Satya: A Novel

Rukhsar Ahmed

Lahore, Pakistan

Present Day

Zubair Ahmed was alive! Her father was alive! Thirty-one year old Rukhsar Ahmed replaced the handset in the receptacle and slumped in the chair; her large light brown eyes crying with joy. She had a lump in her throat.

Twelve years earlier, her father, Major Zubair Ahmed, of the Northern Light Infantry of the Pakistan Army had disappeared suddenly. A week since his disappearance, Rukhsar had run around Rawalpindi offices of the Pakistan military establishment to find out about her father but her every attempt was stone-walled by the authorities. Over the years, Rukhsar had resigned to her fate; her hopes of ever seeing her father had diminished.

An anonymous three minute phone call by a total stranger from India had stirred her suppressed emotions. He was alive! Then, a doubt crept into her mind. Was it true? Was the caller real or was it an investigation of some kind? Rukhsar thought hard about the caller. The caller was authoritative and he was convincing in what he had said. The caller sounded credible.

Rukhsar Ahmed, a Lecturer in economics had returned early from college. She was helping her mother, Shabnam Ahmed prepare lunch when she heard the phone ring. She had casually answered the phone but she was surprised to hear a hard male voice ask her, Miss Rukhsar Ahmed?

Yes. Who are you?

The caller had spoken softly and slowly, Miss Rukhsar, I can’t give you my name for your own safety, the man said and paused, I am calling from New Delhi. Kindly listen to me… very carefully. The man spoke with precision and clarity but at slower pace than normal. Though the caller was polite and courteous, his tone had an authority. I am calling to inform you that your father, Major Zubair Ahmed, is alive and presently being held in an Indian prison as a prisoner of war. If you wish to meet your father and take him back to your country, you will have to come to New Delhi with his identity papers. I am not at liberty to disclose anything further.

Rukhsar was confused. Was it a crank call? Who would play such a cruel joke on her? Could it be the secret services who were trying to explore if she had any clue about her father? How could her father end up in an Indian prison - as a prisoner of war? Since nineteen-seventy-one India and Pakistan had not been at war.

Zubair will be moved to an undisclosed location within a week. I won’t be able to help you once he is shifted. Zubair Ahmed doesn’t know that I am speaking to you. It is in his interest that he doesn’t know of it now. I will call you back. The caller said and the phone was disconnected.

Rukhsar looked at the phone in her hand and put it back. Her mind was racing. She thought about the conversation and the caller. Both seemed genuine from the tone and intensity of the speech. There was a ring of honesty in the tone of the caller, she thought. She had to decide quickly. Rukhsar was desperate. She wanted her father back with her mother who had virtually lost all senses, and Rukhsar was prepared to take any risk for that. In last twelve years she had received first positive information about her father, if it was true. Rukhsar made up her mind. Precisely twenty seconds later, the phone rang again. Rukhsar picked it up in a hurry. How do I know you are speaking the truth? She asked doubtfully.

The caller responded in calm and sincere tone, You are risking your life by prolonging this conversation. Your phone could be tapped. Anyway, when this conversation is over, I suggest you move to a different, safer location for your own safety. As for your doubts, I speak the truth because I have nothing to gain or lose. My only wish is that Zubair Saheb returns home and re-united with his family. That is my only concern because he is a good human being. Beyond this, I have no interest in the matter. It is entirely up to you if you wish to trust or mistrust me.

Rukhsar thought about something else. How will my presence in Delhi help my father’s release? The phone went dead again.

Precisely twenty seconds later, the phone rang again. Rukhsar picked it up in a hurry, again.

The man once again spoke slowly, and convincingly. He has no papers to prove that he is a Pakistani citizen. If you bring the documents to the authorities here, it can prove his identity and then he can be sent home under a prisoner exchange programme.

Rukhsar thought hastily. She trusted the caller, so she took her chance. I will come to New Delhi but please tell me, why and how did my father end up in an Indian prison? And, how can anyone help me free my father from jail?

Your father was taken a prisoner on the Indian side of the Line of Control, by Indian soldiers during the Kargil war. I will help you out in having your father released and sent back home. The caller spoke slowly to ensure Rukhsar heard and understood what was being said, Be present at the reception of Lok Vijay Hospital in New Delhi on Friday, at nine p.m., I will meet you there.

How can my father be caught during Kargil war? Pakistan wasn’t involved in the war. Rukhsar spoke of her doubt.

I speak the truth, Miss Rukhsar. Each word I have said is an absolute truth and I will prove it when we meet. Yet, to believe me or not is your prerogative.

I don’t have a visa. It will take me time to get it and Indian visa is not easily available. Rukhsar said desperately.

