In the frigid expanse of Siachen, where temperatures plummet to a bone-chilling -50°C amid relentless blizzards, 2 men struggled to maintain their forté. The high-altitude glacier’s fierce winds howled through the icy landscape, testing their resolve in a realm of perpetual winter.

They had exhausted their physical energy long back. Muscles were barely aware of each foot as it placed itself ahead, making its imprint on snow and their lungs seemed to have a mind of their own. Sticking their ice picks on the unfathomable mountainous terrain, they hauled themselves up. They searched for crevices to stick in their gloved hands to get a hold… and to fix their pitons. Their spindled climbing ropes ran through the pitons, holding them precariously as they fought gravity. The Indian Army soldiers were on the other side, but these two were not a part of them, and yet they were.

Maanav ‘Bullet’ Deshmukh wheezed in a breath and looked at the point they could relax their unfeeling muscles before their next accent. At the same time, they had to camouflage themselves, blend in the pristine glow of the white gold spread before them. The Army was official… they weren’t. He felt lifeless even as the tabletop of the range was in sight. Besides him, his best friend for years, Avinash ‘Razor’ Thakur rasped in a breath and he could hear it when the slight blizzard took a respite.

He knew irrespective of the outcome of their clandestine mission, if things went down south, Avinash would have his back. The government would disregard them and leave them to rot, but his close friends wouldn’t. Even at this point his other close friends Shiv ‘Shadow’ Chouhan and Avinash’s twin Anandi ‘Lolita’ Thakur were watching their backs secretly. Shiv had launched the Special Protection Services (SPS) a while ago. It was a front for bodyguard services but in reality, it dealt with operations that couldn’t get any sanctions and even the other covert organisations like RAW couldn’t tackle because of bureaucratic hassles.

While Maanav and Avinash were still employed with a special ops group, a secret branch of the Indian Army, Shiv had invited them over to join him. Anandi had already done so and Avinash was considering as well. The four had been best friends since the days of ‘Sainik Shala’ a gurukul that taught them a lot besides academics. Another common factor was their family background which left a lot to desire. They all came from broken homes, so probably that was the first factor to blend together.

Maanav’s foot suddenly skidded on a patch of snow and he veered precariously. Avinash was there in the next instant and stabilised him. Maanav watched his hot vapourised breath freeze in faster than his next inhalation! He couldn’t afford to lose focus even due to fatigue… their mission would be compromised and the life that was dependent on the duo would be snuffed out in an instant. In usual circumstances, Avinash would have given him an earful but he knew they had to save every ounce of energy to complete the climb.  The only sound he heard as they continued the last stage of their climb was the soft clink of the metal on rock and their heavy breathing.

The morning Sun was climbing out of the deep snow-well but still the cold was brutal and killing.

They finally made it to the rest zone and lay on the white snow, undeterred by the cold seeping in through their thick overalls. Their bodies were numb after two hours of excruciating climb that began before dawn. But the only feeling they had was of their will… the will to succeed despite unending tiredness, their heart bursting with pride… They saw a neighbouring peak scaled by the Army and re-conquered years ago and the proud tricolour fluttering away to glory.

Maanav sat up and sighed. This particular peak was a no man’s land and that’s where the special ops group came in. The Army had pledged support but there was little they could do since they had no jurisdiction. Maanav recalled the case they had to memorise. There was nothing on them that could give away their identities. Right from unregistered firearms to no walkie talkies. But unknown to their handlers they had transmitters on them courtesy of Shiv. These were high-end and only Shiv had their coordinates.

The task at hand was such. The home minister’s niece was kidnapped and was currently on the other side of the border. Intelligence had found out her location to be near Skardu located in the Gilgit-Baltistan region of Pakistan and serves as a logistical and administrative hub for the area. The problem was the Home Minister, a confirmed bachelor had a problem with revealing the incident to the world. Maanv through Shiv had found that the niece was actually the man’s illegitimate daughter brought up by his reluctant sister. The girl barely out of her teens was wayward and doped all the time. She probably had no clue where she was or what had happened to her… or that there were men risking their lives to save her.

Maanav knew it better than to question the logic in this case. Politicians all had skeletons in their closets and they preferred to keep those cupboards closed all the time. Maanav cared a damn… his father was an Army man to the core and beyond and he knew the nuances better than anyone. But at the moment it was upto Avinash and him and the girl’s life depended on their quick thinking.

Avinash signalled that it was time to leave. He had the feeling of urination threatening to burst his bladder but knew it was futile… the urine would freeze before it hit the snow and give him a literal case of blue balls! That would be the end of them.

