As he stepped out of his seat the judge, Masood, could feel the earth moving underneath his steps. He had anticipated something on these lines the moment he was briefed on the case, but what had transpired in the last 2 days was beyond what he had imagined. It was exactly what had been foretold all those years back; the day that he had hoped would never come; the only one thing he had feared all his life thus far. It was the day when he would need to make a choice. It was the point of no return between his ideological past and present; in fact, the point where the two met, beyond which neither could reconcile the other any further.
During his travels, in fact towards the last few weeks, which he had spent in India, he had grown to question the seemingly theoretical nature of the academia that he had espoused all those years. This question had led him to a wise man that people referred to simply as 'JK', who had, after listening to his story, told him the following:
"Masood, you are indeed correct when you label your current exposure to academia as too theoretical, and even bookish in nature. And that must be so, for learning finds its purpose only in action, and its time will come. Till then, your days shall be comfortable in that things shall be a smooth flow in your head. The time for action would be the true test, in disturbed waters."
Years later, when he was under the tutelage of the radical imam Maqbool Hasan, the cleric had smilingly told him that no matter how much he studied and learnt about the scriptures, it was all a sham till the day of deliverance came; till the day he would be forced to choose between the one thing he would translate from learning to practice, and the rest of the universe on the other side.
At that very instant, sitting next to the imam, he had recalled JK's words, and was struck by the similarity in the views expressed by both. The fact that the two polar opposite ideological tracks, that he had so intensely followed, could actually intersect at this one point convinced him of the veracity of this prediction; that one day he would be standing on a path, where it would be impossible to carry on in both directions; when he would have to choose his way, his boat, his life. He had realized it in that instant, that till then, he could afford to be ambivalent internally, but only till then.
In the trial that had taken place, Masood was split right down the middle, for there were indeed two voices within him. The Masood of yore, exposed to the most diverse mix of ideas and philosophies known to man knew exactly what Rahman was doing, and saw no wrong in it. There was no case even to be considered; Rahman was a free man. However, the other side, of which he was a more active subscriber now, and had been for the last many years, told him otherwise. In his eyes, Rahman had blasphemed beyond what words could describe, spoken against the rule of the king, and belittled the very socio-religious fabric that had given him a position to stand in. And thus, he deserved no less than to pay with his life. Rahman had to pay for his sins.
As these thoughts played around in a little wind in his creased head, he saw the clock had crossed the 3rd hour of the night. Just then, a young man not unlike his self of many years back walked into his room. He stood in front of him and smiled. In that instant, Masood realized it was indeed he himself, returning to Khemnuur after the voyages that had been. In a fit of terror and a reasonably distant cousin of rage, he picked up the closest object at hand, and threw it wildly at the impostor. His image was shattered, and with that his dream.
Masood welcomed the next morning with the most bitter of feelings in his stomach, and a coldness of being that stifled the tears before they reached their rightful place beyond his eyes. The case was closed.
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