Don’t worry about the visa. Dengue is wide-spread in west-Punjab these days. Over a thousand people cross the border for treatment each day. Use this provision. I will meet you at the hospital at nine pm, sharp. Be there! Have a pleasant journey.

Who are you, please tell me! Rukhsar begged.

I am Zubair’s friend… I won’t call you again. Have a nice trip. The caller spoke with genuine wish.

How do I know you speak the truth?

That is for you to determine.

Where is my father now? Is he alright? She asked.

He is in good health now. The caller paused and spoke rapidly. Please don’t prolong this conversation. It could be dangerous for you.

How did my father end up in Indian prison?

Later, the caller said and line had gone dead again.

Rukhsar was relieved that her father was alive, but worried because she knew that being held as a ‘prisoner of war’ in enemy country must have automatically brought in charges of espionage. He could be tortured mentally and physically. She shivered at the thought and made a decision.

She had other worries too. Since childhood, she had learnt through electronic and print media how Muslims in India were ill-treated; how they were deprived of their rights in a ‘democratic and secular’ India. She was a Muslim. She had heard that Muslims had no freedom to practice their faith in ‘Hindu’ dominated India. There was discrimination against minorities. She fretted but she was determined. She wanted to get her father back and reunite him with her mother. She was willing to go to any extreme for that. This was the first information in twelve years about Zubair and she was determined to follow the lead even if it meant taking huge risks.

She wondered how she would reach New Delhi by Friday. She would have to apply for her leave from University and she knew it won’t be easy; it would be next to impossible to convince the obnoxious Dean who controlled the campus like his personal fiefdom. That apart, she would have to make arrangements for someone to take care of her mother who suffered from mental instability ever since Zubair had gone missing. Though Shabnam Ahmed would object to her trip to an enemy country but she knew she can convince her mother. She calculated quickly. She had to reach by Friday, which left her with about eighty hours to reach Lok Vijay Hospital.

Rukhsar’s mother was mentally disturbed. Since Zubair’s disappearance she had lost interest in life - or so it seemed. She believed that Zubair had left her for another woman. Rukhsar however, had no such illusions; she knew her father was a patriot, a morally upright man, devoted husband and a doting father. Rukhsar had to be cautious how she broke the news to her mother. If Rukhsar as much as hinted about her decision to go to India, Shabnam would create a scene. So, she had to handle it delicately. Nervously, she spoke to her mother. She broke the news of Zubair possibly being alive but spelled her doubts about the authenticity of the caller. To Rukhsar’s amazement, when she informed Shabnam of her decision to go to India, Shabnam only asked her to be cautious.

Rukhsar made preparations for her trip but decided against informing any of her colleagues or friends barring two; first, her cousin who would call upon Shabnam in Rukhsar’s absence, and a Pakistani diplomat currently stationed in Tehran, Iran - Aman Khan Bux.

Barring her family, Aman Khan Bux was the only person Rukhsar cared for. She was the love in Aman’s life. Though it was one sided, Rukhsar always respected Aman’s emotions for her and considered Aman Bux as her confidante and best friend. She liked him immensely but she wasn’t sure if she loved him; but she did acknowledge Aman as a genuine pearl in her life.

A few months before Zubair’s disappearance, Aman had met Rukhsar at a party where she had accompanied her parents. The moment he saw her he was keen to know her, about her. The tall beautiful, slim and elegant, moon faced girl with smiling, large, deep, light brown eyes had smitten him. He gladly learnt that she was as intelligent as she was beautiful. She was a meritorious, first year college student of Economics at the coveted LUMS - Lahore University of Management Studies.

Rukhsar had liked the young, handsome bureaucrat who had just been offered a job by the External Affairs Ministry, for his brilliance. She had especially liked the way he had treated her - like a princess. She had enjoyed his attention and his physical presence. Aman was tall but his slim body and dress code made him appear even taller. Combined with sharp nose and smiling eyes and innocent smile, he had made a decent impression on her. The only factor which went against him was his age. He was twenty-nine years old to her nineteen years. That casual meeting had led to a bonding between them which grew stronger as time passed, and led to marriage proposal by Aman’s family, despite initial hesitancy about the different sects the two families belonged to. Rukhsar was a Qadiyani, a sect of Muslims which had been declared ‘Non-Muslim’ in Pakistan decades ago. This was a major issue with Aman’s mother although his father had no qualms. Aman’s mother had relented when Aman had declared that he would only marry Rukhsar or he would die a bachelor. The proposal was gladly accepted by Rukhsar’s parents. Their wedding was planned for winter of nineteen ninety-nine but it was suspended when Zubair was called to war duty though he was on a four week leave. After Zubair’s disappearance, the couple had agreed to wait till Zubair returned. After twelve years of resistance, a month ago, reluctantly, Rukhsar agreed to a marriage date Aman Khan had proposed. Their wedding date was eight weeks away when this strange phone call had come. Now, suddenly, owing to the information provided during the conversation… based on one telephonic conversation she was setting out on a journey of uncertainties, with no surety of the outcome of her adventure.