He chuckled at the thought and they began their downward climb on the other side… they would soon reach the neighbouring country and they had to hide themselves from prying eyes and drones. The neighbouring country had people struggling with poverty and extreme inflation but they had all the money in their coffers for technological advancement in warfare that they used anyway but judiciously.

This climb down was more challenging than the climb up. Besides being under the enemy’s radar directly, the mountain was extremely rocky and steep. Avinash was the expert in the area and strong and they had decided to do it in one go. Avinash signalled again with his hand and the duo began their descent. A few minutes of rapid climb down passed uneventfully. Maanv felt something amiss… Avinash too probably as he halted and looked at Maanav through the anti-fogging goggles. He didn’t have to see Avinash’s face to know what the guy was thinking. The 4 of them were attuned to each other so well.

Suddenly he heard something zoom past him and chip off the ice next to him. And another right next… Gosh they were being shot at. Their cover was blown. Their overalls were bulletproof but there was only so much they could sustain. Avinash signalled and they moved on a side and hid behind the jutting ice rock. The bullets were still coming in.

They had to wait it out but that meant spending more time in depleting oxygen and depleting energy reserves as well. They had only a royal meal of Maggi noodles and chicken broth an hour before they began their climb that morning and were famished by then.

Maanav had to make the decision. The ground rule of covert operations involved low casualties since they couldn’t call for attention. But now they didn’t have a choice. Maanav was the expert here and as if hearing his thoughts Avinash nodded in agreement. Maanav took position even as Avinash gave him the needed footing. Their ropes couldn’t take much load and if the bullets hit them continuously, the ropes would eventually give away and the two would fall to their deaths.

Maanav aimed the Sako TRG 42, the high-end sniper rifle he had customised to lighten the weight for his climb. He stuck the nozzle though the gap in the rock and tried to look through the eye piece. Bingo… he found the morons. They were 4 and were hiding behind barracks… how typical of the enemy! They always attacked in stealth.

So stealth it was… he wasn’t called ‘bullet’ just in the name. He took aim and in the next minute all 4 were felled. He saw the commotion as the enemy troopers scampered to their fallen brethren. He used the chaos to shoot a few more and changed his footing and direction in the process to help the bullets ricochet and hit the enemy from unexpected quarters. The enemy only kept guessing from where the shots were fired. The men soon retreated probably to get reinforcement and this was the opening the duo need.

Avinash and Maanav resumed the drop and without any problem they managed the rest of the feat.

The ground level now posed a new challenge.  The place was barren and rocky and probably landmine infested as well…

They had to be extra careful. Avinash took out a device used to find out if there were any active IEDs so they didn’t get blown up before their mission got over. Thank fully there were none and slowly they made their way to a hut hidden amidst a cluster of other huts, they were local tribals.

One of them was their contact point in the enemy land. These missions needed help from some  local person for their ultimate success. The old man whom they knew as chachajaan served them hot kahwa and broth. They were famished and wolfed them hurriedly. Maanav didn’t know the true identity of chachajaan but their higherups had their research in place and every terrain had some helper. It wasn’t Maanv’s place to find out these details.

Chachajaan gave them local outfits that had seen better days. But to go in a disguise they had to look as authentic as possible.

A while later two ‘older’ men with sticks made their way out of the settlement. They wore ragged long tunics with black Shalwars and a heavy wooden cloak they wore was great to conceal the arms they hid beneath. They covered their heads with thick skull caps and beneath there was a long rag covering their face from the frequent blizzards. Herding yaks would have called for attention given how poor the region was. So they chose sheep… the unsheared animals were easy to conceal what they wanted to.

They gradually made their way to run an errand… directly to the wolf’s lair. The settlement always provided the troops with food and other essential requirements so they were loyal to their army because of the business they brought in. However some of them like chachajaan liked more moolah… They could not be trusted and if someone looked into the hut they would find chachajaan missing and a few days later, his decomposing body under the floor of the hut.

Maanav and Avinash treaded along and finally reached a two storeyed heavily guarded building. The place was a fortress and surrounded by barracks were the troops stood guarding the place. There was no other building for miles around the acrid area.

Maanav addressed the man at the outer barrack in Urdu infused with the Balti language. His line of work needed him to blend and language and dialects played a major role in hiding his cover. The man nodded and spoke on the walkie talkie to his comrades and soon a couple of them came up… they touched the two of them to check for hidden weapons and Maanav and Avinash had been prepared. They only had milk jars strapped to the three sheep as far as those soldiers were concerned.

Right then Maanav pressed a button strapped beneath the skull cap and the tiny devices they had dropped along their way to this place began to explode sending the clouds of dust all around. The due joined the screaming and fell on the floor pretending to be scared for their lives. Meanwhile they took out their arms hidden in the wool beneath the sheep belly that these morons hadn’t checked. After all the sheep from the settlement were marked for recognition.

