TANZEEM

by Deva, Mukul

In fact, the colony of mud-walled huts still had the same ill-maintained, almost dilapidated appearance which Iqbal remembered all too well. The mud walls encircling the compound seamlessly blended with the surrounding terrain.

  Even from a distance, Iqbal could identify the tiny hut that Tanaz and he had occupied while he recuperated. In the centre of the compound was the slightly larger brick-walled hospital hut in which the Ameer’s doctor had operated upon him and removed the bullets from his body. Instinctively, Iqbal speeded up.

  He was about thirty metres from the parapet when two men with rifles rose from behind it.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ They cocked their rifles with grating metallic snicks. They were young beardless sentries, barely out of their teens. Precisely the kind who are stupid enough to shoot first and ask questions later.

  The one who had spoken seemed to be the younger of the two; his tone was gruff and reeked of the arrogance of a man wielding a newly-acquired weapon. Iqbal noticed that their rifles were as dirty and badly maintained as their clothes, indicating their poor level of training. But both rifles were aimed at Iqbal, bringing him to a halt. Dirty or clean, the bullets they fired would be lethal and at this range even an idiot could not miss.

  ‘I need to see the doctor… Pervez,’ Iqbal replied confidently, switching to the local dialect he had mastered during his previous stay here. He also made sure he kept his hands in plain sight the entire time.

  ‘Why? Who are you?’ the older sentry asked, eager to assert his authority.

  ‘Just call the doctor. He knows me well.’ I hope the bugger is still alive. Iqbal knew from experience that it was best to stonewall them. In this part of the world no one gave away too many details about himself, not unless there was a gun held to his head or a knife to his balls. In any case, these two sentries looked like they had no idea what they were supposed to be doing. Iqbal guessed they had been posted to keep out the occasional errant villager or provide early warning of approaching security forces.

  The guards, meanwhile, taking note of the fact that Iqbal was apparently unarmed, exchanged uncertain glances, shrugged and then, at a nod from the older one, the younger sentry went off to fetch the doctor. The other perched himself on the parapet and kept watch on Iqbal. His rifle was still pointed at him, but his demeanour was casual now. If he wanted to, Iqbal could have taken him down before the guard could even think of bringing his rifle into action. And he would not even have to use the pistol concealed in his waistband.

  ‘Oh! It’s you!’ Iqbal heard the reedy, once familiar voice and looked up to see Pervez striding towards him. He was dressed as shoddily as before and the unpleasant smell of disinfectant hung about him. The smell grew stronger as he came closer.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Pervez asked. ‘I thought you had gone back…’

  ‘I had.’ Iqbal hailed him with a wave, forcing a smile. ‘Then they sent me across for another mission.’ He gestured over his shoulder towards India. ‘Now I am on my way back.’

  ‘Then why did you not go straight to Muridke? Wouldn’t that have been much closer for you?’

  ‘Not from where I am coming.’ Iqbal had anticipated this question. After all, the Lashkar-e-Toiba campus, sited on 77 acres donated by the Pakistan government and built with money from the same Saudi groups that financed Al-Qaeda, was the logical destination for any LeT operative returning from a mission in India. Ankita’s intelligence reports had provided him with the right answer. ‘In any case, Muridke is totally out of bounds for me.’

  ‘I know!’ Pervez broke into a sharp, nasal laugh. ‘Almost everyone is staying clear of it these days, ever since the Mumbai operation. We really fucked their happiness with that one.’ He gleefully rubbed his hands together, then suddenly stopped and looked around. ‘Where is that woman of yours?’

  ‘She didn’t make it,’ Iqbal replied flatly.

  ‘Oh.’ For a moment Pervez seemed unsure of what to say. ‘Tough luck, miyan. We are losing a lot of people these days. But the jihad calls for many sacrifices.’ He spoke with the glib assurance of one who had never faced a gun and never would; such men are always more willing to sacrifice human life.

  An uncomfortable pause followed as Iqbal fought the urge to draw his weapon and pump all its bullets into the man’s head.

  Unnerved by the cold look in Iqbal’s eyes, Pervez hurriedly broke the silence. ‘Come, let’s get you something hot to drink,’ he offered. ‘You are planning to stay long?’

