My Friend, the Terrorist

“The big Satan has forgotten 9/11 and needs some thing bigger. Last time it was a great big boom… but soon that will be the thing of past, just wait for few more day. That idiot Sahzad has complicated things… he failed being so clumsy, the bugger could not even get out in time.”

The depth of vehemence conveyed in tone and sense of commitment by Waqar alarmed Tariq. Though it was not the first time he heard such display of deep hatred. May be he was just letting his steam off and would go back to mind his religious activities. His words made Tariq more uneasy than before.
Waqar always dreaming of a fantastic revenge on USA for its despised support to Israel, invasion of Iraq, Afghanistan drone attacks. The list was long with tedious explanations conveying his deep vehemence. Though he felt indebted to Waqar, Tariq avoided him most of times. It was too much listening about crazy terror plots. His troubled wife Praveen was against meeting Waqar. Tariq was unable to refuge meeting his crazy old friend, perhaps for the last time.

“You look nice with out that god damn beard…good you shaved that off.”
“I don’t need that now. Did you hear what I said?”
“Please….no crazy revenge bull shit now…Okay?

“So you don’t want to listen?” Waqar was tipsy and eager to discuss his pet subject further.

“I don’t know what you are talking about?”

“The big Satan deserves few big booms.”

“I don’t like politics and its quite good life here.”

“No, it is lowly dog’s life, serving white blood sucking imperialists and killers.”

“Why did you come here Bhai, if you don’t like it now, go back?”

“Go back to where? They bombed most of my ancestral house in my village… killed many ….I have to take a revenge….its enough and I have developed a good plan…. No one can stop me now?”

“Are you serious?” Tariq had wished it were his usual ranting and nothing more serious.

“Well every one wants to do more in life.”

“But why you think of the crazy bull shit all times.”

“And once again I let some one else become a hero, why not me?”

“Well, I don’t waste time dreaming such crazy stuff and now I am not going to meet you ever again….you are getting mad.”
“You coward, silly, greedy, soft man, only love wads of dollars and decadent life. But ever you thought, those dollars has some ones blood?” Waqar looked with a piercing gaze

“Forget it. We were supposed to relax. Weren’t we?”

“Forget what?” An angry Waqar sat up.

“Nothing brother... Now please don’t shout and spoil the picnic. The ladies and kids are looking. Please stop this non sense. Will you?”

Waqar has always been very authoritative but it was getting too much. Tariq hated his unpredictable vicious attacks and personal insults along with stupid terror plots.

“Shut up! You have no conscience. Why you hide your face when I tell you about the injustices, sacrifices, pain, blood and death? You have been a sissy! Be a brave man and accept the reality. You are an unbeliever, not a man enough, too fond of debauched life.”

“Debauched… me… Are you crazy? You…were debauched and your crazy imagination and fascination with terror doesn’t make you more faithful or pure now.”

“I have changed completely and you have forgotten our religion. I don’t see you any more in the mosque and don’t like it.” He snarled.

“Is it some thing so wrong?’

“Yes it is. I am talking of - revenge, martyrdom; and you are telling me all this bullshit….and its not just fascination…I have been working…and now ready…for the sacrifice and glory”

“You can’t be serious!”

I am very serious and ready for the supreme sacrifice, the martyrdom. What about you?”

Suddenly Waqar sounded calmly serious. A chilled Tariq felt the depth of his belief and was curious to know more about his plans.

“I love my little family and the peaceful life.”

“A true soldier never thinks of these things during a war.” A cold Waqar persisted.

Tariq was shaken to core and silently judging him. Waqar kept looking up and nodding, slowly he began to speak.

“You must think about those unfortunate villagers being bombed. I know you don’t give a damn….but I do…every one can not be expected to offer the supreme sacrifice at once. It takes time.” Waqar’s voice was clear and calm. Just few moments before he was speaking like a drunk with no self-control. Tariq wondered whether he was witnessing subtle acting.

“I am here for job, money, better life and have no interest in the politics…hate your crazy ideas.”

They were sitting crossed legged on a flower printed sheet, at their favorite picnic spot. He could see Praveen and Jahida taking a stroll, watching children play hide and seek behind bushes. Tariq frequently changed posture to ease pressure on his back muscles, to avoid relapse of dreaded painful backache.

“I know you badly need money…don’t you?” Waqar said in low voice, intensely watching his reaction.

“I am sure you are sick and badly need counseling...”

Waqar was silently looking at ladies and children having a good time, laughing, and running after each other.

“I too have family to take care of and a sick mother back home. But I am not greedy and selfish like you. I may be caught some day, betrayed by some rascal. Then what will happen to them?”

“I am worried about you… fail to understand…why are you planning such things…what is the crime of innocent people…who will die…you have money..Take it easy…do some social work…but please stay way from those mad mullahs. ”

Waqar didn’t reply and again looked at blue sky, brooding, slowly nodding, as if listening and agreeing to some divine voice from above. He seemed to have gone to his trance once again. Tariq drank and waited patiently, closed his eyes and thought about Praveen and Adnan, his son. He firmly decided to cool off his relations with Waqar. It would do him no harm or perhaps be a better option, given to his friend’s dangerous obsession and preoccupation with the lunatic revenge plan. He wished it was one of those crazy ranting and Waqar would go back to his life as before.

