Diya

There’s a chance we might get out of here alive. Salim is getting what he asked for. There will be no more killings. Malini begins thanking God loudly. I sit there, numb. I can’t wrap my head around going back out of those doors. I’m not sure I want to. As long as we are here, held hostage, in this bubble, life has become simple. We are just surviving one moment at a time. There is no future worth thinking of. But now I have to think about what’s next. And I can’t do that. In the real world, you can’t play pretend.

Strangely, the news doesn’t make Mr Bhonsle happy.

‘Why are they giving in? They will end up ruining this country. Terrorists will think they can get away with anything. Bah,’ he mutters.

Malini turns on him. ‘Don’t you want to go home? What is wrong with you?’

‘I care for my country, madam,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to watch it slide into chaos.’

‘They were going to kill us, and now we are going to live,’ she says.

‘I’m perfectly willing to die, madam,’ says Mr Bhonsle. ‘Better I die than the country opens the door for every man with a gun to make demands and kill innocent people.’

Who would have expected that old man to be a patriot? In that moment, he stops being a pathetic drunk and I can see the young schoolmaster filled with ideals.

‘I’m going to eat my three chocolate bars in celebration,’ says Harish happily.

But he hasn’t made it through the second bar before everything changes again.

The TV begins airing images of a candlelight vigil outside the chief minister’s bungalow. The people who have gathered are the relatives of those who had died in the train blast. They are demanding that Salim not be allowed to walk free, and are threatening to march to the mall. All kinds of organizations are announcing they will join them. Hundreds have already gathered behind the police barricades at the mall. More outraged reactions are pouring in from across the country.

Then Bhai Thakur comes on. He is spouting off at a massive rally where everyone is wearing black armbands. ‘This is a government that is weak. That allows terrorists to get away. But we will teach them that there is no place for them in this country. We will send them back to where they came from. We will give them a plane, all right. One to put their dead bodies in. We will send the dead terrorists back across the border.’

The anchor comes back on the screen. ‘We have a special bulletin. Some unforeseen complications seem to have arisen.’

The Directorate General of Civil Aviation has refused to give permission for the flight to take off without the filing of a proper flight plan, demanding to know who will be flying the plane. They will not let an unqualified pilot off the ground.

We sit there in shock. No. Not again. When we had finally begun to hope.

‘Who is this DGCA chief?’ says Harish. ‘What is his problem? If the guy can’t fly the plane and crashes with all the terrorists on board, it will be perfect, won’t it?’