by Mainak Dhar
She heard a low, rumbling sound across the corner and hastened her pace. Within seconds, the noise had begun to sound like some animal, but Pooja knew what it was-the collective howls and murmurs of a mob on the rampage.
Then, without warning, all hell seemed to break loose. Four young men, swords in hand, ran across the street in front of her and attacked the sweet shop she had often frequented. The owner, an elderly man, walked out to reason with the youth, two of whom he had known for years.
`Son, why get involved in this madness? I have seen you since you couldn’t even walk. Please go home and leave me alone.’
The response was as swift as it was brutal. A blade cut through the air and hit the man on his forehead. He collapsed to the ground, blood spurting from his head.
Pooja screamed-and then knew she had put herself in great danger. The men turned towards her and after what seemed to be very short discussion, began running at her.
Pooja turned and sprinted in the direction of her house. She had been on her school track team, and in a flat out race, could probably have outrun any of her pursuers, but now she could barely think straight.
She thought she heard their footsteps close behind her, and then realized that it was her own heart, pounding with fear.
She took a wrong turn and realized too late that she had entered a dead end alley. Pooja turned around and saw two men following her, now a bare twenty meters away. She began screaming for help, hoping against hope that someone would hear her shouts.
The men had now begun advancing towards her; now close enough for Pooja to see the twisted grins on their faces. One of the men threw down his sword when he was only five feet away.
`Darling, I won’t hurt you. Come to me.’
Pooja tried remembering all that she had read about how to counter would-be rapists, but now her memory failed her. She backed up against the wall and closed her eyes, as the man loomed over her.
***
Squadron Leader Nishant Singh rushed to his wife’s school just outside the Air Force Base at Ambala when he heard about the riots. Twenty-nine years old, Singh had joined the Indian Air Force eight years ago. He had had a copybook career, starting as a fighter pilot on MiG-23s and then moving to Mirage 2000s. His latest assignment, which was now into its second year, had been his most memorable. He was leading one of India’s five Sukhoi Su-30 squadrons.
As he neared the school, he saw a mob just outside the building. The sleepy town had traditionally been relatively free of the sectarian tensions afflicting much of the rest of India. But the latest round of riots had not spared it. Heedless of his own safety, Singh rushed forward. The crowd, seeing his uniform and holster, melted away. Singh sprinted up the stairs to his wife’s classroom.
`Sonaina, are you alright?’
His wife was startled to see him, but ran to him as soon as he entered the room.
`Nuts, what are you doing here-there are riots outside.’
`Hell, I know that-let’s get out of here-its much safer in the base.’
`But..’
`No buts. We’re leaving now!’
`What about the children?’
Singh stopped and looked at the six young children in front of him. They were obviously terrified and a couple of them had begun crying.
`Where are the others?’
`They’re the only ones. The others have already left.’
`Okay-they come with us.’
Singh and Sonaina ran outside with the children behind them. They could see a crowd gathering just a hundred meters away. Some of the men were carrying swords and knives.
`Oh God, there’s Mr. Pestonjee lying there!’
Singh pulled her away, `There’s nothing we can do-he’s dead. Let’s get these kids to safety.’
As they got into his jeep, someone threw a stone that hit the jeep. Some of the children began crying as more stones started landing around them.
`Sonaina, take the wheel-head straight for the base!’
Singh had taken out his gun-a 0.38 revolver. He had no wish to kill anyone, but if he was forced to do so, he would. They had gone no further than a few meters that the jeep lurched and almost swerved off the road.
`Damn, we’ve got a flat-they’ve put nails all around the road!’
`Sonaina, keep driving! Whatever you do, don’t stop.’
The jeep was now going no faster than its pursuers, who kept up a steady volley of stones and soda bottles. It was now a mere kilometer to the base, and Singh wanted to get as near to the base as possible.
`They’re gaining on us, Nuts!’
Singh looked back to see about twenty men, most with swords and knives in hand, rapidly gaining on the jeep. He pulled the safety catch off his gun and got ready to fire a warning shot over their heads.
Suddenly, the crowd stopped and ran in the opposite direction. A bewildered Singh turned around to see the reasona jeep full of Air Force Police, armed with automatic weapons.
***
The man reached out to grab her, but Pooja ducked out of the way and tried to run past him. He grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. She felt his callused hands grabbing at her hair while he tried to force his mouth against hers. In blind panic, virtually without realizing it, she drove her knee into his groin. He doubled over in pain.
`Bitch!’
She tried to run past him, but there was no getting past the second man. The world seemed to spin around her as she fell to the ground. Pooja had never felt such pain before-and the warm, sticky feeling on the side of her face just added to her panic. The man who had hit her was now standing over her, leering down at her.
Then things happened in a blur. The man seemed to fly at the wall, hitting his skull against the bricks with a sickening thud and then collapsing to the ground. The other man had barely turned around to face their attacker when he met with a similar fate.
Pooja turned her neck up and saw Rahul’s, holding a cricket bat in his hands.
`Oh God….’
