Seher

Seher, a pretty small-town girl, had reached centre stage in the glam-world in India and had just been crowned Miss India Universe among a bevy of beauties in a tough contest. Her impressive performance and subtle intelligence portrayed her as a beauty with brains. When asked which the most beautiful place on earth was, she replied, ‘India.’ And when asked to answer why, in one line, she answered, ‘Where the mind is without fear, and the head is held high,’ adding, ‘—by Rabindranath Tagore in Geetanjali.’

On the anvil of competing at the global level in Monaco a month later, she was confident of emerging a winner. Expectations from millions of Indians were an inspiration for her…she said in her first interview minutes after getting off stage;adding, she ‘owed it to them’.

Meanwhile, in a middle-class colony in New Delhi Seher’s small family, whilst overjoyed at her success, wanted to escape the prying questions of the ever-persistent paparazzi.

Her mother, Rakhee (Salma after nikah) quietly slipped off to meet Pandit CKS Shastri – the renowned astrologer- to ‘foresee’ her daughter’s future and luck. After much deliberations,he prophesized, ‘complete change’ in Seher’s life over the next two years and that she would be widely acclaimed. This satisfied the anxious mother who was thinking, ‘My daughter will win the Miss Universe, and yes! Her life will change forever.’

Mohammed Qureshi, the proud father, took his younger daughter Sameera to Scruples, an exclusive shopping mall to get her a birthday present, but was disappointed that all new arrivals in toy shops had increasingly violent themes. ‘People want excitement!’ is how one shopkeeper put it across. Just when they were debating if a sumptuous family dinner on Seher’s return would make a great present, there was a deafening sound vibration…numbing all sensations. As Sameera hid in her father’s sherwani, Mohammed Qureshi crept up to the railing on the 4^th floor to look down.

A burning gypsy, balanced on its front wheels, the engine revving angrily, had exploded in the middle of the doorway. Five heavily-armed terrorists—not more than 20-25 years of age, dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts— shot the terrified and unarmed security guards at the entrance and then, quickly separated– one to each floor.

Within minutes, Scruples was under siege. Cruelty roamed free and the air that was until a few minutes ago vibrant with chatter and laughter of old and young alike… suddenly rent with gunshots, people shouting, writhing and groaning in pain. The radius of the hand grenades were just a few centimeters but their effectiveness to kill, maim and cripple was several hundred meters in all directions. For victims in shock, blood, and stupor, the world would never be the same again.

Mohammed Qureshi was desperate to save his eleven-year-old daughter and came rushing down the staircase two floors. He looked around frantically for some help, but all he saw was belongings, handbags, slippers, bodies and body parts strewn all over the place. The beautifully decorated shops were devastated and wore a ruinous look.

As he turned to come down another floor, Sameera tripped and fell. As he helped her stand he looked up straight into the barrel of a gun that moved slightly, took aim at Sameer’s chest and several shots rang out.‘Ya Allah!’ screamed the poor helpless man, only to have his scream cut short by a bullet lodged in his throat.

By now, the terrorists had made their presence felt on all the floors, littering it with dead bodies and pools of blood everywhere. They then started hurling grenades down into the lobby of the mall to start a fire. It was mind-numbing.

Outside, two army contingents and NIUG (National Integration & Unity Guards) commandos had arrived and were stealthily moving towards the entrance to the mall to get in and begin rescue operations. Even way past midnight despite the security forces being present in large numbers, the resilience of the terrorists was unbelievably high. Firings continued, and many more lives were lost and it was only close to 8 am the next morning, that the last of the five terrorists were shot dead, and the few shoppers that were left, rushed out.

When Seher heard the news from her mother, she was devastated…and rushed to Delhi. On arrival, she was received by Sameer – her longstanding friend and now fiancé.

Hoodwinking the swarming press, she asked him to take her to the Scruples mall. Covering her head and face, she stood amidst the many people and looked blankly at the mall building from a distance. It appeared severely battered – charred on the walls outside, many window panes broken, clearly telling the tale of the carnage. Tears flowing down she wondered how her dearest sister and father might have been killed.

When she heard some college students standing nearby comment that the security forces were inadequate and late in arriving on the scene, she looked at them and snarled, ‘Five or six young guys could wreak so much havoc in the capital city,’ and added sarcastically, ‘You, you all are also six in number. Do you have the guts to go into a neighboring country and kick up this much offensive?’

The youngsters were taken aback. So were several others. She continued lambasting the students ‘500 million of us youngsters here in India, and we couldn’t get five! Are you guys the future of our India? My India?’

