November 23, 2009

I was standing at the bookstall of Delhi junction, also known as old Delhi railway station. This was built by British in the style of red colored fort before independence. I had been watching him from last 45 minutes. I wasn’t very far from the counter when he booked the first class AC ticket to Jammu Tawi by Jammu mail 4033 expected to leave at 9:25 pm. I too had booked a ticket at once without wasting any time. I wanted an entry into the same compartment.  I was like a predator on prowl. He had caught my eye. I was convinced by my power of observation. He was a typical middle aged Kashmiri businessman.

I had been monitoring his looks and moves. He was aged about 50 and not at least more than 52. His head was covered with the mix of partly black and more of grey hair. There was something common between two of us. The noticeable part was the scars of chicken pox moderately laid out on our faces.  I had kept an eye on him, but he seemed more focused on guarding his suitcase. He was over cautious and that was his weakness. I was far more experienced in my field and needed no second thought. He was protecting perhaps the cash or jewelry or something far more expensive.

I was a thief by profession but devoid of violent styles. I was a freelancer without the attachment to any gangs. My panache had clicked in deceiving enormous number of tourists in Delhi, Kolkata and Agra. The trick of cheating was hidden in my flamboyance and confidence. Time to time I had shifted my operation in different cities of North and Eastern India since last twenty years. My success rate was much higher than my failure. I was caught & reprimanded a few times by the police authorities, but always back in business after serving short sentences.  Nowadays my attention had shifted more on business travelers between Delhi and Kashmir.

The train was late by twenty minutes. He warily pulled his suitcase and moved closer to the train which had come to a halt at the platform. I tagged along and entered the AC compartment with my travel bag. The rush was minimal in first class than other classes. Some passengers must have had cancelled their bookings after the news on bomb blasts in three market places of New Delhi.

“Hi.” I tossed my travel bag on opposite sleeper.

“……….” He didn’t bother to reply. He looked at me impassively after pushing his suitcase underneath the sleeper.

“Raina” I persisted stubbornly. “My name is Rahul Raina. I hope you would enjoy my company on this trip. I am from Udhampur.”
I was a Hindu Brahmin by birth from Kashmir. At this moment I concealed my real name. His deadpan expression indicated his lack of interest in talking to strangers. The task to win his familiarity had turned tougher due to his unfriendly attitude. Perhaps he was apprehensive, very common mind-set of the business and managerial class.

“Did you hear the news on today’s bomb blast in New Delhi?” I sat in front of him.

“I wasn’t very far when the blast took place at Ghaffar Market in the Karol Bagh area.” His resonant voice echoed for the first time.

“God saved you.” I sounded superficial.

“Many have given their lives in the holocaust in Kashmir since 1947. Why didn’t God save them Mister….?” The reverberation continued with bitter tone.

“My name is Raina…..Rahul Raina.” I reminded him.

“I am Farook. I live in Jammu Tawi.” He offered his hand. “I make Shervanis and there is great demand in New Delhi Market.”

“I do trading in Electronic products.” I didn’t elaborate. “I believe Kashmiri Shervani’s are highly expensive.”

“It is true.” He smiled for the first time. “Shervani’s are priced in the range of few thousands to lakhs. These royal and elegant attires are worn specially during weddings.”

Now I could feel the smell of money. Cash transaction without official receipt was common practice for tax evasion. Farook had every reason to be extra cautious in guarding his baggage. I licked my lips and visualized the bundles of currency inside his suitcase.

The train moved ahead with the deafening noise. The journey had begun. I thought of my life easy for next few months, if I succeed in whipping a good amount of cash. The chitchat continued until we reached Subzi Mandi station.

“We have something in common.” I picked up a personal topic. “Our chicken pox scars are not expunged with time.”

“The marks get erased if it is affected when you are a child.” His voice involuntarily vibrated. “But when chicken pox contacts you when you are an adult the chances of receiving scars as bonus is much higher. The blemishes torment you for the rest of your life.”

