Chapter 8: Shattered Truth
Present day
Ramnath’s House - Late Evening
The doorbell echoed through the quiet hallway. Ramnath, still dressed in his casual evening attire, approached the door, his steps hesitant. He peered through the peephole, his brows furrowing slightly at the unfamiliar face on the other side.
Ramnath: (opening the door cautiously) “Yes? Who’s there?”
The man standing outside offered a polite but eerie smile. His demeanor was calm yet unnervingly deliberate.
Person: “Hello, Sir. Hope you remember me.”
Ramnath’s eyes scanned the man’s face, but no memory surfaced.
Ramnath: (flatly) “Not really. Who are you?”
Person: (his smile widening) “I was once your student, from the 2014 batch.”
Ramnath: (raising an eyebrow, his tone sharpening) “Alright. If that’s the case, meet me at college during working hours. I don’t entertain students at home.”
Person: (unfazed, leaning slightly closer) “Oh, certainly, sir. I respect your time and privacy. But I’m not here as just a student. I’m here as your well-wisher.”
Ramnath: (his posture stiffening, eyes narrowing) “What do you mean by that?”
The man’s expression darkened subtly, though his voice remained calm, almost too calm.
Person: “Sir, I’m afraid I must tell you this: your life is at risk.”
A cold shiver ran down Ramnath’s spine. His grip on the door tightened as his eyes flicked toward the man, now brimming with suspicion.
Ramnath: (his voice faltering slightly) “What... what are you talking about?”
The man stepped forward slightly, his demeanor almost too casual for the gravity of his words.
Person: “Sir, it’s not safe to discuss this out here. Can’t you invite your well-wishing student inside? So I can explain and help you.”
Ramnath hesitated, his instincts screaming against the suggestion. He glanced over the man’s appearance—neat, unassuming, yet something felt profoundly wrong. His mind raced through possibilities, considering whether this was a trap or a genuine warning.
Ramnath: (firmly, stepping back slightly) “I don’t think that’s necessary. If you have something important to say, you can do it here.”
The man’s smile faded momentarily, replaced by an unreadable expression.
Person: (softly, his voice suddenly carrying an edge) “Sir, I mean no harm. But if you don’t listen to me now, you may not get another chance.”
The tension between them grew heavier with each passing second. Ramnath’s eyes darted to his phone sitting on the nearby table, contemplating whether he should call someone immediately.
Ramnath: (still wary, his tone colder) “You’ve made your point. Leave your contact information. If I need to hear more, I’ll call you.”
The man sighed, shaking his head slightly, his polite facade cracking just enough to reveal something unsettling beneath.
Person: “Alright, sir. I’ll leave... for now. But remember, I tried to warn you. Some truths can’t wait forever.”
Without another word, the man turned and walked away, leaving Ramnath standing at the door, his heart pounding.
Ramnath stood by the door, his breath unsteady. Against his better judgment, he opened it wider, motioning for the man to come in.
Ramnath: (reluctantly) “Wait... come in.”
The man’s unsettling smile returned as he stepped into the house, his movements deliberate and unhurried.
Person: (smirking) “Great decision, Sir. You’ll live.”
The comment sent another chill down Ramnath’s spine, but he remained stoic, watching as the man’s eyes swept over the room.
Person: (walking around slowly, taking in the surroundings) “Nice house, Sir. Comfortable, elegant... fitting for someone of your stature.”
Ramnath: (his tone sharp) “Cut the compliments. Get to the point.”
The man stopped, turning to face Ramnath, his expression now unreadable.
Person: (nodding) “Certainly, Sir. I’m here for something important, not idle chatter. It’s about Shaqib... his death. Tragic, wasn’t it?”
Ramnath’s jaw tightened at the mention of Shaqib. He crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on the man, attempting to decipher his intent.
Ramnath: (measured) “I’m aware. It’s unfortunate what happened to him.”
The man tilted his head, studying Ramnath’s reaction with unsettling intensity.
Person: (softly) “Unfortunate, indeed. A bright life snuffed out in such a cruel way. I hope it hurt you, Sir... as it should.”
Ramnath: (defensively) “What are you trying to say? If you’re here to accuse me of something, say it outright.”
Person: (raising his hands, feigning innocence) “Oh no, Sir. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just... observing. Deaths like Shaqib’s, they have ripple effects. They stir the pot, bring secrets to the surface, force people to confront truths they’ve been avoiding.”
