The Innocent Bomber

18 years had passed since the Soviets had let Afghanistan from their claws. Nothing had changed since then, other than the falling levels of Opium cultivation. Thousands of youth were now becoming “The Students”. They are famed for all the wrong reasons. They are an organization whose influence runs deep in the war torn nation of Afghanistan. Like parasites, they feed upon the war-wounds of the country. They are feared by the western world, immortalized by the fanatics. They run Afghanistan. They are “The Students”, which in Arabic means, Talibs. We know them better as Taliban.
Amjad Khan, a man in his early forties, like many other had seen the men from ‘The West’, destroy his tribe, among many, which had for many centuries made the slopes of Nowshak its home. His father, Imjat Khan had died fighting the War that was not theirs. They had no interest in the senseless violence down in the planes of Peshawar. As far as they were concerned, Nowshak was their home, their nation and their heaven. The Soviets though pulled them into the war when they made air strikes on the great mountain ranges of Hindu Kush. They destroyed cattle, homes. They destroyed innocent lives. Then arrived the Arabs, then the Americans and they kept coming. It was all like a spiral descent, going round and round the same point but always going down with every round. For the people victimized in this everlasting war, revenge was one thing which stuck to their heart like a leech sticking to your leg. You never know its there until its too late and it starts bleeding. These people were not educated. They did not even know that a country called USA or Russian existed. All they knew was, there is Afghanistan, there is Pakistan and then there is the west. They hated the west.
Amjad Khan was married when he was 19 and he now had 3 children. He like most others, did not believe in Education, he himself was uneducated. His children spent hours memorizing the Quran. After all they were doing what their father asked them to and their father told them what he was taught. Amjad’s brush with reality happened in a Mosque on an early December Friday morning. As he got up after his prayers, a rough yet caring voice spoke to him,
“Salaam malikhoom”
“Malikhoom salaam”, he replied courteously.
“I know all about you and your past. I want to help you”
Amjad had never seen this man and the man said he knew him and wanted to help him. He was baffled by this .
“I know you don’t know me. Meet me near the old mosque near the market tomorrow. You will always be grateful”
The man disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared. Amjad tried hard to remember if he was one among his old friends, or a relative. Coming up with no answers, he convinced himself that it was a case of mistaken identity. It was always difficult to recognize someone when everyone around has the same turban and a beard.
The whole incident slipped from his mind and he was soon submerged in his daily routines and the calendar ticked like clockwork. Amjad went to the usual prayer place the following day and offered his prayers in the direction of the Holy Mecca. It was only then that he was reminded of the mystery man whom he had met. He tried to forget about it but then a strange thought passed his mind-what if it was actually mistaken identity? What if it was an emergency? He could at least go to the mosque and explain to the man who he really was. Pleased with this idea he walked to the old mosque near the market.
“Welcome my friend. I knew you would come”, said the same voice which had baffled him the previous day.
“I am sorry. I think you are mistaken. I donot even know you”
“You don’t have to. Please follow me”
“But…” he could not complete as the man had gone ahead and was beyond the audible range. Amjad trotted behind him and entered the mosque. He could never have guessed what he would see inside. There was a big hall with ruined walls. In the middle sat business men he recognized, some teenagers he had seen occasionally and the mystery man who was responsible for him being here. All their attention seemed to be focussed on a heavily bearded man who spoke with inspiration in his voice, hatred in his voice.
“…..This is a direct assault on Islam” was all that Amjad could catch from the man’s talk. The men dissolved into little groups of their own and spoke in low voices. Nobody seemed to notice his presence.
Amjad decided to resolve this situation and moved towards the mystery man. The man almost instantaneously turned and gave a gentle smile. It was he first time Amjad got a detailed look of his face. It was tanned, bearded and had a scar on the cheek. This seemed unsymmetrical on the short, thin body.
“Why did you call me here? Do you know who I am?”
“I know about you my friend. You are Amjad Khan, son of Imjat Khan. I know you lost your tribe, its like losing a part of your soul. I am afraid we both are in the same boat”
“ how on earth do you know that?”, a bewildered Amjad asked.
“Allah has wished and has its destiny that our paths have crossed”
Amjad Khan had no idea who the man was and yet he was talking about his life and their destinies.
“Allah has a path planned for everyone. The westerners crossed their path and strolled into ours. They thought it to be their own and if that was not enough, they wanted it all by themselves. Centuries have passed and the Holy Quran and the Prophet are still our guiding lights in this dangerous journey. We live on this Earth as long as we have a duty to fulfil. Once completed, we leave and join the beautiful, eternal gardens of Allah”
“why are you telling me this ?”
“do you not see the signs ? Allah provoked you by making you lose your tribe. He calls upon all the holy warriors of Islam. He has foreseen an attack on Islam and The Quran says that it is not crime, but duty to injure or kill your enemy if the cause is to protect Islam.”
“I have to leave”
“think about your children and wife Amjad Khan”
A shady shack, a tired wife and three innocent faces passed through his mind. They meant more than anything in the world to him.
