How it began

07^th June 2014. Hazrat Nizamuddin Station, New Delhi

I don’t like waiting but I still reached the station half–an–hour before the scheduled arrival time of ‘Sampark Kranti’ Train on which my wife was arriving from Jabalpur after a four–day wellness and meditation camp at Bhera Ghat, near Jabalpur. I just wanted to be there the moment she stepped out of the train. But, I had committed the proverbial sin of not checking about the running status of the ‘Indian Railways’ train before leaving for the station. As it turned out, and as is expected from the Indian Railways, the train was running an hour–and–a–half late. That meant that I had two hours to kill.

I spent some time walking up and down the platform during which time, I found out the exact location on the platform where my wife’s coach was supposed to stop. After that, I surveyed books and magazines at a bookstall at the platform. I improved my knowledge about the destinations that one could reach by trains from that station. Finally, after about an hour or so, when boredom had started taking its toll on me, I decided to sit somewhere and do something on my laptop. Yes, thankfully, I had my laptop with me. So, I bought a cup of tea from a vendor and went back to the location where my wife’s coach was to stop and sat down on a metal bench meant for three that already had another occupant.

Towards the beginning of 2014, I had started a blog about my views and opinions on a variety of topics. However, after a few posts, I got busy on certain things and could not post as frequently as I wanted to. So, to kill time, I decided to write a post for my blog. I had read an article in a newspaper about a week or so prior and thought about writing something on it. It was an article about developments in a court case involving some terrorists caught after a bomb blast outside Delhi High Court in 2011.

I started searching the net for related articles and more details about the case. For a good twenty minutes, I did not realize that the person sitting next to me on the bench was keenly going through the articles I was reading on the net. Once I realized it, I tried to ignore him but couldn’t help glancing at him every couple of minutes, using my peripheral vision, and every time, I found him reading the articles on the screen.

After another ten minutes or so, I started typing my thoughts away, which were full of contempt for the heinous crimes committed by the terrorists in the name of religion. I was going with a flow and had put down more than five hundred words within fifteen minutes. Just as I was about to start a new paragraph, that person spoke,

“Are you sure they are the real culprits?”

I was surprised at his sudden attempt at a dialogue and turned my head to the right to look at him and asked,

“What?” (I had heard him but just wanted to make sure I had heard him correctly)

“They (pointing towards my screen) .... Do you really believe whatever is written in the articles about them?” he asked.

“Do you know them?” I couldn’t stop myself from shooting away in a half-mocking tone.

“No. I don’t know them. But I know for sure that the police reports and the ‘supposed’ evidence in such cases are not completely reliable and the newspaper articles or other articles based on such reports and case materials merely skim the surface.”

“How do you know that? I mean .... What makes you say that whatever is written and mentioned everywhere is wrong and you know more about it?” I asked with a mixture of contempt and curiosity in my tone.

The person went quite for a while and started staring at something in the distance. It was a good five minutes before he said anything.

“Are you a writer?” he asked.

“Yes. Not a famous one yet. But, yes. My first book came out last December.”

“And.... Are you writing this for your next book?” he asked, pointing towards the screen of my laptop.

“No. This is a small piece for my blog. My next book is a romantic love story,” I replied.

“Ah! A love story. That’s good. But, then, why waste your time on an article about terrorists? What good would it do?”

“I try and write my viewpoints on everything that I feel strongly about or that touches my heart. Every year, hundreds of people lose their lives due to these damned terrorists and their activities. They call themselves Jihadis or freedom fighters or revolutionaries. But, the fact is that they are mere mercenaries who probably feel a sadistic pleasure in spreading death and suffering. These misguided Muslim youths feel they are raging a “holy” war but they are, in fact, working against God and are spreading hate. Do you know that more than ninety percent of the terrorists in the world are Muslims? So, what does that say about their religion?”

He did not reply. He simply smiled and shook his head and went silent.

After a few seconds, I asked “What?”

“Who do you think is behind these terrorists?” he answered with a question.

“Their organizations like Al–Qaeda, Indian Mujahideen, Lashkar, etc.,” I replied.

“And... Who do you think is behind those organizations?” he asked.

