Red Jihad Page 4

'It has to be interesting,' replied Agyaat. 'It is also the headquarters of the Coordination Committee of the Maoist Parties of South Asia.' Agyaat threw his arms open a la SRK so grandiosely that it almost looked comic.

  'Let us get down to brasstacks, shall we?' Basheer wanted to leave as soon as possible. He was not too comfortable in the jungle at night. Agyaat's pathetic sense of humour did little to ease his discomfort.

  Agyaat shrugged, 'Yes, but first I need to handle some unfinished business.'

  He parted the curtain to go to the rear end of the tent. He motioned Basheer to follow him. A man lay tied, blindfolded and bleeding. Agyaat rasped, a note of glee creeping up his voice, 'Basheer sahib, meet Javed Mandal, a zonal committee member of the Marxist party.'

  Nice move, Basheer thought, to show a potential collaborator your fangs apart from your loving licks so that he thinks twice before backstabbing.

  'Why is he here?' Basheer inquired, a little interested in this new charade.

  Agyaat replied, 'Mandal has been on our radar for quite some time now. He fed intelligence to the armed forces that led to the capture of a number of our Maoist comrades, apart from our Mrinatool allies. We caught him when he came to Nepal for a friend's wedding. Well, seems this enemy of the people will not trouble us much longer, will he?' He chuckled.

  Basheer looked at him again. Mandal opened his eyes and looked pleadingly at him to end his misery. Basheer forced himself to look away. 'Aren't you two supposed to be on the same side? You both are Communists, are you not?' he asked.

  'We are, but I can't say the same for him,' barked Agyaat. 'He is as much a Communist as…Israel is Islamist. His people merely use the concept of Communism for selfish ends. He is a bourgeois spy, a class-collaborator and a traitor to the aspiration of people. He's the murderer of tribal rights, of equitable development, of the voices of hoi-polloi.'

  Basheer nodded. Comrade Agyaat's tone was pretty agitated by now. Best to keep up with him, he thought. 'How is he different from you? How is his brand of Communism varied from yours? I thought you were all the same!' he sputtered.

  Ha! Ignorant fool, Agyaat thought, and suppressed a smug smile. What else could he expect from a madrasa-educated, gun-toting religious fanatic? Basheer's class-consciousness and knowledge of contemporary political discourses was as developed as that of the participants of Rakhi ka Insaaf. Agyaat let out a sigh and began, 'Well, firstly his people,' he pointed at Mandal, 'are as Muslim as you regard the Ahmadiyas to be.'

  A flicker of comprehension played on Basheer's face. Agyaat congratulated himself for giving the jihadist familiar yardsticks for comparison. Agyaat considered himself to be an expert in dumbing down. When with people, talk of their problems, their aspirations, their prejudices. Talk like them, but think like a leader. This simple mantra of success had got Agyaat where he was today.

  He continued, 'Moreover, his people, instead of an armed revolution, believe in people's democratic revolution. You do know what that means, don't you?' Basheer merely shook his head and tried to look interested.

  'It means they want to achieve power by participating in democratic elections! Traitors! Cowards! Fools! They have turned their backs on the teachings of Mao, Marx and Lenin. True equality can only be achieved by an armed overthrow of the bourgeois state! Only with the establishment of the dictatorship of the proletariat can we all prosper.'

  Basheer nodded as if urging him to continue. The last thing he wanted was a mad comrade.

  Agyaat continued, 'From Pashupati to Tirupati, our cadres have been under constant attack by the capitalist state. We have to defend ourselves. Thus, we have started targeting the people. We fight them ideologically and physically. Why, as we speak, one of our best assassins is on the trail of another pseudo Communist Politburo member of his party. Let's see how soon he gets a Lal Salaam from us here! Haha!' He chuckled at his own joke, unsure of whether Basheer would get it at all.

  Agyaat took out a Chinese-made 7.62mm Tokarev Model 213 and toyed with it, pointing it at the pathetic figure at his feet. He bent down and pulled at the tape covering the mouth of the stirring man, gently, almost lovingly, as if enjoying every bit of it.