“I some times wonder who I am today!”

Tariq could feel he was being exposed to some hereto-secrets hidden in recess of his friend’s tormented fertile brain. He listened carelessly as he had always done-betraying no keen interest, which he was indeed developing.

“I am an unknown banker, but who knows me back home? No body.”

“Is it that important to be well known?”

“Yes it is. I want my name remembered by every body.”

“Remembered? What do you mean?”

“I loved football and wanted to be a professional footballer. But my Abba wanted me to be a doctor. He never listened to me and made sure I missed my practice of the day, being locked up with heartless monstrous tutors of various sizes and shapes to mug up physics, chemistry and biology lessons. They would test my memory and hit a ruler on my extended soft palm. I felt humiliated and I wanted to kill those devils and thought of various methods. But could not venture beyond the planning and never gathered courage to execute the plans and prove myself, ….thought it would be different here….but here again I was made to feel small…not good enough by my asshole Jews and Indian bosses…who wanted impossible results …I told them to fuck off...and now…see where is that 150 years old big bank? In the deep stinking shit…”

Waqar took out another beer and resumed his monologue.

“Now I am sure that stage is near and with in my reach. I have some like-minded, focused and resourceful young friends with me. And they are as passionate and willing as I am… I mean…to give a bloody kick in Yankee bums.”

“And you are doing this to make your self well known back home…a hero?

A silent Waqar looked away, turned his face looking at the noisy children, his eyes becoming moist. His daughter Henna raced toward them threw herself at him and started to sob.

“Arre, what happened to my dear little darling?” Waqar wiped his tears and Tariq took his beer to save it from spilling over the child.

“I don’t like Bhai pulling and messing my hairs.” Henna increased her effort to gather tears and started to howl loudly.

“Oh, he is just a small child and does not know any thing.” Waqar made a funny face to pacify her.

“Why don’t you tie his hands?”

She stopped howling and demanded abruptly and then resumed. Her voice was shrill and effortlessly produced streams of tears from her innocent large eyes. She could rain teardrops on drop of a hat to smoother her dotting father to outrageous demands. Henna now seemed proud of running little streams flooding her pink cheeks and delicate neck. Her mother Jahida gave up completely and let Waqar deal with the little girl. She told him to find a boy for Henna, who could put up with such noisy tantrums. She would better be excused of such daunting responsibility.

She would say- we don’t know what troubles she might face in her adult life? What kind of boy would she merry, how would he treat her. Please have mercy, don’t spoil her and think of future. Nobody likes a woman who throws tantrums and behaves unreasonably.

“No need for that. I will tell him to behave.” Waqar put Henna on his lap and promised softly. Tariq could see little tears still sticking to his friend’s eyes.

“He won’t. I hate him.” She resumed her howling and threw legs violently on his chest.

Waqar caught hold of her tiny legs and made a funny face. She stops shrieking.

A flock of birds descended nearby and she sat up, wide eyed.

“Abba, see these birds, I will catch one today.” She forgot her hair-pulling brother, funny-faced father and developed keen interest in the flock and ran after it.

Waqar slowly drew his contorted muscles back in place and returned to his menacing, brooding, lamenting posture. Tariq watched him being transformed from a loving father of a little girl to a fanatic, dreaming of a grand terror strike. Which will deprive many young girls of their funny-faced fathers, loving harassed mother and hair pulling cute little brothers? They perhaps, will never dare to howl again and would seize forever their interest in flock of noisy birds.

They watched as Henna ran after birds.

Waqar had come to America as a student like him and settled down. He was a tall fair man. Lately he has shown greater interest in religious affairs and social work. His once modern home office has slowly acquired religious posters, big stick of incense spewing heady scented coils of smoke. The table and chairs have been removed and a big white covered cushion appeared for cross-legged sitting, the wall providing back support. Tariq avoided sitting crossed leg because of the acute backache. .

He drew closer and spoke in steady low voice.

“Brother, today I want to share some inner thoughts with you. I know you are a damn greedy fallow, but that’s all right with me. You are like my own younger brother. You have to promise me that if some thing happens to me you will take of my family. Repay whatever I have done for you. Money is not a problem; I have enough for their needs. What they might need is guidance and support in difficult times ahead.”

A deeply troubled Tariq listened carefully and cursed himself to meet his old friend gone crazy so completely. Waqar seems to have made a decision, and would carefully set to do the job in a systematic and organized manner. He silently nodded to abide by his friend’s wishes.

Waqar again lapsed in to his brooding posture, looking at sky, listening to some divine voice, nodding his neck and making some decisions, analyzing thoughts.

They were silent for some time before he eventually turned his fierce eyes on him. His voice disclosed a strange finality and conviction, which made Tariq nervous.

“I will try to do the job alone but if the situations demand I might have to take Jahida and Henna with me.”

Tariq froze as he heard his friend disclose the sinister plan.

“One more thing; if my plans are exposed, you take care of them.”

Tariq felt numb and disoriented.

“Don’t worry I won’t be caught alive and sure to take maximum enemies with me.”
“Enemies…who are they…innocents?”
“In a war…that happens often…It happened in Afghanistan…I was there…so I know..”
“You were where…Don’t tell me that…”
“No one knows…it was in late eighties…for about a year…seen all…blasts. Helicopter gun ships mowing down every thing that moved…blasts…blood…death. Collected and buried dismembered bodies…aged…women and small kids…killed many godless soviets…”
A stunned Tariq listened to his friend’s hidden past and present motivation.

