The celebration for their tenth marriage anniversary had been meticulously planned. Nothing but the Taj would do. " It's going to be a night you'll never forget," said his best friend, when he called to invite him that evening. "We've got it all planned, you just be there. Six thirty, at the Taj. It's our gift to you."
His wife spent most of the day at the parlour. By the time evening came around, they were ready. "Heady evening,"she exclaimed happily, as they stood outside the hotel. Stopping for a moment to survey the imposing facade of the Grand Old Lady, as the Taj was called, he remembered that it was here that they had come for their first date.His marriage reception and the grand room where they had consummated their marriage, were part of his memories. Here, it was that he had celebrated first the birth of his son, then daughter. Yes indeed! the Taj and he, went back a long long way. Every thing joyous in his life had started with the Taj. With his die hard set of friends, most of whom also had fond memories of this iconic place. Inhaling deeply, he took her hand in his as they entered the restaurant, to raucous cheers from his friends.
The celebration that night had an almost unreal feel to it. Now and then, he din't know why, he blanked out. His mind wandered as he reviewed his life. Allah had been so kind to him. After ten years of marriage, he still woke up in love with his wife. Stylish, warm, deeply caring, she had brought a stability to his life. From his wardrobe, to the kids routines, and the well being of his now aging parents, she organised everything beautifully. He was in awe of her, her beauty still captivated him. His children were happy, little things, enriching his life beyond measure. His business was growing rapidly, as his hard work, translated to satisfying profits. He did deserve the best. Including this loyal set of friends and this wonderful night out at his favorite haunt. The sizzling of the fondue placed before him brought him back to the present. The aroma of the food in front of him sending a thrill of anticipated pleasure thru him.
The crash outside the door brought all conversation to a halt. Heads turned, forks arrested midair, as the commotion towards the door caught the attention of the diners. As if one, disbelief registered on all their faces, as they watched a short cocky fellow stride in. In his hands was a rifle which pointed randomly at them. Dressed in jeans and a black tee, the man looked at them detachedly. Behind him stood his mate, but brandishing his rifle in their direction.
His blood ran cold in his veins as he watched the man, whose gaze had now halted on his wife. Instinctively, he pulled at the table cloth, whisking it away in one swoop, the crockery landing as if in slow motion, with a deafening crash. In the mad melee that followed as everyone reacted, he pulled his wife with him and ran towards the back door, followed by most of his friends, and other diners whose reflexes were as quick as his. Dashing madly out, he found himself being hustled towards a service door which led into the kitchen.
Trembling, his limbs turning to water, he crouched below the counters. Empty ! Why was the place empty. Who were the men, what was happening ? His mind raced with unanswered questions. This was the Taj, for heavens sake, how did these people get in? He could feel his wife, almost on the verge of hysteria, looking up at him with eyes dilated with fear.Covering her body with his, he cowered, trying to organise his thoughts. He was afraid too! A slight movement behind one of the counters caught his eye. His body immediatly tensed, the adrenalin surging thru his body readying him for flight. The waiter beckoning him had a finger to his lips. The service door, swung open as a jean clad figure strode in. Hearts thudding in unison, eyes glued to him, they watched as he picked up a bottle of wine and took a long swig. Thumping it down on the counter, he strode towards the door, leaving behind him a door swinging as wildly as the hearts of those inside.
After what seemed like aeons, the waiter motioned them towards him. Crawling slowly, they reached him. In sign language he asked them if they had phones on them. Nodding, he reached inside his shirt pocket,and realised with horror that had it rung at the wrong time, he would have been in mortal peril. Switching it off, he put it back in his pocket. The waiter then led them thru a labyrinth of doors until they reached a kitchen which he deemed safe to stay in until morning. Looking at his watch he realised that it was one a.m. Exhausted, they sank to the ground. As the night wore on, they sat on the ground clining to one another. His thoughts were tortured as he realised that anything could have happened to his friends. For it seemed that it was a seige of the hotel, from which escape was impossible. The few cooks surrounding them, talked in hushed whispers, telling them of the horrors being perpetrated around them. One waiter had been brought in, his intestines spilling out of his stomach, shot by one of the terrorists as he attempted to rescue some guests.
Another spoke of fires started in the guest rooms to smoke out people hiding within. Some guests had been lined up against a landing and executed military style. This lovely, lovely hotel ! How his heart burnt at the thought of the lush interiors being ravaged so ruthlessly. He held on for dear life to his wife, his whole body shuddering as he realised that he could have lost her, or his own life this night. He still didnt dare to switch on his cell, his heart going out to his family, as news of the attack filtered out via television. Each time running footsteps passed outside, they froze, their bodies relaxing only when it became obvious that they had passed by.
Sitting on the floor, his exausted wife in his arms, he watched the tears streaming endlessly down her face, her eyelids swollen with the trauma of the night. In his minds eye, he kept reliving the events of the night. This is how it must have been with the Jews, when hounded by the nazis. The fickleness of life, the fact that he could easily have been dead by now, or that he could have lost this most precious of lives that he held in his arms. What would have happened to his children had they both died? the thought chilled him all over again. If he lived, if he survived this night , he would never take life for granted again. He would become a better father, a more involved husband and son. "God . Please" ! he pleaded. In panicked desperation again and again he repeated"I want to live! Please let us both live."
Morning dawned,yet again a door creaked open. A man in military fatigues came in, softly closing it behind him. One at a time, they were led out of the hotel. His wife, went into hysterics, and so they left together, heads down, rushing towards the ambulance.
Most of his friends had there own tales to tell, one of them had even stood trembling behind a pillar while the terrorist made up his mind, whether he wanted to let him go or shoot him. That there group survived intact was a happy if sober thought, considering what they all went through.