-     -     -

Rukhsar informed Aman of her decision via text message of her India trip. He called her promptly. For an hour he tried convincing her to investigate further before taking a drastic step but he failed. She was desperate to follow the sole lead she had, and he knew he couldn’t change her mind. Aman told her to wait till he reached Lahore. He didn’t tell her that he would accompany her. He couldn’t let her travel to India alone. On Thursday morning he arrived at her house ready for the trip. An hour later the couple were on their way to the Wagah Border. Six hours later they set foot on Indian soil. A journey of past legacies, uncovering of lies, and discoveries of truth and tragedies had begun… a trip which was to cost lives.

*     *     *

The General’s House,

Lahore, Pakistan

The sixty-one year old pre-maturely retired General, who was once in line to become the next Commander-in-Chief of the Pakistan Army held a one page secret report in his hands. He was appalled. This wasn’t supposed to happen. If the information was true it could spell disaster for his plans. He had to act fast. The retired General tried to move his electric wheel chair but it wouldn’t budge. Not again, he cursed himself. How can he forget to charge the batteries of his wheel chair? He slammed his fist into his motionless and insensitive thighs. If it wasn’t for this stupid handicap he would have been the Commander-in-Chief, and won’t have to rely on his devoted and trusted nephew for the success of his plan. The General read the report again, folded it and put it in his pocket. He called his nurse who had been instructed to be with him at all times. The crippled ex-General’s General nephew had ensured that his uncle got the best treatment and was kept in total comfort. A young, pretty nurse appeared by his side. She saw him struggle to move his wheel chair and wheeled him towards the work desk.

Stop watching television all the time, my Nightingale. The ex-General flirted with the pretty nurse, you should be by my side all the time, dear.

I am always by your side, General. I wish you would allow me to be with my boyfriend for some time. He doesn’t get time to be with me. The nurse teased the General.

If I hadn’t had an accident you wouldn’t need him. I would take care of you nicely. General smiled although his mind was preoccupied with the single page report in his pocket. Each time he saw the pretty nurse he cursed himself for being reckless. If he had listened to the instructor’s advice he wouldn’t have fallen off while trying out the new parachutes the army had received as part of military aide from the US. The General didn’t need instructor’s advice to a war veteran like himself. He was confident he could handle the high altitude jump from the aircraft and he wanted to try it out himself. The jump was fantastic and glided as he had learnt from his training days and opened the chute expertly but then something went wrong and the parachute started to descend faster than it should have and he plunged towards the earth. When he woke up in hospital two days later, he learnt that he had opened the chute a full six seconds late for a jump from not so high an altitude. His body was permanently paralyzed from waist down and more importantly for him; his dream of becoming the Chief of the Army was shattered. But he wanted to see a dream of his to be realized and for that his best bet was his own nephew who would go to extremes to please his uncle.

Would you like something else, General? the nurse broke his spell of thoughts.

I wish you had asked me that question when I could have given you a better reply, my dear. The General scanned the length of the nurse’s body, just plug me in, and make sure my circular feet are well charged, darling.

The nurse drew the wheel chair near the window and plugged the battery charger into the socket. Anything else?

The General sighed, Just bring me the phone and leave me alone for some time.

The nurse stretched the phone cords to the General and kept the instrument on his lap. The General slapped her rear when she turned and the General laughed. Oh, how much he adored her.

-     -     -

Oh, how much she hated the evil, crippled, retired General. She had dreamt of becoming a doctor someday. Born in lower middle-class family, she had worked her way up to becoming a nurse and tried her best to save money for her education later. One summer day three years ago, she got a call from an army officer and all her dreams collapsed.

Mariam Zahir was a stunningly good looking woman in her mid-twenties. She had volunteered to become a personal nurse to an ex- General who needed round the clock attention. She had liked the advertisement which had called for a qualified nurse. She knew she would be well paid and that in turn would help her in saving more to study medicines later. Out of three hundred volunteers, she had been chosen and she felt proud of her achievement; she was the best nurse in Sheikh Zayed Hospital at the Lahore University of Health Sciences in Lahore, Pakistan. Mariam Zahir’s interview had gone very well. Her interviewing army doctors had appreciated her good knowledge of nursing and asked to report to a General who was to take a final decision.

