North from Calcutta

by Duane Evans

  “No, of course not.” Tarek managed a slight smile. “We were so very young—too young really. But what choice did we have? Our parents said it was time and in those days, well, no one questioned these things.”

  “But they were right, Tarek. Think about it. If you had not married, Farida would never have known the happiness she had as your wife.”

  Meena’s words cut Tarek like a knife, though she had no idea they did. Only Tarek knew what their marriage had been. Happiness was not part of it. Neither was love, and only he was to blame. Farida would have been the perfect wife for most men, but Tarek had wanted something more than a wife, something Farida, with her traditional upbringing and limited exposure to the world, could never be. He had been in the West too long.

  Sensing that Tarek did not intend to answer, Meena said, “Come on. Let’s eat before our dinner gets cold.”

  In the dining room, their meal waited on a large wooden table Meena had inherited from their parents. Seeing the old table covered with steaming bowls of rice, lentils, mutton and chicken kabobs, and smelling the enticing aromas, brought Tarek sweet memories of warm evenings when his family would sit down to a dinner his mother had spent the day preparing.

  As Tarek seated himself, he could see Meena was carrying on the mealtime tradition of their father by listening closely to her ten-year-old son, Hamid, and her-eight-year old daughter, Sarah, as they told of their day’s activities.

  Jashem paid no attention to the children. His attention was focused on the mutton kebab and other dishes spread out before him. Finally, after consuming two plates of food, Jashem seemed to become conscious there were others present at the table, and he began to involve himself in the conversation.

  Jashem and Meena knew Tarek was an ISI officer, but it rarely came up as a topic of conversation. Tarek preferred it that way. Little of what he did could be shared with outsiders— not that an outsider would really be able to understand. Jashem, like most others, had little understanding of intelligence work, and he regarded Tarek’s profession as something akin to service in the Mafia. To keep peace in the family, however, he did his best to conceal his suspicions and doubts about Tarek.

  “Tarek, I must say it was a surprise to learn you were coming back for an assignment in Islamabad. Is it something you wanted?” Jashem asked, mostly in an effort to break into the conversation.

  “No. I was as surprised as you. I was expecting to stay in Cairo for another year and then move on to another foreign posting.”

  “Well, then,” Jashem muttered as he reached for a bowl of dark olives, “Why did they bring you back?”

  Not wishing to be drawn into a discussion of his assignment, Tarek answered, “The assignments people felt it was time I returned and did my penance. So, here I am.”

  “How long will you be able to stay in Islamabad?” Meena asked. “I do hope it is for a while.”

  “Well, these things are always subject to change, but I expect to be here for three years, which is a normal tour. I should have a better idea tomorrow after I meet my new boss.” Tarek did not mention that he would not be working at ISI.

  Meena beamed. “I think it is wonderful that you will be here. I couldn’t be happier about it.”

  Tarek smiled across the table at her. “I also am glad. It will give me a chance to spend time with my favorite sister and her family and to get back in touch with Pakistan.”

  Tarek had missed Pakistan. He had missed its vivid landscapes, blue skies, and the peaceful villages found deep in its mountain valleys, nestled alongside clear flowing rivers and streams. As a boy, Tarek had spent many weeks at his father’s village home in the mountains near Murree where his father took his home leave from foreign postings. Tarek had loved the Spartan lifestyle, and he longed to experience it again.

  “I think you’ll find your tour in Islamabad to be time well-spent,” Jashem opined. “You need to get reacquainted with your government and the new direction it is taking.”

  “I suppose there is some value in my being here, but I’m not sure what you mean when you refer to a new direction.” Tarek said.

  His hunger subdued, Jashem slumped back in his chair and said, “I simply refer to our government’s realization that the solutions to Pakistan’s problems can be found here and among our brethren Islamic nations. The government is at last coming to the realization that the US can no longer be counted on to provide the kind of help our country needs.”