Maanav used this chaos to shoot the nearest men and in the cloudy confusion, the others scrambled for safety trying to look out from where the attack was happening. Avinash nodded to Maanav and he crouched towards the building. The timed devices were blowing up and confusion prevailed. Avinash launched a grenade on the other side and the confusion only snowballed into ballistic shooting. Avinash ducked under a bunker and waited… there was no point in fighting so many people together. He had to wait for the opportunity and as per their calculations the rangers would be there in the next 10 mins. They had that much time to bring out the girl.

Maanav was inside walking in the shadows and stood silent watching the confusion play out. He was on the second storey and held his tiny pistol the only one he had managed to carry upstairs. As expected Avinash had created enough distraction and the men from the building were downstairs trying to secure the perimeter till reinforcement arrived. This was the time gap he had… He peeped into one of the two rooms and saw his target… the young girl was gagged and tied up and lay slumped on the chair. Oh hell… this was going to be tough, carrying dead weight. He had no choice but to put plan B in action. It would cost him his job but he had to get this job done… save the girl. He looked around for a communication device and found a crude one. He pressed in the special codes and then a few more to scramble them across channels… and waited. Shiv would have received the coordinates now and a waiting helicopter would be there in 5 min. He just hoped the time window would work out.

He walked in slowly and untied the girl. She was dead weight and he laboured to carry her in a fireman’s carry across the balcony crouching all the way to avoid detection. He was panting heavily because of the cloth covering his face to conceal his disguise and there was no body part that wasn’t aching or getting numb with cold… Would he survive this? There was a buzz and then a roar and he knew the helicopter was close. Would Avinash make it? He didn’t doubt the guy and rightly so, the lean bulky oxymoron of a man was besides him in a jiffy. Avinash took over the load of carrying the girl and Maanav shielded the duo with pistols in both his arms. Avinash handed him a grenade, their last one and Maanav dropped it at the entrance since the troops would now close in hearing the helicopter nearing the terrace of the building.

As they barged into the terrace they were in for a surprise, there were two men stationed there. Avinash rolled along the ground. Maanav’s disguise disintegrated and his face was revealed… He shot the two point-blank but not before getting hit on the chest. He only felt the heaviness settling in the chest when the Helicopter landed and Avinash rushed towards him.

Pressing a cloth on his chest Avinash whispered heavily. “Hang in there, Bullet….we have to see this through together….”

He felt his ass being hauled on the helicopter and as the bird flew higher amidst the sounds of bullets from automatic weapons, the mother of all pains shot through his being. He felt a prick…probably the doctor on board injected something. All he could see as his vision blurred was Avinash animatedly speaking something…

As the world around him began to fade he remembered his past… his childhood, his father and the special friend whom he had to betray… his little Nitya.

I am so sorry Nitya….

©priyanayakgole

(Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction using the backdrop of the attack that happened and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. This doesn’t attempt to change history or facts.)

Chapter 2

Nitya turned over the simmering omelette making sure not to let the side burn. Naman loved his eggs in a particular manner or he didn’t eat them at all. The tiny kitchen was filled with the aroma of desi ghee, an indulgence she could afford for Naman. He would be back from his computer class anytime now and she always made it a point to keep his breakfast ready before going off to work. The 18-year-old liked his breakfast just a little warm.

It was a month since her mother had passed and despite the woman being like a breathing piece of furniture in her last days or not being there for her for over 15 years, Nitya still missed her. She missed her presence or the smell of the talc that Nitya insisted she use. It often prepped the woman up during her depressive spurts.

Usually, whenever Nitya was away at work, Naman stayed alone and Kamble kaka occasionally checked on him. She texted Naman as well and he replied religiously using emojis or little texts. That put her at ease.

Today she had taken an extended leave given the events in the past few days after her mother’s passing. She wanted to clean up the house and also spend quality time with her brother. Above all, she wanted to reply to Sajid’s proposal. She had decided to break up with him and to her surprise had felt like a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. They hadn’t exchanged a single message or call after that last text. She didn’t even miss him or feel his absence.

There had been no over-physical proximity between them. Now that she thought of it, they never had a chance and not just her, Sajid too didn’t seem much interested in the same.

It wasn’t that she considered herself chaste or virtuous… She had lost her virginity years ago when she had revolted against her mother and the family situation and taken off with her 11th-grade crush. They were both experimenting and awkward. She hadn’t felt anything and both had moved on as if nothing had transpired between them. In the past years, when the going was very tough she had hooked up with a couple of instructors from the gym she worked at earlier but she didn’t enjoy the process and realised unlike those men, she didn’t only need a physical outlet but an emotional one as well. So, she had given up over 5 years ago and to date hadn’t found anyone she could indulge in all the way… not even Sajid.

