Chapter: 11: The Conclusion
Present day
The room was dimly lit, with the faint hum of machinery breaking the silence. Amir sat in front of the laptop, his face illuminated by the glow of the screen. The confidential video call was connected, and a shadowy figure appeared on the other side, the face obscured by low light and a blurred feed.
Amir: (calm but intense) "You heard the confession of Ramnath and his intentions. He was ready to betray us, to destroy everything we’ve built. I killed him in response."
Cartel Leader: (voice distorted, cold and calculated) "We heard it all, Amir. Your actions were justified. Ramnath’s greed would have been the death of our cause. He would’ve sold us out to the highest bidder."
Amir: (leans closer to the screen) "If I hadn’t acted, he would’ve killed me. You know how dangerous hesitation can be in our world."
Cartel Leader: (pauses, voice heavy with authority) "Certainly, Amir. But remember, this isn’t just about survival. We have a vision, a mission. The objective is greater than any one of us. We must destabilize this government, break its chains, and rule over their ruins."
Amir: (nods, his expression firm) "I understand. Every decision I make is for the cause. You can trust me; I’m here to see it through to the end."
Cartel Leader: (leans back, exhaling slowly) "Trust is earned in blood and loyalty. You’ve proven yourself once again, Amir. But the next steps will be harder. The government is tightening its grip. Any mistake could cost us everything."
Amir: (smirks slightly) "Mistakes are for the weak. I’ve spent years learning their systems, their weaknesses. I’m already in place, and when the time comes, they won’t know what hit them."
Cartel Leader: (a moment of silence, then a faint chuckle) "Good. We need more soldiers like you—ruthless and unyielding. But Amir, remember one thing: personal attachments are poison. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. The moment you falter, you become a liability."
Amir: (darkly) "I’ve sacrificed enough. My hands are already stained; a little more blood won’t change that. This is my life now, my purpose."
Cartel Leader: "Then carry on, Amir. Keep your eyes on the objective. And when the time comes, we will rise, and this government will crumble beneath our feet."
The screen went dark, leaving Amir alone in the dimly lit room. He sat back, exhaling deeply, his fingers tracing the edge of the laptop. The leader's words echoed in his mind: "Personal attachments are poison."
For a moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by a cold determination. Amir knew what needed to be done. There was no turning back now.
Shabad’s room
Shabad's confusion grew as he scanned the pages, realizing a significant portion of the journal was missing. The story seemed to leap into the void, leaving him stranded between fragments of a life he couldn’t fully piece together.
"What?" he muttered under his breath, running his hand through his hair. The abrupt gap gnawed at him, the missing pages like a void pulling him deeper into unanswered questions.
Determined, he stood up and headed towards the living room, where Shazia was folding clothes.
"Mom," he called out, holding the journal firmly in his hand.
Shazia looked up, startled by the urgency in his voice. "What is it, Shabad?"
He walked up to her, flipping the journal open to the gap. "These pages—there's something missing here. Do you know anything about this?"
Shazia’s face stiffened for a moment, her hands freezing mid-fold. She looked at the journal, her eyes scanning the gap he pointed to.
"Pages?" she asked, her voice cautious.
"Yes. What happened after the visit to nana ? What has avneet said? What is the task ? What Amir or amar doing? Who is he ?" Shabad's voice carried a mix of frustration and curiosity.
Shabad stood in the room, the journal clutched tightly in his hands, his mind racing with unanswered questions. Shazia, seated on the worn couch, looked at him with an expression that hovered between concern and resolve.
Shazia took a deep breath, breaking the heavy silence. "Shabad, before I say anything, I need to ask—can you handle the truth?"
Shabad frowned, his voice firm. "I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t ready."
Shazia hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of her scarf. "What I’m about to tell you isn’t just about you. It’s... bigger than us. It’s dangerous. If you want to back out, now’s the time."
Shabad’s grip on the journal tightened. "I’m not backing out, Shazia. I need to know."
Shazia: “okey... Then listen......”
Present day at Professor’s office
A call rang out, cutting through the tense silence.
"Amir, there’s a raid in our institution. Someone has leaked our information—our fund details. Secure everything, now!"
Amir’s grip on the phone tightened, his voice cold and determined. "Secure everything? Move to the safe house. I’ll find the culprit."
