Aatifa, the Misguided Jihadi

A short story by Ashok Singhal

(as submitted to TOIs Write India Contest)

She sat in the Starbucks cafe, sipping her coffee and staring out of the
window. The blood stained knife lay next to her handbag, covered with her
blue silk scarf. ..
The large window framed a starry night with a crescent moon that cast an
eerie glow on her ebony face. There was a look of satisfied determination on
her face as if she had finally made a hard decision. As Aatifa sipped her
coffee, her thoughts were drawn back to the events of the last few weeks.
Aatifa was a 19 year old raven haired girl born of Muslim parents who lived in
Hyderabad. Her childhood had been tumultuous and torturous. She had been
physically and sexually abused by her step father. She had grown up with this
guilt-ridden knowledge. At the age of fourteen she ran away from home and
went to Mumbai where she did odd jobs including working as a bar girl in a
dance club. But the tormenting memories of her tumultuous childhood always
caught up with her. She hated herself and she hated the world.
At the dance bar, she came in contact with Imraan, a middle aged person,
who was a regular visitor to the place. Imraan, promised her a lucrative job as
a receptionist at his hotel. She gladly accepted as she hated her job at the
dance bar.
Imraan treated Aatifa like his daughter and she became very close to him.
Eventually, he suggested that Aatifa move to his house and he would keep her
as his family which she accepted. It was not difficult for Imraan to find out that
Aatifa was very bitter with life. Such people were easy targets to be recruited
into the group.
One day, Imraan approached her and told her about the good work his
organization was doing in the service of Allah. It was easy to break Aatifa and
recruit her into the jihadi movement. Imraan suggested she attend a madarsa
at the nearby masjid where the Quran and the holy teachings of Prophet
Muhammad were taught.

Many months passed and Aatifas belief in the jihadi movement grew into a
fanatic belief that the entire non-muslim world was the enemy of Islam.
One day Imraan approached Aatifa and said, Beti, you have done very well
and have been a faithful follower of Islam and I am very proud of you. Time
has now come for you to redeem your pledge that you took for Islam. We have
a very special assignment for you.
Aatifa was overwhelmed by the faith Imraan reposed in her. Abba, she said
with teary eyes. You have given me so much love and affection, that my own
parents never gave me. I will do anything for you and Islam. Imraan
embraced Aatifa warmly and said. You are truly Allahs child.
Over the next few days Imraan and Aatifa, with two other close associates,
closeted themselves in a room at the back of the hotel, which was actually the
headquarters for a covert operation for a jihadi group that had links with Al
Qaida.
The plan was laid out in great detail. Six weeks from now said Imraan, an
international delegation of journalists is visiting India and the event is being
held at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel here in Mumbai.
Imraan explained that amongst the delegates was a cartoonist, Andre
Leconte, who worked as the editorial director for a French satirical magazine,
Pas de Frontire, based in Paris. Andre had become famous for making jokes
on Islamic leaders and drawing crude caricatures of Muhammad. The Muslim
community had raised a hue and cry and had strongly condemned such
desecration of the holy prophet. There were many protests by muslims
condemning such behavior. Andre and the magazine justified their action
saying the magazine believed in the freedom of speech and expression and it
did not single out any one religion but targeted all religions including
Christianity.
Beti, said Imraan with an anguished expression, Andre has committed
blasphemy by disgracing Allah and the Prophet Muhammad. He has refused
to mend his ways and continues to desecrate Islam and its teachings. Such
infidels must be punished. It is your good fortune to be chosen for this

important assignment. Your task is to eliminate the infidel cartoonist martyring

yourself and attaining jannat.
The modus operandi was for Aatifa to get a job at the Taj Hotel in the
housekeeping department. Imraan used his contacts in the Mumbai
underworld to get Aatifa a job as a housekeeping supervisor. As she did not
have a criminal record, it was not difficult to get her the required security
clearances. When given the signal, she was to enter the cartoonists room on
a suicide mission and blow herself up in front of him.
Aatifa thanked Imraan for his faith in her, took his blessings and embarked on
her mission.
Aatifa started her job at the Taj and once settled down, she did not waste time
in learning the layout of the hotel and its security system. Being a
housekeeping supervisor, she had a master key that could open most of the
hotel rooms.
Imraan had earlier given Aatifa a vest with lined in C-4 plastic explosives. This
explosives technology took little space but created quite a mess within a 20
feet radius. It was a low impact explosive used for inflicted damage to human
life at short range enough for the purpose at hand. It had been quite easy for
Aatifa to smuggle in the vest as it was undetectable by security scanning
devices as it had no metal parts.
Finally, D-day arrived. Imraan informed her that the delegation was scheduled
to arrive that day around Noon. The operation was to be executed at 11 PM
that night when the target was asleep in his room.
A little before 11 PM, Aatifa went to her office in the hotel and donned the vest
under her clothes. The hotel uniform consisted of a blazer and pants and
came in handy in covering up the vest well. She looked at herself in the mirror
and found herself looking quite her usual self with little to show she was now a
deadly subject.
Biding her time, Aatifa stepped out of her office and accessed the floor on
which the cartoonist was staying. She approached the room and quietly
inserted her master key into the slot and pushed open the door slightly. The
hinges seemed well oiled and made no protesting creak. She opened the door