One of them shot back, ‘‘You are also young… why don’t you do something?’.

‘Ah, the quintessential Indian argument!’ she spat, and holding Sameer’s hand, started for home. But not before she turned back to that student and said crisply ‘I will.’

Thirty-six civilians, one young army officer, two jawans, and five personnel had been killed in this ghastly incident. Anger against the politicians spilled on to the streets, and with television news channels continuing to give vent to people’s angst, the Government was getting jittery. The whole country had been shaken to its core. Lax security systems and administrative defects had been exposed, and the psyche of the Indian citizen had been penetrated, striking a deep fear in everyone’s hearts. Schools had beefed up security systems and social networking sites and SMSs continued to be the medium to share thoughts and vent frustrations.

Evidence collected on the attack pointed towards a neighboring country, and the Ping-Pong blame game began. The neighboring country hardened its stance and refused to cooperate in the probe into the attack; India, on their part, put all bilateral talks and high-level visits between the two countries on hold, canceled the upcoming cricket tour to that country… stopping short of snapping cross-border services for buses, trains and airlines.

A little over six months had passed. Seher had been following the public outrage carefully. She had kept a scrapbook with news cut-outs, articles, printouts of blog posts, etc. She wanted to know everything that people were doing to create awareness and change. There had been endless demonstrations, peace walks, and agitations, but most of it was simply hot air. The official ‘investigations’ seemed to be endless, and she wondered if it wasn’t all getting to be farcical. All the angry online groups that were formed on social networking sites were losing steam and becoming repetitive. Deeply saddened, and outraged, she wanted to do something about it, be useful to her country and make sure half her family hadn’t died in vain. She kept deliberating what she could do, what she must do… And then a small roadside example wherein she observed a small 8-year-old girl stand up to three urchin hooligans in their teens together with an advertisement for recruits in NIUG that caught her eye, made her decide.

‘I want to fight those who create terror, Ammi; I want to join the NIUG’ she said to her mother who did not look pleased at all. ‘What? Join the army? I don’t want you to do that.’

Seher spoke softly, her eyes were shining. ‘Ma, this is not the army. These are special forces….’

‘Please get back to modeling and beauty contests. You are safe there. And you have already done so well. Look, you’re Miss India at twenty-one. You have a bright future ahead of you,’ she pleaded.

Seher shook her head. ‘Ammi, I want to do something, real-something, that will make sure no other family goes through what we have been through. To me, this is what is truly beautiful.’

Later, when she discussed her idea with Sameer, he asked incredulously, ‘Are you crazy?’ Pulling a long face he took her hand, telling her what he always dreamt she would be– the perfect wife: pretty, charming, adept at running the house, smart and even career-oriented . . .but certainly not a soldier of sorts running into war zones with guns blazing!

‘Sameer,’ Seher laughed, lightly brushing his face with her soft hands, ‘being a commando is no ordinary career. It takes one beyond the limits of anything you will have ever encountered….’

Sameer interjected desperately. ‘…But it’s not a rewarding career. And, hasn’t India displayed umpteen times how it treats its heroes? Seher, you’re no sportsperson, film-star or politician. You’re just a common person . . . and that too a female, who is risking your own life…for who, and for what?’

Seher just smiled

‘And what about your beauty crown? Isn’t it important? Millions voted for you; don’t you owe them something?’

Seher replied, ‘That’s exactly what I intend doing- honor their wishes, each one of them.’

Finally, when he asked her ‘And what about us, Seher?’ she replied gently, ‘I will always love you, Sameer, you know that. I want to marry you . . . but that needn’t come at the cost of what I need to do now, does it?’

When Seher landed up at the NIUG centre, she was told they weren’t looking for women, the glam world of stilettoes and beauty pageants was not exactly conducive for combat training in muddy trenches, the selection process was arduous….But weaning her way up to the Centre Commander Col. SiddhantVerma, she was convincing enough that she deserved a chance to prove her mettle.

Col. SiddhantVerma, a veteran commando himself and a military genius, was credited with the creation of highly disciplined, honest, and dedicated cadres. Seher had joined this fraternity founded on patriotism, molded in common hardship and sealed in tightest ‘espirit de corps’ where her mates were from a range of backgrounds but with a common thread- love for India.

And, over the next 30 months, she was to undergo extensive and arduous training to get inculcated with tenets of disciplined aggression for the single-minded objective of making India safer.

