LASHKAR

by Mukul Deva

  Reaching the dune behind which his patrol headquarter was sited the Captain gestured to his three Section Commanders to gather around him. ‘Keep your eager beavers in strict control. The old man wants these buggers alive. No firing unless they fire first. And if you have to fire then aim low.’

  The patrol moved out to set up the ambush. By the time the three moving figures were 400 metres away the opportunity ambush was firmly in place. Weapons had already been cocked to ensure there were no giveaway snicks. The two-inch mortar and the rocket launcher had been loaded with illuminating rounds.

  Afzal the smuggler was in the lead when the three men entered the small gap between the two sand dunes. 50 metres away the young Captain controlled his mounting excitement as he watched the three men walk straight into the kill zone.

  When they were exactly where he wanted them to be he raised his right hand and fired the pencil flare straight up in the air. The mortar and the rocket launcher fired illuminating rounds into the air even as the pencil flare was breaking out into light. All at once the desert night was bathed in light. ‘Freeze! Hands in the air!’

  Like a deer caught in the headlights of a hunter’s jeep, Afzal froze. He did not even bother to think of putting up a fight or attempting to flee. He just stood with his raised hands shaking in the air. So did the terrorist immediately behind him. But the third man thought differently. He turned and made a run for it, hurtling down the dune into the darkness. He was fast, but not fast enough, stumbling at the first shot and crumpling to the ground at the second.

  Within seconds a storm of dark camouflaged figures had surrounded them. The two men who had frozen with their hands in the air were unceremoniously knocked down. Rough hands disarmed them and then slapped on handcuffs before subjecting them to a more thorough second search to check for any other concealed weapons.

  The third man who had been stupid enough to try and run was alive, but barely. Both bullets had been aimed low. The first had hit him in the upper thigh causing him to fall. The second, fired a split second later, had been aimed for his lower body but had caught him in the throat as he fell. The field dressing applied to him by the patrol medic stanched the bleeding but was unable to stop life seeping out from him. The 5.56 mm full metal jacket slug fired at that range wreaks substantial havoc to the human body. He died midway to the one-ton truck parked a few hundred yards away when he was being carried to it on a field stretcher.

  ‘Inshahallah!’ the Captain shrugged. ‘Anyway, let us find out who they are and why they are wandering around here at this time of the night.’ It took the Captain just five minutes, a couple of slaps and one kick before Afzal decided to blab. The man he was escorting out of India listened in mounting horror as he spilled his guts out to the Indian Army Captain.

  ‘It is them all right, Tiger One.’

  ‘Excellent job, Papa Six. Bring them in fast.’

  ‘Roger that, Tiger One, we are on our way. Oh, by the way, one of them didn’t make it. He tried to make a run for it…we had to stop him.’

  There was a short pause. ‘Shit happens, Papa Six. You did what you had to do. Don’t worry about it. Get moving now. These guys need to be interrogated ASAP.’

  The relieved Captain tossed the handset back to the radio operator and turned to the patrol. ‘Hurry up and get the buggers moving. You,’ he addressed the Section Commander escorting the terrorists, ‘keep a sharp eye on them. These behenchods are treacherous. If they try anything…anything…even if they breathe too hard just blow their bloody heads off, okay?’

  The NCO nodded vigorously, enthusiastically landing a resounding thump on the head of the terrorist closest to him. ‘Don’t worry, sir.’ He looked as though he couldn’t wait for the terrorists to try something.

  A dozen miles to the north, the ISI agent waiting at the Ranabhana BOP for Afzal and his two charges to show up did not start to worry almost till daybreak. He finally decided to call his superior at Fort Abbas when the three men did not reach the post even an hour after daybreak.

  ‘I just hope those assholes have not been taken alive by the Indians,’ was the first thing his superior said, then he added, ‘Maybe they missed their train…or had a breakdown en route…or some such thing.’ He mused some more. ‘Hang in there for another day and let’s see.’

