by Deva, Mukul
Salim Must Die
TIWATHIA, SAMI AND IQBAL BURST INTO THE ROOM HARD on the heels of the stun grenade. Their drawn guns sought out the befuddled figures in the room, reeling from the sudden, intense explosion of sound and light. Tiwathia was almost halfway into the room when a door to his right opened with a crash. He turned and saw an elderly man running into the room. The man had a bewildered look on his face and a pistol in his hand. He took in the chaos prevailing in the room at a glance and, automatically, his gun hand started to rise.
Tiwathia noted the gun in the man's hand and saw it coming up. Driven by adrenaline-powered nerves, the silenced weapon in Tiwathia's hand stuttered to life. Hastily aimed though they were, his bullets zipped through the air and stitched tiny holes in the neck of Salim's helper-cum-bodyguard. The man was dead even before his body crashed to the ground.
‘Watch out!’ Iqbal's sudden shout alerted Tiwathia. ‘Behind you!’
Cheema had used the momentary distraction to regain his bearings and grab the pistol from his waistband. By the time Tiwathia turned to see what Iqbal was trying to warn him about, Cheema's pistol had cleared the belt and was almost level. It was pointed straight at him. The two men were barely seven feet apart. At that distance, there was no way that Cheema would miss.
Too late! Tiwathia's mind raged at him as he swung his own weapon around.
Too late!
He knew he would not be able to bring his weapon into play in time.
There was a flat, sharp thump as Cheema fired. Tiwathia heard it echo through him even as he returned fire, but he knew he was too late. The bullet had already cleared the barrel of Cheema's pistol and was rushing towards him.
Neither man had seen Iqbal launch himself forward a split second after his warning shout to Tiwathia. He met Cheema's bullet in mid-air, just a foot before it was due to strike Tiwathia's head. Iqbal was hurtling through the air when he ate the bullet. It slammed into his body, spinning him around. He hit the ground hard as he fell between the two men.
By now, Tiwathia's bullet had also completed its short journey. It thudded into Cheema's chest, pushing him back a step, but the fight was not yet over. Though in pain, Cheema was aligning his weapon to fire again when, from across the room, Sami fired. All three of his bullets pin-cushioned Cheema's head and sent him toppling backwards.
Salim gave an anguished cry as he saw his trusted lieutenant fall.
Iqbal heard Salim's shrill cry through the fog of pain clamping down on him. He was trying to sit up when his eyes fell upon its source. A huge shard of anger skewered through him, driving him to his feet.
‘You!’ His voice was a harsh guttural whisper. ‘It's you… you bastard.’ He tossed a look at the Force 22 officers whose guns were trained on the man. ‘This is Salim. The harami who caused me… my….’ The intensity of Iqbal's anger choked his throat and words dried up.
Just then there was a sharp burst of gunfire from outside, interspersed with the soft, muted spit of a silenced weapon.
‘Tanaz!’ Both commandos spoke simultaneously. Tanaz literally flew into the room. Her chador and hijab were gone, revealing the black salwar-kameez she was clad in.
‘There were three more of them, two men and a woman,’ she said breathlessly. ‘They were headed this way and both were armed. I took care of them.’ She saw the look on Sami's face. ‘That's what you left me outside for… right?’ At that moment, her eyes fell upon Iqbal, who had slumped to the ground again and was trying hard to staunch the flow of blood from his arm. ‘Iqbal!’ Her cry reverberated with a touch of something that was more than just concern for an injured comrade. ‘What happened?’
‘Tanaz!’ Sami's sharp command reined her in. ‘Get a field dressing from my pack and dress that wound.’
The professional in her regained control and she raced forward to comply. Taking out the field dressing, she began to expose Iqbal's wound so that she could dress it.
Finally, Salim spoke. ‘Who are you?’ His voice was controlled again.
‘Your death!’ Sami's ice-cold voice cut him off. ‘You have killed enough people, old man. Now it's time for you to die.’
Whatever else he was, Salim was no fool. His mind had begun to tick as soon as the effects of the Flash-and-Bang grenade wore off. He had gauged the threat confronting him and was rapidly clicking through the various possibilities available to extricate himself from this situation.
‘You're Indian commandos, aren't you?’ The question in his voice was very slight, almost nonexistent.
