Another Heaven. Annu Subramanian

picked up the sound of an approaching train. Her eyes absentmindedly scanned the surroundings—an emaciated cow was listlessly chewing a tuft of dry grass, a young man whizzed by pedaling his bicycle, a couple of children walked on the other side of the dirt road towards the railway colony, their little heads tucked under an umbrella. The cyclist paused, turned and looked at the woman with significant interest, and left the dirt road when he lost hope of snaring her attention. When the train rushed towards the overpass, unbridled and furious, the young woman tried to hold the cell phone steadily with her unsteady hand.

      2:55

      She began to chant... In the name of Allah, the most beneficent, the most merciful... As the wheels touched the tracks above the overpass, the train exploded into fragments and left a canopy of hazy smoke over the expanse of crowded little houses making up the railway colony. And the young woman’s nineteen-year-old, mutilated body scattered along the dirt road while the flying flames hungrily licked the glass windows of various compartments.

      - 1 -

      Ashville, Pennsylvania • October 22, 2009

      The end of all means is the beginning.

      What the hell does that mean? Tina wondered broodingly, running her nervous fingers through her long brown-black hair. She read the anonymous declaration, the end of all means is the beginning, again and again and again, but she still got stuck in a dead end. What did the terrorist mean by that? Feeling weary and frustrated, she returned to the unsavory task of reading another report on the most recent explosion.

      …The number of casualties from the recent explosion in South India is increasing rapidly as more bodies are uncovered. The Express, about to arrive at Seloor, a small train station in Tamilnadu, India, did not deliver passengers where welcoming arms were eagerly waiting on the platform. It s uffered a miscarriage, triggered by a suicide bomber. According to a statement submitted by the police, the militants, in an attempt to create fear and panic just minutes before the bomb exploded, called the Town Police Station with an intriguing message: The end of all means is the beginning. The authorities suspect there might be a connection between Al Qaeda militants and the recent explosion. “Islamic Jihad is not just a catalyst for territorial destructions. It is also a global vehicle for anarchy and terrorism,” points out Dr. Augustine, a leading analyst who is periodically consulted by the officials.

      Tina picked up a cup of cappuccino on the way to Professor Katz’s office. When she knocked on his door before entering his room, the end of all means is the beginning still followed her like a heavy, nauseating hangover, and she could not shrug it off.

      “Hi, Tina, you brought your own coffee, I see. You don’t trust my brand?” asked Dr. Alan Katz, filling his mug with the freshly steaming brew from the small machine on the shelf. As he walked back to his desk, a strong whiff of peppermint pipe tobacco walked with him.

      “It’s just that I wanted cappuccino today, Alan.” Tina’s eyes rested on her advisor as he wearily sat behind his desk, and she took the usual armchair. “You look tired.”

      “Tired? Yes, I am. Might be the weather. Just look at that rain,” he sighed, staring at the foggy window. “It has been pouring with a vengeance. Another month and this would all be snow. I should probably listen to my wife and move to Florida, but it won’t be easy after spending most of my life in Pennsylvania.”

      Tina’s affectionate glance settled on the man who had mentored her since the first day of her doctorate program. How old was he? Sixty-five? Seventy? His silver goatee and heavy-rimmed spectacles added a few extra years to his smiling countenance. And he could use a haircut, she thought, glancing at his Einstein-ish, frizzy, gray hair. But his broad smile that unvaryingly reached his eyes made him look like anybody but the mad scientist.

      “And I’m sure you’re looking forward to your trip to India. At least, you’ll be away from the nasty cold weather for a while, Tina,” he continued. “I must begin to clean this mess if I need to retire in six months. It’s so cramped.”

      “How long have you been here, Alan?” asked Tina, her glance flitting from the loaded bookshelves to the dusty desk.

      “Close to forty years, my dear. I came here straight from Harvard, and I’ve been stuck here ever since. Now let’s get to business,” he suggested, switching to her forthcoming trip. “I know you’ve been looking forward to this internship. Dr. Augustine would be a great mentor, Tina. He is an excellent analyst, a very reliable researcher in the field of counter-terrorism, although I’m surprised that he is still plodding along with his work. He was in the hospital a couple of times last year. Cancer! But he is quite resilient. So, Tina, any last-minute concerns before you go to Chennai?”

      “Nothing much. But I’ve been reading some old files on Lashkar, actually where we left off after our discussion last time.”

      “And?” asked Dr. Katz, catching Tina’s anxious tone.

      “The rebellion confuses me a little, Alan.”

      “Still?”

      “You see, when radical activity in Kashmir was at its peak in northern India, I think around 1987, most Kashmiri militants were considered nationalists who spoke on behalf of an independent Kashmir, not a submissive partner of Pakistan. The religiously motivated militant groups also advocated the same sentiment. I can understand territorial unrest, but the headlong collision to terrorism boggles my mind.”

      “Which part of the activity confuses you?”

      “That there are individuals who would pawn their lives to take Kashmir away from India. I understand the mindset, I understand the hatred, but I cannot understand the absolute abandonment.”

      “That’s not easy to understand, and you know what motivates them. My dear, you’ve got to train your mind to look beyond religion, anti-religious sentiments, and territorial entitlement when you want to continue to study a terrorist’s motive. Remember, Tina, there’s a psychological motivation behind every terrorist’s decision. That has been the pivotal part of your thesis. Tina, THAT IS your thesis.”

      “I know. I know,” she sighed, a little frustrated. Otherwise, why would she be sitting in his office, week after week, seeking his advice? “I understand the psychology behind such actions or whatever I can understand fundamentally, but…”

      “Yes? What is it, my dear?” asked Dr. Katz, noticing her quivering lips. Her olive complexion was steadily turning pale, and her brown eyes furtively traveled from one corner of the room to the other.

      “I’m afraid I’m not going to be good at this. I don’t think I’m prepared to meet Dr. Augustine in Chennai and work with him…” Tina’s voice faded, zigzagging through an unfamiliar territory.

      Dr. Katz got up instantly and sat on the chair next to Tina’s, taking her hand in a fatherly manner. “Not prepared? My dear, you’re one of the best students I’ve mentored during my long career as a Professor of Psychology. Why this doubt, suddenly?”

      “It’s not a doubt, Alan, it’s…” Tina fumbled for words, tired of wiggling in and out of a winding, disturbing topic. “It’s the recent explosion that took hundreds of lives in South India.”

      “I know. It’s news today, was yesterday, and will be tomorrow. The incident occurred near a railway junction, about three, four hundred kilometers from Chennai. Is that what’s worrying you, that the disaster happened somewhere in the same state you would be visiting?”

      “No, I’m not afraid of that, Alan. You know me. I want to go there now more than I did before, but can I make a difference? Whatever I’ve been slogging to accomplish, my research...would it even make a dent in the...what am I saying?” asked Tina, making an effort not to burst into tears. And there were some unshed, unknown tears waiting to spill. She knew what was dragging her down—not her lack of confidence, not her apprehension of internship, and not the insane search for understanding the insanity of a radical’s twisted mind. Those eight maddening words, the end of all means is the beginning, were obstinately crawling back into her mind like a colony of ants.

      “We