  The ISI Agent put down the phone and went back to the command hut the Company Commander had so proudly offered to share with him. ‘Life is a such a bitch,’ he thought to himself as he tried to shut out the constant whining of the Company Commander about life in the desert. He fervently hoped that the three lost morons would fetch up soon so he could get his sorry butt back home.

  1000 hours, 30 October 2005, South Block, New Delhi.

  Dr Singh, the Indian Prime Minister looked sombre but composed when he addressed the nation. However he did not in mince his words when he assured the nation that justice would be ensured and the guilty made to pay.

  All television channels interrupted their normal telecasts to carry the Prime Minister’s address. Almost every household across the country had already turned on their TV sets when he started to speak. Those who were en route or caught in their cars were not denied the Prime Minister’s words since almost every radio station also carried the broadcast. And not just in India, despite the time zone differences, a lot of people in a lot of countries watched and listened. The Prime Minister spent the first few minutes recapitulating the horror that the terrorist bombs had unleashed on the Indian capital before he actually touched upon the meat of the matter:

  ‘For over two decades now India has withstood the scourge of this menace. We have repeatedly produced undeniable proof to the world of the people responsible for these cowardly and reprehensible acts, but the world has chosen to do nothing about it. Well, this time the comity of nations must take note that India will not take this heinous act of cowardice as anything other than an act of war. We shall bring the guilty to book. No matter what the cost and what the means this time justice will be meted out. I have mobilized the Indian Armed Forces into the highest possible state of alert and we stand ready to do whatever is required to defend ourselves and our way of life. I assure the people of India that any person or nation that stands between us and these cowardly terrorist killers shall encounter the full fury and might of the Indian Armed Forces.’

  There was deadly intent and a new sense of purpose in the PM’s address; made even more palpable by the calm deliberation with which it was delivered.

  *

  All over the world a series of high-level meetings erupted as a panicky world contemplated the threat of yet another war in the Indian subcontinent; since few had any doubt about who was behind the terror.

  ‘Sir, the Indians are dead serious this time.’ The intelligence analyst briefing the American President told him. ‘We have every indication that they are not going to take this one lying down.’

  ‘What kind of response are you talking about?’

  ‘It is still too early to say, sir, but there is nothing to prevent them from going Israel’s way and taking the chase into Pakistan; they clearly have the means. If the Indian people build up enough pressure on their politicians they may very well find the will.’

  ‘What happens if they do that?’

  The analyst chose his words carefully. ‘That’s anybody guess, sir,’ he eventually replied. ‘The Pakistanis won’t take it lying down. They have too much at stake and are quite likely to up the ante. As it is, both armies are always on high alert, especially along the Kashmir border…and the strike formations of both countries are never very far from the borders.’

  ‘You think they will go nuclear?’

  ‘Well…’ It was the question all intelligence analysts dreaded – trying to guess what they thought the other guy was going to think. He wanted to say: ‘Who do you think I am, Mr President? The only balls I have are between my legs and they are definitely not crystal.’ Instead he gave him a profoundly intellectual look: ‘It is hard to say, s
ir, but logically the Pakis are dumb enough to do it. Although if they do, the Indians can literally wipe Pakistan off the map. Between the two of them only India has the strategic and physical depth to live through a nuke attack.’

  The President studied the painting that hung on the wall facing his desk. ‘Get the Pakistani President on the line for me.’

  The aide was walking away to do his bidding when he spoke again: ‘And the Indian Prime Minister too.’

  A flurry of phone calls erupted, but strangely enough, let alone the Indian Prime Minister, no one even remotely senior was available for comment. The underlings who took the message were apologetic, but vague. ‘Yes, we will definitely pass on the message. We will make sure they call you back ASAP.’ This stonewalling was a feature of Indian diplomacy that the world had not encountered before.

  The only one who did get through was the Israeli Premier. His call with the Indian PM lasted barely two minutes. The call between the Intelligence chiefs of the two countries that took place a few minutes later lasted almost half an hour.

