THE BASTARD

All characters in this story are imaginary and bear no resemblance to anyone dead or alive. All incidents except historic incidents are fictitious. Names of places and some historic events are actual but are only incidental to the story and not purported to convey specificity of places, events, organisations etc.

1

It wasn't easy being a bastard child. In the school he came up with - what he thought as - clinching excuse that his father died saving a wounded soldier during the last war. However, gradually he knew that he knew as much about his father as other children knew about God; no body had seen Him but they believed that He existed.

The war connection - his mother once told him - was indeed correct. She, however told him that he didn't save a wounded soldier; he was the wounded soldier, or, to be exact, the wounded airman. She saved him whilst her husband was away fighting at the border against his father's country.

It was the darkest of the dark nights, made more dark because of the black-out against attacks from the air by the Pakistan Air Force. They had to maintain total black out not only because of their personal safety but also because the closeness of her village Rangarh to Indo-Pak border at Attari. Whilst lights on either side of the border would help the pilots, total darkness would disorient them in some way. She had gone to sleep early since, she told him, she was scared to remain awake. It was cold and she felt safe pulling the quilt over her head, which not only provided warmth but muffled the piercing sounds of the fighters and bombers at night. Two nights before, she was informed by the other villagers, one of the PAF pilots baled out of his burning plane and landed on the kotha (house top) of Jagtar Singh's house. Jagtar was an octogenarian but patriotism, intensified by the war, had bestowed a certain degree of sprightliness and presence of mind in him. So, before the hapless pilot could extricate himself from the parachute and the stunning landing, Jagtar had inverted a bucket over his head and screamed for help. The vigilante group of young men of the village had then taken charge of the pilot and handed him over to the police. Jagtar and the young boys had emerged heroes. However, Kunti, his mother, had wondered, with some justification, what on earth was Jagtar doing on the kotha on a dark winter night (In their village, and in other villages of Punjab, it was customary to sleep on the clay roof top only during summers).

Anyway, since then, Kunti carefully latched up the door to the staircase leading up to the kotha of her own house as well as the front door. On that night, it was the front door of the house on which she heard urgent knocking. When she heard it, for quite some time, her reaction was that it couldn't be. Surya, her husband had left just a month back, his leave having been cut short with war clouds gathering between India and Pakistan. He couldn't have been sent again on leave so early. She tried to go back to sleep thinking that the breeze was playing tricks. But, anon, there was urgent metallic knocking and not the careless work of the incessant breeze. She slipped out of the quilt, put on her chappals and donned her dupatta over her salwar-kameez and rushed to the wooden front door.

"Kaun hai?" (Who's there?) she challenged the intruder.
"Pehle kunda tanh khol kudiye, pher dasdanh haan" (First open the door, lass, and then I shall tell you)

This was not to her liking at all. Calling her a lass was understandable; she was married less than six months back at the age of sixteen, the age at which most of her friends and relatives got married. So, indeed, her voice had given herself away that she was still a girl in her teens. However, that she would open the door for a stranger, in the middle of night, in the midst of war, would be a wrong assumption on any one's part, even if he knew Punjabi, her mother tongue. She picked up fresh courage thinking of her husband Surya in the Indian Army and said in no nonsense, yet girlish voice:

"Main nahiyon kholna kunda" (I will not open the door)
"Tera biyaah ho gaya hai, kudiye?" (Are you married?) The voice across the door asked her.
Before she could deny, and since all through her childhood, she had been brought up to always tell the truth, she accepted it straightway by saying, "Ji; aur oh border te ladan waaste gaye ne" (Yes, and he has gone to the border to fight)
"Kudiye, mere pichhe bande paye ne. Main Pakistan Air Force wich haan. Zara soch, je tera ghar waala Pakistan wich qaid hone waala hoye tanh tu nahin chawehngi koi usnoo bacha lave?" (Lass, men are chasing me. I am in Pakistan Air Force. Just think, if your husband was running not to get himself imprisoned in Pakistan, won't you wish someone would save him?"

She involuntarily shuddered when he mentioned Pakistan Air Force. But then, she instantly thought of Surya too, imagining him heavily wounded and bleeding, knocking at the door of some Pakistani woman. Only she could save him from sure death. Her mind was immediately made up and she lowered the chain latch from the door. One side then opened with his incessant pushing. He nearly fell inside the veranda but steadied himself and sat on the manji (a cot made from hemp rope and bamboo frame).

"Chheti buhaa band kar lai. Ate je koi puchhe tanh keh dayin tu kalli hain." (Quickly latch up the door and if anyone should ask, tell them you are all alone) He instructed her.

He was fast becoming unconscious. So first thing after latching the door she took him inside and made him lie down on her palang (bed), covered him with her rajaai (quilt) and offered him some water in a copper glass. He drank and asked her to look at him briefly with his pen torch. He was boyish, less than twenty-five she decided; probably about twenty two or so ("why did he call me a lass then when he was himself a boy?") She hadn't looked at men's faces closely other than of her own husband and her brother. However, she instantly knew that even though he was bruised and pale he was handsome. He was in his flying suit and boots and then she noticed the area around his midriff where a lot of blood had oozed out and congealed there with the thick fabric of the flying suit. By this time, exhaustion had got him totally and he was knocked out on the bed with his booted feet resting on the floor.

She went close to his face and heard his breathing and reassured herself that he was still alive. She was just taking out his flying boots when there was incessant knocking on the door and some voices. She had the presence of mind to respond after a gap of nearly a minute. From the veranda she shouted, "Kaun hai?" (who is there?)

One of the vigilante boys shouted back that they were looking for a PAF pilot who baled out of his burning plane and whose parachute was discovered in the bushes near the pond. He asked if she had heard or seen him. Kunti shouted back that she was sleeping and that she was alone and she had both her doors latched and there was no question of anyone coming inside.

The boys left with an instruction to her to be vigilant.

She returned to the bed and holding the pen torch between her teeth she removed his shoes with some effort and then the socks. She found the zipper of the flying suit from his neck to his legs but it was difficult to see the wound because the congealed blood had made it stick to the skin. She took the thermos flask next to her bed wherein she had kept warm water for her for the night and dipped the end of towel in it and nursed the wound. It was deep and the bleeding recommenced after her nursing. She went to the cupboard and took out a bottle of dettol, drenched the towel in it and applied it to the wound. He got up wincing with the pain and instructed her how to nurse his gash. Since the towel was already spoiled she tied it around his wound and then let him sleep. She had to sleep on the floor sandwiched between two quilts she got from the other room. In the night he winced with the pain several times but didn't get up.

2

The dawn presented its own problems. As she got up she saw the mess around. Anyone coming in would know what had happened; many times the neighbourhood women came to pass the time; then there was the jamadarni (sweepress) who would come to take the night soil from the latrine. Kunti mopped up all the blood and swept the clay floors, bathed, said her morning prayers, switched on the small Bush transistor Surya had got from the army canteen and listened to bhajans (hymns) being broadcast in Vividh Bharti's morning programme, got the chulha (village stove) going with gobber (compost) pies burning in it. She made a glass of tea and took it to him holding the hot steel glass in her dupatta. He was still in pain and could not get up on his own. She helped him up and perched him against the bed rest with a tasseled and embroidered pillow stuck between his back and the bed rest. He confirmed that it pained a lot as he sipped the tea.

She hurried him with the morning ablutions even though he could hardly move telling him that once the jamadaarni came, he should be in the other room. All went well except the jamadaarni pointed out whilst carrying out the night soil, "Tid tanh thuada theek hai ke nahin?" (Do you have a tummy upset?). Anyway, she was paying her all of ten rupees a month and it wasn't for her to point out the bigness or smallness of the job involved. She could have been with her husband.

Later, the PAF pilot told her that his name was Haneef Mohammad and he was flying a F-78 Sabre jet when it was shot down and he had baled out. He had taken off from the air base of Sargodha in Pakistan. She asked him innocently and he agreed that if he had not been shot down he would have bombed their village and wiped out many innocent lives probably including hers. She was only sixteen but having been told Mahabharata and Ramayana stories by her nani (maternal grandmother), when she was small, she knew that fighting was a person's calling just as being a housewife was hers.

Haneef instructed her what to get from the village chemist to nurse his wound properly. The only problem was that in that small village, the hakeem (chemist) would be too suspicious to supply her with those items. So, they decided against it. She, therefore, took a little bit of his half dried blood, soaked a make-shift bandage in it, tied to her finger and went to the hakeem to buy dettol, and some pain killers and cotton. She boiled some water and cleaned up the wound as best as she could with dettol. She fed him some breakfast of roti and achaar and milk and gave him a pain-killer. So, when the neighbourhood women came to chat with her, he was fast asleep in the room on her palang (a cot with nawaar or taped coarse cloth) whilst they sat on the manji in the veranda. The talk was all about the plane having been shot down by the ack-ack guns in the night and how it had totally burnt after it hit the ground. They had thought the pilot had got burnt with the plane but later they had found his parachute. He could be anywhere, the women said. All other news was how good the Indian forces were doing on all fronts and had "nearly reached Lahore".

Later, she asked Haneef about his plans. He said it would take him at least a week to recuperate and literally begged her to keep him there.