She had barely completed her sentence when she collapsed into his arms.
***
The tank lurched as it caught fire.
It almost seemed a beautiful sight, with bright red flames shooting up at the sky. For a moment, the flames seemed to transform into firecrackers and explode far overhead, creating a colorful mosaic in the skies. Maybe it was Diwali. It was always good to be home at Diwali-with the sweets and the fireworks.
NO. He could now clearly hear the screams of the dying men. As he walked towards the burning wreck, he saw a man clamber out, his skin almost completely burnt off. There was a sickly sweet smell in the air-like meat in tandoor. But he knew this was no tandoor
`Why, Dev. Why?’
He turned to run, but could not move. The burnt man was now laughing, pointing his burnt finger at Chauhan. He turned to see other burnt officers pointing their fingers at him, saying one word, `Coward!’
Chauhan woke up with a start. It was always the same goddamn nightmare. Always. Would it never leave him in peace?
He got up with wobbly feet and poured himself a glass of cold water. It had been two years, but thinking of that fateful day still made him break out in a sweat.
***
`Boss, some coffee.’
Pooja woke to find herself in her own bed, and wondered momentarily if it had all been a bad dream. That was till she touched the side of her face to discover a thick wad of bandages.
`What happened?’
`Oh, nothing. Just relax. You’re not hurt too bad-should be up and about in a day. I had come down to your place and the guard told me you had gone to the market. When the riots started, I thought I’d just check up if you were okay and started walking towards the market.’
Rahul put the cup of coffee down by the bed and started to walk towards the door.
`Rahul…’
`Yeah, Boss.’
`I was so scared. I could have run, shouted-done something…’ Rahul turned around and sat by her side.
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`Relax. You just acted human. Anyone else would have done the same. Now get some rest-there’s absolute chaos breaking out all over-and we need to be out there catching it all.’
Rahul got up and began walking out.
`Rahul, thanks…’
***
By evening, communal riots had begun to break out across the country. More than a thousand people lost their lives in some of the worst rioting seen in India. Khosla was livid. From his hospital bed, he made an appeal on television for sanity-but for now, that was a very rare commodity in India.
***
SIX
Supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.
- Sun Tzu
There was an audible buzz in the United Nations General Assembly as Illahi Khan came to the podium to address the specially convened session. He was dressed immaculately in a black suit and began speaking in his rough, rustic accent. He had a prepared speech in his hands, and he had to refer to it often as he spoke.
`Ladies and gentlemen. What we are witnessing today is genocide unlike any seen post Hitler’s scourges. While my people and I condemn the terrorist attack on the Indian Prime Minister, there can be no excuse for the systematic and brutal ethnic cleansing we are witnessing now. What we must understand that even the attack on the Prime Minister, regrettable as it was, was the culmination of a long history of repression of Muslims.’ Illahi spoke with increasing confidence, and his appearance at the UN for a specially convened address did not fail to raise the suspicions of the Indian diplomats for it’s fortuitous timing.
`We in Pakistan have always stood by our Muslim brethren and will continue to do so. In the past, we have offered moral support but if it comes to it, the people of Pakistan will not keep sitting on their hands. Already youth in Kashmir are rising in rebellion, and if the current communal holocaust continues, I may not be able to rein in the sentiments of my people’.
`In the past, in Bosnia, in Rwanda, we have witnessed similar actions, and in all cases, the international community had taken a firm stand against the perpetrators. I would expect nothing less this time as well. There is a humanitarian catastrophe staring us in the face, and we cannot try and ignore it.’
As Illahi spoke, photographs were being projected on the wall behind him. Stark black and white photographs showing the horrific results of the communal violence now sweeping across India.
`India has often made a huge show of its democratic credentials and tried to draw attention to the fact that Pakistan has had military rulers at its helm for a large part of its existence. But I ask you, what use democracy if it cannot protect its minorities against wholesale slaughter and genocide? What use democracy if it is but subverted to suit the interests of certain religions and groups? What use democracy if states are sought to be kept in the union by prolonged and brutal military occupation? Indeed, I submit that India is a democracy only in name. If it is to prove itself a true democracy, one that is worthy of the ideals of its past leaders like Gandhi and Nehru, it must rise above the petty religious bloodlust it is today exhibiting.’
`Pakistan is an Islamic nation-I make no bones about that. Indeed, I see no reason to be apologetic about it. We are a proud Islamic nation. But does that mean we have no place for other religions. I ask all members gathered here today to consider a simple fact-the total number of Hindus killed in communal incidents in Pakistan over the last decade is less than the number of Muslims butchered in India yesterday.’
`We give the Indian government one week to put an end to the bloodletting. Otherwise, it will have to face dire consequences. I call upon our fellow Muslim countries to stand by us in this time of dire need when our faith is being put under severe danger. I also appeal to the Muslim youth to restrain themselves and not give into the temptation to take to arms in the defense of their faith.’
There was a stunned silence in the General Assembly as Illahi finished his short speech and walked to his seat.
