'And hope they believe it.' The Secretary to MEA was already thinking of a list of possible excuses that ranged from equipment malfunction to a terrorist takeover.
However, Admiral Sapra had other thoughts, 'Or we can just sit still and let things be. If Lahore is hit, Pakistan will take time to recover. Enough time, I hope, for us to focus on a few terror camps still operating in PoK and close them. Strike when the enemy is down…do not give any respite. Plus, we will not have trouble establishing the fact that the missile was fired without our consent.'
He was countered by the home secretary, 'Yeah, as if Pakistan will not strike back, huh. It most certainly will, seeing this as a direct attack. Then we will be in an even greater soup.'
'As if they will not strike back even if we do tell them about the missile's target. I would have. Wouldn't you?' replied the admiral.
'Maybe, but that will not be enough to turn me into a barbarian with the blood of innocents on my hands,' clarified the air chief, offended by the naval chief's reply.
'Gentlemen, we are losing focus here. The fact remains – even if we tell them, the missile will hit Pakistan. They lack the technology to stop the incoming missile. Moreover, nobody is going to believe us. They will attack in return. They have to. It is a matter of their policy!' Sapra was busy trying to drive his point home.
'So what do you recommend we do?' asked Malhotra.
Another three-star general spoke up, his interest piqued by the naval admiral's argument. He calmly said, 'I, too, favour a pre-emptive strike. We augment the missile attack and destroy Pakistan's offensive capabilities. We know that Pakistan under even an iota of threat will not wait for our offensive, but rather launch one of its own aiming to occupy our territories near the border. Since corps-level mobilization will take about forty-eight hours, both armies will be evenly matched in the first twenty-four hours simply because the Pakistanis have to travel a shorter distance to their forward positions.
'We, on the other hand, will not be able to reach our maximum strength near the border for another forty-eight hours, as we need to travel greater distance to our own forward defensive-offensive positions. This unpreparedness on our part may give Pakistan parity or even numerical superiority against us, unless we attack first or make a move to mass-mobilize formations at the border. Why give a numerically inferior enemy chance to have partial parity, even temporary? I say, we attack!'
The room rang with plenty of reactions: 'What!', 'Impossible!', 'Maybe', and What a preposterous idea!'
Sapra lent his voice to the lieutenant general's argument, 'Why not? Why bolt the stable door when the horses have bolted? Let them run and win a race for us. That is the most logical way to proceed.'
'Yes, but certainly not the most ethical. Our war doctrine is based on self-preservation but no first-use or no first aggressive step. It is the hallmark of our Panchsheel policy,' replied the defence secretary.
'But Panchsheel cost us the 1962 War! What now? Ethics versus realpolitik. We are back to ancient Greece, are we not? What will we discuss next? Chicken came first or the egg? Or whom to attack after Pakistan? China? Or how to let terrorists dictate our foreign policy?' said the air chief.
'Enough of this!' General Malhotra had been observing the proceedings with much distaste. He looked at the cabinet secretary who merely shook his head and looked down.
Malhotra continued, 'Gentlemen, thanks for your inputs. Tell Pakistan they are about to be hit by a rogue missile of ours, and that we are sorry and will extend any cooperation to undo the damage. Do not forget to sign off with our deepest regrets and sympathies.'
The voices subsided. Order and sanity were finally restored, two things that had fled the room in the past couple of minutes.
The naval chief shrugged, accepting the wisdom of the decision. The way ahead was clear. The debate had ended. The first among equals had spoken.
Lahore, Pakistan
Local time: 0430 hours
Date: 25 April 2014
Abdul Hassan carefully scrubbed his body with cold water from a rickety tap, and then dried himself with a towel. Done with his ablutions, the muezzin glanced at his watch and hurried towards the microphone. It was time for the Fajr azaan. 'Hurry up you clumsy oaf,' he scolded himself, 'Fajr time will pass.' Hassan increased his pace and reached the room. He entered and closed the door behind him to prevent any intrusions. He cleared his throat, adjusted the volume on the loud speaker and sung into the mike to call the faithful for the morning jamaat.
