Skip to main content

A Terrorist meets his God

Fiction

Salim slapped himself and said, “Allah, forgive me.”

The very sight of Sonal Sharma sent a rush of blood to what his friends called “centre point.”  Sonal was beautiful.  At the age of 17, she had conquered the peak of feminine charm in every possible way.  Her physical figure was statuesque.  She was flighty and coquettish while dealing with the boys in the class but sincerely committed to her studies and topped the class usually.  A future doc.  Salim imagined her in the doctor’s white coat with the stethoscope dangling on the perfect parabola of her bosom.  They were classmates, Salim and Sonal.

In many ways she was like his mother, reflected Salim.  Maria, his mother, was a Catholic of Keralite origin though born and brought up in Delhi.  She and Sulaiman met each other on a flight from Delhi to Washington DC.  She was a journalist with a prominent national newspaper and was deputed to report the 1996 Atlanta Olympics.  He was a professor at a Delhi University college and was going to attend a training programme In Washington sponsored by the Indian Council of Social Science Research.  Allah, the Merciful, brought them together on their return flight too. 

Soon Allah brought them together in marriage.  And by the first anniversary of their flight from Washington DC, Maria gave birth to Salim.

When a genocide was unleashed on the Muslims in Gujarat Salim was in his KG class.  He returned home in the evening as usual but without knowing that he would not see his father anymore. 

Sulaiman had disappeared.  Maria’s enquiries with whatever help that the Delhi police were willing to proffer in tracing a Muslim yielded nothing. 

Sulaiman had grown more and more religious after his marriage while Maria grew proportionately irreligious.   

“You are a journalist at heart,” her husband accused her one day.  “Superficial.  Never delving beneath the surface.  How many killed?  What did the politicians say?  You never go beyond that.”

“What’s beyond that is also beyond journalism,” she defended herself and her profession.  “We can’t write the exhortations uttered by the Prophet and his hadiths.  That’s not our job...”

Sulaiman grew more and more restless until the restlessness was transmuted into a phantom by the Gujarat riots.  The phantom swallowed Sulaiman.  No one saw him ever again.

The vacuum that Sulaiman became entered Salim’s soul.  The Sanskrit shlokas recited in his school’s morning assemblies, the Hindu prayers and other such religious gestures, sought to fill that vacuum.  God was a joke for his mother.  The ultimate joker sitting up there and laughing at us, she would say.  But God was a big vacuum in Salim’s heart.  A vacuum as big as his father. 

When he reached high school, Salim started attending certain religious classes in the neighbourhood madrassa in the evenings.  Allah began to take some shape in the vacuum in his soul. 

Allah had his father’s shape.  Salim loved his God. 

Even Sonal Sharma could not shake his love for his God.  The love for his God demanded his own martyrdom.  Jihad.  They taught him that at the madrassa.  It was his duty to die for Allah.  He would get three-score-and-a-dozen Sonals in Jannah.  And the killers of his father and father’s people would be destroyed in the process. 

Salim sat in the car in the driver’s seat.  Suicide attack, his mother would report in a few hours from now.  The crowded Sarojini Nagar market was attacked by a suicide bomber who drove into the market in a car carrying a large number of massive explosives...

Sonal, move away!  Salim was not sure whether it was Sonal whom he saw fleetingly in the crowd.  Sonal was there among the thousands in the market, he said to himself.  So many Sonals.  Aren’t they all Sonals?

No, I can’t kill Sonal.  Forgive me, Allah!

He drove his car back. 

A couple of hours later, Maria received the bullet-ridden body of her son dumped on the side of a deserted road in Ber Sarai. 



For copies click here
or here
More options soon

Comments

  1. Great one.I am addicted to the blog!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Great read. It is as if you saw it yourself.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I am greatly interested to read your article. When I came across with the topic you have discussed, it takes me deep into the meaning of the article and forced me to give a thought on the subject. Anyway, thanks for sharing the detailed information!

    college paper writing service

    ReplyDelete
  4. Oh my! this one got to me.
    This story really did affect me. So beautifully woven. :)

    ReplyDelete
  5. Loved reading it...it does stir! Beautifully expressed!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Terrorism is becoming a pain in my consciousness. That's why the narrative acquires its intensity.