***
Karim sat at his desk, staring in horror at the scenes on the screen in front of him. The bastard Illahi was sacrificing thousands of innocent lives to meet his own goals-so that’s how his plan panned out. Well, someone had to stop him, but who? Karim had a young child and could not bring himself to rebel now-not after what had happened to Babar. He thought he knew Ilahi well-at one time they were close friends. But over the last few days, Ilahi had grown distant and aloof. For three weeks, their Thursday games of chess had not been held, and the one time Karim had tried to talk to Ilahi off the record about his concerns, Ilahi had not even bothered responding.
The anger burned in his head as he clenched his fist, his nails biting into his palm, drawing blood.
He was lost in his thoughts, when he heard the doorbell ring, followed by Nafisa’s joyous cries of `Arif uncle’. Karim knew who this would be, and was looking forward to meeting the man he knew would be now on his way to the study.
`Sir, are you not feeling well? I called several times.’
`No, I’m fine, Arif. Come in. And at home, you can do away with the Sir-we’ve known each other far too long.’
Karim looked at the tall and fit man in front of him, Group Captain Arif Ansari.
Karim and Arif had known each other since college. Arif’s parents had died when he was very young, and he was always reluctant to discuss them. He had moved in with his uncle, who lived next to Karim’s house when both of them were in their late teens, and they had quickly become the best of friends. They had gone to the same college and then applied to the Air Force. As young officers, Karim was always regarded as being much sharper, but Arif had a fierce determination in him that almost always ensured he achieved what he wanted. Both were tipped to join frontline fighter squadrons, but a freak car accident led to damage in one of Arif’s eyes, and he was forced to join the Maintenance Wing. Karim had rapidly risen through the Air Force ranks, especially after his exploits as an F-16 pilot over Afghanistan in the late-80s, when he had shot down two Russian made Sukhoi-22 fighter-bombers. Arif’s career had had a more gradual progress-and now he technically reported to Karim. However, Arif had never let this come between their friendship-something Karim had been grateful for.
It was a widely accepted belief that ranks never really meant anything to Arif. He just wanted to be near planes and tinkering around with planes was a passion of his. Even though he now a middle level officer in Administration, he would often be found at bases, flying trainer aircraft. He had never married, and the running joke went that no woman could turn him on the way an aircraft did. If there was one thing Arif was known for even more, it was his fierce patriotism and idealism.
`Karim, I wanted to talk to you about something….something related to work.’
`Yes, go ahead Arif. We never hide anything from each other.’
Arif sat down opposite Karim, and began talking after what seemed to be a long pause.
`Karim, I’m concerned at what’s happening between India and us. It would be senseless for us to go to war, and that’s the direction things seem to be moving in. I’m also worried whether we have anything to do with what’s going on in India-you know, the riots, the killings. You would be one of the few people to know if we did. I need that reassurance. If we do go to war, I will of course fight for my country. But I need to know what it is we’re fighting for.’
Arif had clearly been greatly troubled, and his sentence trailed off, as he tried to gather his thoughts. Karim got up and walked towards Arif. Karim debated in his mind what he would tell his friend. And then the disciplined, and he thought bitterly, scared, soldier in him took over.
`Arif, we are soldiers of our country. Our duty is to defend it, and we will do it. Don’t bother too much about these bigger things.’
The shock on Arif’s face said it all. `You’re saying this. All the young guys in the PAF hero-worship you. They’ll fly against impossible odds if you just say so. But we, I, need to know we’re fighting for the right
cause.’
`Arif, just have faith in me. Do your duty to the nation, and trust me to guide you on these matters.’
`Very well, Sir.’
With those words, Arif walked out. Karim sat at his desk, wondering just how much more he could take. He had just lost much of the respect his closest friend had for him, and he feared he was losing respect for himself. You’re going soft, Karim. What happened to that young pilot who would rise for a fight anytime honor was at stake? Where is that honor now?
***
The Indian envoy to the UN was clearly having a very bad day.
`Madam Secretary General, the Indian government completely and emphatically denies these baseless charges. While some communal violence has unfortunately flared up, this is not, I repeat not, an official act of ethnic cleansing. We are doing all we can to control the situation. As the world’s largest democracy, I hope you and the community of nations will have enough faith in us. In fact, we have reason to believe that Pakistani agents and Pakistan trained mercenaries have had a major role in instigating these riots..’
Illahi cut him off in mid sentence.
`This is nonsense. Baseless lies are being spoken while thousands of innocent Muslims are being slaughtered. Where is the evidence of these so-called Pakistani agents at work?’
The experienced Indian diplomat maintained his composure and continued speaking.
`As I was saying…..’
This time Illahi did not let him speak. In an event unprecedented in the history of the United Nations, he got up and walked menacingly towards the podium. Though Illahi was not a very large man, his rapid strides and glaring eyes were threatening enough.
The Secretary General was in a bind. As part of several UN Peacekeeping operations in her younger days, she had faced conflict situations, but she really did not know how to stop the head of a member state from assaulting another dignitary.