People were already stirring, but as his voice rang through the locality, more and more people started to get up. The cantonment was up too. The Pakistani army's 10th and 11th Divisions were stationed in Lahore. In addition, Lahore was the headquarters of Pakistani IV Corps. Jawans were returning from their daily morning run. Wives woke up grumbling officers to teach the kids.
Suddenly, the city heard a whoosh. A few joggers noticed an object streak past them in the sky. Some thought it was a new military aircraft; others thought it to be a comet. It slowly started getting bigger and more ferocious. The noise increased. More and more people started to pay attention to the comet. It kept coming closer.
Glass started to rattle in homes and children jumped out of their bed thinking it to be an earthquake.
The noise was deafening by now. Those who were able to see it started to scream, afraid of its metallic, cold ferocity.
Seconds later, Pralay split into a thousand pieces in a high airburst mode that was meant to neutralize soft civilian targets on the ground–houses, shops, and markets. Metal seemed to ram into the earth, glowing red with temperature. The ground shook and a deafening explosion tore through the city; a blinding flash of light followed…then an ear-shattering boom.
A ball of fire seemed to emerge from the point of impact and engulfed the skies and the earth. The buildings at the epicentre were wiped off the face of earth. There was nothing left standing within a radius of one mile. Glasses broke tens of kilometres away. Its after-effects were deadly too.
All of a sudden, the entire area was engulfed in a deathly silence. Not a single voice was to be heard. Dust swirled and concrete rained. Finally, as things settled down, somewhere in the background, human shouts were beginning to be heard – pathetic, insignificant, and chilling.
Good morning, Lahore.
Aiwan-e-Sadr,* Pakistan
Local time: 0545 hours
Date: 25 April 2014
An officer rushed into the main conference room with disbelief written all over his face and reported, 'Sir, we have been hit.'
The civilian and military support staff, in addition to the top brass of Pakistani military, looked aghast as Shahid Abbasi, President of the Democratic Republic of Pakistan**, stared at the paper prepared to brief him on the situation and then back at the bearer of the grave news. A collective groan emanated from the group, as the president looked disbelievingly at the report. They knew what was coming, but hoped they would not hear the worst, that the missile would fall harmlessly into a forest or splutter high in the sky. The realization that they had actually been hit was even more frustrating.
Pakistan attacked! After 1971, this was the first time a major city was targeted by the enemy, he thought. Did our constitutional reforms make us appear weak in the eyes of the world?
'Where?' he asked.
'Lahore. Just as the Indians told us. Bank Square Market was the epicentre.'
'Damage?'
'Moderate damage to buildings and infrastructure. About fifty deaths reported yet...200 injured. Instead of a contact burst or a surface burst the missile opted for a high airburst meant to cause significant damage to civilian centres over a large area, even with a conventional warhead.' The reply was surgically cold. Almost chilling.
'My God!' People in the room did not know what to do. A horrible piece of information was fighting its way to sink in the collective psyche of the people present in the room. The PM sat with his head resting on his hands. Mourning. Yet some sa
w the silver lining in it.
'The figures could have been much higher…thank God we started the evacuations.'
'And that the warhead was conventional.' The lieutenant general shuddered to think otherwise.
'I do not know what would have happened if we had not started the evacuation, or if the missile had hit where the population density is greater than a posh, upper-class market that was closed at the time the missile struck.'
'Do you have imagery?' asked the acting PM, the actual one having been hospitalized owing to age and failing health.
'Yes, both satellite and imagery taken from the ground.'
A projector came to life at the far end of the room. The ground in Lahore was splattered with disorganized concrete. Buildings stood like ancient ruins. There was no sign of life, human, animal or plant. It looked like a ghost town.
The command staff were horrified to see the once bustling market razed to the ground.