"Told you," said his friend, "Its going to be a night you will never forget."
His wife spent most of the day at the parlour. By the time evening came around, they were ready. "Heady evening,"she exclaimed happily, as they stood outside the hotel. Stopping for a moment to survey the imposing facade of the Grand Old Lady, as the Taj was called, he remembered that it was here that they had come for their first date.His marriage reception and the grand room where they had consummated their marriage, were part of his memories. Here, it was that he had celebrated first the birth of his son, then daughter. Yes indeed! the Taj and he, went back a long long way. Every thing joyous in his life had started with the Taj. With his die hard set of friends, most of whom also had fond memories of this iconic place. Inhaling deeply, he took her hand in his as they entered the restaurant, to raucous cheers from his friends.
The celebration that night had an almost unreal feel to it. Now and then, he din't know why, he blanked out. His mind wandered as he reviewed his life. Allah had been so kind to him. After ten years of marriage, he still woke up in love with his wife. Stylish, warm, deeply caring, she had brought a stability to his life. From his wardrobe, to the kids routines, and the well being of his now aging parents, she organised everything beautifully. He was in awe of her, her beauty still captivated him. His children were happy, little things, enriching his life beyond measure. His business was growing rapidly, as his hard work, translated to satisfying profits. He did deserve the best. Including this loyal set of friends and this wonderful night out at his favorite haunt. The sizzling of the fondue placed before him brought him back to the present. The aroma of the food in front of him sending a thrill of anticipated pleasure thru him.
The crash outside the door brought all conversation to a halt. Heads turned, forks arrested midair, as the commotion towards the door caught the attention of the diners. As if one, disbelief registered on all their faces, as they watched a short cocky fellow stride in. In his hands was a rifle which pointed randomly at them. Dressed in jeans and a black tee, the man looked at them detachedly. Behind him stood his mate, but brandishing his rifle in their direction.
His blood ran cold in his veins as he watched the man, whose gaze had now halted on his wife. Instinctively, he pulled at the table cloth, whisking it away in one swoop, the crockery landing as if in slow motion, with a deafening crash. In the mad melee that followed as everyone reacted, he pulled his wife with him and ran towards the back door, followed by most of his friends, and other diners whose reflexes were as quick as his. Dashing madly out, he found himself being hustled towards a service door which led into the kitchen.
Trembling, his limbs turning to water, he crouched below the counters. Empty ! Why was the place empty. Who were the men, what was happening ? His mind raced with unanswered questions. This was the Taj, for heavens sake, how did these people get in? He could feel his wife, almost on the verge of hysteria, looking up at him with eyes dilated with fear.Covering her body with his, he cowered, trying to organise his thoughts. He was afraid too! A slight movement behind one of the counters caught his eye. His body immediatly tensed, the adrenalin surging thru his body readying him for flight. The waiter beckoning him had a finger to his lips. The service door, swung open as a jean clad figure strode in. Hearts thudding in unison, eyes glued to him, they watched as he picked up a bottle of wine and took a long swig. Thumping it down on the counter, he strode towards the door, leaving behind him a door swinging as wildly as the hearts of those inside.
After what seemed like aeons, the waiter motioned them towards him. Crawling slowly, they reached him. In sign language he asked them if they had phones on them. Nodding, he reached inside his shirt pocket,and realised with horror that had it rung at the wrong time, he would have been in mortal peril. Switching it off, he put it back in his pocket. The waiter then led them thru a labyrinth of doors until they reached a kitchen which he deemed safe to stay in until morning. Looking at his watch he realised that it was one a.m. Exhausted, they sank to the ground. As the night wore on, they sat on the ground clining to one another. His thoughts were tortured as he realised that anything could have happened to his friends. For it seemed that it was a seige of the hotel, from which escape was impossible. The few cooks surrounding them, talked in hushed whispers, telling them of the horrors being perpetrated around them. One waiter had been brought in, his intestines spilling out of his stomach, shot by one of the terrorists as he attempted to rescue some guests.
Another spoke of fires started in the guest rooms to smoke out people hiding within. Some guests had been lined up against a landing and executed military style. This lovely, lovely hotel ! How his heart burnt at the thought of the lush interiors being ravaged so ruthlessly. He held on for dear life to his wife, his whole body shuddering as he realised that he could have lost her, or his own life this night. He still didnt dare to switch on his cell, his heart going out to his family, as news of the attack filtered out via television. Each time running footsteps passed outside, they froze, their bodies relaxing only when it became obvious that they had passed by.
Sitting on the floor, his exausted wife in his arms, he watched the tears streaming endlessly down her face, her eyelids swollen with the trauma of the night. In his minds eye, he kept reliving the events of the night. This is how it must have been with the Jews, when hounded by the nazis. The fickleness of life, the fact that he could easily have been dead by now, or that he could have lost this most precious of lives that he held in his arms. What would have happened to his children had they both died? the thought chilled him all over again. If he lived, if he survived this night , he would never take life for granted again. He would become a better father, a more involved husband and son. "God . Please" ! he pleaded. In panicked desperation again and again he repeated"I want to live! Please let us both live."
Morning dawned,yet again a door creaked open. A man in military fatigues came in, softly closing it behind him. One at a time, they were led out of the hotel. His wife, went into hysterics, and so they left together, heads down, rushing towards the ambulance.
Most of his friends had there own tales to tell, one of them had even stood trembling behind a pillar while the terrorist made up his mind, whether he wanted to let him go or shoot him. That there group survived intact was a happy if sober thought, considering what they all went through.
"Told you," said his friend, "Its going to be a night you will never forget."
very well woven..in all actuality, this is what had happened..!
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