Assault Rifle
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Extracts from diaries of Indian Army Officers posted in J&K during height of militancy.
Courtesy: Ghost of ***.
For Whom The Whistle Blows.
31st May.
Lots of pressure from above. “No kills ! No kills ! What the f*** are you guys doing? C’mon dammit ! Its time you did something to earn your pay ” Damn !! What do I do? Been moving around the Area of Responsibility (AOR) day and night. Overt and covert patrols. Listening to bullshit from scores of so called ’sources’ all through the day. Monitoring militant frequencies. The works. But all to no avail. No luck at all. Jahangir was spotted last night. Gul Dar was spotted in the day. Amir Khan is organising a conference, etc etc etc. The information goes on pouring in. But I don’t want information. I want intelligence. Hard intelligence. Don’t want those m***** f*****’s itineraries, want their bodies. Jeez ! Got to do something. But what??????
Anyways, forget the despair. Its a pleasant summer morning. Lets go patrolling in W village. Send Man Friday to check if the guys are ready. Affirmative. Lets go boys !
Walking through the village. Kuldeep is point. I’m behind him. Balbirs close to me with the LMG (Light Machine Gun). The rest of the guys following. Moving on both sides of the road. Fingers on triggers. Eyes constantly searching. But there's nothing unusual. The locals are awake. Moving around with their routine chores. Kids off to school. Another day when I go back and say “NTR (Nothing to Report)” ??
Whats that??????? I hear a low whistle. Look around. See nothing out of the ordinary. Damn !! Then why the whistle? Whats up?
I get a hunch that somethings definitely fishy. Move off the road into a little alley. Moving fast. A slow jog. The guys follow. I look at the locals as i cross them. Theres definitely something. The look on their faces shows it.
The alley goes past a few huts and leads out of the village into the adjoining fields. I see scores of people there. Working. I halt. The guys take up positions. We do a slow, careful scan. Nothing.
Wait !!! Theres one guy about 300 metres away. Walking away from us through the fields. Tall, well built, wearing a salwar suit. But no weapon in sight. A local headed for his fields? Or somebody else? As I stare at him, he looks back. Can’t see his face at that distance but his pace definitely quickens. I take off. Running after him. Yelling “Stop !! Ruk Jao!!” My AKs at the ready as i run after him. He’s still walking. Doesn’t look back. Damn ! A false alarm?
I close in. About 50 metres away. Suddenly, i spot the barrel of a rifle coming over his shoulder. Jeez !! He ain’t looking back but he’s going to open fire. Should I shoot? Am I sure its a rifle barrel? Before I can decide, he decides for me. Lets loose a burst and starts running. Firing behind over his shoulder as he runs. I take cover and fire back. No luck. He doesn’t hit me and I return the favour. He’s moving further away now. I get off the ground. Think of my God and chase him. Firing on the move. Closing in.
Yippeee ! I’ve hit him. He’s limping. I slow down. Look back. My guys are right behind me. I signal to Balbir. He takes to the ground. LMG bipod down. A nice slow burst . Down goes the bad guy. Balbir stops firing. I run to the guy. He’s on the ground. All bloodied, chanting his prayers. Times up buddy !!
As I get close, i can see his face. Fair, handsome, young. His eyes look into mine as i get close and then he raises his rifle and lets go a burst. Whew !! That was close. Okay pal ! Thats how you want it? I stop, shift the change lever to ‘Single Shot’, look through the sight and knock his head off. Ciao ******* !
Abdul Majid. Hizbul Mujahideen. Good bye !!
Bombing The Bomber.
06 January
Brrr !! Its freezing. Am operating covert. Holed up the past two weeks in a gujjar (nomadic shepherds) hut in the hills overlooking K village. The gujjars come here from the plains only in the summers so the huts are deserted. I'm here, along with my buddy Karan, because FMs (Foreign Militants) are fond of using these secluded huts for shelter from the vagaries of winter. Hopefully I'll get some of them.
But so far, there's been no luck and I'm stuck to living in this ramshackle hut with no amenities and having to live with the overpowering smell of goats. Come to think of it, even I'm smelling like a goat and if my mirrors to be believed, looking like one too ' what with my beard deciding to go into totally unkempt mode.