“Agencies like ISI and CIA”

“And, who runs those agencies?”

“Their governments”

“And, who runs governments?”

“Politicians”

“So, if politicians are the ultimate source of all the mayhem called terrorism, how is it about money or religion or belief? Is it not about politics and power?”

“Uhhh...” I couldn’t say much.

“Anyway, what would you do if you got to know of the truth behind these terrorists?”

“I would write about it. I am the kind of person who does not like the truth buried beneath any kind of layers. If I will come to know about it, I will let the world know about it from me,” was my first reaction. “But, why do you ask?” came the question soon after.

He ignored my question and asked, “Let me ask you something important. If someone were to give you an excellent and true insight into a terrorist’s mind and into the world of terrorism, why should the person trust you? I mean, would you be honest enough to mention everything truthfully? Would you have the courage to mention the truth? Would you not simply run to the police with the details?”

I sat up, thought about myself for a few moments, turned to face him and said, “I am an atheist, so, religious bias is out of the question; I am an idealist and am yet to vote in any elections as I believe that an honest politician is a myth, so, political bias is out of the window as well. And, I am not a policeman looking to simply close a case without caring about the truth. My wife tells me that I live in an imaginary world in the clouds where everything is as it appears and which is built in an ideal way or, in other words, I am a simpleton with a different set of ideals and morals. Well..... if that can make you trust me, you can tell me what you know and I will write about it.”

“What makes you think that I am that person?”

“I may be a simpleton but I am not a fool”

He stopped for a few moments, rocked back and forth a few times, with his hands pressed hard on the bench on his sides, while looking somewhere far away, pursing his lips every now and then. During those few moments, I looked at him closely, which I had not till then, and found him to be around my age, 32, may be younger but definitely not older. But, even with a fair bit of stubble and moderately dishevelled wind-blown hair, his face had a calmness that is rarely seen in anyone, especially at our age. A relatively new blue jeans paired with a white cotton shirt with sleeves folded till the elbows coupled with a simple pair of white sneakers, and, he looked just like any other fairly average–looking Indian guy. The only thing different about him, apart from the calmness on his face, was the plain innocence and gentility of his eyes.

“Okay. I will tell you. I do not know why but I feel in my heart that I can trust you,” he said after almost an eternity and while still looking at some non–existent horizon. Then, he turned his head towards me and asked, “How much do you love your wife?”

“She is the only person in my life and I probably love her more than myself. Why?”

“And what about truth? How truthful and honest do you consider yourself? To what extent can you keep a secret that can destroy someone’s life if divulged?”

“I consider myself to be a truthful person. I mean, I have lied but never to harm someone, maybe an excuse to take a leave from school or office; or when my wife was still learning to cook and I would say a lie or two to avoid discouraging her; and maybe a few small ones here and there for some small benefits, but, I have never said a lie that would harm anyone. As far as keeping secrets is concerned, I have a black hole in my heart; whatever goes inside stays there and never comes out.”

“If that is the case, I would like you to swear on your wife’s life that whatever I will tell you to write, you will write absolutely truthfully and without changes, and, you would never tell anyone about me till the time the story is out.”

That piqued my interest and I looked straight into his eyes. I did not think about what he would say and what I would write and, even though it seemed a bit childish to me, I blurted out two words: “I swear”

“Great. There is a lot of stuff I need to say and it is almost time for the train to arrive. I am here to receive my wife who is coming from Jhansi by the Sampark Kranti so...”

“What a coincidence! Even I am here to receive my wife who is arriving by the same train.”

“Cool. So... let’s meet up some other day at some other place when you have time. Give me your number. I will call you and will tell you when we can meet up.”

“Why don’t you come over to my place? Or, I can come to yours,” I said.

“Nope. You cannot tell even your wife about it till the story is complete and released or about to be released. And, my wife does not know anything about it and I would like to keep it that way. Therefore, we will meet at some coffee shop. So, tell me when and where?”

I asked him to meet me the next Sunday at the Coffee Home in Connaught Place, the one located opposite the Hanuman Mandir. I do not know why but he gave a wry smile when I mentioned Connaught Place. He took my number down but did not give me his number. He did not even give me his name. By the time he took down the number, the train, for which we had been waiting, had started entering the station. We parted ways with a slight shake of hands and he went a bit further away from the main entrance as his wife’s coach was three coaches down from my wife’s.

