123 Tomorrows

by Vaibhav Thakur

  Sitting in his temporary office at the eighth basement of the Castle, one of the most secure places on the planet, the octogenarian Prime Minister Vikram Dayal wiped his round-rimmed glasses. He was revered by the masses and had led his party to a massive victory in the last general elections. Even his most ardent critics, which were few and far to begin with, admitted to the integrity and high standards PM Dayal had brought to the office. His opposition, when pressed hard to name one flaw in PM Dayal, quipped, ‘He is the right man in the wrong party’, to the amusement of the nation. Such was the force of his conviction and earnest that no one ever pointed a finger at him out of sheer respect.

  “Let me help you with those glasses sir,” jumped his PA from a small desk at the corner of the room.

  “It is alright Prakash,” Vikram Dayal said. “I presume you have more important things to attend to than cleaning the glasses of an old man.”

  “Sir, you are the Prime Minister,” replied Prakash emphasizing the last two words.

  “Yes, you are right. I am the prime minister,” he said in an aggravated tone. “The Prime Minister who sat through the massacre of his three million citizens. Three million dreams and hopes sacrificed to the madness. Three million innocent lives taken by our enemy under my nose. How will the history judge me, Prakash?” He said pointing at the array of framed photographs on the wall behind him - the fifteen previous Prime Ministers. “What would have they done today?”

  “I don’t know what they would have done, sir,” Prakash said earnestly, looking up at the photographs, “but right now, a billion people are looking at you for hope. I am sure you’ll come to the right decision.”

  “I hope that you are right, and God will lead my path for what is right for my people.” Vikram Dayal wiped his moist eyes.

  “Sir, I can come back again if you want,” said the Principal Secretary as she held the door half opened and was embarrassed to catch the Prime Minister in a private moment.

  “It is fine, Madam Secretary. Emotions are a luxury that a Prime Minister can’t afford,” he said. “I believe it is time now?”

  “Yes, sir. They are waiting for you,” Chief secretary said holding a file tightly to her chest.

  “Alright then, brief me on the way,” he said while adjusting his trademark khaki coat.

  ###

  As Prime Minister Vikram Dayal entered the war room, ministers and bureaucrats around the oval table stood up. He noted with a certain discomfort that some seats were empty including that of the Air Chief Marshal. Once he sat down, principal secretary extended an official letter for him to sign. The moment he did, the new Air Chief Marshall Singh, walked up to the table with a military precision, saluted the Prime Minister and occupied the empty chair.

  Prime Minister glanced around the table – the three military chiefs sat stoutly on the opposite side of the table, their faces perturbed, but resolute; the two ministers - the defence minister and the home minister flanked the PM on the either side while RAW chief Dhule seemed lost in his reports, sitting awkwardly between the defence minister and Air Chief Marshall Singh.

  These six represented the head of Indian Republic today more than ever. Vikram Dayal thought. He then nodded at the Principal secretary to begin the proceedings.

  “Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister,” the Principal secretary said, wearily. “The meeting is in session now. I’d like to inform all of you that the President has signed the orders proclaiming the emergency under article 352 of the constitution. Prime minister has been given absolute powers to rule by decree. From this moment onwards, including this meeting, till the point when the emergency is lifted, not exceeding a period of six-months, the Prime Minister Shri Vikram Dayal will have over-riding powers over all three legislative branches.”

  Everyone, of course, knew this already. The announcement was more to remind everyone about the immense power that PM wielded under emergency that was exercised only for the second time in the history of independent India.

  Prime Minister leaned forward in his chair and cleared his throat. “Thank you, madam secretary,” he said. “First, my personal condolences to those who have lost their loved ones today. I am deeply sorry for your loss. But for now, all of us have an important duty to do.” There wasn’t any time for long condolence speeches. It was best to come directly to the point. “Let it be clear that even under emergency, I will not be undermining the strength of democratic processes. We are at the cross-roads in the history that will determine the future of this country and the world at large. So, I urge you all to feel free to speak your minds for I need your wisdom and experience more than ever.”

  He looked around at the table. No one uttered a sound, but heaviness in the room lifted. Even military chiefs seemed considerably relaxed. Or at least as much as they could get relaxed in the exceptional circumstances.

  “What is the latest from Delhi?” He looked at the Home minister Ramanathan Pillai.

  “Yes...Yes, sir.” Pillai fumbled with a stack of papers in his hands. He looked like a wreck, but that was understandable. Home secretary helped him with the right document.

  “The death toll stands at four million, there are at least five million who are injured... and these will go up sir... as you understand. The biggest problem is that most of the hospitals have collapsed and all the communication and transportation has broken down. Can we... umm... show the satellite pictures please?”

  Home secretary pressed a few buttons and a wall came alive with satellite images. A collective gasp filled the room as a huge blast crater filled most of the screen. It looked as if a large asteroid had incinerated the entire city of Delhi. Buildings had fallen radially outward from the central blast crater. In a weird way, it looked like a dystopian flower. Giant piles of rubble lay where there once were towering structures. It seemed inconceivable that a few hours ago this lifeless place was one of the largest cities in the world.