His mind raced, trying to piece together the breach. Who could have infiltrated their operation? Who could have exposed their carefully hidden secrets?
Amir hung up, his pulse quickening. He knew this wasn’t just about securing funds—it was about survival. Every moment they wasted would give the enemy an edge.
He pulled out his phone again, making quick calls. Teams were mobilized, but deep down, Amir knew this was no ordinary raid. It was a calculated strike—a betrayal from within.
He clenched his jaw as he headed toward the safe house, his thoughts clouded by suspicion and the urgency to uncover the traitor.
Amir called someone “Safe house”
Amir’s House:
Shazia spoke softly, her voice carrying a tinge of bitterness and resignation.
"They met me. I was earning a good life here, away from all the mess—trying to build something for myself and you"
THE PAST
Amir: "How are you and the kid? You’re safe, right?"
Shazia: "We’re good. Better than what I left behind. What about you? I know the pain of losing someone—I've been through it too."
Amir: "Yeah. I’m trying to make peace with it, though it’s not easy."
Shazia: "Yeah... it never is."
Amir: "This is Avneet Saini. He’s from the Intelligence Bureau."
Avneet: "Hello, ma’am."
Shazia: "Hello."
Amir: "We need your help."
Shazia: "For what?"
Amir: "We have some important assignments. Things that need to be dealt with."
Shazia: "And how exactly do you expect me to help?"
Amir: "By being my wife."
Shazia: "What?"
Amir: "For the records, we don’t have to go through with a formal marriage. We’ll just live together—share an identity, keep things under the radar."
Shazia: "Live together? "
Amir: "Yes.
Shazia: "You gave me this new life, Amir. I’ll do whatever you ask.”
vneet: "Amar... it’s time to turn yourself in to Amir again."
Amir: "Okay."
Avneet: "Enemies. What do you think? Are they only outsiders?"
Amir: "Yeah. They’re the ones beyond our borders. The ones threatening our land."
Avneet: "Not really. The real danger lies within. We have internal enemies—urban naxals, they work in the universities. They’re growing, spreading their influence, brainwashing students, turning them against India."
Amir: "I’ve heard about these groups. The unrest, the students protesting. But they’re just students, right? They’re angry, but what harm can they really do?"
Avneet: "Let me explain what we’re dealing with. Urban naxals aren’t just some fringe activists or angry youth. The term 'Naxal' originates from the Naxalite movement, which began in 1967 in Naxalbari, a village in West Bengal. Farmers rose against oppressive landlords, demanding land rights and redistribution. What started as a peasant uprising spiraled into a violent insurgency that aimed to establish a communist state by overthrowing the existing order."
Amir: "Naxals, I’ve heard about them. They’ve been around for decades."
Avneet: "Exactly. But the Naxal movement, initially focused in rural areas, began to splinter in recently. Some of its leaders saw the potential in shifting their focus from the countryside to urban areas—hence the term 'urban naxals.' These are not the same radicals who waged war from the forests; they operate in cities, influencing students, intellectuals, and urban communities."
Amir: "So they’ve moved to the cities now?"
Avneet: "Yes. They infiltrated universities, intellectual circles, media, and even parts of the government. These urban naxals use democratic platforms like education and civil society to spread their ideology. Their aim is no longer just about revolutionizing rural areas. They are attempting to destabilize India from within—by creating confusion, fostering discontent, and weakening the fabric of the nation."
Amir: "And how do they achieve this?"
Avneet: "They exploit the educational system, the disillusionment of students, and the frustrations of urban life. They feed on the anger of marginalized communities and champion causes like caste discrimination, inequality, and economic disparity. But beneath their rhetoric lies a darker agenda—one of overthrowing the current system and establishing a regime that suits their revolutionary goals."
Amir: "That explains a lot. So, they use universities to spread their agenda?"
Avneet: "Yes. These universities have become breeding grounds for their ideology. They recruit students, academics, and even those disillusioned with the political system. They call for 'revolution,' but their methods are far from democratic."
Amir: "And what about the cities? How much influence do they have there?"
Avneet: "Their influence is subtle but pervasive. They work through fronts—think tanks, student unions, cultural organizations. They’ve infiltrated trade unions, the media, and even some sections of the bureaucracy. It’s not just about armed rebellion; it’s about creating unrest, fostering division, and weakening institutions."