  Tarek reflected on Jashem’s words for a brief moment. “Well, you are right that our relationship with the US is different than it was during our collaboration driving the Soviets out of Afghanistan and when the US used us as a counterweight to the Soviet-Indian alliance. Although still, some parallels to the current relationship can be drawn.”

  “How so?” asked Jashem.

  “I am speaking of the US war on terror and its heavy reliance on Pakistan’s support. Nonetheless, our relationship with the US is not as close as it once was, though it has still been costly for Pakistan. After all, we lost General Masood as a direct consequence of our cooperation with the US” Tarek shook his head. “The assassination of a president is a high price for any country to pay.”

  Tarek noted the dismissive look on Jashem’s face yet continued. “But if by taking a new direction you mean the government is becoming more self-reliant and is educating its youth and developing the resources of the country, then that is good news. If, however, you are referring to the anti-Western rhetoric and calls to cut ties to the West, then I believe this new direction is dangerous for Pakistan’s future well-being.”

  Jashem slowly shook his head. “War on terror, Tarek? Let’s call it what it is—war on Islam! You need not look any further than the US relationship with India compared to its treatment of Pakistan. Look how over the years the US badgered Pakistan about its weapons programs. Yet, the US has gone so far as to support India’s development of its nuclear technology. What are we to assume from this? Give me one reason why we should not turn our backs on America and all the Western countries.”

  Setting aside for the moment the specifics of Jashem’s arguments, Tarek was surprised at his apparent new interest in international relations. Tarek could not recall having seen Jashem in such an animated state—about anything, except perhaps food.

  “You make some good points, Jashem; however, it would be short-sighted and an unforgivable mistake to cut our relations with the West.”

  “Tarek, you are forgetting Pakistan’s greatest and only true ally, Allah. Next to Allah, the West with all its technology is nothing. I predict Pakistan and our brother Islamic countries will one day again dazzle the world, perhaps not with technology, but with model societies that provide for the needs of their people.” Jashem shook his head vigorously, “The Western countries are hollow on the inside. They will one day shatter from lack of spiritual sustenance.”

  Tarek had heard this line before, but not from Jashem. As Tarek recalled, Jashem rarely went to mosque and had never made a religious statement beyond saying ‘inshallah’ (God willing) when Meena told him dinner would soon be ready. Why was Jashem, of all people, now advocating Islam as Pakistan’s only way to a better life? The theory was familiar; he had heard it in Cairo, Khartoum, and Algiers and had seen the blood that resulted when it was put into practice. Only now he was hearing it at home and from the husband of his sister, no less.

  Tarek knew that in one sense, however, Jashem was right. Economic might had not made Western nations into model societies of contented people. The West had problems—big problems—at least a part of which he thought derived from an abandonment of religion. Aside from the American Christian ultra-conservative movement, which Tarek equated to Islam’s jihadists, God seemed to be unimportant in the daily lives of most Westerners.

  Meena and the children had long since left the table when Jashem rose from his chair and asked Tarek if he would like to take tea in the sitting room. No further discussion of politics or religion took place, but Tare
k sensed that Jashem was proud of himself for having said the things he did. Tarek did not know what to make of Jashem, but decided to withhold judgment until he had spent some more time back in his country.

  Shortly after he finished his tea, Tarek said goodnight and retired to the guest quarters for the evening.

  5

  Tarek arrived at the high-domed lobby of the IRE exactly 10 minutes before his 9:00 a.m. appointment. He presented his government ID to the dull-eyed guard seated behind the reception desk, who checked Tarek’s name against a register.

  “Please have a seat, Sir. Someone will be with you shortly.”

  Tarek did not sit down, preferring instead to walk about the room, admiring the architecture of the stately old building. It had been built during the British Raj era, yet was Mughal in design. Tarek was fascinated by architecture, especially buildings with the smooth curves and colorful inlaid tiles introduced by the early Islamic rulers of South Asia.