Ramnath narrowed his eyes, the man’s cryptic words clawing at his nerves.
Ramnath: (firmly) “I’ve got nothing to hide, if that’s what you’re implying. If you think you have information I need, speak clearly. Otherwise, leave.”
The man chuckled lightly, stepping closer to Ramnath, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
Person: (calmly) “Patience, Sir. I’m here as your well-wisher, remember? You’re a smart man—you know the world is never black and white. Shaqib’s death wasn’t just about him. It’s about the web of connections, decisions, and... consequences. Someone’s pulling the strings, and you’re standing dangerously close to them.”
Ramnath’s heart raced, but he kept his expression unreadable.
Ramnath: (coldly) “If you’re so concerned about my safety, why not tell me who’s behind it?”
The man smiled again, a dark gleam in his eyes.
Person: (cryptically) “All in good time, Sir. Just be careful who you trust. Even the people closest to you might have reasons to keep you in the dark.”
The words hung in the air like a noose, tightening Ramnath’s sense of unease.
Ramnath: (gritting his teeth) “Enough of your riddles. What do you want from me?”
The man turned toward the door, his demeanor suddenly casual again.
The man stopped mid-step, his hand resting lightly on the doorknob. He turned his head slightly, his gaze sharp and piercing.
Person: (softly, almost conspiratorially) "How much do you trust Amir?"
Ramnath stiffened at the unexpected question, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Ramnath: (hesitantly) "Amir? He’s a fellow professor. A colleague. What are you trying to imply?"
The man chuckled, the sound low and unsettling.
Person: (mockingly) "Come on, Sir. We all know about the... objectives. You mentioned it yourself during those evening lectures—the importance of removing obstacles to achieve greatness. Isn’t that something Amir believes in as well?"
Ramnath’s breath hitched, his mind racing.
Ramnath: (stammering slightly) "What are you saying? That Amir wants to... to harm me?"
The man took a deliberate step closer, his voice now barely above a whisper.
Person: (smiling darkly) "You’re a very smart man, Sir. I think you already know the answer."
Ramnath’s face paled, his hands gripping the back of a chair for support.
Ramnath: (whispering) "No... that’s absurd. Amir and I—we’re colleagues, not enemies. Why would he do something like that?"
The man leaned in slightly, his tone turning sharper, his words like venom.
Person: (coldly) "Why does anyone betray trust, Sir? Ambition. Fear. Or perhaps... convenience. Think about it. Shaqib’s death wasn’t just a tragedy—it was a carefully played move. Now, who do you think had the means and the motive?"
Ramnath’s mind raced as he replayed recent events, his earlier interactions with Amir now clouded with doubt and fear.
Ramnath: (angrily) "If this is some kind of game to scare me, I’m warning you—"
Person: (interrupting) "This is no game, Sir. It’s survival. And I’d suggest you start taking it seriously."
With that, the man opened the door and stepped out, leaving Ramnath standing alone in his living room, the weight of his words sinking in. The house seemed colder, quieter, and far more dangerous than before.
The man paused at the doorway, turning back with a sly smile that sent a fresh wave of unease through Ramnath.
Person: (calmly) “I wonder... haven’t you asked yourself one crucial question yet?”
Ramnath: (frowning) “What are you talking about now?”
The man stepped back into the room, his eyes gleaming with a sinister edge.
Person: (softly, deliberately) “His source. Haven’t you wondered who Amir's source is? How he managed to get the poison into Shaqib's meal? How he orchestrated everything... so flawlessly?”
Ramnath’s breath caught, the words slicing through the thin layer of denial he’d been clinging to.
Ramnath: (with a mix of anger and fear) “What do you mean, his source? Are you saying Amir had help?”
The man tilted his head, a mock look of surprise on his face.
Person: (mocking) “Oh, come now, Sir. You’re too smart not to have considered it. These things don’t happen in isolation. Amir might be cunning, but even he needed someone to... provide the tools, make the connections, clean up the mess.”
Ramnath’s hands trembled as he clutched the chair for support, his voice faltering.
Ramnath: (almost whispering) “You’re saying Amir didn’t act alone? That there’s someone else pulling the strings?”
The man smirked, leaning in closer, his voice low and dripping with menace.
Person: (coldly) “I’m saying you’ve only seen the surface. There’s a whole iceberg beneath, and Amir’s just the tip. Shaqib’s death... was no accident, no rash decision. It was calculated, meticulous, and very well-executed. Think, Sir. Think hard. How do you suppose he got that poison? How did he ensure there wouldn’t be any loose ends?”
