The Bard of Blood Read online

  ‘Come back here, you fucking cowards!’ Irfan Baloch Khan yelled, thumping his chest. The car drove away, leaving a large cloudy trail of dust. Then he fell to his knees.

  ‘W-who were they?’ Nihar asked, gasping for breath.

  ‘The ISI or the Army,’ Khan said. ‘This was possibly an attempted assassination on Nawabzada Marri’s life. They must’ve recognized his car.’

  Kabir helped Isha up. Little shards of glass still clung to her skin. He moved them aside delicately. She supported his arm on her shoulder as they walked to the car that the attackers had abandoned. In hindsight, they would’ve regretted leaving it behind. Veer realized there were no keys. He smashed the plastic beneath the steering wheel and tugged out two wires. He tore them apart and hot-wired the car. Within five minutes, the engine was running.

  ‘We must wait in Kalat,’ Kabir said, recovering from the adrenalin rush. ‘We need to lie low for a while.’

  ‘I will contact Nawabzada Nabil Bugti,’ Khan said. ‘We will get some backup. Then we can proceed to Mastung to meet him.’

  Mastung was a short distance from Quetta. It was where the Bugtis had settled.

  Kabir grimaced as he clutched his bleeding arm. Isha pulled out a gauze bandage and wrapped it around his arm.

  Nihar had had the presence of mind to grab the bag with their equipment and the Pakistani currency when they had exited the car. In those few moments of firing, only one face appeared before his eyes—that of his newborn son.

  ‘I think we need to tell Delhi what just happened.’ Nihar sounded shaken up. He pulled out his iPad and began to type a message. ‘Once we get a network, I’ll check in.’

  Veer remained silent throughout, concentrating on the road, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. Nihar sat silently, perturbed. Isha held Kabir’s hand firmly. They understood what Marri had said about them needing firepower. And he hadn’t even anticipated this.

  This little battle may not have meant much in the way of their cause, but it had already announced their arrival. They needed to lie low. There was a lot more blood to be shed.

  11

  3 September 2014

  RAW HQ, New Delhi

  ‘The nation deserves to know!’

  RAW chief Arun Joshi watched a debate amusedly on his office television, as an uptight anchor spluttered forth uncontrollably with his words. He shot out one question after another, not allowing the people he had invited on the panel to respond. Trussed up in a suit like the head prefect of a school, he portrayed himself as a crusader for some popular, noble cause. He failed to realize that his theatrics had no visible effect on the audience at large, except for generating a few spikes in viewership. Joshi looked at the clock and decided to go home early. Nothing of note seemed to be happening today. He picked up some files and pushed them into the drawer, thinking about the entire Balochistan affair and how it could possibly be connected to Sadiq Sheikh’s death, when his intercom rang. He lifted the remote to mute the television.

  ‘Sir,’ his assistant said, ‘Major Narayan is here to see you.’

  ‘Send him in,’ Joshi replied. Within a minute, the door opened and Major Ashwin Narayan stepped in. He was tall, dark and wore a neat off-white shirt over black trousers. Narayan was a military officer whom Sadiq had had transferred to RAW. He was exceptionally skilled in tactical support and preferred handling matters from a cabin rather than on the ground.

  ‘Yes, Ashwin.’ Joshi motioned him to sit. ‘I trust all’s well.’

  Ashwin scratched his wiry hair and looked disturbed.

  ‘Sir,’ he started. ‘Of late we are feeling the pinch in our technical department. We need to update both the hardware and the software. It is getting easier for people to bypass our security system and we don’t even have the resources to track them down.’

  ‘What do you suggest, Ashwin?’

  ‘We need to revamp the entire system, sir.’

  Joshi nodded in agreement and was about to say something when his secure phone rang. He picked it up, squinted at the display, and looked at Ashwin.

  ‘I’ll look into it, certainly. Now I must take this call. Thanks, Ashwin.’

  Ashwin got up, still looking worried and stepped out of the door. Joshi answered the phone.

  ‘It’s us,’ Nihar said from the other line. ‘Are we secure?’

  ‘Of course we are,’ Joshi said. ‘You’ve called the HQ from a satphone for God’s sake! What’s the matter?’

  ‘We are in a safe house in Kalat now,’ Nihar replied. ‘We had a bit of a hiccup along the way.’

