The Terrorist

Prompt: Calculated risk  |  Genre: Realistic fiction/Creative non-fiction (?)  |  Word count: 2824 words

Disclaimer: Loosely based on real events; contains strong language and violence (and no, the real story doesn't have a happy ending :( )

14 August, 2007

“Stop! Stop the bus!”, a police inspector waved.

“Sahib, what’s the matter?”, the bus conductor asked once the bus came to a halt.

“I want to check the passengers on this bus”, he replied.

“But why sahib?”

“Quiet! Don’t interfere!” he said, as he got on the bus and rudely shoved people aside to look for the suspects. “Ah! There you are! Come out you two!!”

The inspector and his subordinate constable pulled two men out of the bus by their shirt collars. They were towed by a woman.

“Sahib, where are you taking my husband?”, her pallu sliding down from her head as she struggled to get close to her husband.

“That’s none of your business, whore!” the inspector spat on her face, blocking her from her man.

“It is my business! You cannot just take him. If you do, you will have to take me too!” she replied.

“How dare you?” he said and raised his hand to strike her.

“Sir!” the constable protested.

“Get away from me!”

“Savarkar sir, pleeeaase!” the constable appealed, and then continued in a whisper, “The people are watching. Let’s not make a scene here. Commissioner Ghate wanted us to be discreet.”

Inspector Savarkar looked toward the bus passengers and clenched his jaw, before reluctantly bringing his hand down, “Fine, Trilok. You handle the woman and that Sanket. I’ll take away Khalid.”

“Yes sir”, Trilok replied, and began to herd Sanket and the woman away.

“Wait! Where are you taking me? I want to be with my husband! You can’t take me away from him!” she cried. When Trilok continued pushing her towards his Jeep, she turned towards the people in the bus, “Please! Help us! Somebody.... anybody! We haven’t done anything! We are innocent!”

“Ha! Innocent?” Savarkar laughed. Then turning to the people in the bus, he said “These people are terrorists, involved in a plan to murder our chief minister. If you are patriots, you would not interfere.”

The people began to look at each other and murmur.

“Terrorists?! Oh my God!”

“I was sitting right next to them!”

“They looked like such regular folks...”

“Oh no, I suspected it from the start... that Muslim man, he had a certain look in his eyes.”

Almost in a synchronised move, they turned and narrowed their eyes at the remaining few Muslim passengers. The Muslims shivered and huddled closer to each other.

“What if they are also part of the gang?”

“I have two small children with me!”

“Now now, let’s not be so hasty. They have been travelling with us all this while. Nothing untoward happened, right?”

“So have the other three! But see what they turned out to be!”

“But one of them is a Hindu; he can’t be a terrorist, can he?”

“He must be in a disguise! These Muslims, they don’t belong in our country!”

“Yes yes! Push them out of the bus!!”

“Out! Out! Get out you lot! We don’t want you here!!”

The Muslim passengers were all shoved out and the bus rode away. They stood there on the lone, dirt road; their eyes wide, their bodies trembling, their shoulders stooped, the silence deafening and too terrifying. And the officers who started this were long gone.

20 August, 2007

“You... you, my fviend, you are a too.... too...” shakes his head to realign thoughts, perhaps, “a veal fviend.”

“No no Deshpande sir... I’m just an ordinary man. I’m glad I could be of help to you”, Menon shrugged.

“Help?! This is not help. This is heaven, my fviend! Heaven!”

“Deshpande sir, you are going off track again. You were telling us about those bandits... Please continue. It’s such an exciting story!” Menon said.

“Bandits?! No, tevvovists!! Planning to kill our god himself!”

“Oh I’m sorry... terrorists.”

“Yes, tevvovists... so I... err... where was I?”

“Sir, you were telling us how you captured and held them in a warehouse” Menon helped.

“Oh yeah yeah... only that whoe and that other man... what was his name?”

“Lavande?”, Menon prompted.

“Yeah, Lavande. Of course, they didn’t know that the other was there. They would have plotted to escape, no? See? I’m no ordinary police officer”, Deshpande tapped the side of his head to indicate his genius. He then shakes his head again, “Hmmm... so there I was... guarding two of the most dangevous cviminals... but then you see, the days are long and the nights are longer... you need some entertvainment, no?” he winked, and then laughed so hard, he toppled off his chair.

22 August, 2007

A man dressed in black, slowly made his way towards an old, abandoned warehouse. There were no trees around the old ramshackle building; just newly sprouted fresh, green plants. He looked around to find a way to get in, without getting spotted. Not that he thought the guard would be in any condition to spot anyone, except his own nose. But he didn’t want to take any chances.

A cold water drop fell on his face. He looked up. The small sliver of the moon was quickly enveloped in thick, dark clouds. He felt a cold breeze raise the hairs on the back of his hands. It brought with it a promise of rain. He smiled.