“Forget it…it was in past..Long back…”
“I just can’t. It keeps me awake and troubled…fought injustice then and doing same now.”
“Don’t do it…and don’t involve Bhabhi and Henna in this mad stuff?”
“I will try, not to. But if there no other way left, we three will be become martyrs and they too will always be remembered. And I am sure you would do some thing about it and our sacrifices don’t go waste. It must be used to motivate more people.”

“Bhabhi knows about it?”

“No. Not yet.. I won’t tell her ...it’s not needed and I am sure she will agree. ..she will have to... but even if she does not.... she has no other option but to obey me...I would hate to put my little darling Heena in danger...but.... One must be ready to sacrifice the dearest...I hope you know that?” Waqar avoided him and looked away.

“But why are you telling me this… crazy stuff…why..?”

“I just don’t know…really…”

Tariq did not eat. Waqar showed any interest in his favorite delicacies. Jahida was disappointed and asked whether the she cooked well or not. She was not satisfied by answers she got from the men and she could sense the tension in air and curiously kept asking about their serious expressions and silent sparse eating.

“Bhai, I wonder every thing is okay? You guys are so serious today, didn’t even bother to play with kids and show them some thing interesting around?”

“Yes every thing ok. We were just discussing some old friend.” Tariq looked at Waqar and lied.

‘Some one I know?”

“No.” Waqar curtly silenced her innocent curiosity.

Tariq felt bad but was relieved to be spared of further lies and answer questions from a simple Jahida. He was greatly troubled and foxed about being exposed to the horrible terror plan.

A motivated and focused terrorist would never disclose the gory secretes to any one!

Waqar was still lost in his thoughts and avoided his gaze. Jahida tried to initiate conversation with her husband and Tariq. But she had to go back to an aloof Praveen and the noisy children and helped them eat.

Waqar hugged him closely and kissed his forehead.
“Don’t do it...Please...” Tariq whispered.
Waqar avoided looking at him and suddenly broke off; stopped for a moment as if trying to remember some thing and then thoughtfully got in to his car. Tariq waited for car ahead to move and clear his way. The tiny hand of Henna waved them good by and disappeared from their sight. A nudge from his wife broke his frozen composure and turned the key.

“What’s going on?” Praveen enquired.

“Nothing...” Tariq didn’t look at her.

He knew she didn’t believe him. His own voice seemed peculiar, as if it belonged to a complete stranger, beginning to wonder if Waqar’s fanaticism has influenced him in some way. His thoughts went back to howling Henna, throwing her tiny legs and a demure, simple Jahida serving him food.

“Abba ...Henna is going to New York.” His son Adnan spoke with a tinge of jealousy and expectation.

So the mad Waqar has already decided to take them along on his mission of destruction. He has a personal agenda; passing off as stupid jihad and all that crazy mumbo-jumbo. To be famous, is his aim; a star footballer, his father did not allow. Or perhaps lately wanted to make a mark at least as a banker, but failed. Blowing up people is easy; some explosives, a timer and boom. One can make a mark, be famous so easily.

“When will we go to New York?” Adnan was impatient to hear a promise from him.

“Abba will tell you later. Now will you please let him drive?” Praveen come to his rescue.

A crimson sun was setting in the wide horizon and the road seemed as if heading for the mighty fireball. The car ahead appeared to head for it, gradually becoming smaller till it turned in to a tiny dot and then it was gone. Tariq felt dizzy and stopped the car on side and asked for the bottle of water. He stepped out and splashed cold water on his face again and again until he felt better. He looked away from the sun, as deep feeling of helplessness took over.

Praveen looked at him with troubled curiosity. Her face hidden in a scarf she always wore so elegantly. Tariq knew she was worried and would need a proper explanation- always a difficult task.

Adnan laughed and asked Praveen to let him imitate his Abba; he didn’t wait for her approval. He come to him and extended his hand and took bottle and immediately splashed water on his face, drenching his cloths wet.

He was not happy with the result and sheepishly looked at Tariq for help in his venture. Tariq felt secure that his tears were hidden in cold water, invisible to his son, who always thought him to be a brave man: beyond such cowardice. He went to Adnan and knelt down.

“Sorry Abba.”

“It’s alright beta. Let’s go.” He picked him up.

“I will drive.” A pale Praveen has shifted to the driving seat.

Tariq avoided looking at her, but had already made a decision.

Waqar’s face was all over on all the TV channels and news papers. The former banker turn rabid religious preacher was caught few hours before he could detonate bombs in crowded places and running underground trains. About a dozen youngsters were also arrested from different cities with explosives. The police credited the success to their secrete operatives, informers and regular surveillance of suspected terror cells.

Praveen held his and hand and whispered, “Don’t feel bad…it saved so many innocent lives …”

Tariq closed moist eyes and hugged her closer.
“The big Satan has forgotten 9/11 and needs some thing bigger. Last time it was a great big boom… but soon that will be the thing of past, just wait for few more day. That idiot Sahzad has complicated things… he failed being so clumsy, the bugger could not even get out in time.”

