Fear at an alma mater

Its not everyday that you read the morning papers and hear that your alma mater (at least one of maters) has been selected as a target for a jihadist terror plot. But there on the front page of this morning's Indian Express was a short article saying that the recent FBI arrest of two men in the US seemed to indicate that Woodstock School was one of their targets.

Nestled in the foothills of the Himalaya, Woodstock continues to exude an allure that make the 20+ years since I was part of the 'wailing wall' (a long teary line of fresh graduates saying farewell to near and dear) on my sunny graduation day of 25th of June 1987. An august place, the school estate now covers most of the sunny side of Landour. From my parents home at Shanti Kunj, perched up on the hillside overlooking much of the oak forest, we can just make out some of the many school and dormitory buildings that have come up over the 150+ years that Woodstock has been around.

Our alumni are scattered citizens of the world. Often misfits. Often at home in varied places - both extremely odd and extremely common. The school recently feted Chris Anderson as this year's distinguished alumni. Of the class of 74 vintage, Chris is known in some circles for the work he has done with TED.com in getting amazing ideas out across the world. His take on his time at Woodstock is here.

Sadly, this is not the first time that Woodstock has been the potential target of a terror attack. The hand-written prison diary of Ahmad Omar Sayed Sheikh, who was arrested by our police in 1994 and then swapped for the hostages on IC-184 in Kabul in 1999, talks about him trying to get a job at Woodstock as a teacher:

On July 26, 1994, I arrived at Indira Gandhi International Airport. My instructions were to spend the first night in some good hotel and then the next day call the two phone numbers I had been given. I was to ask for a "Farooq." .... It was about the third week of September when Shah-Saab told me that he had finally managed to arrange a house in a remote area in Saharanpur where the neighbourhood was Muslim and undeveloped to the extent that it was unlikely to have an effective system of informers. When I saw the house, my heart sank. How the hell was I supposed to bring a foreigner all the way here? And unnoticed by the local people? Siddique was jumping up and down in joy and making little gestures with the pistols. Sultan beamed at me and said, "Like it?"

"No," I said sharply. He was surprised. I didn't bother to explain. I told Sultan I wouldn't go back with him to Delhi and would go out "on the hunt" straightaway.

Next morning, I went to Woodstock School—an American school—and applied for a job as a teacher. I did this partly because if I got it I could easily bring one of my co-teachers down to visit my "relatives" and partly because I wanted to see whether cutting short my academic career had greatly affected my competitiveness on the job market. I had an interview with the vice principal, and I didn't get offered the job!

What follows then is an almost comic description of how he tries to kidnap various Americans. Tragically, after he was swapped to Pakistan in the infamous hostage crisis that the BJP government presided over, he seems to have finally got into the big league. It seems that "Sheikh Omar" (as he is also called) was the main force behind the terrible kidnap and murder of the American reporter Daniel Pearl in 2002.

And so we return to the tranquility of the hillside, high up in the Himalayas. Watching the sun set the oaks ablaze in gold as it sets in the west, one would never imagine that anything evil could lurk about. And yet that is the central paradox of human history. Looking down from Woodstock school, one sees an old burnt out house. The residence of a prominent Muslim who fled at Partition, and whose house was ransacked by hundreds of local villagers from far back in the hills. They apparently swarmed in, carting off everything that they could lay their hands on. Leaving behind a burnt-out shell. Even today, a good 60+ years later, the mute roofless walls bear witness to the savagery that lurks beneath the skin of man.

We are in an age of terror. An age not too different from ages past, when people did not always assume that we will live to 80 and retire in comfort. But at the same time, we have never seen a time when people welcomed and enjoyed terror. The very nature of the beast points to something deeper and more permanent - namely a yearning for a world free of fear.

The good book captures this vision - one which does away with the external niceties of religiosity - and hearkens to the roar of the divine order: Away with the noise of your songs! I will not listen to the music of your harps. But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream! (Amos 5.24).