TANZEEM Page 15

Pakistan has finally been compelled to act against the terrorist groups, because America and other donor countries have made this a precondition for monetary aid. Also, Taliban’s breach of the Swat Valley deal, their advance towards Islamabad, a flood of 3 million displaced people, mounting pressure from a terrified population that is suffering a spate of bomb attacks, and a global media outcry has made it impossible for them to ignore the issue any longer.

  Although the Pakistan Army operation Rah-e-Rast has made clear gains in the Swat area, it is clear that the war is far from won.

  It is also clear that there is a definite divide in the minds of the government and the army regarding the terrorists. This dichotomy is evident from the fact that although bounties have been placed on some terrorist commanders and military action threatened in parts of Waziristan, there are other terror leaders and groups (like the Haq, Nasir and Gul networks) that have been excluded from these actions, despite the fact that they are providing physical, material and moral support to Al-Qaeda and the Taliban. These groups are still considered strategic assets which will enable Pakistan to exercise influence over Afghanistan as soon as the Americans pull out, reduce Indian influence in Afghanistan and also be used against India in the Kashmir Valley.

  Some specific examples of the complicity between the jihadists and the Islamists in power are:

  Rana Sanaullah, the law minister of Pakistani Punjab, openly travelled with Ahmed Ludhianvi, the leader of the banned Sipah-e-Sahaba (a Punjab-based radical Deobandi terror outfit and known Al-Qaeda consort), on a by-election tour and even visited its madrassa in Jhang. (It is pertinent to point out that both Hakimullah Mehsud, the Taliban commander who was killed in a drone strike, and Qari Hussain, the Ustad-e-Fidayeen, are ex-Sipah-e-Sahaba members.)

  Hafiz Sayeed, chief of Lashkar-e-Toiba and known perpetrator of the 26/11 Mumbai ghazwa, is still openly addressing public rallies all over Pakistan.

  Iliyas Kashmiri, the commander of the 313-Brigade, too has been openly addressing public rallies wherein he has threatened to attack the Commonwealth Games and the Indian Premier League matches being held in India.

  The detention and subsequent release of five of the top Quetta Shura leaders.

  Despite this, American military aid to Pakistan has crossed US$ 1.2 billion (up from the current US$ 700 million) in the previous year. Most of the military hardware being supplied (F-16s, drones and precision-guided munitions) is more relevant in a conventional war against India than against terrorists.

  Reports also indicate that the ISI is quietly pulling out certain key, ‘friendly’ Pakistan Taliban leaders from Waziristan. Several HUMINT and SIGINT sources have confirmed this. It is a logical possibility, considering the current state of affairs and repeated public statements by various Pakistani commanders that Pakistan will not be able to rein in the terrorists unless its strategic interests are met; namely, the reduction of Indian influence over the Karzai regime in Afghanistan.

  That is why it is unlikely that Operation Rah-e-Nijat (the Pak Army offensive in Waziristan) will go beyond the occasional air strike or cosmetic patrols. The operation has obviously been launched to show America that it means business, so that the dollars keep flowing in.

  Given the presence of several senior terror leaders (of Al-Qaeda, the Afghan Taliban and Pakistan Taliban) in Waziristan, it is definite that any military operations will be met with a strong and determined resistance. The army has already faced several reverses in Waziristan during the period 2004 to 2008.

  The terror groups are aware that any attempt by them to flee into Afghanistan will drive them into the anvil that ISAF has established along the Durand Line. Thus, to dissipate the pressure built up by the army in Waziristan, the terror groups are launching an average of two attacks per day on government installations and on soft targets like crowded markets. This urban jihad is designed to break the will of the Pakistani people and compel them to pressure the government into calling off the Waziristan offensive. Though publicly condemned, these attacks are secretly condoned by the powers-that-be in Pakistan, since they allow them to proclaim that they too are victims of terror and not the mother lode from where this problem originates.

  The Taliban has also increased attacks in Tajikistan to disrupt American attempts to establish a new supply line into Afghanistan. Known as the Northern Distribution Network, the new supply line goes through Tajikistan and will reduce ISAF dependence on Pakistan.

