Chapter: 7: Silent Pursuit
Karachi, Pakistan
Ali stood amidst the chaos of the ambush, his face darkened with rage and humiliation. His uniform, once a symbol of authority, now bore the stains of defeat. The flickering light from the burning wreckage of the police van danced in his eyes, igniting a fire of vengeance deep within him.
“They made a fool out of me,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous, like a storm waiting to explode. He turned to his officers, barking orders with an intensity that froze them in their tracks.
“Block all exits of Karachi!” Ali roared. “They can’t go beyond this. Alert every checkpoint, search every vehicle, and deploy additional patrols. I don’t care how you do it—just find them!”
One of the junior officers hesitated before stepping forward. “Sir, the media is already at the kabristan for the last rites of Amir’s parents. They’re expecting you to—”
“I KNOW WHAT TO DO!” Ali thundered, silencing the officer. He clenched his fists, struggling to suppress his fury. “The boy wants closure? Fine. Let him have it. But I will ensure that he knows there is no escape, no mercy.”
At the Kabristan
The scene was chaotic, drenched in an atmosphere of hostility and malice. A mob of over a thousand people had gathered, their cries of “Traitor! Traitor!” reverberating through the air like a war chant. They were a crowd fueled by anger, misinformation, and the need for a scapegoat.
Under the flickering lights of hastily assembled torches, the mob began to unravel the white shrouds from the lifeless bodies of Amir’s parents. Their voices grew louder, their chants turning into a deafening roar of hatred.
“Burn them! Burn the traitors!” someone screamed, and the crowd surged forward with frightening fervor.
Ali arrived at the scene, his face a mask of calculated resolve. The media buzzed around him like vultures, cameras clicking and microphones shoved in his face.
“Officer Ali, the public demands answers! Is Amir the mastermind of this betrayal?” a journalist shouted.
Ali paused, letting the weight of the moment settle before speaking. “Amir and his family betrayed this nation. They sold our secrets, jeopardized our sovereignty, and caused the deaths of our brave soldiers. This—” he gestured to the burning bodies being hoisted onto wooden pyres, “—is the fate of traitors.”
The mob erupted in cheers as flames consumed the bodies, the crackling fire drowning out the anguished cries of a son who wasn’t there to see.
Ali watched the fire with cold satisfaction, his mind already racing ahead. He didn’t just want Amir captured—he wanted him broken. Turning to his officers, he spoke with a deadly calm.
“Let the city know we’re hunting him. His face on every street, his name on every lip. I don’t care how far he runs, how deep he hides—Amir will not escape.”
As the flames roared higher, casting eerie shadows across the crowd, Ali made a silent vow: I’ll make him wish he had died in that jungle.
AT ONE ABANDONED APARTMENT
Amir awoke to an eerie silence, his body aching but strangely functional. His leg, which had been a source of unbearable pain, felt numbed. He stretched it cautiously, realizing someone must have treated his wounds while he was unconscious. His surroundings were cloaked in darkness, the faint scent of ash and burnt wood lingering in the air.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against the coarse material of the bag that had encased him. Slowly, Amir tore it open, his movements deliberate and cautious. The dim light from a distant crack in the walls illuminated his surroundings. He was alone.
“Mahira? Faizan?” he called out hoarsely, his voice echoing off unseen walls. There was no reply.
The air felt heavy, almost sacred, but laced with the weight of desecration. As he stumbled forward, Amir’s eyes caught sight of a pile of ashes, interspersed with fragments of charred wood and melted metal. He knelt down, his hands trembling as he sifted through the remnants. Among the ashes were burned photos, their edges singed but some faces still faintly visible.
One photo, half-destroyed, showed a family standing before a large structure. Their smiles were frozen in time, now marred by the cruelty of fire. Beneath the photo lay symbols—Hindu deities, their intricate forms blackened but unmistakable.
“What… What happened here?” Amir murmured, his voice barely audible as the reality began to sink in. His heart raced as he pieced together the fragments.
