Page 116 - Musings 2020

1

It Never Came

Jivat Neet 2017A7PS0050P and Aditya Ramachandran 2017A3PS0339P

Ten...Nine...Eight...Seven…

A tumultuous surge of nausea hit Imran as he stood there, battling himself over the decisions
he’s made. Fearing the ears eagerly awaiting the sound of disaster, miles away, sweat dropped
down the sides of his cheeks and his hands couldn't be stopped from shaking. They said that
Kashmir was heaven on earth, but the present situation told otherwise.

Imran used to frequent this area at 4 daily, the time for his morning Namaz. He was taught to
obey this rule under any circumstance, and he did believe that Allah was there for him, he
was there when he first hurt his leg and also when he was walking down the road without
anything or anyone to call home. It was usual for them to wake up to nothingness. His
transformation as an adult occurred when his Abba died in his arms, at the cusp of war
between Pakistan and India.

Jihad was his answer. With everything gone, he was only left with Allah as his brother in
arms. He finally felt that everything that happened had a cause and the effect of the same was
to liberate everyone from their painful lives. Is life ever good? Who led a good life? These
questions set the benchmark for his future plans to join the terrorists.

Varanasi was difficult for Jai. The air was polluted and his body wasn’t accustomed to the
weather. The people, the population, and the bustle never sat well with him. Regardless, he
had an innate level of comfort in Varanasi, it was his hometown after all. He always managed
to find the rhythm within the chaos and that comforted him. Jai led a good life. At the ripe
age of 33, he owned a pharmacy store. A family business, he also specialized in Ayurvedic
products. He was married with two kids and lived a content life. Fate upset his monotony in
an unfortunate manner.

Over a series of encrypted messages, Imran got orders to go to Varanasi. Strife with deeply
rooted religious tension, Varanasi had become a battleground for Hindus and Muslims.
Varanasi was blazing in the fire as this religious animosity entered every little street it could.
The Hindus were determined to wash away every trace of the Muslim minority and they were
executing this will with no mercy in their hearts. Houses burned down, mob killings, and
abandonment of Muslim businesses was the story of Varanasi. Determined, Imran’s only
desire was to settle the issue once and for all. The bomb blasts were already playing on repeat
in his head.

Imran had a difficult task on his hand. He had two days to assemble equipment, coordinate
with sleeper cells, and plant the bomb. While conducting reconnaissance, he entered a narrow
lane. Oblivious to him, dark elements were at play nearby. A shadow prowled in the dark,
catching Imran’s attention. He quickened his pace as he sensed bloodlust in the air. The fated
gunshot rang as the bullet whizzed past his ears. As he started running for his life, a bullet
struck him in his leg, breaking his run almost immediately. He crawled to a narrow alley,
praying for the commotion to subside. Blood was oozing relentlessly as his consciousness

116