Having given him shelter, she had no choice. 'Atithi devo bhava' (Guest is like god) is what her nani had taught her.

His needs were very little. He told her many stories of the war and about Pakistan. But, however hard she tried, he didn't open up about himself and his family. He carried a picture of himself in his wallet and when she asked for it, he gave to her to keep. He was a devout Muslim and said his prayers five times a day.

She had no difficulty about keeping him there. After the first day, everyone had lost interest in his whereabouts especially since a bloated dead body was discovered in a flying suit in the nehar (canal) in the next village and everyone assumed it was that of the one who had baled out near their village.

The night before Haneef left, until late in the night Kunti and Haneef lay in their separate beds. She was, she knew, sad to let him go. When Surya was away, she had someone to talk to, someone to help in the house, someone to share her loneliness with; a lass of sixteen who had been with a man - Surya - only too briefly before he was called for fighting at the border. If only he were not an enemy, she would have been quite fond of him, she thought.

She turned in her sandwich of quilts. She heard a whisper from the palang, "Neend nahin aa rahi?" (You ain't able to sleep?) She decided that if she answered immediately it would give her away. So she took her time and answered, "Nahin aisa tanh nahin hai." (No, it isn't like that). "Ute aa ke kyun nahin let jaaundi?" (Why can't you come up and sleep?), he asked her. She replied immediately, "Nahin, eh galat hai" (No, it is wrong). "Marna bhi galat hai, ladaai bhi galat hai; theek ki hai?" (Death is wrong, war is wrong; what then is right?) he philosophised.

She had much more resistance than that. He'd known this in the last six days of being there with her that her nani had given her immense character. However, after many hours when he whispered from the bed, "Mainu pyaar ho gaya tere naal. Mera jaanh wich dil nahin hai" (I have fallen in love with you and I don't want to leave). She whispered back, "Eh galat hai" (This is wrong).

But, she lacked conviction and he got down from the bed, lifted the quilt from her and carried her in his arms to the bed.

3

Her parents came to stay with her during the pregnancy. The war had ended a few months back. There was no news from Surya, no post card, no inland letter. She prayed for him everyday even when she carried Haneef's child in her womb. She was prepared to tell him that her pregnancy was the result of their conjugal relations on the night before he was called to the border. She prayed that the child would have resemblance to her more than to Haneef.

One day, she received an official looking registered letter. With trembling fingers she opened it; at the same time praying to all the gods that Surya should be alive. Gods heard her prayer; but, the news was as bad as the news she had feared: Surya had been declared missing in war. At the end of 1971 Indo-Pak War hundreds of armed forces men, from both sides, were declared 'missing'. This meant that the fact of their being dead or alive couldn't be ascertained beyond reasonable doubt. Many years later, for example with Rajjab Ali of 8 Rajputana Rifles' Charlie Company, many were found in the prisons of the other side even when they had been declared 'martyred'.

She was inconsolable with the news. She had become a half-widow at the age of seventeen. Her first reaction was that the reason why Surya was missing was because of Haneef's country waging a war against India. And yet, not only had she helped Haneef, an enemy pilot of the same country recover from his war injury but had also helped him escape. She had taken him in the evening to the village temple in her husband's clothes. He carried his flying suit and ID papers in a bag with him. This didn't invite any suspicion since many people would gather at the temple on occasions and pray together for war to end and for their and their relatives' and friends' safety. After the kirtan (singing of hymns), Haneef had just slipped into the temple vaatika (garden) and that's the last she ever saw of him. Since, there was no news later of his discovery or being killed, she knew he must have crossed over the no man's land between the two countries that was reputed to be heavily mined.

It was in September 1972 that she gave birth to a bonnie boy. Her parents were ecstatic and so was she. Her penury condition had become better at that time because the army after having waited for six months after the war had declared her husband dead so that she would be entitled to pensionary benefits (of a person killed in war) and other claims. Also, she had inherited some money after her nani's death who had willed her everything being her favourite grandchild.

When it came to naming the child, there was consensus amongst the family and neighbours that he, being the son of Kunti and Surya - as in Mahabharata - should be named Karan. Only she knew that he could very well have been named Kareem.

Unfortunately, Kunti's prayers regarding the likeness of Karan to her hadn't come correct. Surya and Kunti both were dark complexioned but Karan was fair like Haneef, and ruggedly handsome. Indeed, when he was of the age when he could play with other boys, they all teased him that he couldn't have been born to Kunti and Surya or anyone from their village Rangarh and that most likely he was haraami (bastard).

By the time Karan was in his seventh standard, two things were prominent about him: one, he was very bright student; and two, he was totally fed up of the abuses hurled at him about being a bastard child. When boys visited his house, he'd proudly show them Surya's garlanded picture in a soldier's uniform. But, the abuses continued.

On the day, Karan stood first in the whole of Punjab, in his matriculation state board examination, he received the usual jealous and distasteful remarks from his class mates, "Haraami chahe badmash di aulad hai per laik kaafi hai" (The bastard may be a devil's son but he is very intelligent).

On many occasions, he had asked his mother about his father and she kept saying that he was Surya's son. However, on the day when  his matriculation exam results were announced, he had been emboldened to not just ask her but also reason out with her. He started by saying that he had no resemblance with Surya. She said it happens sometimes. He asked how was it that he hadn't heard much about him. She said that was due to the fact that he was killed before he could see him, his child. He said that he didn't even resemble her. She said that too happened sometimes.

Finally, he weighed it in his mind; it was one thing to be suspicious and it was yet another thing to be confronting her, his own mother, the mother who had sacrificed everything for his happiness and provided him good education and facilities (with the money she had got from the army, his mother had opened a sewing centre in their residence whereat three girls worked for her from 9 AM to 5 PM and stitched the clothes that his mother cut and designed. These were then sent for sale at Amritsar).

Nevertheless, curiosity got the better of him and he told her, "Per maan tussi ik chhoti photo her waqt dekhde ho jadon thuanu lagda hai ke main nahin dekh rahiya." (But, mother, I have seen you looking at a small picture when you think I am not looking).

Kunti finally succumbed, burst out crying and told him all about Haneef. She told him that he was a very nice man, very handsome, thorough gentleman; but, had now crossed over to his home-country Pakistan. She showed him the dog eared picture of Haneef.

As Karan lay in his bed that night, he kept thinking about the incident of the Sabre jet, the baling out of his dad, the mental condition of his sixteen years old mother, and the atmosphere of the night before his father left for Pakistan. Finally, when he went to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, he forgave his mother. But, he wondered whether Haneef would still be alive and would he recognise his son from across the border.....so that he won't be haraami any more. His picture was now imprinted indelibly on his mind's slate.

4

It was the first major anti - terrorist operation for Karan Singh of the National Security Guard in his home district of Amritsar. He was just fourteen when NSG was formed as a special force for counter-terrorism activities post learning of lesson during the 1984 Operation Blue Star to flush out Jarnail Singh Bhindranwaale and other terrorists from the Golden Temple at Amritsar. Karan was deeply religious as brought by his mother's teachings but the use of the Golden Temple for terrorist activities and subsequent shooting down of the Indian Prime Minister by one of her own security guards, Beant Singh, in retaliation against her having ordered Operation Blue Star had a deep impact on Karan Singh. So, whilst, young men from his area dreamt of joining the army, Karan was focused on joining the army and later to become a NSG commando or a Black Cat. His resolve was strengthened when in end April 1986: 80 officers, 180 JCOs and 1,500 NSG commandos participated in clearing the Golden Temple in Operation Black Thunder I. The temple was cleared and handed over to Punjab Police on 1 May 1986. There were no casualties on either side.

By the time in May 1988, Operation Black Thunder II was conducted that resulted in the killing of 30 terrorists and surrendering of nearly 200, Karan had finished his schooling. One year later, Karan appeared for the Union Public Services Commission (UPSC) examination for National Defence Academy at Khadagvasla near Pune. He topped the merit and was called for interview at Services Selection Board, Meerut. Three days of gruelling tests and he was to undergo a detailed medical examination. When he was selected, he knew that joining the Army (Infantry) was for him only a step towards becoming an officer in the NSG.

During the three years training at the NDA and one year at IMA after that, the one person that he missed most was his mother. She was the person always closest to him and he worshipped her. When he was to pass out of NDA, she came to NDA to witness the passing out parade and Karan receiving the President's Gold Medal that made her very proud of him.

After being commissioned into the army, Karan opted for and got selected in the special forces and was employed in J&K to counter the insurgency there. After a few years of this, as was his desire, he was selected to be part of the National Security Guard. He liked the ring of the title 'Black Cat'. He felt proud of being part of the elite Special Action Group (SAG).

Karan's first major operation was in July 1999. Two terrorists had attacked a BSF camp near Srinagar, killed three BSF officers and wife of the fourth one and had taken 12 hostages. The orders given to him and the team that he led was that no harm should come to the hostages. BBC and various Indian news channels showed the stand off nearly live. Later when Karan saw the footage, it appeared to him that the NSG were shown in poor light even though it was a very successful operation. It was all due to the fact that the two terrorists were holed up for nearly thirty hours and the news channels, without even understanding what was involved in the operation, appeared to give a verdict that it was shameful for so many of the Indian security forces to be pitched against just two terrorists for nearly thirty hours. The general feeling was that the Israelis would have done it neatly and much faster.