His eyes darted to a jagged black rock protruding from the ground, its surface glinting faintly in the dim light. Carved into it was the unmistakable image of a trident, the symbol of Lord Shiva. Around the rock were scattered remnants of what looked like offerings—broken clay lamps, a tarnished bell, and pieces of vibrant fabric now dulled by soot.
Amir staggered back, his breath catching in his throat.
“This… this was a temple,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It was a temple.”
The creaking of a door interrupted Amir’s trance-like state, snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned sharply to see Mahira stepping inside, her face illuminated by the faint light seeping through the cracks. She looked wary but resolute, her gaze fixed on the charred remains Amir held in his trembling hands.
Mahira’s voice broke the silence, cold and cutting. “Six Hindus,” she began, her words heavy with a mix of sorrow and fury, “burned alive by extremists of Pakistan, on the name of religion. The country you were so proud to defend. This…” she gestured to the ashes and the remnants around them, “this is the brutal face of your Pakistan.”
She pointed at the blackened symbol of Lord Shiva and the scattered, charred offerings. “This temple wasn’t just destroyed. It was desecrated, its devotees slaughtered in the name of patriotism.”
Amir clenched the charred photo tightly in his hand, his knuckles whitening as his voice cracked. “Still… they were not traitors,” he muttered, barely audible at first but growing louder with defiance. “They didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”
Mahira’s lips curved into a bitter smile, the kind that carried the weight of countless unspoken truths. “Not traitors?” she said, her tone laced with incredulity. “Tell me, Amir, did your people even accept the Muhajirs—your own flesh and blood who migrated here after Partition? Or did you treat them as outsiders, as less than human?”
Amir’s gaze faltered for a moment, but he quickly straightened, his voice defensive. “Many of us did. We welcomed them… tried to make them one of us.”
Mahira let out a short, hollow laugh. “Many? Not enough, Amir. Never enough. Those who were supposed to be brothers were treated like parasites. You think your ‘many’ justifies the exclusion, the hatred, the killings?”
Amir’s jaw tightened, his pride clashing with the cracks forming in his beliefs. “And you think kafirs—the ones you now run to—will give you justice? Do you think they’re saints?” His voice rose, anger and confusion fueling his words. “Do you really think they’ll protect you? You’re delusional if you believe that.”
Mahira’s eyes darkened, her smile fading into a cold, steely glare. “Certainly,” she said, her voice steady, every syllable sharpened to cut through his arguments. “They are better. At least they won’t kill me in the name of my faith or nationality.”
She took a step closer, her presence towering over Amir despite his size. “And the irony of your words, Amir,” she continued, her tone dripping with scorn. “You’re comparing murderers—people who burned six innocents alive—with kafirs, as if the term itself justifies any atrocity. Do you hear yourself? You’ve been so blinded by the lies they fed you that you can’t even see who the real enemy is.”
Amir flinched, her words striking him harder than any physical blow. He wanted to argue, to push back, but deep down, her words rang true in a way that terrified him. Everything he believed in, everything he stood for, was being dismantled piece by piece.
Mahira’s expression softened, but her eyes remained unyielding. “Amir, justice isn’t about borders or religion. It’s about humanity. And what you’re clinging to—this distorted idea of patriotism—it’s just a shield for cowards who can’t face the truth.”
Silence enveloped the room, the weight of her words pressing down on both of them. Amir stared at the ashes, the photos, the blackened remnants of what was once sacred, and felt a hollow ache in his chest. He was drowning in a sea of contradictions, torn between the loyalty he had been raised with and the reality staring him in the face.
The air between them was tense, crackling with unspoken words and raw emotion. Amir’s voice broke the silence, sharp and accusing.
“So you’re part of the Indian intelligence unit? You played me, didn’t you?” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and betrayal.
Mahira looked at him, her face unreadable. “No. I am not.”
