A Dream

It’s August 15 or so, India’s independence. I am in a dream. I am not sure about the year but it’s post-independence. I am part of this network of hardcore Nagas spread across the globe and this network has some end-time plans.

The meeting starts after unfurling the Naga flag and paying a two-minute silence to the departed Nagas. All the members have brought the details of the different strategies. There are some ‘bika’ cups and pork cubes neatly arranged across palm-sized banana leaves. So, the meeting is very Naga in nature. I feel very much at home sitting around here, though the faces are new to me. And so it starts. Today is the day. India will get a wake-up call on independence day.

The first update I hear is from a lady. And she looks like she’s from the eastern part of Naga soil. It happens that her grandpa was buried alive by the Indian army. I’m not sure but she says something related to that. She was still a kid then. Anyway, I learn this update from her. All the petrol stations in the major cities have been mapped. There are exactly five hundred Nagas in each city. They have enough motorcycles and grenades and Molotov cocktails.
What they are to do is blow up the petrol stations. India doesn’t have oil so that’s what the grenades and Molotov cocktails are for. That’s what she says. And since all the explosions will take place at the same time there will be confusion in the Home ministry.
Hmmm. I am not aware of that. This lady is one of a kind Naga – not surprising, though. So with that her update is done. Then with a cup of ‘bika’ in his hand the next member starts. He first laughs for a while on hearing the report. Nagas are humorous and cool by nature. Poor Indians, he says. He shows the laptop with all the members logged in to the chat room. The site is www.forthenation.com. All the logged in members are abroad and on board international flights. They number a thousand. But he sips his ‘bika’ while saying that. So, I can’t hear it clearly - a thousand or ten thousand may be. Anyway, these members too have their own notebooks so everyone knows everyone in the chat room. They are chatting about their destinations and a lot of fun. Then he says he knows how many Indians are on board today - their photos and seat numbers. I still don’t get what he is trying to say. I listen on. The thousand or so Nagas on board have packets of advanced epoxy resin. They will simply mould weapons out of it. And since it won’t take much time to dry as hard as rock, that will be their weapon. So, at any given convenient time the planes will be hijacked. He sips another ‘bika’ and says that before taking over the planes, at least one or two Indians will have their throats slit so that it will convince everyone on board. He says that’s very practical and global. Nice idea. He says that Nagas are in majority in those planes so there arises no problem. At this some of the members are surprised. They don’t have much exposure to technology and sophisticated warfare. They love their land so much that they chose never to go out of Naga soil. Then I check whether my heart also beats with the same intensity or not. I find out that my heart needs to beat more.

As I reflect on these things the next member rolls out his report. He opens up by saying ‘kuknalim’ in a very content voice. The cows were slaughtered successfully last night he says. The carcasses are scattered on bus stops around the cities of India. He says that there is already a commotion in those places.Cows are very sacred to Hindus. He shows some pictures taken by an Indian newspaper named ‘The Bharatvarsh’ and the editor is Jagdamba Mall. But these pictures are not of the bus stops. These are of the Hindu temples and shrines. Then he says that his plan was to cut the heads off the cows and throw them into the temples and shrines and in some cases hang the heads on the ‘trishul’ of the temples and shrines. And his team did just that.

By the way he talks I know he is very practical and humble like any other Naga. Then another round of ‘bika’ and pork cubes is served. I see some smile descend upon the members. As they smile on the scene seems to fade away. The faces are vanishing. Is this end of the dream? It can’t be. This dream is very sweet. Suddenly the scene becomes clear like before. And I am already in the middle of the next update. The railway tracks have been successfully blown up. That’s what I hear and no more. The dream is indeed coming to an end. I try hard to dream myself. And then a feeble mention of anthrax reaches my ears and it’s gone. I try again but this time it’s gone forever. How I miss such a dream!