Zango -1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
There was a group of thugs comprising of corrupt politicians, greedy officials, ruthless mafias who wanted him dead at any cost. They had plan, strategy and a man to do the job and then there was another group of thugs, comprising of corrupt politicians, greedy officials, ruthless mafias who wanted him free at any cost…. His name Zango…

Submitted: December 18, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 18, 2012



There was a group of thugs comprising of corrupt politicians, greedy officials, ruthless mafias who wanted him dead at any cost. They had plan, strategy and a man to do the job and then there was another group of thugs, comprising of corrupt politicians, greedy officials, ruthless mafias who wanted him free at any cost…. His name Zango


I start this story with a question;

How long does it take for a person to create a impression?

At times a lifetime, and at times only a conversation;

This story is inspired from one such meeting; I had with a stranger on an airport terminal.

He was like any other normal person you would meet on a street yet there was something, enduring and mysterious about him. He was standing quietly in an aloof corner, undisturbed in calm and composed manner. He was in his mid thirties and was traveling from Alantino (in Africa) to London. In Hong Kong, we both were waiting for our connect flight. I still don’t remember why or how exactly our conversation started but, I clearly remember the things, which were told thereafter.


I: Hi! Any idea what time the reconnect flight is scheduled for, because as per my information it was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago but, the flight chart on the main wall is still showing waiting.

Stranger: Don’t know brother, like you, waiting.

I: Damm! These things happen all the time, I think it’s the fog. Damm! What a shame.

He kept wandering in the book he was reading; I don’t know exactly what he was reading but, he was relaxed and comfortable about the entire situation. He pulled out a pack of munches and offered it to me. His approach was polite and I obliged.

He didn’t make any attempt to start a conversation as he was attentively grossed in the book. And I also for a while didn’t bother.

After realizing the fact that the flight was not coming anytime soon, I decided to break the ice and initiated a conversation - a conversation that changed my life;

I: You live in London or visiting there for a purpose?

Stranger: Depends, not sure of it yet!

He said that with a smile.

Stranger: What takes you to London, brother?

He asked with an interest, and that was for the first time, he asked me something.

I: Well, I am a film maker and went to Alantino to shoot a documentary about their water crisis situation.

Stranger: So you find any good story?

There was keenness in voice, which I could easily sense.

I: Nah Same old stuff! Third world countries and their blap… blap… bloo… bloo…

Politician sapping in everything, leaving masses with tears and fears, nothing new - same old boring stories.

I said that with little pause and disgust.

I remember that we didn’t exchange words for a while but, when he spoke; he asked a question, a question that I clearly remember.

Stranger: So you didn’t heard about Zango, than?

I: Zango…Sorry, but what about… who?

He had a smile on his face, before he started his narration that was engulfing, intriguing, and haunting.


The City of War Lords…

Deprived and ignored, the city of Alantino was stabbed, blooded, beaten and at mercy of an invisible God. The land was ruled by mafias who were shadowed and sheltered by government and law officials. There were two major rivals… Anaaran and Laginoes, who dictated the destiny of the city that had lost its hope in humanity, a long time ago. Man had turned into beast and only language to be heard was of loud guns and bombs. The more you roar, the more you score and in midst of all this was stuck and rotten, abused and bruised the spirit of the common man. Kidnapping and killings were norms of the day; blood on the streets didn’t appeared disturbing anymore, there were police headquarters and stations but, they were all blind and deaf, to the shouts and cries of people outside.


That was the most intense description, I had ever heard. There was anger, agony and purpose behind every word, which was spoken. I had been in the city before but, didn’t heard or felt any disturbance. The story moves forward with my question;

I: So, you said his name was Zango?

Stranger: Yes! You heard me right, Zango. The name that instilled fear in the hearts of heartless, powerful and strong, he did all by himself.

I: hmmm… But what did he do?

Stranger: He fought, for his people, for their rights, for their justice and most importantly for their water.

I: Water?

Stranger: Yes! It was more precious than any gemstone. The multinational fled away leaving their companies and projects in between due to the uprising of political struggle. Huge amount of water reserves were vacant and were wanted by greedy, hungry, power obsessed minds and they didn’t leave an inch behind to claim what they thought belonged to them. The whole city was in shambles.

Yes! The city was struggling with its water supply. A normal 1 liter drinking water bottle was sold for $1. It was a sad and an unfortunate state but still, I always felt that city was under political control. His words were surely making their impression. And I replied:

I: Sad but true, this is the story of most countries these days. If you don’t have massive lands or oil reserves you don’t exist on map. I expressed my expressions by revealing my own disgust.

Stranger: Hmmm… The worst part was that these water wealth holders started exporting huge gallons of waters to neighboring countries and won their loyalty and left locals at the mercy of dark clouds in sky. The whole city was crunched between the power struggles of these two groups. Anaaran, to gain superiority, joined hands with political leaders and kicked Laginoes right in the heart. That blow was too hard for them to recover from and they perished. Laginoes started operating in small numbers provoking the sentiments of unemployed and igniting a spark of revolution in them.


