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Every Terrorist has a Story

I am Roshini Mathur, the little angel of my father who had now opened her wings to face the world as an eccentric lawyer. It was my father’s dream and my only living memory to take a breath in the world where I was starkly alone. Today, I head towards my first research project on “Terrorism.”

Part 1

Victims walks away after a car bomb attack in Baghdad March 15, 2007. A car bomb targeting a joint Iraqi army and police checkpoint exploded in central Baghdad on Thursday, causing an unknown number of casualties, police said. REUTERS/Namir Noor-Eldeen (IRAQ) – RTR1NHNS

My black coat refilled passion in my veins. I reached the cellular jail. The breeze is dreadful in itself, but yet I breathe the air in. I had legal permission to meet the mastermind behind the city mall attack of 2012 which engulfed my family within its bloody mess. This is the moment I had waited for all my life for which I counted every minute of my time and survival. It was the best research project to trigger my career with. Finally, I stood in front of that barbaric soul who had destroyed millions of innocent homes and lives. I was petrified to see him. He looked at me with eyes full of regret, annoyance, and abhorrence. No one knows why, maybe because of guilt at his own existence.

Part 2

assault in the smoke

I felt a sensation in my head in the midst of my thoughts. It was his welcome for me. I was asked by officials to leave but I lived for the day and was not easily going to give up. I entered. Something stopped me. Maybe my mom’s blessings stopped me that always wanted to shield me. But I had to do this for mine and everyone else’s tears that were shed at their loved ones’ corpses. The air smelled bloody and he seemed to be encrusted with dead bodies. I controlled my emotions which heated up as a victim of that attack. Yet I insisted to myself that I was a lawyer here. I glanced at the walls full of paintings and they seemed to be strangely familiar. The house, lady, the boy, the doll, the swing, something was making me quite nostalgic.

Part 3

He shouted, resisted my presence and pushed me. I tried to be calm, but his eyes grew monstrous. He pushed me again with his skinny hand and I fell where he had painted his daughter dressed in a lawyer’s black coat. The doll and the ribbons haunted me and I abruptly blurted out, “Your daughter will be of my age and an independent lawyer like me.”

Part 4

Something left him still, tears from his bloodied eyes rolled and he broke the silence. I guess I had struck his softened side. He started his story without my asking, “I had a beautiful wife, a doll like a daughter and a son who used to copy me in front of the mirror. Yet I was a terrorist. I was planning the city mall attack. I used to go out as a professor to plan. I was bound to do that because my family was at stake. I don’t know why I did it, but I had to do it to save my family. I was at my place on 15 August 2012, the day of the attack at the city mall. The attack was so severe that it healed my tensions of many years to secure my family’s safety. I went home happily with gifts, but no one was at home. I screamed but received silence only. A wave of fear ran through me. I saw a note on the table, ‘Papa, we are going for shopping to the city mall, love you.’

Part 5

“My hands shivered. There were no tears but I fell down and shouted at the highest pitch of my voice. I lost my soul that day and I was arrested soon afterward. Today I will rest in peace with my family but unfortunately I will be in hell and they will reach heaven. My last wish is that god will let me meet my family again.”

Part 6

He burst out crying. I felt his tears, but he had to go. He left. I moved out of that darkness and went to the place where he was going to be hanged. I stood still, awestruck, and a tear fell out of my eyes. He was my father. My hands did not rise. I hugged him tight and called him “PAPA,” my eyes filled with hot blood. My life would now be devoid of the blessed hand of my father. I wish he could meet his daughter in the afterlife, but I don’t know whom I lived for now. Yet I wiped my tears and moved out. I was strong enough by the lash of time to mask myself and bury everything deep inside me. Yes, I was blessed by my mom and dad.

MESSAGE: EVERY WRONG ACTION PAYS YOU BECAUSE LIFE HAS ITS OWN WAY TO EDIFY… KILLING MANY WILL DEVASTATE YOUR “ONE”… SPREAD LOVE INSTEAD OF TERRORISM BECAUSE THERE IS SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL ABOUT HUMANITY, SOMETIMES SUPPRESSED BY TERRORISM.