'What is the status of the cantonment?' asked the interior minister.
'The cantonment is shaken but ready for mobilization,' pat came a reply.
'No significant damage to it?'
'No, sir.'
'Strange how the enemy avoided a strategic military target and opted for a civilian target.'
'What can you expect of the Indians?' spat out the director general of ISI. 'They want our country razed from the global map, by hook or by crook. Our transition into this sham of a secular, democratic state has eaten us from within. We are meant to be an Islamic state. Any deviation from it is not only unacceptable, but foolish as well. I was stupid to support you and go against the wishes of our founding fathers. Look what you have dragged us into! We should strike back at the enemy. It is time for the final battle. A nuclear response to this unprovoked attack is the only solution!'
'Let us not rush things. The Indians did warn us of the incoming missile,' Lieutenant General Chowdhury interjected. Heads turned immediately at this comment. They would not have been as surprised if Hitler had talked of universal goodwill right after the taking of France! Chowdhury was as jingoistic and shrewd a military commander as one could ever be. To have him defending the Indians was something…new. People looked at him, wondering. He was a known hawk. Why was he defending the enemy?
'A very clever ploy. The Indians know we would have nuked them straightaway had they attacked us openly. So they orchestrate this cock-and-bull story of terrorists taking over their missile base and firing at us instead of them,' the air chief said. He was about to add, 'That too terrorists! Ha! They will never attack on their motherland!' but thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. Times were changing in Pakistan, and he did not intend to be on the wrong side when past ledgers were opened.
'And then they say our nuclear weapons and defence bases are unsafe,' someone snorted.
'You do not believe them?' the president asked.
'Would you be naive enough to?' General Akram had made up his mind. He thundered, 'Where is the proof that the missile base was actually taken over? Yes, the Indians did warn us, but did they tell us where exactly the missile will hit? What will be its precise flight path? Its control frequency? They knew with that information we could have had a chance to thwart the missile. Why give the enemy key to the door that jails him forever?'
'I am not so sure about it.' The civilian leadership was still not fully convinced.
'Moreover, if the missile had been actually launched, why did not they destroy it mid-air when they recaptured the facility?' Some other officers joined in.
'They say they had been locked out of their own system. Moreover, that the missile's on-board computer has been tampered with to result in this arbitrary flight path. They say they had no access at all to the missile.'
General Akram continued, 'And you believe them?'
'We had no reason not to,' said the acting PM and the president in unison. Clearly, both of them agreed on this.
'What?' It was Akram's turn to gape at the PM and the president.
'Yes, the missile did hit us. Things have changed now. With so many Pakistani lives almost instantly extinguished, I am not sure what to think of it now. Not giving a befitting response right now might create an extremely dangerous precedent,' the PM said. 'We have to hit back. Pakistan is a threatened state. We cannot let India get away with such impunity this time, or we will never be able to show our faces to anyone. Is this why we spend so much on our defence? That anyone can come hit us, apologise, and leave, as our men lie dying?'
The decision was unanimous and instantaneous.
'Get me the prime minister of India,' the president commanded.
The room suddenly fell silent. They realized it was time to change history.
____________________
* The presidential palace-cum-secretariat in Pakistan.
** As a reaction to being labelled a failed state, that too bitten by the bug of global terror, Pakistan 's Constitution was re-amended in 2014 expunging the words 'Islamic ' from its title.
7 Race Course Road, Prime Minister's Residence, New Delhi
Local time: 0730 hours
Date: 25 April 2014
An orderly rushed in carrying a ringing phone, which was surprising as all telephone lines and communication devices had been jammed at 7 RCR. To rub salt on the wound, Bipolab Roy, the former PM, had been kept in solitary confinement since the coup.
He saw the phone beep. How can it work when all the other phones had been cut off? He took a closer look. It was not any ordinary phone; it was a direct satellite hotline to the office of the president of the Republic of Pakistan, installed after the last peace talks at Bangalore. It worked on a different frequency and with different technology. And, it was ringing.
