Ram-O-Omar !
The mission was on. Seven men, all trained to kill, entered Ahmedabad in the wee hours of the morning. Omar, a tall man in his late twenties, was one of them. Nine years of intense training in difficult conditions had left his once-loose-muscles tightened and twelve years of grieving had hardened his mind. In a heart where once innocence resided was now filled with hatred and revenge. The eyes that were once warm scanned the streets of his hometown eagerly. It was not the same anymore. The narrow streets were gone. The stink of blood was gone. And the tension that used to cloud the city was gone too. It seemed the city had distanced itself from its history as if the memories were too painful to hold onto. Instead of dwelling in the past, it was marching towards the future. It was mourning its loss in its own way. Omar was not going to take that. Yes, Ahmedabad will mourn, but on his terms. The city will cry. It will come down to its knees. And it will feel pain. Omar alread