STORYMIRROR

The Terrorist

The Terrorist

4 mins
485


A Saturday afternoon, well that didn’t purge the railway bridge from its own set of busy people, rushing over it, to board the immediate train, that would take them to their destination. Stress on the word Immediate, yes, no one has time to wait till the next car that would arrive after a long 3 minutes. A boy in his loose vest, that was deep below his chest, and a torn short trouser, the fashionista types, seemed to be busier than the busiest Andheri Railway Station. Not because he had an important person to meet in the next few minutes or because he was supposed to take a strategic business decision. Standing at the corner to the start, he was busy doing his routine act of noticing the people crossing over the bridge, after the minimal lunch that he happens to earn till noon. The young and the old, the calm and the chaotic, the friends and the singles, the formals and the informals. The dresses they wore, the speed they owned, the hi-s and the bye-s none failed to get the boy’s attention.


His eyes suddenly met a handbag, a black coloured bag, held firm by a rough wrist, firm enough to not let it swing. Within no long time, a curiosity built in him to move his sight to look at the person. He saw a man, middle-aged, wearing a loose grey colour solid shirt and cotton black pant, the upper buttons left open, the sleeves were folded to reveal just the forearms. The rough face cut, messy hair and the long beard on the man’s chin pinned the boy’s attention over him. Sceptical though, the boy followed him as if he heard some instruction to do so. The film characters that crossed his mind and the names that he suggested for the man were creating blind stress on his thoughts. Thoughts of terror attacks and bomb blasts scenes, from the Bollywood movies that he saw recently, were uninvited guests to his sense. His eyes pinned to the bag was as firm as the man’s grip on the bag. The man walked down the stairs with no rush in his steps. The boy was wondering if he is owning a CBI officer’s role. Well, the uniform he wore didn’t seem to justify the role though. 


“The train arriving at platform no. 3 is a slo

w coach for Borivali. This shall halt at all stations”; the invisible lady spoke over the mic. The man was standing at the Platform no 3 waiting for the slow coach to arrive and the boy was watching him from behind, standing on the last couplets of the stairs. He turned to his left as the man did so, he saw a train entering the station from the left edge. The train approaches as if it’s going to hit us on a go, they both let their eyes swing as the motor man passed their sight. It took a halt. The man boarded the train and stood near that gate; the boy seemed to not take his eyes off the man. The coach took off but the boy didn’t, till the train, rather the man faded from his sight. 


The man saw around the fairly occupied compartment. He saw an old man playing with his grandson, a father uttering to his daughter, a couple, perhaps married, looking into each other’s eyes and chatting. A young boy with specs on his face reading through the book he held, looked up to notice the man noticing him. Along with a few other common people, as we address ourselves, moving to their own destinations. A few saw the man as suspicious as the young boy at the Andheri station saw him. The man, however, was unknown of the fact, his attitude revealed.


A black handbag identical to that he had was lying in front of him. He sensed it to be left unattended and the bag hooked his attention. The man asked a couple of co-passengers about its owner but left with no yes. A voice raised from the man’s end repeating the question. He seemed not to be in panic but with a vigilant attitude that he looked around as he posted the query. A man from the other end heeded to his voice and recognized the bag to be his. The few in the compartment saw him abnormally and as if he did something prodigious. The man got normal back to his position with no much drama but with a content of doing his fundamental duty. 


Author’s note:

Ignoring unattended objects and probing not into it is the terrorist in you. A habituated vigilance (wherever you go) is one’s basic responsibility to combat terrorism.  



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