21

The man walked into the room. They held their breath, waiting for him to speak.

He walked in, dark, and stout, wearing a green kurta. The shadows of the room cast themselves on him, making him look a lot more huge than he actually was. They looked nervously at each other, as he glared at them.

“So how did it go?”

“Success, bhaijaan. The three of them went off as planned.”

He looked at him, his face not moving, as if it was set in stone.

“How many people?”

“21, bhaijaan,” he said.

“How many?”, he asked, his face convulsing into an ugly frown.

The two of them remained quiet.

“Twenty One? You bastards! You stayed here for weeks, went to all the places, the locations were the same, and all you could manage was twenty one?”

“There weren’t as many people as we expected at the time, bhaijaan. We did our work whole-heartedly.”

The man said nothing. He moved his right hand, put it in his back pocket, removed a gun and pointed it at his forehead.

“If the whole of your heart could amount to that, a very small heart you have, indeed.” He pulled the trigger.

There was a ‘pfut’ noise, as the body crumbled to the floor as a lump of flesh. In a few seconds, nothing in the room moved, as a small pool of blood began to form near the body.

The other man was scared. He could smell blood, and sweat, and couldn’t bear to look at the man. He kept his eyes down, at the floor.

“You worthless sister-fuckers,” the man hissed, “do you know how much money was spent on you morons? And what am I supposed to tell the others when they ask me about it?”

He had to think fast. It was a matter of life and death. His mind raced, as the words struggled to come out of his mouth.

“We created quite an impact, bhaijaan. Over a hundred are injured. There is chaos, and the telephone lines have gotten jammed. Also, the rains will wash out the evidence from the sites.”

His reasoning had no effect on the huge man. “And what are you concerned about the evidence for? Do you have a fear of getting caught?”

The man froze. “No, bhaijaan. It’s not like that. I have given my life to Allah and death does not scare me.”

The huge man said nothing for a while. There was silence in the room, except for a few flies that were buzzing around the dead body lying on the floor.

“Did the government react?”

“Yes, bhaijaan. Within two hours of the attack, the MHA responded with a statement.”

“What?”

“That it was a terror attack.”

“Is this a fucking joke?” He was getting agitated again, and he needed to be calmed, otherwise he would raise his gun again.

“There is chaos on the streets, bhaijaan. The people on the streets are angry with the government. One of them even mouthed dialogues from ‘A Wednesday’ in front of the cameras and has become a celebrity of sorts.”

“What about the media?”

“The media is asking questions, bhaijaan. There is anger in the people. The media channels have trampled all over the evidence sites, interfering with the forensic investigation process. Like the last time, the channels are showing pictures of dead and wounded bodies, striking fear in the hearts of the people. It was a victory for us, bhaijaan.”

“And what does dhoti have to say about it?”

“The usual, bhaijaan. That all efforts will be made to nab the culprits, and that they have deployed all the forces to work on the case.”

“What about the bazaar? How many people over there?”

“About thirteen, bhaijaan.”

The man flew into a rage. “Motherfucker! Thirteen?? Months of training and you bastards manage 21 people?”

“But we have shown how easy it is, bhaijaan. And all the materials were bought off the market. It was done with minimum expenses and effort, bhaijaan.”

The man just glared at him. After a while, he said, “You know, there are 150 deaths a day simply on the train tracks. Everyday.”

He could sense things were getting out of hand. He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell him of the pain-staking efforts that had gone into the exercise, of the love and steadfastness that he had in his heart towards the cause. He wanted to speak, but felt his throat drying. The smell of blood filled his nose, and made him giddy.

“The bastards will never learn. Tomorrow, all of them will go to work, and they will boast about the ‘Spirit of Mumbai’. Media channels will move on to other issues in a few days, and the politicians will start fighting amongst themselves. And in a few days, there will be a cricket series, and the entire country will forget about it.”

He knew he had to speak. He knew he had to say something. Anything.

The man continued. “Have you seen what our brothers across the border are doing? Everyday, every week, every month. The work of God goes on uninterrupted. And you bastards, manage just 21 and have the guts to talk to me about steadfastness?”

His mouth was spewing spit, and his eyes had grown large in anger.

Inspite of the giddiness and the blurred vision, the man felt a strange calm. His vision blurred as he saw the huge man reach for his back pocket.

He held his breath, waiting.

The last thing he heard was the ‘pfut’ sound, and the sight of beautiful virgins waiting for him, swam in his head.