Free BLOWBACK by Mukul Deva Page A

from the army?’
    ‘The army? The Pakistan Army?’
    ‘Which other army is there in this country?’
    ‘Well, no one talks about it openly, but the American Special Forces slip in and out, conducting raids inside Pakistan. Don’t you know?’
    ‘Really?’ Tanaz showed an appropriate degree of surprise and anger. ‘Why do we allow it?’
    ‘Exactly!’ He gestured vehemently. ‘As for the Pakistan Army, I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you.’ He looked at her and laughed. ‘This compound belongs to the local ISI commander. No one is likely to bother us here.’
    The room they entered would have been known, in a more organized place, as the medical room or the sick bay. Placed squarely in the centre was a steel operating table. Above it hung four large, naked tubelights. To one side was a tall steel cabinet with glass shutters that held an assortment of medicines and supplies. A rudimentary effort had been made to keep the room cleaner than the area outside. A faint but distinct hospital-like smell of disinfectant hung in the air.
    They had just finished laying Iqbal down on the operating table when the man who had tended to him in the van strode in. Behind him came a thin, gawky man with a harried air about him.
    ‘You wait outside, woman,’ the man ordered Tanaz in the same curt manner in which he had spoken to her earlier. ‘We have to operate on him.’
    ‘No,’ Tanaz replied softly, but firmly. ‘He is my husband. I will stay with him.’
    ‘Okay, then you will help,’ the man replied with a dismissive shrug. ‘Take these and boil them.’ He pulled out a tray of operating instruments from the corner cabinet and gestured to the cooking gas alongside it. ‘And don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s going to be bloody and painful.’
    ‘I won’t complain,’ Tanaz countered, though her heartbeat escalated and she could barely contain her anxiety.
    There was a glint of admiration in the man’s eyes as he looked at her. ‘I hope you’re strong.’ He paused. ‘Bear in mind that we have run out of anaesthesia. Your man will have to bear the pain on his own.’
    ‘No anaesthesia! Allah have mercy!’ Tanaz tried to shut out the thought of the knife cutting into Iqbal’s flesh. ‘How will he bear the pain?’ For a moment she felt her will weaken. Then she shut down her mind and began to focus on the task given to her. Of their own accord, her lips began to move in silent prayer.
    Iqbal’s body jerked awake as the knife sliced open a neat valley in his chest. Then the doctor dug in, searching for the 7.62 mm slug that had shattered Iqbal’s chest. Seconds later, the scorching pain hit him and Iqbal began to scream. His legs thrashed wildly and the men had to exert every ounce of their energy to keep him down. The more he screamed and thrashed about, the more the doctor scrambled inside, unable to achieve a clean removal of the slug. Finally, Iqbal’s voice deserted him and then, eventually, so did consciousness.
    It was some time around then that Tanaz fainted.
    W hen Tanaz came to, she found herself alone in the room, still lying on the floor where she had fallen. Iqbal’s screams echoed in her head, blanketing it with pain, that helpless, endless pain we feel when someone we love is being hurt. Large ugly drops of blood were splattered all around her on the floor.
    She sat up hesitantly and saw Iqbal lying still on the operating table. His face was pale and his breath was running shallow. But his heavily bandaged chest heaved rhythmically and he appeared to be in better shape than when they had carried him in.
    ‘We managed to get both the bullets out of him.’ The sudden, surprisingly squeaky voice from the door startled Tanaz, making her jump. It was the gawky, nervous-looking man who had assisted the doctor in the surgery . ‘He should live, Inshallah… if he doesn’t catch an infection…’
    ‘He will live,’ Tanaz retorted, more sharply than she had intended. ‘He has