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  ‘For a woman, you seem quite well informed about these things.’ The man gave her another keen look.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Tanaz retorted belligerently. ‘So what if I am a woman? Does that make me any less a mujahideen?’ She turned to face him. ‘Don’t you know I’ve sacrificed both my brothers for the cause… not to mention three years of my life?’

  ‘All right, all right! Don’t get so worked up. I just asked. You know how troubled these times are; one has to be careful and question everything.’

  ‘I understand.’ Tanaz discarded her belligerence, eager to have him talking again. ‘I know exactly what you mean. These days you can never take anyone at face value.’

  ‘Well, the Arabs, in fact all the outsiders, began to move out once the goras started sending their drones across the borders on search-and-destroy strikes. Especially the important ones… they are extra careful these days.’

  ‘The important ones? You mean like those who brought us here?’

  ‘Those who got you here?’ The man gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Hardly! But the man they are escorting certainly is.’

  ‘Which one is that? I didn’t see him.’

  ‘The Ameer is only seen by those he wishes to be seen by.’ He gave another knowing, almost condescending laugh. ‘In fact, you are lucky he even stopped to pick you two strays up…’ The man’s voice trailed away, as though suddenly aware that he was talking too much.

  ‘The Ameer? Is that his name? Who is he?’

  ‘There you go again, with your questions!’ the man retorted brusquely, his tone dissuading Tanaz from asking any more questions.

  Three grim days later, Tanaz was coming out of the hospital room in the morning after checking on the still weak, but now sporadically conscious Iqbal when three men emerged from a hut across the compound, about fifty feet away. Although all three were dressed alike, the one in the centre caught her attention immediately.

  Tall and built like a Patton tank, the man had a long, angular scar running across the right cheek of his gaunt face and a strange glow in his eyes. A chill ran down Tanaz’s spine as their eyes met. She looked away hastily and bowing her head, scurried away as she had seen the one or two other women in the compound do.

  Almost simultaneously, a posse of men erupted from the huts around and began to make their way towards the mini-convoy of vehicles that had brought Tanaz and Iqbal here. The man she now knew as the Ameer walked into the Hiace van with darkened windows positioned behind the leading Landcruiser. Engines revved to life and moments later, the convoy was moving. Within minutes it had disappeared into the swirling desert sands, heading north.

  ‘So you have finally seen the Ameer!’ said a reedy, nasal voice just behind her. She turned with a start to see Pervez, the doctor’s assistant.

  ‘You startled me,’ Tanaz said accusingly.

  They stood there, watching the dust settle on the horizon. ‘Where has he gone?’ Tanaz asked.

  ‘The Ameer? Who knows! He never stays anywhere for more than a day or two.’

  ‘Really? That’s strange.’

  ‘Why? It makes perfect sense from the security point of view. Most of the other leaders follow the same rule and the Ameer ul Momineem is, after all, the most important of them all.’

  ‘Ameer ul Momineem? The Commander of the Faithful?’

  ‘Yes, woman, that’s who he is!’ Pervez looked at her disdainfully. ‘Not many know of him today, but what he is doing will soon surpass anything even the Sheikh had visualized.’

  ‘Oh!’ Tanaz purposely kept her tone a little stupid, hoping the man would keep talking, but it didn’t work this time, possibly because he had other things on his mind.

  ‘How is your man now?’ Tanaz was about to reply when Pervez continued. ‘I may have to move him today. We’re expecting a couple of other patients soon.’

  ‘But he is not okay yet,’ Tanaz protested. ‘We must keep him in an area as free from infection as possible.’

  ‘There you go again, trying to tell me how to do my job.’ Pervez looked angry enough to strike her. Tanaz tensed, but the moment passed and he said tersely, ‘Just get him ready to be moved out in an hour or so… take him to that one.’ He pointed to a tiny, abandoned hut on the edge of the compound. ‘And from now on, you look after him yourself.’

  Tanaz bit her tongue, knowing this was not the time or place for aggression, certainly not until Iqbal was back on his feet.