  “Three- fourths of the buildings have collapsed... and... that includes the parliament. We have put all the disaster management services on high alert. NDRF and CPRF are on the ground but I am afraid they won’t be able to do much.”

  “Find ways to do more,” Prime minister said still looking at the ghastly image.

  “We’ll try our best sir but...” Pillai thought of protesting but changed his mind mid-sentence. “We’ll try our best.”

  “Where are we on investigations?” Prime minister turned to RAW chief Dhule.

  “Mr. Prime Minister,” said Dhule. His mouth and thin moustache barely moving as he spoke in a mechanical voice. “My intelligence reports reveal that ISI had conducted this operation through hired agents. The nuclear bomb was reportedly stolen from their Rawalpindi military facility three weeks ago. And then ISI provided complete logistics support to transport and plant the bomb. Since these are independent agents, it gives easy deniability for ISI and Pakistan.”

  Army chief thundered, “Pakistani cowards. They don’t have guts to fight us in the battlefield. Those men are not even worth their uniforms, I tell ya’.”

  “What is their government saying to all this?” Home secretary enquired.

  “They, of course, deny it. They are using the presence of their cricket team in Delhi as an alibi. That’s what we heard through the news channels,” replied Dhule.

  “Through the news channels...?” exclaimed the defence minister looking at the RAW chief. But it was PM who answered.

  “Yes, through the news channels. Islamabad did try to reach out to me, but it was my decision not to engage. There’s no use. The government doesn’t call shots in Pakistan, army does.”

  “I agree with the Prime Minister,” Dhule said. “In fact, trying to anticipate our response, their military may try a political coup now with the help of ISI, making the political system completely redundant. At any rate, their government is either accomplice or ignorant. Either way, we’ll be wasting our time by talking. We have to make our move right now.”

  Everyone anticipated meetin
g to come to this juncture sooner or later. A counter-attack was a foregone conclusion. The only question was the degree of retaliation.

  “Sir, can I say something?” Pillai still ventured against the tide. “Shouldn’t we try to find a diplomatic solution to all of this first? I... I mean whatever has happened could just be one terrorist organization trying to destabilize the region.”

  All eyes turned to Pillai. Pillai wasn’t Vikram Dayal’s first choice for the post of home-minister as the responsibilities that the home ministerial post brought were beyond him. But coalition pressures had got better of Vikram Dayal, and he had to cede that post in return for Pillai’s party’s support to form the government. A decision he was regretting now.

  “Didn’t you hear Dhule just now? It was ISI that did this. You talk about a diplomatic solution. Three million innocent civilians are dead. Our capital has been wiped off the map. Do you think there is a diplomatic solution to all this?” Vikram Dayal said, with exasperation.

  “I agree with the Prime Minister,” the Defence Minister added. “We have second strike capabilities, but if we lose that initiative, we may not be in the position to respond later.”

  Pillai pushed again. “But... what about civilian casualties. We’ll have trouble containing the international reaction.”

  “We’ll handle that Mr. Pillai. We had the no-first-use agreement with Pakistan and now we are completely justified in taking the offensive. I have made my mind. We need to reply in the language they understand. The attack should be proportionate and should be heard loud and clear. Are we on the same page Mr Pillai?”

  Pillai gazed downwards and sat down quietly.

  “Admiral Shekhar, I believe you were working on some plans.”

  “Yes, sir,” Admiral Shekhar spoke for the first time in the evening.

  He clicked a button and the entire oval table turned into a 3D projection of the Indian subcontinent. Snow-clad mountain ranges of Everest jumped above everything else. As the Admiral moved his hands on the controls, the projection panned to the specific regions.

  “Given that our air and army bases in New Delhi, Karnal and Chandigarh have suffered heavy damage, the best line of attack is by sea.” Admiral pointed with a long wooden stick. “We have multiple carriers in the Arabian Sea and INS Vikrant and INS Vikram are armed with nuclear warhead.” Two majestic 3D holograms of warships hovered above the missile and ammunition base at Vajrakosh in Karwar, Karnataka. “They should be within the striking range of Karachi, Islamabad, Lahore and Rawalpindi in next six to eight hours.”

  “This will see some response from the Pakistani military I presume,” inquired the Prime Minister.

  “You are absolutely right, sir. However, our additional long-distance missiles will ensure that their nuclear facilities are targeted before they could respond. They won’t have second strike and they will then resort to conventional warfare.”

  “I wish they do,” responded Army General. “We are fortifying our existing positions along the LOC and Siachin. Another 200 battalions are being mobilized as we speak. We let them retreat in Kargil, but this time, we’ll follow them back to Lahore.”

  “Not so quick General, we’ll take our call after our strike. Now, what about the eastern borders.”

  Suddenly, Pillai’s phone rang loudly. He fumbled to get hold of his phone before disconnecting it. “S… Sorry, just a call from… my family. They are worried… you understand.”

  Admiral took a moment to resume. “So, as we were talking about our eastern borders… China may try some adventure there. As a precaution we have already deployed 40 battalions along the border with another 40 in reserve, but we’ll need air support due to the mountainous terrain.”