  The interrogation of several captured terrorists (by various foreign intelligence agencies) confirms that many key Al-Qaeda and Taliban leaders are presently sheltering in the Shawal Valley of North Waziristan, the Chitral district, further north in the Hindu Kush, and the Kurram tribal area which is barely 20 kilometres south of the Tora Bora caves.

  In light of the escalated threat from drones, Al-Qaeda and Taliban have changed tactics; leaders have stopped using modern means of communication, which are easier to pinpoint and move around frequently, The large training camps of yore have been replaced by hut-based training and even the fighting cadres ordered to merge in urban areas in groups of ten or less men. These small groups are linked by human couriers carrying verbal messages, which are impossible to extract even if the courier is apprehended. Al-Qaeda Arabs have been instructed to speak in Pashto to help them blend in.

  However, the fiscal strain on both Al-Qaeda and Taliban is apparent; their fund-raisers are working frantically and all western (European and American) recruits have to pay (US$ 1800 to US$ 2000 per person) for terror training, which had earlier been provided free.

  Despite this, the strategic and operational capability of Al-Qaeda remains largely unimpaired and there are several unconfirmed reports of a major operation being planned against India, Australia, Britain and the American mainland.

  Keeping in view the NIC directive to enhance HUMINT capability in this area, six penetration attempts have been launched, including the Force 22 mission to get an operative in place. The first four attempts were unsuccessful and resulted in the presumed loss of all four assets since there has been no further contact from them. Progress report on the other two follows.

  Concerted efforts are underway to recruit a senior Pakistan Army officer, code-named Sukoon, currently posted in the Peshawar Corps HQ. Initial contact and his response appear to be favourable and now the financial arrangements are being worked out. If successfully acquired, Sukoon will prove to be a formidable source of real-time, actionable intelligence.

  If you fear treachery from any of your allies you may fairly retaliate by breaking off your treaty with them.

  Holy Quran

  The five of them, Karamat, Iqbal, Imran, Mahroof and Niaz, left Bajaur when it became clear that the army offensive had stalled. On the first night, they halted at a small village well away from the battlefield. After weeks of bloodshed, this was the first time Iqbal came across anything close to normalcy. The sleepy little village felt like heaven. The others also seemed more relaxed.

  Iqbal had just about fallen asleep when Karamat shook him awake.

  ‘Where is Mahroof?’ Karamat seemed tense.

  ‘I have no idea. He was here before I went to sleep. I assumed he was getting ready to sleep.’

  ‘That’s what he told me too, but I can’t find him anywhere. His rucksack isn’t here either.’ Karamat’s mouth twitched suspiciously. ‘I have looked for him everywhere. Something is not right.’

  They stepped out of the hut, puzzling over the matter, when they heard a strange whistling sound. It coalesced into two sparks of light as a pair of missiles flashed out of the darkness. The missiles slammed into the hut Karamat and Iqbal had just vacated.

  There was a harsh flare of light. Then a boom filled the air with deadly force. The hut disappeared. Debris was billowing out when a second set of missiles slammed into the village, one taking out the adjacent hut while the second churned up the open space beside it.

  Iqbal felt a surge of fear, the nearness of death leaving a bitter taste in his mou
th.

  ‘That bastard!’ Karamat hissed. ‘Mahroof! The harami can’t be too far.’ Karamat swivelled around, trying to out-guess the man who had guided in the missiles. ‘That way! That’s the easiest place for him to hitch a ride out of here. Let’s get him.’

  He rushed off into the darkness, Iqbal hard at his heels.

  They were soaked with sweat by the time they reached the path connecting the two villages. Up ahead they could hear the sound of a man running.

  Mahroof must have heard them coming. He was reaching for the rifle on his shoulder when Karamat hit him on the head with his rifle butt. Mahroof went down at once.

  ‘Indian, search his rucksack.’ Karamat threw Mahroof’s rifle away from him.

  Iqbal overturned the contents of the rucksack on the ground. It took barely a minute to find the tiny electronic chip wrapped in foil. Iqbal knew it was a GPS transponder and, from the look and size of it, a very sophisticated one. Feigning ignorance, he held it out to Karamat.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘It is a GPS transponder, meant to light up the target and guide in the American missiles. He will tell us who it was meant for,’ Karamat said grimly.