Amir stepped closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “Then why this mess? Why all these lies? Why did you save me, and what are you even doing here?”
Mahira’s gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. “Your mom.”
Amir froze, his confusion deepening. “My mom?”
Mahira exhaled sharply, as if what she was about to say had been weighing on her. “Your mom paid me enough for one last task—to save you.”
Amir’s face contorted in disbelief, his voice rising. “What? What do you mean, paid you? What are you even saying?”
Mahira hesitated for a moment, her next words cutting through the room like a knife. “Your mom… Sehnaz… aka Radhika Sharma.”
The world seemed to tilt for Amir. His legs felt unsteady, and his heart pounded in his chest. “Radhika… Sharma?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Mahira nodded, her expression a mix of pity and determination. “Yes, Amir. Your mother wasn’t who you thought she was. She was Indian. An intelligence operative working undercover in Pakistan.”
Amir staggered back, the weight of her words hitting him like a physical blow. He shook his head, as if trying to dispel the truth. “No… That’s impossible. My mom was—she was Pakistani. She was… my mom.”
Mahira stepped forward, her voice gentler now. “She was your mom, Amir. And she loved you more than anything in this world. But she was also Radhika Sharma, an agent who risked everything to protect you and to fight for her country.”
Amir’s breaths grew ragged, his mind racing to connect the pieces of his shattered reality. Memories of his mother flashed before him—her whispers in the night, her unexplained absences, her unwavering strength.
“She lied to me…” Amir said, his voice breaking. “My whole life was a lie.”
“No,” Mahira said firmly. “She didn’t lie to you. She protected you. Everything she did, every choice she made, was for you. Even in her final moments, she ensured you had a chance to survive.”
Amir dropped to his knees, clutching his head. The weight of the revelation was too much to bear. “Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she trust me with the truth?”
Mahira knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Because she knew it would put you in danger. She knew you’d be torn between two worlds—two countries. She wanted to give you a life free of this conflict. But now… now you have to decide what you’ll do with the truth.”
Amir looked up at her, his eyes red with tears. “What am I supposed to do, Mahira? My life… my family… everything I believed in—it’s all gone.”
Mahira’s gaze hardened, a spark of determination in her eyes. “You survive, Amir. You take what she gave you and survive. And maybe one day, you’ll find a way to make sense of this madness.”
The room fell silent, the weight of the truth settling over them like a storm. For Amir, the battle had just begun—not with the world, but within himself.
Mahira’s voice cut through the suffocating silence, sharp and urgent. “Anyways, we need to move. We can’t stay here for long. We need to reach the Gujarat border soon. Our soldiers are waiting to rescue you.”
Amir stared at her, bewildered. “What? Are we going to India?”
Mahira didn’t stop packing supplies into her bag, her movements brisk. “Do you have any other option?”
Amir’s tone grew defiant. “No! I am Pakistani. This is my country!”
She froze, turning to face him, her expression a mix of incredulity and scorn. “Really? Pakistani? That’s what you are clinging to right now?” She chuckled bitterly. “Okay, then. Please, by all means, go ahead. Step out of this room and go hug Ali. Maybe he’ll welcome you back with open arms, call off the hunt, and hand you a medal for loyalty.”
Amir flinched at her words, the bitterness slicing through his resolve. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words.
Mahira stepped closer, her eyes blazing with frustration and something deeper—concern. “Do you think your nationality matters to them now? Do you think it ever did? They’ve already branded you a traitor, Amir. In their eyes, you’ve betrayed Pakistan, and nothing you say or do will change that.”
Amir’s fists clenched. “But… I didn’t do anything. I didn’t betray anyone!”
Mahira’s voice softened, though her gaze remained piercing. “I know that. But they don’t care about the truth. All they care about is the narrative—their version of it. And right now, you’re the villain they need to justify their failures.”
