It was during the night when I was carried out of my cell. It was my special cell. Yes, because it was built for me. I was living there for almost four years. It hardly looked like a jail but the feeling was the same. I was trapped. Steel walls, cameras and tunnel to the special court for trials. They had brought the court to jail for me so they could keep me secured, and alive. “Get up, you are being shifted to Pune jail.”, the policeman told me while handcuffing me and I laughed. While I was walking out the cell I got remembrance of the time I was brought here, from a hospital.

Name. Mohammed Ajmal Amir Kasab.

Nationality. Pakistan.

Village. Faridkot, Okara District of Punjab, Pakistan.

Which group. Lashkar-e-Taiba.

I told my identity, I claimed my deeds, because we were told to do so and I was proud. And they had brought me to this jail. And then they had built this cell for me. I was proud at what I had done for my people, for Allah.

­                                          ________________

I had sensed something big was to come next. In last four years, they had not risked to take me out. And that night, suddenly I was out of that cell and was then sitting in a vehicle. There were other vehicles following us. It was cold and I was struck by anticipations. I was struck by memories. I was struck by guilt. The journey to another jail landed me in the past. The time I had first got those handcuffs locked into my hands.

It was near the ocean. Ismail was driving and I was sitting next to him when we encountered Indian police. They were so many. There were barricades. We couldn’t move ahead. Ismail took a U-turn but then police started firing and we just could not escape. Ismail was dead. But I waited for them to come close. I acted being motionless. They pulled the door and I triggered my AK-47. I didn’t know who he was, the policeman. But I penetrated bullets inside him. And in no time, I was weapon less and they were beating me really bad.

                                           ________________

We reached another jail. I was medically examined and then put into another cell. Once again, I was left alone. The day proceeded. I was not comfortable. This place was new and I had sensed something big to come next. It was sometime in the evening that someone from the authorities came and told me, “you will be executed tomorrow morning. 7:30.”  

Last wish. I want my mother to be informed.

And he left. It was the evening before my last day; I was alone. And I was deep down in guilt. The interrogations, trials and self-realizations had changed a whole part of me. I was not proud, I was guilty. I was guilty for what I had done, four years ago.

I had killed so many people. I had killed a mob. The people were innocent; they were common people of this country. There were adults, children, and old aged. I had entered illegally to India with my group, had carried explosives along me, and had a purpose of killing, asking for our demands to be fulfilled. I was told Indians were bad, how they tortured Muslims, what they had done to us and our community in past. I was told to be on the way to Jihad. It was a brain wash. And I had committed a crime way beyond forgiveness.

I had studied up to forth standard. I had chosen a way of looting people. And soon I joined Lashkar. A very small step towards crime had brought me here. Away from my family and nation, to this country, to this land. I ended up killing humanity, terrifying a nation and causing my own death.

                                      _______________

I did not sleep. I could not. In the morning, people came and examined me again. I was “fit to be hanged”, they said, “We tried communicating Pakistan authorities but failed, your mother could not be informed.” This was it. My last wish could not be completed. This was my punishment. Allah chose it for me, to die disowned.

Any other last wish. No.

you want your belongings to be given to anybody. No.

I was tied, my head was covered and I got panicked. I was suddenly talking so much. My death was facing me, I knew by movements. I chose my last communication with the one I had disappointed the most, “Allah kasam, maaf kar do. Chhod do, aisi galti dobara nahin hogi.”  

After 300 years of cruel rule in India, British Army managed to march out of the country with a shot fire and seven casualties. A shot fire and seven casualties. But! Indians ended up uprooting 15 million of its own population, killing 1 or 2 million of its own people, raping 75,000 women of its own land and partitioning its own country.  1947 was that candle in Indian history, that lit up the sky with freedom from slavery but put its grounds in dark killing its integrity. 1947 killed the coexistence in India, at a glance.