Getting ‘more fit’ was the first task and that meant hundreds of the most arduous exercises. It also meant a well-balanced diet, trained in body, spirit and mind for eventualities where they might not get regular food for days. They were repeatedly trained to use all kinds of weapons, from handguns and submachine guns, to assault rifles; along with the most modern and effective bare-hands defense techniques. Several videos and interrogation of apprehended terrorists were shown to them to study and analyze the psyche of a terrorist.

Seher was the only female on campus and a few sniggers here and there did not bother her. But when one recruit tried to outrage her modesty, she swung at him like a wild cat. No doubt the upstart was given marching orders the very next day. Barring some awkward and embarrassing moments, including when she once walked in into a toilet to see someone already using the facility, she had made friends with everyone on the campus; four in particular: Roy Sen, Manoj Pant, Sukhwinder, and Dharam Pal.

By the end of thirty months, she had achieved remarkable physical fitness and mental strength. She had turned her initial anger to find her true calling. Of course, there had been weak moments, like when she nearly called Sameer up, or when she had had a hard day and lay in bed crying and wondering why she had ever left home, but those were mere little bumps on her charted course.

On ‘Passing Out Day’ Seher was singled out for praise. A glass ceiling had been broken at the NIUG with her earning the distinction of being the first lady commando. A standing ovation brought tears to her eyes

The commandos now had a week off before reporting back- after which they could be fighting insurgency in Kashmir or standing guard on the icy Himalayas from dusk to dawn or…fighting terrorists any other place; could be overseas too.

Later that night she called up Sameer and was very happy when she put down the phone. Though Sameer had been pretty hurtful when she had left for NIUG, he now asked her to come to Mumbai at the earliest, so that they could ‘pick up the threads’. That night she dreamt of a ‘nikaah’ with him.

The next day, Oct 23, when Seher reached home her mother was overjoyed. She looked at her daughter: This was no beauty-queen that stood in front of her: here was a soldier who was ready to lay down her life to protect the lives of others. Oh, what would her future be? Would Sameer marry her now?

Seher, quick to read her thoughts spoke, ‘Of course he will, ammi . . . that’s why I’m going to Mumbai. Just because I’m now a certified commando, it doesn’t mean I’m not going to marry.’ And confessed almost shyly, ‘He will still have to go down on one knee and propose to me.’

Meanwhile, on the same day, a dozen men quietly left a neighboring country in a boat in the middle of the night. After traveling for thirty-eight hours in choppy and uncertain waters, yet somehow remaining undetected by the Indian Navy, they reached the Indian coastline. Each of them was carrying 25 magazines of 30 rounds each, 20 hand-grenades, one AK 47 assault rifle, an automatic revolver, SIM cards, credit cards, and a supply of dried fruit.

On 26 October, Thursday, at about 8 pm, they got off at Badhwar Park, Cuffe Parade, three blocks away from Nariman House. Ten of them entered The Clarion Hotel, while the other two took a taxi to the railway station.

Seher was to meet Sameer at 9 pm at The Clarion Hotel. As she began to get ready, she casually switched on the TV. Suddenly, a news flash caught her eye- a shoot-out, and then a bomb blast in a building. A hotel building. A closer look revealed the hotel to be The Clarion Hotel! Panic-stricken, she reached for her phone and dialed Sameer’s number and after many rings, he picked up, but she couldn’t catch what he said– and then, there was the sound of gunshots, and the phone went dead.

Seher sat down and sank her head in her hands; it seemed she was never going to be free of losing loved ones to these bloody terrorists! Struck with horror she put down the lovely black dress she had carefully selected for that evening and pulled out her bullet-proof vest and dungarees. As she picked up her pistol, the only weapon a commando was allowed to carry whilst off duty, she got a call on her cell phone. She grabbed the phone hoping it would be Sameer; but it was her camp commander from Delhi instead. He gave her instructions to leave for the hotel immediately adding that he was dispatching a contingent from New Delhi. 

As she neared the hotel, she encountered complete confusion and chaos. Police, public, security agency personnel, media, cab, cars… all marred the roads. Suddenly, about fifty feet from the hotel entrance, she spotted Sameer rushing out. Her heart leapt in joy…but when he insisted that she leave with him immediately, she cried out, ‘Sameer, I can’t…I have a duty to perform…that of protecting the people.’

Her heart cringed as Sameer turned to go. ‘Damn it! I guess we are through. It’s really hard for me to let you go, but I know this is good for both of us.’