  ‘Elaborate.’

  Nihar told him about the attack on their car. Joshi nodded his head intensely, while assessing the situation. He flipped open his laptop and clicked on the 3D imagery of a map of Balochistan. He switched the TV on to the AV mode, which allowed what was on his laptop to be projected on to the screen. He zoomed into Kalat. He traced the route they took with his finger, while Nihar explained. He had expected problems to crop up, but not this soon.

  ‘They don’t know you all are Indians, right?’

  ‘I don’t think so. They suspect we’re Marri’s men,’ Nihar said. ‘But I believe they’ll be on the lookout. I’m sure it’s alerted them. What do you suggest?’

  ‘Split up for the time being,’ Joshi replied. ‘Two of you stay in the safe house, the other two find some accommodation. Staying as a group might make it easier for them to identify you. I suggest you spend another day or two in Kalat before leaving for Quetta.’

  Joshi heard a distinct voice in the background, addressing Nihar. It was Kabir.

  ‘Have you made any progress on Sadiq Sheikh’s killer?’

  Joshi rubbed the bridge of his nose hesitantly.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’ve hit a dead end. The voice isn’t distinguishable enough.’

  Joshi squinted at the door, noticing there was a slight gap left open. He grew suspicious. He closed the call and stood up. He walked quickly towards the door and opened it. He saw Ashwin leaning against it, tying his shoelaces and speaking on his phone simultaneously. Ashwin ended his call and looked up.

  ‘Anything you want to tell me, Ashwin?’ Joshi asked sternly.

  ‘Actually, yes, sir. I was waiting to talk to you about something else,’ Ashwin said nervously. ‘I had applied for leave three days ago, citing personal issues. I wish to move to the South for a bit.’

  Joshi nodded irritably. Ashwin had expected him to ask him the reason, but Joshi didn’t bother. Ashwin told him anyway.

  ‘My mother is really unwell.’ Ashwin’s voice trailed away. ‘I fear the worst. I was just speaking to her on the phone.’

  Joshi’s stance softened. He knew Ashwin was a man of integrity and that he wasn’t the kind who would malinger on the pretext of his mother’s illness.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I expect you to be there for the ceremony we’ve organized in honour of Lieutenant General Sadiq Sheikh tomorrow. After that you can leave until you find it fit to come back, Major Narayan.’

  Ashwin nodded quickly.

  ‘Of course, sir,’ he said in an attempt to please. ‘I wouldn’t miss that for the world.’

  Joshi walked into his office and shut the door behind him.

  3 September 2014

  Kalat, Balochistan

  Until August 1947, Kalat was a self-governing state in a subsidiary alliance with British India. In the eight-month interim between August 1947 and April 1948, Kalat was entirely independent until the ruler, referred to as the ‘Khan of Kalat’, ceded power to Pakistan, despite being given the choice of remaining independent. The offer, of course, had little credibility, coming from a government like Pakistan’s. So when they were given the choice, the majority of the people were opposed to being governed from Islamabad, but the Khan of Kalat, Mir Ahmad Yar Khan, felt a moral obligation to join his Muslim brethren and become a part of Pakistan. He came to an understanding with Islamabad, which was supposed to allow Kalat to maintain some form
of autonomy. Islamabad readily agreed and made Kalat the capital of the Balochistan States Union, along with three neighbouring states, in October 1952. Mir Ahmad Yar Khan was the last Khan of Kalat, as the Khanate ceased to exist in 1955, when the province of West Pakistan was formed. And with that, Quetta became the provincial capital of modern-day Balochistan.

  The historical town of Kalat is located slightly to the west of Quetta. The majority of the population is Muslim, but there is a small minority, 2 per cent, that is Hindu. This segment of Hindus are primarily Hindkowan merchants. The Hindkowans are an Indo-Aryan group native to the Khyber–Pakhtunkhwa and Kashmir regions. In fact, these Hindus lived near a Hindu temple dedicated to the goddess Kali. That is also where the Indian team had strategically set up their safe house.