I was eleven when one morning pitaji rushed to my bedroom. I was seeing him after two days. But he did not care to me and was walking here and there. Soon, he got the sandook from the almirah, and started packing. Before I could ask him the reason maa and chichi came in with her jewelleries and other belongings. We were going somewhere I knew but where and why? And what was the reason of the rush. Things were not right as we were at the edge of getting freedom from British rule, I had learnt from the elders. Before I could utter a word, maa caressed me and said, “beta, we cannot tell you the everything now… we have to leave Karachi, we will go to some other part of the country, that is the thing for now.”, that was enough to shake my grounds, “maa, we got independent, then why are they making us move?” maa was terrified. Never in the past years had that I had saw her worried like this. After Second World War, independence became our fate as British Empire was out of resources to run the cruelty and the fight for freedom had ignited. We were going to be a democratic country after 300 years of slavery. But I saw no happiness in her eyes; her words were shivery instead, ”it is not the British, we failed to keep good relations with the other religions of our country, we will be divided into two countries from now on, don’t you remember me telling you about the new region, Pakistan?”, Maa tried to wrap the conversation but I was confused, “ yes, you had told me but why we have to shift?,” I wanted the ask more but the noises  outside interrupted me. Maa sensed my insecurity somehow, “this is a land of muslims and we are hindus we cannot stay here any long, this is going to be Pakistan and we are Indians.” Pitaji joined us but not for talking, “betaji, we will let you understand each and everything but not now, this is a crucial time, people are killing each other,,,, we are not safe here.” He was stressed and so were the other family member but I could not really get the reason, “I obey you, pitaji,,,, but this is our hometown, I have lived here with ashfaq from the time I was born, why would he kill me?”, by the time I completed my question wiping my tears pitaji was gone, he was busy. Maa promised to tell me about it on our way and left me to get ready.

But I wasn’t happy. But then! I had to follow my elders. I stared my room for some time and then I went to close the window, I did not want dust to fell in. site of the street had all my answers. There were dead bodies and… blood. That was all I could see. I was unaware of the reason again, but I got the fact that we were not safe. I locked the door of my room, kissed it and promised to come back, one day.

For next 15 minutes, we waited in the hall. Pitaji and chachaji went to check for safety. We were strictly told to stay home. maa, chichi, rupa, dadi, ashwin and me. I was crying, all that while. At one time when the riots outside accelerated, Maa sat down to match my height and held my shoulder tightly, “promise me one thing,,, you will not leave my hand. Our own people are going to be harsh on us, they will attach us,,, there is chance,,, but you won’t lose the grip on me, promise?” I promised and she hugged me with her lively smile and teary eyes. I was strengthened.

“paras, you go with chachaji and your cousins, we will come in the next trip.”, Pitaji said when he came back. “but why?”, I was anxious. “betaji, we have got only one tanga, you people leave and we will follow.”, he made me understand but that was not enough for me, “I will come with maa, I won’t lose the grip”, I announced.  Maa held me again, “yes, you never will. But we are family and we have to act according to what comes forth.”, she advised but I was stubborn, “I will not…. Leave your hands,”.   She, with all her grace, put through her words that were unmatchable, “your safety is my responsibility and my dignity is your obedience. Think of everyone’s safety and leave,,,, I will grab you again once you escape the darkness of today.”

I obeyed… and left. The time I saw her waving from the tanga, she looked divine. We boarded the train but they did not come. My anxiety and fear grew every second. Chachaji told us they would come in the next train. And they did come, Pitaji and his associates. Pitaji did not meet me till we reach our new house in Amritsar. “Your maa and chachi stayed in the camp, the violence had advanced. They will come with the other migrants.” Pitaji told us. He had actually… lied to us. they never came. Maa and chachi. They never came.

Today, after 70 years, I am a historian and a professor. I tell my students not just the fighting spirit of our patriots but the sacrifices done our women. Our own people are going to be harsh on us. my pitaji killed maa that day. your safety is my responsibility and my dignity is your obedience. She died to save me and her dignity. My safety was in moving out of my hometown because few people suddenly thought that our motherland needed division to survive and my mother’s dignity was in dying because all thought it to be better to kill their own ladies than to find them brutally raped by other religion.

Everything was done by everybody for religion, regardless of being a Hindu or Muslim. Both killed, raped, looted and separated their ways. They fought for freedom together for ages, and then they fought with each other to feel free. And that is how we got independent… independent of?

