by Mainak Dhar
The man never really stood a chance. In a split-second, Arnab was in front of him, blocking his way. In the darkness, the terrorist nearly bumped into them, and then stepped back, looking at his hooded adversary. The terrorist considered taking out the handgun in his pocket, but remembering the speed and strength the hooded man in front of him had just demonstrated, he stopped himself. As Arnab watched, a look of calm washed over the face of the bearded man facing him, and he reached with his right hand under his shirt, mumbling something to himself in a language Arnab could not understand. At first Arnab thought the man was reaching for a gun, but when he undid a shirt button and put his hand in deeper, Arnab realized he was up to something else completely. In a second, Arnab had pulled the man's hand out, and ripped open his shirt. What Arnab saw shocked him. The man's chest and torso were criss-crossed with wires and tubes, and the man had been reaching for a red switch taped to his chest. As the man struggled futilely to free his hand, screaming at Arnab in his native tongue, Arnab ripped the bomb belt from the man's body and threw it several feet away. Arnab slapped the man, and as he fell to the floor, Arnab pulled the backpack from his shoulders and opened it. What he saw inside made him recoil in fear. Inside the backpack was a metal suitcase, with the following words stencilled in red on it.
'Radioactive material. Highly dangerous.'
As the terrorist struggled to get up, Arnab caught his neck with one hand.
'Where is the other group headed?'
The man spat in his face, and in his anger, Arnab slapped him harder than he would have liked. The man's head jerked to one side, several teeth clattering to the ground. Arnab did not think himself capable of cruelty to an unarmed and helpless captive, but after having seen what was in the backpack, he was on a really short fuse. Arnab asked the man again, and as he raised his hand to strike again, the man looked up at him, and spoke through his blood-filled mouth.
'The VIP box.'
Arnab called to the guards to turn on the lights and come over. As the guards approached, he put on his glasses, still pinning the terrorist down with one hand. The guards were looking at him with scarcely contained awe and he told them to hold the terrorist till the police came, and that he was on his way to the VIP box.
Arnab was about to leave when he saw Upadhyay arrive on the scene. Upadhyay had overheard the conversation and was on his radio, asking reinforcements to head toward the VIP box. He asked the two guards to accompany some of his men away from the scene and instructed his remaining men to secure the terrorists. He then turned towards Arnab, smiling as he lit up a cigarette.
Arnab was in no mood to waste time on pleasantries and shouted to Upadhyay before he started for the VIP box.
'I'm off to the VIP box. Come as soon as you can!'
Arnab turned to run when he felt a sharp stab of pain in his lower back and then heard the ear-splitting report of a gun being fired at point-blank range. Another shot sent him staggering to his knees. It felt as if his entire body was on fire, and it took almost all his strength to pull himself upright. He turned to see Upadhyay looking down at him, his face twisted in a grin.
'The first was for Balwant, and the second for me. We'll stop the terrorists all right, but you die here, you fucking freak.'
Upadhyay raised his gun to fire again, but Arnab jumped at him, ramming him with his head. Upadhyay was flung against a car and fell down with a groan, the impact having dislocated one of his shoulders. When Upadhyay tried to reach out for the gun by his side with his other hand, a kick from Arnab to his foot had him howling in pain as his kneecap shattered. Upadhyay looked up at Arnab, fear in his eyes, waiting for Arnab to finish him off. As much as Arnab wanted to punish him, he remembered what was in the terrorist's backpack and began to run towards the exit, trying to reach the VIP box. His back was now covered in blood and every breath seemed so painful it felt like a knife was being twisted inside him, but he ran with every ounce of energy left in him.
When he reached the stands, he realized that till now the crowd had no inkling that anything was wrong. When he materialized in the midst of the cheering crowd, a sudden hush came over that part of the stadium, the silence spreading across the entire crowd like a wave rippling through a pond. Some people who had got up to greet him recoiled when they saw his blood-soaked back. Arnab was still covering ground at a pace that most professional athletes would find hard to match in an all-out sprint but he was slowing down, and stopping occasionally to catch his breath before continuing towards the VIP box. The players on the field, taking in the sudden silence in the stadium had looked up at the giant screens that were now showing the hooded hero's painful progress up the stands. By now, the terrorists were almost at the VIP box, and in a short firefight had fought their way through the handful of policemen there. The cameras caught it all, and by now, everyone in the stadium knew that something had gone horribly wrong.
Word had spread through the crowd that there were terrorists making their way to the VIP box. As happens, the story changed a thousand times in transmission, so someone said it was an assassination attempt on the Prime Minister, while someone else said that the terrorists had a bomb. Either way, a hundred thousand pairs of eyes were now riveted to two things-the group of armed men running towards the VIP box and the lone hooded figure racing to intercept them.
***
Arnab was within a few feet of the VIP box when he felt his legs buckle under him. As he collapsed onto one knee, he grabbed onto a railing with his right hand to steady himself. To his surprise, he felt several hands reach out to support him. As he looked around, he saw that more than a dozen people had gathered round to help him to his feet. They were all complete strangers, children, adults, men, women, but all of them were now clapping and cheering him. That cheer began to resonate around the stadium, as Arnab launched himself into a final run that brought him directly in the terrorists' path.