Amir: "And that’s where I come in?"
Avneet: "Yes, you’ll join JU College. Right now, it’s a breeding ground for many of these activities. Gain their trust, infiltrate their circles, and work your way up to the leadership position."
Amir: "JU College? Delhi’s Jawahar University?"
Avneet: "Yes. It’s one of the hotbeds for their ideology. You’ll blend in, observe, and identify their key players. Once you’re in a position of influence, you can begin dismantling their networks from within."
Amir: "And how do I do that? Become one of them?"
Avneet: "Not exactly. You need to understand them, study their strategies, and influence their decisions. But remember, it’s a delicate balance. Any suspicion could jeopardize the mission."
Amir: "What about my cover? What’s my backstory?"
Avneet: "You’ll go as someone disillusioned, someone searching for purpose. They’ll see you as someone who can sympathize with their causes but ultimately believes in the nation. You’ll blend in under that facade."
Amir: "And what if they discover who I really am?"
Avneet: "That’s where your training comes in. You will be trained to handle situations like these."
Amir: "And what’s the end goal here? What happens if I succeed—or fail?"
Avneet: "If you succeed, you’ll dismantle their networks, break their hold on institutions, and protect the very fabric of our nation. If you fail…"
Amir: "If I fail?"
Avneet: "Failure is not an option. We’ve come too far, lost too much. The country depends on people like you. We can’t afford to let them win."
Amir: "And what about my past? My family, my life before all this?"
Avneet: "Your past stays buried. This mission, this fight, becomes your only identity. Your old life is gone. You’re Amir now. The man who carries this mission forward."
Amir: "That sounds dangerous. Why should I take such a risk?"
Avneet: "Because you’re cornered. You have nothing left. The life you once knew is gone, Amir. But there’s something—someone—you can fight for. Mahira. The sacrifice they made, the values she stood for, they’re still inside you. I believe you can finish what she started."
Amir stood their: “ So i become a tool in some war I never wanted to be a part of?”
Avneet: "Not a tool. A warrior. A defender. The fight isn’t just about ideology or politics. It’s about protecting what matters— people, and the truth. Mahira believed in that fight, and so do you."
Amir: "And if I fail?"
Avneet: "You won’t. We won’t let you."
Amir nodded “For Mahira.....”
Present Day:
Shabad: “So Shaqib’s murder, Rahul’s killing, Ramnath’s death… all of it was planned?”
Shazia: “Yes. Shaqib and Rahul were ground-level workers of the Maoist organization. It was crucial to eliminate them to dismantle their on-ground influence. Ramnath was the mastermind behind their coordination, their operations. Amir played his part perfectly. He created mistrust between Rahul and Shaqib, planting seeds of suspicion that tore their bond apart.”
Shabad: “But how did Amir manage to turn them against each other?”
Shazia: “The video—Amir recorded it himself. He presented it as if it was from Rahul, implicating him in things he didn’t do. Comrades trusting Amir’s position and influence, didn’t question it. The mistrust grew, and Shaqib, driven by false accusations, took action against Rahul.”
Shabad: “And then Shaqib also killed?”
Shazia: “Yes. And that act of betrayal sealed both their fates. Amir controlled the narrative, always staying behind the scenes. No one questioned him—his power and reputation kept him safe from scrutiny.”
Shabad: “Those police officers. Oh god. Collateral Damage. And Ramnath?”
Shazia: “Ramnath knew too much. He was planning to expose it all. So Amir silenced him, too. Every move, every elimination was part of Amir’s plan to keep his hold on power.”
Shabad: “So all of this—Rahul, Shaqib, Ramnath—it was a web of deception spun by Amir.”
Shazia: “And now, you’ve seen the truth. Amir’s web has only grown, deeper and more intricate. Now All the nexus in India is controlled by Amir only. He is this much powerful. But i am afraid.”
Shabad: “Afraid?”
Shazia: “For the first time in his life, he’s feeling the power. I don’t know what will happen next.”
Shabad: “But he is the intelligence officer right ?”
Shazia stared at Shabad.
THE PAST:
Avneet: “Why?”