Why were the Pakistanis calling him? To express their empathy, Roy thought dryly, they being old hands at the trick that had just made him vanish into thin air from India's political landscape. PM Roy pressed the hands-free button on the phone and it sprang to life.
'This is Bipolab Roy. Good morning. To what do I owe this pleasure?'
He was cut in the middle by a brusque, indicting voice. Shahid Abbasi? The president of Pakistan? PM Roy had known his voice for a long time. Both had been roommates at Stanford; they were first bitter enemies as hot-blooded youths (over a girl) and then bosom pals (over the same girl–she had rejected them both).
'Will India please explain?' The voice was sarcastic and angry. Very angry. Roy wondered what had happened. Last time they both had talked, they had ended on a cordial note. In addition, he was talking to a friend.
'Shahid, is this you? What happened? Why are you so angry? And explain what?'
'What happened? Are you kidding me, Roy?' The Pakistani president could not believe his ears. What gall!
'Look, this is irritating.' Roy, an incarcerated Roy at that, was easily irritable.
'It is indeed.'
'What do you want me to explain?' Roy asked, his judgment getting the better of his anger.
'India's recent attack on Pakistan. Unprovoked. Unmerited,' Shahid asked.
'What?' PM Roy jumped out of his chair. It cannot be true, can it? Malhotra cannot...no! He put aside the thought. It just was not possible. 'Are you sure?' he asked.
'Don't you watch the news, Mr Prime Minister? India has attacked us. Lahore is in ruins. About 100 deaths have been reported–all the result of an Indian missile that landed in a civilian area of Lahore. Civilian! It seems you really do not watch news.' Shahid's sarcasm was unmistakable.
Roy felt his anger rising. He was ousted from power, his country had attacked another, and he was being blamed for everything. Terrific, just what I need, he thought. He kept quiet for some time, processing the information, and then the bhadralok in him asked, 'Don't you watch news, Mr President?'
Silence at the other end. 'Why, what happened?' Now it was Shahid's turn to act surprised.
'Don't you know there has been a coup d'etat in my country? I have been deposed. Thanks to our neighbo
ur, whose checkered history, I am sure, provided productive ideas to our forces on how to murder democracy.'
'What? When did this happen?' Shahid realized, in a flash, that he was not the only one having a bad day.
'Very recently. Perhaps you were too entangled in the Balochistan crisis to note that your democratically-elected neighbouring leader has been deposed by the military.' The tone was not sarcastic, Roy was merely stating facts.
Shahid felt the need to inquire further. The pain of an ousted power holder made him soft for a second. 'Why did it happen? I mean, why did the military rise up against you? I heard you were pretty popular.'
'Did you ever ask the same question to your Ayubs and Yahyas?' Roy retorted, a smile playing on his lips now that the absurdity of his situation was dawning on him.
'Hmmm…' came the monosyllabic reply.
'And about the missile? I have been under house arrest. No cable TV or Internet. Total isolation. I am really sorry about what happened. But I assure you we did not do it.'
'We? You mean the civilian government?' Shahid was on his guard.
'No, I mean India. We would never attack you in this manner–especially a civilian centre, that too without any formal declaration of war. We are a nation that firmly believes in the due process of law. We certainly would not attack you when track II diplomacy was succeeding in bridging the gap created by decades of mutual hatred.'
'Ha!' Shahid snorted, 'You expect me to believe renegade terrorists hijack a missile from your closely guarded base and then fire it at Lahore? You seriously expect me to believe that! What do you take me for?'
'Is that what our military leaders tell you? In case they do, then it must be true. General Malhotra might have deposed me, but he is an honourable man. He would never do something as outrageous as this! And that too without taking the government into consideration.' Roy was not sure why he was defending Malhotra. Maybe he sensed that the outcome of his call was going to decide India's foreign policy for the next decade. South Asia's future hung in the balance. This was no time to score brownie points.
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