The two terrorists carrying rifles immediately brought their guns up to deal with him, but they had no idea what they were up against. Every movement seemed to hurt, but Arnab stilled his mind, blocking out the pain, blocking out the crowd's noise, and focused all his strength and all his concentration on his right hand as it shot out, straight and level as Khan had taught him, at the nearest terrorist's face. The man's head rocked back as if he had run at full tilt into a brick wall, his head hung loosely from his body and his neck snapped as he fell back. The terrorist was dead before his body hit the ground, but Arnab was now beyond caring how much he hurt his opponents. The other gunman dropped his gun in terror and would have run had Arnab not felled him with another blow that sent him crashing down several rows of seats into the crowd. What Arnab had started was finished by the angry group of spectators who tore into the wounded terrorist.
Before he could take on the third man, the terrorist had taken out a handgun and begun firing at Arnab, emptying the magazine into the hooded devil before him. Arnab managed to dodge one or two bullets but he was spun around like a rag doll as the third bullet tore into his body. The crowd's cheers stopped as suddenly as they had begun. Several people in the crowd began to sob and wail, as the terrorist entered the VIP box.
There were still more than twenty people in the box when the man came in. Jayantada tried to push Mishti behind himself, in an attempt to shield her from what was coming. A couple of people began pleading with the man, only to be shot on the spot. The man was enraged when he saw that the Prime Minister was no longer there, but he still had his larger mission to fulfil. He emptied his magazine, shooting one more person, and then reloaded in case he faced any more resistance. He then put his hand under his shirt and felt for the button on the switch, beginning to say the prayers that would herald his martyrdom.
Suddenly he felt himself being bodily lifted off the ground and flying forward, shattering the glass window and then out of the VIP box. Arnab had found a last reserve of strength and had tackled the man, sending both of them bouncing off an awning some ten feet below the VIP box and the on
to the playing field a dozen feet below that. The terrorist broke a leg in the fall but retained enough of his senses to try and reach for the switch again. Arnab was lying just a foot away and reached out to grab the man's backpack, ripping it away and throwing it several feet away. The man roared in anger, realizing his mission was now almost certain to fail, but tried to reach the switch again, determined to, if nothing else, then to kill this demon who had thwarted their plans. Arnab was now too weak to hit the man but locked him in a bear hug, his only thought being that he wanted to get the man as far away as possible from the crowd and from the backpack that now lay just a few feet away, near the boundary rope.
As the man struggled against him, Arnab began pulling him towards the center of the ground. Arnab no longer had the strength to pull the man's hand away from the switch of his bomb vest, and was trying to pull the man to a place where he could cause the least harm. The man was using all his strength to wrap his fingers around the switch, a battle he was winning inch by painful inch. Arnab suddenly felt other arms reach out and try and grab the terrorist. Some men had jumped from the crowd onto the playing field and were trying to help their hero in this desperate struggle. Arnab wanted to tell them to go away, to not throw away their lives, but was too weak to say anything. It took everything he had to just keep dragging the terrorist away from the backpack and the crowd. The men who had jumped into the fray to help him were actually doing more harm than good, since they had no idea that the terrorist was reaching for a switch under his shirt and were focused on restraining his free left hand instead of helping Arnab pull his right hand away from the switch.
Suddenly all hell broke loose as shots rang out. The terrorist had managed to pull out his pistol with his free hand and had fired several shots into the group of men trying to help Arnab. Arnab heard some of them cry out in pain, but he was too focused on keeping the terrorist's hand away from the switch to notice how many of them had been hurt and how badly.
As the terrorist's fingers began to close around the switch, Arnab risked a glance back and smiled. They were almost at the middle of the ground and quite far from the backpack. He had to hope it was far enough. As he continued to struggle against the terrorist, he felt more and more of his strength fade away as he continued bleeding from his wounds. He felt a pang of regret at not having had the chance to live the life he had dreamt about. He would not get a chance to earn a good living by working in the bank. He would not marry and raise a family someday. He would not grow old and see his children follow their own dreams and paths in life. It felt like a life that had been wasted. Yet, because he had done what he did, many others would get a chance to live their lives the way they had dreamt. Mishti would marry a man who loved her and have a family of her own. Chintu would get a chance to grow up and experience all the joys and pains that brought. Jayantada would be able to see his favourite niece get married and continue to work in the library he loved till he retired.
When he thought of it that way, it wasn't a bad use of a life.
With that acceptance came release, and he felt his grip on the terrorist's hand slacken as his eyes closed for the last time.
Then the terrorist pushed down on the switch and the bomb exploded.
FOURTEEN
There was little else the country talked about in the weeks that followed other than the dramatic attack on the Woodpecker Cup game. The first reaction was one of shock and disbelief at how terrorists could have struck in the heart of the capital, and that too at a venue where the Prime Minister had been present. The real shocker came as details began filtering out about the real motives of the terrorists and the magnitude of the attack they had almost succeeded in carrying out. The backpacks had not contained nuclear weapons, as Arnab had feared when he saw their contents, but something almost as dangerous. Each backpack had been filled with several kilogrammes of highly radioactive material. If the suicide bombers had been able to carry out their plan, these 'dirty bombs' would have exposed more than a hundred thousand people present at the stadium to a high dose of radiation poisoning. Winds would have carried the radioactive dust further across the city, and according to some experts, the number of people affected over a year would have reached at least two hundred thousand, and perhaps as high as five hundred thousand. Unknown to anyone, the terrorists had come within a whisker of achieving the goal they had set out for the operation.