Amir: “I’m neither Indian nor Pakistani. This war isn’t mine. I have no stake in it. Neither did Mahira.”
Avneet: “What can you do then?”
Amir: “I can help you dismantle their network, like Mahira did—undermine their strength, cut off their influence.”
Avneet: “As an independent fighter?”
Amir: “Yes.”
Avneet: “What if you turn against us?”
Amir: “I won’t. Just pay me, and I’ll fight for you.”
PRESENT:
Shabad: “So basically, he’s just an independent fighter now.”
Shazia: “Yes. And now with power.”
Shabad: “But he’s neither Indian nor Pakistani. Then who is he?”
Shazia: “Amir... he's the result of a war, a conflict that neither he nor anyone else chose. You see, his story isn't just his alone. It’s woven into the larger tapestry of the tension. Mahira, His parents, He lost everyone in the journey.
Amir was cornered. Amir was caught between them, neither fully belonging to one nor the other. His identity was fractured, molded by the pain and suffering that neither country could escape.
He is a reflection of the chaos, someone who had no clear allegiance, no solid ground beneath him. The fight wasn’t his, yet he bore its consequences – the loss, the mistrust, the emptiness that war always leaves behind.
His life wasn’t built on the hope of patriotism or ideology. It was built on survival, on navigating the ruins of what once was. He wasn’t Indian or Pakistani by choice; he was the byproduct of a war that neither country could completely escape or claim.
In the end, Amir became neither, someone who was shaped by the conflict but belonged to neither side – just a result of it, bearing its scars in ways others couldn’t fully understand. He is just Cornered"
Shabad stood still, his eyes fixed on Shazia, absorbing every word. The weight of her explanation hung in the air, leaving his thoughts clouded and uncertain.
Shabad: "What do you think will happen now?"
Shazia: "I... I don't know. What will go through his mind? Amir, he's not someone who deals in easy answers. His world is already a maze of doubt and pain. I fear he’ll continue to wrestle with who he is and where he belongs.
"He’s lost in this in-between space, torn between the war that shaped him and the war that keeps pulling him forward. There’s no clarity for him, no path that’s fully his own. His heart isn’t tied to any flag, and his actions are driven more by survival than by allegiance.
"I can only guess that the choices ahead will continue to haunt him. If he chooses to fight, it won’t be for love of country, but for a purpose, a sense of belonging he’s yet to find. If he walks away, it’ll be because the war took too much from him – his identity, his family, his peace.
"I fear for what happens next, because Amir isn’t just a result of war; he’s the byproduct of unresolved pain – of people and nations still locked in conflict. What happens now... it depends on how long he can carry those burdens without breaking."
Amir’s Office:
Amir sat in the leather chair at the center of his dimly lit office, a heavy air of authority surrounding him. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of electronics and the glow of monitors displaying maps, financial transactions, and encrypted communications. On his desk lay a single red phone, its silence more intimidating than its ring.
When the phone finally buzzed, Amir picked it up, his expression unreadable.
Amir: “Yes, Mr. Source?”
A familiar voice responded from the other end.
Avneet: “Congratulations, Mr. Head Cartel. Mission accomplished. Forty years of groundwork, infiltration, and patience—everything paid off today.”
Amir leaned back, his hand gripping the armrest of the chair. His voice was calm but carried an edge.
Amir: “Not yet.”
Avneet: “Not yet? Amir, what’s left? We have all the information. You control the passcodes, the funds, the contacts, and every minute detail of the Maoist nexus. Right now, nothing moves in India without you knowing about it. You’re the ultimate authority. What more is there?”
Amir let out a slow exhale, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the ceiling.
Amir: “And then?”
Avneet: “Then? You’ll pass everything on to me, Amir. That was the plan. We’ll dismantle their operations and use the information to safeguard the country. Together, we’ll ensure this never happens again.”
Amir smirked, but it wasn’t one of satisfaction. It was laced with something darker—disillusionment, maybe even defiance.
Amir: “I have a better plan, Avneet.”
A pause. The tension on the line was palpable.
Avneet: “What are you talking about?”
Amir leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His tone sharpened.