Such perceptions irked Karan and he resolved that in the next operation, he would be more pro-active to seek results quickly.

No one dared call him a Bastard now that he was an officer, but, everytime Karan read the word or heard it, it hit him hard that he was actually one until he would find his dad. However, any active campaign on his part to find his dad would give him away; as also spoil the reputation of his mother whom he loved immensely.

In J&K, he had interrogated many captured terrorists; some who had taken to terrorism after being in the Pakistan armed forces; but, no one had heard of a pilot named Haneef Mohammed and what had happened to him after the 1971 Indo Pak War.

5

Karan would never forget the date of 24 Dec 1999. He wished it had turned out better. The whole nation thought of it as a botched up operation. He, and others in NSG, however, knew that they tried their best. And, if at all anything was lacking it was the decision making at the higher levels; the delayed decision making, that is. In any case, he wasn't thinking about the anti-hijacking operation launched by he and his team. He was talking about him whose life he could have saved.

That morning, he got up early as usual and went through the demanding physical fitness routine he had set for himself. At Manesar, in Haryana, they were to listen to a lecture and witness a demonstration on counter-terrorism techniques by a German team. He looked forward to both. NSG having been modeled on Germany's GSG 9 (Grenzschutzgruppe 9 or "Border Guard Group 9") was fortunate to receive periodic inputs from it. It was a grueling day since the Germans were really professional. In NSG, as Karan knew, there was never an easy day. However, as the day was ending, he was about to heave a sigh of relief. And then, there was a beep on his secure communication set. They were seeing the last part of the german demonstration on the ground. The next day, Christmas Day, was a holiday. He had planned to take a vacation until the New Year and spend sometime with his mother in their village. Seven more days, he thought, and it would be another millenium. How many people can boast of being there for the ending of a new millenium and beginning of a new one?

The beepwas an urgent communication on the most secure set. Within an hour Karan and his team were heliborne to land at Raja Sansi airport at Amritsar. The Indian Airlines Flight IC 814, with 178 people on board, had been hijacked immediately after take off from the Tribhuvan International Airport in Kathmandu, Nepal. It was to head for Indira Gandhi International Airport in New Delhi, India. Captain Sharan was in command.

Karan was getting regular updates. It was late in the evening, at about 17:30 P.M. that the plane had entered Indian airspace. The hijackers had demanded from Captain Sharan that the aircraft be taken to Lahore. They reached overhead Lazhore when it was night and dark and they were low on fuel. However, the authorities in Pakistan had turned off all lights at Lahore airport as Pakistan didn't want to get involved with the terrorists and the hijackers. Captian Sharan had told the hijackers that the plane was now really low on fuel and had to land at Amritsar. And, that's why Karan and his team were on their way to Amritsar.

The country held its breath. Luck didn't appear to be on the hijackers side. Now that the Flight IC 814 had landed at Amritsar, there was a chance that Indians would be able to stop the flight taking off further. The Crisis Management Group had had an emergecy meeting in Delhi and it was decided to refuse the aircraft's request for refuelling. Decision had been taken to immobilise the plane.

The MI-8 helicopter carrying them to Amritsar was taking much more time than they had planned. This was one occasion when the entire country was waiting for them. Karan thought of giving the country a beautiful Christmas gift: rescuing the hostages without a single casualty and apprehending the hijackers. He was fully alert and so were his men. With a large sketch of the aircraft he was giving instructions to his men about how to storm the aircraft.

He knew that the Punjab Police won't be able to do anything. He wanted the negotiating team to buy time till the time he and his team landed at a heli pad nearby and then were taken to the airport. The CMG had meanwhile instructed the Punjab Police to have a sharp shooter immobilise the aircraft by shooting at its tyres.

It was becoming extremely difficult at the Amritsar ATC not to heed the request of the hijackers for refueling the aircraft. They were already threatening to shoot one passenger at a time. All that the ATC could do was to tell the hijackers that the fuel was being arranged since there was no earlier requirement and hence provision for night-fueling at Amritsar. Every five minutes of else the hijackers would boom, "Aur kitna time lagega? Hum passengers ko shoot karne waale hain." (How long more it would take. We are ready to shoot the passengers).

The pilot of the MI 8 was signaling to Karan that they were landing. All the men and their weapons and ammunition were promptly put in a vehicle and they were on their way to Raja Sansi Airport. He was receiving continuous instructions on his walkie-talkie about storming the aircraft through the fuel-tanker that was being sent to refuel the aircraft.

At the ATC, there were overalls waiting for them, the ones usually worn by the air fueling teams. These included red helmets. He squeezed in the seat besides the driver. Two other Black Cats squeezed in the cabin whereas others were hanging on the side, with slings and hooks,  not visible from the aircraft.

As the tanker sped towards the aircraft, Karan thought of the glorious moment. Once the refueling started and he and his team of intrepid commandos hid in the belly of the aircraft, half the rescue work would be over. The other half would be when they'd cut their way upwards from the belly and storm the aircraft at least at two places to take the hijackers off guard. The team at ATC told them that they were able to establish that there were 3 to 5 hijackers on board.

But, why was the tanker driver going so fast? Before Karan could tell the driver to slow down, the ATC on his radio set asked him to slow down. This was quite a sight: at one end of the runway was this Airbus 300 aircraft seemingly ready to take off. From the other end a speeding fuel tanker was approaching it. Karan felt that the tanker was still going too fast. His boys needed time to carry out their plan. Also, speed was not particularly suitable for hanging at the back of the tanker for dear life.

Already, from the voice at the ATC, Karan could make out that a lot of rethinking was going on. He won't have been surprised if the CMG from Delhi was busy passing instructions by the minute. Why couldn't they simply trust that the NSG, with its motto 'Sarvatra Sarvottam Surakhsha' or 'Best Protection All Round' would be able to do its job well? They were highly trained for just these kind of contingencies. A fledgling organisation like the NSG needs such high risk operations to earn and build on its fierce reputation, Karan thought. But,  firstly, they had reached very late and the patience of the hijackers was at its lowest. Secondly, still there were doubts about the success of the venture.

To his utter frustration the ATC asked the tanker to slow down further. It was as if the tanker was now being remotely controlled. Karan thought the driver got panicky and instead of lifting his foot slightly from the accelerator, he screeched to a halt.

Sensing that the Indians were up to some tricks, in the aircraft, a Hijacker who called himself Doctor stabbed a passenger called Rupen Katyal several times. Captain Sharan was given orders to take off despite further protests from the ATC.

Suddenly, Karan and his team saw the aircraft coming towards them and even when they ducked for cover the Flight IC 814 took off. It was so close, it could have hit the tanker and they would have all died.

Finally, Flight IC 814, with hijackers on board, had taken off without refuelling but also without the Indian authorities having been able to stop it.

As Karan uprighted himself, he wanted to ask the driver why did he panic and screech to a stop when all that he was being asked was to slow down? This one act had warned the hijackers that there was something amiss about the tanker approaching. It was as if the driver had somehow managed to warn the hijackers about the impending storming of the aircraft by the Black Cats.

He turned towards the driver. One look and even through his beard he recognised him: Haneef Mohammad, his father. He couldn't control himself and muttered under his breath, "Bastard." His eyes had extreme hatred in them for seeing his father after years but seeing him as a helper of the terrorists, as an enemy who would always be on the other side.

The driver heard the word 'bastard', saw the look of hatred in the eyes of the young commando, opened the door and jumped out of the tanker. Karan jumped out of his seat at his end. Whilst jumping out he had his Browning 9 mm pistol out. Haneef had started running now. He was still trying to figure out as to how did this young man guess about his having warned the hijackers by his suddenly stopping the tanker. Surely, everyone else would have taken it as justifiable confusion on the part of the driver.

Karan shouted, "Stop" but Haneef kept running.
Karan shouted again, "Stop or I'd shoot."

Still Haneef kept running. Karan now aimed low so as to injure Haneef in the leg and stop him. But, at this juncture Haneef slipped and whilst falling forward the 9 mm bullet hit him in the back.

By the time Karan caught up with him, Haneef was breathing his last and there was blood everywhere. He turned him around to face him. He was still very handsome. He wanted to save him and call him "Papa" or "Dad"; but, it was already too late.

Later, they took him away. The only regret Karan would always have was that his mother saved Haneef and gave him love and now he, Karan, his son, killed him. He had to kill him.

"Why did you have to run away?" he silently asked, thinking of Haneef at night, "Why couldn't you live with us as a family, in love, in trust, and in peace?"

DORI

All characters in this story are imaginary and bear no resemblance to anyone dead or alive. All incidents except historic incidents are fictitious. Names of places are actual but are only incidental to the story and not purported to convey specificity of places, police station etc.