  All thoughts of the Ameer faded from her mind as she began to prepare Iqbal for the move. I might as well change his bandages again. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get hold of fresh ones. Doing exactly as she had seen Pervez do over the past two days, she changed Iqbal’s dressings and hid a clean set of bandages in her burqa.

  Perhaps because of a resurgence of pain, Iqbal wandered into wakefulness as she finished knotting the bandage on his shoulder. For a long moment he lay still and watched her. ‘How are you, Tanaz?’ His voice was a whisper, forced out by muscles beginning to rust with disuse.

  Tanaz looked up in delight. Taking a quick look around to ensure they were alone, she threw back her hijab.

  ‘How are you?’ she whispered back. ‘How is the pain now?’

  ‘Better.’ Iqbal’s eyes were fixed on hers. ‘I feel stiff, but I’m better.’

  ‘Good!’ Tanaz said reassuringly. ‘That’s what the doctor said too. They’ve decided to move you to another hut to recuperate.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ Iqbal gave a weak shrug. ‘As long as you are with me.’

  ‘I am!’ She caressed his cheek lovingly. ‘I will be there… always.’

  ‘Mashallah!’ Iqbal could not prevent the weak sigh that escaped him; even this brief effort had tired him out.

  ‘Don’t worry, Iqbal, you’ll be up and about soon… as good as new.’

  But on this count Tanaz was wrong.

  Iqbal’s return to health was a slow and painful process. A full fortnight passed before he could get up to relieve himself. Even then, he needed Tanaz to support him. It was over a month later that Iqbal was finally able to slowly walk around the compound. From that point on, his recovery was swift, if not miraculous. Tanaz’s constant nursing and feeding ensured that Iqbal was soon stepping out of the hut and slowly clocking at least a mile each time; once, twice and soon, thrice a day. Tanaz was constantly by his side. Every painful grimace as his stiff limbs and muscles ached back into use elicited a sharp look of concern from her.

  ‘I’m all right, Tanaz. Don’t worry, nothing is going to happen to me now.’

  ‘Ameen!’ Tanaz threw a grateful look heavenwards.

  ‘Nothing can happen to me now,’ Iqbal murmured, ‘now that I have a reason to live.’

  Tanaz threw him a playful, quizzical look. Emboldened by the dusk falling around them, Iqbal reached for her hand under the burqa and gave it a long squeeze. By now almost everyone in the compound was used to seeing the two of them walking around every morning, afternoon and night. Even so, they kept a low profile and spoke to the others only when it was essential. More contact meant more questions. It was only because the Ameer himself had delivered them to the compound that they had not faced closer scrutiny so far.

  Iqbal broke the silence between them.

  ‘I can’t wait for us to get back…’

  ‘Get back?’ For a moment Tanaz was perplexed.

  ‘Back across the border. Back home so that we can…’

  ‘Home?’ Tanaz asked, suddenly engulfed by sadness. ‘I’ve forgotten what a home feels like.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Tanaz.’ Iqbal wanted to take her in his arms and brush away the pain on her face. ‘Together we’ll make a home. You, me and… one day, our children.’

  ‘Hush!’ The smile returned to Tanaz’s eyes, though Iqbal could not see it because of her hijab.

  ‘Yes, we will, Tanaz,’ he promised. ‘I can’t wait for us to return and get married.’

  ‘I’m already yours, Iqbal. You know that. As for the wedding c
eremony… if it’s important to you…’

  ‘It isn’t, but I want everything to be perfect for you,’ Iqbal murmured.

  ‘It already is.’

  Even the bleak, ill-kept compound was filled with vibrance as the red embers of the setting sun bathed it in a tranquil glow. They sat outside their hut, watching the sun go down. The place was shrouded in silence since most of the temporary inhabitants had left the previous day. Perhaps an operation was in the offing, though neither of them knew for sure.

  As he looked around the deserted compound, Iqbal was reminded of the time he had travelled through Pakistan on his way to the training camp at Muzaffarabad. It all seemed so long ago, but the memory was as strong as though it had happened yesterday.

  ‘Tell me, Wasim,’ he had asked their guide, ‘how come all the places we stay in are deserted? Where is everyone?’