  ‘Bhai! Bhai! I am sorry.’ Mahroof suddenly found his voice, the words dribbling out between terrified sobs. ‘They made me do it. I was told that…’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know his name but I think he works for the agency. At least that is what he implied but I am not sure if he was ISI or CIA.’ Mahroof went silent.

  Karamat was too expert an interrogator not to recognize the power of silence. He knew that sometimes silence was the most effective question.

  Mahroof began to blubber again. ‘He told me that I just had to place one of these wherever you went to sleep. That’s all. I didn’t think…’ His voice petered away. Once again Karamat’s silence compelled him to speak. ‘I didn’t want to do it, bhai.’

  ‘How much did they pay you?’

  No response.

  ‘How much, Mahroof?’ His tone was sharper this time.

  ‘Fifty thousand rupees, bhai,’ came the strangled whisper. ‘My family was starving. No one had eaten for days.’

  ‘A lot of people are starving. Does that mean we sell our faith?’

  ‘They said they would kill me if I didn’t do it.’

  ‘What do you think I will do?’

  ‘Bhai, don’t… please don’t. I did not…’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mahroof, I am not going to kill you.’

  Mahroof’s face lit up. ‘I promise you, bhai, I will…’

  ‘By the time I finish, you will wish I had killed you.’ Karamat laughed. He reached for his knife. The moonlight glinted coldly off the blade. He reached down and tore the clothes off the hapless man grovelling in the mud.

  A continuous keening sound whistled out from between Mahroof’s lips. The sound grated through Iqbal, setting his teeth on edge.

  Karamat’s knife slashed out. It did not penetrate Mahroof’s body. Instead, it surgically split open the soft skin all along the lower half of the stomach, just below his belly button, in a thin red line. The line thickened as blood welled out, gaining strength with every passing moment, dividing Mahroof’s body into two perfect halves.

  As the knife ploughed deeper, Mahroof’s high-pitched screams shuddered through the night. Iqbal watched in silence as Karamat systematically flayed the skin from the upper half of Mahroof’s body. Every time Mahroof fainted, Karamat kicked him back into consciousness before he resumed the butchery.

  With every slash of the knife, the stench of blood grew stronger. It mingled with the thick, pungent smell of excreta. Karamat’s face was devoid of expression.

  Iqbal found himself watching in fascination as the man writhed on the ground, his blood-soaked body absorbing the dust.

  Karamat tired of the game suddenly. He drove the knife deep into Mahroof’s chest. Still expressionless, he turned to Iqbal. ‘We need to get out of here.’

  They ran back to the village to collect Niaz and minutes later the four men had gathered their kit and melted into the night.

  When they reached the next village, Karamat called for a halt. The minute Iqbal lay down and closed his eyes, the screams in his head began again. Mahroof’s voice blended viciously with the American soldier’s; the cacophony reverberated in his mind, jolting him awake, sweating and breathless.

  Three long, painful nights elapsed before he finally managed to conquer his demons. The faces still called out to him in the silence of the night, but they did not excite any emotion in him any longer. In his dreams he could now see himself stand by and watch the two men die.

  On the fourth day, the Ameer’s messenger found them.

  ‘We have to go to Jandola. The Ameer wants us,’ Karamat told them.

  To Iqbal’s surprise, the messenger led them to a station wagon.

  ‘Is it safe to use a vehicle?’ Imran asked.

  ‘We have no choice,’ Karamat replied. He too was not pleased with the transport; they all knew that cars were prime targets for the security forces, because the lashkars had commandeered all available vehicles.

  Just how dangerous it was became clear when a pair of helicopters rose from behind a knoll as they turned the corner a little short of Jandola. Karamat, who was driving, saw them at almost the same time as the choppers must have spotted the vehicle. Unfortunately, unlike the attack helicopters, the station wagon was neither armed with rockets nor machine guns.

  With a warning shout, Karamat swerved to a halt, threw open the door and leapt out of the vehicle. On the other side, the Ameer’s messenger did the same, as did the three men riding in the back. They all reacted quickly, but were not fast enough to beat the machine-gun fire that erupted from both choppers.