Chewing the end of the pencil, he used to sit on a rock under the pine trees, and try to write poems and his other thoughts. The vistas of his mind used to open up just as the exquisite valley would open below him when the white curtain of the mist would part. His eyes would never get tired of the ravishing beauty of the hills, especially after the rains. Many years later, when Suraj would sit in front of a computer screen, in his two room flat in Chandigarh, he'd think of how imaginative his world was in Dharamshala, a town in Northern Indian state of Himachal (An abode of snow) in comparison to the computer world. Unlike watching it on YouTube, when a song would play in his mind, he'd imagine the scene with every line as if he had the power to direct it.

The name Dharamshala translated to 'a spiritual dwelling' and Suraj believed in the meaning of the word. He was crazy, he thought. When his friends would play pithhoo, gilli-danda and football, he was to be seen dangling his legs blithely from the rock - his rock - reading a book or scribbling in his note book. His note-book was the best friend that he had; he could pour his heart out to it. It wasn't dated and hence it couldn't be called a diary, but it was dear to him and he could write even the most secret of his thoughts in it. He kept it hidden under his clothes in his wardrobe, where, he thought, no one would ever look.

He loved the town of Dharamshala and particularly the redolence of pines and the summer flowers. But, he didn't like a number of things about his surroundings. His dad, he felt, was a carbon copy of Hitler - a strict disciplinarian, though minus the hair-brush moustache. Suraj could never figure out why his father thought he had sired a duffer, with intelligence worse than that of a donkey. One of the favourite pastimes of his dad was to indulge in "discussions" with Suraj regarding the latter's future plans. Most often than not, these discussions, such as the way they were - one sided and peremptory - always led to heated arguments. And then, his father would take it out on his mother for not being concerned about bringing him up in a manner in which "brilliant children" with "great future" were to be brought up.

Generally, his mother would maintain a stoic silence whilst being on the receiving end of his father's frustration at not having a son who was at all interested in "becoming something" but having one who wasted time on day-dreaming. But, once in a while, she'd talk back, however meekly, and question his father's correctness in blaming her for everything including even snafus in his office. On those occasions, it would invariably result in a shouting-match (or shouting-mismatch since his mother was no match for his father in screaming). Frequently, it ended up with his father beating her up black and blue and she sobbing into the late hours of the night. On those occasions Suraj would cower in his bedroom and think of what he could do to improve his mother's ill treatment.

Suraj had other thoughts as well. Lately, after he came of age, he would lie in bed and let his hand and imagination play with the instrument of his desire. His favourite imaginary scenes with his imaginary consorts were those whence the risk of discovery would be the greatest. For example the scene that brought him to peaks of ecstasy was being crouched up with her in empty classroom and just about escaping discovery by the principal on his rounds. Once or twice, such flights of fancy or fantasy had resulted in avoidable stains on his bed sheet. He had to go to the toilet to bring a wet towel and try to wipe away the stains of - what he thought as - his depravity. Imagining that "brilliant" young boys with "great futures" would never stoop as low as to masturbate would fill him with tonnes of guilt he found too heavy to carry. However, on other moments, he had to admit that his occasional sojourns into the world of his carnal desires provided him not only with escape from his wretched surroundings but also gave him an engine to see how far his imagination could go.

One day, Suraj got his matriculation exam results. He had spent a lot of time pouring over his books in the preparatory period, burning the proverbial midnight oil. However, the results were not matching his imagination simply because the teacher had expected answers as given in the book, whereas Suraj had used his prolific ingenuity. Even whilst answering History related questions, his mind always worked on what could have been. For example, the teacher had underlined in red his complete answer to the question: name the events leading to the partition of India and formation of Pakistan. The question carried only 5 marks out of 100 but, Suraj had written a complete essay about how people and communities and nations react when faced with compulsions, biases, and mob mentalities. He had become so engrossed in his theory that he had omitted to write the specifics of Indian National Congress, Muslim League, Jinnah, Gandhi and Nehru. His exposition - which the teacher called 'composition' and 'figment of imagination' - was read out in the class and everyone jeeringly laughed.

The train was now going over a bridge. He had got into it at Vadodara at about 9 PM. He would reach New Delhi at 8:30 AM. Rajdhani Express connected New Delhi, the national capital, with various state capitals, eg, Kolkata Rajdhani that connected capital of West Bengal with New Delhi. His was the Mumbai Rajdhani that had started from Mumbai at 4:40 PM. The train was going at a steady speed of about 120 kmph; all appeared to be well.

Suraj's father was a man of action. Jeering, taunting, mocking etc appeared to him as pursuits of idle minds. He was not averse to using his heavy hands and thrash the daylights out of Suraj for his consistently low marks. Late in the night, as Suraj lay in his bed, with bruised ego and lips, he avoided the demands of his carnal desires and just lay there thinking. An idea sprouted in his mind and refused to go away. In every which way he looked at it, it appeared to appeal to his rebellious mind.

He started stealing petty cash from his father's wallet and from the wardrobe where his mother kept her jewellery, clothes and money. One day, he had enough to take him to the city of Chandigarh. In the night he packed a bag. The excitement of starting a new life and running away from his wretched one kept him awake the whole night. He had planned to leave at about 5 AM when no one would even see him as he would open the front door noiselessly. However, at some point in the night, he had dozed off and when he got up it was already 5:30. He quickly went through his morning ablutions, making as little sound as possible and then lowered the bolt from the front door. Just as the door opened, he felt a rustle behind him. It was still dark; and there stood behind him an apparition. He nearly died of fraught; but, on closer look, it turned out to be his mother in her sky-blue nightie. He loved her a lot but knew not what he could do for her. Once, when his dad was about to hit her, he held his father's hand and got thrashed with her. Her looks changed from surprise to pity to resignation. Her looks said, "Go, son; you have a life ahead of you". He left with a heavy heart.

He had been to Chandigarh earlier but now it was abode of his choice. He searched for and found Ranjit's house. Ranjit was a friend from his earlier visits. He was smart, suave, lanky boy, with sprightly stride; everything that Suraj wanted to be. Ranjit helped him search for a room at Rupees two hundred per month and gave him dinner. Ranjit had made several abortive attempts to get past SSB (Services Selection Board) and join the armed forces as generations of his family had done. He was, however, as much a dreamer as Suraj and played on guitar songs that Suraj wrote. One of the best that Suraj wrote was: 'I Will Follow You'; all their friends liked the song and concluded that Suraj and Ranjit had a great future ahead in a music group. However, the music scene in India, especially for Western pop music, was dismal as a career option. Still, they sang their favourite song together in parties with such words as:

Wherever you go, I will follow you.
In high or in low, I will follow you,
I love you and so, I will follow you

During one of these parties, Suraj met Rehana, daughter of a retired Major. She simply came close to Suraj and cooed in his ear, "I will follow you". Suraj initially thought of her as being an invasion in his private world. But she had many winning ways. One of these was that she could wink alternately with both her eyes; which, instead of looking vulgar appeared innocent. Then, knowing that he had run away from home, she would bring small gifts for him such as helpings of plum cake that her mother had made. She also lent him all of two hundred rupees as the first month's rent. They also went to see a movie in Jagat theatre 'Pakeezah' (Pure) and mentioned to Suraj that she too was Pakeezah. They returned to his room after the show and very clumsily, since he had no experience whatsoever, made her let go of her physical Pakeezah status. Whilst he was a nincompoop, he noticed that she was some sort of an expert and guided him about what and where. He thought of it as her ebullient nature of putting her complete heart and soul into anything that she wanted to do. It was the same with her paintings; if she imagined a naked man, she would paint the imagined Adonis boldly and without inhibition.

His father searched for and found him one day and tried to take him back but all his emotional blackmail including the one about his mother being ill failed. Suraj told him that he never missed anything about Dharamshala. He lied, of course, because he actually missed his spot under the pines where he wrote some of his secret poems about birds, skies, sun and moon, and of course the sea. His father left with the ominous, "I know one day you'd realise your mistake and come back." Suraj had no intention of doing so. If at all, he wanted to go to sea: "Join the Navy see the world; Join the Navy meet the girls". However, he had poor eye-sight (Rehana helped him get his eyes tested and get him a pair of spectacles) and was rejected in the SSB at Meerut. One of Ranjit's and his common friends, Taranjeet, had his father in the Railway recruitment board. He was made to appear in a test and was selected as a Locomotive Driver recruit. He was to however undergo training at Ambala, a training that would last for nearly two months.

He had halted the train at Ratlam at 45 minutes past midnight. The Assistant Driver Suresh Kumar was a Malyali and very good at all auxiliary equipment of the electric engine and in calling out the signals, which he confirmed audibly and mechanically. An idea occured to Suraj to drop Suresh at Ratlam only but then he knew that Suresh would report to the authorities and he would surely be stopped from carrying out his plan some eight hours away. So when Suresh wanted to dash across and get some cigarettes, he told him to get some cigarette for him too and proceeded with his job despite his inner turmoil. Suresh raised his eyebrow at Suraj's request for cigarettes since he had never seen his senior smoke.
 
Only he knew how hard he worked (something his father would have never suspected him of doing) and how hard it was not to be in constant touch with Rehana, his love, his life. He'd take a bus to Ambala, about an hour away and return to Chandigarh in the evening. It would have been cheaper to stay in Ambala but then he would become a successful locomotive driver without the driving force of his life: Rehana. Their love-making was great too and rarely did he have the need to use his towel as a mop for removing signs of his solo exploits.