Ramnath shook his head, the room spinning around him.
Ramnath: (hoarsely) “I... I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”
The man straightened, brushing invisible dust from his jacket, his tone turning almost casual again.
Person: “Then perhaps it’s time you start asking the right questions, Sir. Before it’s too late. You may be next, after all.”
With that, he walked out the door, leaving it slightly ajar, as if to invite Ramnath’s worst fears to creep in and consume him.
Cut to Shabad’s Room:
Shabad woke up slowly, blinking against the faint morning light streaming through the window. The diary lay open beside him on the bed, its worn pages spread out as if it had been a companion to his thoughts. He must have fallen asleep reading it.
Shazia entered the room quietly, her soft footsteps barely making a sound. She smiled at the sight of him, brushing her hand gently over his forehead to wake him.
Shazia: (warmly) “Shabad, wake up, son.”
Shabad: (rubbing his eyes groggily) “Mom...”
Shazia: (sitting on the edge of the bed) “Take care of yourself, son. Reading this diary is fine, but don’t stay up so late with it. It’s not worth losing sleep over.”
Shabad: (hesitating) “Mom... Amir seems suspicious. Should I trust him?”
Shazia’s expression softened as she leaned in, her gaze steady and understanding.
Shazia: (gently) “What do you think, Shabad?”
Shabad: (sighing) “I’m confused. His actions and his diary—they show two completely different versions of him. One’s thoughtful, reflective... almost noble. The other... it’s dark. Calculated. Extreme.”
Shazia: (thoughtfully) “Can’t one person be both good for one group of people and the worst for another? Isn’t that how life often is?”
Shabad: (frowning) “But not to such extremes, Mom. These two sides of him—they feel like completely different people. It’s like the ends don’t even connect.”
Shazia placed her hand over his, her voice calm yet firm.
Shazia: “Then maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way, my son. You don’t always need to reach the ends. Haven’t I told you the story of Lord Shiva? When Lord Brahma and Lord Vishnu tried to find the beginning and end of Shiva?”
Shabad: (nodding slowly) “Yes... I remember. Brahma lied, and Vishnu accepted his defeat. But... Amir is definitely no god, Mom.”
Shazia: (smiling faintly) “I’m not saying that. What I want you to understand is the lesson from that story. People are complex, with layers and sides we may never fully understand. You don’t need to judge all their deeds or uncover all their truths. Instead, focus on what is relevant to you. That’s the truth you need to live by.”
Shabad: (hesitating) “But... how can I ignore the things I’ve read, the things I suspect? His actions don’t make sense to me.”
Shazia: (gently but firmly) “You don’t know what he’s been through, Shabad. What drove him to make the choices he did. We are not here to judge someone else’s life—those decisions belong to them. They carry the weight of those choices, not us.”
Shabad looked down, the diary still sitting open, its words whispering silent contradictions.
Shazia: “Read it like a story, my son. Learn from it, but don’t judge it. Amir is who he is, and as far as we are concerned... he’s the best thing that’s happened to us. Remember that.”
Shabad leaned back into his pillow, her words swirling in his mind. Somewhere deep inside, they struck a chord, but the unease lingered.
Shabad: (softly) “I’ll try, Mom. I’ll try.”
Shazia smiled, stroking his hair gently before leaving the room. The diary remained beside him, its truths and lies waiting for him to decide which parts to hold onto.
Shabad stared at the diary for a moment after Shazia left. He hesitated, his fingers brushing over the rough edges of the pages. A part of him wanted to close it forever, to lock away the confusion it stirred in him. But another part—a curious, restless part—needed to know more.
Shabad sat in silence, his mind wrestling with the unfamiliar reference. The example of Lord Shiva didn’t fit the context of his beliefs. His mother’s words had always been grounded in a different perspective, one deeply rooted in faith and teachings.
Shabad: (muttering to himself) “Lord Shiva? The example was from another religion. What did she mean by that?”
He flipped back a few pages in the diary, searching for any reference that might offer clarity. The mention of Lord Shiva stuck with him, unsettling and foreign.
Shabad: (to himself) “Why bring up a figure from a different belief system? What connection does it have here?”
His confusion deepened. Was his mother trying to bridge something beyond the obvious? Was there more to Amir’s story than he had initially thought? Shabad realized that understanding Amir wasn’t as simple as he had hoped—it required unraveling layers of meaning he wasn’t yet prepared for.
