The most iconic visual image of a Chinese protester, still frozen in memory in recent decades: a single unarmed Youngster standing defiantly in front of four tanks, daring them to run him over.
The revolt in Tunisia was sparked by the suicide attempt of an unemployed 26 years old graduate, Mohamed Bouazizi, a road side vendor, who patience snapped after the police took away his cart, the sole means of livelihood. An event which could have gone unnoticed before, aided by technology, ignited the desperate people.
The leaping flames of freedom are now spreading across the region and beyond. Despots and dictators sitting on top of brutal regimes, billions of dollars, bevies of mistresses and fawning courtiers are increasingly getting nervous. But the impatient masses are seized of their new found freedom and dreaming for long desired changes.
People at large are delighted by 24x7 internet access and ability to share reactions to the world at large. With each technological leap forward, barriers fall, dictators’ control lessens, ignorance decreases and people can take ever more informed actions. And that is the real good news for widely desired freedom and openness.
During April 1989, angry students in China converged on Beijing’s vast Tienanmen Square. More than 100,000 assembled to mourn death of a liberal, pro-democracy communist party member Hu Yobang. The demonstrations spread to other cities, turned in to dreaded pro democracy movement and lasted about seven weeks. Communist Party hardliners were divided and worried as the public support grew across the world, for the movement aided by modern technology. Eventually they ordered the Army to clear the square, but Soldiers faced substantial resistance from people.
On the night of 4th of June, 1989, People’s Liberation Army with tanks circled the peaceful demonstrators and opened fire; they had to meet an early morning deadline, to clear the square. Exact numbers were never known, but more than 3000 demonstrators believed to have died, dreaming for democracy. The Chinese government had blocked TV and radio but missed the new communications technology called the fax machine. These machines kept churning out images of repression, bravery and words of support from across the world.
The mighty Berlin wall was eventually pulled down by people in November, 1989, by emotive forces unleashed through the images of satellite television, delivering a final crushing blow to weakened entity of the draconian communist regimes.
The misty eyed bands of die hard communists, across the world, still go through rituals of yearly breast beating by bemoaning the hated fall of their beloved wall by devious capitalistic mechanization, while strongly justifying killing of young counter reactionaries in Tienanmen Square.
Technology has stuck again in North Africa and Middle East, after 22 years of those tumultuous events of 1989.
Youthful emotive forces unleashed by expanding internet and vibrant social media, made a despot in Tunisia flee. With in days, the seismic waves traveled east, by passing 40 years old Col. Gaddafi regime of Libya and in no time the decades old dormant anger in Egypt exploded. The Tahrir Square in Cairo got filled with men and women seized of deep desires to change their lives or even die in their pursuits. Young men and women, students, professors, artists, housewives and kids, Muslims and Copt Christians fought and celebrated together in the large square. They valiantly resisted and suffered violent onslaughts by thugs riding speeding trucks, horses and camels, leaving about 11 dead and many grievously injured.
The Egypt effect, signifying crumbling of a well entrenched despotic empire, has encouraged people in the Middle East and Main land China. Demonstrations have been growing in Algeria, Jordan, Yemen, Morocco, Kuwait and Bahrain. The nervous rulers of Syria have already made some relaxations to placate the people.
The bearded Mullahs heading theocratic regime in Iran have been gleefully watching the events in Cairo with a different perspective-a kind of heady replication of Iranian revolution leading to a theocratic state. For the Iranian opposition, which has been absent on the streets in more than a year, seems to ready to reassert its presence after facing relentless oppressions. Tens of thousands of protesters assembled and clashed with security forces on Tehran’s main boulevards, which were immediately shrouded in clouds of tear gas, leaving one civilian was dead.
Iranian theocratic regime has detained the son of opposition leader Mehdi Karrubi. He was arrested after security forces raided his home. Many members of the Iranian parliament issued death threads against the opposition leaders and former presidential candidates. Some have been wildly chanting “execute Moussavi, Karrubi."
Let us try to dispassionately go over the past and present to conjure up a possible vision of future.
In Egypt, the top commanders, all with strong political ties to age old Mubarak regime, must have decided to break with him for the sake of their own legitimacy. But they still have a vital stake in maintaining the status quo, not just politically, but economically as well. Egyptian authorities have frozen assets of Hosni Mubarak and his family. Some ministers have come under corruption investigation in Egypt, but how far and wide spread these actions would go, is still to be seen.
In a well entrenched crony capitalism alliances forged through decades , Egyptian military officers own shares in just every industry and businesses in the country, from construction to automobiles companies to the cash cow- tourism.
The scenario holds true for most of the countries in the region. This could eventually lead to a serious clash during expected arbitration trying to bring an end to corruption and related trials.