      Delete
  6. A brilliant narrative and so near to the things happening around us...if only our wayward youth realize like our protagonist here, things would be so merciful! Insha allah!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Love and understanding, there's no better religion. I can only repeat your prayer: Insha Allah!

      Delete
  7. Kuddos on writing such a simple yet powerful piece. I recently started following your blog and simply mesmerized by your writings and thoughts n emotions behind them. :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Joys of Onam and a reflection

Suppose that the whole universe were to be saved and made perfect and happy forever on just one condition: one single soul must suffer, alone, eternally. Would this be acceptable? Philosopher William James asked that in his 1891 book, The Moral Philosopher and the Moral Life . Please think about it once again and answer the question for yourself. You, as well as others, are going to live a life without a tinge of sorrow. Joyful existence. Life in Paradise. The only condition is that one person will take up all the sorrows of the universe on him-/herself and suffer – alone, eternally. What do you say? James’s answer is a firm no . “Not even a god would be justified in setting up such a scheme,” James asserted, knowing too well how the Bible justified a positive answer to his question. “It is expedient that one man should die for the people, so that the nation can be saved” [John 11:50]. Jesus was that one man in the Biblical vision of redemption. I was reading a Malayalam period...

India in Modi-Trap

That’s like harnessing a telescope to a Vedic chant and expecting the stars to spin closer. Illustration by Gemini AI A friend forwarded a WhatsApp message written by K Sahadevan, Malayalam writer and social activist. The central theme is a concern for science education and research in India. The writer bemoans the fact that in India science is in a prison conjured up by Narendra Modi. The message shocked me. I hadn’t been aware of many things mentioned therein. Modi is making use of Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan’s Centre for Study and Research in Indology for his nefarious purposes projected as efforts to “preserve and promote classical Indian knowledge systems [IKS]” which include Sanskrit, Ayurveda, Jyotisha (astrology), literature, philosophy, and ancient sciences and technology. The objective is to integrate science with spirituality and cultural values. That’s like harnessing a telescope to a Vedic chant and expecting the stars to spin closer. The IKS curricula have made umpteen r...

The Little Girl

The Little Girl is a short story by Katherine Mansfield given in the class 9 English course of NCERT. Maggie gave an assignment to her students based on the story and one of her students, Athena Baby Sabu, presented a brilliant job. She converted the story into a delightful comic strip. Mansfield tells the story of Kezia who is the eponymous little girl. Kezia is scared of her father who wields a lot of control on the entire family. She is punished severely for an unwitting mistake which makes her even more scared of her father. Her grandmother is fond of her and is her emotional succour. The grandmother is away from home one day with Kezia's mother who is hospitalised. Kezia gets her usual nightmare and is terrified. There is no one at home to console her except her father from whom she does not expect any consolation. But the father rises to the occasion and lets the little girl sleep beside him that night. She rests her head on her father's chest and can feel his heart...

The Real Enemies of India

People in general are inclined to pass the blame on to others whatever the fault.  For example, we Indians love to blame the British for their alleged ‘divide-and-rule’ policy.  Did the British really divide India into Hindus and Muslims or did the Indians do it themselves?  Was there any unified entity called India in the first place before the British unified it? Having raised those questions, I’m going to commit a further sacrilege of quoting a British journalist-cum-historian.  In his magnum opus, India: a History , John Keay says that the “stock accusations of a wider Machiavellian intent to ‘divide and rule’ and to ‘stir up Hindu-Muslim animosity’” levelled against the British Raj made little sense when the freedom struggle was going on in India because there really was no unified India until the British unified it politically.  Communal divisions existed in India despite the political unification.  In fact, they existed even before the Briti...