Wednesday, November 25, 2009

The Living Dead

The plan was drawn, the task was explained. Ten years of training would be put to test in the next few days. They were the chosen ones for the holy task. Twenty years of their existence in this world and all they had gathered was hatred. All they listened to was hatred. Sixty years had passed and they still carried the wounds. The pain, the hate was passed down generation to generation. The pain the hate recruited chosen ones all over the world. Young men surrendered their heart. Little did they know, they had surrendered their brains too.

The young men walked out of the makeshift base camp near the border, to the training area. Guns of different caliber waited to be picked up from the table. The cold hands picked up the metal. Guns were not new to them, they grew up playing with them, they grew up sleeping with it. Special guns , hand grenades were imported from the West and Europe, their biggest enemies. Money the paper creation, had given birth to traitors all over the West and Europe.

One last prayer was said before they left. The destroyers prayed to the Creator, to help them destroy His creations. They climbed onto a boat and took off with just the words of their leader in their minds. Thousands of miles of journey was covered without a single thought, without getting caught. Thousands of paper pieces had again given birth to traitors in the foreign land they entered into.

The young men climbed off the boat and walked out of the harbor into the main road. They looked around the foreign land, they looked at the people around. The people wore the same clothes they wore, they looked the same color, they looked the same type, but the young men were taught to find differences in these similar kind of people. The young men stopped a taxi and took it to their planned destination. The driver smiled at them and spoke a few words with his passengers. The young men understood the language, it was no different from their own, but they never smiled back at the driver. On reaching the destination, the young men walked away from the taxi, telling the driver to keep the change. The driver, drove away in his taxi excited to have received extra money, he drove to the nearest toy store to buy his five year old a doll for her birthday the next day. But little did he know of the return gift the young men and left behind in the taxi.

The young men walked into a railway station. The security was relishing a cup of tea, his uniform had got him for free from a small child selling tea on the platform. The young men stood in the platform waiting for the right moment. There was no doubt in their mind, there was no thought in their mind, their minds were filled with voices, commands, hate of their leaders who now sat thousands of miles away, with their television sets switched on.

A five year old stood smiling with her mother, she was excited about her birthday the next day. She stood with the thousand others who waited for the train along with the young men. Nobody noticed the young men, nobody saw anything different in them, they looked like their very own.

A button was pressed and in an instant the platform turned into a graveyard.

The whole world watched the scene on their television screen. The rulers announced compensation in terms of lifeless paper pieces. The protectors carried away the blood stained body, they were recruited to protect. The country changed the channel, worried if they had missed any important scenes of their daily television serial. The leaders hiding thousands of miles away, celebrated the bravery of the young men and thanked the Creator for answering their prayers.
While the people who had lost their dear ones, stood on the blood stained railway platform asking the Creator, the rulers, the protectors, when will all this end?


MADHU RAO | (INDImag.COM) said...

Wow ! Really good prose Harsha. Loved how the driver's life is intertwined with the tragedy.

..the destroyers prayed to the Creator, to help them destroy His creations...

ironic, hard-hitting , true and haunting.

Great post !

Shahid Mukadam said...

This has to be one of the best stories I have ever read....brilliant man..brilliant

pulkits said...


aativas said...

It brought back all the memories .. touchingly true Harsha..We have not learnt to create, but we teach to divide and destroy..

BK Chowla said...

Superb expression.

Harsha Chittar said...

@Madhu: Thank you sir, very happy to see you here often.
@Shahid:Thanks bro, you made my day with your comment.
@pulkits: Hello so happy to see you here. Thank you for reading the story.
@aativas: I wanted to keep it random but knew it would bring back memories
@B.K Chowla: Thank you sir.

grace said...

Appreciate your sensitivity in recognizing the ostensible and essential similarity between the terrorists and victims, and the deliberation to create a difference.