by Deva, Mukul
He had called Anbu when the baby arrived. ‘This one is a daughter… thank god… yeah, yeah, she's fine too… and sends all of you her love. Thanks a lot.’ Even now the excitement and happiness in Arjun's voice reverberated in Anbu's memory.
The memories continued to crowd in, and Anbu could feel the tears accumulating, as his mind struggled to come to terms with the reality that Arjun was no more.
He shook his head to clear the fog. He could not cry now. He still had an example to set, a duty to fulfil. That is what Arjun would have wanted me to do.
Anbu still remembered that last day, not so long ago, when he had been posted out of the battalion. Arjun had come to the station to see him off. They were standing on the railway platform when the train hooted impatiently and made ready to pull out. Arjun embraced him as Anbu got ready to board the train.
‘Take care, my friend. Don't let life bring you down. Never let faith in god or the confidence in yourself flag. Stand tall and make us all proud. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, let there be honour in your thoughts and your deeds. Remember, although we may not be together, we're all going to be watching over you – just as you will, over the paltan… over all of us.’
‘I'll call you when I reach, Arjun.’ Anbu had hugged him hard and then broken free and run to the now moving train.
Anbu picked up the phone and dialled the number he remembered so well… that he had dialled so often. She was crying when she answered. Maybe the Army HQ people got through to her first, maybe the media. God alone knows.
‘Tiny… don't cry… you've got to be strong, baby… the kids need you to be strong… Arjun would've wanted you to be strong… just remember that he was a soldier… soldiers die….’ He could feel his voice begin to break and controlled it with a huge effort. ‘It is their karma to stand in harm's way… it is ours to remember them with pride.’
For a very long time they just held the phone and cried together, brother and sister, he silently, she uncontrollably, her sobs tearing him apart. Then she finally said, ‘Please come over. I need you.’
‘I'm on my way.’ Anbu put down the phone, trying to shut out the sound of the children crying in the background.
Later, as he was driving down, he remembered what he'd said to her on the phone and the thought struck home. Why do people forget that soldiers have families too? Families who care for them, need them, love them, long for them and wait for them to come home, with fear and hope in their hearts… and so very often in vain.
Unwittingly, Anbu slowed down as the car came up to the turning from where Arjun's house was visible. He dreaded having to face Tiny.
They all called her Tiny. Not just because she was a little pint-sized runt when she was born, but also because she'd been the youngest one in the family – and a very late arrival at that. To Anbu she wasn't just a kid sister. She was more like a daughter.
With a massive effort, Anbu held back the tears. By the time his hand reached out to ring the doorbell, the calm had returned.
THIS INCREDIBLE, UNFLAPPABLE CALM WAS THE REASON HE HAD been nicknamed Captain Cool. It is possible the name would have persisted but for the fact that he got promoted and was now a mature major commanding a rifle company of his battalion. Obviously Major Captain Cool did not sound so cool and Major Cool lacked zing.
Not long after, Anbu had found himself commanding the same battalion that he had been commissioned in as one of the youngest lieutenant colonels in service. That was when the nickname evolved and he ended up being named Daddy Cool.
It was soon after this when, having finished his command, he was safely on his way to marking some time as a staff officer in the Corps headquarters that luck and calm had finally deserted him. At least, for those few critical moments, they did….
THE CORPS COMMANDER WAS CLEARLY IN A GRUMPY MOOD that morning when he strode into the Ops Room. Anbu was the first one he accosted.
‘What the hell happened?’
‘The final details are still trickling in, sir.’ Anbu snapped to ramrod straight attention. What's with him today? Got up on the wrong side of the bed or…. ‘But it looks like the Pakistanis were trying to push through a party of infiltrators and things got a bit out of hand….’
