Kabir

All the men with guns are watching. No one is making any move to help. I feel ashamed for all of us. That old lady is worth more than all of us together. She turns away from the guards and looks at us. ‘Please,’ she says. ‘Help.’

One by one, our little group turns away. Mr Bhonsle with a grunt. Malini with a helpless shrug. The two salesgirls drop their heads quickly. The old lady’s eyes are sunk deep in wrinkles. They fix on me.

I get to my feet. A guard waves a gun at me. I get back down and crawl over to her.

Behind me I hear the rustle of someone else moving to help. It is Diya. The two of us bend over the guard.

The security guard is in another world. But even in that world, there is pain. His eyes have rolled back in his head and he is screaming. A thin, high-pitched scream that goes on and on.

We once had a dog when I was small. A little bitch that I befriended on the road. My mother agreed to keep her only if she was sterilized. When the effects of anaesthesia were wearing off after surgery, that dog howled and howled. She had no idea where she was. She just kept howling. The man is like that. He is very far gone. But he keeps screaming without stopping.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ the old lady says. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’

I could have told her there’s really nothing she could do. But the screaming moves me to action. I gently lift the cloth she has pressed into the hole in his stomach. Blood pulses out of it but the hole is small. I’ve seen enough of these to know that the problem is on the other side. The exit wound is normally massive.

Diya is trying hard not to look at all the blood. ‘Come on,’ I tell her. ‘We have to turn him over.’ She takes a deep breath and nods. Brave girl.

He is a heavy man and has gone absolutely limp. We struggle to turn him. Everyone watches. And he just keeps on screaming. We get him on his side and Diya gasps. The exit wound is huge. Like someone has taken a hammer and smashed him. Diya closes her eyes.

‘No!’ says the old lady. ‘I didn’t realize—’

‘Give me cloth,’ I say. ‘Lots of it.’

Diya pulls off her dupatta and hands it to me. I wad it into the hole. It isn’t enough. The old lady begins ripping strips off her kurta. I use them to try and keep the wad in place. But my hands are slick with blood and I can’t tie the knots. They keep slipping loose. Diya leans over and holds the knot steady with trembling hands. Through all of it, the man screams.

She is so brave. So scared and so brave, determinedly helping me even as her hands tremble. Those beautiful hands. Covered with blood.

We put the man back down. The coppery smell of blood is in our nostrils. Diya’s face is white.

I say to her, ‘You did well.’

The old lady looks at me. I guess my face tells her what’s going to happen. She stands up and shouts at the terrorists, ‘This man needs a doctor! NOW!’ Nobody moves.

‘I said, this man needs a doctor! Can’t you hear me?!’

One of the men pulls out a mobile phone and speaks into it. A few seconds later, Salim comes through the door.

‘How many times do I have to say this?’ he says. ‘Shut up, sit down, and don’t cause trouble.’

That old lady isn’t shutting up. ‘This man needs a proper doctor. Just let him go. You’ve got all of us. Just let him go.’

‘What makes you think I care if he dies?’

‘You have demands. You’re negotiating. You have to give something to get something.’

‘Not when you hold the gun,’ says Salim.

‘You think you’re going to get out of here? You’re in a mall. In the middle of the city. There are hundreds of policemen. You are going to die.’

‘I have no problem with dying,’ says Salim. ‘I just want to take a whole lot with me when I go.’ He turns and begins to walk away.

‘Shoot him,’ I say. Salim stops and looks at me.

‘He’s going to die anyway,’ I say. ‘Just spare him the agony.’

Salim stares at me for a long moment. Then he grins. ‘I could have shot him a long time ago. I want him to suffer.’ He starts walking away.

The old woman speaks. ‘I hope that one day you beg for a bullet. Beg for it and no one gives it to you. I hope you struggle for every breath in agony.’

‘Allah Malik,’ says Salim and closes the door.

The old lady sits down slowly. She raises the man’s head gently and places it in her lap. She strokes his hair. The screaming gradually stops. Her tears fall on his upturned face. I sit quietly on one side of her. Diya on the other side.

‘I am glad that I’m going to die soon,’ she says. ‘The world can’t break my heart any more.’