“What you say is true.” I was throbbed in my heart. “Twenty years back I lost both my parents in a bomb blast in Udhampur. I was doing my engineering in electronics and my education remained incomplete. The grief bothers me every now and then. It‘s difficult.”
“The terrorists are not responsible for all the killings Mr.Raina.” He called me by my fake name. “The massive bloodshed continuing in Kashmir is not merely a result of cross-border terrorism as the Indian government would like us to believe. The once serene and lovely Kashmir Valley with its gorgeous mountains and rivers, which inspired generations of poets to eulogize its beauty, has now become a Valley of Blood. Following the accession of Kashmir to India, Nehru promised the Kashmiri people in a famous speech in Srinagar that their wishes would be consulted in a referendum regarding the future of Jammu and Kashmir. Some of the aged locals in Kashmir still remember the promise of plebiscite given by Jawaharlal Nehru in an emotional speech at Lal Chowk Grounds in Srinagar more than half a century ago. Today there are an estimated 500,000 army troops and other federal security forces are deployed in Valley, including those positioned along the Line of Control. There is roughly one soldier for every 10 Kashmiris. What about the people who suffer from brutality of the Indian occupation on a daily basis? The arbitrary arrests, torture, rape, custodial, encounter, Killings…….”

“You sound over emotional.” I turned impatient.

“About 5 years back, a girl studying in grade 9 was killed in Jammu. Her name was Nilofar. Police informed that she lost her life while exchanging fire with the terrorists.” He looked up and continued. “But the medical report suggested she was raped and executed. A press reporter testified and condemned the act of an offender from Indian security force.”

“This has happened in the past and still common in Kashmir.” I casually replied.

“Nilofar was my only child Mr. Raina.” Farook snapped. “She was innocent and beautiful. My wife lost her mental balance and yet to recover from the shock.”

The train halted at Sonipat for 2 minutes. I didn’t know what to reply. He had taken the wind out my sails. I had lost my parents by act of terrorists. Now I realized that his life story was more thorny and harder than mine. My thoughts drifted in figuring out his emotions. Then I was reminded by my objective. I wasn’t here to share his sorrows, but to steal. My intention was in place. Given a chance, I would disappear with all cash and valuables from his suitcase.

Food was served at Panipat junction. Farook accepted drinking water and refused the meal. I was hungry. I picked up mixed vegetables, unleavened bread and Pilaf. He pulled his suitcase while I was eating. I glanced as he opened. He lifted a unique designed maroon color briefcase which was placed beside the clothes. The briefcase looked special. It was slightly round shaped with a zipper lock at the top appeared similar to an attaché case. He used the shoulder strap and walked out with briefcase to the wash room.

I was obviously happy and pleased. Farook was more focused and concerned in his special briefcase rather than his suitcase. My observation and calculation was right. What I wanted most was hidden in the briefcase. My eyes filled with an increasing amount of light. He returned when I emptied the plate. The briefcase was placed back in the suitcase. He locked the suitcase after removing a steel manacle. He fixed the ring securely on the handle of briefcase and fastened the ring of other end of the chain on his right wrist. He knew to take care of his belongings. I had my methods to break his devices.

“I am pretty tired. I would like to sleep for some time.” Farook tilted back on his sleeper. “Please switch off the light when you finish.”

“No worries.” I pushed the button.

The bright lights were turned off. The total darkness was checked by an automatic dim light. I picked up a pouch from my travel bag and stepped into the wash room. Farook was fast asleep and snoring when I returned. I reclined and wondered the speed in which Farook managed to attain the state of sleep. I remained restless perhaps my profession demanded so.

The train passed Karnal station and reached Kurukshetra at 11:45 pm. I waited for some more time. The next station was Ambala Cantonment Junction and minimum 2 hours were required to touch Ludhiana. I would get down at Ludhiana and travel back to Delhi if managed to separate the special briefcase from Farook’s suitcase. My next move was designed in advance.

I took out a thin pointed metal stick from my travel bag. It was the perfect device to unlock the suitcase. I kept it in my pocket and looked at Farook while resting on my sleeper. His mouth was slightly open in giving way for noisy breathing. He was in deep slumber, an ideal situation to pull off my objective.

I dozed off for a while. The train had stopped when I returned back to my senses. Farook’s snoring alleviated as he turned the side to his left.  The train was in its customary halt at Ambala cantonment junction.  I silently got down from the sleeper, went to the wash room and splashed water on my face. The train picked up the motion as I came back and quietly pulled the cabin door.

I bent down towards the suitcase with the thin metal stick was in my grip. I was about to insert the pin into the keyhole. But the clank of the door on my back alerted me. The anxiety struck me. I nervously straightened my feet, pushed the metal stick into my pocket and turned my back.

“Ticket Please…..” The TC was at the door.

“I thought you must be sleeping” Farook turned and opened his eyes.

“I had to go to the washroom.” I hesitantly replied.  