Neither of the Force 22 officers bothered to reply. Instead, Sami threw a sharp command at Tiwathia. ‘Search the house. We need the phone, diaries, PDAs, pen drives, computers… if there's a desktop, just get the hard disk.’ He added as Tiwathia began to move, ‘Hurry up! The grenade and gunfire would certainly have attracted attention, even on this lonely stretch.’
‘Tanaz? Iqbal?’ Salim turned on them as Tiwathia strode out of the room. ‘Both of you are Muslims?’ The wily old man began to look for a way out of this conundrum. ‘Then why are you helping these kafirs? We true believers must….’
‘You call yourself a true believer?’ The anger in Iqbal overrode the pain pulsing through him. ‘You fucking psycho! You are a disgrace to Islam. Sub-human monsters like you….’
‘The jihad calls for us to make sacrifices,’ Salim retorted proudly.
‘Jihad? Jihad only calls for us to bring purity and peace to society… by ridding it of maniacs like you….’
‘The people of Pakistan will not rest till we wrest our dues from India.’
‘The people of Pakistan? When have you ever stopped to ask them anything? Your mad Generals and corrupt politicians have played the India card and the Islamic card at the drop of a hat to keep this madness going….’
‘Don't waste your breath, Iqbal,’ Sami cut in. ‘These bastards have no nationality and no religion. He will not understand anything you have to say. In any case, it doesn't matter, since he doesn't have much longer to live.’
‘Go ahead.’ Salim glared at him arrogantly. ‘It does not matter whether I live or die. Every time a Salim dies, a hundred more will rise to take his place. No matter what you do, the jihad will go on.’
‘So be it!’ Sami replied evenly as he raised the silenced pistol in his hand and levelled it straight at Salim's head. His finger had begun to tighten on the trigger when Iqbal cried out.
‘No! He's mine. The Colonel promised….’ Sami slackened the pressure on the trigger and lowered his weapon slightly as Iqbal broke free from Tanaz, who was trying to finish the dressing on his wound, and began to rise. He swayed slightly as he came to his feet. The high velocity impact of the bullet and the loss of blood had weakened him much more than he cared to admit. Tanaz reached out to support him but he shrugged off her hands and, stooping slightly, propped himself against the ornate centre table in front him. Decorating the table was an equally ornate, jewel-studded scimitar that had once adorned the waist of a Mughal king, its sharp blade gleaming brighter then the bevelled glass it lay upon. ‘This man,’ Iqbal pointed a finger quivering with anger and pain at Salim, ‘is responsible for the death of my mother and my sister.’
‘And both my brothers.’ Tanaz turned to Iqbal, giving him a long, questioning look. He saw the hard, flat glint in the eyes of the extraordinarily beautiful woman before him and knew that she needed this closure as much as he did… if she was ever to come to terms with the death of her brothers.
Watching them frozen in their strangely intimate tableau, Sami got the feeling that they were totally unaware of everything and everyone else in the room.
Neither of them even noticed Tiwathia return. He was about to speak when he took in the atmosphere in the room and subsided, indicating the laptop bag on his shoulder with a brief nod to Sami. Sami's attention was momentarily diverted as he acknowledged Tiwathia's gesture.
Maybe that was why none of them noticed Salim when he suddenly bent down to grab the weapon Cheema had dro
pped. By the time Sami and Iqbal took in the blur of motion, Salim had stooped down, snatched up the pistol, and was coming up with it. Despite his age, he was moving incredibly fast, spurred on by his instinct and the need to survive. The pistol was coming to level as he started to straighten up.
Once again, Sami was the first to react. He levelled his weapon and fired. Tanaz fired a moment later. The bullets drove into Salim's chest and belly, throwing him back again. However, his gun hand continued its relentless journey upwards. It was coming up straight at Tanaz who was standing right in front of him, a few scant feet away.
Tanaz pulled the trigger again. There was a dull click as her weapon jammed.
Damn!
Trying to swivel out of the way of Salim's weapon, Tanaz strayed into the line of fire between Sami and Salim, forcing Sami to stay his hand.
