Ajmal Kasab, 22, sentenced to death by hanging.
That is the law of the land.
A man, a criminal, a terrorist, a murderer. Caught. Tried. Sentenced. Hanged.
The question is: why do we celebrate it? Revenge, of course.
He cried when he was sentenced. I can understand people ignoring his tears, calling his pain just, a lesson to future terrorists (if at all it works that way), but to call them "crocodile tears", as the prosecution attorney did, is to dehumanize him, to mistake his pain as pretence.
To understand the progression of a child becoming a man like Ajmal Kasab is harder than to burst crackers at the judgment.
Ajmal Kasab is 22. A "bad" human being. Probably too young to realize what he has done.
To kill him is self-defense or deterrence or justice or a trial-by-media or a punishment for the rarest-of-the-rare crime. But to celebrate his killing is demonic. It is to celebrate when one's child fails in the school examination and commits suicide. One less loser in the world, eh?
Ajmal Kasab, I mourn for you, and for a world of hate which twisted you up and made you kill those poor victims of you, whose families had their lives torn apart.
I know you were a child once.
(The ending of Come and See (Elem Klimov, 1985), where a child, a premature man, a child whose whole village was massacred, with wrinkles wrought by war, full of hate and anguish, starts shooting at a photograph of Adolf Hitler, who gets younger and younger. When finally Hitler is an infant in the arms of his mother, the shooter stands paralyzed.)