He begins reading the diary.
The Diary:
Mahira wakes up amir with a punch in stomach while Amir was snoozing.
Mahira: “Sir Tea or coffee?”
Mahira: (gripping Amir by his collar, her voice sharp and unwavering) “Do you really understand the risk we’re in? Ali could be here any second, and you’re snoozing like nothing’s wrong. Mr. Lazy over here doesn’t even care.”
Amir: (groaning, clutching his stomach) “What the hell, Mahira. That hurt.”
Mahira: (ignoring his protests, her tone cold and calculating) “We’re not on some sightseeing tour, Amir. This is life and death. And you, sitting here like nothing matters.”
The bus suddenly jolted to a stop, tires screeching against the pavement.
Amir: (panicking) “What the fuck? Police?”
Mahira: (shaking her head, scanning the outside) “I don’t think so. This feels... different.”
Through the bus window, several black-clad figures, armed with rifles, boarded swiftly, their eyes scanning the bus for something—or someone.
One of the terrorists turned to the ticket collector, his voice cold and detached.
Terrorist: (calmly) “Ahmediya?”
Ticket Collector: (nervously) “I’m not sure. But the lady and child at the back seat—there’s something about them.”
The terrorists moved with grim determination toward the back of the bus. Their expressions showed no mercy as they grabbed the woman and her terrified child, dragging them roughly towards the door.
Amir: (panicked) “You should do something.”
Mahira: (gritting her teeth, coldly) “Shut up. What do you think I am, a superman? My job is to keep you alive, not some random people.”
Terrorists dragged the woman and child off the bus, the child’s cries echoing through the silence.
Amir: (desperate) “Mahira, they might kill them.”
Mahira: (unemotional) “So what? Are they your family?”
Amir’s heart pounded as he watched the child’s cries fade into the distance.
Amir: (pleading) “It’s a kid, Mahira.”
Mahira hesitated for a moment, her heart pulling at the sound of the child’s tears, but her resolve remained cold and unrelenting.
Terrorists marched the woman and child to a deserted spot, preparing to execute them. The woman held the child tightly as the terrorists readied their weapons.
Suddenly, Mahira sprang into action, emerging from the shadows. With deadly precision, she took aim, firing one shot after another, each bullet finding its target, dropping the terrorists silently.
The shooting stopped. Mahira stood there, unmoved, as the child and the woman collapsed in relief.
Mahira: (softly, to the child) “You’re safe now.”
The woman clutched her child, sobbing, as Mahira turned back to Amir, her expression cold and devoid of emotion.
Mahira: (sarcastically) “Congratulations. The bus is gone. Now start walking.”
Amir: (confused) “What is Ahmediya?”
Mahira: (quietly) “It’s just your god and my god that are different..”
Amir: (frowning) “What do you mean?”
Mahira: (sighing) “Ahmadiyya. A sect founded by Mirza Ghulam Ahmad. They believe in him as the promised Messiah, but to many in the Muslim world, that’s heresy. They’ve been persecuted in Muslim-majority countries for generations.”
Amir: (his brow furrowing) “So… they’re killing them?”
Mahira: (nodding, her voice hard) “Yes. And you just saw it.”
Amir followed her gaze, his stomach knotting as he noticed the woman and child trailing behind them. His voice faltered.
Amir: (quietly) “Mahira… they’re following us.”
Mahira: (glancing back, frowning) “What?”
Amir: (gently) “They’re still behind us.”
Mahira: (gritting her teeth) “See... You’re safe now. No need to follow us.”
The woman and child stopped a few paces behind them. The woman’s gaze was fixed on Mahira, her eyes pleading.
Mother: (her voice breaking) “You have weapons. You can protect us.”
Mahira: (coldly) “Sorry. I’m not paid to protect strangers.”
Amir: (snapping) “What kind of answer is that, Mahira?”
He turned to the woman, his tone gentler but firm.
Amir: “Look, lady. We’re going somewhere that has nothing to do with you. Better if you go home.”
Mother: (her voice trembling) “But I have no home. They attacked us—my husband was burned alive because we’re Ahmadiyya. I escaped with my child. Someone told me if I cross the border, I have a chance to survive. Please, tell me where the border is.”
Mahira: (harshly) “And you think the other side is kind enough to accept you?”