She sighed and looked around the modest drawing room. Despite her best efforts to scrub and clean, the room reeked of negligence and poverty. The wall plaster had chipped away ages ago leaving it bare to fend for itself and the mosaic tiles were just barely there, broken in so many places that it looked like a barren desert… She had put an old excuse of a carpet over it so they didn’t hurt their soles. The lone cupboard that held her meagre possessions stood crumbling and proud, a lone witness to the various shenanigans at home whenever her mother threw a fit in depressive spurts. She stood before the mirror attached to the cupboard and chuckled at the splintered image staring back at her. How very apt visual of her life.

She opened the cupboard creaking painfully as the door stood on the last vestige of its hinges.

She had been hesitating to do this but this was important and needed to be done. She removed her mother’s only remaining physical memory. An old bag filled with her minuscule possessions. They had always lived a hand-to-mouth existence given her father’s indiscretion, as they called it. Nitya didn’t want Naman to see it so keeping an eye on the clock, she opened the zipper of the airbag that had seen better days. Her mother always fiercely guarded the bag and never let anyone touch it till a month before she passed when she had been delirious. Nitya respected her wishes and stayed away from the bag.

Today she opened it…

Nothing looked out of the ordinary…just like their routine life all these years. There were a few cotton sarees, her mother owned forever. Faded but soft, reminding her of a time decades ago when her mother was full of hope…. A hope that faded away with time making her mother a shell of her former self. There were just two cotton sarees. Nitya lifted the pale blue saree and held it close to her face. It still smelled like her mother and tears stung her eyes. Her mother had had it tough…. Very tough

Her mother had been very young and gone against her family to marry the man she loved. She was a brilliant student as well but unfortunately didn’t share the same vision as her ambitious husband. Nitya remembered as if it was yesterday, how much her parents had fought over her father’s decision to move to Yemen for better opportunities. Her mother wanted to stay back and bridge the gap between them and Nitya’s maternal grandparents. Naman was a baby and her mom wanted to take up a job in the same organisation where she had studied. Her grandparents would have helped look after Nitya and Naman.

But alas, all that remained just a dream. Nitya’s father remained firm in his resolve and insisted his wife continue being at home and manage things while he earned the moolah.

“It’s for Nitya’s higher education and dowry… Naman should also go abroad for higher education…. It’s just a matter of a few years, my dear. I can give you a life of comfort…” Her father always argued.

“But, we are comfortable… I love being with you all. Aai, baba are willing to take care of the kids… I can start work…”

“No… Naman is still very small. He needs you. Please stay at home…” Her father continued to plead.

Her mother eventually gave in when nothing she tried could shake his resolve.

Nitya’s father was an orphan so there wasn’t any relative from that side to help them.

Initially, the money had come regularly with an occasional phone call. But everything trickled down… both the money and the calls, till there was nothing… no news about her father. No one knew anything about his new company.

And then came along 26/11…

Her maternal grandparents and uncles who were just warming up to them were repelled by the aftermath of the Mumbai terror attacks where her father was named as one in cahoots with the perps. Life went downhill after the incident and her mother never got over the shock.

They had to move all the time to avoid being hounded by the media and the worse was the hatred in people’s minds for the families of the perps and those associated with them.

Nitya hated her father for destroying their lives and at times she was grateful Naman had his condition to hide behind it. Otherwise, he would have had it the worst. She was proud of her brother for having fought his own battles despite his condition. He had enwrapped himself in his own world of codes and ever since he had got her father’s ‘gift’ he had been engrossed in something she never could understand.

Naman was a genius in software, coding in particular. She had to take him out of the special school and on the advice of the counsellor had enrolled him for a computer class. He was self-taught and had even started taking up little assignments for the computer classes. He couldn’t write but typed with an enviable speed. His dexterity was poor for his routine skills but when it came to the keyboard, he was brilliant… an ace. Nitya always wished to know what was going on in his head but there was no way she could follow him.

Naman, despite everything had a strange radar about people. His judgements were correct most of the time.

Naman never reacted aversely to people in general. If he didn’t like someone he just moved on. If he liked them, which was rare, he smiled shyly and held their hand and smelled it. However, his reaction towards Sajid was strange. The guy seemed to hate the man. As if at that time Naman was a typical young guy… It surprised her. She tried asking Naman using every mechanism possible but Naman withdrew in his shell the moment Sajid’s name was mentioned.

That was one of the reasons she had wanted to break whatever fragile thread of relationship she had with Sajid.

She shook her head and got back to her task at hand. She was about to put back the saree in the bag when her hand touched a raised part at the base of the bag. There was something beneath the cloth layer at the base. She got a pair of scissors and cut open the cloth. A tattered photo album looked up at her.