Seher stood numb and hurt, her whole life plunging into darkness as she watched him walk away, forever. She took a deep breath and turned towards the hotel entrance. And as she looked around, she couldn’t believe her eyes: policemen with the 100-year old weapon–303 rifle donning padded and uncomfortable jackets, no protective headgear, armed with age-old, brick-sized wireless sets and old fashioned battery-powered torches that had a poor throw of a few feet of light.

Dismayed, she hurriedly went and introduced herself to a senior police officer standing nearby, and showed him her ID, who accorded her permission to enter the lobby from the left side of the hotel building.

Meanwhile, the Maharashtra CM was attending to a foreign delegation in Kerala, and terming it as ‘a minor disturbance by misguided youths’ passed on the problem to the State Home Minister who wondered whom to pass it on to further. The Union Home Minister in New Delhi was at a cocktail party and was irritated at being disturbed but ultimately when ‘told’ that he must leave for Mumbai, he insisted on going home first to carry his new suit, thus delaying the flight that was carrying the contingent of commandos by six hours.

The brazen attack on the hotel was not all. More than 200 policemen were deployed in and around the Train Terminus had not been able to stop two AK47-wielding terrorists, who went on to massacre fifty people there. And, at the hotel, the terrorists ran amuck, spraying bullets indiscriminately at guests and hotel staff. They had already made their intention clear to blow up the century-old heritage hotel with everyone inside including themselves.

Mumbai Police’s Fast Response Team (FRT), the Neutralising-Terrorism Squad(NTS), Army soldiers in trucks, other security agencies also arrived in large numbers. It was like a war zone.

Seher entered the hotel at about 9.30 pm. knowing that there were approximately eight terrorists, heavily armed;and that they were moving between floors and sections of the hotels that, strangely, they seemed to know very well. Was someone guiding them? Suddenly she heard two grenades explode in quick succession, shattering window-panes and shaking the entire hotel building. On coming into the foyer of the 2^nd floor, she saw some hotel guests on their knees shaking with fright and weeping. Consoling them she turned towards the rooms’ corridor and suddenly found herself within twenty feet of a terrorist. For a second, the hard look in the terrorist’s eyes turned her legs to lead as she saw him direct his AK-47 at her. But then, quick as a flash she aimed and shot, hitting him on the temple. She felt no rage, no sense of bravado; just the feeling of having done something right. It was the first time she had killed someone.

Just then, the cell phone vibrated in her pocket. It was Col. Verma calling. ‘They’ve attacked the Italian restaurant and taken over a hundred hostages; you need to go in there and…’ the voice was cut off by the sound of another deafening blast.

She approached the restaurant from the service staircase, to see two heavily armed terrorists standing over a table. JK Rathod, the richest Indian in the world, the most celebrated personality in the country sitting with his family. There were over a hundred other patrons in the restaurant and at least a dozen staff, and these two terrorists would stop at nothing to kill at the slightest provocation. How on earth was she going to tackle this?

Seher spotted a coil of 1.5-inch manila rope lying nearby….and about 15 minutes later used it to slide down, landing right on top of the younger terrorists praying him with bullets…kicking hard the other, forcing him to drop his weapon and fell to the ground. She beckoned to the son, DigvijayRathod to tie him up…but in seconds, the terrorist swallowed a cyanide pill that he carried in a hollow pendant around his neck.

Seher looked at the crowd standing around, ashen-faced, some crying, some trembling. Seeing an old couple clutching at each other, she went up to them and stretched out her hand to help them up. ‘Don’t worry, please. Nobody will touch you.’

As she turned to leave, she and Digvijay came face to face, and their eyes met for just a second. The feeling he experienced was inexplicable taking complete possession of him. Everything around suddenly looked so changed to his joyous amazement. But within seconds, he regained his composure. Stealing a second look at Seher, he could not believe a woman could be so fearless. Who was she? Where did she come from?

It was daybreak the next day when Col. Verma and his team finally arrived in two BEST buses and they headed towards a makeshift strategy room. Pouring over a blueprint of the hotel he assigned tasks saying, ‘This is your area of operation. Seher is already in… the Italian Restaurant.’

Media persons just couldn’t contain their excitement: ‘There they go! The NIUG commandos led by Col. Verma himself’ they screamed into their microphones. It wasn’t long before it became apparent that the media had done irreversible damage by giving a minute to minute account of the carnage to their viewers; people sitting in their homes weren’t the only ones watching television. The terrorists’ masters were watching too! They had ‘live’ knowledge of what was going on elsewhere in the hotel which they were communicating to their pawns.