‘A bit out of hand?’ the General snapped harshly. ‘They fucking fired off enough ammunition to win a small war. I have the whole world and their wives screeching at me all the way from Delhi and you tell me…. What's Division saying? In fact, get me the Div Commander on the line right away.’ Two minutes later, after a brief one-sided conversation, he turned back to Anbu. ‘Tell them to have a bird ready. I want to leave for the Brigade HQ right away. I've told the Div Commander to meet me there.’ He was walking away when he stopped and turned back to bestow a filthy look at Anbu, as though he was personally responsible for the firing going on along the LOC. ‘You're coming with me.’ He strode off.
Yep! He's definitely PMS-ing. Anbu sighed as he began to gather up the maps and laptop that the Corps Commander would definitely ask for the minute they landed… especially if he knows I am not carrying them.
THE DISTANT THUNDER OF GUNS WAS STILL VERY MUCH IN evidence when they landed at the 71 Infantry Brigade Headquarters, two hours and forty minutes later. As is the norm for such visits, the helipad had been secured by an infantry platoon. Another platoon was engaged in securing the key features in the vicinity, primarily to ensure that the visiting VIP was safe from snipers.
All of them knew that in such rugged terrain a platoon was scarcely enough to provide any cognizable level of safety. Protection was afforded simply by the fact that the details and timings of such visits were always kept strictly under wraps. In fact, most helipads in such sensitive areas conduct the protection drill randomly so that even people staying in the nearby areas don't get to know if it is an exercise or if a VIP is actually arriving.
The General stepped out of the chopper, stooping instinctively to avoid the still whirling rotor blades, even though they were well above him. Anbu followed a couple of feet behind him. At the same time, the Division and Brigade Commanders stepped forward to receive the General.
The Division Commander was about six feet away when the red star blossomed on his chest. One moment he was walking towards them. The next he was being thrown backwards as the bullet thumped into his chest. The sound of the shot had been drowned by the slowly receding but still deafening high-pitched whine of the chopper blades. However, there was no mistaking the blood that sprayed out from his chest.
Anbu reacted on trained instinct. Lunging forward, he slammed into the Corps Commander's back. The rugby-like tackle threw the General forward and down with Anbu riding on him, literally smothering him into the ground. The side of the General's jaw shattered as he hit the ground hard, breaking more than a few teeth and ensuring his dentist would be a busy man for many weeks. Of course, a bullet in the head would have been a lot more painful, if not terminal.
Anbu was not as lucky. The bullet meant for the Corps Commander went through his left thigh.
ANBU SNAPPED OUT OF HIS REVERIE AND RETURNED TO THE moment to find his forehead slick with sweat. His hand was clutching his left thigh. And Captain Mohammed Sami was at the door looking at him curiously.
‘You okay, boss?’ he asked, looking more than a trifle worried, because he had never seen the unflappable Colonel thus.
‘I'm fine, MS.’ Anbu collected himself with a shake of his head and smiled. ‘Come on in.’
‘You're sure? You look quite… quite peakish to me….’
‘No, it's nothing… a bad dream, I guess. I must have dozed off for a moment.’ Anbu shook himself mentally, pushing away the memory of those dreadful weeks when he had been stuck in a hospital bed, slowly and painfully recovering from the bullet wound in his thigh. That was a road he did not want to walk down again, definitely not when he was awake. The nightmares that return with unfailing regularity every night are bad enough.
‘Are you sure, sir?’ Sami persisted.
‘O
f course I am, MS. It's nothing,’ Anbu replied reassuringly. ‘Anyway… where is our deadly duo?’
He had barely spoken when there was a brief knock on the door and Flight Lieutenant Ankita Bhatnagar and Captain Manoj Khare walked in. ‘Ah! There you are! Both of you have a long life.’ Anbu motioned them towards the chairs opposite him.
‘I hope it's a happy one too, sir,’ Khare smiled.
‘Then we obviously need to ensure you're not around,’ Ankita quipped.
‘Now, now, you two,’ Anbu chided gently. ‘Stop behaving as though you are already married.’
‘Married? To him?’ Ankita's face went bright red as she replied quickly, too quickly. ‘You must be joking, sir.’ Her tone was caustic, but the light in her eyes was not.