  The heavy-calibre bullets riddled the vehicle like a sieve, blasting open the bonnet with a bang. Iqbal, Imran and Niaz were luckier: they had just managed to get past a curve in the road when the first rocket collided with it. The flaming blast and the debris fanned past Iqbal as he hit the ground. He crawled up to the rocks on the side of the road, behind which Niaz and Imran had taken shelter. Both were sobbing with relief.

  Karamat and the messenger were not as fortunate. The latter lost the right half of his body as the bullets reached the fuel tanks and the vehicle exploded.

  He died instantly.

  Karamat was just marginally luckier – three bullets punctured his left side and the impact hurled him off the road, saving him from immediate death when the rocket hit the vehicle. He retained enough presence of mind to crawl to a depression off the road. He barely made it, as the choppers closed in and machine-gun fire churned the area around for several minutes.

  Finally satisfied that they had thrashed the vehicle into oblivion, the Pakistani gunships pulled away, the clacking rotors slowly fading into the night.

  Even as a plume of black smoke spiralled up from the charred vehicle, silence and peace returned. Only the smell of gunpowder, burnt fuel and burning rubber lingered.

  Iqbal and the others stood up only when they were absolutely certain that the danger had passed.

  Though he was bleeding heavily, Karamat was still conscious. ‘We need to get away from here fast,’ he told them. He dragged himself up with Imran’s and Iqbal’s support. ‘Niaz.’ His breath was heavy and each word came out with painful effort. ‘Take us down to Jandola. Use the lower track.’

  The next mile was testimony to Karamat’s courage. Iqbal’s admiration for the man increased with each step. Though he was obviously in agony, not a whimper escaped his lips as they hobbled along, stopping just once to bandage the wounds. The smell of blood and perspiration seeped into Iqbal’s head as he half-carried the injured man with Imran holding him on the other side.

  Jandola was on high alert when they finally arrived. Two of the Ameer’s bodyguards met them when they were still at the outer periphery. They urgently led the group away from the village.

  Twenty minutes later, t
hey were in the presence of the Ameer, safe in a cave above Jandola. He was pacing the floor of the gloomy cave when they entered.

  ‘What took you so long, Karamat?’ the Ameer bellowed. Then he saw the blood-soaked bandages and his expression changed. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked, his haste still evident, as also the lack of any real concern. Jihadis, even senior leaders, were acknowledged and appreciated only as long as they were fit enough to deliver. A seriously wounded man was no more than a liability.

  ‘Bad enough, Ameer,’ Karamat replied weakly.

  ‘Don’t worry, Karamat, you will be fine.’ The Ameer patted him on the shoulder. ‘You two,’ he gestured to Imran and Niaz, ‘take care of him. And you!’ he addressed Iqbal, ‘go and fetch a doctor to tend to him.’

  ‘I do not know this area, Ameer,’ Iqbal said hesitantly.

  The Ameer recognized him. ‘Ah, Indian! You again!’ He nodded. ‘Okay, you get a doctor,’ he said to the bodyguard standing closest to him. The man left immediately.

  ‘Karamat.’ The Ameer turned to the wounded commander. ‘I need to go. They have told me to move out now. These two will look after you.’

  ‘Go, Ameer.’ Karamat’s voice was barely audible. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘What about this guy?’ one of the bodyguards asked as the Ameer was leaving the cave.

  ‘What about him? Leave him here.’

  ‘There are only three of us now. We may need more guns if things turn nasty. Should we not take him along?’

  ‘Should we?’ the Ameer asked aloud. ‘Can we trust you, Indian?’ He looked at Iqbal.

  ‘You can trust him, Ameer,’ Karamat called out weakly. ‘He is a good man to have by your side.’

  ‘All right. Come with us.’

  A few minutes later, they were marching down the path that led to Jandola. When they were just short of it they turned off it and walked down a tiny foot track. An hour later, they were at the base of the mountain.

  For they are all greedy for profit, from the smallest to the greatest, from prophet to priest. They all act falsely. They attempt to heal my people’s wounds without efforts saying, ‘peace, peace,’ but there is no peace.