Red Jihad Page 8
An angry roar greeted him the moment he stepped in. He spotted the PM and moved towards him, smiling serenely. The PM was perplexed at this sudden turn of events. 'What are you doing here? You will not escape after this attempt,' a visibly shaken prime minister, Bipolab Roy, managed to sputter with great effort.
Malhotra ignored him and made his way towards the speaker chair. He had to convey his message. The speaker stood up and joined the protesting MPs.
'Silence…please,' Malhotra cried in the coldest voice he could muster. The noise receded though it did not stop entirely. 'Respected Members, may I have your attention please. I will put it in the least possible words. As of now, the military has taken over. Martial Law has been imposed, but for a temporary duration. I had to take this drastic step for reasons I will disclose soon. I request you to cooperate. You all will be escorted to your houses and no harm will come to you. However, any special privileges and legal immunities will be withdrawn from those with criminal charges. Comply, and no harm will come to you.'
There was a sudden howling and banging of desks. The usual Parliament procedure, Malhotra mused, to express dissent. Had it not been for his men standing guard, he would have expected mikes and objects flying at him. Again, not uncommon for these people, he thought loathingly. That was why he had given specific instructions. Sometimes the mere sights of poisonous fangs work, but when you bite, bite deep.
He savoured the look of bewilderment and shock on the faces of the MPs. Malhotra hated their lack of decorum, integrity and inability to follow orders. They were not able to adjust to new situations, which is why politicians, individually or in a group, were unable to take quick decisions. He was counting on this trait of theirs for his plan's success.
The PM walked to him and spat out, 'Listen, General, for your own lust for power, you cannot disband people's democratically elected representatives. We represent the people of this country and speak for them. We are the ones who take decisions for the country. You can't dare to overstep your authority.'
Malhotra retorted, 'You can't seem to think of anything else apart from power and politics? I am doing this for the betterment of this country. This uniform does not merely imply serving political masters. I serve my country, not any political party or ideology. For more than the last sixty years, the military has never interfered in the political affairs of this country. This is just a temporary shift from the routine-only to make you understand the value of what you have got...so you might use it wisely when all of this is behind us.'
No one interrupted Malhotra. He wondered if this was due to his gun-toting guards who were eyeing the MPs with increasing antipathy. The PM sank down on a chair, unable to believe what was happening.
Malhotra went back to the speaker's chair again. He glanced at the sceptical hordes in front of him, adjusted the mike, inhaled deeply, and started speaking impromptu, 'Ours is a great country, with a great polity and people, but for the past few decades we seem to have forgotten the ideals our founding fathers fought for. No longer do you, in whom the supreme power is vested by the people of this country, abide by the Constitution and respect its ideals and institutions. No longer do you cherish and follow the noble ideals that inspired our national struggle for freedom. No longer do you defend the country and render national service when called upon to do so. No longer do you promote harmony and the spirit of common brotherhood amongst all the people of India transcending religious, linguistic and regional or sectional diversities.
'You sell the products of your office to the highest bidder instead of helping the poor Indian through it, someone who needs it the most. Money has become your sole guiding principle. You buy votes, you horse trade your kith and kin, and you even take money to ask questions in Parliament! You have not even left defence deals alone, buying substandard equipment only because it gives you a higher cut. You conspire to appropriate the wealth and welfare measures meant for martyrs and war widows. You and your politics. It ends... here,' he almost choked with anger, 'and now!'
He spotted increased frenzy and flurry of activity amongst his audience. The MPs were furious! They seemed to have forgotten the fact that there were guns pointing at them. This arrogant lot knew nothing could happen to them as long as they were elected from their constituencies.
Malhotra knew he could not convince these unruly ministers and he had very little time. He had other things pending. He came down and started walking rapidly towards the exit. A hand grabbed him roughly. A group of four to five MPs surrounded him. Fat bellies, gold chains, arrogance in their stride.
'Abe General, aukaat main reh, pachtayega,' someone hissed at him. Malhotra recognized the MP. With more than two dozen criminal cases levelled against him, he was a well-known don from a cow-belt state. Nevertheless, since he had supported every successive government in the state since then, his cases had been pending in court for the past fifteen years without a hearing.
Another voice was more civil in criticism, 'General Malhotra, do you know your attack on Parliament could result in your execution? Wait until the people of my constituency hear this. I will make you pay for the embarrassment you caused me and the other national leaders. The international community...' the voice continued.
Some other MPs rushed and mobbed Malhotra. His guards moved to intercept, but they had to force their way through a raging mass. In addition, they had special orders not to open fire inside the Lok Sabha hall until it was absolutely necessary.
Malhotra realized it would take the guards a couple of minutes to get to him, and by then it could be too late. He had to send out a strong signal. However, before he zeroed in on a course of action, the don MP who had earlier blocked his path, came dangerously close to him and took him by the collar. Malhotra opened his mouth to say something but he felt a sharp thwack on his left cheek.
It started to sting. He had been slapped. A corrupt, criminal MP had just slapped General Malhotra, the chief of army staff. The people around him stopped in their tracks. The noise of the slap seemed to echo through the hall with the triumph of a wrong done right.