A week later, she stood in presence of a General with snake like eyes. She disliked him instantly but agreed to nurse his uncle, the ailing, retired General. She regretted volunteering for the job later. She had enjoyed the first week of her new job. From the following week her dreams started to fade at first and gradually the dreams were shattered. That week she welcomed the snake eyed General who came inquiring about his handicapped uncle. The snake eyes had scanned her body the moment she had opened the door. The snake eyed General Wahid Khan came to her room after visiting his uncle in privacy, and made her an offer. She could earn more money if she kept him happy. Mariam was aware of the snake eyed General’s intentions and she hated it. She had offered to resign. Four days later it was accepted in general by the doctor who was attending to the crippled General but asked her to continue till they found a suitable nurse as her replacement. She had agreed. Three days later, Wahid Khan had locked his snake eyes into hers and given her an option. She would get twice as much as she made now and do as he said or she would be fired from the job and he would ensure she never got a job anywhere else in the country. He would ensure her passport was impounded and she would never be able to leave the country; just in case if she ever entertained ideas of going abroad to work. Mariam had begged Wahid Khan to spare her but he had no mercy. He had slapped her six times forcing her into submission. Then he had forced himself on her that day and spent the night with her doing as he pleased. Before leaving he had warned that he would make her family disappear if she ever complained to anyone… or if she thought of resigning.

From that night onwards, General Wahid Khan would come, sit and discuss in privacy with his crippled uncle and then he would come to her and satisfy himself, taking sadistic pleasure in forcing himself on her. He would return every week. If she hated the crippled General in the wheel chair, she found hatred a soft emotion for the snake eyed General. The only factor which helped retain her sanity was that she was indeed very well paid and that helped her to provide for her siblings’ studies and look after her retired father and ailing mother.

The other bright spot in her life was a young Lieutenant who would come to deliver and collect sealed envelopes and verbal messages for the crippled General from his nephew. She had liked the dedicated young man and she knew he liked her too; very much. She would offer him snacks and tea as usual and they would talk for as long as time permitted the young soldier. She learnt from him that General Wahid Khan was planning something massive, even audacious. Although the Lieutenant knew very little about the plan yet he refused to tell her the General’s plan because he was sworn to secrecy. Though the Lieutenant didn’t particularly like the snake eyed General or the cripple, he was devoted to his country which stopped him from speaking of the two Generals’ plans. For his country’s sake he wanted the two Generals’ plans to succeed. If so, it would ensure Pakistan’s security for generations.

A few months passed and their fondness grew for each other. One late evening when the crippled General was in severe pain, she had injected a dose of painkillers into his vein and put him to sleep. Before midnight the same evening, the young Lieutenant had come hurriedly wanting to meet the General in wheel chair. When she told him of the General’s physical condition, the Lieutenant was upset. He called General Wahid Khan and apprised him of his uncle’s condition. Wahid Khan asked the Lieutenant to wait till the cripple woke up. He ‘had to’ deliver the message and get his advice and return to Rawalpindi to deliver the message in person to Wahid Khan. Frustrated, the Lieutenant waited in the lounge till Mariam invited him for tea. They talked for some time during which she learnt, not to her surprise, that Wahid Khan considered her his personal property and he boasted about it. Wahid Khan had chosen her for her knowledge and efficiency in her work, and for her curves, her stunning good looks, and of her desperate financial situation. Wahid Khan had picked her for himself. Though she had a gut feeling about it, she was infuriated when she heard it from the Lieutenant. She thought, and invited him to her room and confessed her liking for him. She told him she wasn’t sure if she loved him but she liked him immensely. Egged by her confession, the Lieutenant confessed his love for her but feared Wahid Khan’s wrath if he ever came to learn of it. Mariam and Lieutenant decided to keep it a secret. She wasn’t the personal property of that evil man, she told him. She was a woman of intellect and she chose Wahid Khan’s assistant as her choice to avenge the snake eyed General, and some day she would get a chance to tell him that she had chosen to offer herself to the Lieutenant because the General was impotent. Mariam Zahir didn’t wish for the General’s death; that would be easy for him. She wanted him to suffer more than the crippled General; suffer for the rest of his life. She would go to any extent to see Wahid Khan suffer physical and mental ignominy, and hurt his ego.

That night Mariam seduced the young Lieutenant and offered herself to him. The young Lieutenant surrendered himself to her: physically and emotionally. From that day, the Lieutenant took up any assignment from Wahid Khan which got him closer to Mariam. On the other hand, Wahid Khan was delighted to have got a man he could trust immensely.

-     -     -

The crippled General pulled out the single sheet report and fumed again. He sent a message on a secured channel. Wahid Khan called back immediately.