My radio buzzes. Aha!! What's up? A militant conversation? No. It's the Indian Army frequency. Maybe a call for me. I hold the little Kenwood to my ear.
"Charlie for Khalid, Charlie for Khalid"
Yup ! It is for me. Charlies a friend of mine. A courageous, young Major from Texas (Haryana for the uninitiated) who I've known for the past few years. He's currently serving with the RR (Rashtriya Rifles) as a company commander and is based pretty close by.
"Khalid for Charlie, go ahead"
"Charlie for Khalid, request a meeting Sir"
"Khalid for Charlie, roger. Whats up?"
"Charlie for Khalid, talk when we meet"
I tie up details with him for a meeting and sign off. We meet that night in an apple orchard near K Village. Charlie's looking a trifle low.
"Whassup Charlie?", I ask of him.
" Nothing Sir. Lifes good, but I've had no luck ever since I took over this company and my Tiger (Commanding Officer) is breathing down my neck so hard that my butt feels like its got a fan attached to it".
"Hmmm. Okay ..but you do have some HM (Hizbul Mujahideen) guys floating around your AOR, isn't it? Why doncha knock em off? "
"I've tried everything I could Sir. Ambushes, CASOs (Cordon and Search Ops), Raids, etc etc etc. But no f****** luck. There's never any hard intelligence"
I ask Charlie what he wants of me.
"Sir, come operate with us for a little while. You might help us get a kill".
I think about it. I've heard about a small HM group operating in and around Charlie's AOR so maybe if we try something different, we could get some kills. In any case, I'm freezing my butt off up in the hills and have sweet f*** all to show for it. Might as well go and help out Charlie. Even if I can't help him, he'll definitely lift up the quality of my life for a while. He he ! So much for selfless soldiering.
The next day, Karan and I move into Charlie's company base. Aah ! Feels good to sleep in a warm hut and to have a long overdue bath. God ! I still don't look human, but I sure feel it.
The next day, I sit with Charlie, nursing a tall vodka and review his information, co-relating it with what my sources have been telling me.
There definitely is a group moving around the area. 3 or 4 HM guys. Identification NK (Not Known) but their leaders a guy called Farooq Ahmed alias Bomber Khan. I've heard of him. A nasty fellow, late 20s, Pak trained, an IED (Improvised Explosive Device) expert (hence the 'Bomber' sobriquet). An ideal candidate for immediate termination if ever there was one.
But how do we get him? He's been operating for a decade and he's alive. That just about says it all with reference to his being a smart and safe cookie.
Hmmm ! Conventional ops haven't worked. Neither have the locals reacted to Charlie's bribes, coercion, pampering or torture. Nobody's willing to put the finger on him.
Sigh !! Will need to do it our own way.
We dig deeper into the Bomber's life. Find out that he has a girl friend in Village D. That's a promising bit of information. These HM guys can stay away from any and everything barring their sisters, mothers, wives and girl friends NOT in that order of priority.
Karan and I move out that night to recce (reconnoitre) village D. Its located on the banks of the river. Open all around. Makes it tough to control entry or exit.
Anyways, I decide that we'll need to go with one plan and hope that it works. I discuss my plan with Charlie.
There'll be 4 of us. Charlie, his buddy, Karan and I. We'll operate covert, moving out after last light, laying an ambush at the crossing places on the river near village D, and
getting back into the company base before first light. We'll try this out 7 nights on the trot and then review.
11 January
Getting dark. Time to get ready and move for Day 1 of Operation Bomber Khan. Hopefully, well get him today itself. But then counter insurgency / counter terrorism has never been kind to the hopefuls, so my intuition is that we’ll get him, if at all, only by Day 4 or 5.
I yell across the wall of the hut to Charlie, ” We move at 1730.”
“Wilco Sir” , he yells back, sounding positively bubbly.
I send Man Friday to fetch Karan. He turns up soon enough, looking his usual cool, composed self. I ask him “Taiyyar ho Karan? Aaj shikaar milega?”
“Hamesha taiyar hain Saab, aur shikar ka kya kehna? Uski maut aaj likhi hai toh kaun taalega?”
Lol. Thats my buddy, one of the finest NCOs (Non Commisioned Officer) it has been my honour to serve with and lead.
