Last Wednesday evening around 10pm, following a relaxing supper, my friend Eugene and I arrived at the check-out desk at the Taj Hotel in Mumbai, as we have done together hundreds of times in our travels as New York investment bankers currently living in Hong Kong.As I placed my bag on the table I heard a loud gunshot, which I recognized from my years living in South Africa to be the distinctive snap of an AK-47 assault rifle. Hearing another shot a second later, I looked at Eugene and said, ¡°Run, that¡¯s AK!¡±
We streaked away from the gunfire toward the nearest exit as the terrorists were entering the hotel lobby from various points. I smashed through the doors toward the pool area and ducked into some bushes as the gunfire grew in intensity. I realized Eugene did not make it out of the lobby.
Five or six people had arrived in the bushes before me, all now paralyzed in fear. From the sound of things I realized that a Columbine-like shooting spree was taking place inside, with gunmen walking around methodically executing people. Mind racing, I concluded that being bunched up in the bushes in the corner of the pool area was not safe.
Breathless, I thought to email my colleagues in London and apprise them of our plight. ¡°Urgent: This is not a joke. At Taj Hotel in Mumbai. Gunmen on loose. People killed. Call police.¡± Then I turned off my phone, thinking a ring could give away my position and bring on a quick and violent death.
[later made it to a small room off the pool thanks to locals escorting them trhu a trap door in the pool area]
The minutes passed, while screams and sounds of gunfire continued. I began to pray to St. Michael the Archangel: ¡°St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.¡± I also prayed the first of many Rosaries to see my way through what had suddenly become the single most shocking and desperate experience of my life. I knew that if I was to get through this, it would be Our Lord¡¯s doing.
As the terrorists¡¯ grenades, AKs and bombs periodically shook the walls and rattled our minds, I resumed my fervent ¡ª though distracted ¡ª prayers to Our Lady.
As the hours passed, the mood inside the room remained tense but controlled. At one point the tiny red corner light on my Blackberry began to flutter. It was a colleague in my firm¡¯s corporate security operation informing me that I should leave the premises immediately, as the terrorists were searching the hotel floor-by-floor looking for Americans and Brits to kill. I¡¯m 6¡ä4¡å and an obvious Yank, particularly in a place like Bombay. Once spotted, I¡¯d be a dead man for sure.
Just then a very loud bomb detonated and small arms fire rang out in one of the stairwells. I assumed the end was near.
I hurried off an email to my Mom and Dad, thanking them for my life and everything else they¡¯d given me. Then I emailed my dear wife and sons: ¡°Thank you, Celeste, for being my best friend and soul-mate. I love you!¡± I wracked my mind and heart for a few pearls of wisdom to leave my three small boys that would edify and sustain them in a life without their father. Asking the Holy Spirit for guidance, I explained to them that life was a gift, and that they should do their best to enjoy that gift. I urged them to take care of their mother, each other, and their community ¡ª and not to be afraid to discern their vocations. I counseled them to keep a daily prayer life and live the norms of piety we¡¯d taught them. ¡°Live life to the fullest, boys, and stay in a state of grace.¡±
My heartache (and heart-rate) increased as the AK fire drew closer. I approached the headwaiter and quietly asked him if I might slip out the back stairs, as my corporate security indicated I should leave the building immediately. The man assured me that we were secure, but the look on his face betrayed his fear and uncertainty. He then huddled with his two busboys while I positioned myself by the back stairs.
A moment later, the busboys announced that they would begin allowing some folks to slip out. This instantly created a mad rush toward the stairs. Though I was positioned near the doorway, a lovely Indian-accented chorus arose, saying, ¡°Women and children first!¡± Ah, but of course! I gulped and stepped aside. The women and children began exiting in groups of eight.
I learned later from our corporate security, who were monitoring my emails, that the business center was attacked by gunmen some five minutes after I was able to escape. I also learned that my friend Eugene had been shot in the lobby, but thankfully will make a full recovery. (Eugene told me the next day that I¡¯d sprinted right past the terrorist who leveled his gun and shot him in the hip. Fortunately he was dragged into a security room, from which point he was able to escape the hotel a few minutes later.)
Colleagues and friends have asked how I feel after experiencing such a trauma. I tell them I am fine ¡ª shaken but fine. At the end of the day, I am convinced that ¡°bona omnia fecit¡± (all works for the good). I will forever be inspired by the staff of The Taj, who were polite, courteous and courageous throughout the ordeal. They saved hundreds of lives, many sacrificing their own in doing so.
[Edit Comment: Remarkable how the courage and sacrifice by the staff went nearly unmentioned in the western press]
Why God has allowed me to live on? I have no idea. But at this point, the thought that will not leave my mind is, ¡°From him to whom much is given, much is expected.¡±
I pray that I can live up to His expectations.
From the website Catholic Exchange; considerable amounts of the story have been edited out - please visit the link and read it all.