  Mandal's temple was caked with blood. The figure took a few moments to come round and reorient himself to his ghastly surroundings. He groaned, 'Leave me... Please let me go…I have done you no harm…'

  'You have not, eh? What about the revolutionaries you betrayed to the police? What about Singur and Nandigram? What about your class-collaboration with the reactionary enemy?'

  'How...how am I to blame for what happened there? I am as pained as you are. Stop exploiting it for political gains,' Mandal managed to say, and spat blood.

  'What! Political gains?' shouted Agyaat, 'The only gain we want is to make New Delhi hear the voices of the exploited… a sigh that has been suppressed since time immemorial by the feudal and now capitalistic world orders. Tribals die as you create your special economic zones. Peasants and nature suffer as the effluents from your bourgeois factories ruin their land. Workers are exploited and labour laws violated everyday by your democratic governments. Those with money snatch freedom from your quasi-free countries. Global corporations dictate your developmental policies. Still you expect us to remain silent?'

  The look on Agyaat's face convinced Mandal that there was no escape.

  'We want their voice to be heard, that's all. Even Comrade Bhagat had to turn to violence…to create an explosion to make the deaf hear,' Agyaat repeated softly, as if to convince himself more than his interlocutor.

  Mandal shot back, 'And this is how you tackle voices who are different from yours? By kidnapping and torturing them? I hear your supporters plead for the ethical treatment of tribals, Maoist prisoners, and speak up for the dignity and human rights of all in courts and on TV shows back in Delhi. However, in Dantewada and Jhargram you negate the very principles you claim to fight for! People who dare oppose you and your methods simply “vanish”, even if they are collectors or social workers! Then you accuse the state of clamping down on you, even if you are the ones who refuse a dialogue. Hypocrites! You say you are not against the country but the system. So why don't you sit and talk? Now is the perfect time for it – a time when the entire country is willing to listen to you.' Mandal stopped; breathing was becoming harder for him.

  He looked up and continued, 'And don't even bring Bhagat Singh and other extremists of the Indian freedom struggle into this debate. They despised taking innocent lives. You seek to emulate their methods in a way so perverse that it would have made them throw up. How many more will you slaughter for the establishment of your new system? You do not want the betterment of the proletariat. All you want is a civil war for you to lead your escapist…romantic Lives.' Mandal sank back, totally spent by this sudden outburst. Even he did not know he had this in him.

  Agyaat was livid, 'Don't tell me what I want. You have been brainwashed by the West for too long. Go and see the living conditions of people. A kilometre away from every mall is a slum. While you feast on burgers, pizzas, fries and coke, people do not even have water to drink and a chapatti a day. Your children go to public schools; their children can do nothing but work as bandhua slaves on a piece of land. You have sold your soul to these capitalist compradors. You are a disgrace to the rights and aspirations of the oppressed of this country. You! And dare you accuse us?'

  Mandal saw the Tokarev loom closer. Spent, his tone turned soft, almost pleading, but Basheer had a feeling it was not his own life that he was pleading for, 'Listen to me, Comrade. I beg you, please reconsider what you are doing. What do you plan to achieve by blowing up trains and killing innocents? Your left-wing radicalism is doing to the grassroots movement what,' Mandal's eyes flicked from Agyaat to Basheer and back, 'what Islamic terrorism is doing to Islam. You think you are fighting for something dear, but you are only distorting it and making it a subject of ridicule and hatred. You are just what the right wingers want. They already want to see us in a bad light; your action
s give them a reason to further their prejudices. You are to Communism what Osama bin Laden is to Islam. You are...'

  Agyaat did not let Mandal complete his sentence. His mouth contorted with anger as he kicked Mandal and then, without warning, he shot the man lying on the floor. Point blank. Twice. The moaning stopped immediately. It was replaced by a gurgling sound as a mixture of blood and air oozed out of the two punctured holes the bullets had inflicted on Mandal's body. Sound strategy, Basheer realized. Not only was it a display of power and effectiveness, but also of resolve. He let Agyaat be for a minute, and then broke the silence, 'Nice shot. The poor, indoctrinated, brainwashed bastard.'

  Agyaat looked at him for a second. He realized that Basheer was there too, a fact he had almost forgotten. Oh yeah, as if he is any less brainwashed, thought Agyaat.

  Basheer sat on the bed and asked, 'That done, tell me, why did you call me here?'