* * *

Rashida no longer knew how long she had been locked up here. It seemed like an eternity. An eternity in hell. After what they did to her, how could she show her face to Khalid?

Khalid.

Her eyes hurt; she had been crying for so long. Yet she felt new tears, warm and fervent, flow like a torrent. She didn’t even know if he was alive. No. He was alive. He had to be alive.

She could hear a man scream. She had thought earlier it was Sanket bhai. But the voice had turned so guttural, so... terrifying, she was beginning to think if it was just her mind replaying nightmares. A nightmare that visited her every night and stayed all night. A nightmare that started right after the screams ended.

Just as it did now. Rashida tried to cover herself up with the torn remains of her saree. She knew it was pointless. But she prayed. Every night. In vain.

The door slammed open. The stink of alcohol hit her first before she saw him. She braced herself for what would follow.

* * *

The man had followed the guard to the second room as well. What he saw in the two rooms made him almost retch. He wanted to help, but he knew the truth was bigger than this. He had to bring in the evidence. And soon.

24 August, 2007

“Run Khalid, run!”

“Ghate sir, please don’t do this, please!” Khalid pleaded, trying to look at the man before him. All he could see was a crimson haze, blood dripping into his half-open eye. His other eye had swollen shut. But he could no longer feel the pain. Everything had gone numb after they broke his arm. Or so he thought. He could feel a cold dread climbing down his spine, his body trembling in tandem. “Sir, I have a wife... two children. Please don’t kill me.”

“You’ve grown too big for your shoes, Khalid. It’s time for you to go. As for your wife... don’t worry about her. We are taking good care of her”, Ghate smirked.

Khalid screamed, the cold dread of death turning into hot fury coursing through his seeping blood.

Ghate and the rest laughed harder. “What are you going to do, Khalid? Hit me? Come on... hit me. Hit me!” Ghate kicked Khalid’s ribs.

Khalid felt the air rush out of him even as he heard an audible crack. He doubled up in pain and fell to his side, coughing blood. As he lay there curled up in a ball, all he could think of was Rashida; her tears and screams as Trilok took her away from him. ‘I’m sorry, my love. I failed to keep you safe.’

Suddenly, he jerked as he felt a bullet pierce through his back. Her jerked again when another hit on his shoulder, then another through his neck. He gurgled blood, before darkness took over.

“What a bad shot you are, Savarkar. Took you three tries to kill that son of a bitch” Ghate laughed, as Savarkar sheepishly put his revolver back in its holster. “Come on everyone, get to work! This will be our Encounter 21!”

12 September, 2007

The Supreme Court receives a letter from a distraught man, seeking information about his missing brother and sister-in-law. The Court orders the state police to carry out an investigation.

15 September, 2007

Menon publishes an article, replete with photographic evidence, about two civilians illegally detained and abused by the police.

17 September, 2007

“Ma’am, can you tell us what the police are going to do about this case?”

“We are currently investigating it.”

“But how can we be sure the truth would come out? The evidence shows that one of your police personnel was involved.”

“We need to verify this “evidence” you speak of. As for the constable, he is currently suspended until further investigation.”

“What about the civilians? Where are they now?”

“They are missing, I’m afraid.”

“How can this be? They were in police custody! We need answers!”

“I’m sorry but I have none to give you. We cannot disclose any more information as it may hamper the investigation”, Senior Inspector Patil concluded, as she got off her chair and walked out of the conference room.

20 September, 2007

“What’s the progress, Shinde?” Patil asked, as she rubbed her red, puffy eyes. “You know it’s become pretty high-profile. We can’t delay this anymore.”

“I understand ma’am. Here is my case file”.

“I can’t read that now, Shinde”, Patil pressed the back of her hands against her eyes. “Just give me a verbal summary.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Family members attest that Khalid Azmi, his wife Rashida and their friend Sanket Lavande had left Solapur in the afternoon, on 14^th of August. But they never reached their destination.

“When we interrogated the bus driver and conductor who were plying the bus that day, they said that two police personnel had stopped the bus, some 2-3 kms away from Dhotri, and detained the three missing persons, claiming they are terrorists. We showed them the photographs Menon gave us; they have confirmed the identities of Rashida, Lavande and constable Deshpande.

“We further investigated the warehouse ourselves. We found evidence that corroborated Menon’s claims. But we didn’t find either Rashida or Lavande at the crime scene. There is no evidence of a third person detained there. I believe Khalid was held in a different facility.”

“Are you telling me what you found or giving me a summary of Menon’s article?”

“Ma’am, we are still investigating...”

“Investigating?! Are you a cop or have you outsourced your job to that Menon?!” When he remained silent, she continued, “I want results, Shinde! And fast! I will give you another week’s time. You better pull up your socks.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

21 September, 2007

“You idiots!! How did this get published?!”

“Sir, that constable Deshpande... that bastard couldn’t stop bragging before that reporter...”