The prospect of becoming the driver of a locomotive appealed to him. ("God", he thought, "What a name? Nobody would have had more loco a motive than his".) He would have preferred going on the seas to distant places; but, since he couldn't do that because of his eyesight ("Why couldn't they check my inner sight?" he thought) he had to resign himself to doing it on land. He thought of the railway track as something that was intended to channelise his wanton energies whilst off-training and off-work he could get into his bird mode and fly. His songs about love and Rehana had become more sacred and secret but still his friends would get to hear some new song or the other and tease Rehana about being in relationship with "a useless, good-for-nothing poet". She would laugh with them but she thought of him as the world's best poet. She told them that if a Ravi could join the railways and become a great music composer in the Hindi films; one day, they would see her Suraj too as a great lyricist.
 
The LR training was tough. LR is a Learning Road training for about two months. The separation from Rehana became longer and he hardly had any time to write. However, the day the training got over and he was made an Assistant Driver was the most joyous day of his life. He could have travelled back to Chandigarh in plain civvies but he wanted to surprise her. He travelled in his khakis. They had a party after the party that Ranjit and friends had arranged for him. In the wee hours of the morning as she lay in the crook of his arm, both still awake, he whispered to her that now that he was a man and a bread-winner they could get married.

Her father, Major Ismail Mohammad was gentle with them: he told them, very calmly and clearly to get rid of the hare-brained idea as quickly as possible. "What do you think you are doing? Enacting a scene from Bobby". He won't hear of any other arguments, "If you are good friends, just stay so without complicating matters. I have been in an armed force of India that is totally secular. But, you have no idea of how our society looks at inter caste marriages." They took a bus to Dharamshala. His mother gushed over him and Rehana but his father was his old cantankerous self and passed the imperial judgement, as always, "Over my dead body."

They came back and consulted their dear friend Ranjit who had become a Contractor supplying spares to the railways. Ranjit said with wisdom much ahead of his age, "Of course, you can get married in mind; but, you will require to face the society and have things like ration card. Let me see what I can do."

Ranjit arranged for them to be married in a mandir (temple) and then took them to the Chandigarh Municipality Office to get the marriage registered. Photographs were taken and they were both married. The landlord of his room decided to honour them by holding a 'Langar' (Community meals after recitation from the holy book of the Sikhs Sri Guru Granth Sahib) for the whole colony. Sardar Charan Singh, the landlord and his wife (no one knew her name but called her as Bibiji) did a bit of ceremony for them to enter their room.

Suresh was looking at him oddly. He had a reason too as he watched Suraj take a puff on the cigarette he had lit for him. Suraj was standing near the door and smoking, his mind racing with the train. He thought of a thousand people sleeping peacefully in the train. They would only be worried about if the train would be on time. None of them could have even imagined what Suraj had already thought. He tried to imagine the lives of all these people placed in his hands; young kids with their mothers, old men, executives, high society women in First AC compartments. Would they have ever thought....he puffed at the cigarettes to quieten his mind.

The probationary period was both an ordeal and fun. He was to be an Assistant Driver of Goods Trains; a Grade C driver that is. It was boring to take rakes and rakes behind him and go at steady speed without seeing anyone for long hours. However, it was still fun looking out and seeing fields, trees, birds, cattle, rivers, rivulets, hills, plains, monuments etc. He had started writing again. He worked very hard to qualify as a Driver but his senior liked another boy Raj whose dad was also in the railways. Also, Suraj had not shown much inclination at being party to the corruption in the railways; something that Ranjit told him was rampant since Ranjit was on the receiving end of it. Hence, people around him were quite wary of him. Indeed, rather than talking ill of the corrupt railway officials, they had already started talking about holier-than-thou Suraj. He was always on the other side of arguments and discussion.

Finally, after he was long overdue he became a Driver. He wanted to change over to Passenger trains but there was a long wait. There were favours to be done; money to be paid underhand and he wasn't up to it. He had to travel great distances and sometimes away from Rehana for many days (this depended upon the schedule - a Link in railway parlance). He graduated from writing about her and their love to his reactions to what he saw: rampant poverty and rag pickers, people's civic sense, corruption and the country losing its very soul. The nation had been galvanised as a cohesive force in 1971 War with Pakistan under the mercurial Prime Minister-ship of Indira Gandhi. But, he couldn't understand how the same Indira Gandhi could lose her balance and impose another Emergency on the people for almost two years from June 1975 for a selfish reason that her own election was challenged in a court. These were very tough times. People didn't understand that a train being late is not the fault of the driver alone but of the complete system. Even though he was the driver of a goods train, he was under tremendous pressure and could hardly meet Rehana. She had taken a teacher's job in a school and she supplemented her income by selling her paintings. She often told him, when after doing his mandatory 8000 kms per month he would return to her, that being a woman and alone in the Indian society wasn't easy. Also, Sardar Charan Singh had come home to tell her that some people had started talking about it that she wasn't a wife at all but a keep or mistress. He also said that though earlier dormant, the communal forces of pre-independence were surfacing again and everyone was passing remarks about their not joining any religious or political group or organisation and generally keeping to themselves.

The fact was that Suraj had learnt to keep by himself when faced with violence at home. Now, he and Rehana had made a choice to keep to themselves when faced with Indian society becoming increasingly more corrupt and violent - A Dangerous Place. In 1984 Indira Gandhi was shot dead by her own bodyguard Beant Singh in retaliation against her ordering the Army Operations (known as Operation Blue Star) at Golden Temple in Amritsar.

Finally, after a long wait he was assigned to Passenger Trains. His duty was on the Amritsar to Ambala local sector and since he was not on Mail or Express trains he had to stop at all stations and his train had the least priority. He had all the time in the world to hear all the news from everyone and the gory details of the massacre of Sikhs in Delhi. He started writing about these things in addition to his poetry and songs. He couldn't help Rehana much during her pregnancy during those days but, fortunately, he was given leave in December when she had to deliver. Just as they had predicted, it was a baby girl and they named her Dori. Everyone commented upon the strange name Dori but his their near friends understood that she had bound them in another thread (Dori).

He took out his wallet and looked at their recent picture, Rehana, Dori and he on an outing in Yadavindra Gardens at Pinjore; the picture was taken in front of Rajasthani Mughal style Sheesh Mahal. Dori was as tall as both her parents and was a very beautiful girl indeed with sharp features. If only he could save her, he thought with regret.

A few years later when he applied for becoming a Mail or Express Train Driver, he was told that his performance needed to be improved. He had published a lot of his poems and articles in the Railways journal as well as elsewhere and had annoyed a lot of people, including his seniors. To his utter horror he discovered that they held his writings against him as dereliction of duty, i.e., by writing during his duty time. The trigger for this was because one of his poems was published in the Illustrated Weekly of India and all his colleagues and seniors were simply jealous.

Meanwhile he was more and more witness to the wrong-doings everywhere, the sycophancy, the juggling of accounts etc. For example, they asked him to sign for an inflated quantity of diesel which he refused to do. Also, they were fed up with him for never filling up wrong claims of overtime etc in which the Accounts people had their cut. His relationship with the Guards, at the best of times, were suspect since the latter was at times, in collusion with the Train Superintendent, at the front end of corruption.

There was hardly any part of India he wasn't sent to since the drivers with 'pull' were always given easy Links and kept close to their home town. On many of these journeys he thought of the pine trees and his favourite rock. When his father died, the news came to him as a telegram since he didn't have a phone at home. He rushed home and attended the funeral and took a long leave to be at home with his mother and take Rehana and Dori with him. His mother told him that his father had forgiven him but ego had prevented him from calling him back home. His mother got very fond of Rehana and Dori and made a huge fuss when they left for Chandigarh. Finally, she extracted a promise from them that one or the other would visit her with frequency not exceeding two months.

It was difficult to get a name like Dori registered. At the school they insisted on knowing her religion, caste etc. Both Suraj and Rehana felt that whilst they prayed to Ishwar and Allah in their own manners, they couldn't impose either religion on her until she was big enough to study various religions and choose herself. Finally, the teacher refused to admit an "irreligious" student in his school, irrespective of the fact that Rehana taught in the same school. Suraj and Rehana were to make their first difficult choice. Each insisted that it should be the other's religion, even if only on paper. Finally, in order to settle the issue, for the first time in his life, Suraj told a lie that her father, Major Ismail Mohammad, before he died, had taken a vow from him that the religion of their child would be Islam. If it weren't for the fact that Suraj never lied even under great stress, she won't have believed him. Dori was admitted in the school as a Muslim.

He halted the train at Kota at precisely 20 minutes past three AM. He had five hours left to put his plan into action. Yes it could be done. He had to first get rid of Suresh, his assistant and then he'd have the train to himself to do what he wanted with it. There was the Guard, Hoshiar Singh, to be thought about operating the Emergency brake but he was sure that by the time Hoshiar would realise something was wrong he would have accomplished what he wanted to do.

