The Bard of Blood (17 page)

12 September 2014

Quetta, Balochistan

Isha stepped in, rifle in position. Nihar followed her, holding a pistol up, ready to fire any moment.
Fire blindly when facing hostiles. It’s not ideal advice, but there may not be enough time to aim when push comes to shove,
Kabir had told him. As they moved further into the madrasa, the metallic smell of blood welcomed them. They knew Kabir had done a good job of mopping up the madrasa, before he had asked them to help get the prisoners out. But one could never be too sure.
Never know when some gun-toting maulana would step out of the shadows.

‘Cover me,’ Isha said as her walk became more brisk. They passed by locked classrooms on their way to the chamber below.

Nihar’s face contorted involuntarily at the sight and smell of the pools of blood splattered across the floor and the walls, like macabre Rorschach-test inkblots.

‘Isha, why do you think Kabir got into the car?’ Nihar whispered as they tiptoed gingerly over a heap of dead bodies.

‘I’m sure he has his reasons,’ Isha replied, switching a torch on and passing it to Nihar. ‘He certainly hasn’t taken it for a joyride.’

‘But, then, we need a vehicle to get the prisoners into!’

Isha stopped and nodded thoughtfully. They were at the base of the staircase, looking at the hell Kabir had single-handedly raised. As she took some sure-footed strides, she could feel the stickiness of the blood on the floor through her boots.

‘Make a call to the Balochis,’ she said finally, her voice nasal. She was trying to avoid inhaling the stench that enveloped the entire basement. She pulled out her satphone from the inside of her jacket. Nihar wedged the torch between his teeth as he took it from her.

He looked at the screen as he punched in Nabil Bugti’s number. Isha moved ahead, scanning each room as she passed by. She saw the large duffel bags and the jerrycans of water. She turned to the room opposite and, peeping through the door, she saw the Indian prisoners. They looked as dead as the bodies they had just walked over. She took a step inside and saw one of them meekly raise a rifle. His attempt to move was so slow, she could’ve shot him thrice.

‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘We’re here to get you out! Just a few more minutes . . .’

Nihar had crossed over to the room with the water, picked up a jerrycan and was drinking from it even as he spoke to Nabil Bugti.

‘Order your men to get us a car, a big one, outside the madrasa. We’re with the prisoners, and we’re about to move them out . . . Do it ASAP!’

Bugti shouted back something to the effect of asking them to buy as much time as they could, and then disconnected. Nihar lifted two cans of water and walked to the room across. He walked quickly to the unconscious prisoners and splashed some water on their faces. They had to revive the four prisoners, who were in a sorry state. There was no time for sentiment.

After giving them enough water to drink, Isha and Nihar looked at each other and nodded. They helped each prisoner up, one at a time. They struggled and stumbled, manoeuvring to place the prisoners’ arms over their shoulders. Nihar helped two soldiers up, simultaneously.

‘Be strong, brother. Just a few more minutes to freedom,’ Nihar repeated over and over, as he got them to move, finally. Their frail bodies dragged their feet as they slowly made their way out, with a lot of help from Nihar and Isha.

‘Thank you,’ one of them said wanly. The others repeated after him.

‘Not yet,’ Isha said.

‘We are glad you guys came for us,’ another murmured.

‘
Jai Hind!
’ another said weakly.

And, finally, the four of them were rescued from the prison they had been confined to for what seemed like an eternity, with their faith in their country reinstated.

‘We move them to a classroom till the vehicle arrives,’ Nihar instructed Isha. The prisoners looked at the dead bodies along the way, twitching involuntarily. One of the two that Isha was supporting threw up, staining her jacket.

‘S-sorry.’ His lips quivered.

‘It’s all right,’ Isha replied. ‘You owe me a new one once we get back home.’

Nihar had reached the top of the stairs, helping his prisoners along towards the first open door they saw. Isha dragged the third man in as well.

‘I’ll go check if the car has arrived,’ she said. ‘You keep an eye on them.’

Nihar helped them rest their backs against the wall. He held his pistol loosely as he walked back towards the door to keep a lookout on the corridor. He looked across at the classroom opposite and spotted a packet of cigarettes lying on the mat.
What the hell, I’ve never needed one more
. He stepped out and strode into the room. His eyes fell on something else.

There was a broken laptop, three bullet holes smashing its screen. Nihar instinctively bent down and picked it up. The screen fell apart, cracking as it hit the ground. Nihar was left standing with the bottom half of the device in his hands.
Someone had shot at it before leaving the room—probably Omar or one of his cronies, upon realizing they had to hurry out of the madrasa. This might just be useful . . .

‘I asked you to stay with the prisoners!’ Isha snapped sternly. Nihar turned around and shrugged, holding up the part of the laptop still left in his hands. Isha shot a glance at it and didn’t look too amused. ‘Help me get them to the car! We have to get the hell out before the Pakistani reinforcements get here!’

She turned and stormed into the other room. She had got another Balochi to help the prisoners to the car. Nihar looked at his latest find thoughtfully. He cradled it between his rib and the inside of his arm. He had almost walked out of the room before he remembered the forgotten pack of cigarettes on the floor.

‘Shoot at the bastard!’ Omar bellowed as he sat low in his seat. ‘And drive faster! Let’s get to the camp, he won’t stand a chance there!’

The Pakistani driver, who was already clocking 145 kilometres on a main road, jammed the accelerator pedal down harder and took a slight turn and went off-road. Besides Omar, there were three others in the car, including the driver. Shehzad had ordered them to get to the madrasa and stand guard around Omar.

‘We need reinforcements,’ one of them said into his phone. ‘There’s a turbaned guy behind us. He’s got the Amir’s other Toyota.’

They turned and looked at the car gaining speed.