  'Why do you think I did it?' Agyaat counter-questioned, his mood still damp. Being compared to Bin Laden rather than Guevara was not something he fancied.

  Basheer thought for a minute. He had to be very careful of how he put it across, 'To ask for help? You are losing your battle against India. The new state offensive against you has taken the wind out of your sails. You need supplies, weapons, and men, don't you?'

  'Yes, though men are in plenty still,' Agyaat stopped as an orderly peeked in, saw the body and dragged it out.

  'But I fail to see why you're contacting us this time instead of the Inter Services Intelligence (ISI),' Basheer asked.

  Agyaat let the question linger for a while before replying, 'I was hoping you won't ask me that. The ISI officials said they could not help us any longer. Change in policy. The hanging of the 26/11 kid, the war in Khyber, and Pakistan's internal disturbances has made it more cautious for the time being. Although they have assured us that they will back us up very soon, but not now. However, we need the supplies the most right now. If we do not get the supplies soon, then god help us all.'

  Basheer smiled in spite of himself, 'You believe in him?'

  'In what?' Agyaat could not understand for a moment.

  'God.' Basheer pointed a finger upwards.

  'Sometimes. Those in power have used the name of god to keep the masses backward and docile. Opium of the masses, you see. But that does not mean revolutionaries like me cannot take that opium once in a while to counter the angst generated by the capitalistic mode of production!' Agyaat confessed, a smile spreading across his lips.

  Basheer snorted. He imagined Agyaat, along with all his comrades, being roasted over a pit of fire in hell and screaming, 'A spectre is haunting us – the spectre of sin!' Basheer smiled at the image.

  Agyaat's voice cut into his vision, 'We are losing the battle on all fronts. I had to cross into Nepal to meet you. The high command never would have even thought that we would be asking you of all people for help…if you do not mind me saying it, despite some of our earlier joint operations. But if we do not get the supplies now, even God will not be able to save us.'

  'He can save anyone! This is sacrilege...please mind your words. I am here for negotiations, not to listen to your insults,' Basheer retorted, his temper rising, fully convinced that this godless Communist was doomed to rot in hell, people's messiah a rat's stinking ass.

  Agyaat realized the man he was talking to could not take any denials of the existence of god. Fanatic, he mused. A narrow-minded, short-sighted, anti-positivist fanatic.

  Basheer too was having similar thoughts. He did not like these godless, wretched automatons. He had beaten these Communists once in Afghanistan, and he could do it again but he was here to forge a common bond of trust and respect, not antagonism. Tread carefully, Basheer, he thought, the success of your mission depends on it. Calm down, Jung-e-Badr was won not only by brute force, but also by meticulous planning. Basheer inhaled deeply and looked away, trying to rein in his raging emotions.

  'You do not like me,' Agyaat said evenly.

  'No.' A terse reply came from Basheer.

  'Might I ask why?'

  'Just...' Basheer had no idea where to start. Also, he knew he might get carried away. Better to shut up than be shot.

  'Can I be frank?' Agyaat asked.

  'Please do,' Basheer said.

  'I do not like you either. I think you represent all that is bad in this world. You are parochial, non-rational, unscientific and opposed to women's liberation. You are an icon of the past, cling to old values and are unsuited to a democratic, free and fair world. You have refused to change with the times.'

  'The same can be said of you. This is not 1949 China either,' Basheer cut in.

  They both eyed each other, sizing the other up. Then Agyaat broke into laughter. 'Hmm...so we agree on one thing at least. We are different, and we know it.'

  'I am not sure I want to agree on that. I know how you tackle the different,' Basheer nodded in the direction of the dead Communist.

  A dark cloud passed over Agyaat's face. 'Your way of tackling the other is not very pleasant either,' he countered. Then all of a sudden, the menacing look was gone and was replaced by one of sheer angst and fatigue. 'What do you want?' he asked; he was beginning to get tired of this blame game.

  'Maybe exactly what you want,' Basheer replied. 'We have a common enemy. The Indian state is killing you in Orissa, Chattisgarh, Jharkhand and so on. The Pakistani army is attacking and finishing us. Our common enemy? The state. A democratic, bourgeois, secular state. Cannot we unite?'