Even though the Railways have a well laid out progression policy but his rectitude stood in his way. It had taken him years to be promoted from C Grade (Goods Trains) to B Grade (Local Passenger Trains) to A Grade (Long Distance Passenger Trains) to finally A Special Grade for Mail, Express and Super fast trains. His contemporaries had made it in half the time.

Dori was the apple of his and Rehana eyes. His mother too had come closer to Dori. She, therefore, grew up in a very loving environment. Unlike Suraj who was suspicious of everyone Dori grew to be trusting. After matriculation she chose to prefer a career in medicine. She did her Pre-Medical in Chandigarh but had to go to Medical College in Amritsar to pursue her medical studies. She was unlike her father even in studies and scored the maximum marks everywhere. She, therefore, saved her parents the mortification of giving money underhand to get a seat in a medical college. In any case she knew that her father would never even think of it let alone approve of that.

On the day she left them to go to the Medical College in Amritsar, her father published his first book of poems. These were the best fifty poems out of three decades of writing. It took so long because the publishers refused to publish it unless he gave their reader underhand money. He wanted to title it simply 'India as Seen by a Railway Driver'; but, the publishers laughed at it and finally agreed to publish it under the title: 'Scattered Verses'. The cover carried his picture in his Driver's uniform, which made Rehana and him very proud indeed.

It was coming closer now. The train slowed down near Swai Madhopur and Bayana and was approaching Mathura. His plan had to take place between Mathura and New Delhi, in less than three hours time. He was unusually quiet that night. Suresh had tried his best to engage him in conversation but had eventually given up. Bayana signals too were sighted, called and repeated but Suresh was already suspecting that something was amiss especially when Suraj lit his fifth cigarette of the night.

Dori had passed out of the Medical College too with top grades. She was selected to pursue Cardiology as her specialisation, She was the happiest thing in Suraj's life; someone who would counterbalance his attitude towards corruption, thuggery, communalism, despair that had set up in the lives of majority Indians. Being different from majority people Suraj and Rehana were always at a disadvantage since not just good things in life, even morality in India came to be seen as what the majority wanted. And majority, as Suraj knew, had not displayed any discipline in their individual and collective lives. In the meantime, there was no hope for the country. Its much touted growth was a mirage. Suraj had come across many cases of people hurling themselves under trains in total despondency and he had often wondered what made people take their lives and those of their fellow beings. To top it all nepotism and corruption had become ways of life. Somewhere along the line, gradually but surely, the politicians, in their vested interests and vote-bank considerations had divided the society along communal lines. Whilst one major party was doing it overtly, the other major party, in the name of 'secularism' was often playing with fire and appeasing minorities.

As they approached Mathura, he ordered Suresh to slow down the train. They read out the signal and passed the station at a slower speed of about eighty. The time was coming closer. It was still not bright enough being winters. Having started from Mumbai on the 25th January, the train was to arrive at New Delhi at 8:30 AM on the morning of India's 63rd Republic Day. The President would be getting ready to take the salute and soldiers would be marching down the Rajpath together with all other signs of a vibrant India.

The day when Dori became a full-fledged doctor was the best day of Suraj's life. The three of them celebrated it by being together, by themselves, the way they liked it most. They went by cable car across the Ghaghar river at Timber Trail hotel at Dhali, on the way to Shimla, and spent the whole day looking down from the Shivalik hill at the city of Chandigarh. Suraj was again reminded of the captivating scene from his rock in Dharamshala looking down at the valley spreading out to scores of kilometers during clear visibility days. They hugged each other and took turns in taking pictures on his digital camera. Rehana was very beautiful but Dori had exceeded her mother's beauty.

Her first posting was in a village near Ropar. She took up a room to stay with another friend from the same batch: Komal. It was destined, Dori thought, that they be together since all through their six years of Medical training they were together.

Fed up of India's rampant corruption, Anna Hazare had started his movement to ask for a strong Lokpal Bill in parliament. Suraj had felt that the parliamentarians would never let such a bill be passed since how can the thieves be asked to check their own thievery? The movement however inspired many young people and Dori was one of them. They were fired with the zeal to see an India free of not only free of corruption but have a more participative government affording rights to its people as enshrined in the Indian constitution.

Getting rid of Suresh between Mathura and Faridabad wasn't difficult at all. As they went over a bridge, Suraj simply kicked him out. Suresh must have been so surprised that he didn't even scream. In any case, being an air-conditioned train, no one would have seen or heard him. It was another hour and a half to reach Faridabad and then the train was to go at slower speed to reach New Delhi through a series of signals. What would they think after the crash? Possibly, they would like to check his Muslim connection through Rehana. But, they won't be able to find her. He had made sure of that. It would be days later that they'd discover her body. They would finally reach the conclusion that it was one of the terror organisations: SIMI or LeT or perhaps the Maoists had claimed him because of his pro-poor views, often published. They would never know. Even the PM had spoken about it that some of the so called 'law and order' problems that the country faced (eg, Maoist related) were actually problems of poor governance. And, what governance could you expect from the self serving masters whom the constitution had actually given the moniker of 'public servants'? Ha.

The India Against Corruption procession was largely peaceful. However, two men from the parties not supporting Anna Hazare movement had deliberately set two Punjab Roadways buses on fire. Suddenly, there was a procession gone horribly wrong. There was stampede to get away from there with people sensing trouble. The police thought of this as an uncontrolled riot and resorted to lathi-charge and bursting of tear-gas shells. Those who didn't or couldn't run away were rounded up and hustled into buses and taken to Police Station.

Suraj slowed the train at Faridabad. He had less than an hour to go to put his plan in action. It was just a matter of gaining a few minutes by maintaining speed higher than recommended. He would be asked to stop at the 'outer' whilst the train on already on the platform cleared away. At such close range none of the safeties won't work. How often in the manuals and in practice he had gone over the Emergencies and the Fog conditions that are prevalent around Delhi in winter months. He had gone over the drills of Automatic Blocks (train speeds to be restricted to 30 kmph) and Absolute Blocks (train speeds to be reduced to 60 kmph) several times and the procedure for erecting sand bag barriers for a train with the driver being incapacitated. Many times, in the thick fog if he couldn't see a Stop signal, they would explode small detonators to bring his attention to a Stop Signal. However, as per his plan, the ignoring of the Stop signal would be done at such late stage that they won't be able to do anything about it; even Hoshiar Singh as the Guard won't be able to help with the Emergency Break. He would thus approach a train already at the station with great velocity. The explosion as the two trains would collide would be tremendous. Happy Republic Day. India, of Ambedkar's dreams: a Sovereign Socialist Secular Democratic Republic providing Justice, Liberty, Equality and Fraternity to all its citizens irrespective of caste, creed, religion.

Suraj clenched his fists everytime he thought of India's downright corrupt police and now increasingly corrupt judiciary. As far as the police was concerned, all incidents are invariably incidents from which they can make some underhand money, be it rape, robbery, theft, traffic accidents or even murder. Initially, when Dori and Komal were rounded up they were handled by women constables. But, in the police station there was a sleazy sort of atmosphere. According to the police, anybody who entered the police station had done something wrong and hence needed to be taught a lesson not to indulge in such things in future. None of the police stations in the country has a system of dealing with sensitive matters with sensitivity. The SHO on duty asked them to wait whilst he dealt with petty thieves and ruffians. His way of dealing with them was reinforcement of his being a superior authority passing judgement over people's morals and values. The system had emboldened him to accept bribes openly. Dori watched this for sometime. Not being used to such open exhibition of corruption (immediately after an anti-corruption rally) she approached the SHO boldly to tell him that she had seen him accept money from the petty thieves and that she was going to report.

He looked at her with exaggerated calm and asked her name. She told him that her name was Dori. "Ah", he said, continuing with his exaggerated restraint, "Dori, you want me to check your mori (hole)". She moved to slap him and he held her hand with great force and he suddenly became challenging, "Show me your ID card". She showed him. He glanced over it with depraved interest and suddenly his eyes lit up, "Muslim? No wonder you burnt two buses and I caught you red-handed." She was shocked at the turn of events and took out her cellphone to call her father and her friends. He snatched the phone from her and slapped her hard, "Now listen to me Dori with mori; I have enough witnesses and evidence to put you behind bars for several years."

By this time, Komal had got into action and started protesting loudly and banging her fists on the table that all this was illegal and her friend, a news reporter, would write about it and ruin him. He looked at Komal with renewed and contemptible interest and told the constables on duty to bring the two girls into the inner room for "further investigation".

