cheques were distributed by the Lahore DCO.

To add to the worry, students have also missed their exams. Some have been picked up by the police, while others have not dared to step outside due to fear.

“There are no government-run schools in our locality and our Christian schools have all been closed, even for the board exams,” says student Anil Masih. “My brother was taken by the police and when my mother showed the cop his roll number, he snatched even that away.”

No flexibility has been shown by the examination board for the survivors of the church blasts, he says. Exams came and went and those who have missed them will suffer inevitably.

In this graveyard of people, everyone’s pain is their own.

Published in Dawn, March 31st, 2015

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