  ‘No, I will rest for the day and then move on.’

  ‘To Muzaffarabad?’ Pervez automatically assumed Iqbal would proceed to one of the other LeT bases.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I need to find the Ameer.’

  ‘The Ameer?’ Pervez swivelled to look at Iqbal, his eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘The Ameer-ul-Momineem?’ He guffawed when Iqbal nodded. ‘You must be joking. Just because he picked you off the streets once…’

  ‘The mission I was on for the past few months was run by one of his key people.’

  ‘Who? Where is he?’

  ‘You wouldn’t know him. And in any case, he didn’t make it either.’ Iqbal controlled his irritation. He needed to get Pervez to talk freely; this was his best chance to get information. ‘That is why I know the Ameer will want to meet me.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ The doctor gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘Anyway, don’t you know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Nobody finds or meets the Ameer. Not unless the Ameer wants them to. In fact, only if he wants them to.’

  ‘Or if it is Allah’s will,’ Iqbal shrugged.

  ‘That is so, of course.’

  They had reached a smaller hut adjacent to the hospital. Pulling a kettle off the fire, Pervez poured tea into two old, unclean mugs. He handed one to Iqbal, then threw himself on one of the charpoys that lay askew outside the hut and motioned Iqbal towards the second one. ‘There are biscuits in that tin, if you want some.’

  ‘I am fine.’ Iqbal shook his head, taking a sip of the tea. It was awful, overbrewed and terribly sweet, but he drank it. His body needed the sugar. ‘Do you have any idea where the Ameer might be?’ he asked Pervez.

  ‘Me? How would small fry like me know?’ Pervez cackled. ‘He could be anywhere.’

  ‘But if one has to look for him, where should one start?’

  ‘Head for the north, where else? Everything seems to be happening there these days.’ The doctor mused awhile. ‘Not a very healthy place to be in, though.’ He saw the query in Iqbal’s eyes and continued, ‘Maulana Fazlullah’s forces have overrun the Swat Valley and are in complete control of it. So it is possible that the Ameer is there. They say many of the senior commanders have moved there since it is out of range of those fucking missiles the Americans keep throwing down from the skies every now and then.’

  ‘So I heard,’ said Iqbal. ‘But is it really true about the Swat Valley? You mean the government has just…’

  ‘…rolled over and died,’ Pervez finished with a smirk. ‘Oh, they go around making the usual noises about restoring the government’s writ, blah blah…’ He mimed a flapping mouth with the fingers of his right hand. ‘Now we hear they are gathering troops to retake the Valley, but the simple fact is that today the Sharia is supreme in Swat.’

  Iqbal was speechless.

  ‘And further down in Waziristan, the security forces are already on the run. So the Ameer may well have returned there to take charge. Who knows? It is all very confusing.’ Pervez pondered for a moment. ‘That’s why, if I were you, I would try Waziristan. It is his home base after all. Head for the Manba Ulom madrassa. They all say it is his headquarter.’

  There was silence as both men mulled this over.

  ‘We hear that even Peshawar may fall any day now,’ Pervez said.

  ‘Peshawar! But the army is very strong there.’

  ‘So what? You know as well as I do that the Pakistan Army does not have the heart to take us on. Actually, more and more Pakista
nis are starting to see things the way we want them to.’ Pervez looked heavenwards reverently. ‘I don’t think it is going to be long before the NWFP, FATA and FANA are completely in our control.’

  ‘Inshallah,’ Iqbal murmured dutifully, concealing his surprise.

  ‘There is some talk that the army might launch an offensive to regain control of the Swat Valley, but they will get a real jolt if they try. From all over the country, our boys are rallying to defend the Swat. From what we have heard, it is just a matter of time before the heartland also falls into our control.’

  ‘Fantastic! That is really encouraging.’ Iqbal forced a smile. So Colonel Anbu was right. If everything this guy is saying is true, the Talibanization of Pakistan is just a matter of time, and not too much time at that.

  ‘That is why I am telling you to be careful when you reach. With the Americans, the Pakistan Army and our own people all mucking about there, not to mention some of the local lashkars, it is a real bugger’s muddle. No one knows who is shooting at whom and why. See what I mean?’