Charlie and his buddy fetch up. Charlie’s buddy is a young Naik (Corporal, an NCO ) , looking a trifle tense. Maybe he’s never operated covert and isn’t too comfortable out of uniform and without his BPJ (Bullet Proof Jacket) and BPP (Bullet Proof Patka, a protective headgear). I ask him that and pat comes his reply, ” Saab, BPJ ho ya na ho, shareer toh faulad ka hai”. God ! I love these guys. Take my word for it people, theres no better soldier in the world than the Indian Army jawan.
I do a quick brief and at 1740 hours, we slip out of the camp, clad in phirans, salwars and nikes. AKs slung under the phirans. No heavy weapons. I’m the only guy carrying my faithful old dagger strapped to my leg and my 9mm Beretta tucked into my salwar. Otherwise, its just 4 guys with 4 AKs and 96 rounds each. Should be enough for Messrs Bomber Khan and Co though.
Its pretty dark, though not absolutely night time as yet. We walk along the track leading towards the river from BB (Charlie’s location). A few civilians on the track. We receive a few curious glances but nothing to trouble us. The idea when operating covert is to look like civilians to security forces and like militants to the civilians. Second nature for Karan and me, and Charlie and his buddy appear to be quick learners.
Brrrr !!! its miserably cold though. A light snowfall and the sky’s overcast. Looks like a very cold night ahead. But nothing can be done about it now. Like we’re fond of saying in the Army, ‘When rape is inevitable, lie back and enjoy it’.
An hours walk and we’re near the river line. We can see the lights of Village D to our left. We get off the track and walk through the snow to a little copse along the river. I ask the guys to wait and buzz off for a quick recce. All quiet. I get back and position the team. Charlie and his buddy to cover one little path coming from the river towards the village and Karan and I covering another one. We use our hands to scoop out snow and snuggle in. Its miserably cold, but then, no one invited us to join the Army, did they?
Keep lying there in the quiet, alert yet relaxed. Using our PNVGs (Passive Night Vision Goggles) to scan respective arcs of observation. The hours pass by. Nothing happening. Alls quiet and the only sound I can hear is the occasional rustle of plastic as one of the guys uses a poly bag to take a leak.
0130 hours. I hear something. But it's from the direction of the village. Damn ! We're not sited to effectively fire on someone exiting the village. It can be done , but only after shifting positions in situ and while Karan and I can do it with ease, I doubt if Charlie and/or his buddy won't give away his position. Anyways, we just lie doggo and wait. Soon enough I can make out that the sound is of someone approaching. I look through my PNVG. The damn tree line is obstructing my field of view. I wait. The sounds closer now. Sure enough I see someone approaching. It's a man in a phiran. Good. But I'll have to wait till I'm sure I spot a weapon. He gets very close to me. Stops. Squats on the ground, relieves himself and heads back towards the village. Yuk !! False (and smelly) alarm !!!!
We stay put for another hour or so and at 0300 hours, I decide to call it off. A signal to Charlie. We get up and head back.
Getting close to Charlie's camp. Walking on the track in single file, Charlie leading. Cold, disappointed and lost in our personal thoughts. I'm looking forward to getting into a warm sleeping bag with a mug of hot tea.
Shit !!!!!!! A search light on us. We freeze. It passes over us. I whisper to Charlie. "What the f*** was that?"
"Oh hell Sir, I forgot to factor this in. It's a BSF (Border Security Force) post next to my camp. They use that light at night to pick up movement on this track. I forgot about it"
I give him a scathing look, which he missed cos of the dark, or else he'd have gone up in flames.
Anyways, we get off the track and slowly move ahead.
The lights back, hovers over us and before you can say 'F***', an LMG opens up.
We crash onto the ground and start crawling away from the track. Another light AND another LMG open up on us. Crawlings too slow and there are too many bullets flying around. I get to my feet and sprint to a nearby grove across a snow covered field. The others follow.
Whew !! Safe.
The firing stops after a while. Nobody ventures out from either Charlie's camp or from the BSF post. Thank the good Lord for soldiers who prefer LMGs to CQB (Close Quarter Battle).
Sigh !! Nothing to do but wait it out in the trees. We hang around and as first light breaks, we head back.