“what about them ? don’t you dare even think about pulling them into this nonsense”, shouted Amjad. The people around, for the first time turned to have a look at him.
“Anger is important my friend, but only when used at the right time. The Westerners never cared for us, we did nothing wrong, yet they tore us apart. They did it because we are Islam. Please meet me tomorrow here at the same time. You wont regret this Amjad. I promise”
Amjad felt numb, he felt he was transformed into another dimension. He had no idea as to who the man was, what he wanted and yet what he said made sense to him. The Westerners hurt them for no mistake of theirs, didn’t they?
He went home, had a silent lunch, then a silent dinner of roti and sabji and retired to bed. He kept thinking about the incident in the mosque. He could even sleep a wink. He contemplated on whether to meet the man, what was wrong ? he would just listen to him and come home. He would lose nothing. He, anyways had no work. It was a very simple situation. He could pull out anytime he wanted. That was the mistake. He was now wandering into a world which had only an entrance gate and no exit. He neither knew why he was entering it, nor did he know what was waiting for him.
After a rather long night, when time seemed to have stopped, Amjad Khan went to the prayer place, offered his prayers and rushed to the Mosque.
The same voice greeted him, “I am glad you came”
He silently led him inside and the heavily bearded man who was speaking the previous day was waiting for him.
“hello my child. It is indeed a pleasure to have such dedicated Islams. Allah has finally made your path clear, his intentions are that you carry out his mission and he is waiting for you….”
The man who called himself ‘The Shiekh’, spoke almost the same words the mystery man had spoken the previous day, but this was only more refined, more convincing and Amjad Khan had fallen for it.
“You are making the right choice. People wait to do this. But everybody is not so lucky my child. Allah awaits you”
If the mystery man had managed to brainwash Amjad, the Sheikh had rinsed it and removed every little bit of sanity left in him.
After innumerable brain-washing sessions, Amjad was somehow talked into believing that the only way of serving Allah was giving up his life and in the process, taking some non-believers with him. “They take more lives of their own people than that of the enemy”, was an amorphism which suited these fanatics.
On one such meeting, the Sheikh said, “Child, its time. This is your destiny. Allah-o-Akbar”
A strange looking man, with spectacles and a lean body approached Amjad. He held a strange looking apparel. It looked like a jacket, but there were wires all over it.
“who are you ? and sheikh, what is this ?”, sputtered Amjad.
“there is no need to explain, son. Just wear it”, said the strange looking man rather blandly.
Amjad was given a few more tips and they said, “you will mwwt Allah tomorrow. May the Lord be with you”. They told him that a car would pick him up at the mosque at 10.00 am and that there was no need for him to know any other detail.
It might seem that ‘volunteers’ are trained and stay in waiting line for months, but its logically senseless. It is not feasible to give them so much of time, simply because it was too much a time for them to realize their mistake. It is like bread, its sold as soon as its baked.
Amjad Khan ate through his dinner quietly that night and looked at his children.
“Baba, I don’t feel like eating”, said the youngest of the lot.
Amjad Khan looked at him with an expressionless face.
“Please feed him. The child has not been eating properly. He might fall sick”, said his wife with a tired face.
Amjad monotonously fed the child. He was physically there, but his mind was roaming the gardens of Allah.
“maa, food is so tasty in Baba’s plate. I want another roti” the child munched through the roti with gleeful innocence.
Amjad’s eyes filled up with tears, but he never let them roll down. He retired to bed, but sheerly due to the physical exhaustion, went to sleep.
He woke up very early the next day, finished his prayers. He sat with his children, tinking about all the moments he spent with them. The birth of each one of them was more special than the other. He wished to give them a life better than his. But his encounter with the ‘Messengers of Allah’ had changed him. He had not even once thought about his family. But before he could stroll down that path, the clock ticked 9.50.
He said he would go to the market and left with a strange jacket under his dress and tears in his eyes. It was 10 when he reached the Mosque and a red car was already waiting for him. An unknown man was inside.
“Amjad Khan ? Sallam-malikhoom”
“Malikhoom Salaam”, he replied and he got in.
He was informed that there was a button the driver would press, then they would count ten and they it was “Destination:Allah’s Gardens”
As the car rolled, Amjad was lost in his world. All he could think was his family. This was strange as they had never appeared to him ever in the earlier months. The radio was broadcasting a Urdu news update
“…innocent children lost their families in the suicide bombing. With no parents, the future is very dark for these little darlings….”
It hit him like a rock. Who would take care of his little ones ? what would he gain by this ? if it was so good, why did the Shiekh himself not do it ?
Tears rolled down his cheeks as pictures of his son eating roti from his hands rolled into his heart. He wanted to pullout.
“Bhaisab…”
A ‘click’ cut through his lines, and also his life. the button had been pressed.
10
“…He could pull out anytime he wanted …”, is how he had thought in the beginning.
9…8…7…6…5
He would leave his children fatherless, he would leave his wife a widow. This was a crime.
4…3
He would not only leave his family torn, but also many others. He did not want to do this.
“Baba…”, echoed his child’s voice.
2…1
If only….