wider and found the room dark. It appeared the target had retired for the day.
She closed the door softly behind her and walked up stealthily to the bed
where, by the dim light of the night lamp, she saw the target sleeping. As she
approached the bed, she accidently knocked down a vase on the side table.
The noise woke up the cartoonist and he was startled to see the women in his
room.
He switched on the side lamp. Who are you and what are you doing in my
room? he asked groggily in broken English. He had a bearded chubby face
with twinkling eyes.
Aatifa was startled by this unexpected development but quickly regained her
composure.
I am here in the name of Allah to seek revenge on infidels like you who mock
and desecrate our holy Prophet Mohammad, she retorted sharply.
The man looked at her with gentle unblinking eyes and said softly. Dear lady,
you are here to kill in the name of Islam. Let me ask you have you read the
Quran? Do you know that Islam does not preach killing. Terrorism is above
all murder. Murder is strictly forbidden in the Quran which says do not kill a
soul that God has made sacrosanct it shall be as if he had killed all
mankind; and he who saves a life, it shall be as if he had given life to all
mankind.
Aatifa was somewhat taken aback at a white man talking so confidently about
her own religion. But the jihadi fire was burning bright and she countered
sharply, not only are you an infidel but you have also desecrated the name of
the holy Allah through your cartoons. You have sinned and you have no right
to live.
The man was quiet for a moment and then said I had no intention of making
fun of Allah or any holy person. My job is to dispel the darkness around us
caused by misplaced beliefs and wrong notions about all religions, not just
Islam. The teachings in the holy books have been taken out of context and
used to create fanaticism. The only difference is that we put our point of view
across using humorous cartoons which is a universal language that everyone
understands and loves.

With a calm countenance he continued I have had the fortune of studying the
Islamic religion as my elective subject at college. I respect and love Islam as I
do all other religions. You say you kill in the name of Allah who has advocated
jihad on all non-muslims. But do you know the word used most often in
Quran, that is so often mistranslated as kill, slay, or slaughter is not jihad, it is
Qital and if you look to the Arabic, you will quickly understand this word, Jihad,
in today's usage would clearly be combat.
Dear lady, thousands of innocent children like you have fallen prey to a
handful of Islamic extremists who have twisted the teachings of Quran to suit
their personal agenda. They are using you to further their interests. You will
not be a martyr and attain jannat as they promise you. Instead you are a
murderer of humanity. The Quran says, killing one innocent person is like
killing all of humanity. You will have the blood of humanity on your hands.
Aatifa stared dumbfounded at the man who displayed such erudition about
Islam. What the man was saying was making some sense to her. Deep inside
her, she felt a small voice calling out to her that disturbed her. But her
indoctrination of jihad over the years was so strong that her subconscious
mind shut out what the man was saying.
The clock was ticking and Aatifa knew she had to act fast. She decided it was
time to pull the string that would detonate the explosives inside her vest. She
silently prayed to Allah in the belief that this good deed would bring her
salvation. She closed her eyes in prayers and pulled the string.
Nothing...there was no bang. For a moment she was disoriented thinking she
was already dead and in heaven. Then she glanced at the bed and saw the
cartoonist still bent down in silent prayers.
It dawned on Aatifa that the bomb had malfunctioned. She recalled from her
detailed briefings that in case that happened, an alternative plan needed to be
executed. She bent down and pulled out the knife strapped to her ankle. It
was a curved deadly piece of gleaming steel designed for maximum damage.
Without wasting time, she sprang at the cartoonist and plunged the knife into
his stomach. The man looked on horrified as blood started gushing out of his
abdomen.

Aatifa was now in a frenzied state and kept plunging the knife into the mans
abdomen till he collapsed on the bed in a pool of blood.
Her job was accomplished. The alternate plan was grey on the escape
strategy. She was told to use the best possible means of escaping after
fulfilling the assignment. Aatifa knew that her fingerprints would be on the
knife and would give here away. She decided to take it with her and later
dump it in the nearby sea. It was too long to fit into her small handbag. She
removed the blue silk scarf she was wearing and wrapped the knife in it and
sprang out of the room.
She was familiar with the hotels layout and knew how to get out. As she was
about to enter a long corridor that led to the exit, she saw a co-worker, whom
she knew well, coming from the other side. She knew she had to avoid her.
There was a side corridor that led to the East side of the hotel. From there,
she knew there was passage that led to a coffee shop. At this time of the night
it would still be open and not be very crowded. She decided to cool her heels
there until she found an opportune moment to get out.
It was a Starbucks Caf and, as she suspected, not very crowded at this time
of the night. There were a few foreigners lounging out enjoying their favorite
brew. She sat down at a corner table that was directly adjacent to a window.
She realized that she was still carrying the knife wrapped in her scarf. She put
it on the table besides her handbag hoping to partially shield it with the
handbag.
She ordered a cappuccino, and when it came, took a generous swig. Her
nerves were still rattled. Although the mission had been successful, something
at the back of her mind was disturbing her. The last words of the cartoonist,
before he had collapsed, were still ringing in her ears.
You will have the blood of humanity on your hands.
The words rang out sharply in her head. She took another sip of coffee with
an unsteady hand. The voice within her was back and tormenting her and
calling out to her. Was her faith in Jihad misplaced?, she asked herself. Had
she really been used in the name of Allah all these years. The voices in her
head multiplied reaching a crescendo. Tormented, she covered her ears with
her hands trying to shut them out. No, no, no. go away, she moaned softly.

After a while, she took hold of herself. She was a strong woman having grown
up on the streets a good part of her life. She sat there reflecting on her life,
questioning herself again and again. After what seemed like ages, she finally
made up her mind. She had sinned and she was ready to pay for her sins.
She was going to give herself up to the police and tell them everything she
knew about Imraan and his jihadi movement. She was not afraid of death, not
when she had pulled the string, not now when she knew she would go to the
gallows.
With the decision made, she heaved a sigh of relief. The tormenting voices
had begun to diminish. As she stared out of the caf window, her countenance
was peaceful yet determined. She had learnt an important lesson in her life
Islam does not teach violence and killing one person is like killing the whole
humanity.
With a steady hand she took out the phone from her handbag and dialed 100.