Iqbal noted the threat immediately. He instinctively snatched up the shining scimitar from the table in front of him and lashed out with it. The gleaming blade was as sharp as it had been on the day it left the royal forge a hundred years ago. It sliced smoothly through the flesh and bone of Salim's hand. A horrible cry erupted from Salim as he watched his hand holding the pistol fall with an ugly thud onto the floor. A fountain of bright red blood sprayed out from his severed wrist.
By now all signs of sanity had fled the room. A fearsome battle cry thundered out from Iqbal as he leaped across the table and whirled the blood-soaked scimitar. It cleaved through the air in a wide, powerful arc, not even pausing momentarily when it met Salim's neck and emerged red from the other end. A fraction of a second later, Salim's neatly severed head toppled free of his torso, abruptly cutting off his cry of pain.
In the shocked silence that fell upon the room, the severed head thudded dully on to the floor and rolled away… once… twice… thrice… till it finally came to a stop.
The silence persisted as the portly terror master's headless body slumped to the ground in slow motion. There was a final twitch before the stillness of death settled upon him.
Then it was over.
THE FOUR AVENGERS WATCHED THE TERRORIST'S HEADLESS body slowly settle down in the grimace of death. As he looked at the dead man lying before him, Iqbal felt the heavy slug of hate that he'd carried in the pit of his heart all this while dissipate. Then he noticed Tanaz watching him. An incredible warmth flooded through him as their eyes met and held.
The sensation was strange, perhaps because he had never experienced it before.
I love her!
The realization was sudden… and acute. He felt a strange new feeling sweep through him. It rushed into the void that the cancerous hate for Salim had vacated.
Tanaz's eyes were inexplicable. Iqbal thought he saw his feelings mirrored in them, but he couldn't be sure.
SAMI MOVED FIRST AND BROKE THE TABLEAU. ‘THAT'S IT, guys. Let's get a move on. This place is going to be mighty unhealthy very soon.’
They hurried out of the bungalow and began to move down the hill towards the station wagon waiting for them. Sami, his weapon at the ready, was in the vanguard while Tanaz brought up the rear. Moving between them, Tiwathia half carried, half supported Iqbal as they went. The first few steps were difficult as both men struggled to find a common rhythm, but soon they had synchronized their movements, the former terrorist and the Force 22 commando.
‘Thank you,’ Iqbal said as they went towards the waiting vehicle.
‘None required. That's what buddies are for,’ Tiwathia replied simply. ‘In any case, the bullet you took was meant for me. I owe you, buddy.’
His words triggered a sudden moistness in Iqbal's eyes. Even he was not sure whether it was the sudden warmth of camaraderie or the resurgent pain of the bullet wound.
‘Where will you go now?’ Tiwathia asked, more to distract his attention from the moment than anything else.
Iqbal looked at him quizzically. ‘You mean I don't have to go back to prison?’
‘No! Isn't that what the Colonel promised you?’
‘Yes, but….’
‘There are never any buts with the Colonel, Iqbal.’
By now they had reached the station wagon. Tanaz helped Tiwathia put Iqbal into the rear seat before she got in next to him and began to fuss over the wound again. Sami jumped in behind the wheel and steered the vehicle back the way they had come.
They were almost a hundred metres away when Iqbal noticed the scimitar still clutched in his hand. He looked at it, bewildered.
‘I didn't even realize I still had it,’ he said to no one in particular.
Turning back to see what he was talking about, Tiwathia gave a brief smile. ‘Looks good to me.’ He took it from Iqbal and, wiping the blade clean, gave it a closer look. ‘It's definitely an antique.’ He handed it back to Iqbal. ‘Must be priceless.’
‘It is!’ Tanaz said simply. ‘It rid you of the hate within. Just keep it. Maybe it will continue to bring you luck.’
Rebirth
BARRING THE ESCALATING PAIN THAT HELD IQBAL IN ITS talons, the return journey was so uneventful that it was almost an anti-climax. The pressure of the field dressing that Tanaz had tied on him had staunched the bleeding quite a bit, but the pain intermittently lanced through the fog of painkillers she had fed him. The tremendous loss of blood had drained his energy. Whenever he floated out of the state of semi-consciousness, he saw Tanaz watching over him.
The sun had begun to recede into the shadows of another night when they reached the turn off for the border crossing that would take them back to India.