The train was passing at slow speed at Tughlaqabad. There was thick fog earlier but it appeared to be clearing up. He called out the signals to himself and repeated. A thought went through his mind about the passengers in the train; they would have to be sacrificed for no fault of theirs. But, he reasoned philosophically that, many times, people are victims of circumstances for no fault of theirs. In order to get over the advance guilt of mass murder, he took out Dori's letter for the umpteenth time to read about the incidents before, during and after the "further investigation". Once again, he went over the explicit details of not just the gang-rape but also the drunken laughter of the lecherous policemen. When they tore the clothes away Dori screamed, "Leave me you bastard; I could be your sister". And the policeman responded leeringly in Punjabi with double-entendre, "Main tanh anna haan; mainu kuchh nazar nahin aaunda" ( I am Anna (blind); I can't see anything)

Dori came back to her room well past midnight having been dropped there by a policeman in a jeep. He was one of the many who carried out the "investigation". She was too weak to walk but somehow she opened the door and went inside. She stumbled to the desk and took out sheets of paper and started writing. Her mind was made up about what she was going to do. She reasoned in the letter that she didn't expect to get justice; no, not in present day India. They would suspend the SHO and the team and an inquiry would start, like all other inquiries in India. The media would go into various angles of the story -sleaze and all - and everyday break-news about some new fact having been unearthed. A national debate would ensue for a few days about the treatment of women in India. And then, a minister or two would come out with statements implying that the women deserved to be molested due to provocative clothes they wear. Rape had killed her bodily and mentally but media and 'further investigation' would, she asserted in her letter, kill her many times over.

The train was passing Okhla now. He could hardly see the signals now; not so much because of residual fog but because of swelling tears in his eyes that made his glasses misty. They had discovered the mutilated body of his daughter from the railway track in the morning, having been hit by a train that had gone over her. He rushed to Ropar from Chandigarh with Rehana. Rehana had gone into coma after seeing her bundle of joy having been reduced to pieces of flesh, bones and dried blood. Suraj received the body from the mortuary after signing the requisite papers. They arranged for burial at the cemetery in Chandigarh. It is only when they went to the village to get back her belongings that he found the letter tucked in his book of poems called 'Scattered Verses'. He instinctively knew that his daughter would have left her last communication to him there. The police had ransacked the place earlier but surely they wouldn't have looked in her books. It would have required them hours to ransack hundreds of books to find the letter. "Dear Pa", the letter began and ended with, "I know you love me immensely and would find it hard to continue with life without me. But, I beseech you to do so. Our country, our world, is changing, and the bird called Hope would make our lives better, fuller, more just and equitable. Gradually, you won't even miss me."

Finally, they had reached the "outer" at New Delhi. He called out the stop signal and repeated it but instead of stopping, he suddenly picked up speed.....the Dori that held his life had broken.....

SHATTERED DREAMS

Shamli was  a quaint village. From across the hill it would appear as if huts and houses were rolled down from the top of the steep hill and they somehow managed to hang on to a relatively flatter portion. This was fortuitous because a few metres more they would have surely fallen over a cliff into the silvery river far below.

Lakshmi was born into a traditional farmer family. She was the youngest of six daughters before her parents were finally lucky to get a son, her brother Mohan. Farmer community often waited for a son to be born for keeping possession of the land within the family as also to have a male member to till the land.

Lakshmi, however, used to wonder why her parents ever wanted a son. She and her sisters worked at an apple orchard and a canning unit about five kms from the village and brought enough money home every month for the family to somehow afford two meals a day. They also studied up to sixth standard in the government run primary school. She and her sisters, when they received their monthly salary from the 'factory', were allowed by their father to keep up to 50 rupees to indulge in such things as buying bangles, ear-rings and bindis. Mohan, on the other hand, grew to be a lout. He never helped their father on the field. Even when he was sent to the school, he started spending the money given to him for fees and books on buying a glue like intoxicant simply called nasha.

Initially, Mohan was drugged only during school-time; but, lately, many a times Lakshmi had seen that he was in a stupor even at home. Despite his uselessness and hopelessness, Lakshmi noticed that her mother was partial to Mohan, being a boy. He was the heir-apparent of the family; when he would get married, he would demand and get dowry, whereas, for lakshmi and her sisters dowry had to be to offered to the parents of their bridegrooms. Even in the orchard where Lakshmi worked, men were paid 'daily-wages' at least thirty rupees more than women; all because men had greater physical prowess or so they thought.

Lakshmi knew this was not correct at all. She had seen the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) women, with their kids tied to their back, doing such 'manly' works as lifting and breaking rocks, using pick-axes, spades etc and then return home and cook meals for their men-folk. Mohan, her brother, might have been physically stronger but she could do twice the work that Mohan could do.

Lakshmi was not into nasha at all. However, She was not above fantasizing. She had seen a few Hindi movies and was fascinated by the life-style of the actresses. They looked like goddesses; she felt even better. No one in their village had ever seen an actress (they often referred to them as heroines) but, Lakshmi had heard that in a village called Ghata, about a hundred kilometres away, once a famous actress Madhuri Dixit had arrived to shoot a movie. People said she looked even more 'sundar' than she looked in the movies. Lakshmi never let her fantasies get the better of her. She was a great believer in her religion and kismet (fate) and knew that it was entirely Ram's will that she, Lakshmi, was born in Shamli and Madhuri and others lived in the City of Dreams, Mumbai.

Mohan, however, was different. His dreams had not stopped at seeing the movies. He actually dreamt of going to Mumbai and tasting life of that filmy city. He and his pals strongly believed that in Mumbai, money was literally lying on the roads and was waiting to be picked up. He had, helped by liberal doses of nasha, come to the conclusion that his future would never be in Shamli, but, in his dream city Mumbai. He had made good friends with a lorry cleaner Subhash. During the apple season, many lorries left from Shamli and other villages for Delhi and Subhash told Mohan that some were even sent to Mumbai too. Mohan had asked Subhash if he could take a lift with them up to Delhi and then, if possible, up to Mumbai. Subhash had informed him that their lorry was small, meant for hill roads; whereas, the ones that left for Mumbai were bigger and had three to four drivers who drove in turns so that the apples would reach without much time delay. Since Subhash was also in nasha, Mohan, during all his visits to Shamli had frequently procured it for Subhash. Therefore, he felt he had the right to ask Subhash if he could find for him a lift all the way from Delhi to Mumbai.

One day, it was all arranged, and Mohan simply went missing. Lakshmi was quick to realise that so was her carefully saved kitty bank. Her father also reported a few hundred rupees stolen from his almirah. The family was crestfallen, but, fell shy of lodging a police complaint. Everyone in the village knew that it didn't help to have the police involved in one's woes; for, the woes were sure to increase after police's interjection. It was, indeed, fortuitous for them not to have gone to the police because a few days later, during his next trip to Shamli, Subhash told them that Mohan had left for Mumbai. He assured them that Mumbai was a city of great fortune, like no other city in India, and very soon Mohan would be a big man.

It took them some time to get over the loss of Mohan. The father, as always was impassive but the mother was inconsolable. Lakshmi too missed her brother. He could sing the pahari songs really well and was a great hit at family gatherings and even at other people's celebrations. Now that he was gone, she reminisced about the time when he tried teaching her how to ride a bicycle, and other memorable acts of his.

One day, when Lakshmi returned home for lunch from the factory, she found Bhumi Ram sitting there and being treated to kheer by her mother. She really perked up at the sight of Bhumi Ram since he was the postman and his being there signalled a letter from someone. She couldn't believe her eyes that the letter was from Mohan to her father. He apologised for his sudden departure but said he had dreams, which could only be fulfilled in the great city of Mumbai. He said he was already doing good bijnus, and would have them all there in Mumbai in a big bungloo. At dinner time when the thalis were served to them in front of the choolha, the father was once again quiet as usual but the mother just couldn't hide her 'I-told-you-so' look. She said she had predicted that her honhaar (accomplished) son would one day bring joy and great fortune to the family.

It became a ritual receiving Mohan's letters periodically. The mother couldn't read but made one or the other daughter read them several times especially in front of the father. One day, it came out that Mohan had moved into a house and requested that one or more of them should visit him there to see the lovely sights of Mumbai. The father was ailing and mother couldn't ever think of leaving him alone. Gradually, it was decided that Lakshmi would visit Mohan in Mumbai. However, it was easier said than done. For Mohan it was easy to hitch-hike on apple lorries;  but, she was a girl and it was not practical. Finally, after much debate in which the other villagers too participated, it was decided that she would take a bus to Shimla, another to Kalka and then take a train to Mumbai. They told Subhash to take a letter to a relative in Kalka who would help with the train reservation.

Lakshmi had never been on such a long journey and she was both fearful and excited. Up to Shimla she had in the bus her own type of people. Even though the bus was very crowded, they guided her nicely. She had to wait a lot for a connecting bus to Kalka. Outside the Kalka Railway Station, her anxiety was the most intense but she met her uncle Sewak there whom she had seen when he had visited them last year with his family. He had even brought packed dinner for her since the train was to start late in the night.

She had an upper berth on the side in Second Class. She didn't mind it at all. Most often than not she slept. Sometimes only she sat with the old lady on the lower berth who was going to visit her daughter and son-in-law in Mumbai. But, she was more interested in looking out than talking to the old lady. She hadn't seen so much of flat land ever and her reaction was that it would be much easier tilling the plains than the hilly regions.

On the first night she slept peacefully because of the tiredness of two bus rides in the hills. However, on the second night she hardly slept with the anxiety of meeting Mohan at a strange station in a strange city.

