Killer

His hands were tied and eyes covered with a black ribbon. Since last 13 hours he had been travelling in this vehicle. First he boarded a gypsy truck and then a van. The sound of the highway trucks were fading. The drivers and the militant cadre with the gun were talking in their local language, a particular dowan or dialect he could understand but they thought he did not.
At one point he was asked to get down for a change. He had to answer a nature’s call. He had been retired from the army as a porter just two years back and settled in his remote village. His wife died of diarrhea. He lived with his eleven year old daughter.

Insurgents had captured his village and took them all as hostages. He was chosen for a special mission. He had to sacrifice his life for the great mission they had undertaken.
He realised they were going towards the interior places, off the national highway. The sharp sound of the insects of the red hills was prominent. They entered a valley by the side of river. ‘A camp’ he imagined.
“Untie and bring him to commandant”. A sharp voice instructed someone.
‘You will be living here for the time until you get trained.’

He heard a loud explosion. What was that? A practice session for militants to kill people, he thought. A group of young boys with army dresses paraded and went into the camp. There came the commander, a rough man with oriental looks and small criminally tainted eyes. He was holding an AK- 47 rifle in his hand. All of them were dressed like cowboys.

He was only worried about his daughter; he had kept at her maternal uncle’s house.

A jeep approached and one man, face covered with black cloths, was taken into the camp.
The commander ordered the solder to keep him tied at the camp.

‘Ask this bastard to call his bosses for the money.’ By tomorrow we must get one crore.

Next day the dead body of the gentleman was handed over to the authorities.

He wondered that he had never killed even a bird, how would he explode a bomb to kill people.
‘We have your daughter!’ They had given him a threat.

He followed the instructions, he trained and was ready. 'Mission 26' as they had described.

The gathering at the central field on 26th January to participate and see the parade was huge. Security was tight. He entered the gate taking advantage of the laxity or deliberate connivance on the part of Police and with the help of insiders. The bomb was exploded and left hundreds of people dead. He ran away holding the little hands of his daughter. There was hue and cry, lot of criticism, the Government failed.
Finally the Government was forced to negotiate with the militant group and agree to an alliance, they laid their arms. A new political group was formed. Politics of criminals. They rejoiced for the victory. Common people gathered to see the new set of leaders.

It was the Celebration day.

Colourful shamianas and flags were all over the central field. The dais was decorated to greet the great leaders who had sacrificed their youth for the greater cause of the nationalistic ideology. They would license their vote as a citizen of the nation in the coming election of this great democracy. A democracy! Of course, a mockery for those people. People from remote villages were brought in buses hired to attend the ceremony. District authority put their maximum effort to ensure security of the new breed of politicians. The entire militant cadre, including the oriental looking commander, was present. Few of the existing ministers were also participating. Barricades were drawn so that public could not go close to the new breed. Only people with special I-cards were given the access to go to the dais.
The man slowly approached the dais. The security present there had objected to his entry. But he had the special I-card. He was a friend. A comrade. The oriental man recognised him. It was he who had made this alliance possible. He had come to pay a special respect to the great leaders.

‘Let him come in’. ‘My man’. Murmured the notorious commander to the police officer.

‘How come you are here?’ he asked him.
‘To pay my respect, sir. You had spared my life. I am grateful. Please let me touch your feet’.
‘I will be the change that you will forever regret’. he thought in his mind.
He slowly bowed his head to touch the feet of the leader. The journalist and photographers were busy taking the special shot. The next day it would fetch a big hit.
‘Forgive me god’. He prayed in his mind for the sin he committed.

He then detonated the bomb he was holding. The explosion was big, loud and fire engulfed everything. The dais was not there to bear the mute testimony of the corrupt game plan.