No further incident. We reach Charlie's company base and head for our beds, but not before I tick Charlie off , well and proper.
The poor guys crestfallen, but then he's got to learn, isn't it?
12 January.
Day 2. After a snooze, Charlie and I get together over a late breakfast. He still appears despondent. I ask him to chill, saying that forgetting about the BSF wasn't THAT bad. It doesn't matter now that we're back , that too without being punctured by those LMG bullets.
"That's ok Sir, but I don't think we'll get Bomber or his group this way".
"Why?" I ask, more than a trifle miffed at his sudden lack of confidence in my op planning.
"Sir, we're restricting ourselves to very few hours. What if he comes just once a week or so? And what if he visits Village D only by day?"
"Charlie, in this kinda war, don't bother about what ifs. Follow a hunch, plan your op based on that and persevere till you waste him".
"Roger Sir" , says Charlie with a wry smile. He knows me. Never say die just say 'kill'.
We however, talk about the previous night and modify the plan a wee bit. We'll move into position a bit earlier. That's to hit Bomber in case he likes getting into the village just after last light. And we'll stick on till just short of first light, cos if he's there, that's the time he'll leave the village. In this kind of weather, a guy would want as many hours in the warm embrace of his girl friend as he can possibly squeeze (pun totally unintended) in. Of course, enhanced hours of lying in the snow on our tummies increase the chances of our dicks turning into icicles and falling off, but then can't be helped, can it?
The rest of the day passes by. I clean my rifle and pistol, oil my dagger and replace the PNVG batteries. Meet a couple of Ikhwans (members of a counter insurgent group, surrendered militants) and generally try building up my data base of this particular area.
1700 hours. I'm ready to move. Its still day light and we're going to get spotted on our move up to the river. No sweat. I know the cops in this area. They never step outside of the police station, unless it's to pick up a pack of fags from the shop opposite their gate. Charlie's met the BSF platoon commander and squared him up. So, unless destiny deals us a whammy, tonight we're unlikely to meet up with any security forces/police guys and/or their projectiles. The civilians will look at us and then look away. Their life goes on. Ho hum!!!
Green on, go! We head out. Will get lucky tonight, insha'allah!
We walk to the ambush site, get into position and wait. I've modified the positioning this time so as to be able to cover entry and exit to/from the village. 1900 hours. Pitch dark. Nothing. 2100 hours. Pitch dark. Nothing. 2300 hours. Pitch dark. Nothing. 0100 hours. Pitch dark. Nothing. 0300 hours. Pitch dark. Nothing. I just lie in my little snowy fox hole, looking at nothing through my PNVG. Minds drifting. Missing wife and kids. Wonder when I'll get leave. 0500 hours, I shake myself out of my semi domesticated reverie and decide that it's time to head back. Another NTR day.
Signal to Charlie. All 4 of us get up, brush off the snow and slowly move out of the copse.
I however decide to change the route we'll take to get back. Don't want to get ambushed by some not so nice bunch of characters that's got onto us. Still pitch dark. A light snowfall and a heavy fog. I'm leading. Karan, Charlie and his buddy following in single file. We walk along a field, on the narrow embankment that generally separates two fields.
Done a few klicks (kilometers). I suddenly hear something. In fact, more sense than hear. I halt. So do the others. We wait quietly and try to pick up any sounds. Nothing.
The trudge resumes.
All of sudden, before I can say "Oops!", I bump into a guy walking on the same embankment from the opposite side. I can vaguely make out at least another person behind him.
"Who are you? Hands up!" I yell out in Kashmiri, my AK barrel pointed at his belly from under my phiran.
"I'm from village D", he replies. "Getting back after spending the night in the neighbouring village. We'd gone to attend a function there. Who're you?"
I can't see any weapon on him. "Hands up!" I repeat nonetheless.
As he raises his hands, his phiran hikes up a bit and I suddenly spot a glint of metal.
F*** !!!! I can't be sure, but sure be damned. I let loose a single shot. He falls to the ground, as does the guy behind him. All of a sudden I can't see them.