Farook got up from sleeping position and the TC sat beside him. He disconnected the manacle from his wrist and rubbed his eyes. The TC collected and examined our tickets. The tickets were returned after scribbling on his pad. He wished us a pleasant journey and walked out.

“The TC disturbed my sleep.” He complained.

“I don’t sleep while on travel.” I too was displeased with the TC.

I stretched out on my sleeper and waited for him to sleep without encouraging any further conversation. Farook covered his wrist with the chain and rested on his back. He didn’t close his eyes and remained wide open until the train reached Ludhiana. The tension was pushing me to the edge. I was like a cat on the hot tin roof.  The train halted at Ludhiana station for fifteen minutes and the time was 3:30 am. I closed my eyes for sometime.

Farook got up from his sleeper when train picked up the speed from Ludhiana station. I kept a watch with my eyes half open. He detached the chain from his wrist and opened the suitcase. The maroon briefcase was removed. He used the strap and transferred weight of the briefcase to his shoulder. Niloafar’s name reverberated in my brain as he stepped out to go the wash room. He was a living picture of a grief-stricken father, provoking deep sadness and distress in me. But then I retrieved and prevented myself in getting connected to his emotional echelon. I had a job to do and I was waiting for my best chance to vanish with his maroon briefcase. How long would he manage to safeguard his ownership? Perseverance was my strength. I would not step back without achieving my goal.

He was back in cabin at Phagwara junction. As usual the briefcase was placed back in the suitcase. Farook locked the suitcase and dropped the key ring into his pocket. He didn’t sleep and remained awake until Jalandhar cantonment station. Farook picked up a copy of ‘Dainik Jagran’ the Hindi daily from the vendor. The reading spectacles were taken out and he kept himself engaged with the newspaper. The time was 4:15 am and began moving after 2 minutes.

Farook’s destination point was Jammu Tawi and train was expected reach Jammu Tawi by 10:45 am. I was running short of time. The money spent on ticket was my investment. It was targeted to achieve in multiples. A physical attack was the last option. I had always managed to plunder with simple nonviolent tricks.

The train touched Jalandhar city station at 4:45 am and halting time was close to 30 minutes. He pushed the Hindi newspaper inside his suitcase before I could ask. Now if my observation was right Farook had forgotten to lock his suitcase after placing the daily inside.

How could he forget? Perhaps I must have had won his trust……

It had happened in the past. The co-travelers would gain my confidence during the course of the journey and get wrecked at end of the trip. A supplier in uniform entered with morning beverages. Farook accepted tea while I took coffee. Though we conversed, I avoided skidding on to his excruciating past. I did not know Nilofar and there was no point in getting embroiled into his misfortune. I had my life and problems of my own.

The journey continued from Jalandhar city at 5:00 am. If I surreptitiously succeed in my trickery by next couple of hours, I could still return back to Delhi by changing at Pathankot. As the trip progressed our acquaintance turned more genial and affable. I wanted the trust factor to work out wonders and I believed at sometime he would go to the washroom without accompanying his maroon briefcase.

The train crossed Tanda Urmar, and then reached Dasuya station.

“Do you have a fag?” He asked me when the train left Mukerian railway station.

“I don’t smoke.” I theatrically replied. “You should know... Smoking in railway premises and in trains is banned as per Section 167 of Railway Act 1989.”

“Yes, I know.” His answer was equally over the top. “The sub section 3 of the same act says, whosoever contravenes these provisions shall be punishable with fine of rupees one hundred. I am ready to pay fine. I can’t pass my stool without smoke.”

“The next station is Chakki Bank. The train will halt for 2 minutes. You may try your luck.” I thoughtfully said.

I sluggishly yawned, caused by lack of sleep.  Such inconvenience was common in my profession. The train stopped at Chakki Bank station exactly at 7:12 am.

“I will be back in a minute.” Farook pulled the door and sprinted out.

I went behind and saw him jumping out. This was my best chance and responded with high level of energy.  I closed the door and fastened the bolt. That was the last access point to the compartment. He would bang the door for sometime and in a desperate attempt Farook would be left with no other choice, but to enter through the doorway of next compartment. That would give ample time for me to vacate the place with his valuables.

The train slowly picked up the speed and I turned upbeat. The cabin door was pulled and closed. I was aware that Farook had forgotten to lock the suitcase. The maroon briefcase caught my sight when I opened the suitcase. The zipper was locked. I picked up the briefcase and looked for other items in his suitcase. An expensive woolen jacket and a black balaclava were grabbed with no hesitation. ‘Dainik Jagran’ newspaper copy was also collected. I was not keen on rest of the items. I closed the suitcase and push it underneath the sleeper.