Mother: (quiet, her gaze distant) “It’s okay… if they kill me. At least my child can survive.”
Mahira: (his voice rising) “What do you think, India is a dumping ground?”
Amir to Mother: (defiantly) “See, Pakistan isn’t the problem. There are good people here. Not everyone is bad.”
Mother: (softly, almost resigned) “Please… leave us with the right people. I’m ready to become their slave. For my child.”
Her words hung in the air, each one stabbing at their hearts. Mahira stared at her, conflicted, but said nothing. Amir felt the weight of the situation, his fists clenched.
Amir: (quietly) “We can’t just… leave them.”
Mahira: (gently) “No, Amir. We can’t save everyone.”
Amir: (his voice steady but filled with conviction) “You’re also a muhajir, Mahira. Your situation and hers… in a way, they’re not that different.”
Mahira: (angrily) “Don’t you dare! Don’t compare me to them.”
Amir: (firm) “Why not? You fled, just like them. Seeking refuge, escaping the same chaos, the same fear. The borders you crossed weren’t any kinder.”
Mahira: (her fists clenched) “That’s different. I wasn’t running from the same killers. I had a choice. I survived because I made it through—alone.”
Amir: (gently) “Did you? Or were you running because the people who were supposed to protect you failed you? Like they’re running from the same nightmare now?”
Mahira: (voice breaking, her walls starting to crumble) “What do you know, Amir? What do you know about running, about losing everything?”
Amir: (softly) “I know what it’s like to be a refugee. To be hunted. To be unwanted. I know how it feels when you’re left with nothing, hoping for someone, anyone, to extend a hand.”
Mahira: (her eyes wet, voice shaking) “It’s different. They’re not just running—they’re fleeing for their lives. My fight was different.”
Amir: (taking a step closer) “Was it, though? Or was it the same fight in a different form? We all have our battles.”
Mahira: (her voice almost a whisper) “What if they die? What if I can’t protect them?”
Amir: (placing a hand gently on her shoulder) “Then we become what they’re running from—if we turn our backs.”
Mahira: (silent, tears streaming down her face) “But what if we can’t save everyone? What if I fail them, just like…”
Amir: (interrupting gently) “You won’t. But standing by and doing nothing… that’s the real failure.”
Mahira: (softly) “I didn’t ask for this responsibility. I didn’t sign up to be anyone’s savior.”
Amir: (quietly) “None of us do. But sometimes life decides for us.”
Mahira: (lowering her gaze) “And if we try… if we fail?”
Amir: (with resolve) “Then we’ve at least tried. That’s what matters.”
Mahira(softly): What’s your name ?
Mother : Shazia...
Mahira: (softly) “Shazia... and the kid?”
Shazia: (nervously) “Shabad.”
Amir: (gently) “Shabad… such a beautiful name.”
Mahira: (with a hint of resignation) “Alright, Shazia, Shabad, let’s move.”
Shazia: (her eyes filled with gratitude) “Thank you. Thank you for not turning away.”
Mahira: (gruffly) “Don’t thank us yet. We’ve still got a long road ahead.”
Amir: (quietly) “We’ll protect you… as much as we can.”
Shazia: (taking a deep breath, clutching Shabad’s hand tightly) “I don’t know where this road will lead us, but I’ll walk it. For my son. For his future.”
Mahira: (pausing, her expression softening) “Just keep walking. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
The four of them started down the desolate road, the weight of their uncertain journey heavy on their shoulders, but the resolve to survive burning in their hearts.
Shabad shut the diary with trembling hands, his breath shallow and quick. The words he had read just moments ago felt like a blur, the reality they painted too overwhelming to grasp.
He stumbled back from the chair, his body shaking, unable to process what he had just uncovered.
"No... this can’t be true," Shabad murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
He gripped the edges of the table for support, his mind racing with disbelief. The thought that Amir wasn’t his father pierced through his thoughts like a dagger. How could everything he had known, every bond, every memory, be built on a lie?
Tears streamed down his face as the truth of Amir’s betrayal loomed over him. The world tilted, and he felt as though the ground beneath him was slipping away.
"How could I not have known?" he whispered to himself, the sound barely escaping his lips.
His hands trembled as he rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of the chaos that had unfolded. The reality felt surreal, almost impossible to accept.
The diary fell to the floor as he collapsed onto the chair, consumed by doubt, pain, and confusion. The answers he sought felt like distant shadows, unreachable and fading with each passing second.