Oh Amma… what did you hide here?

She picked up the album the size of a thick novel. She had always thought amma had destroyed everything linked to their past. But no… here was something.  She flipped through the pictures. Some black and white ones when her amma was younger and radiant… she was a stunner. No wonder appa fell for her. There wasn’t a single photo belonging to appa. She flipped through carefully and there were a few pictures from her childhood but appa’s face had been torn out. Tears filled her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks. They were such a beautiful loving family… why did things go ruthlessly wrong?

She turned further and stopped at the picture. It was during a martial arts camp. She always looked forward to this annual camp and despite her amma’s protests appa always supported her. The reason being…Maanav. In the picture, she stood with him on the rock during their trek. He was her special friend. She remembered having a great time with the guy who gave her so many pointers on shooting… she had wanted to learn the sport but it never happened. In fact, this was the last time they had a good time together… she lost her best friend that day. He betrayed her… he would have been just around 14 years or so but he backstabbed her. She was more heartbroken than angry…

Nitya touched the picture and sighed.

She knew Maanav from much before those couple of camps.

Appa always took her for ‘outings’ on certain days. It would be some garden or public parks and while she would enthral herself in the myriad instruments of childhood pleasure, her father would disappear amidst the fauna. She didn’t mind at all because she had a friend despite odd hours and the blazing sun. Maanav would be there with his father and his father too would be gone into those bushes or just disappear somewhere with her father. Maanav and Nitya would play to their heart’s content. He taught her games she didn’t know existed… They helped her gain an advantage over her peers. She could show off to them. This went on for 2 years or so and she often heard her parents fight before appa took her out. Her mom didn’t want appa to take her along but she wanted to and threw a tantrum. Appa seemed to struggle to explain that Nitya ‘had’ to go along. Something about maintaining ‘cover’… she remembered it now.

Nitya attended her first martial arts camp because of Maanav and loved it. If crush had a name, for Nitya it was Maanav.

They met again after the first camp in the park and now they were old enough to just stroll and chat rather than play on the slides!.

Maanav seemed to be the storehouse of knowledge and his focus was enviable.

“Nitya, when you are in combat mode, you should be still like a rock” Maanav once said.

“But why? If the enemy can be attacked sooner, you can have the advantage, can’t you?” Nitya had argued.

“No Nitya, my baba says, to engage the brain before engaging the weapon and unless you get rock still, the enemy can sniff you out.”

The same day Nitya saw their fathers emerge from the foliage. They were arguing unlike their usual friendly demeanour when they picked their children.

“No Mohan… you don’t understand. I don’t trust Jafar. You sure about this, my friend?” Maanav’s father, a tall strong muscular man with a thick beard covering his square jaw, and sunglasses perched on his straight nose, asked appa.

“Colonel, I need this job. I did my bit for my country but that’s not enough for my family…” Appa looked at Nitya and continued. “… She has big dreams… she is brilliant too… has a great future and I have to afford that. We know Jafar from college. He is a good guy and promised to help…Don’t worry its just a matter of a few years…”

“I hope you know what you are getting into Mohan…” Colonel uncle had patted appa’s back and then they had dispersed.

Appa had soon left for Yemen and she had attended the camp the following year, her last excursion before heavens befell them.

Nitya shuddered as she shut the rest of the empty album and placed it in the tattered bag.. Her hands touched something else. A ragged leather bag…

Was this a bag or a Pandora’s box…

Nitya wondered what her mother had wanted to keep a secret that she had hidden it all in this manner. With trembling hands, she opened the rickety zipper and saw soiled … letters. Smudged ink only revealed the address to their old home and her mother… It wasn’t rocket science to understand the handwriting, however, messed up, was her father’s.

She suddenly realised she didn’t know her parents at all….

She blinked back tears and glanced at the album she had placed back. She had stayed away from all kinds of social media for her reasons and there was no cord connecting her to her old life. But curiosity was meant to be the biggest cause of happiness, was it not?

Where are you, Maanav?

©priyanayakgole

(Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction using the backdrop of the attack that happened and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. This doesn’t attempt to change history or facts.)

Nitya’s predicament

Present day

Nitya shut the door of her modest home in the corner of Bhandup, a suburb in Mumbai. The last guest of the select few had just exited and she latched the door securely. Turning around she sighed looking at her mother’s garlanded photo. She had passed a couple of days ago and today Nitya had arranged a prayer meeting at the behest of her family friend, Kamble uncle.

“Kaka, I don’t believe in all these farcical rituals…” She had protested. “… I took care of Amma till the time she lived… gave her a decent departure at the crematorium. Don’t you think this is enough? Why should I announce it from the rooftops?”

