It did not bother her conscience to have come up with an effective strategy for Indian expansion in south-east Asia. She knew it would never be used. Even her strategy of small, quick strike forces did not change the fact that India could not afford a two-front war. Pakistan would not let the opportunity pass if India committed itself to an eastern war.
Achilles had simply chosen the wrong country to try to lead into war. Tikal Chapekar, the Indian prime minister, was an ambitious man with delusions of the nobility of his cause. He might very well believe in Achilles' persuasions and long to begin an attempt to "unify" south-east Asia. A war might even begin. But it would founder quickly as Pakistan prepared to attack in the west. Indian adventurism would evaporate as it always had.
She even said as much to Achilles when he visited her one morning after her plans had been so resoundingly rejected by her fellow strategists. "Follow whatever plan you like, nothing will ever work as you think it will."
Achilles simply changed the subject—when he visited her, he preferred to reminisce with her as if they were a couple of old people remembering their childhoods together. Remember this about Battle School? Remember that? She wanted to scream in his face that he had only been there for a few days before Bean had him chained up in an air shaft, confessing to his crimes. He had no right to be nostalgic for Battle School. All he was accomplishing was to poison her own memories of the place, for now when Battle School came up, she just wanted to change the subject, to forget it completely.
Who would have imagined that she would ever think of Battle School as her era of freedom and happiness? It certainly hadn't seemed that way at the time.
To be fair, her captivity was not painful. As long as Achilles was in Hyderabad, she had the run of the base, though she was never unobserved. She could go to the library and do research—though one of her guards had to thumb the ID pad, verifying that she had logged on as herself, with all the restrictions that implied, before she could access the nets. She could run through the dusty countryside that was used for military manoeuvres—and sometimes could almost forget the other footfalls keeping syncopated rhythm with her own. She could eat what she wanted, sleep when she wanted. There were times when she almost forgot she wasn't free. There were far more times when, knowing she was not free, she almost decided to stop hoping that her captivity would ever end.
It was Bean's messages that kept her hope alive. She could not answer him, and therefore stopped thinking of his messages as actual communications. Instead they were something deeper than mere attempts at making contact. They were proof that she had not been forgotten. They were proof that Petra Arkanian, Battle School brat, still had a friend who respected her and cared for her enough to refuse to give up. Each message was a cool kiss to her fevered brow.
And then one day Achilles came to her and told her he was going on a trip.
She assumed at once that this meant she would be confined to her room, locked down and under guard, until Achilles returned.
"No locks this time," said Achilles. "You're coming with me."
"So it's some place inside India?"
"In one sense yes," said Achilles. "In another, no."
"I'm not interested in your games," she said, yawning. "I'm not going."
"Oh, you won't want to miss this," said Achilles. "And even if you did, it wouldn't matter, because I need you, so you'll be there."
"What can you possibly need me for?"
"Oh, well, when you put it that way, I suppose I should be more precise. I need you to see what takes place at the meeting."
"Why? Unless there's a successful assassination attempt, there's nothing I want to see you do."
"The meeting," said Achilles, "is in Islamabad."
Petra had no smart reply to that. The capital of Pakistan. It was unthinkable. What possible business could Achilles have there? And why would he bring her?
They flew—which of course reminded her of the eventful flight that had brought her to India as Achilles' prisoner. The open door — should I have pulled him out with me and brought him brutally down to earth?
During the flight Achilles showed her the letter he had sent to Ghaffar Wahabi, the "prime minister" of Pakistan—actually, of course, the military dictator… or Sword of Islam, if you preferred it that way. The letter was a marvel of deft manipulation. It would never have attracted any attention in Islamabad, however, if it had not come from Hyderabad, the headquarters of the Indian Army. Even though Achilles' letter never actually said so, it would be assumed in Pakistan that Achilles came as an unofficial envoy of the Indian government.
How many times had an Indian military plane landed at this military airbase near Islamabad? How many times had Indian soldiers in uniform been allowed to set foot on Pakistani soil-bearing their side-arms, no less? And all to carry a Belgian boy and an Armenian girl to talk to whatever lower-level official the Pakistanis decided to fob off on them.
A bevy of stone-faced Pakistani officials led them to a building a short distance from where their plane was being refueled. Inside, on the second floor, the leading official said, "Your escort must remain outside."
"Of course," said Achilles. "But my assistant comes in with me. I must have a witness to remind me in case my memory flags."
The Indian soldiers stood near the wall at full attention. Achilles and Petra walked through the open door.
There were only two people in the room, and she recognised one of them immediately from his pictures. With a gesture, he indicated where they should sit.
Petra walked to her chair in silence, never taking her eyes off Ghaffar Wahabi, the prime minister of Pakistan. She sat beside and slightly behind Achilles, as a lone Pakistani aide sat just at Wahabi's right hand. This was no lower-level official. Somehow, Achilles' letter had opened all the doors, right to the very top.
They needed no interpreter, for Common was, though not their birth language, a childhood acquisition for both of them, and they spoke without accent. Wahabi seemed sceptical and distant, but at least he did not play any humiliation games—he did not keep them waiting, he ushered them into the room himself, and he did not challenge Achilles in any way.
