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The Decision

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This wasn’t the first time I was to chauffeur a VIP. I have been a driver since I failed to get into college. Been eight years since, I am stuck in this phase of life that’s hard to explain to anybody. I was told that someone very important was coming that day. I didn’t know who it was. So I was patiently waiting inside my car, trying my best not to fall asleep.

I put on some romantic numbers to get into good mood. I had to be alert because when fascism revolves around you in white clothes, it could burn you down anytime even by most innocent of disguises. I tried to remember the day when he became the Prime Minister. The media, the corporate biggies, the party members, everyone manipulated the naïve citizens of India. They painted him as a single charismatic leader having superhuman abilities who vivifies this ineffable jingoism inside us, whose mere words shall be considered no less than a law.

A decade later, democracy became an official joke that is uttered while taking oaths and giving speeches. Govt. monitors our emails and our phone calls now. Cameras are set up almost everywhere to watch us closely. Bootlicking media hides all the criminal activities done by the government. No one expresses their dissent over the fear of getting tagged as an Anti-National. I wouldn’t have stopped getting into that memory lane if I hadn’t heard a knock on the window.

“He is coming”, a party member gave me a heads-up. I adjusted my seat and looked around if everything was in order. I came out of the car to open the window.

Amit Shah! I had a brief pause as I recognized him. I started to breathe rapidly. I could feel my pulse pounding in my temples. My head was buzzing at infinite speed, I even swallowed my own spit. My fists were clenched by an unexplained amount of fear fuelled with rage. I threw him a salute, hoping to hide my jitters.

It looked like he absconded from the back gate. Perhaps he was trying to avoid the media or visiting secret place. He went into the car without even looking at me. He took off his Nehru Jacket and hung it up inside the car. I closed the door and took my seat. I adjusted the mirror to get a better look at him. This was perhaps the only time I looked him so closely. He had a time ravaged face, a shiny bald head and those two blood-flecked eyes behind his John Lenon eye glasses that I would never forget. He sat with such ease it reflected the poise and calmness he possessed. He unbuttoned his long sleeves than schooched over a little to the middle of the backseat and uttered his first few words to me.

"So what's your name, young blood?", He asked.

"Ansar Ahmad, Sir!", I replied in a chivalrous tone.

He raised his eye brows a little and broadened his smile, I could see him bewildered over the fact that a Muslim was driving his car. It made him a bit more curious, I felt.

Okay Ahmad! You know where to go?

"Yes Sir, I nodded my head." I was given an address. I knew every Street, lane, alley in that town. So I chose the shortest route with least crowd as I was told. I guessed he was going to visit his family or relative.

He remained busy turning up pages from his files while my head was bristling with a lot of questions and thoughts.

"Have you ever felt proud of yourself, Ahmed?", He dropped an unexpected question few minutes later.

I glanced in the rear view mirror with a sort of amusement. I tried travelling back in time to search for my proudest moment. I failed. I couldn't recall any. It seemed so ironical then, because of who I really was!

"I am just a Car driver sir! Survival matters more to me than pride", I replied.

Let me tell you a story son!

"I wasn't born this way. I was just a small time businessman. I could have cared more about survival than anything else. But I didn't. Because I knew I would live. Living isn't difficult. Learning to live is. I have gone to jail. I have killed men. I have done every petty little thing a gunda does. But look at me! I ain't a Gunda. Am I? Because I saw the greater good. I had a vision and I accomplished it."

It provoked me a little. He probably thought it would inspire me but he didn't know I was the rebel he was looking for to murder. I led a double life; a driver by day and a rebel by night. He was on the top of our most wanted list. He was called the modern day Chanakya for strategically changing the face of India from a full functioning democracy to the largest Hindu country in the world. When everyone believed Modi as the king, it was actually Shah who was the mastermind, changing the game with his master strategy. He was the invisible knight who moved in silence and spoke when it was time to say Check-mate. He rules the country now. To the world, India still remains a secular country, but everyone knows how they punish if someone protests against the government. The first time I heard his name when seven of our rebel group were ordered to kill two years ago. Yet there I was, chauffeuring the man who killed my friend. I couldn’t think straight.

I replied him with a thankful smile.

“How many did you kill this time?” I asked with a sheer curiosity.

He widened his smile as it came to him out of blue.

You are too young to use the word “kill” son. Let’s put it this way, “some disgusting anomalies were removed from our society”.

He didn’t realize how outraging it sounded. He was playing with my adrenaline.

He was looking through the side window as we passed the city. We were just a Bridge away from reaching his address. I looked outside. All I could see was a great depth and deep blue water. A little yanking on the steering wheel and it could be a wonderful opportunity to end this charade. Filled with an overwhelming urge of crashing the car into the water, I amassed every possible consequence that could happen if I kill him. I could be the next revolutionary. I could be the man who redeemed India from fascists. It seemed very simple. Kill the emperor and the empire falls like a house of cards. And he brought it upon himself. Didn’t he?

Would that really make me a revolutionary though? What kind of warrior kill his unarmed enemy? He came to me for my service because he trusted me. Should I slay him for the greater good and carry the guilt of betraying my own customer forever?

Don’t do it.

Do it.

I veered the wheels from right lane to left. The car began roaring loudly. The inertia made him dive in air inside the car.

It was finally going to be over.

But it didn’t. I couldn’t plunge it off to the river. I steered it back on the track. Those three seconds were the longest three seconds I faced. I didn’t know whether I made the right decision or not. But I knew I couldn’t take the leverage of killing an unarmed man who is unaware of his enemy. It wasn’t righteous. I couldn’t betray my own work. I was a proud driver and I wanted to be one for as long as I could remember.

We finally reached his address. I pulled over the car in front of a house and opened the door for him. He came out smiling.

“Thanks,” he said. I watched him leave the car and go ahead as I was standing there, struck with an indescribable feeling.

He was about to press the doorbell, when he paused for a second, turned back to me and said,” They told me, you would kill me. They also called you the honorable. I came here to find out which one is true. “

The least I could say, “ You didn’t disappoint me”. He winked and rang the bell while I was standing there, stunned!


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The Decision

128 Launches

Part of the Mystery collection

Published on August 23, 2017

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