“Nitya beta, its for the reason that all this doesn’t look conspicuous. Your mother lived her life in absolute obscurity and fear. If we don’t call a few people for the prayer meet then it would make it look even more odd. We don’t need people’s attention to focus on you or your brother, more than necessary.” Her uncle had justified.

She had relented and today the prayer meeting was done with.

It was tough for her to face the sparse crowd though she had known them for the last decade she had stayed here. The women looked at her with eyes overflowing with unsolicited pity and maybe even envy, at her svelte figure. But the men ogled at her. Some of them had even eve teased her in her initial days here but she had been an avid martial artist and had shown one of them the repercussion after which she was left alone.

Today she had worn a saree after ages on Kamble uncle’s insistence. She didn’t want to disappoint him since he had gone out of his way to help them. The man had been their anchor when they had hit rock bottom. He was the only stable family she had seen.

Nitya had always worn loose t-shirts over loose-fitting jeans that literally hung on her slender frame. It was a perfect camouflage for her to go to and fro to work at the gym where she was a fitness instructor and also doubled up as a martial arts teacher. The pay was average but she made good money in personal coaching and this area was the cheapest to live in these suburbs.

Nitya walked into the only bedroom of the tiny flat, they had rented for the past decade. The landlord was Kamble uncle’s friend and had reluctantly extended her lease every year. He had even kept the rent on the lower side to his utmost chagrin but Nitya wasn’t the one to judge. She was only grateful.

She looked up at the ceiling, the iron rods blatantly staring at her now having been chipped off the cement layers just like the fortune and peace from her life. The corner in one of the walls facing outside had dampened and refused to dry. Despite her best efforts feeble stench of increasing mould remained. The Rains had been particularly ruthless this time

Compared to the curveball life had thrown her way, this was sheer bliss.

She was barely 11 years old when her father passed… but the mayhem that followed his death was devastating. She lived in Pune those days close to her maternal grandparents. But her father was labelled a traitor who helped design the terrorist attacks that shook the heart of the country. It was a nightmare for her mother and her little brother, Naman who was barely 3 years old. There was trial by the media across news channels and despite there being bare minimal social media in those days, it was a living hell for them. They had moved to that housing colony after her father had left for that job in Yemen. Her mother, also a science graduate, was against the move but appa wanted to give them the best… little good it did.

Her appa was her hero. Then why did he do it? That would always remain a mystery. She didn’t want to believe it at all even years later when she grew old enough to know stuff. His memories were fading away… and she didn’t remember him except for the occasional old Hindi movie songs which when played reminded her of his fun games whenever he spent time at home. What did he look like? She had fading memories of his angular jaw very similar to that of hers with a pencil-thin moustache. Her mother often said she resembled her father in the good old days. She wanted to hang on to that image despite all that had transpired. There was no picture of him available anymore… her mother had destroyed all physical copies and at that time he wasn’t on any form of virtual medium despite the fact that he was a software genius.

Long story short, it didn’t matter anymore Because all she remembered was a miserable adolescence with a depressed mother and a brother for whom she was a surrogate mother to date.

The last 15+ years had taken a lot from Nitya. Her childhood, good memories …in short, her life.

Her mother was bedridden and heavily sedated in the last five years. She had to take care of the household too besides earning a living. Then her brother… the super genius in the family. He needed care as well despite being 18 years old.

Nitya walked towards the study table in the room darkened by thick curtains despite the bright daylight. The slight silhouette of her brother Naman, slouched on the revolving chair she had got him from the flea market, was visible. She knew he was disturbed at a different level. She knew better than to talk to him. She couldn’t handle a meltdown right now.

Naman had Asperger’s Syndrome. She had always trodden on eggshells around him to help him calm down. His cries during a meltdown would depress her mother further. Twice the woman had OD-ied and Nitya couldn’t lose the only living relative… She could only study till the 12^th grade after which she plunged head-on to earn a living. But life had been the best school teaching her things she would never have learnt in a sheltered upbringing.

She tiptoed towards her brother, her only remaining family… well figuratively. The last decade had brought them very close to each other. Naman only listened to her and needed her voice or touch to calm down.

She saw him rocking with a slight humming and his headphones were on too. She knew he was distressed. She placed a hand on his shoulder, tentatively and he began to rock more… with a greater intensity. She knew he was in agony… something he couldn’t tell despite being verbal. These were the emotions only she could feel. She teared up… the emotions were getting the better of her. She had never cried for ages, not when they had to give up everything 15 years ago, not even when she had to become a breadwinner as an adolescent, not even when her mother almost died consuming those sleeping pills and not even when amma died…

But Naman was her weakness… she had been the only relative he had known.