I have important instructions for you. Send the Lieutenant to fetch it and do exactly as I say or else you could be in trouble. Follow my instructions precisely… to the last letter, the crippled General ordered angrily in one breath and disconnected the call.

The General closed his eyes and cursed his luck. All his plans would come to nought if Zubair Ahmed learns of the dreadful order by Wahid Khan on that ill-fated day during the Kargil war. Rukhsar shouldn’t be allowed to meet her father. If she or Zubair learn of Wahid Khan’s role they would create a problem which could make his trusted soldiers revolt against him and Wahid Khan. That was not acceptable in any circumstance. The father-daughter duo had to be stopped from learning the truth; if they learn the truth, they had to be eliminated. He wheeled himself to a table three feet away, pulled out his stationary and wrote, ‘Rukhsar Ahmed received three calls from untraceable number in India. She is going to India. Is Zubair Ahmed alive? Check. If true, eliminate all. Take no chances.’ The General folded the sheet, put it in an envelope and sealed it. He couldn’t send this message over the phone or instruct orally. This instruction was to be hand delivered in person by the young Lieutenant to Wahid Khan.

-     -     -

The young Lieutenant arrived thirty minutes later. A special order was issued that the message should be guarded with his life. When he was told that the message was of extreme urgency the Lieutenant left promptly.

The Lieutenant returned to the crippled ex-General later that evening. An assignment has been given to me, Sir, the young man said and told him about the assignment.

The crippled ex-General nodded in appreciation. Don’t be lax on this matter. In no way we can let these people discover about an incident. Wahid trusts you and so do I. Execute it well and you will have a very bright future, I promise you.

The Lieutenant assured the ex-General he won’t fail, and left. He closed the door behind him and walked out of the room. Mariam was waiting for him. She grabbed his hand and drew him to her room.

Why do you look sad? she asked.

I am going to India on a mission. It is of utmost urgency. If things don’t go according to plan, we may never see each other again, the Lieutenant replied with little clue to his emotional intensity of the moment.

Is it life threatening? she asked with an unknown fear in her heart.

Yes, it is. Either I will live, or those two traitors of the country, he replied.

Mariam Zahir held his face in her palms. A realization struck her. She really loved this man. Come back to me. I beg you. Please take care of yourself and come back to me.

The Lieutenant saw the love for him in her eyes. He had never seen that before. Today she had confessed her love for him. For the Lieutenant it was a dream come true. He knew she loved him but he wanted her to realize it and then he wanted to hear it from her. He cupped her face in his palms and kissed her, I promise to do my best. When I return I will get you out of this mess. This assignment is important, my dear. Just hold on till I return. Then I will work out something for our future… this I promise you, my dearest.

That’s a hostile country for Muslims. Please take good care of yourself, Altaf.

I will, the young Lieutenant Altaf Khos said and kissed her.

*     *     *

INDIA

Haqeeqat -Reality-

"Whatever sphere of human mind you may select for your special study, Whether it is language or religion, mythology or philosophy, Whether it is law or customs, primitive art or science, you have to come to India,

Because some of the most valuable and constructive material of the history of man

are treasured up in India, and India only."

~US President Barak Obama, quoting a

Western Scholar during his trip to India~

Aman Bux and Rukhsar boarded a cab from Wagah border to Amritsar railway station, and then an overnight train from Amritsar to New Delhi. At dawn on Friday morning the couple reached New Delhi and lodged into a hotel near the hospital where they were to meet a total stranger who would lead them to Zubair Ahmed. Through the day Aman forced Rukhsar to stay in the hotel room and rest. He used his contacts to discreetly find out as much as he could about the whereabouts of Zubair Ahmed. He had got no information though he sought the help of the Pakistan High Commission.

For Rukhsar, this trip was to start with a series of surprises before other major shocks which she was to experience. The first surprise of the trip to this ‘hostile’ neighbouring country came within an hour. She was truly surprised. She saw no visible hostility or even a hint of it when the couple produced their Pakistani passports at the hotel reception. Instead, to her surprise, she found a warm smile on the face of the receptionist. The courtesy extended to them thereafter was even more surprising when she saw the hotel staff extend the courtesy to their guests from Pakistan. It gave her an impression that they were privileged guests, and throughout the day they received special attention. In the afternoon, when Aman enquired if he could get Punjabi food, the manager quietly asked them to avoid hotel food and go to Jama Masjid area for typical Delhi delights.