The announcement was made and passengers were asked to move towards the boarding gates. After getting our passes checked and taking our respective seats comfortably. I urged, the air hostesses to change my place and make me sit next to him which, she did and now the story moves ahead.


Stranger: It’s a comfortable flight, and they give water for free.

He said it sarcastically.

Stranger: Person cannot survive without it, yet we carelessly waste it without understanding its worth or value.

He was correct in his assessment. At that point, I felt a little guilty for times; I had left my tap running for washing dishes, or car, or shaving or many other things, about which till now, I never bothered. Water is a gifted luxury to developed nations that is why we waste it without any sense or purpose but, this land was different. I continued the conversation, as I wanted to know more about this guy called, Zango.

I: hmmm…Anyways, I would like to hear who Zango was?? And what he did??

Stranger: In the miff of power struggle, the economy was shattered and working opportunities were reduced to minimum. The water was priced, and it was expensive. Youngsters with boiling heads and thirsty throats were searched and were included in small gangs. The whole neighborhood was now turning against each other depending upon the gang they were in, and that was when, revolution inhaled its first breath.

Anaaran, with their political influence and help of law officials murdered top leaders of Laginoes. They were now, without any direction or leadership, and took refuge in the empty huts of deprived lower class who were fuming revolt inside. They heard about a local group that was slowly gaining momentum against the current establishments, they had fire, they had passion and now they had the support from Laginoes.

… This group was headed by a farmer; young, dynamic, strong and angry. He was…

The Birth

The night was getting warmer in an anticipation of a new sun. From the black fog of torture and tyrantship emerged a rebellious group of young farmers, artisans, and widows who were left with nothing but, revenge. Their lands were taken, their shops were snatched, and they were left alone in the path of desperation from where their only chance of survival was to kill and they did that gracefully.

Lead by a local skilled farmer ‘Zango’, the group gave themselves a name, ‘People rebellion Group’, they had anger, skills, will, and fearlessness and with association of Laginoes they now had, weapons. To announce their presence, they carried out a successful assassination of one of the top leaders in Anaaran.

The Mafia war lords were stunned; no one till now had dared to look them in their eyes. But, this was to big a blow, to be absorbed silently. The mad dogs of the mafia searched every corner of land but, were unable to trace any member of the group that now had a support of locals that to in large numbers. The group was hiding in the outskirts of city and was planning its next move:

Death Speech by Zango:::: “By now, they would have known that we are not alone. For them we are still not much of a threat because they feel they are too strong, strong enough to challenge and defeat God. But, this is where they will fall and this is where we will rise”.

“We will attack them from behind; we will leave them guessing, grueling, stunned and frustrated. They will know who is doing this, why it is being done but, they won’t be able to stop or diminish it”.

“We will kill them all, one by one, we will take them down. My friend, lets stick together and bring this blind empire down, in their arrogance is hidden their blindness, in their strength lays their weakness and in their thoughts lays their Hell…. So let’s take back from them what belongs to us... Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!”

And with that the chants and growls went loud, Freedom…freedom…freedom…Zango…Zango…Zangoooooo….

People rebellion Group:

1) Zango: A farmer, thrown from his field, Young and rebellious. Mastermind and the president of the group.

2) Akariyaan: Widow of craftsmen, who was killed stealing a bottle of water from a local reservoir owned by Anaarans.

3) Alfasanizo: Craftsmen and an ex- Laginoes, he was a mediator between the two groups; he helped procuring guns and other explosives for the mass movement.

4) Zandirronai: The oldest and the most experienced person in the group, he was the most respected person in the whole village and his presence lifted the creditability of the entire movement.


I: hmmm….Interesting, so now the common man had decided to take matters in their own hands. Guns, explosives, and power struggle. That is what greed does and that is what it was doing.

Stranger: Indeed, it was. They were doing their act smartly; they were selecting and attacking their targets. They never came in light and always attacked in some form disguise. Zango was master of disguise, he worn different faces and masks; he was good with 4-5 languages and had a speed of fox. He made sure his name gained popularity it required, so that it can keep other members in the gang safe, and they quietly went about their business in getting more people ready for the final frontier.

I: So how was Anaaran reacting to it, they had money and power, what did they do?

Stranger: Ahhh! They simply panicked, they were killing people here and there but, nothing substancial, to challange the stand and popularity of Zango. He was fighting fearlessly. He killed 2 members of the group in their own homes. Everyone in mafia was unsure of their actions, not because they were attacked but, they were now being attacked in their own homes.

I: And what was government doing?? Weren’t they aiding Anaaran?

Starnger1: Politics my friend is game of opportunities; the command of Anaaran on the neck of government was to strong. So they decided to step back and enjoy this balance shift, they wanted to see Anaaran weak, to feel strong. So like a monk they closed their eyes and breathed comfortably.

© Copyright 2017 Gagan. All rights reserved.

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