Today he was hurting, probably more than her. She knew what she had to do. She hugged him from the back and began rocking with him. After about a minute he slowed down and finally came to a standstill. She gently took off his headphones watching him every second. She couldn’t tolerate a meltdown right then… She was drained too.

“Hey Naman… sweetie… I know you are hurt. I am so sorry dear but amma was ailing and in pain. She is in a better place now. Remember, when we spoke about heaven?” her voice cracked up towards the end of the sentence.

She remembered one of the many workshops she had attended, by a parent support group for her brother. It helped her deal with him better. She was after all his parent in the true sense of the word. Naman only listened to her… she didn’t know how much he followed her but he often heard her out with his gaze fixed on the mould on the wall whenever she wanted to vent out, frustrated with her life. Despite his issues, he seemed to understand her well. He gave her a patient ear and never judged her.

She loved him to no end and had pledged her life for him.

Naman nodded slightly and she doubted he truly understood emotions but he was a genius… her mother said, despite everything, her brother had inherited his high IQ from his father. And then that stupid laptop-like structure, whatever it was… It had reached them a week after her father passed. Her father’s death in a computer laboratory short circuit came as a shock… The Mumbai attacks news was fresh as ever and this was out of the blue. The only communication that cryptically came over from Yemen office and there was no contact ever since. Which world did they live in?

The ‘gift’ had come to her old home and was received by her grandparents who handed the still-packed gift to her mother a few years ago.

Her mother had lost it all over again and Nitya hated it all the more…However, Naman had taken to the gadget like a fish to water. It was some crude prototype of a laptop probably built by her father. The gadget just played music from an old album, it sounded familiar but she couldn’t place it. The music seemed incomplete… She always had the urge to find the solution and complete it but what was that music?  She couldn’t ask around because it would call for attention and Kamble kaka the only soul outside their home who knew about the gift, advised her to let it go.

Naman however kept busy all day and for the past few years, it was his companion whenever he was home after his special-school hours. She always thought the gift was a blessing in disguise for Naman because he could emerge into those codes without having to bother about the life troubles surrounding him.

She looked at the blinking green lights on the keyboard panel and then there was this boxlike structure just like the area where a cordless phone would have fitted. But there was no phone or any such thing with this one.

Naman seemed to have got back his equilibrium now and began to hit the keys with a vengeance.

She sighed and walked out of the room just as her phone beeped with an incoming message. It was from Sajid… her boyfriend of five years. Amma hated him, so did kaka and Sajid had met them just once. She didn’t love him either, but he had been with her through her lows in these past years. A psychologist would have a field day analysing her complexes! She didn’t know why she was still with Sajid. They barely spent time together.

Romantic love wasn’t something she believed in… she didn’t have that emotion… or maybe she did once at that time during her childhood. Before hell broke loose…That brown-eyed boy with an amazing dimple when he showed his perfect set of teeth…

She shook her head at the fleeting memory. It was all in the past…

Off late Sajid had been pursuing her relentlessly, wanting to marry her. He had a job offer abroad and wanted to marry her. Just last night he had called her.

“Come on Nitya… I am sorry for your loss… but I am there for you. Always. Naman is like a younger brother and I shall take care of him as well. We shall take him along too…”

“Sajid, Naman can’t be uprooted… and he has become very emotionally volatile and his meds have been tweaked as well. It’s a tough time for him…”

“I understand Nitya. Trust me I do. I shall take care of everything. Naman only wants a gadget like that toy he has… doesn’t he…?”

“No Sajid its more than that. Let me ponder over it a little more alright?”

Sajid hadn’t pushed her after that.

She sighed and read the current message.

Hey Nitya, will be gone for a few days. New job requirements. Cu in a few days. Take care.

She realised she left the breath she didn’t know she held. Why did Sajid make her anxious these days? Was it because of the ‘marriage’ topic? She couldn’t ruin anyone’s life because she came with baggage. Her brother was an extension of her own being and anyone marrying her would have to accept him.

Sajid had accepted Naman but the problem was, Naman didn’t like Sajid…

Naman hated Sajid.

©priyanayakgole

(Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction using the backdrop of the attack that happened and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. This doesn’t attempt to change history or facts.)

25th November 2008

The cul-de-sac of the cyber chamber seemed different that day, the blast of AC chilling him but he knew the chill was due to another reason. The buzz of the machines that usually fanned his passion for the cyber world and its intriguing realm held no interest today. His anxiety was shooting up along with his blood pressure and he had just taken today’s dose of his meds.

He strode to his computer and unlocked it. His daughter Nitya stared back making a funny face him as the special desktop took its own sweet time to boot up. He smiled… Nitya would be 11 years old soon. He hadn’t wished her for the past two birthdays. Would she hate him? His little Naman was merely 2 when he last saw the boy. Would he remember his appa?