When they reached Jama Masjid, they, especially Rukhsar, was jolted by a major shock when she saw a massive congregation of Muslims in hundreds offering customary Friday afternoon ‘Namaaz’ at the historical mosque - praying freely and without fear. She reflected on what she had learnt over the years in her country that Muslims were not allowed to freely practice their faith in this country. Within hours this was the second major jolt she had received which belied her earlier perception.

While searching for ‘good’ restaurant, they found them all over the place and especially the ‘Paranthae wali gali’, which she liked most. Surprised by what she had seen so far, her earlier perceptions were eroding quickly, too quickly for her own sake. Although her mind was pre-occupied by the meeting that evening in the hospital, she wanted to explore more - this was more to do with avoiding her anxiety than to do with exploration on subject of Humanities. As they walked through the food street, they found another surprise awaiting them; they found Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims and surprisingly, numerous foreign tourists, all enjoying the delicacies of the famous North Indian ‘Mughlai’ food in the restaurants and on the street-side. They found no discrimination or animosity, nor any negativity or hesitation among people milling in the atmosphere. It was a strange experience; they felt absolutely safe, like they were in their own backyard. They could smell the aroma of life in the air. While Aman was calm about the discoveries, it disturbed Rukhsar. She was seeing exactly the opposite of what she had studied and learnt about India. The series of shocks had confused her. Though she liked what she saw, she was disappointed because somewhere in her heart she hated India for being intolerant and aggressive towards Muslims and especially towards Pakistan. Now that she had seen the contradiction her hatred was subsiding; and it was gradually being replaced by respect for India and its people. She looked at Aman Bux and found him pre-occupied with himself - probably wondering about the meeting later in the evening, or he was probably thinking the same. It occurred to her that they never talked about his work or about what or how he felt about Pakistan’s arch enemy - India! When she asked Aman about what he felt about visiting India, Aman had smiled lightly without making a comment. The smile told her something else; he knew the real situation. They felt like they were home. This was like Lahore, Pakistan, of early forties! This was New Delhi, India, of today!

-     -     -

They reached an hour early as they got off an auto rickshaw and walked towards the main gate of The Lok Vijay Hospital. Enquiries led them towards a special ward of the hospital exclusively for foreign patients. When they entered the lobby, the first scene truly shocked them into silence. The lobby was teeming with people - patients, their relatives and friends; almost all were Pakistani citizen. This was the greatest shock so far. Where was the reality of the stories about anti-Muslim sentiment in India? She didn’t find it here. Instead, she found the doctors and hospital staff taking care of each patient, and attending to them professionally, with courtesy, although the sheer volume of patients was phenomenal. She was stunned - fifteen hundred patients arrived at this hospital alone each day, for treatment of Dengue. Though Dengue had reached epidemic proportions in the Punjab province of Pakistan during monsoon, patients were still travelling across the border for treatment. She was wondering why this story wasn’t told to the people of Pakistan? Where was the propaganda machine? Where was the media?

-     -     -

In the hospital lobby a plump burqa clad lady in forties looked at the photographs in her hand and saw them enter the hospital gates. She called the man who had asked her to keep an eye for them. She was told to keep their track till he arrived. In a few minutes and her job would be done. Not a bad thing to get five thousand Rupees for few hours of sitting and observing faces, she thought.

-     -     -

Rukhsar checked her watch nervously and turned to look at Aman for moral support. He smiled at her without displaying his own anxiety. He sensed her nervousness and gripped her palm firmly. He looked at the crowd in the lobby and tried to pick a pair of eyes which could be watching them. He didn’t expect anyone to observe them but didn’t see a pair of eyes observing them from the safety of veils. A nurse approached and asked Rukhsar for her name and asked them to follow her. They followed her in the elevator to the fourth floor. They came out of the lift and the nurse turned right, walked to the last room on the floor, knocked on the door and turned the knob to open the door. When the door opened she nodded at the visitors to go in. When the visitors entered the room, the nurse turned around, closed the door and left. The room was a makeshift arrangement for the meeting. It seemed like the room was probably being furbished to make it into a special ward of the hospital.

As they entered the room their nervousness and anxiety evaporated when their eyes fell on the man they were to meet. The tall, well groomed man probably in his late thirties or early forties stood at the far end of the large room. The sheer presence of the man had a calming effect on both the visitors. The man with very fair skin and light grey eyes had a magnetic presence and the hint of a smile on his lips was good enough to restore their confidence. The man greeted them with a ‘Namaste’, and stepped forward to welcome them. They saw him and instantly their nervousness and anxiety evaporated. They sensed an inherent honesty in the man.