Malhotra's jaw dropped open. Never, never ever in his thirty-year long combat career had he been slapped like that. He had been fired upon, mortared, shelled, punched, pushed, shot at, bayoneted, thrown, kicked, but never ever slapped this way. He felt a wave of anger swell inside him. The MP had a smug smile playing on his lips. He looked at Malhotra for a full minute, savouring the attention he was getting. He was already thinking of what he would say to the news channels.
The general shook his head, not being able to believe what had just happened. Then a thought struck him, challenging him. He tried to force it away, but it came back stronger like an irresistible urge. Absentmindedly, he felt his firearm. He decided not to feel guilty for his actions now. Till then, he was playing the game of talking, which these people were good at. Soon, he would start the game that would be played by his rules – a game which he was expert at. Another final show of strength remained.
Malhotra realized that the decision to fire or not was yet to be taken. The next moment, he took out his personal sidearm, a Glock-17 C and shot the erring MP in the chest. From conception to execution, the entire process took a total of 2.5 seconds.
Malhotra watched him struggling to utter something as he was thrown back on his party colleagues by the sheer force of the bullet. Those who were nearest to him were unable to take the impact of his lifeless body hitting them. They fell down with the MP's body on top of them, groaning in shock. His blood started to seep down and red blotches appeared on the green carpet. Pin drop silence swept the hall as others looked agape at Malhotra and the dead body in horror and disbelief. Apart from strengthening his position and cause, Malhotra wanted the politicians to understand how it feels when one loses one's comrades. He went to the bleeding man, looked in to his eyes, and shot him again…in the head.
A mosquito was heard angrily buzzing in the far end of the hall. Coup-de-grace.
Malhotra started walk
ing away from the mob. They lowered their eyes and let him pass unchallenged. He came out of the complex, moist eyed. They formed a line and without speaking a word, were escorted to the waiting buses to carry them to their destination–the Tihar prison complex–where after detaining those who had criminal charges against them, the rest were to be taken to their official residences.
He knew this part was not going to be easy. Hell, any part of it was not going to be easy. The most difficult would be to convince the public. But he knew the Indian public had an uncanny way of adapting to the changing circumstances. The famous Indian 'jugaad' was as much a socio-cultural concept as a technological one.
Malhotra boarded a waiting car and left for the Akashvani Bhawan that was situated at about 100 metres from the Parliament building. He entered the gates and went straight to the studio, where a production team of All India Radio, the national radio broadcaster and its sister TV service Doordarshan, was waiting for him, courtesy his persuasive staff. Although Doordarshan had the maximum penetration amongst all the TV channels in India, he knew he had to utilize the radio too – for a significant part of rural India, radio was still the life-line of communication with the rest of the country. His staff had blacked out private channels temporarily for Malhotra did not want them to break into a frenzy as they usually did. That meant he had to use this weapon well–his success hinged on a speech that would get him the attention and support of the people of India.
Malhotra's address to the nation was upfront and measured. The military had seized power temporarily until the country was ready for another election, which would be held soon, though civil liberties would, of course, not be curtailed.
This done, he quickly moved to the integrated defence command headquarters to set up his command and control base. Malhotra knew he had a war-like situation on his hands and that he required expertise, tact, and sheer luck to pull it off. However, what General Malhotra did not know then was that not only would he have to face a war-like situation, but also an actual war.
Topi, North West Frontier Province, Pakistan
Local time: 1700 hours
Date: 24 April 2014
The heady smells and sounds of the bustling market slowly receded into the background as Yasser Basheer made his way to the second storey of the non-descript building. He climbed the stairs with practised, quick steps. He may have become old, but old soldiers did take time to fade away. The winding staircase was, Basheer counted, currently home to a total of five people – lying, sitting, conversing–trying their best to resemble people in casual, slothful conversation. Their Kalashnikovs may have been out of sight but were well within reach. To a casual observer the group would have looked normal, but not to trained eyes.
Basheer saw their itching, quivering fingers, their frequent glances at the entry of the building, and their unnatural twitching. He saw the carefully wrapped headgear concealing their crew cuts. Good, he thought, the five guards assigned are present at their posts. All of them had served under him at the Parachute Training School, Peshawar. This made Basheer feel a lot at ease. He passed by and the men saluted with slight but noticeable tilts of their heads. He felt even better.
Basheer reached a door, this one guarded by a different species of men altogether. Two burly men blocked his way, holding far more sophisticated weapons. Their guns were in plain sight and held without any intentions of hiding their lethality. Basheer shook his head. With each passing day spent with such people, he felt more disgusted by their crass attitude towards combat where no quarters were given or taken. It was a no-holds-barred, free-for-all, dishonourable fight. For them, war was merely a means to an end–in this case, global retribution.
The men scanned Basheer from head to toe, nodded curtly, looked away, and stepped aside casually. For a former military man, this was an insult. Sentries acting like this. No salutes, no respect! They should learn from the others, he thought. It struck Basheer then that apart from faith, he had nothing in common with these men. Nothing at all. But then faith was all that mattered.