"I have invited you because I wish to hear what you have to say," said Wahabi. "So please begin."
Petra wanted so badly for Achilles to do something horribly wrong—to simper and beam, or to try to strut and show off his intelligence.
"Sir, I'm afraid that it may sound at first as if I am trying to teach Indian history to you, a scholar in that field. It is from your book that I learned everything I'm about to say."
"It is easy to read my book," said Wahabi. "What did you learn from it that I do not already know?"
"The next step," said Achilles. "The step so obvious that I was stunned when you did not take it."
"So this is a book review?" asked Wahabi. But with those words he smiled faintly, to take away the edge of hostility.
"Over and over again, you show the great achievements of the Indian people, and how they are overshadowed, swallowed up, ignored, despised. The civilisation of the Indus is treated as a poor also-ran to Mesopotamia and Egypt and even that latecomer China. The Aryan invaders brought their language and religion and imposed it on the people of India. The Moguls, the British, each with their overlay of beliefs and institutions. I must tell you that your book is regarded with great respect in the highest circles of the Indian government, because of the impartial way you treated the religions brought to India by invaders."
Petra knew that this was not idle flattery. For a Pakistani scholar, especially one with political ambitions, to write a history of the subcontinent without praising the Muslim influence and condemning the Hindu religion as primitive and destructive was brave indeed.
Wahabi raised a hand. "I wrote then as a scholar. Now I am the voice of the people. I hope my book has not led you into a quixotic quest for reunification of India. Pakistan is determined to remain pure.
"Please do not leap to conclusions
," said Achilles. "I agree with you that reunification is impossible. Indeed, it is a meaningless term. Hindu and Muslim were never united except under an oppressor, so how could they be reunited?"
Wahabi nodded, and waited for Achilles to go on.
"What I saw throughout your account," said Achilles, "was a profound sense of the greatness inherent in the Indian people. Great religions have been born here. Great thinkers have arisen who have changed the world. And yet for two hundred years, when people think of the great powers, India and Pakistan are never on the list. And they never have been. And this makes you angry, and it makes you sad."
"More sad than angry," said Wahabi, "but then, I'm an old man, and my temper has abated."
"China rattles its swords, and the world shivers, but India is barely glanced at. The Islamic world trembles when Iraq or Turkey or Iran or Egypt swings one way or another, and yet Pakistan, stalwart for its entire history, is never treated as a leader. Why?"
"If I knew the answer," said Wahabi, "I would have written a different book."
"There are many reasons in the distant past," said Achilles, "but they all come down to one thing. The Indian people could never act together."
"Again, the language of unity," said Wahabi.
"Not at all," said Achilles. "Pakistan cannot take his rightful place of leadership in the Muslim world, because whenever he looks to the west, Pakistan hears the heavy steps of India behind him. And India cannot take her rightful place as the leader of the east, because the threat of Pakistan looms behind her."
Petra admired the deft way Achilles made his choice of pronouns seem casual, uncalculated—India the woman, Pakistan the man.
"The spirit of God is more at home in India and Pakistan than any other place. It is no accident that great religions have been born here, or have found their purest form. But Pakistan keeps India from being great in the east, and India keeps Pakistan from being great in the west."
"True, but insoluble," said Wahabi.
"Not so," said Achilles. "Let me remind you of another bit of history, from only a few years before Pakistan's creation as a state. In Europe, two great nations faced each other—Stalin's Russia and Hitler's Germany. These two leaders were great monsters. But they saw that their enmity had chained them to each other. Neither could accomplish anything as long as the other threatened to take advantage of the slightest opening."
"You compare India and Pakistan to Hitler and Stalin?"
"Not at all," said Peter, "because so far, India and Pakistan have shown less sense and less self-control than either of those monsters."
Wahabi turned to his aide. "As usual, India has found a new way to insult us." The aide arose to help him to his feet.
"Sir, I thought you were a wise man," said Achilles. "There is no one here to see you posture. No one to quote what I have said. You have nothing to lose by hearing me out, and everything to lose by leaving."
Petra was stunned to hear Achilles speak so sharply. Wasn't this taking his non-flatterer approach a little far? Any normal person would have apologised for the unfortunate comparison with Hitler and Stalin. But not Achilles. Well, this time he had surely gone too far. If this meeting failed, his whole strategy would come to nothing, and the tension he was under had led to this misstep.
Wahabi did not sit back down. "Say what you have to say, and be quick," he said.
"Hitler and Stalin sent their foreign ministers, Ribbentrop and Molotov, and despite the hideous denunciations that each had made against the other, they signed a non-aggression pact and divided Poland between them. It's true that a couple of years later, Hitler abrogated this pact, which led to millions of deaths and Hitler's eventual downfall, but that is irrelevant to your situation, because unlike Hitler and Stalin, you and Chapekar are men of honour—you are of India, and you both serve God faithfully."
"To say that Chapekar and I both serve God is blasphemy to one or the other of us, or both," said Wahabi.
