Illusionary

I cursed under my breath as I crunched another paper and threw it in the bin. Corporate jobs are SO boring I thought while searching for a new page. I stood up and started looking for a new page. While rummaging in the shelf a binded book suddenly fell on my head. “Ouch!” I exclaimed loudly. After a few moments of rubbing my head I picked up the fallen book. It was a thick old dusty book with a leather cover. As I picked up the book, childhood memories raced through my head. Little me taking walks with my brother. My brother. The man I admired the most. My brother. Always fighting for freedom. An atankvadi. My brother. Shot. Lying on the ground as blood pooled around him. My mother, pulling me back while I screamed and wept. My brother. With whom I spent my days in Kashmir. Now dead. “Well – well,” I said while trying to choke back a sob, “ the book still remains.” Hmmm… I thought. This book is dangerous. My brother used to write all his attack plans in this book. He even had marked all the secret tunnels going from Pakistan to Kashmir in this book. The government will kill for this book, I thought. But maybe not. 

This book is still incomplete. My brother died before he could complete his plans or drawings. I carefully opened the book and immediately sneezed because of the dust that rose. I flipped through the first few pages because my brother had just written the introduction there. I reached the index and scrolled through the titles. “How to operate a gun – How to hide – How to brawl and do hand to hand fights – How to snipe – Maps and secret tunnels – The End.” “Well… let’s go too… Maps and secret tunnels.” I flipped through the pages and was flabbergasted to see all the work in the book complete. “Wha – what? What!?” I stuttered. “But it has been lying here all the time!” I read every page and was even more surprised to see that on all the plans additional plans had been scribbled and in some pages the words ‘Mission Complete’ was also written. “Well I’ll be damned!” I exclaimed. “This book is bloody complete!” I slowly calmed my frayed nerves and went to watch some TV to act as if everything was all right. It was not. My mind was racing with ideas. I was thinking that if this book was complete maybe my brother was alive somewhere too. I turned on a news channel and was greeted by the handsome face of a Muslim terrorist from Kashmir. The headlines blared “PAKISTAN HAS PLAYED ITS ACE. SHAH MUHAMMED HAS KILLED 80 PEOPLE IN TWO DAYS.” I looked at the face. It seemed as if I should know this guy but I couldn’t grasp how. For a few moments my brow was furrowed as thoughts of the guy raced through my mind. And suddenly the answer came rushing to me. I stood up so fast I knocked the table over and obliterated my TV. But there was no time to waste. I immediately packed a few clothes, kept all my money and grabbed some food and water from the fridge. 

I flew out of the house and got in my ford Bentley which was a 1998 model. I gunned

the engine and raced down the street. I think I broke around 20 – 30 speed limits, but there was no time to stop. I soon reached the airport and hurriedly took out my meager belongings. I ran to the ticket counter and said in a huff, “ one ticket for Kashmir please and make it fast.” “Of course sir,” came the curt reply of the man behind the  ticket counter. I hastily finished the protocol and boarded the plane. It took around 1 and a half hours in the plane ride. As soon as we reached I ran out of the plane and only stopped when I was outside the airport. I sat down on a nearby bench and collected my thoughts. My mind was still in a daze from the discovery I had made. I was still too scared to voice my thoughts. I picked up my bag again and slung it over my shoulder. Then, with hands in my pocket and a dark expression on my face I walked purposefully to my destination. Though if I admit, I didn’t have a destination in mind. I decided to first go to my old house. As I walked through the streets my steps got a new spring and joyful memories bubbled in my brain.Oh… those carefree days… when there was no such thing as bosses and corporate jobs… I sighed. I remembered the sweet shops that had lined these streets I was walking. This street. In which so many people made merry and celebrated. Now covered with towering grey and dull buildings. While thinking these thoughts I reached the place where my house used to be. Used to be!? “Where is my house?!!?” I said. The answer soon dawned upon me. My house had been demolished and replaced by a grey building. The building was for corporate jobs. Of course it had to be corporate jobs. After all, life is a mockery. Dejected and sad I sat on a street curb and wept. I wept for my house. For my beautiful little neighbourhood. But most of all, for my childhood. After a few hours of sorrow when it was getting dark I woke up from my cocoon of sadness and decided that I would not give up so easily. I racked my brain for any other place from my past. And then it dawned upon me.“Oh but of course!” I exclaimed loudly. The shack! I thought excitedly. I remembered that shack from my childhood days where my brother and I used to hold meetings with the rest of his friends. It was a meeting about attack plans, training, and of course, maps. After the meeting everyone would leave except for my brother who would stay and write his book. Some days when a meeting would get adjourned my brother would still come and write in the shack. He kind of had an emotional connection to the place. I decided to visit that place now. It was night time before I finally reached the shack. It was just as I remembered. Not dominated by any building. Its  roof was made of hay and grass. Mud walls surrounding it and a low fence around it. I stepped over the low fence and made my way over the unkempt garden. I knocked on the door and said, “hello? Anybody home?” It was creepy how my voice echoed back. I steeled my nerves and swung open the door. It made a creaking noise as it opened. I resisted the urge to run screaming from the place. I took a few tentative steps inside and the door boomed shut behind me. The sound echoed throughout the house. “Don’t be scared,” came a melodious airy voice. I recognised the voice. Of course. “B – brother Malik?” I asked hesitantly. The voice made a noise which sounded a lot like a chuckle to me. “Come upstairs,” he said in that same enchanting voice of his. Being the naturally brave hero I was, I did.