  Wasim had given Iqbal a long look before he replied, ‘They’re not abandoned or empty. We have to be careful and ensure external trainees don’t mix with the others… Salim sahib is very strict about that.’

  ‘I don’t understand… which others?’

  ‘The locals, primarily.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Not everyone here supports the jihad. There are some who feel that Pakistan should worry more about itself and its economy than expend time, energy and resources on external problems.’

  ‘I thought the people of Pakistan were solidly behind us… behind the jihad.’

  ‘The people of Pakistan?’ Wasim said. ‘People are people… they tend to worry about basic things like food, shelter and clothing. Everything else is secondary.’

  Shrugging away the memory, Iqbal turned to Tanaz. ‘The less contact we have with the others, the less chances of us making a mistake and giving ourselves away.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Tanaz nodded. ‘We must take each day as it comes... till you are strong enough for us to move out.’

  ‘I know.’ Iqbal looked at her steadily. ‘I just wish we could be home now. The two of us… and nobody else.’ His voice had fallen to a low whisper.

  In the fading light, Tanaz reached out and took his hand. Her touch was electric and Iqbal felt his breath catch. Silently, he got up and led her into the hut. The time for words was past.

  Iqbal’s hands were trembling as he latched the door and leaned back against it. Then Tanaz was in his arms and their lips sought each other’s hungrily. She shuddered as his teeth caught her lower lip and sucked on it, gently, then hard, until she moaned in pain. He drew back then and his lips explored her face, caressing her eyes, her cheeks, her forehead, the lobe of her ear, down to the side of her neck. They returned to coax her lips apart again and she pulled him closer until their bodies clung to each other.

  Stepping back a little, Iqbal freed the burqa from Tanaz’s body. It crumpled to the floor and the rest of their clothes followed, pulled off by shaking, frantic hands. Without letting go of her, Iqbal manouevred Tanaz back until she lay on the mattress, her naked body a burnished brown in the twilight. His hands glided down, lingering to stroke, lift, caress, his fingertips rough on her soft skin. His lips followed, his beard grazing her neck, her breasts. She moaned as he took her hard, erect nipples into his mouth, tugging at them, biting them. She arched as he moved down, his lips and fingers restless in the hollow of her navel, the shadow between her legs. Her body froze as her mind struggled to comprehend what was coming, but he moved up again to kiss her lingeringly on the lips and she curved into him, trusting again, her hands tentatively exploring the scarred skin on his back, the lean line of his spine. He turned over then and pulled her on top of him, his eyes laughing as she cried out in surprise. Eyes still locked into hers, he took her hands and raised them to his face, then downward. Her fingers traced his shoulders, his arms, his chest, then moved down over his stomach, uncertain but determined. He gathered her to him then, with a strength that had eluded him all these days, and she exclaimed as he pushed her onto her back and parted her legs. His fingers were gentle as they touched her, then his tongue replaced them with its questing, probing quickness. She moaned, unable to hold back the words, the endearments, the entreaties.

  He pulled himself up and looked at her, his body poised above hers for a moment before coming down hard. Her hands came up to push him away as pain lanced through her but it was only for a moment and he stilled, waiting for her to calm before beginning to move again, slowly at first, then fast and unstopping, his eyes watching the play of expressions on her face. She moved with him, her arms holding him tight, her teeth biting down on her lips. When the orgasm caught her, lifting her and spiralling her outwards in a moment like no other she had known, she cried out and he tensed as her nails sank into the newly healed skin on his back. Then he, too, was beyond any pretence of control as he thrust into her repeatedly and without thought until he came, his body shuddering as he collapsed on hers, his eyes shut and his breathing shallow.

  The following month, Tanaz missed her period.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Iqbal asked her again and again, unable to contain the joy that almost threatened to unseat his mind.

  ‘How could I not be sure, Iqbal?’ Tanaz asked in mock exasperation.

  ‘Okay, but we need to get you to a doctor and make sure.’

  ‘And that’s not going to happen here for sure.’

  ‘I know.’ Iqbal nodded. ‘But I’m quite all right now. We can tell them we are off to rejoin our group and move on. In any case, we can’t stay here much longer. They’ll start asking awkward questions sooner or later.’