Amir sank onto a nearby rock, his head in his hands. “This is all too much. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Mahira crouched down in front of him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’re a survivor, Amir. That’s who you are. But if you stay here, you won’t survive for long. So, make a choice. Come with me and live—or stay and let them destroy what’s left of you.”
Amir looked up at her, his eyes filled with pain and uncertainty. For a moment, the weight of his loyalty, his identity, and his shattered reality pressed down on him. But deep down, he knew she was right.
“Fine,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s go.”
Mahira nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Good Wear this Burkha and behave like a girl for a while. Stay close and keep quite.”
Amir: "Burkha? Are you serious? I’m a guy! I can’t wear this—it’s suffocating!"
Mahira didn’t even bother hiding her amusement. Her smirk was practically a slap in the face. "Oh, of course, big strong man. Suffocating, is it? Sure, sure. Please, go ahead and tell me more about your suffering while Ali and his goons are hunting us."
Amir frowned, adjusting the burkha awkwardly. "I’m just saying, it’s not... practical. Like, how do women breathe in this every day?"
Mahira burst into laughter. "Right. Breathing. That’s the issue. Not the fact that you look like a walking panic attack. Relax, no one’s checking your gender. Just keep quiet and act like you’ve done this before."
Amir glared. "Why would I have done this before?"
Mahira shrugged nonchalantly. "I don’t know, Amir. Maybe you’ve got layers to you. Maybe deep down, you were always meant to embrace your inner drama queen. Who am I to judge?"
Amir groaned, tugging at the fabric again. "It’s itchy. And hot. And—"
Mahira interrupted, mockingly. "And oh-so-comfortable, right? Didn’t you just say that? Or was that before you realized how pathetic you sound?"
He shot her a sharp look, muttering. "You’re enjoying this way too much."
Mahira winked. "Guilty as charged. But hey, you’re really pulling it off. I mean, if this ‘traitor’ thing doesn’t work out, you’ve got a bright future as a hijabi influencer."
Amir grumbled, trying to adjust the burkha without making it obvious.
As they neared a crowded checkpoint, Mahira leaned in, whispering in his ear. "Okay, here’s the deal. Keep your head low, walk slow, and for the love of God, stop stomping like you’re in a military parade. You’re supposed to be an innocent housewife, not a linebacker."
Amir sighed. "Why does it feel like you’re getting way too much joy out of humiliating me?"
Mahira smirked again. "Because I am. But if it makes you feel better, you’re doing great. Very convincing. You might even fool yourself."
Amir rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "I’ll never live this down."
Mahira grinned slyly. "Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me... unless you give me a reason to spill."
As they approached the guards, Amir hesitated, his heart pounding. Mahira nudged him. "Relax. You’ve got this, Mrs. Amir. Or should I say... Begum Traitor?"
Amir gave her a death glare, whispering. "You’re insufferable."
Mahira chuckled softly. "And you’re adorable. Now move before I decide to ‘accidentally’ trip and leave you here."
Mahira: "Oh, by the way, do you know what your mom originally wanted to name you?"
Amir: "What now?"
Mahira: "Amar. You know, immortal. Quite the poetic irony, given your current situation."
Amir: "Amar? But I’m a Muslim now."
Mahira: "Oh, really? Did you have a conversion ceremony I missed? Or are you just freelancing your faith these days?"
Amir: "What’s that supposed to mean?"
Mahira: "It means... have you ever even stepped foot inside a mosque?"
Amir: "No... but that doesn’t mean—"
Mahira: "Exactly. You're the textbook definition of devout." [rolls her eyes]
Amir: "My mom raised me as a Muslim!"
Mahira: "Your mom also raised you to believe she was someone else entirely, so forgive me if I don’t take her religious curriculum too seriously. She was playing chess while you were drooling over crayons."
Amir: "You’re unbelievable."
Mahira: "Oh, I’m sorry—do you want me to give you a standing ovation for surviving this long without a clue? Because, honestly, that’s impressive."
Mahira: "Now, get up. Enough brooding. Follow me—we need to get moving before someone with half a brain catches up to us."