The final moments of the struggle between the hooded superhero and the terrorists had been viewed by more than ten million viewers on TV and as the footage was uploaded on the Internet, that number multiplied several times over. As more details of that evening materialized, especially from the two security guards who had seen the struggle in the parking lot, there was an unprecedented outpouring of support and grief for the fallen hero.
The final bomb blast had killed the Guardian Angel and the four men who had jumped into the fray to help him, in addition to the suicide bomber. There had been intense speculation about who the superhero had been, but in the aftermath of the bomb blast, it was impossible to identify which of the five men he had been. The identity of the five heroes made for a telling list. There was Umesh Phadke, a 37 year old garment trader from Baroda; Danish Rahman, a 29 year old sweeper who worked in the Municipal Department; Ankush Raisinghani, a 32 year old diamond merchant from Calcutta; Rahul Asthana, a 30 year old engineer from Delhi; and finally there was Arnab Bannerjee, a 25 year old librarian. What shocked people was the fact that all of them had never been considered anything remotely heroic by those who knew them. They were ordinary folks, leading ordinary lives. Men with families. Men like you or me. Men you would never notice if you walked past them in the street. Yet, they were all heroes who had saved thousands of lives, and one of them was the closest thing to a real life superhero that India had ever seen. The Times of India ran a special front page story titled, 'Who needs Superman when we have the Everyman?'
Woodpecker Industries was quick to capitalize on the immense popularity of its short-lived brand ambassador, and launched a new beer brand called Golden Ale, with the brand name encapsulated as the letters 'GA', much like the logo that had adorned the sweatshirt of the country's beloved hero. In the launch conference, Aggarwal broke down and cried in front of the cameras as he recounted how close he and the Guardian Angel had been, and how his company would try and carry on the values that its brand ambassador had stood for. GA Beer skyrocketed to become the bestselling beer brand in India within a year of launch, and Aggarwal was last seen on the covers of leading magazines cavorting with some B-grade Bollywood actresses on the deck of his private cruise ship. There are reports that he plans to enter the movie industry with his first production being an action magnum opus about India's first real-life superhero, and it is rumoured that he is planning to sign up Hrithik Roshan or some other top Bollywood star to play the leading role.
Balwant Singh and others in the government were initially not too keen on discussing the role of the Guardian Angel in thwarting the attack, but that changed when some members of the media began criticizing Balwant Singh and the police for not having ensured adequate security. A survivor to the core, Balwant was quick to seize on the opportunity and declared that the superhero had in fact been working with him, and had been at the match after Balwant had received intelligence of a possible terror threat. Like Aggarwal, Balwant Singh too capitalized on the surging popularity of the fallen hero by peppering every interview or speech with references to how well he had known him, and how he had been the mentor who had harnessed the special powers of the young man to help improve the law and order situation.
Like the Mumbai terror attacks of a couple of years ago, there was evidence galore, including confessions from the three terrorists who had been captured alive, that the attack had originated in Pakistan. There was the usual hue and cry for a few days, as the government issued repeated statements about how it would give a 'fitting reply' to the nation's enemies. However, the government never really did much, leaving cynics com
menting that perhaps it would indeed take the nuclear obliteration of an Indian city to shake the government into any sort of action. One of the reasons for the government's inaction was the fact that the recent elections had produced a shaky coalition government, and as the year went by, another election seemed likely. Balwant Singh was last seen at his party's annual convention being projected as the Prime Ministerial candidate in the coming election. Balwant Singh indicated that while he had no hunger for power, he would humbly accept the nomination if his party believed that he could serve the nation in this capacity.
Upadhyay was projected as one of the heroes of the evening, and he had a broken leg and arm to show for his efforts. Obviously nobody would know that the broken leg had come courtesy of the hero whom he had shot in the back. He was awarded the Police Medal for Gallantry and enjoyed his moment in the spotlight. That newly acquired sheen was soon tarnished a bit when reports surfaced about how the terrorists had acquired real police uniforms and identification cards by buying them from a corrupt Inspector who was known to be very close to Upadhyay. The case was hushed up, but to be safe, Balwant had Upadhyay transferred to the remote North East border, where he could continue his ways without being under so much media scrutiny. A few months later, he was in the news when the Home Ministry began reporting how his bold initiatives against insurgents were yielding dramatic results, with more than 50 insurgents having been killed in police encounters. The Ministry also announced that it was forming a special task force to investigate the recent spate of killings of poor villagers by a suspected psychopath in the North-East. Upadhyay continues in his ways, comfortable in the fact that Balwant's continued patronage would ensure he does not get into any serious trouble, but he does regret the fact that his damaged arm and leg mean that he will never play Golf again.