Two strangers

Certain actions have louder repercussions than one can ever imagine. Meet Shyam and Albaksh, the two protagonists who could not meet under worse circumstances, and how they end up changing each other.

An interplay of dark and light ruled that night. But, the dark was soothing and light was blinding, deafening. A series of blasts had ripped across the city of Ahmedabad. Hundreds had died, thousands maimed and ten thousands scarred for life, either mentally or physically. He was safe though, in a building yet under construction. Like his hiding point, his life’s mission had also begun, but was yet incomplete.

 

The destruction brought about that day was but the foundations of the dream which had begun building- the defeat of the Kafir. Gloating with glee on seeing the plight of many, he lay down on the floor to catch some sleep. The earth felt cool, even after enduring so much heat. But he had to wake up as a result of a loud noise of somebody thumping at the door and shouting, “Open the door! Let me in!” Curiosity got the better of him as he opened the door and found a young man, blood spattered on his once-white apron and tears in his once-dry eyes. He looked like a doctor, but at the moment, was nothing but a tortured soul. “Those b******s!” he yelled as he walked into the room, “have killed my family tonight! My wife, my children! What the hell did they do?” His listener didn’t utter a single word. He merely asked the young doctor to calm down. If his cover would be blown now, he would be caught easily by the police outside. So the terrorist wore the mask of an innocent passer-by. Suppressing a sob, the doctor continued, “They just came to pick me up. I left late because of an emergency operation. And just as I left the hospital, right in front of my eyes…” he could not continue the description of how his family was blown to bits. He continued further, “The area was cordoned off. No one was allowed to go near the dead bodies. I even pleaded to the cops to let me have a last look at my beautiful wife and sweet children, but to no avail. The rules were strict for everyone. Curfew was laden in the area and I had to go to my home. For me, my family was my home. Without them, it would just be a graveyard. I saw this building and decided to spend the night here.”

“What is your name, my friend?” the terrorist asked in a soothing tone.

“Shyam. Dr Shyam,” saying this Shyam was quiet again.

 

The building was dark, and thankfully so, because Shyam didn’t want the light without to expose the darkness within his heart. He chose the furthest corner of the room and crouched, as he used to do when he was a small kid, afraid of the dark. Today, he was afraid of the light.

 “So, you too victimized by the bombs?” Shyam restarted the conversation on obvious lines. He hoped the visitor would respond in affirmative. He got a morbid pleasure in seeing someone else tortured like he was. After all, a grief, when shared by someone else, becomes more bearable.

“In a way, yes. In other way, no,” replied the stranger. His voice sounded strained, as if he were hiding a melancholy. Shyam wondered whether the man was sane. They remained silent for some time, both suppressing their sadness. Finally, the accumulated pressure got the better of Shyam and he shouted, “My world is lost! My wife and children, the only persons for whom I care, are dead! Curse the b*****d who bombed innocents! Don’t these bloody terrorists have galls to stand up and fight?”

The other man made no sound. It was as if he were least bothered about what had happened to Shyam. It angered Shyam further.

“Don’t you have any sympathy? Any emotions? Or is that lost after witnessing so many deaths? Tell me!” Shyam cried.

The other man made a slight coughing sound and spoke in a voice that was gentle yet firm, calm yet overlying a violent storm, “I take it brother, that you have lost someone who was very dear to you today. But, what is new in it? So many have lost so many today. Someone has to commend the skill of the terrorist who executed the plans of the attack. Don’t you think so?”

The last sentence made Shyam recoil with horror and filled him with disgust. “You,” he spat, “are one sick person! How the hell can you empathize with those gutless b******s?”

“Listen brother, I am not empathizing with anyone. It’s just that I am amazed at the minds of these people. By the looks of it, they aren’t your illiterate-boys-who-are-forced-to-wield-guns. Am I correct?” the man replied in that same mysterious voice.

“But why do they have to kill to prove that they have brains? They can become doctors, like me! It will help them earn goodwill, apart from proving they have brains,” Shyam added with a hint of black humor. He had begun to enjoy this little conversation, for it was after a long time that he had encountered a person who thought differently from the world.

“You want to hear a story, my friend? A real story of a real terrorist?” the man asked Shyam.

“A terrorist!” exclaimed Shyam, “why you know of any?”

“Just say yes or no.”

“Okay, yes.”

“His name was Albaksh Khan. Albaksh was an ordinary youngster, having simple dreams- a good job, a good girl and kids. He loved to play cricket. His life would have passed as such had there not been that incident,” the man paused dramatically.

“Which incident?” Shyam asked with the eagerness of a six year old. He had never thought about the ordinary life of a terrorist.

