OP SinghBefore the city transformed into the bustling urban centre we know today, Allahabad (now Prayagraj) of the 1980s was a city where crime had its own distinct geography.Almost every major locality had its own strongman whose influence and criminal network were largely confined to his neighbourhood. Their reputations rarely travelled beyond their territorial boundaries, but within those limits they wielded little fear and authority.One such area was the sprawling Railway Colony in Civil Lines, which became notorious because of a criminal whose sensational acts kept the locality on the edge. The colony stretched from Nawab Yusuf Road and Smith Road on the Civil Lines side to Allahabad Junction and the Government Inter College in North Malaka, covering a vast expanse of prime railway land.Today, much of that old Railway Colony has disappeared. The buildings that once defined its character have been demolished as part of the city’s redevelopment, leaving behind only memories of a distinctive way of life.After taking charge as city police chief of Allahabad in 1988, one of my foremost priorities was to dismantle the network of local strongmen who had turned different neighbourhoods into their personal fiefdoms. Whether it was Daraganj, Kydganj, areas around Allahabad University, or the Railway Colony, the writ of local strongmen often ran stronger than the law.The police response was methodical rather than reactive. The activities of criminals were meticulously documented, their hideouts were identified, intelligence on their associates was gathered, surveillance was tightened, cancellation of bail of their accomplices was sought and protection was ensured for witnesses willing to testify against them.Sustained raids and follow-up gradually eroded their confidence and influence. Crime declined noticeably in these troubled pockets, bringing a renewed sense of security.The criminal who terrorised the Railway Colony was among the most notorious. During one police operation, while attempting to escape from a building where he had taken refuge, he leapt from a considerable height and fractured his legs.When I visited him at the Railway Hospital to question him and gather intelligence about his criminal network, there was a striking contrast between the fearsome image he had cultivated and the man lying on hospital bed. Both his legs were suspended in traction, and the once-feared gangster appeared utterly subdued and vulnerable.That operation proved to be a turning point. The Railway Colony, once synonymous with sensational and violent crime, gradually shed its notoriety.It was satisfying to see law reclaim a neighbourhood that had long lived under the shadow of fear.But to understand the Railway Colony merely through the lens of crime would be to know only one chapter of its long and fascinating history. Long before it acquired an unsavoury reputation in the 1980s, it was one of the elegant and distinctive residential enclaves in Allahabad.In the 1940s and 1950s, the colony reflected the character and culture of the Indian Railways during the twilight of the British era.Spread across a vast expanse, it comprised rows of two-storeyed apartment blocks, uniformly painted in an understated off-white. These buildings housed railway employees and their families, most of whom belonged to the Anglo-Indian community that gave the colony its unique social fabric.Life in the Railway Colony had a distinctly Western flavour. Meals were eaten with knife and fork, table manners were meticulously observed, and Sundays were devoted to church — morning service followed by afternoon benediction. Families stepped out in their finest clothes, while women and young girls wore dresses inspired by contemporary English fashion.It was to this world that Esther Mary Lyons belonged. Her story begins here, in the Railway Colony where she spent her childhood. Her life began under extraordinary circumstances.She was born to an American Jesuit priest from Detroit and an Indian Catholic nun of partial Muslim descent from Bihar. Her parents first met in 1929, when her father, then serving the Patna Diocese, visited the Catholic Girls’ School at Bettiah, where her mother was a student.A decade later, they married. But the union was short-lived. In 1946, her father returned to America, abandoning his wife and two young daughters.In 1950, Esther, then barely 10 years old, arrived in Allahabad with her mother and elder sister and made the Railway Colony their home. She grew up in conditions of acute poverty, unaware of her father’s identity until she was 16. Her childhood was marked by deprivation, uncertainty and unanswered questions that would shape the course of her life.Her autobiography is both moving and illuminating. It is far more than the story of a daughter’s search for the father she never knew; it is an account of resilience, courage and an indomitable will to overcome seemingly insurmountable odds.Through her vivid recollections, the Railway Colony of the 1950s comes alive — not as a collection of old railway quarters, but as a world of hidden pain behind seemingly ordinary doors.Every lane, every block and every building acquires a human story.(Writer is the former director general of police, Uttar Pradesh)
