Free KALYUG by R. SREERAM

The terrorists used two grenades as well, even while firing indiscriminately, and it is still unknown how many more injured are fighting for their lives inside the glass walls of one of the most popular malls in Delhi. The authorities are not allowing anybody to go inside, not even friends or relatives, and the medicos are using the underground parking area to treat those they can, and load them into ambulances if needed. Most of the injured – from the outside – have already been taken to the municipal hospital nearby.
    ‘This incident has once again highlighted how vulnerable we are to such terrorist attacks. India remains a soft state and we, its citizens, easy targets.
    ‘A more worrying sign is the fact that even now, almost an hour after the attack, the authorities seem to be no closer to identifying the terrorist group behind it. The general consensus seems to be to wait for one of the groups to accept responsibility on their own . . . From Delhi, this is Richa Naik with cameraman Vinod Kumar, for NDNN.’
    16th September, 2012. New Delhi.
    The general used his encrypted SatPhone to make the call.
    ‘It is done,’ he said without needing to introduce himself. ‘The minister will be unavailable for at least the next few hours.’
    ‘Thank you, General,’ came the reply. The voice was suave, cultured; the sentiment seemed genuine enough to a man who prided himself on being able to gauge sincerity quite accurately. ‘And I would like to confirm that the package has reached Siliguri safely.’
    ‘That is good,’ said the general gravely. Like any good soldier, he had the instinctive pessimism that assumed no plan would survive its first contact with execution. Nobody appreciates Murphy more than a man who’s seen war.
    The person at the other end must have sensed the unspoken question that hung in the ether between them. ‘I gave you my word, General, and I intend to honour it. No one will be harmed. This will be a bloodless operation.’
    ‘I am glad to hear that,’ replied the general, his turn to be sincere. ‘However, I do want you to know that I am going to issue an order that the boycott cannot exceed nine o’clock tonight.’
    ‘That was not the plan,’ the voice protested.
    ‘It is, now,’ snapped the general. ‘Every minute that I allow this boycott to continue is a minute closer to danger for our nation. You have until nine p.m. to deliver your side of the agreement.’
    A moment to assimilate the new terms. ‘Acceptable,’ said the voice finally. ‘You are right. If we can’t do it by then, we won’t be able to do it ever.’
    ‘And my successor?’
    ‘Your nominee,’ confirmed the voice. ‘As you wished. And if it makes any difference, we agree with your assessment. The lieutenant general has an illustrious record and clean hands. Unlike the other one, of course. But are you sure you will not stay on? At least for a little longer? We could use your experience.’
    The general hung up without bothering to reply. What could he say, he asked himself. That he had, good intentions or not, sullied the high office he held? That he could never deem himself worthy of the lofty ideals of the Army after endorsing the boycott, after approving what was for all intents and purposes a mutiny against the government it was answerable to? That it was his way of making recompense, a penance for not being there for a friend when he had been needed the most?
    He opened his briefcase and started clearing his desk. He started with one of his most prized possessions, a framed picture that showed Tiger Hill towering over a group of tired, wounded, victorious men. Next to him stood the man who had, on a cold wintry afternoon, pushed him to the ground and taken a bullet into his own shoulder instead.
    The sense of guilt was too much. He dropped the frame into the briefcase face down.
    Why couldn’t I have done more, Qureshi?
    16th September, 2012. In the air.
    ‘I should have guessed,’ I