That whole day there was fierce fighting and by the evening, the heads of the different security forces had to re-chart their strategy, deciding to enter the hotel from the top. By noon, the all too familiar whirring of the heavy military choppers rents the air. Manoj Pant led the rescue operation with Seher right behind him. Seven of them slithered down on the roof top of the hotel kicking open the door that led inside. The rooftop bar, restaurant, foyer, and adjacent satellite kitchen was in ruins with twisted wires and building material protruding from the walls, and many dead bodies, mostly foreigners, lying tangled in furniture.

By now, four terrorists had been killed and one had committed suicide, but another five or six were still in.

Seher took off for the Italian restaurant where she had left several people waiting for her to return and escort them out to safety. The first batch of 40 guests had already left with DVR leading them to safety. When he came back Seher was astonished to see him and for a moment couldn’t help comparing him with Sameer.‘Fool, heroic fool,’ she thought to herself, silently admiring him.

‘Marry me,’ he blurted out.

She looked at him incredulously. ‘Don’t even think about it!’ And then, though it had been over forty hours and her body had become numb, tiredness had lost its meaning, she went about rounding up the balance people, motioning him to lead them out the back door as she went out the front entrance to look for her comrades. She learnt that Roy Sen had been pumped by a hundred bullets, while Manoj Pant was blown to smithereens.

The militants kept setting fire to rooms and the challenge was to find out which rooms had guests holed up and which were empty. Tragedy was everywhere. The General Manager’s family was burnt alive in their room, a supermodel had lost a leg, several hotel staff had died saving guests and, an octogenarian was walking in the corridor in just his pajamas unmindful of bullets whizzing past.

Finally it seemed that one lone terrorist was still fully geared and kept throwing grenades wherever he heard groans and cries. Seher was following his movement by instructions from a Front Office assistant, Sahil…but walked into a trap… in a suite with the terrorist. After continued firing for over an hour, they both ran out of ammunition and resorted to hand-to-hand combat. The terrorist thrashed her, but she fought back valiantly. It was when he picked up the centre glass table and dumped it on her that she collapsed. Her breathing was uneven and she knew she was going to die. Visions of Sameera and her father floated in her mind. ‘Ya Allah….’ she thought. ‘You can’t do this to me. This is not my exit!

This is not it for me! I’m not going to die in the rooms of a hotel! At the hands of a terrorist! No, No, No…..’

She realized she had fallen on her gun! She picked it up in a flash and pointed it at him. The terrorist was spewed venom at her, and she wanted nothing more than to pull the trigger. But she knew that capturing him alive was a huge victory and could be instrumental in preventing future attacks.

Getting up with herculean effort Sehergot him to move towards the door. As she walked out of the hotel, it was a heroic sight, one never witnessed before. The terrorist kept his head down. To be caught alive was bad enough, but to be apprehended by a woman! What would his counterparts in the neighboring country say now? As Seher handed him over to Col. Verma, there was applause all around as she cried out loud, ‘Saarejahan se achha, Hindustaanhamara. Worth fighting for, worth dying for.

Grievously injured, her feet gave way but Digvijay, standing in the wings, rushed to hold her steady and whisked her away to the nearby Nanda Hospital. But not before she whispered something in Col Verma’s ear who then lost no time in walking back to the Front Office. He saw Sahil tied to the chair, but knew it was a sham; he shot him at point blank range and quietly walked out. Handling militants was bad enough but their having accomplices and moles in our motherland was unforgivable.

That Seher survived was nothing short of a miracle. For the first two years, she struggled with fourteen fractures in her skull, nose, jaw and ribs, three bullets and leg paralysis due to severe spinal injury. In the last one year she was convalescing; and helping Tanushree, Roy Sen’s girlfriend, write a book she wanted to dedicate to the man she loved and who sacrificed his life so that others could live.

Seher ruffled the mop of hair on a toddler by her side.

Tanushree asked Seher ‘So will you ever be resuming duty again? And will your son also become a commando?’

She laughed “Of course, Tanu. InshaAllah, I’m resuming duty soon…within 3 months. I’ll have to take a fitness test, of course, but that’s not going to be a problem. As for our son, Angad… he can decide for himself- how he wants to partake in making India safer and prosperous.”

Then, holding DVR’s hand tightly, she spoke with great pride, “He’s the one who revived my hope, made me stronger and more determined each day…to get fit, and fight for India once again.”