I walked out from the cabin with my travel bag and the maroon briefcase. The train was brought to standstill at Pathankot railway station at 7:25 am. I opened the door, leaped and ambled across the crowded platform. I was in high spirits when I stepped out from Pathankot railway station. The thrill was stimulated and exhilarated by the thoughts of my triumph. The weather had turned hazy and overcast. I was greeted by cold breeze, followed by the drizzle. The woolen jacket and balaclava were removed and I covered myself. Pathankot was familiar to me. I stopped a cab and told the driver to take me to Hotel Satyam which was close to bus stand. I wanted to relax for sometime and then go back to Delhi after separating valuables from the briefcase. Disposing the empty briefcase was an additional task.
Heavy downpour cheered by dazzling lightening and thunder continued when I reached Hotel Satyam. I wiped the water and stood behind reception desk. The man at the counter was reading ‘The Tribune’ English daily. I requested for a room. He told the tariff, demanded advance and gave me a form to fill up.

“Your briefcase is extremely sleek and beautiful.” He appreciated while collecting the advance. “I am seeing such a model for the first time in my life.”

“Thank you.” I signed the form.

The key was collected. I stepped inside the room and closed the door. I was in no hurry to break the lock and check the valuables in the maroon briefcase. I brushed my teeth and enjoyed a warm shower. Torrential rain showed no signs of diminution. I called the restaurant for breakfast as I was hungry. I satisfied my hunger and then looked at the maroon briefcase,

A broad grin appeared on my face as I used the metal stick on zipper lock. The zipper lock was cracked open in less than a minute. Courtesy to the prevailing technology, a light illuminated the interior for few seconds after opening. I peeked in anticipation, but was completely stunned after what I witnessed. The contents were dropped on the bed by rolling bottom up. I jumped back in shock unable to believe what my eyes were seeing.

Engulfed by the fright my face turned dark. A college drop out in electronics engineering I had some knowledge on these items. The sticker on a piece of solid chemical indicated ‘C3H6N606 (RDX)’. It was a deadly explosive used in military and terrorist operations. Other Improvised Explosive Devices were placed beside the RDX such as IED Timer, IED box, Hand Grenades, Hand gloves, Cordex wire along with some unfamiliar items.

Gradually the facts enlightened my mind. Now I realized the reason behind Farook’s over cautiousness in guarding his briefcase. He had turned less attentive after reading ‘Dainik Jagran’ which was bought at Jalandar cantonment station. Farook had concealed the Hindi Daily in his suitcase without giving any opportunity for me to have a go at the newspaper. I gasped for breath after shaken by the reality check….. Frantically I pulled my travel bag and opened the ‘Dainik Jagran.’

The news was reported in head lines on the bomb blast in New Delhi on 13th of September 2008. India's capital New Delhi was rocked by blasts in three busy market areas, killing at least 18 people. Two blasts had taken place in the central Connaught Place area and two at a market in the upscale Greater Kailash area. The Fifth bomb exploded at Ghaffar Market in the Karol Bagh area. The Political heads of countries around the world had condemned the act. The police were after a stranger with chicken pox marks. A recluse dressed in woolen jacket and black balaclava was seen carrying an Italian model maroon color bucket briefcase. The description by the eye-witnesses had indicated his presence in all 3 areas before the blasts.

The crime was completely connected with the stranger with chicken pox marks, woolen jacket, black balaclava, bucket briefcase and the explosive devices. Reeling from shock and confusion, I felt giddy and numb. I tried desperately to recover from the state of weak pulse, coldness, sweating and irregular breathing.

Farook had guarded his belongings with great care until he read the news in Dainik Jagran. Police’s identification had caught him by surprise.  He was propelled into an abandoning and vanishing act at Chakki Bank station.  I had accepted the ownership of these deadly devices like a fool. I was given a hard and quick checkmate by an opponent with his black pieces. The height of his deception was unparallel. I was deceived by his spin of yarn.

My journey by Jammu Mail 4033 had bumped into the disastrous rough weather. The man at Hotel’s reception desk must have had alerted the police after reading the news in ‘The Tribune’.

Repeated knocks on the door knocked me off balance. My heart was pounding. I helplessly bewailed like a rat trapped in a cage.