“Stop giving me excuses, Ghate! I didn’t make you the Commissioner for doing a shoddy job! And you, Patil, what were you thinking trying to investigate this case, huh? Growing a conscience, are we?”

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t know you were involved” she replied.

“I am not involved, is that clear? Not even in your dreams are you to repeat that again. Or else, you know what I can do...”

“Yes sir... I mean, sorry sir” Patil trembled.

“Now, get that nosy inspector... what’s his name?”

“Prakash Shinde...”

“Yes, that Shinde... get him off this case. You understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Now off you go, all of you. I don’t want this issue to come up again.”

22 September, 2007

“Shinde, I want you to change the details in your case papers”, Patil didn’t meet his eye.

“Why ma’am?”

“Godse sir himself has given us orders. He doesn’t want this investigation to go any further.”

“I’m sorry ma’am but I can’t do that.”

“You dare defy him?!”

“With all due respect, my duty is towards my uniform ma’am, not anyone else.”

* * *

The Maharashtra police announced in a press conference that a terrorist, Khalid Azmi, was planning to kill the CM. They found him some 30 kms away from Solapur. While in custody, he tried to escape. The police had to open fire and kill him in self-defence.

1 October, 2007

“Where is Shinde?”

“He was transferred to some remote location sir.”

“Hmmm... I don’t think the top officials would allow me to bring him back. Get me Shinde’s number. A personal visit is due.”

* * *

“I am so honoured you came to visit me, Gokhale sir.”

“I’m sorry to call in so late, but the case has dragged in for far too long already. People in the department are too scared to speak out. You were different; your transfer is proof.”

“So are you, sir. The Court wouldn’t have replaced Patil ma’am with you otherwise.”

“Oh, I don’t think that was the reason I was brought in. You see, Mahavir and I...” Gokhale paused, seeing Shinde’s confused look. “Mahavir Ghate?”, he waited to see a sign of recognition. When he did, he continued, “Mahavir and I were batchmates, and are pretty close friends. They thought I might support him and also have the nerve to stop any more Shindes from poking their noses where they are not wanted.”

“Why are you telling me all this? I’m just a low-ranking officer.”

“Because... I want your help. I’ve got the case file here with me but they seem tampered with. I want to know what you found out.”

Shinde got up and went to his room. When he returned, he held a large file. 

Gokhale smiled.

13 March, 2008

The court was fully packed.

“Order! Order!”, the judge banged his gavel. “Will the public prosecutor please continue?”

“Yes, your Honour” she bowed to the judge. Turning towards the witness stand, she continued, “So you are saying that the deceased Khalid Azmi ran an extortion gang?”

“Yes, madam. I was part of his gang, and a family member. We extorted money from very rich people. Even the police and some big politicians were with us.”

“Can you name them?”

He looked around in the courtroom. He met someone’s eye and flinched. He quickly turned his face and looked down.

“Please Mr. Khan, don’t be afraid. You said you are Mr. Azmi’s relative. This is the time for you to fight for his justice.”

He didn’t immediately look up. When he did, a tear rolled down his cheek. “Rashida was my sister. My little sister... she...”, he broke down.

Ms. Talwar brought him a glass of water. When his sobs quieted, he took the glass and drank. He put the glass down and took a deep breath, “We had support from the top. So our gang didn’t fear anyone. We could just go to any big shot and extort money. As long as they didn’t have connections.” He paused and looked to the person he had seen earlier. This time he didn’t flinch. Instead, he drew up his shoulders and lifted up his chin. “This is where Khalid went wrong. He decided to target a marble merchant. The merchant got pissed and paid these bastards money to get rid of Khalid.”

There was an audible hush in the crowd.

“Mr. Khan, can you name these people?”

“Yes, Inspector Savarkar was our contact. He was the bridge between us and Commisioner Ghate. And Ghate would report straight to...” he looked at the person again, and pointed, “Home Minister Godse.”

The crowd gasped and then broke into a loud chatter.

“Order! Order!”

“This is a huge accusation, Mr. Khan. Do you have any proof to support your claims?”

“Yes. Khalid was a paranoid man. We used to laugh at him for that. Who knew one day it would serve him?”, he smiled. “He kept a record of all of our phone calls, meetings, correspondences... everything.”

For the first time, Godse betrayed an emotion. His eyes widened in shock and he trembled as thoughts reeled within him, ‘How can this be? I had calculated every risk, every possibility. How did I miss this?’

21 April, 2008

Somewhere in a quiet village called Sulewadi, a man read out the front page news:

Yesterday afternoon, the trial court of Mumbai convicted Maharashtra’s Home Minister, P. V. Godse,  of orchestrating the murder of 23 people, including Khalid Azmi and his wife Rashida...

The man closed the paper, as tears rolled off his cheeks, “You are lost to us. But at least your murderers have been brought to justice, my dear Khalid.”