He glanced back once to look at me. He had a smile on his face. It wasn’t a clever smile or a scheming smile or cynical or twisted or anything else that may be construed as bad. It was an innocent smile full of hope and a belief that something good is about to happen.

***************

The following Sunday, we met at Connaught Place as we had discussed. He had called me up a day before to check on the timing and we had mutually agreed to meet at 11 AM. Interestingly, his number did not display on my screen and simply flashed as “Private Number” when he called me up. I am a heckler for punctuality so I reached the place five minutes before time. But, he did not arrive at the scheduled time. I had to wait for a good twenty – five minutes before I got another call from that “Private Number”. He apologised for being late and asked me to come out of the Coffee Home and go to Barista in the Regal Building complex opposite Janpath and wait for him there.

I had half a mind to give up on the meeting and go home as I found it irritating that he changed the venue on his own and after making me wait for long. But, within seconds, I had second thoughts and I decided to go to Barista. I got out of the Coffee Home, crossed the road and took the side–lane adjacent to the Mohan Singh Place and reached Barista within five minutes. Once I reached there, I had to wait for another five minutes before I saw him enter the place holding a black helmet in his hands. He was looking quite different from the day that I had met him at the railway station. He was wearing a bandana on his head that he had probably worn under the helmet but had not removed even after taking the helmet off. And, he was sporting a proper beard, unlike the heavy stubble he had the other day.

He came straight to me and apologized for making me wait and making me move from the Coffee Home to Barista.

“Once I tell you about everything and you come to know a bit more about me, you would realize why I got you waiting and asked you to move to a different location than the one that we had decided upon. I just wanted to ensure that there was no one else with you. I am sure you would understand that it is difficult to trust a person whom I have met only once. I waited near the Coffee Home to make sure no one was waiting outside or near the joint. I asked you to come to Barista as I wanted to double–check that there was no one with you or following you as a lot of things can be arranged at a pre-decided location. I am sorry I had to do all that.”

“That is okay but what exactly is it that you wish to tell me that requires all this secrecy and precautions?” I asked.

“You haven’t brought any writing material or your laptop to make notes... so.... how do you plan to note down whatever I am about to tell you?” he asked.

“Well... there are two reasons for that. One, I do not know what are you going to say and whether it would be good enough for a book or not. Second, if it is good, I would rather listen to everything that you have to say and absorb it and reproduce it later in my own manner. If I feel any need for it, I would bring a notepad the next time we meet (and I did carry a notepad and pen at all our meetings after that one and made comprehensive notes of everything he told me). But, before we begin, why do you not write it yourself if you believe it is good? Why ask someone else, and, that too, a complete stranger?” I answered and asked.

He took a long breath, looked at me and said, “It is my friend’s autobiography.”

“Okay...,” I said, waiting for something more, wondering how big a deal his friend’s autobiography could be.

He looked all around and once sure no one was listening to us, he moved closer to me, took another big breath with an audible exhalation and said, “Till 2008, my friend, Dhiren..... was a.... terrorist.”

I sat there speechless and wide–eyed for at least five minutes. My mind was saying a lot of stuff but nothing left my mouth.

“Damn!!!”

“Is he joking?”

“He looks quite serious. Should I be scared?”

“He said ‘was’ a terrorist, so what is he now? Did he surrender?”

“Should I stay or should I run?”

“Was he a terrorist as well? If his friend was, then, he too must have been.”

“He doesn’t look like a terrorist.”

“What am I doing here sitting with a terrorist? What if I get into trouble?”

I did not say anything but, probably, he could read my expressions, as he said, “Do not worry my friend. Relax. I am not a terrorist and my friend isn’t a terrorist anymore. He gave up being a terrorist six years ago, in 2008. Nobody knows about that chapter of his life. The organization, that he used to work for, thinks he is dead and the intelligence agencies never knew anything about him. So, nobody is looking for him.... yet. He is a different person with a new identity, new work, new life and new thoughts. So.... you can relax.”

