22. Rise of the 'Son':The promise to Father
Amidst the celebrating people, a rogue obscurely was present there. He watched everything from behind and did not like it. It meant to be his day but somehow victory was stolen from his jaws. Revenge was the only route visible to him. The thirst of power had consumed his intelligence. He took out his gun and fired a shot.
Bang!
The bullet hit my left shoulder. Consequently, people got panicked. A sudden stampede followed it and things turned chaotic. I fell down on the ground and heard two more shots fired. The Anti-riot police force had reached the town. Zeeshan helped me get up while I was restless to see the shooter. And when I saw him, I was not surprised maybe because I always knew it. Abbu was lying on the ground with blood sprouting off his chest and his white suit stained red with blood. I crawled to him desperately; the pain hardly bothered to me. I pushed the policemen furiously aside, who were dragging his body, and escorted him lie down on my lap. And then I looked into his eyes. He wanted water. I shouted somebody to lend us some water. Zeeshan rushed for it.
“I am sorry…son” he said while I simply wept like a child. He was not just my father but also the last person whom I could call family. The fear of left alone in this world was the most dreadful of all. I always wanted to grow up soon to be left alone to hold my responsibilities myself, but not like this. That day my maturity wasn’t working for me. I felt like a five-year-old Faizan whose daddy is departing forever leaving him alone in the dark.
“No! You don’t need to be…”
“Faizan...I know I have always been rude to you ever since you were born. But that does not mean that I did not love you son. I apologize for everything, son …”
Zeeshan returned with the water and Abbu drank it a little. He also informed me that the ambulance is in its way and would reach soon.
“I have smeared our family’s name & reputation. When I would die these people will remember me as a terrorist. But I can’t bear that load son...” he said as tears dropped from his eyes. “You are my last hope Faizan. I want you to do something for me son. You see I have made quite a mess here (he chuckles). Clean it for me… ” He said but I was simply crying for him. “ Look into my eyes and promise me that you will fulfil my last desire. Promise me that one day you’ll do something so big that would cover all my sins behind the curtains of your greatness and then history shall forget the name Ahmed Khan forever, but remember only Faizan Ahmed Khan, son of Ahmed Khan. I shall be alive in your name, in your work. Promise me you will surpass my legacy…” he violently roared at me and hugged me instantly to console me.
“I promise you father…I promise you. These people who today fear from us; call us terrorist will praise us one day; commemorate us everyday. I promise you I will make the impossible possible…”
He smiled at me saying he was proud of me and that he always was. And then a light surge of wind followed by a blink of eyes distracted my attention. And in moments, I felt the warmth of my greatest fear, which realized me of the melancholy departure of my only family. He was gone. And I felt as lonely and afraid as never before. Only my close ones know how much I wailed for his death that day hugging him as tightly as I could for the last time.
Later that day, presence of armaments and telephonic contacts with terrorist groups in a police raid on our villa confirmed his active role in the terrorist activities and riots. Everybody condemned the incidence. Media and various opposition parties left no chance to spoil his name. And although their acquisitions were not wrong I did not liked it, which is understandable for he was my father. How could I hear against him? And in the mid of everything the general elections were completed. Despite of the sins committed by my father people had chosen me as their new MP huh. It was my greatest victory. My dream had come true and I had finally achieved what I had struggled for. But I did not celebrate. I did not even bother for it I had lost everyone to cheer my victory with. No father, no mother, no kin. Solitary was my reward for victory. I even ignored to answer media. My supporters and friends did come and cheered for me but I had very coldly responded to them and did not stay long in their celebration.
Few days after a phone call came in the evening when I was sitting alone in the dark. At first, I did not pick it up and ignored several times. But it constantly ranged and I annoyingly picked it up.
“Hello?”
“I wanna talk to Faizan Ahmed Khan…”
“I am Faizan Khan…”
“Hello Mr Faizan! This is Suryadev Shankar talking…”
“Do I know you?”
“(Chuckling…) I am the Prime Minister of this country…son”
“Sorry?” I asked out of surprise and then suddenly realized my gaffe. “(Coughing) S S S Sorry sir… I...I apologize for my behaviour”
“Hah! Don’t worry. It happens. I rang you for I wanted to meet you. In fact let me first congratulate you for your gigantic victory in elections…”
“Thank you sir. It would be my pleasure to meet you. But I am, you know, quite upset with…”
“…with the tragedy that happened with your father. I know and I really understand your grief. But at the same time, you must understand your responsibility you have held for that town. I know its tough time for you but you need to understand that you must finish what you have started. Recover from your past. I can help you do that. That’s why I want to meet you.”
“I…don’t know. I feel so intimidated”
“Listen young man. I take the oath for the PM on Tuesday and on Wednesday we celebrate our victory. I want you to be present there. Always remember son there’s never a second chance. If you don’t act now you will regret it all your life. Take care. See you soon in the party. Goodbye!”
And he cut the phone with that. I was not confused with choices because he never gave me time to think. Next day he just announced publically that I have joined his party. I was a hero for people despite of my father’s activities. And he knew how to use me for his benefits. He always knew I do not have courage to refuse him and so he took complete advantage of my politeness to take the any decision for me without even asking me. And I simply like a child just nodded for his every statement given upon me publically. But it was good for me especially in the long run. He was weaving my golden future and I had no problem with that.
In the party
“There’s my man. Come on over here young boy ha ha…” he welcomed me as I entered his party. He introduced me with his guests. All those high profile people, you know, ministers, business tycoons, celebrities and other giants you can expect. I was nervous. My hands were shaking with anxiety. In fact I felt my tongue tied too to express myself properly that day. Mr Shankar asked me to speak less and to just behave normal. Soon we were surrounded by media who at once threw their questions like stones on me.