Amir: “I hold the funds. I hold the passcodes. I hold the cartel. Every contact, every detail—it's all under my control. Without me, the cartel crumbles. With me, it thrives. Every piece of information in this country already flows through me. If I hand it all to you, this so-called cycle of ‘safeguarding’ will never end. We’ll keep patching wounds without addressing the disease.”
Avneet: “Amir, what are you suggesting?”
Amir: “I’m suggesting we stop playing by their rules. Passing information back and forth, monitoring and dismantling—it’s futile. The cartel exists because we let it. The nexus thrives on fear, corruption, and loopholes. I’m proposing we sink this entire operation to the bottom of the ocean.”
Avneet’s voice tightened.
Avneet: “Destroy it? You’re talking about taking down the entire infrastructure. That’s not just dangerous; it’s reckless.”
Amir’s grip on the phone tightened. His voice dropped to a near whisper, but the intensity in his tone was unmistakable.
Amir: “Reckless is allowing it to exist for another forty years. If we don’t obliterate it, someone else will rise. Another cartel. Another nexus. Another enemy. But if I destroy it from within—if I dismantle everything—I can ensure there’s nothing left for anyone to exploit.”
There was silence on the line. Avneet’s breathing was audible.
Avneet: “Amir, you’re treading a fine line. You’re risking everything.”
Amir: “I already risked everything, Avneet. For my mother. For Mahira. For this goddamn war. And I’m still here. But this time, I’m doing it my way.”
Before Avneet could respond, Amir pressed the receiver back into its cradle, cutting off the call. He sat in the silence that followed, staring at the monitors in front of him. His finger hovered over a button that could erase years of data in an instant.
For the first time in years, he felt a sense of clarity
The clock on the wall ticked steadily as Shabad approached the college building. His mind was restless, burdened by the revelations about Amir’s true identity. For years, Amir had been a father, a mentor, someone he thought he knew. Now, Shabad realized he had been in the presence of a man whose life was shrouded in secrecy and danger—a man who held the power to change the course of nations.
Shabad climbed the familiar steps to Amir’s office. The corridors were eerily quiet, the usual buzz of student life absent. He knocked on the door lightly and then pushed it open, only to find the room empty. The chair sat neatly tucked under the desk, and the faint scent of cologne lingered in the air.
Shabad frowned, his unease growing. “Where is he?” he muttered to himself, glancing around the sparsely decorated room.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. Shabad turned to see Avneet and a group of agents storming into the office. Their faces were tense, their movements sharp and purposeful.
Avneet: “Where is Amir?”
Shabad blinked, caught off guard by the urgency in Avneet’s voice.
Shabad: “I don’t know. What’s going on?”
Avneet exchanged a look with one of the agents before stepping closer to Shabad.
Avneet: “He’s going to destroy everything. We need to find him before it’s too late.”
The weight of those words hit Shabad like a blow.
Shabad: “Destroy everything? What do you mean? What is he planning to do?”
Avneet didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he motioned to his team to spread out and start searching.
Avneet: “There’s no time to explain. He’s made his move. If we don’t stop him, years of intelligence and critical operations will go up in flames. Do you have any idea where he might go?”
Shabad shook his head, panic setting in.
Shabad felt a chill run down his spine.
The gravity of the situation sank in as Shabad looked at the empty desk, imagining Amir sitting there, plotting his final act.
Without another word, Avneet and his team rushed out of the room, leaving Shabad standing there, frozen in disbelief. A moment later, he snapped out of it and took off after them, his heart pounding.
The search for Amir began immediately. Agents combed through his usual haunts, his known contacts, and every lead they could find. Shabad joined the search, running through the college grounds, the nearby neighborhoods, and even the outskirts of the city.
For days, the operation continued, expanding to other cities and regions. Flyers went up, coded messages were sent, and informants were pressed for answers. But Amir had vanished as if he had never existed.
Shabad found himself haunted by the silence. Every lead felt like a dead end, every clue another reminder of how deeply Amir had hidden himself.
One evening, Shabad sat alone in the college cafeteria, staring at his untouched cup of tea. The bustling sounds of the day had faded into a hushed stillness, broken only by the occasional footsteps of passing staff.
Shabad (to himself): “Where are you, Amir? What are you thinking? Is this really the only way?”
Somewhere, out there in the vast expanse of the world, Amir was moving with purpose, unseen and untraceable. The man become a ghost—a shadow at the intersection of power, justice, and vengeance.