  Kabir’s team had entered Kalat with the attacker’s car and driven straight to a marketplace. The mercury was dropping low as night approached. They abandoned the car in a deserted lane and then proceeded to an area near their safe house by cab, from where they walked down to the small seedy-looking flat in an inconspicuous, three-storeyed building, Barkat Manzil. They had split up, taken every precaution. Kabir had put on a jacket, so that his bloodied shirt wasn’t entirely visible to those who cared to look. With his scraggy beard and long hair that he covered with a skullcap, Kabir didn’t have any problem fitting in. Isha had her burkha on, so there was no real question of her attracting attention. Veer and Nihar didn’t draw much attention either. Veer looked Pashtun anyway, and a stubbled Nihar looked more like his younger sibling who may have just finished college. After a while, everyone met up at the safe house, washed up and put on a new set of clothes. Irfan Baloch Khan had decided to go on and meet Nabil Bugti at his residence to inform him of the situation at hand.

  The safe house wasn’t anything elaborate. It was a few hundred square feet, and had a small partition that divided the hall into a tiny room and a kitchen. It lay bare, and a musty smell seemed to linger. From the window you could see the noisy main road, which lay beyond the lane that led to the shaky gates of the compound. This was helpful, since the team would always be able to keep an eye on who entered and exited the building. In the corner of the room rested a small cupboard that had a few mattresses, some scruffy blankets and worn-out pillows. There weren’t too many occupants in the building apart from them, and it was believed that this flat belonged to a small-time businessman in Karachi. Nobody seemed to inquire any further, nor did anyone care to find out.

  ‘Hold on,’ Isha said as she poured a generous amount of antiseptic solution on to a piece of cotton. ‘It’s a shallow wound, shouldn’t be that bad. Just a graze.’

  Kabir twitched. Unlike what’s shown in the movies, a bullet, even if it only grazes an arm, does cause a world of pain. Isha made Kabir remove his shirt. She noticed many scars, and even a bullet wound below his right shoulder-blade. She folded a scarf and put it in Kabir’s mouth, lest he bite his tongue on impulse when she applied the solution. Nihar was making a call to Joshi. Veer was tidying up the little room of its cobwebs and little mounds of dust. Isha applied the solution and patted Kabir’s back gently.

  ‘There.’ She smiled, speaking as if to a child who has taken his first tetanus shot. ‘Looks like our professor here is quite a brave man.’

  ‘I’m not ten.’ Kabir scowled. ‘Nihar, ask Joshi if he’s got any leads on Sadiq’s killer.’

  Nihar repeated the question into the phone, and completed the conversation. He turned to Kabir and said, ‘They haven’t got anything on him. They’ve hit a dead end.’

  ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘He asked us to split up till we get to Quetta,’ Nihar said.

  Kabir sighed and sat up, nursing his bandaged arm. Isha handed him a shirt. Nihar looked thoughtfully out of the window and lit a cigarette. So much had happened. He was in this godforsaken place with people he didn’t trust entirely. If only he could speak to his wife. If only he could hear his baby gurgle over the phone, it would put him at ease. Then he turned and opened his mouth as if to say something, and stopped halfway again. He knew it was a silly thing to ask, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. He realized it was still worth a shot.

  ‘Something bothering you?’ Veer asked.

  ‘I was wondering if . . .’

  ‘If what?’ Isha raised an eyebrow at him.

  ‘Can I go to the marketplace and make a call back home?’

  Kabir’s face remained expressionless. Veer smiled sourly, waiting for a reaction.

  ‘Say that again and see if it makes sense to you this time,’ Kabir said sardonically.

  ‘It’ll just be one phone call,’ Nihar persisted. ‘To tell my wife how I’m doing. To find out how she is. How my son is.’

  ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I’m pretty sure they’re doing well. But if you continue asking I’m not so sure you will share their fortune.’

  Nihar frowned angrily. He looked back out of the window and mumbled something.

  ‘Say that louder.’ Kabir growled in a low voice.

  ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Nihar repeated defiantly. ‘You have nobody of your own.’

  Isha looked at Kabir’s sphinx-like expression from the corner of her eye. He always maintained a calm exterior, and he knew Nihar was shaken up after the attack.

  ‘I know you’re a bit flustered, Nihar.’ Isha broke the silence. ‘But you need to think rationally during times like these.’

  Nihar exhaled a lungful of smoke.

  ‘You may be comfortable around this killer.’ He pointed at Kabir. ‘I sure as hell am not. How much do we even know about him?’