I went upstairs. There was a steel door upstairs. I didn’t know whether to barge in or to knock but I guessed that knocking would be more polite, so I knocked. “Come in,” came a voice. So, while humming my favourite song ‘Daydream Believer’ I entered the room.

The room was dimly lit. And it was filled with smoke. I made out the silhouette of a man lying on a mattress and smoking. After some time of waiting the smoke cleared out and I could finally see the man. It was my brother. Older, yes. But still him. He still had that rugged handsome face and that flawless muscled body which had swept so many women off their feet. He grinned at me showing his perfect teeth. For a few moments I was speechless. And then my questions exploded. “Where were you all these days? How was your book complete? Why did you hide from me? Am I dreaming about you?” “Stop – stop,” he said. “Let’s take it one question at a time.” I took a deep breath and asked him my first question, “where were you all these days?” “Well I was lying low of course. Terrorists can’t go strolling on the streets, you know.”

“You are a terrorist?” I asked stupidly. “Of course!” He said while roaring with laughter. “But then why isn’t your shack well protected?” “Oh trust me, it is.” He said with an eerie grin. “You could have died 64 times as you were entering the room,” he continued. “But what if someone breaks the roof or the mud walls?” I ventured. “They can’t. Behind the hay and mud are steel walls that are  2 meters thick. Even the strongest missiles can’t damage it.” “Impressive,” I said. “Now for my second question. How did your book get completed?” “My book?” He replied with a confused look. “Yeah,” I said. “Your book.” “I see that there are some doubts to be cleared. You see kid, I am not your brother. I am your imaginary brother’s twin. You see, you were not his real brother. You were adopted. I was his real brother.” My mind reeled with what this man had just said. But somehow I knew it was the truth. Maybe it was because of the fact that I didn’t resemble my family in any way. Or maybe because I didn’t have the native fair skin of the Kashmiris. “But what happened to your twin?” I said in a tiny voice. “Is he a terrorist too?” “No! Of course not! Your “brother”worked for the Indians. The book he wrote? He wrote it to train young Indian soldiers and to find the secret tunnels going from Pakistan to Kashmir. But I, being the smart man I was, took advantage of his book and used it to make my ends meet. I used his attack plans against him. His maps against him. The tide was in our favour until that fool called the police home to arrest me. I took out a gun and fired blindly. I managed to kill a few policemen but accidently killed your “brother” too.” My mind tried to digest this new knowledge he had given me. Maybe running away screaming had not been a bad idea. “You mean… you mean my whole life was an illusion? A lie?” I asked. “Yes, little one.” “Don’t call me little one.” I snapped and kicked him in the gut and ran away. I stopped at the police station. I told them about that man and the whole police unit combined with the army moved in. While this was happening I went back home to Delhi and slept a well deserved sleep. The next day the headlines blared, “SHAH MUHAMMED FINALLY CAPTURED BY A COMMON MAN!” I ignored the headlines and decided I needed a quiet life. I immigrated to Bhutan and lived there till my last days. Oblivious of my devastating past…

The End