Red Jihad

'This sure looks like it, sir. Pakistan has already thrown China out of the Gwadar project and is looking for new partners. We have already applied, of course. It is India now that controls the ports of Chittagong and Hambantota. It seems that the Chinese string of pearls has started to rot and fall off.'

  'Ha! Today, it seems, is my lucky day!' Cartman was rubbing his hands in glee by now. 'Where is our man?'

  The aide smiled and replied, 'Waiting outside your office, sir. He is the Times person of the day, I tell you!'

  'Only if they find out,' Cartman muttered softly. The aide nodded, the order understood in a split second.

  Cartman continued, 'But yeah, the fact remains that it is only because of him that our strategy succeeded. Rescuing him unintentionally from the Mujahideen camp was one of the best things that happened to us. And tell the psychologists at CIC that they did a good job. His actions have merited him a place in history as one of the greatest patriots. Call him in.'

  'Yes, sir.' The deputy moved to a desk and whispered something into the intercom.

  The door opened and a man slowly walked in. Voices in his head egged him to absorb every detail, every contour of the room, his mind sizing up potential threats and evolving escape strategies at the same time. An old habit.

  He sniffed. Another old habit. Sniffing always told him what to expect. He could smell danger very well from years of experience. There is a time to run and there is a time to walk, the voices said. There is a time to eat snakes in the jungle and there is a time to have a fifteen-course meal in a seven-star hotel.

  Life was all about dialectics, the voices in his head whispered, and how the larger picture in life invariably played out as the deciding factor.

  Cartman got up and shook hands with him, then offered him a drink. A bearer rushed in with two steamy cups of tea.

  As they sipped, Cartman began the well-deserved vote of thanks, 'Colonel, not only the Combined Intelligence Corps, this entire nation, nay, the fraternity of all free nations will be grateful to you forever. It is only because of the exemplary services rendered by you that we can stand today and imagine a future with peace and justice.'

  Cartman took a breath and continued, 'It is because of your great sacrifice that dogmas and fundamentalism find themselves overshadowed by hope, liberty and freedom. It is only because of you that this nation could have had justice... when all our efforts failed, you have succeeded.'

  The man was still shaking his head nonchalantly, a faint smile playing on his lips, as Cartman added, 'You stayed away from your family and friends for so long. You devoted your life to catch this man at any cost. And succeed you did!'

  Yasser Basheer merely shrugged and looked away. His lips finally curled up in a broad, genuine smile. He smelt flowers.

  Basheer kept smiling to himself as the eulogy continued. Cartman kept portraying him as a hero. For Basheer, he was only contributing his bit to make the world a safer place. Minutes passed as Cartman sung praises for Basheer.

  The men finished their tea and bid each other goodbye. Basheer stood up to shake hands with Cartman again. Then, he turned around and walked out without looking back. He had earned the courage to be indifferent to one of the most powerful men in the world.

  Three suited men greeted Basheer as he emerged from Cartman's office. They walked him through the hallways as deferential heads turned to appreciate the honour guard. The men escorted him to a GMT900 Chevrolet Tahoe, its engine already purring. One of them held a door open for Basheer. He climbed in and made himself comfortable as the door shut with an inaudible click. The partition separating the rear seat from the driver's was already up. Basheer knew that privacy was a sign of power.

  The car started to move. In the blink of an eye, it had crossed the compound walls. The three men stood watching the receding car until it was a distant speck in the horizon.

  Yasser Basheer was never seen again.

  ____________________

  * In Norse mythology, Ragnarök is a series of future events to result in the submersion of the world in water. Afterwards, the world will resurface anew, the surviving gods will meet, and two humans will repopulate the world.

  Author's Note

  The first draft of this novel was written in May 2010. For the past two years, with everyday's newspaper comes a sickening realization. Something written somewhere in this novel comes true. When that happens, a part of me is freaked out (I was writing fiction, not the future), but a major part of me is extremely annoyed (with the newspapers stealing a part of my plot). It does not occur to me that it could be the other way round: that it is me who is subconsciously borrowing from the contemporary reality, and not vice-versa. Anyway, deranged brains tell good tales, so I hope you put up with that.

  This novel does not seek to malign any nation, group or community, and indicts none but the scourge of terrorism and the deleterious effects of machtpolitik on the contemporary world order. The end message, if any, is an appeal for mutual respect and tolerance. The only purpose of this book is to tell a story that people enjoy reading–for I loved writing it. Lastly, all the information regarding social, military and political structures contained in this book is freely available on the Internet.

  Acknowledgements are due to many people. The foremost names that crop up when I think of people without whom this book could not have been possible are of my parents. Dad, you taught me how to write, and Mom, you gave me the conviction to keep at it. My younger brother, Salman, who lent me his newly acquired laptop for days at a stretch, even when his engineering exams were about to begin.

  I would also like to thank my teachers and my school–Bal Bharati Public School, Pitampura, New Delhi, where AHM Lewis made us realize that'the sovereign must not always be obeyed'. I will be ever grateful to the departments of English at Rajdhani College and Hindu College, University of Delhi and Jawaharlal Nehru University, where I met great philosophers and guides: Dilip K. Basu, AL Khanna, Ashok Celly, Rao, Vijay Laxmi Pandit, and SS Abbas Jafri from Rajdhani College; Late Lalita Subbu, Sunil Dua, Tapan Basu, and Brinda Bose from the Hindu College; Kapil Kapoor, SK Sareen, Makarand Paranjape, Navneet Sethi, Dhananjay Singh and Tulsiram from JNU; and Philip Lutgendorf from the University of Iowa.

  My eternal debt remains to professors GJV Prasad and Saugata Bhaduri–the coolest guides ever possible–for providing me with the time and encouragement to finish this project. Prof. Prasad's comments on an earlier draft helped a lot. He's our Indiana Jones, just as Bhaduri sir is our Feluda!

  Ajay Prakash and Archana Sinha, for the constant support, ideas and encouragement. All my other friends who had faith in me: Akash, Vivek, Shaival, Sharad, Sunny, and many more, including my MA-MPhil classmates at JNU–you guys rock!

  Obaid Niazi, who read the first draft and suggested vital changes, and Safdar H. Khan, for all the support.

  My fauji bhai-log–Santosh, Satyajeet, Adityakiran, Koustubh, Vikram, Abhijat, Suresh, Vikas, Colonel PK Dutta, and not to forget NCC 1 (Air) Squadron (Delhi) – this one is for you!

  My editor at Rupa – Shikha Dimri.

  Last but not the least, this book would not have been possible without the Internet. Websites like Bharat-Rakshak, Wikipedia, and IDSA gave me the raw material for the plot, and Flipkart ensured that any book I needed for research was at my doorstep in just two days.

  I hope those names that I may have inadvertently missed out do accept my heartfelt apologies.