He stood looking at his reflection in the mirror. He looked much older than 43. Wisdom, his followers assumed, was the reason. Cruelty and the pain he’d caused, his enemies claimed, was the reason. He liked to think, that the vast expense of his life that he’d had, was the reason. Without moving from his position, he gave a glance at a painting that he’d hung on his wall, some 3 years back. He’d always wanted to know what others thought of him. This particular painting had been the outcome of not just the artist’s skill, but also his pain and passion towards the people he’d lost. That was the face that a majority of the world associated to his name, but the one looking from a distance of a mere 15 yards was in no measure, as cruel. And he couldn’t help but chuckle at the glass that his ‘supposed’ face was wearing in the painting, because he’d never been a great fan of Mafia shades. He looked back at his life, not because he was proud of it or ashamed of it, but just because he thought it was necessary to do that once in a while. .
Born into a mediocre and poverty ridden family of 8, he experienced school life only until his 5th grade. He worked at a tea stall for around 5 years before deciding to do something meaningful with his life. He joined the army, at the lowest rank and came through the rigorous routines without much difficulty because of the minimal sophistication in his childhood. As his rank improved, he began to see the cruelties that his country faced on an almost daily basis just because it wasn’t on the developed side of nations. Frustration began to creep into his life, as he was ordered around by foreign leaders like a puppet, particularly because he’d always thought of himself as a leader. He had the skills and he made a decision. .
What followed were headlines and flash news featuring his name. People started taking note of him. Countries started fearing him. On the other side, people started believing in him. His country felt proud of him. Children wanted to turn into him while middle-aged men felt proud calling him their son. There was one woman who felt proud of him and cared for him at the same time. They had met at one of his closest associates’ daughter’s Nikkah. He married her one week later and would never leave her for another woman. His power started to grow, but so did the pain inside him. He couldn’t look at her face after every one of his ‘acts’ even though she insisted that it was alright because that was the choice he had taken. They came after him. They missed him by a whisker, many a time. In the process, they killed her. He hated himself for being the reason for the end of such a beautiful being. He learned to live with it.
He’d grown into such a person, that could actually smile at his life as if he had enjoyed every moment of it. He looked one last time at his face and thought to himself, ‘Catch me, they will, only when there is nothing to be caught!’.