The demure Ankita Bhatnagar was a flight lieutenant in the Indian Air Force. She was just over five and a half feet and built like an athlete. She made an incongruous pair with the tall, dark and burly Captain Manoj Khare. On the face of it the two appeared to have little in common. But both were capable of doing things with computers that would have made an Intel chip feel stupid. Either of them could have walked in and picked up a top job with any computer company anywhere in the world. However, both craved a life beyond the ordinary. Almost certainly, if Anbu had not found them and pulled them out of the humdrum of regular army life, they would have found their way into the arms of some willing computer corporation. Both were also physical fitness freaks, adept at a variety of martial arts and unarmed combat. The duo had been humorously nicknamed ‘Beauty and the Beast’ by their comrades in Force 22.
Anbu had put their special skills to good use and appointed them as the Force 22 intelligence team. Both had done cross-attachments with several of India's various intelligence agencies to hone their skills. They had even done short stints with the Delhi and Srinagar police to get their anti-terror operations up to speed. It was doubtful whether Anbu could have found a better pair to work with Rao, and help him get the NIC going.
Anbu gave them a summary of everything that had transpired and what was expected of them. An hour later, when the two of them exited his office, they went with a keen sense of anticipation… for what lay ahead.
Enter the NIC
THE HOME MINISTRY'S CENTRAL CONFERENCE HALL WAS PACKED and buzzing with a keen sense of anticipation when the PM entered. He was flanked by the Home and Defence ministers. Already present in the room were a dozen key ministers, most of whom comprised the Central Crisis Management Committee: the directors of the Research and Analysis Wing (RAW), Intelligence Bureau (IB), Defence Intelligence Agency (DIA), Joint Cipher Bureau (JCB), Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC), Signals Intelligence Directorate (SID), Satellite Intelligence Directorate (SAID), Aviation Research Centre (ARC), Directorate of Air Intelligence (AI), Directorate of Navy Intelligence (NI), Defence Image Processing and Analysis Centre (DIPAC), Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI), Anti-Terrorist Task Force (ATTF), the three Service Chiefs, and the Directors of various para-military and emergency management organizations.
The ‘guest list’ had been carefully scrutinized by the PM's office to ensure that everyone who was connected with intelligence was included.
‘We must ensure that every possible cog gets involved with the NIC. I want people at all levels to understand and appreciate what the NIC can do in terms of integrating efforts and maximizing resources.’ That was the mandate the PM had given to his staff and that was what they were doing their best to ensure.
It took a few minutes for the pleasantries to be completed. Then silence fell as G.K. Rao walked up to the podium.
In his mid-fifties, the short portly Rao wore black, round, horn-rimmed spectacles that had faded from fashion a few decades ago. Born into a family of aristocrats, who were vaguely related to the erstwhile royalty of Hyderabad, Rao was one of the first agents to join RAW. He had to his credit several daring operations, none of which would be publically known for many years to come. Growing from strength to strength on sheer merit, Rao had also done several stints with ARC and JIC. Today he was a veteran of no mean standing and one of the few people who had an in-depth understanding of the true state of Indian Intelligence. His biggest strength was his total lack of political leanings or mentors. This, more than anything else, made him acceptable across the political spectrum.
As was his wont, Rao wasted little time in pleasantries and launched straight into the heart of the matter.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, today we shall be taking a broad look at world affairs. This is essential for an understanding of the prevalent situation. The topic is vast and extremely complex and there is no way anyone can do justice to it in the brief time available to us. That is why I shall just touch upon those aspects that I think are relevant. Please feel free to question, correct or contribute whenever you feel the need to do so.’
The expressions on the faces of those assembled in the hall left no doubt in anyone's mind that they were going to do just that. However, to begin with, Rao sailed along pretty smoothly.
‘A study of the history of the human race tells us that the course of most major events has been governed by the quest for power, religion, or objects of economic value such as gold, diamonds, precious metals and minerals and, in recent times, oil. These three elements have been the major cause of the emergence, resurgence or extinction of nations and peoples.