‘Turn off the road on the dirt track near that tree,’ Tanaz said. ‘That will take us straight to the hut where we met. Rehmat, your guide, should be waiting there.’
He was. Sami brought the station wagon to a halt near the solitary hut. ‘Give us a few minutes to rig up a stretcher for Iqbal,’ he told Tanaz as he leapt out of the vehicle.
‘I don't think it's a good idea for you to try and attempt the border crossing with him in this state.’ Tanaz's tone was troubled, her anxiety evident. ‘What if his situation worsens on the way? He will not only slow you two down, he may even inadvertently give you away.’
‘We can't leave a buddy behind, Tanaz,’ Tiwathia replied immediately. ‘Don't worry, we will get him across. In any case, how will he manage alone?’
‘He's not alone,’ she retorted sharply. ‘Not unless he wants to be.’
For a very long moment only the crackling, ticking sound of the cooling engine broke the silence. Sami and Tiwathia watched Iqbal exchange a glance with Tanaz. She looked away immediately, her face devoid of expression.
Smart girl! She's going to let him make his own call. That's the way it should always be. Tiwathia watched with envious admiration. Everyone should find a soul mate. He suddenly realized he was holding his breath.
‘No, I am not alone.’ Iqbal finally spoke. ‘In any case, if I stay on this side I can help with the task we have begun,’ he rationalized, more to himself than to them. ‘After all, there will be many more Salims and Cheemas to take the place of the ones we have killed.’
‘True,’ Sami concurred softly. ‘This is going to be a long battle… long and bloody. But it is not just your problem….’
‘It is everybody's problem,’ Iqbal interrupted him. ‘All of us have to act and I, having been through it all, am relatively better poised to contribute something to this fight. In any case, I have much to atone for…’ He looked up. His breath was running short and he was in obvious pain, but there was a firm resolve in his gaze. ‘I will stay here.’
‘He needs a doctor,’ Tiwathia said. ‘And he needs one fast.’
‘I can get him to one,’ Tanaz replied. ‘One who will not ask any questions… one of us. He is less than half an hour away from here.’
‘Where do you guys plan to go?’ Tiwathia asked.
‘To the desert.’ Tanaz pointed to the far distance. ‘I was born and brought up in the desert. I know it well. The sands will hide us.’
The
two commandos exchanged a glance. Sami gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod. ‘Okay. Take care, then. Tanaz, I suggest you move fast. You have to get him to a doctor before… he is losing a lot of blood.’
‘Don't worry,’ Tanaz reassured them. ‘We only have a few miles to go.’
The two commandos helped to shift Iqbal into the co-driver's seat.
They were walking towards their waiting guide when Iqbal called out weakly, ‘Please tell the Colonel that I'm sorry for what I….’
‘Don't worry about the past, Iqbal.’ Sami turned to face the young man. The haunted expression that had returned to Iqbal's face reached out to him. ‘All of us make mistakes. Very few have the courage to try and redeem themselves. I think you have already atoned for whatever wrongs you may have done. Now it is time for you to put away the past and set yourself free. Go man, your destiny awaits you… wherever you go, whatever you do, may Allah watch over you.’
‘Thank you… thank you very much.’ There was a sharp glint of tears in Iqbal's eyes and his voice broke as he spoke. ‘Tell the Colonel that he can always call on me whenever the need arises. I will not fail him.’ There was an awkward pause as he looked at the Force 22 commandos. ‘In fact, it would be an honour.’ Then he threw an equally awkward salute at them.
The salute was sloppy, but the emotions that came with it were not.
Fighting back the waves of pain, Iqbal turned wordlessly towards Tanaz. She reached out and touched him ever so briefly on his chin. The promise of love and togetherness was nestled warmly in that touch. Then she powered the engine and gunned the vehicle.
The two commandos watched the station wagon race away into the gradually gathering darkness, towards the waiting desert sands.
‘COME ON! LET'S GO!’ REHMAT GESTURED URGENTLY. ‘WE have to get across before first light.’
He strode ahead, and Sami and Tiwathia followed. As he walked, Sami pulled out the Motorola mobile phone Tanaz had given him. He quickly keyed in a text message and pressed the send key. He had barely taken five strides when the message-delivered confirmation glowed on the screen.