"There, I saw HIM. HIS Big soft footsteps fell on the top, top of that dome and made it beautiful... HE has chosen me, us to claim his territory, the territory which has been stolen years back. It is time." A preacher announced his dream to the followers of the deity. Then the creatures decided to gift a piece of land to the creator HIMSELF. They placed the idol of the deity in the mosque. And what happened next is a history no one wants to turn and see. For years several lawsuits, politicians and the legal authorities tried to resolve the matter and failed. Then! The followers from all over the country gathered to do the justice and they demolished the piece of land they had once offered their deity. The event left humanity dead when the mob itself killed thousands and divided way for two religions for thousand more years…

Tara gazed her own words for a while and then mailed it. It was 2:30am. Next day the office was as usual for her till the time she was summoned by the boss. “Tara, your article summary itself has impressed our clients, and they are satisfied with the full story. Congratulations! For the great work and now I am going to get you more engaged with your next assignment.” Boss applauded Tara that overwhelmed her, “Thank You boss. And what is the next assignment? “, “You have to continue with the after effects of the mosque demolition, for that you will be sent to Mumbai for your next research work.” boss explained. “That would be great. When do I have to leave?” asked Tara.

Days in Mumbai kept Tara excited to the fullest. Meetings with different people, unfolding facts, and new theories kept her intact on her work. That day after meeting the Police Commissioner, after a long time she chose to write something for her own blog. 

I was then serving as DCP in Mumbai police department when my whole surrounding got changed in few hours. One blast, then the other, and then another. Form BSE, Mahim, Hotel Sea Rock, Air India to Juhu, Worli... every place.  Every place I visited had turned into a death post. Smoke, blood, dead bodies and cries drenched my senses. But what was more frightening was yet to come. Our investigation unfolded truths that were hard to swallow. Surely, the act was a well-planned destruction by the underworld and was an answer to the mosque demolition by them. But the demolition not just lead to this blast but had given wings to a Home grown terrorism. Yes! We kept inspecting every section and we were shocked to know that most people involved in the execution were Indians. From a reputed family to poor boat holders, from a film star to police constables and from underworld to common man, hundreds were convicted in the case. It took us decades to punish the ones involved and it’s a shame that not every person has yet got punished for this inhuman activity. The ones who planned the blast are still absconding. Yes! It took time because it had involvement of hundreds, because it left hundreds dead, because the executors were more powerful, because neighbouring countries were involved, because….. There are hundreds of reasons. But! It doesn’t change the fact that... we lacked, we lacked to do it on time, and we lacked to serve justice to the one event that originated this act.

Mumbai days were near to end and the research satisfied Tara as a columnist. But then an idea struck her, “How could I miss it.”, she murmured to herself.

She went to meet common people of Mumbai, who were not involved in the blast, were not the victims of the blast, but were just a resident of the city. The only thing that mattered for her was their religion, whether it is the two religions who clashed or the others.

And now she was set to write the conclusion:

Before reading this article, you will have to keep your religious sentiments aside. And if you can, then may be some day this war of religions will end and we will breathe in a real democracy. It all started with a belief. A preacher, a minister or may be someone else from religion A, concluded that there shouldn’t stand a mosque on the land of a Hindu God. And they placed His Idol at the mosque. It will sound ridiculous to the atheist but then I said you have to keep your religious believes aside. They claimed that their Mughal Emperors had constructed a mosque on the place where temple existed. It is okay for a country to have a mosque at the place of temple because it had been under the rule of outsiders for several decades. But it is not okay to forcefully change the culture of a place in a democracy. And being a democratic country that offers equal rights to all religions, it took us decades to resolve this one issue where only few hands were involved and we could not do justice even after decades. And then in this democratic country, devotees around the country appointed them to do justice by demolishing the 450 years old mosque. Now it became a national issue with 2000 plus killings and the political involvement in huge number. A justice system that failed to settle regional issue decades back was now unable to do justice to this national issue for sure. And then religion B took a stand. Next year people from religion B helped execution of RDX blasts in a metropolitan city of their own country. That left 200 dead and hundreds injured. It was an international issue now with involvement of neighbouring countries and the underworld. But the most important term that we got after these blasts was Home grown terrorism. But we lacked the fact that killing 2000 people and demolishing a building by a mob should have also been termed as Home grown terrorism. And then, for no surprise, it took us two decades to reach conclusions for the issue and the case is still running in the court. Yes! It is tough to solve issues like blasts and mob killings where thousands of people are involved. It takes time. Maybe because we lack in appointing enough judiciary persons to handle the hearings on time, maybe because we don’t train our police to handle these major attacks, maybe special forces and army need approval from politicians before acting, maybe because we have politician who are so corrupt that nationalism comes after money and religion for them, maybe because we need education and non-criminal background for any other sector but not for being a politician,  maybe because we lack in infrastructure and technology to monitor our security, and maybe because we are so anti-national that entering our country and attacking us has become so frequent for terrorists. We should realise that killing is not a practice that any God offers for their follower. No holy book, whether of religion A or B or C or D or any other, teaches inhuman and terror activities. They just recite the act of humanity, love, giving, doing everything that is good for nature. We claim to follow our creator but we are killing its creation for our own believes. Bring in your religious believes now and ask yourself, do you practice dos and don’ts from the holy book that your religion offer? We lack because us, all of us, lack humanity.