‘I will not dwell on the power factor since I think it is quite self-explanatory. But let us take a closer look at religion and oil, since these two have been the root cause of most of what ails us today.’
The introduction was on the verge of acquiring pedantic overtones when Rao changed gear.
‘Let us consider religion first. Much is made of which is the better faith, which god is the true god and which religion the most militant. Without getting into these debates, let us take a look at some facts. Today there are nineteen major religions and about 240 religious groups that flourish in the world.’
Rao gave a discreet nod to an unseen assistant parked in some unseen location. A computer-generated slide blazed across the giant screen behind him.
Major Religions Percentage of population
Christianity 32%
Islam 19%
Hinduism 13%
Buddhism 6%
Chinese Traditional 6%
Primal Indigenous 4%
New Religions 2%
Judaism/Sikhism/Zoroastrianism/Shinto/Confucianism/Baha'i Faith/Taoism/Wicca Less than 1%
Rao paused for a moment for the contents of the slide to be absorbed by his audience.
‘These percentages have been taken from open sources available on the internet and what you see are averages derived from the figures available on several sites. They may not be very precise but they are more than adequate to give us an idea of the world today – in religious terms, I mean.’
The slide faded away.
‘Now, while the purpose of every religion is to help us rid ourselves of sin, bring us closer to God and help promote harmony, peace and love, it is strange that since the beginning of time religion has been the root cause of bloodshed and violence. Forget about seeing eye-to-eye with other religions, most people have not even been able to co-exist peacefully with their co-religionists. That is why we have Catholics hounding Protestants and Sunnis exterminating Shias like vermin.’
A rustle of sound stirred through the room, but Rao continued without pause.
‘Of all the religions mentioned above, Hinduism is possibly the oldest surviving religion. It is said to have its roots in Dravidianism, which was practiced around 6000–3000 BC and hence predates the Sumerian, Egyptian and Babylonian cultures.’
Another brief stir ruffled the room.
‘Judaism finds its origins in the covenant between God and Abraham somewhere around 2000 BC, hence it is one of the older religions and its doctrines have influenced Christianity, Islam and the Baha'i faith. Despite the fact that it, like Christianity and Islam, is one of the religions of the
Book, the Jews have suffered the most abuse and repression down the ages and a large part of this has been at the hands of Christians and Muslims. The Christians believe that it is Jesus Christ, the son of God, who shows us the true path to salvation whereas Islam believes Mohammed is the true Prophet of the One God. I personally have no comments on this matter, since it is a matter of personal belief.’
The murmur of sound this time was much louder.
‘However, it is undeniable that much blood has been shed over this issue and, if history is any indicator, more will continue to be spilled. The Christians always believed that the savage heathen, that is, almost everyone who is not a Christian, needs to be saved. Now we all know that saving comes at a cost. In this case the cost was borne by those unfortunate heathens who had to have their souls saved. All of us who have read about the Crusades know that many hundreds of thousands of heathen souls were dispatched to some unidentified, uncharted and unknown heaven as their earthly bodies were put to the sword.’
By now there were several red faces in the audience as blood pressures rose.
‘Similarly, Muslims believe that only those who follow the tenets of Prophet Mohammed attain jannat with its seventeen virgins.’ Rao paused briefly before resuming sotto voce. ‘Strangely enough, it has never been specified if these virgins are male or female.’
Angry whispers and a brief, uncertain burst of laughter met these words.
‘Like the Christians, for the Muslims too, everyone else is a kafir – an unbeliever – and needs to be saved. Accordingly, a large number of kafirs have been either converted or eliminated.’
Some more faces went red.
‘Possibly Buddhism and Jainism are among those few religions that have no – or negligible – blood on their hands. But that could possibly be because they account for a tiny percentage of humanity and so it is safe to assume that they were too busy saving their own hides to worry about saving the souls of others.’
Somebody laughed before being glared down by his neighbours.