  Kabir’s face was deadpan. Veer watched on, sitting cross-legged, as the drama unfolded. Nihar had referred to the only killing Kabir hadn’t committed. Isha shot a glance at Kabir, to look for a reaction. Nothing, except for a vein in his forehead which was throbbing.

  ‘Calm down, Nihar.’

  ‘Or what?’ Nihar raised his voice. ‘He’ll kill me, too?’

  Kabir remained impassive.

  ‘You’re overreacting,’ Isha said sternly.

  ‘Let him try to kill me.’ Nihar grew hysterical. ‘This time that old bastard can’t even save him!’

  There was a moment of dead silence. Nihar’s words lingered in the air. Both Veer and Isha couldn’t believe what they had just heard. Kabir’s face reddened with fury. He got to his feet and ran towards Nihar, enraged. He rammed his shoulder into Nihar’s chest, and pushed him to the wall. He grabbed his collar and looked him in the eye.

  ‘Never insult Sadiq Sheikh again,’ Kabir said through gritted teeth, lifting Nihar off his feet with his collar. ‘You aren’t half the man he was.’

  Kabir released the collar and punched Nihar hard in the stomach. Veer got up and intervened. Nihar slumped to the ground. Veer helped him back to his feet and put his finger to his lips, gesturing him to remain silent. Isha saw that Kabir’s shoulder had begun to bleed again. She took him aside and asked him to calm down.

  ‘I don’t even understand what he’s creating such a fuss about,’ Kabir fumed. ‘He didn’t do shit when we were getting attacked. I’m pretty sure we can do without him if he’s here just to make phone calls.’

  Nihar was about to open his mouth again in retaliation, but Veer stifled his mouth with his hand. Veer found this entire situation rather comical. Isha led Kabir away to the only available room in the flat and asked him to rest. She stormed out and brought him and Nihar a glass of water each. On her way to what was an apology for a kitchen, she heard Veer speak: ‘You better watch your glib tongue, mister. Otherwise, the next time, we won’t stop him from dislocating your jaw.’

  Later that night, when the team reunited in the small hall for a little meal, there was an awkward silence. Nihar didn’t seem too interested in the dry kebabs Veer had brought from a little shop in the vicinity. Kabir noticed that Nihar was still sulking and turned to Isha. She shrugged. She was getting tired of these grown men behaving lik
e college kids.

  ‘I don’t owe you or anyone here an explanation,’ Kabir said in a low voice, pushing his long hair away from his forehead.

  Nihar avoided looking at him. Veer was about to light a cigarette, but Isha frowned at him. He lit it anyway.

  ‘Let us get done with our dinner,’ she said.

  ‘But if it’s going to interfere with the mission,’ Kabir continued, ‘I’m going to get this out of the way once and for all.’

  Nihar looked up at him, his eyes wary. Isha and Veer set their gaze upon him, too. Kabir stroked his beard and avoided their stares.

  ‘I’m going to tell you what went down in Quetta that day.’

  12

  24 August 2006

  Quetta, Balochistan

  ‘The bastard doesn’t want it to happen,’ Sadiq Sheikh spoke softly into the phone. Kabir—then ‘Adonis’—could tell he was enraged.

  ‘What did he say exactly?’

  ‘He says if the shit hits the fan, all the blame will be thrown upon him. I told him that being the Chief of RAW isn’t about keeping a clean reputation, it’s about doing what has to be done. But he’s busy licking the Americans’ asses.’

  ‘So we don’t have the go-ahead from Rao?’ Kabir asked again.

  Viraj Rao was the Chief of RAW. Sadiq and him never got along well. As is the case with most organizations, in most professions, interdepartmental rivalry prevailed even in India’s premier spy agency. Rao was insecure about the fact that Sheikh, a soldierly man, had received more accolades than he had. Sadiq was a dynamic leader, a man willing to put his life on the line for the greater good. People in the organization respected Sadiq more than they did Rao, and this used to gnaw on Rao’s mind. As a result, he would downplay Sadiq’s contribution and try to throw a spanner in the works of operations that Sadiq had planned. The current situation was one such instance. Rao didn’t want Sadiq to go ahead with this plan because it was a highly risky one, for starters, but also because if Sadiq succeeded in achieving what he wanted, he would emerge a greater hero than he already was.