The depth of vehemence conveyed in tone and sense of commitment by Waqar alarmed Tariq. Though it was not the first time he heard such display of deep hatred. May be he was just letting his steam off and would go back to mind his religious activities. His words made Tariq more uneasy than before.
Waqar always dreaming of a fantastic revenge on USA for its despised support to Israel, invasion of Iraq, Afghanistan drone attacks. The list was long with tedious explanations conveying his deep vehemence. Though he felt indebted to Waqar, Tariq avoided him most of times. It was too much listening about crazy terror plots. His troubled wife Praveen was against meeting Waqar. Tariq was unable to refuge meeting his crazy old friend, perhaps for the last time.

“You look nice with out that god damn beard…good you shaved that off.”
“I don’t need that now. Did you hear what I said?”
“Please….no crazy revenge bull shit now…Okay?

“So you don’t want to listen?” Waqar was tipsy and eager to discuss his pet subject further.

“I don’t know what you are talking about?”

“The big Satan deserves few big booms.”

“I don’t like politics and its quite good life here.”

“No, it is lowly dog’s life, serving white blood sucking imperialists and killers.”

“Why did you come here Bhai, if you don’t like it now, go back?”

“Go back to where? They bombed most of my ancestral house in my village… killed many ….I have to take a revenge….its enough and I have developed a good plan…. No one can stop me now?”

“Are you serious?” Tariq had wished it were his usual ranting and nothing more serious.

“Well every one wants to do more in life.”

“But why you think of the crazy bull shit all times.”

“And once again I let some one else become a hero, why not me?”

“Well, I don’t waste time dreaming such crazy stuff and now I am not going to meet you ever again….you are getting mad.”
“You coward, silly, greedy, soft man, only love wads of dollars and decadent life. But ever you thought, those dollars has some ones blood?” Waqar looked with a piercing gaze

“Forget it. We were supposed to relax. Weren’t we?”

“Forget what?” An angry Waqar sat up.

“Nothing brother... Now please don’t shout and spoil the picnic. The ladies and kids are looking. Please stop this non sense. Will you?”

Waqar has always been very authoritative but it was getting too much. Tariq hated his unpredictable vicious attacks and personal insults along with stupid terror plots.

“Shut up! You have no conscience. Why you hide your face when I tell you about the injustices, sacrifices, pain, blood and death? You have been a sissy! Be a brave man and accept the reality. You are an unbeliever, not a man enough, too fond of debauched life.”

“Debauched… me… Are you crazy? You…were debauched and your crazy imagination and fascination with terror doesn’t make you more faithful or pure now.”

“I have changed completely and you have forgotten our religion. I don’t see you any more in the mosque and don’t like it.” He snarled.

“Is it some thing so wrong?’

“Yes it is. I am talking of - revenge, martyrdom; and you are telling me all this bullshit….and its not just fascination…I have been working…and now ready…for the sacrifice and glory”

“You can’t be serious!”

I am very serious and ready for the supreme sacrifice, the martyrdom. What about you?”

Suddenly Waqar sounded calmly serious. A chilled Tariq felt the depth of his belief and was curious to know more about his plans.

“I love my little family and the peaceful life.”

“A true soldier never thinks of these things during a war.” A cold Waqar persisted.

Tariq was shaken to core and silently judging him. Waqar kept looking up and nodding, slowly he began to speak.

“You must think about those unfortunate villagers being bombed. I know you don’t give a damn….but I do…every one can not be expected to offer the supreme sacrifice at once. It takes time.” Waqar’s voice was clear and calm. Just few moments before he was speaking like a drunk with no self-control. Tariq wondered whether he was witnessing subtle acting.

“I am here for job, money, better life and have no interest in the politics…hate your crazy ideas.”

They were sitting crossed legged on a flower printed sheet, at their favorite picnic spot. He could see Praveen and Jahida taking a stroll, watching children play hide and seek behind bushes. Tariq frequently changed posture to ease pressure on his back muscles, to avoid relapse of dreaded painful backache.

“I know you badly need money…don’t you?” Waqar said in low voice, intensely watching his reaction.

“I am sure you are sick and badly need counseling...”

Waqar was silently looking at ladies and children having a good time, laughing, and running after each other.

“I too have family to take care of and a sick mother back home. But I am not greedy and selfish like you. I may be caught some day, betrayed by some rascal. Then what will happen to them?”

“I am worried about you… fail to understand…why are you planning such things…what is the crime of innocent people…who will die…you have money..Take it easy…do some social work…but please stay way from those mad mullahs. ”

Waqar didn’t reply and again looked at blue sky, brooding, slowly nodding, as if listening and agreeing to some divine voice from above. He seemed to have gone to his trance once again. Tariq drank and waited patiently, closed his eyes and thought about Praveen and Adnan, his son. He firmly decided to cool off his relations with Waqar. It would do him no harm or perhaps be a better option, given to his friend’s dangerous obsession and preoccupation with the lunatic revenge plan. He wished it was one of those crazy ranting and Waqar would go back to his life as before.

“I some times wonder who I am today!”

Tariq could feel he was being exposed to some hereto-secrets hidden in recess of his friend’s tormented fertile brain. He listened carelessly as he had always done-betraying no keen interest, which he was indeed developing.

“I am an unknown banker, but who knows me back home? No body.”

“Is it that important to be well known?”

“Yes it is. I want my name remembered by every body.”