“Mr Khan when did you decide to join Congress? Was it in your mind since always?”
“What would you like to say about your father?”
“Did you always know he was a terrorist?”
Their questions made me uncomfortable to stand there. People were watching and I felt shameful standing among them. I could hear them talking about me. But before I could speak a word Mr Shankar stepped ahead to defend me.
“(Jokingly) Gentlemen maybe this is not the right time. I mean you are spoiling my party,” he said pulling me behind.
“But sir, his father Mr Ahmed Khan has been accused of terrorist activities. What makes you feel his son is innocent enough to let him join your party?” asked a reporter. His question hurt me so much that I left the party and walked to the balcony upstairs.
“What was the occupation of your father mister?” Mr Shankar asked to the same reporter while everybody in the room turned silent. And the reporter? Well he simply lost his tongue momentarily.
“I asked what your father used to do to earn his livelihood?” he asked him again.
“He was a …farmer” the reporter replied nervously to the PM while others were watching them silently.
“Really? Then what are you doing here? Why are you a media person and why not are you a farmer just like your father was mister?” he asked him the reporter had no answer. He simply lowered his head and kept quiet. Perhaps he had understood that he had crossed the line and it would be better to hold the tongue now.
“Just like him a son of a farmer is not necessarily a farmer, an engineer’s son is not always an engineer, and a doctor’s son is not always a doctor. In the same way, the son of a terrorist is not always a terrorist. Ahmed Khan betrayed the nation and that was wrong. No doubt about that. But Faizan Khan, his son, has paid enough for being his son. We have all witnessed his loyalty live few days ago and he need not prove it again to us anymore now. He himself became a witness and gave statement against his father in the court. It takes courage to do that. But he still did it and you people today question his loyalty? Huh! Nonsense. Excuse me now” he said and left from there angrily. People present there were stunned by what they had just witnessed. They too did not know how to react at it.
“What’s wrong with Suryadev? I never saw him losing control on media like this?” said one of his ministers to the other.
“…and that too for that ‘infant’. I just don’t understand,” said the other one in reply.
Meanwhile, Mr Shankar went upstairs in the balcony to console me. I was standing alone there in the dark trying to poise between my past and present. Numerous questions and complains about everything that had happened up till then in my life were going through my thoughts. My eyes were full of tears and mind crammed with suicidal thoughts. I was completely frustrated by life. It looked tough to survive in such hostile atmosphere. I had just almost given up. But fortunately not Mr Shankar. He, in a way, taught me to fight such situations; art of patience to prevail over tough time; pretend to be tough even if you are not; to outsmart media. In simpler words, he taught me ‘politics’. He backed me not just that day but always since then. And that day he did something similar.
“I arranged you a million dollar party and you’re standing here in dark,” he said trying to change my mood. But it was not successful, as I did not reply anything to him.
“Don’t worry they have left. You can come down now,” he said again leaning by the wall.
“Huh! (Tittering) I am not running away from them but my past…” I replied to him.
“I understand this is not easy for you kid but bad times can be your best teacher if you start learning from them and at the same time it can be your murderer if you quit. Don’t let these situations kill you son,” he said.
“Hah… may I ask you a question?” I asked him tittering at his motivational quotes.
“Yeah…go on,” he said.
“Why are you doing this? I mean you are a Prime Minister. You are not supposed to be like this, you know, wasting time with a guy like me. No Prime Minister does that. I mean, come on, you must have more important work or people than me. Why are you wasting your precious time on someone expendable like me?” I asked him curiously.
“Hah only a jeweller can distinguish true jewels amidst glittering objects. You are not expendable. You are an investment. An investment for future. Bright future” he replied and instantly turned a bit maudlin; a subtle emotion on his face. He paused momentarily and then continued, “When I see to you I see myself. You reflect me of my old initial days in politics. I remember a young man, still a child then, so lonely, entering into the temple of democracy for first time, facing camera, accusations, threats- all for the first time. Young, enthusiastic, zealous yet afraid and hesitant. I started my political career as student; went jail several times; slept on streets; been hungry. I have seen the worsts of life. Everybody sees the brightness after my success but they didn’t see the darkness before it,” he said as his eyes had moistened with tears.
“I am…sorry” I replied to him.
“I know that hurts but I will suggest you only one thing at this point of moment,” he instantly said wiping his tears and shifting the gears to his actual personality. “Accept your past, live in your present and plan about you future where you want yourself to be tomorrow. I have seen you very shy and always silent. In politics, silence is suicide. You will have to learn the art of fooling people. Even when you are in panic, you have to pretend strong before everybody. Always remember – never accept your fault or you will be doomed. Give up you shyness and face them boldly looking into their eyes. Live like a king. Make even wrong things right with your self-confidence,” he said encouraging me.
“Wow you speak terribly nice hah!” I replied.
“(chuckling)…but you are thinking something else too. What is it?” he asked me noticing my perturbation.
“I don’t know if I should ask it” I replied hesitatingly.
“Go ahead. Like I said – no place for hesitation” he replied.
“People say that you used me for Muslim votes. I mean all this help and support was just a political move not human”
“Huh (yawningly)… Well they are right.”
“Right?”
“Yeah! I used you. Perhaps every time. Faizan you are quite novice in this field and it is tough to explain you but someday you will understand that in politics such things are very common. And if you want to survive here you must learn this art too…” he said as instantly one of his servants interrupted him in between and informed that people were waiting for him in the party.
“Well perhaps this is the time. Come with me. Pretend to be strong down there and show them that you are no more a child now”
And that was it. When I stepped down people did not meet Faizan. They met Faizan Ahmed Khan, a terrific MP from Saharabad. And with the exponential take off in my attitude, nobody dared to ask me about my past. They accepted me as one of them and that was my first victory over my weaknesses.