Rukhsar wondered if he was Hindu or Muslim or even a Caucasian going by the texture of his skin. When the man spoke she was sure he was Indian because his pronunciation and dialect in Hindi and Urdu was perfect. The man spoke with a reserved, if not an uncomfortable smile, and greeted Rukhsar with a bow of his head and shook hands with Aman, offered them to sit, and introduced himself. I am Prakash Rohatgi. At the moment, that’s all I can tell you, he said and turned to look at Rukhsar. I didn’t give you my name over the phone because I feared your phone could be tapped. Thank you for coming… and for trusting me. Prakash Rohatgi’s smile turned from reserved to a happy one.

What about Mr. Zubair Ahmed. Where is he? Aman asked.

You haven’t introduced yourself. Who are you? Prakash shot back in his clear toned deep throated voice.

I am Aman Khan Bux, a friend of Rukhsar, and we will be married soon. Aman responded politely.

Prakash Rohatgi looked at the couple and smiled broadly and sat on the chair opposite them, I’m happy for both of you, Mr. Bux. What do you do for a living? he asked casually.

Aman hesitated for an instant. He knew that if he spoke the truth, it could lead to a problem in this situation. But if he lied, it could be detrimental to the purpose of their visit to this country. Mr. Rohatgi, I was a diplomat for the Government of Pakistan until the day before yesterday, stationed in Tehran as a Cultural Attaché. I have resigned, and now I am a civilian.

What? Rukhsar screamed in shock.

What? Prakash shouted in disbelief and anger.

Aman was silent. He was unsure whom he should first respond to. He looked at his fiancé apologetically, I will talk to you later on this, he said and turned to Prakash Rohatgi, Mr. Rohatgi, Rukhsar is my love… She is my life. For her I can travel to hell without a second thought. I understand why you are angry. A diplomat from an unfriendly country in a scenario such as this is unacceptable. Please trust me; I came here because I couldn’t let Rukhsar travel alone. She is the only reason for my presence here. Her search for her father is mine as well and having met you, I know that we are on the right track. Please trust me, Mr. Rohatgi, Aman said with a touch of appeasement to ease the tension in the atmosphere which had suddenly crept in.

Prakash quietly observed the man sitting in front of him. He was deciding if he should trust the visitor or not.

Aman assessed the situation correctly. Mr. Rohatgi, for your confidence I am willing to hand over something which I would never part with, he said and pulled out his diplomatic passport and stretched his hand towards Prakash. You keep this in your possession till we are in India, and hand it back when I leave.

Rohatgi laughed wryly as he checked the passport. Who are we kidding, Mr… Aman Khan Bux? You entered India on the side? Your passport doesn’t have an entry stamp here, he asked.

I didn’t wish to use my diplomatic passport because it may show my movements. Since I am not a diplomat anymore, I have no reason to use it. I showed my temporary travel papers I have procured especially for this trip.

Prakash nodded his head in understanding, You see what I mean? You came here on temporary document that you can avail easily in an hour from your mission here. You go to the High Commission and state that your passport was stolen and you get another one in an hour. Mr. Bux, your passport in my hand is of no value, but there is something else which has more value… your word!

Aman Bux nodded in acceptance. I want an assurance from you that you will take care of Rukhsar. If so, I will give you her passport too. I think that will instil some confidence in you? he proposed.

Prakash Rohatgi looked at the smart diplomat for some time and he nodded slightly with a smile, Okay, Mr. Bux. I will gamble on you. I will trust your word. However, Rohatgi said in earnest with a stern expression, if you don’t keep your part of the deal, I will make you regret it for the rest of your life… I am not threatening you, Mr. Aman Bux. I am stating a brutal truth.

Rukhsar felt a chill in her spine. She had no doubt that Prakash was speaking the truth. She looked at Aman and the two men were staring at each other.

Prakash waited for some comment or response from either Aman Bux or Rukhsar. When neither spoke, he continued, As for my part, I promise to speak the truth and nothing but the truth… And, some of it is going to be difficult for you and more so for her to accept, Prakash said and pointed his finger at Rukhsar. If I do not speak or reply to any question it will be my prerogative and you will not press me for it since I don’t wish to lie to either of you. Having said that, you will have to understand that what I am about to tell you is strictly between the three of us. Furthermore, I want you to see it from a practical viewpoint.

I don’t understand. Can you please be clearer? Aman had a good idea that Prakash was about to disclose something more complex than the present situated suggested.

Prakash pulled out an envelope from the desk drawer and pushed it towards the couple. Rukhsar grabbed it hurriedly and opened the enveloped. Another shock awaited Rukhsar and Aman; the biggest one yet. It numbed their nerves. The envelope contained six photographs. Rukhsar saw her father in each of those; at different places with various people. Apart from Zubair, there was another common factor in these photographs. This was the reason why the six photographs had been chosen. Rukhsar tried to keep the photographs away from visual periphery of Aman, but didn’t succeed. Aman Bux saw the photographs with a fleecing glance and then focused on them again to be sure what he had seen. Zubair Ahmed was proudly waving the Indian tri-colour in each of the six photographs. The shock was visible on both their faces. The expression on their faces was not lost on the host.