Amir: "Half a brain? You’re underestimating Ali."
Mahira: "Ali’s running on fumes and ego right now. But if you want to stick around and chat with him about that, be my guest. I’m getting on the bus."
[They approach the bus stop. The dusty, worn-out bus screeches to a halt in front of them, belching a cloud of smoke. Mahira steps in first, casually handing the driver some cash.]
Mahira: "Two tickets. No questions."
[Amir hesitates before climbing aboard, eyeing the rickety vehicle with suspicion. Mahira smirks as she grabs a seat by the window.]
Amir: "Are we seriously getting on this thing? It looks like it’s held together with duct tape and prayers."
Mahira: "And you look like you’re held together with bruises and bad decisions, so it’s a perfect match."
[Amir reluctantly slumps into the seat beside her, muttering under his breath.]
Amir: "You could’ve picked something less... conspicuous."
Mahira: "Oh, sure, let me just hail a private jet. Maybe Ali and his merry men will even serve us refreshments on the way to the border."
Amir: "Point taken."
[The bus jerks forward, and the engine groans like it’s protesting against every mile ahead. Amir shifts uncomfortably, looking around at the other passengers.]
Amir: "Everyone’s staring at us."
Mahira: "That’s because you look like a lost puppy. Sit straight and stop acting like you’ve never ridden public transport."
Amir: "I haven’t... not since school, anyway."
Mahira: "Well, congratulations. Today, you’re graduating from 'Spoiled Ministry Kid' to 'Man on the Run.' Let’s hope you survive to write the memoir."
[The bus sways violently as it hits a pothole, throwing Amir against Mahira. She glares at him, adjusting her scarf.]
Mahira: "If you’re going to fall on me, at least do it with some dignity."
Amir: "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"
Mahira: "Oh, immensely. Nothing like risking my life for someone who complains about bus seats."
[They both fall silent for a moment, the chatter of passengers and the rumbling of the bus filling the air. Amir looks out of the window, the endless stretch of forest and dusty roads passing by.]
Amir: "Do you think we’ll make it to the border?"
Mahira: "I don’t think. I act. And right now, the only thing you need to act like is invisible. So shut up, sit tight, and let me handle the thinking."
[Amir leans back, closing his eyes. For the first time in days, he allows himself to rest—if only for a moment.]
Ali: "Any solid leads yet?"
Officer: "We’ve got one, sir. A distorted temple near Karachi. Found some remains, likely them."
Ali: "A temple? What the hell would they be doing there?!"
Officer: "We’re not sure, sir. The place looks abandoned, but there’s something about it that seems connected. We’re still searching, but it's the only lead we have."
Ali: "Still searching? We don’t have time for this! If they’ve gone there, they’re not just wandering aimlessly. They’re hiding something. Something important."
Officer: "We’re going through every possible angle, sir. It's a maze out there. We’re combing through the area, but they’re leaving no obvious trail."
Ali: "No obvious trail?!" "How do you know they haven’t covered their tracks? You’re wasting time! I don’t care if it’s a jungle or a temple in ruins—find them! They can’t hide from us forever."
Officer: "We’re doing everything we can, sir. But it’s like they’ve vanished into thin air."
Ali: "Vanished?! That’s impossible! We’ve got leads, and we’ll follow them to hell and back if we have to!"
Officer: "We’ll intensify the search, sir. We’ll track every piece of debris, every footprint—whatever it takes."
Ali: "That’s not good enough! I want every officer, every resource, looking for them! They’re not getting out of Karachi, not as long as I’m breathing!"
[Ali’s voice rises, his frustration and determination blending into one. The weight of the task bears down on him, but he won’t back down.]
Ali: "I don’t want let them disappear completely. We can’t let that happen."
Officer: "We’ll find them, sir. No matter what it takes."
[Ali’s jaw tightens, his mind racing with thoughts of failure. The search must succeed, at any cost.]