Youth. That day, when my senses woke up into a new morning, I saw a gloomy picture of myself in the mirror. My eyes had swelled from crying the whole night. I had a real bad sleep, flipping here and there, thinking and rethinking the same thought; thinking of the possibilities that could occur if I too did something valuable for my town like he did.

I kept the unwelcomed thoughts aside and quickly dressed up, as I heard continuous hymns of people. I stepped out of my home and encountered a crowd, a real crowd. The road was full of people walking with mourns and tears, with the same anger that I was feeling right then. I joined them and headed towards the square to salute his efforts, to raise a voice against his killing and mainly to take a step that had kept my mind shrinking from the time he was gone.

Security officer. All these years, serving in the town as a government servant, I had faced a lot of protests, strikes and what not. But no difficulty can ever be comparable to the one of that morning; because fighting an armed enemy is way easier than controlling an armless mob. From the previous night, we were prepared that the next morning would be challenging for us.

As soon as I woke up, I prayed to God for strength to fight the situation that was to come next. I wore my uniform and stepped out for my workplace early. We were all ready with our arm guns, rifles and armour to control all the anger of the town. A day before, looking at the mob, a thought hit me badly. A directionless youth of this country, a militant who was killed in encounter, was receiving mourns of two lakh people, was rewarded with gun salute and was becoming history in the name of bravery for a huge number of people; things I was never going to get even after serving the town... all these years.

Militant. From the last three years, the time I pledged to fight for our people and our rights; I had an inspiration from an unconventional courage and a brilliant mind. Being our leader in such a young age, he had commanded and delivered actions that can never be thought without him. He had generated a flame in our hearts and minds that was burning high inside us from that day when we were biding him to God and would be burning for the rest of our lives to serve our purpose of living.

That morning was a sleepless, yet awakening one for most of the younger ones of our town. While we tribute our leader for his sacrifice, I saw people and more people all over my sight praying for our hero. I was sad that he left us that soon. It wasn’t his time to go. I promised him there at his coffin not to rescue his murders. At the same time, I was relieved to find people showing anger for the same. He had served his purpose then and there.

Civilain. Surviving in this town had always been tough. But that day captured all of us to a frame where many of us didn’t belong. I was born and brought up here with curfews, protests, attacks, strikes, shutdowns and killings. Everything till that day had maintained a distance from me. But that day, when I saw people coming out on roads, when I saw a fellow civilian setting a vehicle on fire, I knew that it was going to trap all of us.

My exams were rescheduled; I couldn’t move out of my house due to the protest. At the same time, I couldn’t sit at home and watch the show. It was my town, my neighbourhood and my freedom that was on stake, from the time I was born till date. I had to at least participate with the ones who were fighting.

Media. For the last few days, I felt the way dead people must be feeling; like how it would feel to release your body and be invisible. I was there, I knew everything, I had the rights to say, I could speak up, but there was no one to listen. That day, when he had been killed, I reached the spot with my team to cover the whole incident. I couldn’t see the killing, but I witnessed everything afterwards. From more than two lakh people mourning for a late twenty two years old militant, to the never ending protest between the armless civilian and the armed security.

By the time he was killed, mobile internet, telephone services, newspapers, media was pulled off air. More than twenty five days of our work was hampered. The curfew implemented in the entire district, got removed and was imposed again. The civilians protested against the killing by stone pelting, strikes and setting buildings & vehicles on fire. The police and armed forces defended by the pellet guns, teargases and rifles. The government bodies asked civilians to keep calm. With the death poll rising from two to eighty five and thousands of civilians getting injured every day, I stood there, in a total blackout.

Youth. The path of sacrifice had never been easy and I guessed that to be the reason of all my second thoughts. But days went by and the gloomed picture got stinks of hatred. Public safety act- they called it. Public, we, our town, had been victims of the inhumanity. One from the public was that aged man in my neighbourhood who lost his eyes due to buckshot. One from the public was that five year old girl who got wounded from pellet shot. And one from the public was him, who lost his life fighting for this public.