And Shabad couldn’t shake the feeling that when Amir finally resurfaced, nothing would ever be the same again.
The phone rang sharply, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room. Shabad’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the name on the screen. It was Amir. His hand trembled as he reached for the phone, struggling to steady himself.
Shabad (softly): "Dad..."
Hearing his son’s voice, Shazia, who had been seated nearby, froze. Her eyes widened with a mix of hope and dread before she bolted out of the room, unable to bear what might follow. Shabad hesitated but finally picked up the call, his voice quivering.
Shabad: "Dad... where are you?"
A long pause followed, the silence filled only by the faint static on the line. Then Amir’s voice came through, soft but burdened with a world of pain.
Amir: "Have you finished reading it?"
Shabad tightened his grip on the phone, tears welling in his eyes as he thought about the journal, the confessions, and the secrets it had revealed.
Shabad: "Yes, Dad. I read everything. I understand now. Where are you? Please tell me."
There was another pause, and then Amir’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke.
Amir: "Please, son... don’t hate me. I know what I’ve done... it’s unforgivable in the eyes of many."
Shabad’s throat tightened, but he forced the words out, his voice resolute.
Shabad: "I don’t hate you, Dad. How could I? I’m proud of you. I’m so proud."
Amir exhaled heavily, a sound that was both a sigh of relief and a release of years of pent-up anguish.
Amir: "You shouldn’t be, Shabad. I was stuck. I was cornered, son. There was no way out for me. I had nothing left to choose from. The world will hate me for this... but I had no option."
Shabad’s tears fell freely now, but he kept his voice steady, trying to reach the man he had always admired, even in his darkest moments.
Shabad: "Don’t say that, Dad. Don’t. You’re my hero. You’ve always been my hero. Please, come back. Let me tell the world your side of the story. Let me show them who you really are."
Amir’s voice softened, tinged with a heartbreaking finality.
Amir: "No, son. It’s too late. There’s nothing left for me now. This life... it’s reached its conclusion. I can’t take it anymore. The weight of it all... it’s unbearable."
Shabad (desperately): "No, Dad! Don’t say that. Please, don’t give up. We can fix this together. We can—"
Amir interrupted, his tone calm but resolute.
Amir: "I’ll finally find peace, Shabad. I’ll rest with satisfaction, knowing I’ve done what I had to do for my people, for you. But this... this cornered life... it’s over for me."
Shabad’s voice cracked as he pleaded, his heart shattering.
Shabad: "No, Dad! Please, no! Don’t do this. We need you. I need you!"
Amir paused for what felt like an eternity. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with emotion.
Amir: "Goodbye, son. Be strong. Live a life free of these chains. And remember... I love you."
The call ended abruptly. Shabad stared at the phone, disbelief and anguish washing over him.
Shabad (screaming): "No, Dad! Please, no!"
He fell to his knees, clutching the phone to his chest as sobs wracked his body. Shazia, hearing his cries, returned and knelt beside him, holding him tightly as he broke down.
The weight of Amir’s words lingered in the air, a painful reminder of a man who had fought tirelessly against the odds but could no longer bear the burden. Shabad cried not just for his father’s loss, but for the life Amir had lived—one of sacrifice, pain, and an unyielding sense of duty.
Amir stood at the Gujarat border, the place where his journey of pain and purpose had begun. The wind carried the scent of salt from the nearby marshes, a stark contrast to the burning intensity in his chest. His eyes locked on the soil where Mahira was buried. Now, he was here—not to mourn but to make his final stand.
The moon shone brightly, casting a cold, silvery light over the barren land. The border fence loomed ahead, a symbol of division that had dictated every choice in Amir’s life. He clenched his fists, the weight of his decisions pressing down on him.
Amir (murmuring): "With my death, the cartel will crumble, the chains will break, and all the suffering will finally end."
His voice cracked as he spoke, the echoes swallowed by the vast emptiness around him. He took a deep breath, his mind flashing back to the faces of those he had lost—Mahira, his mother, and countless others.
He stepped forward, closer to the fence, the line between two warring nations. The Line of Control (LOC), a border not just of land but of ideologies, hatred, and an unending cycle of revenge. As he approached, the weight of history pressed down on him. This was where lives were defined not by who they were but by which side they stood on.