Whoops!!!! The buggers are firing at me. Yikes ! I jump off the embankment onto the field. My guys have followed the same train of thought and therefore arrived at the same station. All four of us on our bellies in the snow covered field, off the embankment. At least two guys that we can't see, firing at us .and firing like there's going to be no tomorrow. I did hit the guy I bumped into, but he definitely isn't dead. There's too much fire coming our way for it to be from just one guy.
Thunk ! Whats that? Jeeeeez !!!!!!!! I can spot a shiny little thingummy fallen next to me. Looks suspiciously like an AK-47 UBGL (Under Barrel Grenade Launcher) grenade, and given our current environs, that's what it is in all probability. I'm all set to kiss my butt goodbye, wishing I could be like those guys in the movies that pick up grenades chucked at them and politely chuck them back. But, the long 'life line' on my palm seems to mean something. The evil little grenade doesn't go off.
F*** ! This won't do. I slither away from my current position and move up, hugging the embankment. Firings still on, from both sides. Wonder what Charlie and his buddy can see to fire at. I know Karan. Like me, he will never fire unless there's a target to fire at. Anyways, guess Charlie and his buddy believe in deterrence.
As I crawl forward, I spot what seems to be a guy lying on the embankment. And yes, it IS a guy, cos the flashes coming from him show he's firing towards his front. Thank God, I'm besides him and he ain't looking my way. I stand, point my rifle at the vague outline of his body and let loose a long burst, spraying the bullets top to bottom.
Silence. He's definitely dead. But what of the other. I sure as hell know there was more than one. I yell out for Charlie. The guys crawl up to me. We confer in whispers and decide to spread out astride the embankment and go looking, just in case the other bad guys still around.
Karan and I move ahead, along the embankment. A few steps and we get fired at. Jeez!! Whats today? The frigging 4th of July? Karan and I are both too pissed off to take position. We just fire back at the flashes. A couple of bursts each.The guys stopped firing. We edge forward towards where the flashes were. Now we hear him chanting his ‘dying, dying, dead’ prayers. I let loose another burst at him. Walk towards him. Feel with my nikes. Yep ! He's got to be dead cos he's not responding to my playing footsie with his body. Just to be sure, out comes my Zippo. Confirmed. One more dead man. Any more? We wait in situ.
Its getting to be first light. Now we can see the two bodies. Weapons with both of them, so no chances of us having inflicted any 'collateral damage'.
Charlie radios his company, giving them our position. In a little while, some guys fetch up, accompanied by a cop from the local police station. Karan and I slink into the background, as we always do when there are cops or civilians around. The hassles of operating covert.
The cop looks at the guys, mutters some prayers and announces " Bomber Khan!"
That was it!
Farooq Ahmed alias Bomber Khan and Basheer Ahmed Dar. Hizbul Mujahideen. Good bye!! And if it's any consolation to you in your after life, you did nick me. A little graze on my right shoulder. Ta da!!
Vantage Point.
14 October
Gulzar’s come to meet me. Who’s he? Ah, well ! He’s one of my top sources. Around 60 years old. A widower. Ekes out a living by running a small saw mill in his village. He came across me one day when his teen aged son had a close encounter of the nasty kind with the electric saw and nearly lost his arm. Luckily I was around at that time and managed to use my ‘issue type’ morphine coupled with my rudimentary skills at suturing to help save that arm. Ever since, Gulzar became my friend and then progressed to becoming an invaluable source. Not that he doesn’t believe in the free market economy. Takes a lot of money off me, but since most of it is originally HM/HUA/LeT, I don’t mind. Easy come, easy go ! Long as it gets me kills, I’m happy.
Ayways, so he’s come to meet me. The preliminary exchage of pleasantries and as he settles down on the floor, I ask him what brings him to me here. I generally avoid meeting my sources at ‘home’. For their own good health and longeivity.
He informs me that he’s got something major up his sleeve, but would like to talk money first. I remind him that the going rates have gone nowhere and the old agreement stands. 10 k for each kill that he facilitates. Payable only ex post facto.
The evil glint in his eyes tells me that he’s in the mood to bargain. Which either means that he’s very hard up for cash and will try to take me for a ride, or that he’s got something really good.
Its the latter.
It emerges that his nephew, a young fellow who generally lives life in the twilight zone, doing odd jobs for the militants, the cops, the Army and himself, has been approached by an OGW to act as a guide for a newly inducted LeT group, all Afghans. This group is currently hiding up in the hills, but needs to come down to civilisation for logistical reasons.