It took a few minutes for both the Pakistani visitors to come to terms with what they had just seen. Rukhsar couldn’t accept what she had seen. This is impossible… impossible. My father is a patriotic, diehard Pakistani. He would die before he would defect, she tried to shout but the words were a whisper as she came to terms with reality. Involuntarily, her voice boomed in the room. She shouted angrily, This isn’t true!

Aman put his arm around her to calm her. It did not work. Rukhsar kept looking at each photograph carefully to see if she could find something which wasn’t true. She couldn’t find any.

The visitors realized that Prakash Rohatgi had access to Zubair Ahmed, and the other relief they found in their minds and hearts was that Zubair was alive… and well. Aman took the photographs and scanned the photographs slowly to be sure those weren’t fake, or morphed. He put them back in the envelope knowing these were original although he knew he wasn’t an expert in identifying forgery. He turned to look at Prakash.

Prakash was observing them carefully. He was ready for the reaction to the photographs he had just shown to his visitors. It saved unnecessary explanations and convincing. He knew questions would be coming and he had the answers to each. He wanted the conversations to be prolonged and elaborate. That was the purpose of inviting Rukhsar to India. He changed the topic to surprise his guests. It would give them time to adjust to the reality. Can I ask both of you to join me for dinner?

The couple was taken by surprise. They were unsure how to respond. Prakash assumed command and led his guests to his car.

An hour and twenty minutes later, Prakash Rohatgi pulled the car in a large compound of an old, well maintained farmhouse. He opened the gates with a remote control device and drove into a lengthy driveway till the car stopped in front of a modest looking door. He looked at his guests and saw apprehensions on their faces. He smiled, You have nothing to worry about. You have my word that you are safe here.

Rukhsar and Aman looked at each other; for some reason it was evident that they both trusted Prakash Rohatgi. Aman Bux nodded at Prakash and led Rukhsar out of the car and followed Prakash into the house.

What area is this? Aman asked Prakash casually.

Technically, it is in the National Capital Region, NCR, as it is called, otherwise it is in the district of Ghaziabad in the state of Uttar Pradesh. This is my farmhouse; also my residence and work place.

-     -     -

A young man in his late twenties had replaced the burqa-clad woman for the nightshift. He had been ordered to keep track of the movements of Aman Khan & Rukhsar, and follow them, and report back. The young man saw the Pakistani couple and a stranger drive away in the car. The tall, well-built man ran to his car and followed them. He could not afford to miss them. Lieutenant Altaf Khos did not wish to fail his General.

-     -     -

Prakash unlocked the door and guided the couple into the house. I have a reason for bringing you people here. There must be many questions in your minds. This is where you will get answers to all your questions, he said and escorted them into a huge lounge, which is called ‘hall’ or ‘drawing room’ in India. The lounge was sparsely decorated, with minimum furnishings but it had a strange look because the walls on three sides were lined with books; it looked more like a library than a residence. Prakash Rohatgi did his best to shake Rukhsar out of her disbelief but failed; Aman, however, seemed to have done pretty well.

A totally confused Rukhsar was still holding Aman’s hand. She was unwilling to accept Prakash Rohatgi’s version that her father, who swore by his country, and followed the legacy of the family of joining the armed forces could ever defect, especially to the arch enemy. She looked at Aman Khan’s hands clasping hers, giving her comfort and even solace, if that was possible. Impossible! My father is not a traitor, or a defector, no matter what the situation, she said loudly more to herself than to the two men in the room.

Both men understood her feelings. Before Aman could speak Prakash Rohatgi intervened, Miss Rukhsar Ahmed, you should have something to eat before we talk about this. When you hear what I have to say, and why I have invited you, I am sure you won’t be as distraught as you are. Instead, you will appreciate his situation. Please bear with me for some time.

Prakash Rohatgi asked his maid to serve dinner. During the meal he shot down any attempt on conversation about Zubair.

After dinner he led his guests to one of the rooms which opened into the lounge. This room was a contrast to the lounge or the rest of the house. It was a big room; forty feet wide, sixteen feet long and twelve feet high. The room was fully equipped with ultramodern devices and lined with books on two sides of the walls, from ceiling to floor, and from wall to wall, except the walls on the other two sides of the room. Next to the door frame, there was a bank of television sets lining the length and breadth of that wall. In the centre of the room was a desk with