Amir’s eyes filled with determination. He began to run. Each step felt heavier, as though the earth itself was trying to hold him back. The fence came closer, the barbed wire gleaming menacingly under the moonlight. He didn’t stop.
The sharp sound of gunfire cracked through the silence.
A bullet tore through the air, hitting him in the shoulder. He stumbled but didn’t fall. Another bullet followed, this one from the opposite side, striking his chest. His body jolted, his breath hitching as the pain radiated through him.
He kept moving, his legs refusing to give up, driven by a force stronger than life itself. The border fence became a blur as he pushed forward, crossing into No Man’s Land, the stretch of ground neither side dared claim.
Finally, his strength gave out. Amir fell, his body crumpling onto the cold earth. He landed in the space between two nations, neither India nor Pakistan. Blood pooled beneath him, the two wounds bleeding into the soil—a chilling metaphor for the lives lost in the endless conflict.
As his vision blurred, Amir stared at the sky. The stars seemed closer now, their light soft and forgiving. He thought of Mahira, her laughter, and the warmth she had brought into his life
Amir (whispering): "It’s over now. No more sides, no more pain... just peace."
His breathing slowed, and the silence returned, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind. Soldiers from both sides cautiously approached, their weapons drawn, but they stopped when they saw him lying there, lifeless, between their worlds.
Neither India nor Pakistan claimed Amir in death. He was a man who had lived between borders, caught in the crossfire of history, and in the end, he had fallen where he had always belonged—nowhere and everywhere.
The soil beneath him soaked in his blood, a silent witness to the tragedy of a man who had tried to escape the war but had ultimately become Cornered.
After few years
Shabad walks onto the stage, holding the book in his hands. He pauses, takes a deep breath, and looks at the audience with a mix of pride and sadness.
“Good evening, everyone.
This book in my hand is more than just a collection of words. It’s a life—my father’s life. A life torn between borders, ideologies, and choices no one should ever have to make. It’s called ‘Cornered,’ because that’s exactly what he was: a man caught in the crossfire of circumstances, identities, and loyalties.
My father, Amir—known to some as Amar, to others as an enigma—wasn’t born to be a hero or a villain. He was a son, a lover, a father, and above all, a human being trying to survive in a world that constantly pushed him to choose sides.
He was a man shaped by war. A war that wasn’t just fought with guns and bombs but with ideologies, betrayals, and fear. he was never truly Indian nor Pakistani. Instead, he was both—and neither. The blood that ran through his veins wasn’t bound by the lines on a map but by love and loss.
For those who will read ‘Cornered,’ you’ll come to know how his life was a series of impossible decisions. Whether it was eradicating the Maoist network, infiltrating the cartel, or standing as an independent fighter—he did it all, not for glory, not for wealth, but for survival. For his family. For us.
One of the most heartbreaking truths I uncovered about my father is that he never felt like he belonged. Not in India. Not in Pakistan. Not even in the family he so desperately tried to protect. His life was spent trying to find a place in a world that constantly pushed him into corners.
But his story isn’t just about him—it’s about us. It’s about the lines we draw on maps and in our hearts. It’s about the conflicts we inherit and the ones we create. It’s about the choices we make when we are cornered.
He told me once, in his final days, ‘Shabad, the world will never understand me. But maybe, through you, they’ll at least hear me.’ And that’s why this book exists.
‘Cornered’ isn’t just my father’s story—it’s a mirror to all of us. To the way we judge people by their origins, their faith, or their choices without understanding the battles they fight within.
Today, as I stand here holding this book, I don’t just feel pride—I feel a responsibility. A responsibility to tell his story, not as a saint or a sinner, but as a man. A man who dared to live and die on his own terms.
So, to my father, Amir or Amar, wherever you are—I hope you’ve found the peace that eluded you in life. And to everyone here tonight, I invite you to step into his world. To see the man behind the headlines, the whispers, and the myths.
Thank you for being here to honor him. Thank you for choosing to hear his voice through these pages. I hope it moves you as much as it has moved me.”
Shabad raises the book slightly, his voice faltering with emotion, before stepping back from the microphone to a round of applause.
***The End***