  'How? By signing a Memorandum of Understanding?' the Naxalite mocked.

  Basheer was not so easily swayed, 'No. Something else.'

  'You have a plan?'

  'An understanding will be enough for now solemnized by some supplies from us to you,' Basheer said realizing the iron was finally hot, 'on the other hand, maybe I do have a plan.'

  Agyaat responded, 'Go on, I'm all ears.'

  'You know what the source of our recent troubles is? India and Pakistan have been doing what they probably have never done before. They have started to move away from xenophobia and external prejudices. They are beginning to look inward to create a “better” system. A bit too inward! Bad for us, bad for you,' continued Basheer.

  'Ah,' Agyaat said as realization dawned on him. 'So all we have to do is to give them a reason to look at each other again, so that they forget the domestic tangle for a while.'

  'Exactly. A while that is enough for us.' Basheer laughed.

  'Can you think of something important? Something strategic?' questioned Agyaat.

  'Indeed I can.' Basheer took a diary out of his pocket and gave it to Agyaat. He sat down and started to browse through it.

  For about ten minutes, Agyaat lay immersed in his reading and Basheer sipped tea that an orderly had brought in. Agyaat finally looked up, shook his head and said, 'NMRC sounds good to me.'

  'It is good. Okay, so here is the deal. You provide men and external intelligence, I know you have some factions near Port Blair, the civil society...the oh-our-government-indulges-in-war-against-people types,' Basheer continued almost triumphantly. 'We, on the other hand, will provide leadership, equipment, and even some specially trained officers.'

  'Done, but two things... External intelligence? Incidentally, I have a source who is far more valuable,' Agyaat looked at a framed photo kept on his study table and smiled. 'Secondly, you don't really think that we Naxalites need specially trained officers? For every one of us killed, we have killed one civilian or security personnel. It is better than your record in Kashmir. For every four of your men dead, you killed just one.' Agyaat guffawed, his mind racing to arrive at suitable tactics.

  Basheer breathed in deeply. They were supposed to be allies, and if this man wanted to derail the train before it started, well, he just would not let it happen.

  'It seems, dear Agyaat, you do not know about the Black Storks. The Special Service Group. We do not have their institutional backing, but I have just the man to lead this mission. H
e is a recipient of Sitara-e-Jurat, four commendations for valour, a former Special Forces commander who has trained with the British Special Air Service, and has operational experience in organizing such raids ranging from the deserts of Somalia to the jungles of Peru. Think you can beat him at his own game?'

  'I do not have to. He is on our side,' Agyaat said, realizing the faux pas he had earlier made and trying to make amends, 'it will be a pleasure doing business with you, Basheer sahib. I hope you will be kind enough to ship us some supplies with this understanding?'

  'It will be my pleasure, Comrade.' There was no malice in Basheer's voice this time. He had struck a deal. An important one at that. 'I will see what can be done.'

  'Mahto will show you out. Nevertheless, Basheer sahib, please dine with us before you leave. Allah Hafiz,' Agyaat remarked, this time almost chummy. Basheer nodded and started to walk out. He stopped midstride, turned back, and smiled. He clenched a fist, raised it towards Agyaat and said, 'Naxal salaam, Comrade.'

  The flap of the tent was sealed again.

  ____________________

  * Dates when underlined imply action having taken place in the past rather than during the linear timeline of events.

  * Religious education.

  Research Laboratory Alpha, NMRC

  Local time: 1240 hours

  Date: 23 April 2014

  Dr Suryakant rushed out of his room at the first sound he heard. A sight of frenzied people running about greeted him. His brain struggled to make sense of the situation. It was then, in an incandescent flash, that he understood why the sensible scientific community, rarely shouting when no invention had been made or no one had his birthday, had gone inexplicably mad.

  No! This was not supposed to happen! They had promised the base would never be compromised. They had said no harm would come to any man or apparatus. They had assured him it was merely a precaution. They... Before Suryakant could think further, he heard it again and flinched.

  The sound of gunfire was new to Suryakant. Funny, how these small projectiles, a nano of what he designed and breathed, freaked him out. He wondered how he was able to withstand the sound of rocket engines when he found the sound of mere guns unnerving. It was probably because he had never heard a missile being launched. Yet.