“So nobody in his present life, except you, knows about his past and nobody from his past knows about his present, and, that is the reason he wants someone else to write about him so that he is not exposed. Am I right?” I asked.

“You are smarter than I thought. Yes, that is the reason. One, if he writes the book and gets it published, the world will come to know about his new identity. Till a few months ago, only I and his Godmother knew about his truth. And today, it is only I who is aware of it. Second, he is not a creative person and no good in playing with words. And, it is the same with me. I am good with English, Hindi, Urdu and Arabic, but, I do not think I can write a complete story with a proper structure and episodic succession. And even if I do, it would not be able to express everything that he needs it to. Third, I researched about you and read your book. It was a good first attempt and I am sure you would do justice to what he wishes to express. I dug up a bit of your past as well and did not find anything there that would make me give up this endeavour. And, finally, it is a coincidence that I met you and that coincidence made me think as if fate wanted me to get my friend’s story out to the world some way or another and that is why it brought you to me. So, tell me, would you like to pen my friend’s autobiography, his thoughts, his story and his emotions?”

I was still lost in my thoughts about his proposal and about the fact that he had done a check on me and had invaded my privacy in some way, when he said, “And, before you decide, let me tell you that he does not want anything out of it. He just wants his story to get out there in the world. He does not want any money for this and, definitely, absolutely definitely, no credit.”

“I was not thinking about money. In fact, I do not know what I was thinking about. It is not every day that you get such a proposal. I was wondering how it would be an Autobiography if I write it and not your friend.”

“You are simply the medium my friend. It is his story and in his own words. You would be translating it of course so you would be a translator. And, you would be constructing sentences for a proper structure but that would be more like the work of an Editor than that of a writer. Since you would not be adding anything to the story, not even your views or opinions, it will be an Autobiography. So.... are you game?”

“Yes..... I guess.............. Let us start”

***************

I just sat there, sipping my coffee, waiting for him to start his story. He seemed lost in his thoughts and I could make out that he was searching for a thread to begin with and, therefore, I did not disturb him and let him be for a good ten minutes after which he said,

“Before I begin my story, we need to lay down some ground rules. One, you would never ask for my name or my friend’s name. I am sure it is quite obvious why I want such an arrangement. One, I do not want anyone to know about our true identity, not even you, and, second, tomorrow, you might get into trouble with the authorities for this story. At that time, it would help you to not know our names. So, just call me ‘dost’ (Hindi word for friend) and for my friend, I will use a fictional name.... say.... Akbar. Two, you would never ask for our contact details or address. I would contact you whenever required.  Three, he has changed the names of everyone related to the story and we will not give you the correct names of those people as he does not want anyone to locate him through them. So, all the names in the story are fictitious. But, 'fictitious names' does not mean 'fictitious people'. They are as real as you and me. Four, you would not add anything of your own to add flavour to the story or to make it more interesting. Lastly, try not to interrupt me as I try and recollect all kinds of details while narrating the story. Though I would be carrying notes of my own, there might be things I might need to remember from whatever Akbar would tell me so that I may narrate everything in a proper manner. Are these rules okay for you?”

“Yes, I think I can live with that. But, there is one thing that I believe I should say right away. I do not trust anything blindly. I dig deeper into everything that I am told about before accepting it as truth. So, whatever you say, please know that I will verify and authenticate it on my own. I cannot check on his personal story but I would like to double-check the facts before putting my name on the book.” (And, I did check all the facts of his story before releasing the book. I checked all the dates, locations, chain of events and every other relevant aspect thoroughly as I wanted to believe it myself before asking others to do so)

“That is okay. Shall I begin?”

“Yup. Whenever you are ready.”

Again, as was probably his habit, he took a deep breath, sat still for five minutes, and, said,

“I will begin his story from the day that started his transformation from a Terrorist to an ‘Ex–Terrorist’. He wants me to run you through everything as it happened as he believes that a simple narration would not bring out the emotions and feelings. He will give me the exact words that were spoken, the exact situations, and the precise details of everything that happened with him, with as much minuteness as possible, and I would replicate the same for you. And, please remember that I will be narrating everything in First person to keep it exactly as he will tell me.”