  ‘You’re right!’ Already, some of the permanent inhabitants who manned the compound had started making discreet but persistent enquiries. It was only a matter of time before the curiosity spread. ‘Let’s do it first thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Perfect!’ Iqbal leaned back against the wall. ‘It will be good to get back home. Abbu and Ashraf will be thrilled to meet you and welcome you into the family.’

  ‘You think so?’ Tanaz asked dubiously.

  ‘I know so. I also know that Colonel Anbu and the others in Force 22 will be happy to see us again.’

  ‘How can you be so sure? They are professional soldiers. For them the mission is the only thing that matters.’

  ‘Maybe, but my instincts tell me that this man… this Colonel Anbu is different. There’s something special about him. Trust me.’

  ‘I do trust you, Iqbal, you know I do.’ Tanaz looked away uncertainly. ‘But why do we need to go back at all? Why can’t we just stay on here? We could return to the desert. I have family there… whatever little is left of it.’

  ‘And then?’ Iqbal asked her gently. ‘After all that has happened, how do you think we’ll live? Always looking over our shoulders? With the perpetual fear of not knowing who might recognize you… or…’ Iqbal’s voice tapered off. ‘How long do you think it will be before the hardliners take over Pakistan? Can you imagine what the situation will be once that happens? The country will lapse into the dark ages for all you know. Is this where we want to bring up our child?’

  Tanaz knew Iqbal was right, but her fear of what lay across the border held her back. Iqbal tried to calm her.

  ‘Tanaz, we know what these jihadis are capable of. We’ve both lost so much to them. And they haven’t spared our god or our religion either. Is it right to give up the fight halfway? Will you be able to rest peacefully afterwards?’

  Tanaz did not reply for a long time. Finally, when she looked up, it was with a steely resolve. ‘You are right! We have a duty to stand up and be counted. These maniacs cannot be stopped until every one of us decides it’s time to take them on.’

  ‘I knew you’d feel like that!’ Iqbal’s smile was triumphant as he pulled her into his arms.

  Neither of them had an inking of what the ‘maniacs’ had let loose on the streets of India, even as they stood there dreaming of their future.

  EIGHT

  A few hundred miles to the south, the 1096 Ahimsa Express fr
om Pune pulled into Ahmedabad Junction railway station. The six men who alighted from it had occupied different second-class compartments in the train. They had chosen to travel second class not because they lacked money – their supporters ensured they always had plenty – but because the crowded compartments accorded them a greater anonymity than the first-class or air-conditioned sleepers.

  Moving with planned deliberation, the six men weaved through the crowds on the platform and converged near the entrance to the second-class retiring room. Waiting for them were four men dressed in the low-cost casuals typical of the small-town middle-class student. All ten were in their early twenties and all were clean-shaven. No words were exchanged as one by one, they followed the man who appeared to be their leader, to the exit. They separated then, a few hailing autorickshaws and taxis while the others headed towards the bus depot. They were soon swallowed up by a city settling down to the business of a new day.

  An hour or so later, the ten men were together again, at a two-bedroom apartment a short walk from Ahmedabad Civil Hospital. The apartment was tiny and sparsely furnished, as most student accommodation is; the paint was peeling off the walls and large splotches of damp stained the ceiling. A large double mattress was propped up against the wall for more floor room.

  Asif was already there, talking in low tones with three other men. Their conversation stopped the minute the first of the newcomers walked in. Asif waited for the other nine to arrive before he began to speak. The well-rehearsed, hour long briefing was carried out with stark, almost military precision.

  ‘Any questions?’ he asked when the briefing was over.

  ‘No, Asif bhai,’ was the murmured, unanimous response. Most of them could have recited the instructions and warnings even in their sleep. They had all been through the trial run carried out a fortnight ago.

  ‘Good!’ Asif seemed pleased. ‘Then let’s synchronize our watches. The timing is very important, otherwise we won’t be able to…’

  ‘…capture the flow of people,’ the youngest of the lot, an eighteen-year-old school dropout named Ashraf, finished with a cheeky grin. ‘Don’t worry so much, bhaijaan. Nothing will go wrong.’