  It was Air Chief Marshall’s turn to speak. “Our Eastern air command is already on stand-by. We have MIG-29s and Sukhois at AFS Bagdogra and AFS Agartala to support our ground parties in case of any threats.”

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that though,” Vikram Dayal said. “Fighting at two fronts is always a risky proposition. China is where we can try diplomacy. Prakash get me Premier Chung on call immediately after this meeting. He needs to be reminded of the promises from our last summit. I hope we won’t be bothered much on our eastern side. Also call the US and Russian Presidents. We need as many allies as we can or at least fewer enemy supporters. Thank you, Admiral.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister.” Admiral took his seat, and all the eyes turned to the Prime Minister Vikram Dayal for a decision.

  “Today, we face the biggest threat to our motherland since independence. Our enemies have struck us at our heart. They have taken millions of lives... innocent lives. They have dared to threaten this great democracy and values that we believe in. Our constitution has given us this great responsibility to protect this great nation. It was God’s will to have us in this chair to guide and help our country in such difficult times. We spared them in ‘65 and ‘99, and we paid with 3 million lives for our mistake. Not anymore. Gentlemen, let’s redraw some borders today.”

  Tomorrow #122

  Home minister Pillai walked briskly towards his quarters located at the third basement of the Castle. With difficulty, he had managed to shrug-off the home secretary who insisted on him staying in the war-room to monitor the operations. There was nothing he could do to stop the counter-attack.

  As he walked through the corridors of the Castle, his security detail cleared the way for him; it was crowded with the police, army, and immediate families of bureaucrats and ministers who were brought to the Castle after the blast. Pillai felt little easy knowing that his own family was on the other side of the world, away from all this mess.

  As he turned towards his private quarters he noticed the underground air-strip raising through the Castle’s dome, lifting a jet to the ground level for the take-off. He couldn’t help but appreciate the brilliant piece of engineering that the Castle was. He wondered if it could ever be penetrated; and noted with discomfort that no castle was immune to an attack from the inside. The game was getting riskier but now there was no turning back. During emergency PM held all the power and if his plans were discovered then there would be no jury and no trial. His sentence would be quick and definitive. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. He thought.

  He ordered his security to remain outside his quarters and put his eyes on the retina scanner. The door opened silently. Though the reinforced doors provided an almost perfect security to the windowless room, he locked the room from inside. He nervously took out his phone and dialled the last received call.

  “Why didn’t you pick my phone?” asked the grating voice of General Khan.

  “I… I was in the war room. I... I told you so many times not to call me on this number.,” said Pillai, wiping his forehead.

  “Relax, Mr Home Minister,” said General Khan. “They won’t be able to track you on this phone. So, tell me now, what happened in that meeting?”

  Pillai looked around still sweating profusely. “They are going to launch the missiles on Karachi and Islamabad.”

  There was an angry silence at the other end.

  “You had one job to do Mr. Pillai, one job,” General Khan said, munching every word. “You were supposed to buy us more time and you are failing us in that.”

  “They wouldn’t listen to me, goddamit. Had I pressed more, they would’ve suspected me. You bombed the entire bloody Delhi... what did you expect? A soft condemnation? You should have told me that you are planting nuclear fucking bombs. I wouldn’t have agreed.”

  “Don’t give excuses Mr. Pillai. You fully knew what you were signing up for. Anyway, this is no time for bickering. Tell me how long we have?”

  “S... six... maybe e… eight hours. Attack will come from sea… INS Vikrant and INS Vikram are already on their way.”

  “Do you have the coordinates of those ships?”

  “Yes, I do. But first I want to—”

  “You’ll get your 20 million. And rest 80 million once India surren
ders, inshallah. Send me those coordinates, mister last home minister of India.” General Khan ended the call.

  Pillai stood there listening to the dial-tone on his phone. When he was contacted by General Khan five-years ago, he never thought that it’d come to this. In the beginning, it was a way to make quick money in exchange for harmless information, but it soon spiralled out of his control as his bottomless greed explored a seemingly infinite source of riches.

  One final errand and 100 million will be mine. He thought.

  He plopped on his bed and with trembling hands started typing the coordinates of Vikram and Vikrant on his special phone.

  “You look tense, Mr Home Minister,” a voice said. Pillai got startled and dropped his phone. A man dressed in black uniform stepped out from behind the curtains. His face was covered by a black mask and a strange insignia on his chest looked like a pair of clocks drawn inside two circles. He calmly walked towards him and picked-up the phone.

  “W... Who are you? How did you come in?”

  “Well, Mr Pillai, that’s not an important question,” he said reading the unsent message on the phone. “The important question is, what am I here for. And it looks like I made it in time,” he said flashing the unsent message back to Pillai.

  Pillai’s face turned white. “I am the home minister of the country. I... I order you to step aside.”

  “Tch... Tch... Tch,” he said. “You are more pathetic than I thought.”

  Pillai didn’t even see when two pistols appeared in the Masked Man’s hands. He did remember hearing loud bangs followed by a seething hot sensation in his chest. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was Masked Man vanishing in thin air, at least answering his life’s final question of how he had entered his room.

  ###

  Tomorrow # Unknown