As the train came to halt at Mumbai Central the morning of next to next day after they started, the din and flurry of activity were more than any that she was used to; even more than the time Mohan had taken her to the mela (fair) in the village. Mohan had written to her to wait for him in front of the compartment till he'd find her. But, such was the rush and confusion that it was difficult for her to stand there with her suitcase. Finally, she spotted him. He looked weaker and haggard but she was glad to see him. She hugged him. As they walked outside the station, she noticed that many coolies exchanged greetings with Mohan. She was alarmed. So, when they sat in the taxi, she asked him, "Mohan, are you a coolie too?" He said no; he had a fine bijnus.

It is only days later that she found that his bijnus was to stand in a queue everyday at the Reservation Counter, and get reservations done in fictitious names and sell them to passengers in need who gave him commission on every ticket. "But, doesn't the booking clerk suspect this?" she had asked. "No, he doesn't suspect. In fact he knows. I have to give him a cut on every ticket just like all the other agents do." She had another valid doubt, "What about the police?" He very confidently responded, "Police too have their cut."

She insisted that it didn't sound like a very good bijnus. He said he was lucky to be promoted. Earlier, at the same railway station he was a Pusher. She wanted to know what a Pusher did. It turned out that many people travel in the General Compartment, where they are allowed to travel without reservation. The only problem is that the number of people getting in normally exceeds by a few hundred the capacity of the compartment. Hence, a Pusher, well versed with the right push at the right time, charges a passenger about Rupees Fifty or so, to be pushed inside the comaprtment. Once inside, there is never any chance of anyone being pushed out since the traffic is always one way. Many weeks later when she travelled by the local trains, she found that one has to get in and get out with the general flow of other passengers. Else, one can be stranded either inside or outside.

When they reached his house, she was in for another shock. It was in Dharavi, Asia's biggest slum, with such inhuman conditions that she nearly vomited. He shared a ten feet by eight feet room with three other men; two were Pushers and one was an Agent like him. When they spread their mats on the floor to sleep there was hardly any place for anything else. When the mats were lifted, a kerosene stove was brought out from under a stool (the only piece of furniture in the room) to make meals. The washing of dishes was to be done common at the end of the floor where there were also toilets and baths. Water was available for about ten minutes in the mornings and evenings. There were some utensils and plastic bottles kept in the room for storing water. The four trunks of the four men were kept on one side in a row. Mohan asked her to keep her suitcase there and to ensure that just like the trunks it should be always locked.

Gradually, Lakshmi came to know that Mohan didn't want to waste money on toilet and bath (one has to pay everytime for the use). He and his friends found that there are always leaking pipes at the Railway Station and all you require was a small soap to make yourself clean. As far as urinating and relieving oneself was concerned, Mohan had found that Mumbai is a very friendly city. Nearly all his friends (and not just the room mates) did it anywhere and everywhere.

She was normally left in the room when he went on bijnus. However, on the sunday after she came, he took her sightseeing. There were people in mad rush even on a sunday but it was nice and a little peaceful at the Gateway (a 1911 monument to commemorate the visit of King George V) and she saw the sea for the first time. Mohan bought her singdana (roasted peanuts) and she felt that was life. For the duration of time she sat there and looked at the Taj Hotel, the ships at anchorage, the people gayly walking by, the cameramen asking her if she wanted her and Mohan's picture to be taken, the boats on the side of the Gateway, which Mohan told ferried people to famous Elephanta Caves; she forgot all about the life at the chawl, the daily struggle to live, cook, bathe etc. She looked at the cars of the rich people coming out of Taj hotel. They looked exactly like what she had seen in the movies.

Mohan had gone to see a taxi driver friend just a few metres away and told her to wait for him at the other end of the Gateway. That's the time when she heard the explosion; no actually felt it in her bones. Suddenly, there was carnage all around her. She had blood splattered on her face and she was knocked unconscious. Her last recollection was that of a girl being killed  by shrapnel at a spot where Lakshmi had stood only a minute ago.

When she came to her senses it was in a hospital. She screamed. Where was Mohan? It was much later she found that he was not only instantly killed but his body was blown to bits.

Mohan's room-mates were all from Bihar. They were very nice to her and arranged for his cremation when after much delay they could receive the body. It was in no condition to be kept for funeral later. She had sent a telegram home but she knew no one could have made in time for the funeral. After the funeral, the next day, she sent another telegram informing them about the date of her return. There was nothing much to be sorted out since Mohan didn't have much.

Next week, she was on her way back by train to Kalka. She didn't have to be pushed in the General Compartment as Mohan's friends had managed reservation for her through their contacts.

When she seated herself, this time on the lower berth, through her tears she took out from her suitcase the picture of Mohan and her taken at the Gateway just before the explosion. He looked so happy as if he owned the Gateway, if not the city of Mumbai.

She, however, felt, that in the City of Dreams you don't really own anything except your dreams. And one day, you have a rude awakening. As the train picked up speed she looked at the chawls next to the train track, some as precariously placed, as the dreams.

Note: All characters in the above story are imaginary and have no resemblance with any person dead or alive. However, the incident of explosion at Gateway of India actually took place on 25 Aug 2003.

THE GREAT ESCAPE

There was a knock; at first it was faint, barely distinguishable but later it grew louder and more authoritative. He ignored it, not because he was too tired or too sleepy to get up and confront the person knocking with all its might. He knew the person; he liked her and everything about her. But, he was very skeptical about allowing her in. Last time he had allowed a similar one in and there was hell to pay. His house was in disarray for considerable time after she had left. He knew that more than her, he had only himself to blame for having opened the door. As long as he was inside he had relative comfort, relative security, and exclusivity. The moment he opened the door, she would slowly conquer his space. He had no fear of his loneliness. He was quite comfortable with himself; he had never hated the person he saw in the mirror everyday.

She knew she had a great chance of succeeding if she'd keep knocking. If at all life had taught her anything, it was the realisation that knocking always helps. She had, hence, emerged a great knocker. Her favourite quote was, "If God closes a door, he opens a window". She had the force of great conviction behind her. She had simply walked in many an open window. God, she maintained, had been kind to her.

He knew she could not walk through his windows; he was on a higher floor, and he never opened the windows.

The incessant tapping at the door became too loud to be ignored. He knew that his heart beat had already started responding to it; hence, for every thuck thuck, there was an equivalent dhak dhak. Finally, he realised that it was futile to keep pretending she could not enter. She was already there.

Initially, there was no problem about the closeness of the space. This was the exploration phase. Indeed, even though he had a two room flat, she was quite content in being with him in a single room. It was rather cosy and there was no question of either of them feeling claustrophobic. When she sang, it echoed from all the walls and he soared; no one had ever sung exclusively for him. He was convinced she had the most beautiful eyes in the world. Hence, whenever he wanted to fly, he only had to look into the ocean of those deep eyes.

However, after she came in, the world - their world - changed. Initially, both were content about living with each other in the present, enjoying each other's company and everything connected with each other. Of course they had squabbles but these could at worst be called mere tiffs. But gradually, she started living more in future. Therefore, a time came when both of them were geographically in the same location but were in different times.

It was a constant tussel between them. She wanted the future - her future - to be discussed, to be secure. He wanted to love, to be loved, to cherish the present. She went along with him at times and more often than not enjoyed what the present held for her: he had an innate wit that she liked, compassion, and other finer feelings and a strange appeal. But no sooner that she'd finish enjoying the present she'd go back to the future.

He never wanted Love to be conditional. If he had known that she had other plans he wouldn't have ever opened the door...or the windows.

Initially, she tried to go out of their space only mentally...not really on a fantasy ride but on an escape to the world that she craved. She debated with herself that an Indian woman, in a male dominated society, does have to worry about her future.

Later, she actually started going out....

She was attractive and there were any number of men who were fascinated by her charm. She reasoned that if it was all about living in the present with no commitment, then present certainly can be made more colourful, more acceptable, more exciting. Indeed, she often confronted him with, "If you have ideas, I have ideas of my own."

This ruffled him badly. Who said anything about commitment? Love is a supremely selfish feeling, he argued. One cannot be loving everyone. One has to love one...and hence, there is commitment.

Later, when she used to return to the room - their world - in the night, he could sense her deception. She continued to make light of it and often said that because of him she couldn't be expected to cut ties with everyone. She asserted her independence. Why is it, she demanded, that in Indian society, men could do anything but women were to toe a rigid line? Why is it that in a male-dominated Indian society women are to be castigated for even talking to men?

He kept quiet. He knew the truth.

He reckoned that when she had invaded his privacy by knocking at his door he had welcomed it so that they could make a world of their own. But, now, there was hardly any space or even time for themselves. For all practical purposes they lived in different worlds.

One day, she woke up as usual and turned towards his side of the bed. She used to love getting up just a few moments before him and look at his handsome face when he was totally defenceless. She couldn't find him in the bed. Perhaps he had gone to the toilet, she thought. But minutes later she didn't hear the familiar sound of the flush or the door. She got up and checked; he wasn't there. She went to the other room and he wasn't there too...or in the kitchen.

The door was still bolted from inside. This meant he was there in the house somewhere. She searched and searched but couldn't find him.

She called out his name frantically. There was no response.

She threw open the window and looked out. No, he couldn't have. It was too high to jump and there was nowhere to hide...anywhere.

And yet...he was gone...just at the time when she felt she had him; when she felt he'd never leave.