  ‘I do, I do,’ Iqbal nodded. ‘I’ll be careful.’

  Pervez slurped his tea. ‘Another bit of friendly advice: be careful whom you speak to about the Ameer. Out there, they don’t care much for people who go around asking too many questions, especially about him. You start shooting your mouth off and you may well end up losing your head.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘I suggest you head back to Muridke or Muzaffarabad and ask your bosses what you should do. They will know where the Ameer is. There is a lot of talk going on these days, of all the groups coming together and functioning in tandem.’ Pervez got up and poured them some more tea.

  ‘Is that really happening?’ ‘Well, I have not seen it myself but I believe they have already started sharing training camps and administrative bases.’

  Iqbal gave a low whistle. ‘That is awesome.’

  ‘Yes, I even heard they are planning to start sourcing weapons jointly and target allocation will also be coordinated centrally.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘All that I am not sure of. The Ameer himself, I suppose,’ Pervez shrugged. ‘I’m just telling you what I’ve heard from those who pass through.’

  ‘You seem to hear an awful lot,’ Iqbal said with a laugh, trying to keep the man talking.

  ‘Well, you know what it is like,’ Pervez chuckled. ‘People love to chat with the doctor, the barber and the whore.’

  Iqbal feigned amusement, then said, ‘I like your idea of going back to Muzaffarabad, though.’

  ‘That would be your best bet, certainly the safest. Though if you do wish to go north, you can leave with the group heading for Swat tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Iqbal was not sure of the consequences of doing so. On the one hand, going with others would aid his anonymity and be a lot safer. On the other, it would leave him open to questioning by his travel companions, thus increasing the chances of his cover being blown.

  ‘Look, there’s Yasin.’ Pervez suddenly sat up and pointed at a man who was walking across the compound. ‘He is the leader of the group leaving tomorrow. Here, let me introduce the two of you.’ Before Iqbal could react, Pervez got up and waved at the stranger. ‘Oye, Yasin! Yasin miyan.’

  ‘Come, come, Yasin bhai,’ he said when the man walked up. ‘I want you to meet someone. This is Iqbal.’ Pervez thumped Iqbal on the shoulder. The hearty introduction worked well for Iqbal since it seemed to allay any doubt that Yasin may have had; he only appeared curious at the moment.

  Dressed in the Pathani suit commonly worn in the area, Yasin was a bulky man of medium height, his round face half covered by a heavy beard. He greeted Iqbal with a nod, neither hostile nor suspicious, but not too friendly either.

  ‘I thought the two of you should meet since he is also heading your way,’ Pervez continued helpfully, pouring another cup of tea and handing it to Yasin. ‘So I suggested he go with you.’

  ‘Are you going to join the defence there?’ Yasin asked Iqbal, ignoring Pervez. That did not go down very well with the doctor who enjoyed being at centre stage, like most men on the fringes of fighting.

  ‘No, Yasin miyan, he has just come back from a mission and is on his way to rejoin his group in Waziristan,’ Pervez answered before Iqbal could.

  ‘Where are you headed?’ Iqbal spoke quickly, stalling further questions from Yasin or comment from Pervez.

  ‘We are going to join up the defence there.’ Yasin saw the query on Iqbal’s face and added, ‘Haven’t you heard? The Pakistan Army is planning to start an operation against our brothers in the Swat Valley. We… all of us,’ Yasin looked at both of them pointedly, ‘need to ensure they do not succeed.’

  ‘How could he have heard?’ Pervez came to Iqbal’s rescue. ‘He has just returned from there,’ Pervez gestured towards India and dramatically lowered his voice, ‘from a very important mission.’

  ‘Well, whatever.’ Yasin shrugged. He had obviously had enough of the doctor’s company and lost interest in Iqbal as soon as he learnt that Iqbal would not be joining forces with them. ‘We can drop you more than halfway to Waziristan if you wish to go with us.’

  ‘That would be fine.’ Iqbal decided the trip was worth the risk. He would simply have to be careful not to get into too much conversation with his fellow passengers.

  ‘Be ready by five then. Meet me at that hut.’ Yasin pointed across the camp. Then he put down his cup and hurried away.