  The beauty of the room reminded him of Granada’s Alhambra, which Tarek had once visited during a temporary assignment in Madrid. He had spent a sunny afternoon walking through the palace’s cool rooms and intimate gardens, its beauty and quiet majesty leaving a lasting impact. That the Muslims built the Alhambra during their seven-century occupation of the Iberian Peninsula had always been a source of pride for Tarek. The beauty of the building he now found himself in reflected the elegance of the Alhambra, different only in scale.

  A short man dressed in a rumpled Western suit approached. “Major Durrani, I am Fakrul Rahim, Ambassador Salim’s personal secretary. I will escort you to the ambassador now.”

  Tarek nodded, “Please, lead the way.”

  They ascended a circular stairwell, the sound of their steps on the hard marble floor audibly marking their climb. Reaching the third floor, Rahim directed Tarek to Salim’s office.

  “Please go in. The ambassador is waiting.”

  As Tarek stepped through the door he immediately felt as he had just entered a special place of beauty and reverence. The decor and architecture of the room were stunning.

  Ambassador Salim watched Tarek’s arrival and took advantage of his momentary distraction to take his first hard look at this man on whom so much would depend. As Tarek’s gaze swung round to meet his own, a slight smile came to Salim’s lips. Yes, he knew in an instant, Major Durrani was the man for the job.

  Salim moved toward Tarek and greeted him. “Good Morning, Major Durrani. I am Mohammad Salim. I am so glad to meet you at last.”

  “It is a pleasure, Mr. Ambassador.”

  Tarek was surprised at the ambassador’s height, at least 6 feet, 2 inches. His lean well-muscled frame gave him the appearance of an athlete and, in an odd way, reminded Tarek of himself. Salim’s dark clear eyes suggested a strong intellect, but there was also a hardness about them.

  At Salim’s invitation, Tarek took a seat on a sofa. Salim picked up a string of emerald green prayer beads from his desk and seated himself at the opposite end.

  “Bring tea,” he ordered Rahim, then turned to Tarek.

  “Major Durrani, I must tell you that the International Relations Executive would be privileged to have a man of your caliber and experience assigned to it,” His gaze still fixed on Tarek, Salim began to slowly work the prayer beads between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. “I have read your file on more than one occasion and each time I do, I praise Allah that Pakistan has men such as yourself in its service. You have many accomplishments you can be proud of.”

  Tarek sensed genuine sincerity in Salim’s praise, but he always suspected the motive behind praise, sincere or otherwise. Still, Tarek gave the appropriate response. “Thank you for your kind words, Ambassador.”

  As Rahim delivered the tray of tea the two men sat in silence. Once alone again, Salim asked Tarek about his background—his family situation, where he had lived while growing up, and his education. Salim seemed most intrigued by Tarek’s experiences living abroad, particularly the time spent in the US when his father was posted to the Pakistani embassy.

  “I must admit, I have only been in the US once and that was in New York for meetings at the UN I was impressed by New York, at least in some ways, but I know it is not representative of the country at large.” Salim said.

  Tarek nodded. “Certainly, that is true. New York is a world to itself.”

  Discussing Tarek’s professional background, it was obvious Salim had studied the ISI file well, as he spent little time on the subject of his qualifications. He did question Tarek about his engineering degree and asked if he still tried to keep up with developments in the field.

  “Yes, I try to keep up with it, mostly through a couple of professional publications I receive, but certainly I would not be candid if I said I was a technically competent engineer. My career in intelligence has been far too demanding of my time to allow that.”

  Salim smiled. “It is your intelligence expertise we are in most need of, Major Durrani, but your grounding in engineering is also a plus.”

  Long experienced in eliciting information, Tarek was able to learn a bit about Salim’s background as well. One interesting nugget to emerge was that Salim’s uncle was a well-known Sunni Imam who had received his religious instruction in Saudi Arabia. Salim was the uncle’s favorite nephew, and he wanted Salim to follow in his footsteps by receiving advanced religious training.