Gulzar tells me that for a sum of Rs 1 lakh, he’ll home me onto this group when they’re inside a village. He’s discussed it with his nephew and if I’m willing to part with a radio set, the nephew will pass on the name of the village to me once it’s decided.
I remind Gulzar that Afghan militants are nasty and ruthless characters and are not likely to take kindly to a guide equipped with a radio set. I also tell him that he ought to stop talking rot where the pecuniary aspects are concerned. Theres no way I’m shelling out that kind of money for a couple of filthy militants, Afghan or not.
Well ! He’s obviously thought it all out. He tells me that the nephew will keep the radio off and well hidden and only use it once, as soon as it’s decided which village they’re moving into. After that, he’ll throw it away to avoid any risk whatsoever. And as far as the money angle goes, a lakh is not asking for too much. Because there are 7 militants, 6 Afghans and a Kashmiri, and that would make it 70 k in any case. And because his nephew’s life is at risk due to chances of being killed along with the militants, he’s asking for an additional 30 k.
Hmmm. I can’t argue with that.
This whole show gets on the road tomorrow night. So after giving him a radio set, I rush off to apprise the Brigadier. He immediately sends for the CO (Commanding Officer) of the RR unit in whose AOR this bunch of FMs is moving around and we decide that the RR battalion will stay on alert to move and act, the moment I receive the information from Gulzar’s nephew. Towards this end, I’ll be co located with the RR CO.
All seems pretty much tickety boo and I go off to sleep looking forward happily to the morrow. Hopefully, this should be a neat and clean, copy book op.
15 October
I wake up in a cheery mood and spend the first half of the day cleaning my weapons and generally thinking out all possible contingencies. Can’t think of many. If the nephew delivers the name of the village, a CASO should achieve the needful without any hassles.
Post lunch, I drive off to the RR battalion’s location. Karan, much against his wishes, is left behind. He’s running a bad fever and in any case, with an entire RR unit to do the job, I do not visualise my getting involved in the nitty gritties of the op.
The CO and I sit with the Company Commanders over tea and discuss which are the likely villages the militants can come into. We’re all agreed that it’ll be one of the 5-6 villages situated at the base of the hills. Graphical layouts of each of these villages are studied and plans made for each scenario, with specific tasking for each of the companies.
Time passes by and just after last light, everyone decides to have a quick bite and relax till the news arrives.
16 October
0047 hours. The radio’s buzzing. “Khalid saab, Aslam bol raha hoon, over.”
“Haan Aslam, bolo.” I whisper back.
“Hum C gaon jaa rahe hain. Out.”
Move! Move! Move!
And damn! damn! damn!
C Village is the largest village in the area. Around 500 houses spread over 4 mohallas (localities). A CASO is going to be tough and time consuming.
But we’ve catered for it in the planning and the RR CO is not bothered at all. He tells me that his unit has done so many ops there that every man knows the village like the curves of his wife.
We move out ASAP and by 0430 hours, are on the outskirts of the village. I watch in silence as the CO does his last minute briefing and coordination.
The company columns move off to their respective objective areas. A, B, C and D to cordon one mohalla each. E to act as reserve.
I move off with the CO’s party. We spot a double storied, flat roofed house on the periphery of the village and spotting a wooden ladder by the side, climb up and settle down on the roof. It’s a good vantage point. We can see most of the village from here. Communications are set up. Tea is made and served. We are well situated to control ops. Excitement level is high and we sit in cosy comfort, waiting for contact to be established.
Reports start coming in over the radio. Each company reporting. Cordon in place. Checked personally by the company commander. Each cordon as tight as the proverbial rat’s butt.
First light. Searches commence in each mohalla. We’re tensed up. Contact should be established any moment. From our vantage point, we can see the locals filing out of their houses and assembling outside the village to facilitate the search within. My ears are straining to hear the sound of firing. Should be any time now.
0800. Nothing. Search is still on.
1200. Nothing. All houses have been searched once.
1600. Nothing. A second search has been effected.
1800. Nothing.
It’s getting dark. The CO gives me a very nasty look and orders his unit to pull out. He gets the Brigadier on the radio. “NTR. I’m moving back. The info was abs crap.”
