Boy

            The boy woke up. He had just had a horrible nightmare. He wasn’t looking forward to the day either. The day was going to be a nightmare itself. But he had to be brave. He had to hold back his tears. The twelve-year old climbed out of bed and got into his usual routine of getting ready for school. There was going to be just one difference. He wasn’t going to pack his bag today.

Over a breakfast of cereals and toast, he looked at his mother who was silently standing in the kitchen. She knew what the day held in store for her family but she looked surprisingly calm.

“I have already told you the plan before”, his Dad said to him.

“Yes, Sir”, the boy replied.

“Good. It is all set. Your uncle has placed the mobile-phone triggered bomb in the front compartment of your bag. Your books have already been sent to school with your older brother. You know what to do. Place it near the dustbin outside Gate-A of the metro station. Understood ?”

“Yes, Sir”, said the boy. He didn’t feel like eating anymore and he pushed the bowl of cereals away.

“Great. All the best. Make us proud”, his Dad told him and then he went into another room.

              The boy got up and picked up the bag. The contents were much lighter than the usual note-books and text-books that he carried but still he didn’t feel like moving. His Mom came to him and she put her hand through his hair and suddenly burst into tears. He just held her hand tightly.

He remembered the first time he had realised his Dad was a terrorist. He had scored 50/50 in Mathematics and had rushed home and into his Dad’s room to show him the report card. There had been around 6-7 men in the room, mostly his uncles. Blue-prints, guns and other equipment lay spread out on the bed. His Dad had taken him outside and hit him for not knocking before entering. His Mom had come to save him from the beating as his Dad had already slapped him 4-5 times by then. When his Mom tried to pull his Dad away, he had hit her as well. This had happened two years back. Since then, he had slowly come to realise all about his Dad’s activities gradually.

All these thoughts were running in his mind when he suddenly stopped. He had reached the spot where he wanted to go. He took the bag off his shoulders and placed it behind a dustbin, well hidden from the public eye. Then before someone could see him, he ran away from there.

He kept running. Faster and faster. He didn’t want to stop. He was running and crying at the same time. All the courage and bravery that he had been convinced he could display, disappeared the moment he had started running from the dustbin.

He kept running till he reached a park and a bench right opposite the fountain. Sitting on the bench, he put his head in his arms and cried. He wondered if he had done the right thing by planting the bomb. He felt a hand on his head. The same hand had gone through his hair around 40 minutes back. His Mother hugged him tightly. A small suitcase lay near her legs.

The boy had quietened down when he saw a huge crowd develop outside a restaurant across the road. He ran to the restaurant and noticed everyone looking at the television. There was panic everywhere. On the screen, he saw what remained of his house. It was completely blown to pieces. The decision of placing the bag right outside his own house and thereby killing his own family instead of numerous innocent others had definitely been the best decision he had ever made.

The boy and his Mother stood there silently.

Motionless.

They weren’t crying any longer.