  Thirty minutes after the television address, the Prime Minister chaired an emergency Cabinet session. Despite short notice, every member was in attendance.

  Indian Cabinet sessions are not noted for being calm and peaceful and this session had all the ingredients for turning into a particularly nasty one. It didn’t. The PM set the tone by speaking in a calm manner: ‘Let us be very clear that this time the nation must stand firm. I appeal to all parties and members, this is no time for petty politicking…We must deliver on our commitment to the people. We must ensure we present a united front and bring the guilty to book. This is what I propose to do…’

  There was a stunned silence in the room when he finished. Then a storm of questions exploded.

  ‘Gentlemen, please. You must understand and appreciate that I cannot go into operational details at this point in time. In any case, these matters are for the Armed Forces to handle and I have complete confidence in their ability to do so. What I need from all of you today is just the answer to a simple question – Is there anyone here who feels we should not act to defend ourselves?’ He gave a long pause to drive home the import of his words. ‘If so, this is the time to speak.’

  The PM had worded his question so beautifully that it would have taken a very brave politician to answer in the negative. None did.

  The PM did not meet any resistance from any quarter since even his worst political foes were solidly behind him. From this emergency session he moved straight to another meeting of the Crisis Management Committee in South Block.

  The Crisis Management Committee meeting was not publicized or talked about at all. For once there was no bureaucratic bullshit or hyperbole. The PM went straight to the heart of the matter: ‘We need to give an appropriate and befitting response. Such acts cannot be taken lying down any more.’

  A loud and affirmative murmur met his words.

  ‘I tell you, we must sort these buggers out once and for all!’ The Defence Minister was a salty man of the soil, a direct contrast to the genteel PM. ‘If Mrs G was still around our forces would be striking deep into Pakistan. I tell you, people, that lady had balls.’

  The Home Minister and the External Affairs Minister exchanged horrified looks at this crassness. They were still struggling for words when the Defence Minister thumped a huge hand appreciatively on the table. ‘Remember 1971? She gave those buggers something to chew on for a long time.’

  ‘Well, sir,’ the Army Chief addressed the Defence Minister; he was not a political appointee and had only about three months to go before he hung up his spurs,so he could speak with undue candour. ‘In 1971 we were told to go in and liberate East Pakistan. We did it. There is no gainsaying that militarily it was an exemplary war, but otherwise, strategically speaking, how much sense did it really make?’

  The Defence Minister reddened considerably. He had not expected to be contradicted, especially not from these quarters. But before he could say anything the Army Chief resumed speaking:

  ‘East Pakistan was a festering wound for Pakistan. It was perennially facing drought or floods. It was a massive and continuous drain on the already fragile and fragmented Pakistani economy. Not only that, it was also a strategic and administrative nightmare for Pakistan to maintain forces in two such widely separated areas. By liberating East Pakistan we released them from these perpetual sorrows. We allowed them to concentrate their forces on one front…’

  The External Affairs Minister quite liked the way this was going. ‘But of course,’ he butted in, ‘that is exactly what my predecessors had pointed out. But who was listening?’

  ‘Not only that, Minister, we have given that damn ISI a perfect and deniable base for terror activities. They now happily use Bangladeshi territory to pump in arms and militants into India without involving their own country.‘ The Home Minister, who belonged to the same political party as the External Affairs Minister, could not resist this opportunity to tell off the Defence Minister, who had been thrust upon them by the politics of a coalition government.

  ‘That is exactly what they have also started doing in Nepal now. Are you aware that the Habib Bank of Pakistan is supporting 800 madrassas in Nepal? 800! Can you believe it? 800! That is almost as many as we have in India and we’re talking about a country that is smaller than our smallest state. I mean, let’s get real, Nepal has fewer Muslims than we have in any one of our states.’