“Remembered? What do you mean?”

“I loved football and wanted to be a professional footballer. But my Abba wanted me to be a doctor. He never listened to me and made sure I missed my practice of the day, being locked up with heartless monstrous tutors of various sizes and shapes to mug up physics, chemistry and biology lessons. They would test my memory and hit a ruler on my extended soft palm. I felt humiliated and I wanted to kill those devils and thought of various methods. But could not venture beyond the planning and never gathered courage to execute the plans and prove myself, ….thought it would be different here….but here again I was made to feel small…not good enough by my asshole Jews and Indian bosses…who wanted impossible results …I told them to fuck off...and now…see where is that 150 years old big bank? In the deep stinking shit…”

Waqar took out another beer and resumed his monologue.

“Now I am sure that stage is near and with in my reach. I have some like-minded, focused and resourceful young friends with me. And they are as passionate and willing as I am… I mean…to give a bloody kick in Yankee bums.”

“And you are doing this to make your self well known back home…a hero?

A silent Waqar looked away, turned his face looking at the noisy children, his eyes becoming moist. His daughter Henna raced toward them threw herself at him and started to sob.

“Arre, what happened to my dear little darling?” Waqar wiped his tears and Tariq took his beer to save it from spilling over the child.

“I don’t like Bhai pulling and messing my hairs.” Henna increased her effort to gather tears and started to howl loudly.

“Oh, he is just a small child and does not know any thing.” Waqar made a funny face to pacify her.

“Why don’t you tie his hands?”

She stopped howling and demanded abruptly and then resumed. Her voice was shrill and effortlessly produced streams of tears from her innocent large eyes. She could rain teardrops on drop of a hat to smoother her dotting father to outrageous demands. Henna now seemed proud of running little streams flooding her pink cheeks and delicate neck. Her mother Jahida gave up completely and let Waqar deal with the little girl. She told him to find a boy for Henna, who could put up with such noisy tantrums. She would better be excused of such daunting responsibility.

She would say- we don’t know what troubles she might face in her adult life? What kind of boy would she merry, how would he treat her. Please have mercy, don’t spoil her and think of future. Nobody likes a woman who throws tantrums and behaves unreasonably.

“No need for that. I will tell him to behave.” Waqar put Henna on his lap and promised softly. Tariq could see little tears still sticking to his friend’s eyes.

“He won’t. I hate him.” She resumed her howling and threw legs violently on his chest.

Waqar caught hold of her tiny legs and made a funny face. She stops shrieking.

A flock of birds descended nearby and she sat up, wide eyed.

“Abba, see these birds, I will catch one today.” She forgot her hair-pulling brother, funny-faced father and developed keen interest in the flock and ran after it.

Waqar slowly drew his contorted muscles back in place and returned to his menacing, brooding, lamenting posture. Tariq watched him being transformed from a loving father of a little girl to a fanatic, dreaming of a grand terror strike. Which will deprive many young girls of their funny-faced fathers, loving harassed mother and hair pulling cute little brothers? They perhaps, will never dare to howl again and would seize forever their interest in flock of noisy birds.

They watched as Henna ran after birds.

Waqar had come to America as a student like him and settled down. He was a tall fair man. Lately he has shown greater interest in religious affairs and social work. His once modern home office has slowly acquired religious posters, big stick of incense spewing heady scented coils of smoke. The table and chairs have been removed and a big white covered cushion appeared for cross-legged sitting, the wall providing back support. Tariq avoided sitting crossed leg because of the acute backache. .

He drew closer and spoke in steady low voice.

“Brother, today I want to share some inner thoughts with you. I know you are a damn greedy fallow, but that’s all right with me. You are like my own younger brother. You have to promise me that if some thing happens to me you will take of my family. Repay whatever I have done for you. Money is not a problem; I have enough for their needs. What they might need is guidance and support in difficult times ahead.”

A deeply troubled Tariq listened carefully and cursed himself to meet his old friend gone crazy so completely. Waqar seems to have made a decision, and would carefully set to do the job in a systematic and organized manner. He silently nodded to abide by his friend’s wishes.

Waqar again lapsed in to his brooding posture, looking at sky, listening to some divine voice, nodding his neck and making some decisions, analyzing thoughts.

They were silent for some time before he eventually turned his fierce eyes on him. His voice disclosed a strange finality and conviction, which made Tariq nervous.

“I will try to do the job alone but if the situations demand I might have to take Jahida and Henna with me.”

Tariq froze as he heard his friend disclose the sinister plan.

“One more thing; if my plans are exposed, you take care of them.”

Tariq felt numb and disoriented.

“Don’t worry I won’t be caught alive and sure to take maximum enemies with me.”
“Enemies…who are they…innocents?”
“In a war…that happens often…It happened in Afghanistan…I was there…so I know..”
“You were where…Don’t tell me that…”
“No one knows…it was in late eighties…for about a year…seen all…blasts. Helicopter gun ships mowing down every thing that moved…blasts…blood…death. Collected and buried dismembered bodies…aged…women and small kids…killed many godless soviets…”
A stunned Tariq listened to his friend’s hidden past and present motivation.