  In mentioning this, Salim commented, “Uncle once told me he had dreamed I would be a great servant of Allah and the Muslim people. And for a while as a young man, I felt drawn to this calling and studied the Holy Qur’an under Uncle. However, I also had a strong desire to enter civil service, and when I applied and was accepted, I decided it was the will of Allah that I should enter the government, believing that there are many ways a man can serve Allah. I can see now, having achieved this position, that my decision was a correct one.”

  Tarek also learned that although Salim had served as an ambassador to Iran, he was not a career Foreign Ministry officer. According to General Ali, it was in this important position that Salim had firmly established credentials as a man with vision and the drive to shape events to his liking. It was clear to Tarek that Salim had come into his own, a man of ambition and self confidence, thinly veiled by polite modesty.

  Eventually, the conversation came around to why Tarek was being brought to the IRE. Tarek chose not to raise the question himself but waited for Salim to bring up the topic.

  “Major Durrani,” Salim said, “the IRE is a new organization, and I had a personal hand in its establishment following my return from Tehran. The IRE has been established for the express purpose of developing an effective policy on the most serious issue confronting our country—India’s illegal occupation of Kashmir. Our mission, simply put, is to change Indian policy on Kashmir by gaining and leveraging international support and applying other levers as required. To accomplish this, the IRE will work concurrently with the diplomatic, defense, security, and policy apparatus to ensure a well coordinated effort.”

  “Ambassador, I’m glad to hear that our government’s approach on Kashmir is being coordinated. As a member of the nuclear club, it is essential that the left hand know what the right hand is doing, particularly regarding issues connected to India.”

  Salim smiled briefly. Tarek’s reference to Pakistan’s nuclear capability was an unexpected but interesting comment. Perhaps another one of Major Durrani’s many talents was strategic thinking. A shame perhaps, but this talent would be wasted; Major Durrani’s role with IRE was to be tactical, not strategic.

  “You are correct, Major. Pakistan’s nuclear capability makes the goals of the IRE even more important.”

  Tarek nodded. Although the on-again, off-again talks with India on Kashmir had recently been restarted after a total breakdown, the fervor of the nationalistic rhetoric once again coming from New Delhi, was alarming. “Yes, Ambassador, the situation with India is worrisome. India will always be our preeminent concern.”


  Salim was glad to see Tarek was well-attuned to the challenge India posed for Pakistan. The recently elected nationalist government in New Delhi had made clear its strategic intentions toward Pakistan when it conducted yet another test detonation of a nuclear bomb shortly after coming to power. As had become its policy, Pakistan quickly responded to the provocation, detonating its own bomb—and two more for good measure.

  Salim firmly believed that the development of the bomb and a reliable delivery system made Pakistan a military equivalent of India. This put the Indo-Pak confrontation on the same footing as the East-West standoff prior to the fall of the Soviet empire. Salim was certain the balance-of-power dynamics currently at play could be used to Pakistan’s advantage regarding Kashmir, allowing Pakistan to take steps it never could have considered before, without fear of military defeat and possible annihilation.

  Salim angrily shook his head, clenching the prayer beads in a tight fist. “How many years must we wait before the people of Indian-occupied Kashmir become a part of the country they have every right to belong to? They have a right to the destiny that was stolen from them by decree of imperialist powers. The Kashmiri people have been waiting more than half a century for the UN to live up to its word to hold a referendum on their status. I believe that is far too long, don’t you Major?”

  Tarek well understood Ambassador Salim’s frustration over Kashmir. Although the division of the region had been largely along religious lines, by a quirk of history, a Hindu Maharaja had delivered his Muslim majority territory to Indian control, splitting the area of Jammu and Kashmir between India and Pakistan, thus sowing the seeds of a dispute that continued to produce violence, bloodshed, and war.

  Ambassador Salim continued. “I think we must accept that the plebiscite on Kashmir promised by the UN at the time of partition is nothing more than a child’s dream, and will never take place. What we must do is change the equation so that when India does the calculus, it realizes it must make accommodations.”