Akbar waited with bated breath for the vehicle to pass. He had the humongous responsibility of taking the small building down. The thought didn’t deter him. Neither did it shake the insurmountable wall of faith for the cause which had given him a new life.
Never in his life had he thought he will end up taking arms. And if the gods have mercy on him, he may not have to go through the ordeal again. He knew he would be hunted down one way or another in case he survived. He just wanted to see those who caused so much suffering to his fellowmen, suffer in return; he wanted to see those men, who ruined his land, to die.
Pity was just one more word in the dictionary. His eyes saw just one thing – the enemy; his soul demanded just one small favor of him – revenge. His life revolved around the circles of revenge, death and glory. He was probably one of the few men in history who would have had the courage to pray before the kill. Such was the way in which he saw his mission – a noble deed.
He didn’t have to wait long. There wasn’t too much plan. “Go forward“, his legs motioned; “halt and look around. This is not another game of chess. You will never get another chance” his mind commanded; “You can’t risk failure. That’s worse than death!” shivered his heart.
Without as much of a thought, he rushed forward, much to the surprise and fear of the spineless enemy; that fear which he had longed so much to see in his lifetime; that fear which he knew would one day chase away the rot that was chewing away his beloved mother of every precious thing she owned; screaming at the top of his lungs – “VANDE MATARAM!“