The Dialogue

The stage was set. And the crowd, set up. Expectedly, it consisted of his sycophants and cronies, and some real people who had come to entertain themselves with the fiction, served with liberal doses of false emotions. For most of the audience, it was a movie-worthy experience, for free. Not for him, though. Not for him, who silently climbed the building opposite the maidaan. He, who slowly opened a case and removed what he needed to. The stage was set. And so was the scope.

Shyam lied down comfortably and adjusted the sniper gun on his shoulders. The scope was focussed on the dias. The speaker, a Union minister known more for his scams than any real work in the office, was about to arrive. The elections were approaching and the customary farce of promises had begun. But this particular farce would stop that day, Shyam thought determinedly. And then, with a slew of cars riding on public money, he reached the maidaan. Shyam’s heart didn’t skip a beat. He was trained for more than this little chore of shooting a target down. And then, he came within the range of his scope. And then, Shyam took aim for his head and pressed the trigger…

“Stop! Right now!” Cold steel pressed on his back and boomed in his ears.

“What the hell…” Shyam muttered as he lowered the sniper, cursing himself for not ensuring proper clearance prior to his mission.

“I said put it down immediately!” Shyam slowly put the gun down and raised his hands.

“You bloody thug!” A punch flew across and was about to hit Shyam’s face when he blocked it, out of reflex.

“I am not a thug. I am an ex-Army man. Like you.”

“What?”

“Yes. I was in the security staff of another minister,” Shyam stated non chalantly.

“Then how dare you plan murder of our own leaders?”

“Because I saw something that shook me to the core. I saw the man I was protecting, doing a deal with some company. “

“So? They are all corrupt, we know it!”

“Yes, we all know it! But this deal would have ensured that the Indian army would receive substandard ammunition and bulletproof vests,” Shyam replied angrily.

“What?” he was clearly shocked. He didn’t expect the representatives of the country to fall so steeply.

“Yes. However, the company man suffered a mysterious accident that day and was never seen,” Shyam smiled wickedly.

“You bloody murderer!” the bodyguard smacked one across Shyam’s face, “You could have easily reported the matter and stopped it by constitutional means! You didn’t have to murder!”

“Constitution? Oh, you mean that book of codes that is being ripped apart daily by these politicians?”

“Yes, I mean that. And merely killing one of the politicians wont make you a guardian. It will make you a traitor.”

“A traitor? For protecting my own country?”

“Yes, a traitor! And I wont have a bloody traitor roaming aout! Not on my watch!” The bodyguard held Shyam by his neck and started dragging him.

“Wait, wait.. Officer, what’s your name?”

“Vishal singh.”

“So Vishal, will you save the skin of the man who wont think twice before selling the soul of our beloved nation?”

“Yes, traitor. I will. Because its my duty. And nothing ranks above my duty for me.”

“Are you crazy? How can you like serving this apology of a man?”

“Yes. Because its my duty,” again a flat, hard response coming from gritted teeth.

“Duty? Who are you working for? The country or this man?” Shyam was genuinely shocked.

“For the country. For the laws of this great nation. And as long as I am alive, I will not allow anyone to break those laws.” The grip around Shyam’s neck tightened a little.

A silence ensued for a moment, punctuated only by the amplified voice of hollow promises being dished out to the by-now-immune gentry, who had only come to clap and receive the free biscuit packets.

“You hear that?” Shyam asked, “That is the voice of the man who will not hesitate for a moment before killing you, and others of your ilk, just to serve his purpose. What difference would it have made if I had made a complaint? I would have been thrown out of the job, and goons set after me and my family. Instead, I left it honorably, collected my pension and shifted my family out of India. Now my actions here will not affect their future. I have ensured it. Tell me, what would your Constitution have given me? Pain? Anger? Humiliation? And this bastard would have walked out of the case, with a fucking clean chit, clean kurta and clean smile. No. Today, he shall not leave this place alive!”

Vishal’s grip loosened. Probably the traitor was right. Yet, he could not abdicate his duty, for which he was paid. That separated him from a barbarian.

“Only one bullet will be fired. Only one sound will be heard. Lets see who is faster,” Vishal said calmly, the calmness being the oil over the storm of his thoughts. Shyam smiled. Very few could match his skill at shooting. Probably Vishal could be one of them. With a nozzle pressed firmly at his temple, Shyam carefully took aim.

Only one sound was heard. And the gathered audience could only gape in horror as the shining white kurta of the orator was stained red, the stain slowly spreading as life ebbed out of him. While countless legitimate cases had failed to stain him, an illegal bullet by a traitor succeeded.

That evening, the news agencies confirmed two highly irregular events

1) A dead man with a sniper gun lay on the top floor of the building opposite to where the minister was standing.

2) The personal bodyguard of the minister, one Mr Vishal Singh had disappeared.

Who, after all killed the minister?