12 Hours: An Anthology Of 12 Beautiful Stories by Mahi Singla & Rohit Sharma

Author:Mahi Singla & Rohit Sharma [Singla, Mahi & Sharma, Rohit]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mobilism
Publisher: Mahaveer Publishers
Published: 2015-10-19T00:00:00+00:00

7. Forgive Me If You Can

7th January 2013, 9:15 p.m. Tihar Prisons, Central Jail No. 4, New Delhi

Tahir Qureshi let out a lazy yawn. His dark-brown eyes were exhausted, and his body sought to rest. But, he was glued to a book, 'Hinduism: Beliefs and Practices by Jeaneane Flower', and he desired to complete it before the next dawn. He knew he had only eleven hours left; in fact, less than that. He was going to be executed, the next morning at 8:00 a.m.

Tahir was a man in his mid-thirties, with average height and normal built. Though, his love for books and his intelligent looking face belied the fact that he was convicted as the prime hand behind the serial blasts that had ripped the city of Kolkata, seven years ago on August 13, 2006. That ill-fated incident had consumed the lives of fifty-two innocent civilians, and had injured many more. In January 2007, he was sentenced to death by a special Prevention of Terrorism Act Court. The Delhi High Court had confirmed the judgment later that year, and his mercy appeal was rejected by the Supreme Court of India in 2009. The sentence was scheduled to be carried out on November 20, 2010, but he was given a stay of execution, and since then, he was living on a death row. His final mercy petition was rejected by the President of India on 21st January 2013, and he was informed that he would be hanged on 28th January 2013. But, despite all that, there was a distinct nonchalance in his eyes. He had no regrets, whatsoever.

He was lodged inside a 16-feet long and 12-feet wide cell, hardly twenty metres away from the hanging scaffold, inside the high-security death row campus of Tihar Jail. Every day he used to see the noose, and simply smile. He had a belief that he had done his job, and now he was ready to sacrifice his life for Jihad. His prison cell was one of the twenty-five wards in the campus, all for death row convicts, and was well guarded by around fifty armed policemen.

The gate of his prison cell clanked open, and the Superintendent, Samar Singh, walked in. Dressed in a khaki uniform, Samar was a tall man, with a strongly built physique. He had a tough face, with razor-sharp eyes, and thick-black moustache. He was in his mid-forties, and had joined as the Superintendent of Jail No. 4 in 2010.

Tahir looked at him, smiled briefly and closed the book. “You and your law will not allow me to complete this book,” he said, with the usual nonchalance.

Samar walked up to him, and smiled. “It always surprises me to see you reading such books,” he said, glancing towards the book based on Hinduism.

“Why so?” asked Tahir. “Are terrorists, as you call us, not allowed to read books?” He had that uncanny, brief and sardonic smile always flitted across his face, which often irked Samar, who wanted him to repent for his sins.

Samar smiled.

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