“Forget it…it was in past..Long back…”
“I just can’t. It keeps me awake and troubled…fought injustice then and doing same now.”
“Don’t do it…and don’t involve Bhabhi and Henna in this mad stuff?”
“I will try, not to. But if there no other way left, we three will be become martyrs and they too will always be remembered. And I am sure you would do some thing about it and our sacrifices don’t go waste. It must be used to motivate more people.”

“Bhabhi knows about it?”

“No. Not yet.. I won’t tell her ...it’s not needed and I am sure she will agree. ..she will have to... but even if she does not.... she has no other option but to obey me...I would hate to put my little darling Heena in danger...but.... One must be ready to sacrifice the dearest...I hope you know that?” Waqar avoided him and looked away.

“But why are you telling me this… crazy stuff…why..?”

“I just don’t know…really…”

Tariq did not eat. Waqar showed any interest in his favorite delicacies. Jahida was disappointed and asked whether the she cooked well or not. She was not satisfied by answers she got from the men and she could sense the tension in air and curiously kept asking about their serious expressions and silent sparse eating.

“Bhai, I wonder every thing is okay? You guys are so serious today, didn’t even bother to play with kids and show them some thing interesting around?”

“Yes every thing ok. We were just discussing some old friend.” Tariq looked at Waqar and lied.

‘Some one I know?”

“No.” Waqar curtly silenced her innocent curiosity.

Tariq felt bad but was relieved to be spared of further lies and answer questions from a simple Jahida. He was greatly troubled and foxed about being exposed to the horrible terror plan.

A motivated and focused terrorist would never disclose the gory secretes to any one!

Waqar was still lost in his thoughts and avoided his gaze. Jahida tried to initiate conversation with her husband and Tariq. But she had to go back to an aloof Praveen and the noisy children and helped them eat.

Waqar hugged him closely and kissed his forehead.
“Don’t do it...Please...” Tariq whispered.
Waqar avoided looking at him and suddenly broke off; stopped for a moment as if trying to remember some thing and then thoughtfully got in to his car. Tariq waited for car ahead to move and clear his way. The tiny hand of Henna waved them good by and disappeared from their sight. A nudge from his wife broke his frozen composure and turned the key.

“What’s going on?” Praveen enquired.

“Nothing...” Tariq didn’t look at her.

He knew she didn’t believe him. His own voice seemed peculiar, as if it belonged to a complete stranger, beginning to wonder if Waqar’s fanaticism has influenced him in some way. His thoughts went back to howling Henna, throwing her tiny legs and a demure, simple Jahida serving him food.

“Abba ...Henna is going to New York.” His son Adnan spoke with a tinge of jealousy and expectation.

So the mad Waqar has already decided to take them along on his mission of destruction. He has a personal agenda; passing off as stupid jihad and all that crazy mumbo-jumbo. To be famous, is his aim; a star footballer, his father did not allow. Or perhaps lately wanted to make a mark at least as a banker, but failed. Blowing up people is easy; some explosives, a timer and boom. One can make a mark, be famous so easily.

“When will we go to New York?” Adnan was impatient to hear a promise from him.

“Abba will tell you later. Now will you please let him drive?” Praveen come to his rescue.

A crimson sun was setting in the wide horizon and the road seemed as if heading for the mighty fireball. The car ahead appeared to head for it, gradually becoming smaller till it turned in to a tiny dot and then it was gone. Tariq felt dizzy and stopped the car on side and asked for the bottle of water. He stepped out and splashed cold water on his face again and again until he felt better. He looked away from the sun, as deep feeling of helplessness took over.

Praveen looked at him with troubled curiosity. Her face hidden in a scarf she always wore so elegantly. Tariq knew she was worried and would need a proper explanation- always a difficult task.

Adnan laughed and asked Praveen to let him imitate his Abba; he didn’t wait for her approval. He come to him and extended his hand and took bottle and immediately splashed water on his face, drenching his cloths wet.

He was not happy with the result and sheepishly looked at Tariq for help in his venture. Tariq felt secure that his tears were hidden in cold water, invisible to his son, who always thought him to be a brave man: beyond such cowardice. He went to Adnan and knelt down.

“Sorry Abba.”

“It’s alright beta. Let’s go.” He picked him up.

“I will drive.” A pale Praveen has shifted to the driving seat.

Tariq avoided looking at her, but had already made a decision.

Waqar’s face was all over on all the TV channels and news papers. The former banker turn rabid religious preacher was caught few hours before he could detonate bombs in crowded places and running underground trains. About a dozen youngsters were also arrested from different cities with explosives. The police credited the success to their secrete operatives, informers and regular surveillance of suspected terror cells.

Praveen held his and hand and whispered, “Don’t feel bad…it saved so many innocent lives …”

Tariq closed moist eyes and hugged her closer.