‘We’ll do our best to hold him off,’ the man continued. ‘But better intercept him halfway. We’re driving up to the Amir’s camp!’

The man disconnected his phone, lifted his rifle and nodded at the other man beside him. They rolled down their windows. ‘Aim for the car, preferably the tyres. I’ll try and get the guy.’

Veer had taken the turn as he continued to gain speed. He saw Omar’s car going towards a hill a short distance away, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. It was a good 300 metres away from him and he needed to catch up and knock the car over.
I can’t let Omar get away.

There were large boulders in his way, and Veer had to steer his way around them if he were to get anywhere close to Omar’s car. He eased the gearstick into sixth gear and began to close in on his target. He noticed two men from either side of the car stick their heads out and take aim. A flurry of bullets followed. Veer’s reflexes led him to duck. Four bullets hit the windscreen. Veer lifted his rifle from the seat next to him and shot at the windscreen himself and then with the butt of the rifle shattered it open.
I’ve made it easier for you to shoot me. Go for it, motherfuckers.

The Pakistanis expected Veer to slow down, but he didn’t. Veer continued at the same pace, poking his rifle out through the gaping hole in the windscreen and firing at the car with one hand. All his bullets were off-target, but he hadn’t expected himself to hit the car anyway. It was just to keep the soldiers from shooting at him for a few seconds.
Sometimes that’s all you need
.

Omar’s SUV had reached the foot of the hill and was beginning to make its climb. Veer brushed his wild hair aside and looked over at the top of the hill. It wasn’t too high, and he saw a group of caves. There was a flat patch of land ahead with barbed wire strung over low walls. A paved entrance led to a large gate. It was a Taliban stronghold.
I have to stop the car from going in, it’s not too far away.

Veer pressed the accelerator as hard as he could and the car’s engine roared dutifully. Veer’s temples pulsed, drops of sweat fell over his brow. His teeth gnashed and his veins throbbed as he reached closer to the car. He lifted his rifle as he saw the two men appear through the window again. He lifted his hands off the steering momentarily and shot at the car. This time, he managed to hit the glass. The men drew themselves in again, afraid of getting shot. Their car was ascending the hill.
Almost there . . .

Veer drifted slightly to the car’s right, calculating a good angle to make an impact.
If I swerve left and hit it now, the car will probably overturn and fall into the bushes on the side of the hill.
He was about to execute his plan and make the turn, when he heard the distinct sound of a bullet, and lost control over his vehicle. The bullet had hit his tyre, and at the speed at which he was driving, he had to muscle with the steering wheel to stop it from overturning. He did his best and the car lifted off the ground momentarily, before coming to a halt. Another burst of bullets flew at him and he crouched down and looked to his right. Omar’s car was way up the hill. Someone else was shooting at him. He lifted his rifle and jumped to the back seat, trying to buy himself some time before making his next move. He looked and saw two black vehicles right opposite him. At least five men stood in a line and fired at him, taking slow steps towards his car. He was outnumbered. His car had started smelling of gas and there was a angry curl of smoke emerging from the bonnet. He looked at his rifle and saw he didn’t have enough to fight his way out of this. Even if he did, the Taliban reinforcements were bound to come and get him as soon as Omar made his way through that gate.
This is it, I guess . . . But let’s not go down without a fight.

Veer breathed in heavily and held up his rifle. He exposed himself briefly and fired at the men who were now approaching their prey. He shot six times, and one bullet managed to find its target square in the chest. The man fell, but then rolled over to the side and stood back up with some effort. His bulletproof vest had saved him. Veer was out of ammo. He searched his pockets and found a matchbox.

He lit a matchstick and decided to drop it into the petrol tank of the car, once the attackers were closer. He was going to blow up the car.
If I die, so do they.

The men walked closer, firing away at the car. Veer lay prone on the ground, waiting for the right moment. And then, suddenly, he heard another spate of gunshots coming from another direction. A small explosion followed. It was the kind of sound a grenade made. Veer was confused. He looked over and saw his five attackers on the ground, parts of their bodies blown up, lying in different places. He looked quickly to his right and saw a familiar figure. Irfan Baloch Khan was getting out of a jeep along with two other men. He ran right up to Veer and pulled him out of the car.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Khan.

Veer could not believe his luck. He panted heavily. He turned and looked up at the Taliban stronghold. Omar’s car was already inside, safe and sound. ‘Give me your weapons,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Your guns and grenades.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m going after Omar.’

Khan looked at him incredulously. ‘No, you’re certainly not. Get in the jeep and let’s get the hell out of here.’

‘You don’t understand!’ Veer held Khan by the collar. ‘I can’t let Omar get away after getting this close to him!’

Khan pushed him away roughly and raised his voice. ‘I have not put my ass on the line and saved you here, just so you can walk into the lion’s den! What do you think, huh? You’ll walk into that place and find Omar waiting for you at the entrance?’

‘Let me worry about that!’

‘No, fuck you! Get into the jeep!’

Veer punched Khan and quickly grabbed a grenade from his vest. Khan’s Balochi friends raised their guns at him. Khan motioned to them to lower their weapons.

‘You need to think this through, Veer. They’re probably already on their way down to get you.’

‘I have one grenade,’ Veer said firmly. ‘And I will make it count.’ He turned around and began to walk up the hill.

‘If you take another step, I will shoot you myself.’

Veer ignored him and continued walking. Khan shot at Veer’s feet, missing deliberately.

‘Going up there is a crazy idea, Veer! You want death? I’ll give it to you myself. But I’m not letting you die at their hands!’

Veer continued walking. Khan shot at his feet again. Veer didn’t seem perturbed.

‘You think you’re doing your country any good, Veer? Your country needs you now more than ever. And it needs you alive.’

Veer stopped midway, looking at the gate of the Taliban stronghold. He saw some militants coming out of it.