According to some Middle East watchers-"To even think about the investigation of the transgressions of the regime has to take it directly into the military economy, as military leaders have less than zero interest in having an investigation of that."
Egypt is in the early stages of a leadership succession that could possibly swing the country toward greater openness and political competition or even towards the often dreaded consolidated authoritarianism. The military command has proposed extensive constitutional amendments that would shift some powers to the legislative branch and revise rules for presidential and parliamentary elections, but observers are concerned that many of the changes may prove to be cosmetic.
Crises in Iraq, Palestine, and Lebanon have hindered the democracy promotion, yet these developments present a unique opportunity to urge meaningful reform in Egypt, perhaps without endangering stability and key regional relationships. In such a welcome eventuality, the waves of democratic reforms would unfold with diverse out come, elsewhere in the region and beyond.
The major implications of Egypt’s current political climate and presents four key issues: presidential term limits, greater freedom for political parties and movements, independent election oversight, and limiting executive powers.
For a long time in the Arab world, Islamists have assumed the role once played by national liberation movements and the leftist. They are deeply embedded in the social fabric, and are thus able to mobilize considerable influence. Their ideology prescribes a very simple and easily understood solution to the persistent crises of contemporary Arab societies—a return to the fundamentals, or the true spirit of Islam.
Indeed, “Islam is the solution” has been the longtime slogan of Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood and others. Islamists have been able to distill and promote for long, a complex philosophical tradition into simple slogans that have quickly supplanted the Pan-Arabism and socialism that dominated the region until the 1970s. As a result, in most countries in the region; the Islamists represent the only viable opposition forces to existing undemocratic regimes, till now.
Islamic thinkers like Hasan Al Bana and Sayed Qutab of Muslim brotherhood along with Syed Abdul Ala Maddudi of Jammat Islami of Pakistan had laid foundation stone of hereto visible fissile shade of religious fanaticism. Al Azhar University of Cairo too had espoused the similar strains of Islam. The well known Amir of Jihad Abdullah Azzam was an Al Azhar scholar and guru of Osama Bin Laden.
But now, the incorrigible optimists have few good reasons to believe that the Egypt effect has created ripples of unstoppable waves to rewrite the future of democracies and individual freedom in the Middle East. A keen regional analyst has echoed his enthusiastic sentiments, “Each place will interpret the fallout from Egypt in their own way and in their own context.’’
The seismic waves, which had bypassed Libya in January has bounced back with greater force.
Brutal Gaddafi has reacted predictably, by ordering his air force to fire on the foreign inspired “Rats” swarming out on roads. His bald Mafiosi resembling son Saif Gaddafi has threatened to unleash rivers of blood and fight to last bullet. How many people have died there, is still not clear, but death toll seems to be mounting, as unrest spreads widely. Libyan Ministers and diplomats are resigning and distancing themselves from the mad regime. Several opposition groups in exile called for the overthrow of Gaddafi and for a peaceful transition of power in Libya.
But stark differences exist between worldly, commercially integrated Egypt and definably insular Libya. There are no well entrenched bureaucratic and administrative structures in Libya, which has been ruled by groups of armed thugs and tribes loyal to Gaddafi. The isolation and suppression of Libyan people is formidable and unimaginable, according to experts.
Now, as protests are growing widely in Middle East, a key question is if the Chinese communists dread it surfacing again in their own country?
The economic power house of China has stark similarities to Tunisia and Egypt.
First similarity, the Chinese regime is not democratically elected and rules only by brutal force.
Second, the food inflation is soaring. According to official data, food prices soared about 10 percent from the previous year in December 2010 and jumped 12 percent in November 2010. Many economists believe these figures are rigged and inflation is actually much higher.
Third, the growing discontent over low wages had been gradually manifested in a string of migrant worker suicides in Guangdong. The suicides prompted worker strikes, which were resolved after factory owners gave sizable wage concessions.
The 1989 protests were politically motivated. After the uprising was crushed brutally, people consented to the communist rule, all these years because of unfolding economic development.
Now, for the first time in 22 years, university graduates, even from prestigious ones, had trouble finding gainful employment. They are called 'ant tribes'. The vile term loosely lampoons and describes- growing army of educated young Chinese people forced to bear sordid living conditions in Beijing, Shanghai and elsewhere.
The fate of migrant workers remains greatly oppressed, as the soaring food prices during 2010 have affected them brutally.
If, the hereto suppressed “Jasmine” unrest were to rebound and grow lethal in China, later during 2011, it would be predominantly based on economic disparities as opposed to political discontent of 1989.
Showing posts with label Revenge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Revenge. Show all posts
Monday, August 8, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
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.
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.
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