I Love Paris

He got up and joined people walking down towards the woods.
He moved behind a big boulder near bank of the river, away from the crowd of holidaymakers. The top portion of Eiffel Tower with its thin aerial was visible, emerging out of distant trees, accompanied by the cone of the hideous Pencil Tower. He sat down on one of the stone slabs and unfolded ‘Le Monde’, turned pages with interest and immersed himself in the newspaper, munching sandwiches. Little away a man with fishing rod sat motionless, looking far ahead towards the woods.
A boat with two men drew closer riding the slow moving river. It made a slight maneuver and neared the bank. The one man silently opened the beer canes gave one to the other young man leaning back in the boat facing him.
“ Nice weather sir, the first man addressed the man with newspaper.”
Tariq ignored him and continued to eat and read the newspaper.
“ Is it not nice sir? “ The other young man spoke as if trying to tease the older man.
“ I find is marvelous here.”
He looked up, eyes darting around swiftly, scanning the area with measured and trained bearing.
“ Yeah. I always feel marvelous here. Look at the mighty Eiffel Tower.”
Both young men turned to see the magnificent view of the tower emerging out of woods.
“ Beautiful. I have begun to love Paris.” One man said, drinking beer.
“ Every body loves Paris.” Said Tariq still reading newspaper, with a tinge of seriousness.
“ Nice to know that sir.” The tone showed excitement and satisfaction.
Both men looked in separate directions, keeping a constant vigil.
“ We also love other things and most importantly what we promise.
“ Please, don’t disturb me folks.”
It was the alarmed middle-aged angler with round speckes kissing his thick salt pepper eyebrows. They fell silent as some tourists went past them, back to the market and parking lot.
“ Why don’t you keep mum for some time? You repeat the same thing so often?”
“ No man. I have to.” The voice has developed a sinister tone.
All were silent for few moments.
“I got a reasons too brother”, Tariq hissed.
“ Do you? “ Challenged the man with fishing rod.
The men in boat seem to listen and kept a silent but potent vigil.
“Forget the crap, let’s know the developments?”
“I expect some results soon.” The angler hesitated.
“ Brother, we all are running out of time and patient now. Tell me if it’s too difficult for you. But it will be quite shameful experience to go back on a promise and accept defeat with out lifting a damn finger.”
There was an awkward silence as three pairs of eyes looked at the man with fishing rod. He coughed nervously and spoke with low voice.
“ I have been trying hard, but there are unexpected problems, you know, we have to keep whole thing quite. It’s very important that we are very careful and raise no alarm. I request for some more time and rescheduling.”
He stopped and looked at the black caped Tariq.
“ Rubbish. The buyer would not wait and would certainly go away. Tariq hissed in low measured tone. “No rescheduling possible and looks like we might loose out due to your incompetence. “
The man with fishing rod sat motion less with his blank face, betraying no emotions. Black capped man looked at him with distaste and continued.
“We still have a chance if you do your job well. If I knew you was a worthless pest with no self-respect. I would have never agreed to rely on you. Mind it, if you fail again; please vanish, because I don’t know how these boys would deal with you. They have been waiting so anxiously for the money.” He lifted his faded jacket, and stood up.
“You have raised by blood pressure, it’s a pity that so much depends on a worthless creature like you.” He gathered his newspaper, manila bag and looked at the angler, expecting a reply. There was none.
The angler moved his eyes nervously, avoided the steely stare and coughed. Suddenly he spoke with anxiety.
“Silence. Please don’t disturb me.”
A fat couple with two healthy kids was settling down nearby. Kids made noises as they went on to place their shining new fishing rods with bait in the river. The experienced and indulgent father blew air in a deflated cushion and kept an eye on the excited kids. The lady furiously busied her self with a big food basket and ordered kids to be silent. The man placed the mat and eased his bulk on a mat, the plug popped off, deflating the mat.
The lady and kids laughed heartily. The embarrassed man made a funny face
“ Sorry sir. I must have chosen a wrong place.”
A dejected Tariq bowed and walked towards a group of people walking briskly, and melted away.
Two boatmen silently smoked for some time, drank beers and kept gazing at the angler with deep disapproval. Their athletic bodies were straight and alert.
One young man spat loudly in an apparent display of deep disgust and feeling of let down. He spoke in low but confident tone-
“Do some thing fast. We are broke and need fast cash.”
They dropped in unison empty bottles in the water. The light green bottles drank water slowly and disappeared in the river. The pair straightened up in tandem to row the boat and followed the stream.
The angler silently watched them up to the bend in the river.
Powerful tugs on the rod made him smile and he begin to wind the wheel.
‘Oh. You got a big one, sir.” The boy exclaimed.
The angler nodded and smiled, judging the struggling fish.
“Please tell us how you did it?” The girl asked with great expectations.
“ Simple kids, offer a big bait and be patient.”

