The soft January sun was slowly slipping behind the glacier-covered distant mountain-range. The range surrounded Sukh Marg (Happy Valley) in Northern India. On the other side, the region with same namesake belonged to neighboring Pakistan. For millennium, a peaceful civilization inhabited the region. Then a mighty colonial power appeared in horizon. Ruling the place for centuries, they would decide to disappear in a midnight, leaving the land divided on a map. The larger parcel retained the identity India, a secular country with majority practicing Hinduism. The rest became Pakistan, a religious country, majority practicing Islam. Overnight, Sukh Marg also got divided on that map. However, each nation had wanted the entire valley for its strategic location, turning it into a flash point between neighbors. And nothing changed in past seven decades.
In that afternoon, Mr. Gulam Ali, an Islamic teenager was returning home from his high school. Gulam, a brilliant student, dreamed of attending a prestigious university in New Delhi, nation’s capital. While enjoying the chirping of colorful magpies returning to their nests, he heard an approaching siren. He moved to the side. A police-van screeched to a halt next to him. Six heavily-armed police officers jumped out, surrounded him, and screamed “Where’s Asraf Khan hiding?” Getting no response, they began beating him mercilessly with batons. While collapsing to the ground, he understood that the policemen were looking for the leader of a banned religious political group that espoused the joining of this part of Sukh Marg with the other side. Indeed, Gulam had no idea of Mr. Khan’s whereabouts. One of the officers grabbed him by hair, raised him up, and forced him to lick clean the dirt-covered boots of all the officers. Then, they dumped him again and sped away. Later his friends would find him, bloodied and wounded.
Three years later, on a recent winter evening, the sun was about to set spreading the sky with a pink glow. In a narrow alley, just off the main road in his hometown, Gulam was patiently waiting in an explosive-filled dark van. That humiliation three years ago changed his life course. He had quit school, joined the underground separatist movement, got indoctrinated, and recently received training in carrying out a suicide-bombing operation. When the word came to his leaders that there would be an exchange of security forces in Sukh Marg, he was dispatched with a mission.
Now, he heard a similar siren from three years ago, while a military convoy began driving past the alley. Gulam started his van, sped up and rammed the fourth truck of the caravan carrying sixty military personnel. A fireball accompanied with a booming sound erupted, while bodies started flying in all directions.
As his eyes began to close, Gulam Ali noticed the US-made similar F-16 jet fighters of both countries began to fill up the sky amidst the drum-role of incoming mayhem of a war. He also realized who the real profiteer was from such a conflict.
In that afternoon, Mr. Gulam Ali, an Islamic teenager was returning home from his high school. Gulam, a brilliant student, dreamed of attending a prestigious university in New Delhi, nation’s capital. While enjoying the chirping of colorful magpies returning to their nests, he heard an approaching siren. He moved to the side. A police-van screeched to a halt next to him. Six heavily-armed police officers jumped out, surrounded him, and screamed “Where’s Asraf Khan hiding?” Getting no response, they began beating him mercilessly with batons. While collapsing to the ground, he understood that the policemen were looking for the leader of a banned religious political group that espoused the joining of this part of Sukh Marg with the other side. Indeed, Gulam had no idea of Mr. Khan’s whereabouts. One of the officers grabbed him by hair, raised him up, and forced him to lick clean the dirt-covered boots of all the officers. Then, they dumped him again and sped away. Later his friends would find him, bloodied and wounded.
Three years later, on a recent winter evening, the sun was about to set spreading the sky with a pink glow. In a narrow alley, just off the main road in his hometown, Gulam was patiently waiting in an explosive-filled dark van. That humiliation three years ago changed his life course. He had quit school, joined the underground separatist movement, got indoctrinated, and recently received training in carrying out a suicide-bombing operation. When the word came to his leaders that there would be an exchange of security forces in Sukh Marg, he was dispatched with a mission.
Now, he heard a similar siren from three years ago, while a military convoy began driving past the alley. Gulam started his van, sped up and rammed the fourth truck of the caravan carrying sixty military personnel. A fireball accompanied with a booming sound erupted, while bodies started flying in all directions.
As his eyes began to close, Gulam Ali noticed the US-made similar F-16 jet fighters of both countries began to fill up the sky amidst the drum-role of incoming mayhem of a war. He also realized who the real profiteer was from such a conflict.
