This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This is, by far the most different story I have ever written and I do not intend to hurt anyone by this. If I have unintentionally hurt anyone, I am sorry. History Repeats! Lying on his bed, he morosely stared at the ceiling, and the ghosts of his past began to haunt him like they always did. The shrieks and screams of the people who were tortured during and after the partition of India still echoed in his ears. The horrific incidents that he had witnessed as a child were unforgettable for him despite arduous efforts to obliterate his memory. Millions of fearful people were displaced from their ancestral homes depending upon their faiths and religion. While the Muslims from Hindu dominated part of India forsook the country into a newly formed country called Pakistan, the Hindus and Sikhs from the Muslim dominated Pakistan moved to the partitioned India. If millions of them readily gave up their ancestral homes fearing torture and death, the rest fought for their rightful homes and died battling till their last breath. He had seen two of his sisters being stripped naked in the public, raped and exhibited to aggravate their agony, while one killed by his own father to spare the shame of conversion. He had seen a few of his neighbours convert themselves, unable to bear the torture. He had considered conversion a wise choice over killing oneself; perhaps he was too young to understand anything then. Perhaps, he wasn’t. He felt a tremor and a sound, which broke him from his musing. Perplexed, he looked around his bed to see his mobile vibrating. There was nothing that could simmer him down than the name of the person his phone displayed at that moment. Tarun Jaitley, the Defence Minister of India, was calling him to discuss something which was very crucial at that moment. “Hello, Sir.” He said, receiving the call. “Hello, General Arjun Singh.” Tarun greeted him. “What is it, Sir that makes you call me at this odd hour of the night?” General Arjun enquired. “Our beloved Prime Minister, Lakki Raavat wants to meet you tomorrow. We have a meeting at 6 pm, tomorrow. Just the three of us, he said.”Tarun said, in a serene tone. “I’m honoured, Sir.” Arjun replied. The repeated ceasefire violations by Pakistan ought to have had consequences. Lakki Raavat, the Prime Minister of India had had talks with Armaan Nawab, the Prime Minister of Pakistan, but to no avail, as the latter had blamed India for the same. Mediation had fetched no results either, and war was declared, unless India offered a part of Kashmir to Pakistan. Arjun was all set to leave to Race Course, where the Prime Minister resided, in a crisp white shirt, a jet black formal trouser, and a violet tie. He felt a vibration in his pocket, and expected Tarun’s call. It was a call from his useless network provider offering him some new schemes and postpaid packages. He disconnected it. His phone vibrated again, and this time, it was Tarun. “Are you ready, General?” He asked. “Yes, Sir.” Arjun answered. “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.” Tarun said, and disconnected the call. Soon, Arjun was sitting in Tarun’s white ambassador which took no time to reach 7, Race Course Road. Arjun had never been here before in his entire life. He was stunned to see the 12 acres Prime Minister’s residence. The car turned to 5, Race Course Road, which was the Private Residential Zone for the Prime Minister. He was surprised to know that the meeting was not at any of the offices at Race Course, but at the place where the Prime Minister resided. He felt like there was a lump in his throat, and it had dried up. Sure, he was nervous. Tarun grinned. “Nervous?” Tarun asked, smiling. “A little.” He said. “Don’t worry. You’re here because of your achievements and ability. Sure, he wants to meet you for a reason.” Tarun said, patting his back. As they waited for the Prime Minister, Tarun calmed him down a bit. “Hello General.” He heard a voice which came from behind him. On turning around, he saw an old grey haired man in gold-rimmed spectacles, wearing an orange kurta. He instantly stood up. “Hello Sir, it’s an honour to meet you.” Arjun said, shaking hands with Lakki Raavat. The Defence Minister and the Prime Minister greeted each other with a hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you, General.” said the Prime Minister. “I hope that’s only good.” General Arjun smiled, uncertainly. “Oh yes! Just the good things so far. You could fill me in with the bad things about you.” Lakki joked. “That would take days, perhaps weeks or months.” Arjun beamed. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, General.” Lakki laughed. The next moment, they were sipping the hot masala tea served by the prime minister’s domestic help. The conversation between the Defence Minister and the Prime Minister was getting more intense, when Lakki noticed the silent General. From his experience, he could bet on the fact that something had been bothering the General. “Is everything okay, General?” Mr. Raavat asked. “Yes, Sir.”Arjun replied. “You could tell me if something is troubling you, General.” The Prime Minister insisted. “S-s-sure, Sir.” He said. “Is it the war?” Mr. Raavat questioned. “Sir, the mere thought of war gives me grief. I do not want to fight this war, Sir.” Arjun said, worried about the consequences of his confession. “General, you shall not grieve for those who should not be grieved for. The wise men do not grieve for the living or the dead.” Mr. Raavat said, patting his back. Meanwhile, Tarun stood up from the couch he was perched on, and said “I need to use the washroom,” and walked to the washroom, maybe to give the two some privacy. “Sir, I see evil and bad omens in the upcoming war. I do not foresee any good resulting by slaying our own friends and relatives.” He said, more comfortably this time. “I know the fact that you have a lot of relatives still residing in Pakistan, but trust me, it’s not just you. I too have my friends and relatives who still reside there. Nevertheless, there is nothing more welcome to a warrior than a righteous war, General.” The Prime Minister said heavily. “Sir, Is a piece of land (Kashmir) so important to us that we need to slay our own relatives and friends for it? Of what use will the victory be if we kill all of our friends and relatives? ” asked Arjun, innocently. “General, you should fight while treating victory and defeat alike, gain and loss alike and pain and pleasure too, alike. You have to think of the innocent people being killed by the Pakistani troops violating the cease fire agreement. What have they done to suffer a death taking the bullets of those who just wish to occupy the territory we rightfully own?” The Prime Minister tried hard to convince him to fight the battle. “Sir, I do understand that whatever they have done is wrong, but will we not incur sin by slaughtering our friends, relatives and our noble elders?” “General, I don’t think we will. But if you refuse to fight this righteous war and shy away from your innate duty, you will lose your reputation as a General and thus, you will definitely incur sin.” The Prime Minister said, hoping that the General would understand him. “If you say so, Sir.” He now knew what he had to do. “By the way, you look much younger than seventy.” The Prime Minister smiled. He was stunned by the Prime Minister’s compliment. Not a soul other than the Defence Minister knew of his age. He had forged his birth-certificate. Had it been for his real age, he would have been retired by now. He wished he hadn’t forged his birth certificate, for if he had not, he would not have to fight the war he had to in a day. Tarun might have told Lakki, he thought. “S..S..Sir, Thank you.” He said, asking further ‘And you do not have an issue with my age in spite of knowing the truth?” “I do not want to lose the greatest Army Chief. Not before this war, at least.” He smiled. Suddenly, the old man came out of the washroom, smiling at the two. “Can we now have our Dinner, Tarun?” asked the Prime Minister. “I am so sorry, Sir. Sure, we can.” He said. The dinner was done in no time, and the white ambassador drove past the Prime Minister’s residence. As it did, the Prime Minister smiled. The letters inscribed in the name plate outside the Prime Minister’s house came out by itself, and ‘Lakki Raavat’ changed into what appeared to be ‘Kalki Avatar’. ______________________ Yada yada hi dharmasya glanirbhavati bharata Abhythanamadharmasya tadatmanam srijamyaham; Paritranaya sadhunang vinashay cha dushkritam Dharmasangsthapanarthay sambhabami yuge yuge. Whenever there is decay of righteousness, O Bharata, And there is exaltation of unrighteousness, then I Myself come forth; For the protection of the good, for the destruction of evil-doers, For the sake of firmly establishing righteousness, I am born from age to age. - Rounak Nayak. ^_^ P.S. Its inspired by Mahabharata. :)
Posted on: Sat, 13 Dec 2014 15:48:39 +0000
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