Devotion and Deceit

Excited voices and hum of activities made Dr. Mitra-the retired archeologist, to open his eyes and languidly enquire his surroundings. The train was now slowly negotiating the famous steep mountain curve, speed was slow and noisy effort made by engines was evident through vibrations and creaking of wheels. Most of the passengers were glued to the windows to watch and record on camera the famous spectacle of heaving noisy double engines and couples of cars at the end slowly entering a tunnel below. A breath taking view of Arawali mountains and deep gorges with scattered lush greenery made any one with a camera to take a picture. He got up and went to the washbasin to splash some water on face to freshen up and rinse hands. Pratibha, the young journalist was readying her camera to shoot the scenery through open doors. Cool blast of mountain air through open door was refreshing. The famed tourist town of Ajeetgarh was at about half an hour’s journey. Situated deep in Arawali ranges, like a powerful magnet it attracts tourists from India and abroad. Hindus come to offer their prayers for well being before lord Ganesha, the eighth century idol with three heads. The temple, situated in an old impregnable fort high in the mountain away from the town.
Ajeetgarh has become an important part of a foreigner’s journey in India. A bath in its holy lake is a must to wash way accumulated sins of a materialistic life and become a new person all together, making further materialistic pursuits easy and less troublesome. The uninhibited and intoxicated foreigners have some time have got carried away in their frantic attempts to wash away sins too fast and were prosecuted for violation of code of conduct. The thriving bazaars in the town and particularly around the holy lake offered every conceivable merchandise sought by Indians devotees and fair skinned visitors. The town has more than hundred temples frequented by Indian devotees and exotica driven, nirvana-seeking foreigners.
There were frequent media reports of rampant drug peddling and nudism practiced by foreigners, which seemed to make the place more attractive and sought after than before; resulting in more Indian and foreign tourists flocking to the town. Increasing cases of dreaded Aids were also reported amongst prostitutes, taxi drivers, small hotel owners and tourist guides who come in contact with numerous amorous foreigners and locals. Doctors at government hospital and private clinics were ill equipped to deal with such cases. Many European ladies had fallen in love with local men, married and applied for Indian citizenship. Some have established hotels and travel agencies catering to tourists from their countries.
Social workers and concerned citizens were worried of alien influences on the youth and their life style. However no religious organization commented harshly on such delicate issues, fearing a fall in devotees and lower temple collections of cash and other offerings. The trader’s too disliked any negative publicity leading to drop in tourists’ traffic and low business. They called for all parties to avoid the dreaded cultural conflict and behave in a reasonable, businesslike manner. The knowledgeable people whispered about a secrete plan backed by powerful commercial and religious interest groups to down play any wide negative publicity apart from few occasional and unexpected saucy media reports to keep the interest of tourists alive in the exotic town.
Many enterprising residents have converted their homes in to paying guest accommodations and motels catering only to well paying foreigners. While others opened hotels and offered various services sought by a thriving pilgrimage and tourist town. Ajeetgarh boasted of heritage hotels housed in large ancient mansions and modern hotels, some operated by famed international hotel chains. But the elementary infrastructure as in all Indian cities was crumbling and failed to take pace with its rapid growth.

The resident leftists were not amused by the market oriented development and they immediately termed growth of tourism as a Work Bank sponsored blatant commercialization of religion, corrupting of young people, endangering country’s sovereignty and independence. They some time gathered near railway station and hotels where Americans and Israelis stayed and demonstrated against American imperialism, Coke, MacDonald’s and other western business establishments. Yankees who never seen a real red in person, went on furious clicking spree to show and tell folks back home. Some people alleged that group of hotels sponsored these as diversion and entertainment shows when things were low. Nobody complained, leftist got publicity along with brand new red flags, free breakfasts or lunches and tourists have seen and recorded a live communist demonstration with bearded thin men shouting …”down with Bush. Long lives the revolution. …..Long lives comrade Castro.”
The leftist influence was little in the commercialized town but deep in jungles, few die-hard and motivated Maoist extremists have developed close bond with the impoverished tribal. They have lived with them for years, providing leadership and shielding them from corrupt forest officials, greedy moneylenders and ruthless contractors. They have control of most of the village councils in the vast hilly area and organize a sizable army of youths and controlled jungles produce, received arms and training from extremists groups based in Nepal, Kashmir, Bihar, Jharkhand, AP and Tamilnadu. Few dreaded terrorists from Kashmir have rumored to take shelter there, eluded the police for long time and later have escaped to Europe through Pakistan.
The police have always rejected the media reports of any extremist group operating in the jungles near Ajeetgarh. The local strong man Prabhati Lal, an old communist and the member of legislative assembly from the area has always vehemently denied presence of any terrorists and extremists in his constituency. He is rumored to have reached a tactical understanding with the extremists to keep police and bureaucracy away if they help him in his election by organizing mass voting for him and his associates with help of ultras.
The arrangement have suited both for years and extremists have now entrenched themselves strongly in the area and preparing for next phase of bloody struggle and annihilation of class enemies. They have carefully so far confined their actions towards greedy forest officials and moneylenders with in jungle and did not create any trouble in the temple town, which might lead to increased media focus and possible backlash from the police or central agencies fighting extremists. There have been no killings by them and have managed their core objectives with out much of violence, though reports of some angry tribal beating officials and small traders have been common for a long time. These developments were viewed by the learned social commentators as manifestations of empowerment of disposed and poor tribal people who have been exploited for thousands of years.
Prabhati Lal has prospered beyond his own wildest dreams and has lately become complacent making easy money and womanizing, loosing personal touch with his people. Other politicians eying the large tribal vote bank have tried to fill the void and established contact with angry extremists, who have been unhappy due to death of few comrades in police lockups. Prabhati was not available for help and get the men released.
He was now on a weak position due to growing opposition to his family’s vice like grip on politics for years. There were now many ambitious and moneyed contenders to successfully challenge him in next elections and battle lines were being drawn in fine details to unseat him. Every event, which happened in the temple town, was now viewed from political angle and disposed by decision makers looking on its effects on the political groupings and leanings. The town was now neatly divided in to pro, against and fence sitters who might align with any one at last moment depending on the cast affiliations or general mood of voters. The opposition party has planned a grand political rally for next Sunday. Few national leaders, including a former prime minister were expected to attend and make political speeches. The administrative machinery was neck deep in making security arrangements for Z category security covered leaders, leaving no resources for any other pressing eventualities.