Confessions Of A Terrorist

"Muzammil Ibrahim , it is time to go"

I get up , wash my face for the last time and take a final look at my cell. It was very dark, dingy and used to get very cold during nights. Not a very homely setting, true. But these are the kinds of cells that are generally given to hardcore terrorists, I was no exception.

I walk out of my cell, the guards bolt the door behind me. The cell had become quite a familiar place for me probably because I had been living there for six months . I vividly remember the scene when the judge had said "Muzammil Ibrahim , you are found guilty of participating in the killing of innocent people going to the 'Akshardhaam' .You are awarded death penalty , to be hanged till death"

As I was walking towards my fate , I thought " Had I always been like this?"

A spontaneous answer came from within "No"

It was true, I was once a successful engineer with a recognized degree. "Then what triggered me to become what I am today?"

I remember. How can I forget that day. No father can forget , nor endure what I had. I had held the emaciated body of my son in my hands. He had been stabbed so badly I could not recognize his face. His wounds outnumbered the hair in my head. What kind of a father would remain normal after that. I lost all sense of logic, all sense of right and wrong. I had to take revenge but my enemy was anonymous . So I set forward to take revenge from the entire world.

What followed were very hard days. I joined a group of fanatics who were hell bent on 'jihaad'. I did not like them nor their concepts but they were the easiest way I would get my revenge so I stuck around with them.There was a lot of agitation among us. We were very different , only one thing united us 'hatred'.We were given militant training , we were trained to kill. After many months of training and brain washing we had become machines to kill , machines who would shoot on a single order. We did not know who were the people we were going to kill, we just knew that we had to kill.

Now when I reflect on alll this I realize I have become what I hated the most. My son was killed,I was wronged. How many sons did I kill, how many wives did I widow? I can't remember. What will I answer allah when he questions me . How will I answer my son?

The guards escort me to the place where I will be hanged. The sunlight stings my eyes.

I am escorted to the raised platform , my hands are tied.

Jailer - "Muzammil Ibrahim any last wish?"

Stop all this hatred , this killing. It does no good. My son was killed, I killed many to take my revenge , this has to stop.But I think I had lost my right to wish a long time back

"No"' I say

The black cloth is draped around my face.I close my eyes, that was the last ray of light I was ever going to see..............