1. First scene
It was his hearing that day. He had risen as a messiah and then to a great Prime Minister. People had ranked him next to God, the people’s man. But now he was just a convict. He walked towards the court amidst a large crowd who were standing for their hero. For their man. The whole area was echoing with the praise of the public “Long live Faizan Khan”. The media persons had surrounded him with their questions but he was silent and silently he moved inside the court.
“Start the proceedings of the court please,” ordered the honourable judge of Supreme Court as the lawyer of the Prime Minister arose to begin the trial.
But before his lawyer did anything, he interrupted and said, “Your honour, before the proceedings begin I want to say something” People buzz in response. “I accept all allegations put on me. I accept my active role in the riots of Saharabad. All the allegations put on me are true and I am solely responsible for everything. That’s all”.
All around silence covered the room for a moment and then sudden buzzing by people replaced it. The judge ordered everyone to maintain silence and asked him, “Mr Faizan, are you aware of what are you saying?”
“Yes sir. I know what I am saying. You can go ahead and give your decision,” urged Faizan Khan to the judge.
“With respect to the statement given by the suspect himself the court orders to cancel the membership of the parliament of Mr Faizan Khan and sentence him for lifetime imprisonment. The court is adjourned”, ordered the judge and left people in the court stumped.
Faizan khan was arrested by the police and was sent to the central jail amidst millions of his fans who were protesting against his sentence to jail. It was so ironical that for the first time in history a political giant as big as he himself had admitted his mistake but people still loved him and were protesting for him. But why were the people supporting him? Why were they ready to excuse his ‘sin’ when he himself had admitted his crime?
Nevertheless, these things were of no importance to him anymore. His desires, his dreams they all ended with the death of Aarti, his wife. He barely smiled or responded to anyone who came to see him. Solitary was his new companion and in prison he found his freedom.
Two decades passed and nothing changed in this dead man. He still kept himself isolated from everyone. He never talked too much. Most of the time he spent his time reading the holy book of Quran and obeying ‘namaj’ to Allah, the almighty God. People inside the jail whether the policemen, the inmates, perhaps everybody, they all respected him and wished him whenever they saw him. However, he simply used to smile back in response to accept their greetings. Yes, sometimes he used to guide the policemen, motivate the inmates to quit crime and to live a better life. And they all used to welcome his suggestions. Everyone admired his charm. Everyone was mesmerized with his simplicity. But when you ask him, something personal he would just smile and ignore.
Nothing would have changed ever, only until one day when the jailor himself requested him to hoist the flag on the eve of the Independence Day, as always. Perhaps it had become like a tradition now that he would hoist the flag, always. And how could he deny since it was not just a job but honour for any Indian. And perhaps it used to be a wish from the entire living beings of the jail itself that the flag must be hoisted by their honourable leader. The atmosphere on the day of 15th August used to change dramatically inside the jail. Strong winds of patriotism used to blow that day which literally used to envelope the entire prison. Even the inmates used to be full of zeal and they used to proudly participate in the preparation of Independence Day celebration. When the flag used to be hoisted and National Anthem used to be sung you could hardly say that some of these people are criminals after watching their dedication towards the preparation for the celebration of the biggest festival. Such was the effect of his presence.
Meanwhile, that day after the celebration was done, the jailer humbly requested him to speak few words on that auspicious occasion. Perhaps this time they wanted to hear something more.
“Sir, on the behalf of every one present here on this auspicious day I request you to share your experience in politics. Please tell us about your early life and struggles related to it. Tell us how did you prevailed those situation when everyone was calling you a ‘Muslim’ Prime Minister and once when it was believed that a non-Hindu can never become a PM of India, you changed the thought and started a new era of faith and belief” requested the jailor to me while others were standing eagerly with their wide eyes open in belief that I won’t depress them.
“We desire to hear from the legend himself the story of that shy Faizan who always feared to speak on stage, to the one we know today, who whenever speaks, the whole world listens and histories are made” requested another.
“Please tell us about the pious relation between Faizan Ahmed Khan and Aarti Singh and what actually happened in Delhi riots”, requested to me the jailer on behalf of everybody present there.
After refusing several times, the people there somehow successfully convinced him to speak. And then an 84-year-old man took out his spectacles to clean it and tried to put some light on his rusted memories of past days when he used to be young and riant. Several flashes of past memories covered his vision. Those precious schooldays memories, all those friends, that accidental meeting with Aarti, her presence, her smiles, those priceless moments and then her dead face, that fatal riot.
“Oh God…no, no, no…” he screamed in panic and suddenly became breathless. The jailer quickly asked for the doctor. Another policeman quickly gave him a glass of water. The policemen, the inmates, everyone present there too become worried for him. Their breaths tighten up for what abruptly happened to him.
After small medical check-ups, the doctor advised him to take rest. The jailer apologized to him for his mistake and held his hands to escort him to his compartment. But he denied, he denied because now he wanted to speak. Perhaps speak everything about his life, his mistakes, and above all his wife Aarti who was not just a wife but also a faithful friend, a soul mate, perhaps the energy behind his success. He lowers his head and stares momentarily at an adornment she had given to him as a souvenir. There was silence all around in the vicinity and everyone took the seat on the ground to listen to their leader. With a little tear in eyes and a happy smile on his face, he spoke with a heavy voice.