  ‘There! That takes care of more than half your problems.’ Pervez bestowed a satisfied smile on Iqbal, who thanked him.

  By now Iqbal had realized there was nothing more he could get out of Pervez, so he made very visible efforts to stop yawning.

  ‘Tired?’ Pervez asked. ‘Why don’t you eat something and then get some sleep?’

  ‘Thanks, I will.’ Iqbal was not hungry, but he knew his body needed food. Pervez doled out some dal, vegetables and roti on a plate. Like the tea, the food was indifferently cooked and overly spicy, but it was hot. Iqbal’s stomach, starved of food the whole day, initially rebelled at the sudden gluttony. But he ate till he knew he had enough inside him to last till morning. Then he put the plate away and asked Pervez where he could sleep.

  ‘You can use the hut you stayed in earlier,’ Pervez said. ‘It is vacant today. In fact, it has been lying unused for quite a while. I will tell the sentry to wake you up in the morning.’

  Iqbal approached the hut with mixed feelings, not sure if he wanted to rekindle any memories, yet desperate to reach out and hold onto anything that brought Tanaz closer to him, even momentarily. When he finally pushed open the door, his heart was racing and his hands trembled. Beads of sweat lined his brow. Every fibre of his mind and body felt painfully, acutely alive.

  The unmistakable mustiness of a room closed for too long greeted him. Small puffs of dust blew wherever his feet landed. He immediately noticed that everything inside had changed in the months gone by; despite that, a strong sense of familiarity and loss seeped through him. He felt achingly alone.

  When Iqbal reached Yasin’s hut the next morning, there were five men with Yasin. No one asked him any questions. Like Yasin, they were all in their mid-twenties and were similarly attired. No weapons were visible. From what Iqbal had gathered during his conversation with Pervez, it was not safe to travel with weapons any more. The jihadis no longer had the carte blanche that the Pakistan Army had allowed them all these years.

  Iqbal had already dropped the mobile phone Ankita had given him into the field latrine outside the compound. It would be of no use where he was headed. And if discovered on him, it could be the cause of his death.

  It was still short of daybreak when the men threw in their rucksacks, squeezed themselves into the rickety van and started off with Yasin at the wheel.

  The first question came when they were about a mile away from the camp. ‘I heard you just returned from across,’ the man sitting beside Iqbal said to him. ‘How are t
hings there?’

  Iqbal looked at him. His thick accent indicated he had not had much schooling. He appeared to be the typical canon-fodder variety which most jihadi groups recruited in large numbers. Men who would satisfy the ever-hungry guns of the security forces. Men who were too dumb or too hungry for the few rupees thrown at them by the terror maestros to question why they should be so ready to die.

  ‘Not very good, especially after Mumbai,’ Iqbal replied, keeping his tone formal. The mention of Mumbai elicited satisfied smiles from the others. ‘The Indians are really riled up and are coming down hard on anyone and anything they suspect.’

  ‘Well, it’s not much better here these days,’ the man seated across from Iqbal said irritably. ‘Those treacherous government and army bastards have decided they are going to fight America’s war.’

  ‘It’s the same story everywhere,’ Iqbal muttered. Hoping to ward off further conversation, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

  The van became quiet again. Soon the others dozed off as well. Two of the men were squashed into the front seat beside Yasin and the other three were huddled together in the rear with Iqbal and all the rucksacks. It was a tight fit. Each time the van hit a pothole – and there were plenty of them – the knees of the men in the back knocked together. The journey had barely begun and already the stale smell of unwashed bodies and dirty clothes was settling down upon them like a stifling cloak. Dust and the bone-chilling January cold poured in through the open windows, adding to the discomfort.

  It was the sudden lack of motion that jolted Iqbal awake. Yasin had pulled up off the narrow road. He was craning his neck to look at something down the road, as were the two other men in the front seat. Iqbal stooped to get a clearer look himself.

  In the distance, through the dirty windscreen and the dust slowly settling around them, Iqbal could see two army jeeps parked on either side of the road. Soldiers milled around, stopping every vehicle and searching it. Right now their attention was focused on the state transport bus they had halted.

  ‘We have to turn back, Yasin bhai,’ the man seated beside Yasin said. ‘There is no way we can take a chance with them.’