WE…………THE PEOPLE(PART2)

1.  

  

                                THE FALLEN HERO                           

One who bravely dares must sometimes risk a fall.

n     Tobias G. Smollett. 

Fear defeats more people than any other one thing in the world.

n     Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

 Prologue 

 I’ve been rather busy for past several days now! I have shoots to complete for the short movie in which I’m starring as the lead role. Yes, hero……ha-ha-ha. I have to complete my assignments and get ready for some more meaningless submissions.  And to add to the horror another unit test beckons. On to more serious things, we…..the people, to elaborate is a series of 7 parts from 7 different parts of this world. It is a whole hearted attempt at thought provoking fiction. The characters displayed in this series are the people who make this world what it is. They are undisputedly the heroes of today. Protagonist’s who sketch today’s dreary world. Whether they rise or fall is another thing. And I must kill some suspense here by saying that being an Indian I’m not used to sad tragic Shakespearean endings. It’s something that always gets my instincts deadlocked in a perpetual state of limbo between wishes that are personal and experiences that are practical. The disparity between them being as translucent as the one existing between chalk and cheese. After seeing this world through the curious eyes of Sher khan we move on to a character that arguably is a hero in real life.  The narration takes over from self narrated style of part1. The style will vary from part to part.

 Mark Gray could’ve been whatever he wished to be. Such is the power of talent that when graced by proper individuals, can be moulded like plastic. Mark had possibly made a mark in every subject of his school and in every aspect of his college. Brilliant marks had all the teachers in the college patting his back. Brilliant athleticism supported by charming looks had all the girls swooning over him. After 21 years, an arts degree and a dozen talent search awards later, there was hardly anything that was left to be achieved. But then he had a tryst with destiny. And after reading the godfather at least 20 times he’d really started believing that a man has but one destiny. Three factors irrevocably sealed the fire in his belly to play with fire. His father, Peter gray’s tainted and failed career with firefighting, his own desire to be like his father and the deathbed wish of Peter gray that was tacitly made and obsequiously sworn by his dutiful and loving son.And so destiny had its way…again. Mark Gray was first enrolled as a firefighting trainee in New jerseys basic firefighting programme of 1999. The fact that he was declared exceptional in all departments barely came as a surprise to anyone except probably Mark himself. He further enhanced his skills at the red ladder institute in New Jersey and was hailed as the brightest man in the field by contemporaries and trainers alike. 

 By the fall of 2000 Mark had helmed two rescue operations for his team. The most memorable being the rescue operation that was carried out for the raging fire that had engulfed Ellis islands which spread sporadically after burning down Victoria hospital and Lincoln memorial. Sporadic fires were considered among the most arduous of tasks. Mark zeroed in on all the victims, rescuing them in groups by groups of his men. He divided his team into firefighters for rescue operations and damage control with a tactical brilliance that was neither seen nor heard of. Mark himself sprinted till he broke. Like a true messiah he had saved everyone, spare a few injuries from a fire that by the looks of it had obliterated all hopes of survival. The act personified courage in the face of adversity. The event was significant in the sense that it had become the single most driving force in Rudolph Giuliani becoming the mayor for New York. Mark Gray, the son of the late Peter Gray and recipient of the Congressional medal of honour beamed with pride to the hysterical media frenzy that now surrounded 12, green street. 

 Mark was in his bathroom when he’d first heard of plane hijacks on September the 11^th. He had this compulsive habit of sitting in the bathroom for hours. The fact that the television set in his bathroom wasn’t working didn’t matter as he received an immediate call on his radio set to report to the fire station immediately. He somehow felt there was a lot of action in the offing outside because the reporting had been grim as it often is during a crisis. The grimness in the proceedings somehow being indicative of the mayhem to follow. Like a silence before a storm. The matter was reported to be urgent and in words of the station chief ‘A national crisis’. As he started zipping his pants he wondered as to what it could possibly be? The Mafiosi in the city were last heard of half a decade back. Terrorist attacks on America were not only unimaginable but also deemed impossible. It was America you were talking about afterall. Another battle with the Russians was far fetched because at the present moment of its lone superpower reign only America could possibly be its own enemy. And so he turned out hastily out of 12 green street with curiosity that was killing. This curiosity however was killed by the obstreperous cab rider who kept screaming about hijacked planes crashing the world trade centre in lower Manhattan. Perhaps the driver was drunk. Perhaps he was some kind of psycho maniac.