"God loves this land and has given the Indian people greatness," said Achilles—so passionately that if Petra had not known better, she might have believed he had some kind of faith. "Do you really believe it is the will of God that both Pakistan and India remain in obscurity and weakness, solely because the people of India have not yet awakened to the will of Allah?"
"I do not care what atheists and madmen say about the will of Allah."
Good for you, thought Petra.
"Nor do I," said Achilles. "But I can tell you this. If you and Chapekar signed an agreement, not of unity, but of non-aggression, you could divide Asia between you. And if the decades pass and there is peace between these two great Indian nations, then will the Hindu not be proud of the Muslim, and the Muslim proud of the Hindu? Will it not be possible then for Hindus to hear the teachings of the Quran, not as the book of their deadly enemy, but rather as the book of their fellow Indians, who share with India the leadership of Asia? If you don't like the example of Hitler and Stalin, then look at Portugal and Spain, ambitious colonisers who shared the Iberian Peninsula. Portugal, to the west, was smaller and weaker—but it was also the bold explorer that opened up the seas. Spain sent one explorer, and he was Italian—but he discovered a new world."
Petra again saw the subtle flattery at work. Without saying so directly, Achilles had linked Portugal—the weaker but braver nation—to Pakistan, and the nation that prevailed through dumb luck to India.
"They might have gone to war and destroyed each other, or weakened each other hopelessly. Instead they listened to the Pope, who drew a line on the earth and gave everything east of it to Portugal and everything west of it to Spain. Draw your line across the Earth, Ghaffar Wahabi. Declare that you will not make war against the great Indian people who have not yet heard the word of Allah, but will instead show to all the world the shining example of the purity of Pakistan. While in the meantime, Tikal Chapekar will unite eastern Asia under Indian leadership, which they have long hungered for. Then, in the happy day when the Hindu people heed the Book, Islam will spread in one breath from New Delhi to Hanoi."
Wahabi slowly sat back down.
Achilles said nothing.
Petra knew then that his boldness had succeeded.
"Hanoi," said Wahabi. "Why not Beijing?"
"On the day that the Indian Muslims of Pakistan are made guardians of the sacred city, on that day the Hindus may imagine entering the forbidden city."
Wahabi laughed. "You are outrageous."
"I am," said Achilles. "But I'm right. About everything. About the fact that this is what your book was pointing to. That this is the obvious conclusion, if only India and Pakistan are blessed to have, at the same time, leaders with such vision and courage."
"And why does this matter to you?" said Wahabi.
"I dream of peace on Earth," said Achilles.
"And so you encourage Pakistan and India to go to war?"
"I encourage you to agree not to go to war with each other."
"Do you think Iran will peacefully accept Pakistan's leadership? Do you think the Turks will embrace us? It will have to be by conquest that we create this unity."
"But you will create it," said Achilles. "And when Islam is united under Indian leadership, it will no longer be humiliated by other nations. One great Muslim nation, one great Hindu nation, at peace with each other and too powerful for any other nation to dare to attack. That is how peace comes to Earth. God willing."
"Inshallah," echoed Wahabi. "But now it is time for me to know by what authority you say these things. You hold no office in India. How do I know you have not been sent to lull me while Indian armies amass for yet another unprovoked assault?"
Petra wondered if Achilles had planned to get Wahabi to say something so precisely calculated to give him the perfect dramatic moment, or if it was just chance. For Achilles' only answer to Wahabi was to draw from his portfolio a single sheet of paper, bearing a small signature at the bottom in blue ink.
"What is that?" said Wahabi.
> "My authority," said Achilles. He handed the paper to Petra. She arose and carried it to the middle of the room, where Wahabi's aide took it from her hand.
Wahabi perused it, shaking his head. "And this is what he signed?"
"He more than signed it," said Achilles. "Ask your satellite team to tell you what the Indian Army is doing even as we speak."
"They are withdrawing from the border?"
"Someone has to be the first to offer trust. It's the opportunity you've been waiting for, you and all your predecessors. The Indian Army is withdrawing. You could send your troops forward. You could turn this gesture of peace into a bloodbath. Or you could give the orders to move your troops west and north. Iran is waiting for you to show them the purity of Islam. The Caliphate of Istanbul is waiting for you to unshackle it from the chains of the secular government of Turkey. Behind you, you will have only your brother Indians, wishing you well as you show the greatness of this land that God has chosen, and that finally is ready to rise."
"Save the speech," said Wahabi. "You understand that I have to verify that this signature is genuine, and that the Indian troops are moving in the direction that you say."
"You will do what you have to do," said Achilles. "I will return to India now."
"Without waiting for my answer?"
"I haven't asked you a question," said Achilles. "Tikal Chapekar has asked that question, and it is to him you must give your answer. I am only the messenger."
With that, Achilles rose to his feet. Petra did, too. Achilles strode boldly to Wahabi and offered his hand. "I hope you will forgive me, but I could not bear to return to India without being able to say that the hand of Ghaffar Wahabi touched mine."
The Shadow of the Hegemon - Orson Scott Card Page 20