  ‘The Habib Bank is just a damn front for their bloody ISI. You know how these filthy Pakis are…Give the buggers an inch and there they are with their terror factories. Those bastards will never stop. The only way is to go in and just…’

  ‘Well, sir,’ the National Intelligence Chief broke in, ‘you must understand that these madrassas have a key role to play in how Pakistan influences and controls terrorist organizations. Are you aware that the word Taliban literally means a group of madrassa students? Do you know that five of the Taliban’s key leaders are graduates of a single madrassa?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Five of them are from the Darul Uloom Haqqania, in Akora Khattak…that’s near Peshawar. The Taliban are mostly Pashtun veterans of the Afghan–Soviet War. They have transformed the classical belief that jihad is a defence of Islam into a very radical, militant worldview. They are possibly the most violent face of Islamic fundamentalism and they target Muslims and non-Muslims alike. Many Muslim leaders have opposed their puritanical and intolerant doctrines as deviations from Islam.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ it was the Defence Minister again, ‘but I can believe anything about these Pakis…’

  ‘Very true, sir. After all, barring Israel, Pakistan is the only country in the world to have been formed on the basis of a religion.’ For once the External Affairs Minister agreed with him. ‘If they did not have India to hate and fight what would they base their national and foreign policies on?’

  ‘True again, sir,’ the Intelligence Chief couldn’t resist the opportunity to display his intelligence. ‘Do you know that it was at Peshawar that most of the hiring was done by the Pakistani Army, at the behest of the Americans, to supply mujahideen to Afghanistan to fight the Soviets? After all, the Al-Qaida is a creation of the CIA and the ISI. It is because of their short-sightedness and stupidity that the world is suffering these horrific terror attacks.’

  ‘Bloody Al-Qaida…’ the Defence Minister muttered. ‘What kind of a name is that anyway?’

  ‘Sir, Al-Qaida, literally means “the database”.’ The Intelligence Chief was on a roll. He seldom got such an august audience under one roof. ‘It was originally the computer file of thousands of mujahideen who were recruited and trained to fight the Russians. The database was divided into two parts, the information file from where the participants in the meetings could pick up information they needed, and the decision file where the decisions made during the previous sessions were recorded. In Arabic, the files were called,”Q eidat il-Maaloomaat” and “Q eidat
i-Taaleemaat”. Those two files were kept in one file called “Q eidat ilmu’ti’aat”, which is the exact translation of the English word “database”. But the Arabs commonly used the short word Al-Qaida, which is the Arabic word for “base”. For instance, the military air base of Riyadh, is called “Q eidat riyadh al askariya”. “Q eida” means “a base” and “Al-Qaida” means “the base”. It is an organization with the stated objective of eliminating foreign influence from Muslim countries. Most of its prominent members are adherents of Salafism, a very fundamentalist Sunni sect.’

  There was a short pause as the Intelligence Chief stopped speaking. He suddenly realized that though the information may have been new and fascinating for many of those present in the room this was definitely not the time for it.

  ‘That is very illuminating I am sure, but right now I need to know just what the hell we plan to do.’ The Home Minister looked at the PM as he spoke. The PM acknowledged the cue offered to him with a brief nod.

  ‘Gentlemen, I am sure all of you will agree that we have soft-footed around for too long. I think it is time we learnt a thing or two from the Israelis. We must let the world know that India is not a perpetual target for any lunatic terrorist to hit upon whenever he feels like it.’

  A babble of angry comments erupted. The PM held up his hand and waited till some sort of silence was reached. ‘I want you all to listen carefully…This is what we are going to do…’

  When he finished speaking there was a stunned silence in the room. For a good long minute no one spoke, then all at once everyone erupted almost simultaneously; barring the three Service Chiefs with whom the PM had obviously had a prior sit-down.

  ‘The Americans will have kittens.’

  ‘Let them. This is not their problem.’

  ‘Don’t you think we should…?’

  ‘Why can’t we just bomb all those training camps also?’