Public safety act- they called it. Then who was safe in that entire chaos? And what we even meant for them? Nothing. Not the public but the district that they were protecting or authorising, not the public but the beauty of our state was their interest, and with this, all my second thoughts were gone. I pledged to serve- the way he did. At last, I did clear the picture.

Security officer. But then I thought. It wasn’t my job to sit and think about public reactions, about the media allegations or the political accusations. My job was to kill any type of nuisance in the town. I was pretty much doing that on my part or at least was trying to do to the fullest without caring about my whole life, my family and my home.

I waved the emotions and remembered the pledge of my service. I pulled my gun on, took my armour and started controlling the mob. The nation needed an action. The town needed a reaction. So, all I did was to keep going. My work had to go on.

Militant. All I had to do was to keep his work going and punish the enemies. My courage boosted when our youth valued his sacrifice and joined us in huge number. We, together, had fought against the armed forces and we still were fighting. They would be defeated and would move out of our state to the place they belong, to their country.

Our God was blessing us with exposing other brains towards our thoughts. Our commander had now created a revolution- sacrificing his life in the path of freedom. And our people were protesting with us against the outsiders for our rights. There was no one to stop us now. We all united to serve our purpose. I could now sense freedom coming in the air of the town.

Civilain. I finally decided what to do and joined the mob. But! There, I stuck. I stood there paused. What I could see around me was war. I stood out to speak but no one was actually saying or listening. We were shouting. And when one of us set a police station on fire, the officers in uniforms were right after us. I ran. I ran fast for my life. All these years that had passed in militarization- I knew one thing that, the officers- they would never listen.

I ran long till I reached the bank of the river. I stopped, turned back to see the uniforms. I swallowed my own breathe and jumped into the river. I stayed there for long waiting for the security forces to clear by. After a while, I dared to swim upwards to the bank. I found no one. There was no one in uniform. I sighed in relief, and as I was walking towards the town, I noticed my reflection in river. But wait! It was not moving with me. It was floating. Yes! My body, it seemed dead.

Media. When I looked for conclusion, my pen dropped no ink. It’s hard to find who was wrong and where. Breaking the law and being a rebel to your country was wrong but inhumanity could never be an answer for that. There would always be a source that set fire; it would be as tiny as a matchstick or as big as bomb blast.

Why we needed to punish the civilian to safeguard them and why civilians had to fight security to end an ongoing war? Who gave us the right to act inhuman to regulate the law and order and why? Who decided our purpose of living? And who was the first, who thought violence would be a way to put things right?

It was 11 p.m. and Chikki and Dadi had just finished dinner.

“Dadi, please tell a story tonight!” the little girl said with eyes full of anticipation.

“Acha? You are in mood of a story today, Chikki?” Dadi had no other choice.

“Yeeesss! It has been years that Papa let me stay with you overnight! Who will the story be about?”

“Umm... You will know that later.” Dadi wanted it to be memorable.

“Noooo Dadi, tell now!”

“Listen to the story, and you will have to guess yourself!”

“Oh....Okay!!” Chikki settled between two pillows.

“Long long ago... There was once a country with two lands, a superior one and an inferior one. The superior part of the country had the power of military and ruling. In the inferior land, there lived a young boy who was very depressed with his life.”

“What is this young boy’s name?” Chikki interrupted.

“Oh! Let’s say, he is Ram. And he was a handsome young guy.”

“Heheh, okay!” Chikki giggled.

Dadi continued, “Ram was not very good at studies and passed his college with a low score. It became tough for him to land into a good job. He tried his luck and applied to many big and small companies, but failed every time. Some said he was not worth it, some politely refused. After losing hopes with the corporate world, he tried and managed to get himself a low paying job at the market at his town. But it seemed that Ram’s career was not blessed with good fortune. Because soon, he had to leave that job too.”

“Haw! Why?” she was curious.

 “Because the boss believed in the superiority of the other part of the country and Ram was powerless.”

“But they were the part of the same country.” said Chikki and smiled.

“Yes, but the differences in power remained which made Ram and his fellow insecure. The people who supported the superiority were not helpful towards the inferiors. Tension grew with growing fights between the two groups of people.”

“But Dadi, why were they fighting?

“The inferiors were exploited by the superiors before and the fear persisted in their minds. Who likes to live under dominance within their homeland?”

Chikki nodded her head in refusal.