'Colonel sa'ab/ the man sitting on a radio acknowledged and stood up, hands clasped behind his back. A good old former subedar. Basheer consciously halted the flow of thoughts in his mind. As the military commander of TNSM*, he had to ensure his personal feelings did not get in the way of the completion of the mission. He was a commando first, a vain human being later. He rubbed his temple with his right hand and glanced at the equipment.
It was out of place. The room was sparsely furnished; paint was peeling off its yellowish walls, a cot was kept at a corner, and at the other corner lay an ultra-modern communication console. He made his way towards the radio.
'What is their status?' he asked for the nth time in the past hour.
Perhaps he was getting too emotionally involved in this mission. He knew there was nothing he hated more than the command's constant requests for field updates from combat units, especially those on dangerous missions, for they had to operate with utmost caution, stay alive, stay sharp, and report back when things got a little normal. He was doing precisely the same thing now. Being a pestering desk jockey.
He was old now but still displayed the same impatience of his youth. Such is the cycle of karma, as the Bamiyan Buddhas he helped destroy would have said to him. His silent mirthless laughter echoed in the room.
'All going as planned, janaab. The units are in. Proceeding to the next stage,' the subedar replied quickly, alarmed at his boss' sudden fit of laughter.
'Good,' Basheer sat on the cot and reached for a glass of water, and after gulping the water down in three measured, deliberate sips, said, 'I promised General Chowdhury plenty of action. Let's not keep him waiting, shall we?'
The subedar grinned, 'We should not. Shall I send our agent the final set of instructions, janaab?' Basheer thought for a few moments. There was no coming back from this, he said to himself. What he had planned was bold, in some ways reckless, but only a pest killed a pest.
Basheer sighed and muttered, 'Do it.'
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* Tehreek-e-Nifas-e-Shariat-e-Mohammadi: Movement for the enforcement of Islamic Law.
Integrated Defence Command Headquarters, New Delhi, India
Local time: 1300 hours
Date: 24 April 2014
For the first time in independent India's history, the military had come to the political centre stage. Malhotra, along with key personnel from the military, sat hunched over the console, reading reports. The cabinet secretary and secretaries for home affairs, defence, and external affairs were on their way. Malhotra knew it would be foolish not to utilize all the resources of the state to counter the threat they faced.
The war room was a blast-proof structure located two floors below the ground. It served as a command, communication, and control platform for the most important operations of the Indian defence forces, especially during wartime. The room spanned an entire floor and contained not only computer labs, conference areas, a cafeteria and a dormitory, but was also equipped with state-of-the-art communication devices, transponders, jammers, and survival kits. Digital maps of India's neighbours were displayed over huge screens. Currently, the Andaman and Nicobar Islands were zoomed in to show the Garrison Island–the island that housed NMRC.
'I hope you all are aware of the seriousness of the situation,' Malhotra formally initiated the meeting. 'But first, I want your comments and ideas on the question: who are these people and what do they want from us?'
'One thing is for certain, sir, they are not protesting farmers,' said Admiral Sapra.
'But what do they want? People do not attack and capture a military base just because they feel like doing it. I smell something bigger than that,' Air Chief Sharma ventured forth. He was stopped from making any further remarks as the door opened and a group of bureaucrats walked in and took their seats.
'The information on Project Pralay was top secret. I do not know how it leaked out.' The defence secretary shook his head.
/> 'And the base was attacked just when the missile was ready for testing. Is it a coincidence?' The home secretary raised his concern.
'The attackers have been in for quite some time now. If they had wanted to disable the missile they could have done so and tried to escape. The fact that they still are in there reveals much more sinister designs. I strongly feel they will try to steal its plans. Maybe they are making a copy. That is what is taking them time. The concept ...eh...will be new to them,' said the director general of DRDO, a special invitee.
'This is the most stupid way of stealing plans. Especially when they know they will not escape alive after trying it.'
'All right, get your point. But now we have to decide what we should do. How to respond to it?' General Malhotra asked.
'Rohit, we cannot enter the facility through land or water undetected. The facility is a fortress now. But we can at least know what's going on inside through an aerial survey,' the admiral replied.
'Vikramjeet,' said Malhotra, addressing the air chief, 'what do you think?'
'IAF is already flying reconnaissance missions over the island. Fighters have been scrambled from Kalaikunda Air Force Base. I expect Intel soon. However, even then I will only be able to give a rough idea about the situation. I fear I cannot be very accurate. As you must know, to avoid detection by American satellites, most of the facility is planned in such a way that it is hidden from aerial sight, especially the silo containing Pralay, the test lab and the main control facility.'
Malhotra wanted more accurate information. He asked, 'What's the position of RISAT?'
The ISRO-built Radar Imaging Satellite was a series of Indian radar imaging reconnaissance satellites. On 20 April 2009, PSLV launched the 300-kg RISAT-2 before RISAT-1 into orbit because of the 26 November 2008 Mumbai attacks and the fact that the indigenous C-Band Synthetic Aperture Radar (SAR) to be used for RISAT-1 was not ready. The IAI-built X-SAR in RISAT-2 gave it an all-weather spatial resolution of about a metre, making it effective for border surveillance in anti-infiltration and anti-terrorist operations as well as disaster management.