  It was only on reaching the fire station did he discover that America had been stunned to silence with four hijacks and as many strikes at vital places on American soil. The security trounced, reputation tarnished and the fear of America now being reduced to a mere joke. America was paralyzed by all accounts. And then there was talk of some Arab Bin Laden being a messiah for the fighters of freedom. A messiah arisen from the ashes to claim glory. The rescue operation meetings were over before they ever begun. A couple of dozen fire fighting teams were formed within as many minutes and were asked to set off ‘pronto’ towards the jungle of the rubble that now spread around the Manhattan like a vicious scar on a beautiful forehead. It was clear from the start that this could possibly be the biggest mission ever manned in the history of  America, so it was not remotely disappointing when a comparatively junior rank like Mark was nowhere to be found in meetings involved with strategy and planning. Many of the noble men working for eons in the department weren’t involved either. The police took an active part and volunteered to help, so did citizens and relatives of the countless people working at the world trade centre. Hapless relatives of people who would now be known as victims. Mark ran for other people’s lives. With every bit of courage and strength he could muster up he slowly dug deep inside the heavy blocks of rubble swift as a rabbit. He used all sound multiplying systems he had to call for any victim alive. As heavy drops of sweat ran all over his neck and then later to his jacket he could feel the horror of the attack. He could feel it in the beautiful little girl who possibly wanted to see her mommy at office playing with the computer and instead ended up below the office with those very heavenly eyes crushed under the rubble. He could feel the terror in seeing the man who but for his missing head must’ve been a perfect athlete. As he further hurried along, he was chilled to his bones after seeing an old lady having burns of fire all over her meek body. All life and courage was sucked out of him after seeing the old woman clad in a burkha who couldn’t even see the world before she departed, pools of blood encircling her entire body. And yet he bravely continued after passing through what he thought an entire nation of dead people until he found a toddler crying over a man’s body. He couldn’t distinguish whether it was the man’s son or daughter for the face and body of this little angel was dappled by ashes. But the angel was alive, he picked the angel up, this time ran for his life and after what seemed an eternity dropped the baby in safe hands of Michael outside. Michael himself wasn’t an encouraging side as he looked like a dead man himself after rescuing 7 survivors.  Even death would’ve looked lively maybe. After going in and out of rubble and moving in and out of the vicious circle of life and death constantly Mark returned with the maximum no of survivors that day. He was awarded further medals from all sections of the society. Even more baffling political favours were sought in return to his reward for the act of bravery. America launched attacks on Taliban a month later and he could only imagine then whether the bloody mass, dead bodies and weeping angels there would be any different from what they were home. If ever Mark doubted his courage, his purpose of life and his pride towards it, it was now.

 Many dreaded months had passed since and America had by now become the toast of the world. Terrorism was looked upon as a sin committed by cowards. Mark always wondered which terrorism and what type of cowards. They were all cowards afterall. The only positive to come out was that terrorism was condemned universally now as it hadn’t been earlier. To assume they had been playing hide and seek in Palestine/Israel and Kashmir in India. Blame 9/11.

  Mark was in the bathroom when the fire first broke out. Despite his profession, his sharp skills and the wide experience in combating fires he didn’t even have an inkling of it till he witnessed the actual fire. All senses suddenly seemed to desert, all logic seemed to defy and all bravery seemed to perish him. He lay there motionless as the fire exacerbated every passing moment. In that single moment he couldn’t relate to the years of bravery and sweating out in the firefighting dept of New Jersey. He couldn’t make any sense of the countless medals and the congressional medal of honour looked to him as just another round piece of stone. The only thing he could hear were the cries of the people under the rubble, the angel weeping for her father, the little girl who wanted to see her mommy and the headless man. He thought of his beloved father and the deathbed wish that he made to him that he had now failed. Just as he had failed life and now he couldn’t fail death. All his life flashed before him in phases and parts. With the flooding of all memories his brain got jammed. At that very moment even a layman could’ve ran for life or taken the basic steps for safety. It was just a domestic fire afterall. Perhaps neighboring. But he was no layman. He was Mark Gray Congressional medal of honour now dead and a mere heroic memory after moments of endless torture as the whole of his body turned pale whitish gray even before being consumed by flames for the journey to heaven. 

Epilogue:

 I’m sorry to have depressed all of you after the very inspiring story of Sher Khan. But just as Sher Khan’s story needed to be told so was Mark Gray’s. 9/11 changed the history of not only America but the entire world. It instilled terror and fear in the americans that can never be totally wiped away. Yes, even in heroes. Perhaps not many might know but it changed the course of every living being in this world. Personally too, its something the theorists say and is still a matter of conjecture. I truly believe in this theory but will never be able to prove it. Not much explaining today as you need not be a Mark Gray to understand it. I’ve even tried to write it in layman’s language. The credit for which goes to my friend pitu who ridiculed the idea of writing in a grandiloquent and verbose narration when the title of the series itself is called we….the people. Some more thanks will be followed after the completion of this series. Ok to sound pompous ill still explain….hehe…fear was the root cause of 9/11. The reason for the responsive attacks on the taliban and on Iraq were also due to fear and insecurity. Countless battles and wars between empires and nations took place due to this very reason. fear leads to the downfall of the bravest of men. Men who weather all storms and men who win against all odds. Such bravery and loss of courage is found among everyone among us. There lives a Mark Gray inside everyone among us. Mark Gray was undisputedly a hero. Those were the circumstances that made him perish. Mind you, this was no rescue operation so he didn’t fail as such. Heroes never fail. There were many other factors too as in loss of belief, perpetual depression and the  realization of self. Many firemen went into a post traumatic stress disorder widely known as ptsd’s after 9/11. Many relatives went through the same torture. This particular post is a tribute to all of them. Long live the people of America and may god truly bless them them. 

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