“So gradually, they formed a state of unrest within their own country. Every other day, people witnessed fights, mockery and scorn. Ram’s father, his only family, was a teacher. He used to advice Ram not to get himself into these brawls. One day, the inferiors were encouraged by activists to fight for their individuality against the superior power.”

 “Oh, wow! Then?”

“Hmm... Here, the inferiors began their fight for Independence. They started resisting the laws enforced by the superiors. But in reaction, something terrible happened. Getting protested by the inferiors, the superiors attacked them. They started a massive series of killing and harassing the inferiors. Ram was affected too. Ram’s father got himself killed while trying to save a few neighbours. Ram saw horrible things in front of his eyes. He had no other option but to leave his abode, his town, his country. Around 10 million people came flooding into an allied country, our India, for shelter and to wait for the issue to resolve.” Dadi kept it simple for Chikki.

“Oohhh. India! Wow. See? India is so useful!”

“Yes, indeed.  India supported the inferiors and his countrymen. The incoming refugees were scared, sad and tired. Some had lost their family, some had lost their homes and some lost hope and killed themselves. A situation of this kind was not easy to handle. Food and shelters were arranged for them without second thoughts. A huge team of freedom fighters were being appointed to fight against the superior army. Ram tried and got selected. It was for the first time that he got appointed to a job in one go. He was very moved with the changes that were happening around. In the meantime, Ram made many friends in this patron country. One of them was a little more closer to him than others.”

“What was this friend’s name?” asked Chikki.

“Umm... Shyam!” said Dadi.

“Okay. I could have guessed.”

“So, Ram and Shyam spent most of the time together. Shyam was a military person of this country. Sometimes, Shyam used to show Ram the places around and tell stories of Indian soldiers. Sometimes, they both watched news on the TV only to get disappointed upon how the superiors were still threatening the inferiors in Ram’s homeland. It made them even more determined to fight, to win.”

“Ohhh.” Chikki was getting engaged.

Dadi looked at the clock. It was 11.35 p.m.

“Then, then, then? Tell!” yelled Chikki.

“Oh, yes! So, a few months went by. They all were in the process of war training. And one day, the superiors attacked various sites in India which were close to the border.”

“What! Why India?”

“Because, we were helping the refugees.” cleared Dadi.

“Oooh. But Dadi, isn’t this just a story?”

“It is, for now. Listen.... The alarms were rung. Wasting no more time, the team of freedom fighters were set to fight the superiors for once and for all. And guess what?”

“What? We won!? Yes, we did! Didn’t we?” Chikki was wide awake.

“Yes, we did! Because we were stronger, resolute and we were on the good side. We had no internal gluttony for land or money in return of supporting the inferiors. Sometimes a decisive action must be taken on moral grounds for what is legit and what is not. And sometimes, it’s all about friendship, a good bond...... Here, is the end of the story.”

“Wow. This is not a moral that I expected. I liked the story.”

“I know.” said Dadi, smiling.

“But what happened to Ram and Shyam!?” Chikki remembered.

DIIINNGG! The door bell interrupted Dadi’s reply.

“Dadu is here!” yelled Chikki.

She ran to open the door. Dadu with another old man came inside. The other man was holding a big box which looked like a cake.

“Sunil Uncle, is this a cake? Is it your birthday?”

Dadi looked at the clock again. It was 11.50 p.m. She got up and went up to Dadu.

“How was the dinner?” she asked.

“Lovely, as always!” replied Dadu with a wide smile.

“Come, I will set the table.” Dadi took the cake from Sunil and opened it up on the table.

“Whose birthday is it?” Chikki was still confused.

Dadi fixed two candles on the cake and lighted them.

‘CHEERS- TO FRIENDSHIP, TO VICTORY, TO MUKTI BAHINI’ was written on the cake, like every year.

“Mukti Bahini?” Chikki had read this somewhere before. “Isn’t Mukti Bahini written on Dadu’s badge that he is wearing?” she looked closer. She was right.

“Yes, Chikki. Now let’s cut the cake or the candles will melt!”

“Yayyy!”

Together, they enjoyed the cake and made vows of staying together on this day till their deaths- something that the three did each year.

Chikki suddenly remembered, “Dadi!!! You did not tell me about Ram and Shyam.”

“Ram and Shyam? Who?” asked Dadu.

“Dadi told me a story about Ram and Shyam. Tell, Dadi! What happened to them?” Chikki asked.

“They are sitting right next to you, the extracts of Mukti Bahini and the Military Army!”