“By God, you won’t let a man breathe, eh! Where I was? Yes, the incident. It was early Sunday morning. Albaksh had gone to play cricket with his friends. When he returned at the time of taking lunch, he found his father unconscious. Afraid of his father’s condition, Albaksh took him immediately to a nearby doctor. But alas! That doctor, that epitome of humanity, that person who is placed next to God, refused to treat him! Can you imagine? That man refused to treat an ailing man! Why? Only because of his religion! Who says India is a secular country?” The man was now so much charged up that his voice seemed to be shaking.

Shyam did not utter a word. He just gazed at something which only he could perceive and appreciate. His reverie was broken by the man next sentence, “So, my friend, you know why these brainy terrorists take, and not save, lives.”

“You know, I too have a story to tell you. It’s of the doctor who refused to treat Albaksh’s father. He is a dear friend of mine and had confided the whole incident to me. Care to hear it?” Shyam asked.

“Of course! I want to know what can make a God behave like Satan!” the man thundered. Only now, his voice lost that smooth tranquility, as if the oil over the stormy sea had been removed and the full wrath of the raging waters could be felt.

“Hear it out! This doctor was preparing for his post graduate entrance exams a few years back, when his father was killed in the Sabarmati express at Godhra. He was amongst the 57 passengers who were burnt alive. In his naïveté, he believed it was the fault of the community and not the individual, and refused to treat an ailing muslim elder. For him, it was the revenge of seeing a boy of his enemy community experience the pain of losing his father, just like he had experienced his. An eye for an eye. A father for a father.” Shyam ended his monologue. Neither man spoke for a while. Both tried to look at each other’s faces, but none succeeded, and they were lucky not to see each other’s faces, because both’s faces had the nakedness of fear.

“So you believe it was the fault of the muslims who burned that train?” the man broke the shards of silence with a question that has burned more than a thousand homes.

“Fault? Bullshit! Are we really into fault finding here? A lot of fault-finding and pinpointing will be done tomorrow. Some organizations will pick up responsibility, as if they have trained youth to win an Olympic Gold, the Prime Minister will console the victims and will condemn the blasts. But everyone will miss out the big picture,” Shyam said indignantly.

“The big picture?”

“Yes, the big picture! It is that not one person is responsible for this. What we have just seen from the lives of Albaksh and the doctor? Who was responsible for the death of Albaksh’s father? Was the doctor responsible for the loss of thousands of lives today? No brother, this is not a question of responsibility of a single person! The frame is just too huge for a single man to cover. What needs be changed is the mindset. That vengeful mindset has to be changed.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Shyam continued after a slight cough, “The history of humanity, if that is what you call our existence, is spattered with the blood of countless men who had only one driving force- revenge. The Crusades, the Irish Republic Army, the Nazis and Hitler, the World wars, these were all nothing more than revenge glorified and multiplied a million times. We learn the lessons of these in our history textbooks, but the textbooks glorify these war epics. Nobody emphasizes that all of these could have been prevented easily and the money spent in the amelioration of our society! And we call ourselves humans! Animals are guided by such a revenge instinct, not humans!”

Silence followed the tirade, as the both men, obviously exhausted from the ordeal of a long conversation, remained silent for what seemed an infinite period of time. Outside, the shouts of police and the cries of victims could clearly be heard. Inside their souls, each man felt those cries to the core. Finally, Shyam’s companion could not take it any longer and broke down into tears. Sobbing, the man spoke, “Brother, I would better identify myself. I am Albaksh khan, the man who planted the bombs in my beloved city. I am the one responsible for all this destruction. Those who recruited me told that it would be a sweet revenge for me to punish the community which killed my father, but tonight, I am only feeling a bitterness in my body, as if the acid of my stomach has spilled into my blood. Kill me, brother. Kill me! It is my only punishment!”

Shyam allowed himself a little smile and spoke, “The world is round, my friend and you have just spent the night with your father’s killer. Yes! You remember the name of that evil doctor? It was Dr Shyam, and that’s me. So, I am as much a criminal as you.”

“Then who shall punish us? I am getting bogged down by the weight of the guilt, and I am sure it must be suffocating you too,” the man’s voice echoed pure fear for the first time.

“Our only punishment, Albaksh, is to ensure that the society does not get any more Albakshs or Shyams. It’s our divine duty to work towards it,” Shyam said with a voice that carried hope.

And out they came, holding each other’s hands firmly, knowing that no matter what happens now, their life will only be better. They felt a steady stream of sunlight on their faces, illuminating them with hopes of a future where the whole world will be illuminated.