The customized computer was so damn slow. He should have fixed this malware ages ago but now was not the time for such musings. His anxiety increased by the minute… there was no time. His colleagues would be in any minute.

Seated in this top-secret building in Yemen, a small country in the Arabian Peninsula, he had come on a special project, 3 years ago. He was a scientist, way ahead of his time and India had not acknowledged his importance. But his college friend Jafar-ul-Mansood, now based in Riyadh had.

On Jafar’s insistence, he had quit his job at IISc and flown to Yemen to join this company meant to build high-tech software for augmenting technology meant for robotics that could create marvels in the medical industry, at least that’s what he was made to believe. He had written so many codes that he had lost touch with reality. Till a couple of months earlier when he overheard Jafar speak on the phone. The man mentioned something about an attack on Mumbai… what?

Probing further he had found out that this company that paid him huge bucks was a farce… just a front for something sinister…. And just last week he realized, someone with a code name Butt had planned an evil crusade against his motherland. It wasn’t rocket science to find out the rest of it all… He had all the expertise and these guys always trusted him so there were no firewalls when he accessed the rest of the information… at least he thought so.

He had done the needful… whatever he could without calling for attention so far. He just hoped his gifts he had clandestinely arranged to be delivered to his old home was received. It was a special gift for Nitya…. A little blessing for her future. The other letters too would hopefully reach their recipients. He had managed to take the help of the sweeper, Kadir, the only man he trusted.

Now, the mounting anxiety engulfed all rational thought even as he hit the keys, unknowingly gathering more evidence.

Disgust gnawed at him as he realised how he had walked into a trap laid out by someone whom he trusted. Commander Deshmukh too had warned him subtly ages ago… about the dubious Jafar. But his greed for a better future for his children had surpassed all rational thought. His wife had pleaded with him not to go… he should have listened to her.

His wife had severed all contact for two years now and he didn’t even know her current whereabouts.

The desktop panel beeped indicating the completion of the booting up. His trembling fingers flew on the keyboard trying to erase all about project ‘BUTT’… but… wait… the information on those codes was missing. Did they eliminate the data already? How was it possible?

Oh God…

Oh, sweet Lord. How did they know about this? He hacked a site he had been trying to get into…

The location of the head office of his company was Karachi. That only meant one thing… Something was coming up in a day or two and there was this massive project hell-bent on destroying his country and he had been privy to it all along.

He wiped the sweat off his brow. What was he thinking? He had to act… act fast.

He typed-in his back door… something he had ingeniously built by habit. He couldn’t rectify the current mission or whatever the crap was going to unfold but he had to prevent future disaster. Frantically, he moved over to his latest project, the second one with the company, which was about 70 percent complete. He compared the codes to the research papers he gathered over the week… the second project.

He couldn’t remove the codes so he began to scramble them. It was in a particular order that only a super genius could decode if he observed the cryptic patterns closely. Only a genius could complete it.

But he knew these fanatics were blinded by their stupid missions and their pea-sized brains wouldn’t be able to encode anything unless they got in someone as good as him, if not better. As of now, he was sure he had done a marvellous job.  This second mission stood stranded…

Watching his handiwork set up on the screen before him, he pressed the enter key and the codes began to realign according to his brainwave.

Just then a loud gong went off. Oh did these people have an indicator like a warning signal?

Before he could react a group of armed men rushed into the room followed by Jafar and a couple of people he hadn’t met.

“Bhaijaan what did you do?” Jafar looked stricken. He rushed towards the computer, now a mess of undecipherable codes.

“I should ask you, Jafar, shouldn’t I? I will not betray my country.” He stood up to the men.

“In that case…” one of the younger men with a golden tooth glinting as he grinned and grimaced, walked forward with a pronounced limp. “…Doctor miyan, we give… you… much money. And you destroy our work… You know too much so… you know punishment, no?” This guy was a pro and their leader in the making.

His menacing kohl-laden eyes shielded by strands of unruly hair gleamed, as he snatched a gun from one of the men.

The room reverberated with the staccato bangs of the bullets pumping into the scientist, whose name tag now stained crimson, read, Dr. Parikshit Mohandas.

As he fell writhing, as the last ounce of breath left his body, Parikshit’s unmoving orbs stared after his handiwork… a copy of which had already been passed on to a location only known to him. Whether the pieces of puzzles would come together, only time would tell….

He only wished the BUTT mission would fail….

(It did not. On 26^th November 2008, a series of terrorist attacks took place in Mumbai, Maharashtra. The attacks lasted 2 days and resulted in 175 fatalities and over 300 injured….)

©priyanayakgole

(Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction using the backdrop of the attack that happened and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. This doesn’t attempt to change history or facts.)