I resent the bit about the crap, but hold my silence.
We get back to the Battalion HQ and without further ado, I take my leave and drive back. Wondering all the while what went wrong.
17 October
It’s evening. I’m still brooding over the op. What a bloody disappointment. Words with, or rather, from the Brigadier haven’t made things any better.
Man Friday turns up. “Gulzar aaya hai, saab.”
Ah ! Just the man I want to meet. And just the man who’s neck I’m going to wring with my bare hands.
“Saab, kya kar diya aapne? ” he says as he walks in.
What I said in reply cannot be articulated here due to censors and such like.
“Arre Saab, sab gadbad kar diya aapne. Haath aaye mujahidden jaane diye.”
Jaane diye? Haath aaye?
I grab him by the neck and shake him hard.
“You f****** let me down Gulzar. There were no militants there.”
” Kya baat karte ho Saab. Allah kasam. Wahin par the.”
“Kahan the? Poore gaon ka search hua. Teen baar.”
“Saab, jis makan ki chhat par aap aur CO saab baithe the. Uske andar the.”
F*** !!!!!!!!!!!!
Gulzar didn’t get any money.
I didn’t get any militants.
My ego got a kick on it’s fat butt.
Combing the Capital.
23 February
"Charlie for Khalid, Charlie for Khalid."
Not the ideal words, voice and tone to be waking up to, but apni apni kismet hai.
"Khalid for Charlie, go ahead." I mumble, only half awake as I stick a paw out of my warm sleeping bag to grab the little Kenwood.
"Charlie for Khalid, my company base came under attack last night."
Whattttttt ???
F*** !!! This is crazy !! Charlie's company is located in an area where these kinds of things do not happen. What's going on?
I'm more than fully awake now and I quickly get the details from Charlie. Just after midnight, his camp got fired upon from a hillock that overlooks it from the north. No casualties, barring a jeep that suffered some GSW (gun shot wounds) on its bonnet and two store tents that suddenly found themselves reconfigured with a few neat, circular ventilating vents.
Charlie's lads fired back with LMGs and RLs and a QRT (Quick Reaction Team) was sent off to out flank the attackers, but by the time they got there, nary a soul was around. They found some fired cases, all AK and spotted some foot prints. But nothing that could lead them anywhere or to anyone. A plain and simple 'fire and f*** off' op or for those who take umbrage to my less than placid language, a 'shoot and scoot' op.
Charlie goes on to inform me that he'll be working on his neighbourhood to seek out information on this and requests me to also put in my 8 annas bit towards this end.
"Wilco, out" is my response as I sign off, mulling over this event.
Like I said, these kind of things don't happen in this area. And then, an attack with just AKs? The hillocks too far away for rifle fire to be effective. If the militants had used PIKAs or rockets, I'd understand. And if this was anyways going to be an ineffective attack, then why launch it? Nothing to gain and there's always the risk of the baddies bumping into a patrol at night.
Anyways, its too early in the morning to tax my limited grey matter and I yell out for Man Friday to charge my batteries with some tea.
Later in the morning, I'm out with Karan headed for Charlie's location. He isn't there when we reach but I get to hear the story from some of his jawans. Nothing new.
I then venture across to the hillock, Karan and I pretending to be Messrs Holmes and Watson, sans the homburg and pipe, but come up with nothing.
I head back to Charlie's location and find that he's back. He tells me he's asked around but has got no news at all. The poor guy is all low and blue because getting a camp attacked by militants is a big insult. Sadly, I can do nothing to lift his spirits so after advising him to stay on the alert for a few days to avoid a repeat, I head back to my hidey hole.
The next few days I ask around, but zilch is all I get.
01 March
"Charlie for Khalid."
Sigh !! Another wake up call from Charlie. Now what?
"Charlie for Khalid, another attack last night."
Jeez !!!
Similar attack, from the same location. Same reaction from Charlie's angels. Same result.
Except ..no jeep and no tents got hit. And ..Charlie's guys have found blood on the hillock, from where the militants fired. The trail leads to a point but then dies. No further leads.
Now this is really getting crazy. Has some militant or group of militants lost their head? What ARE they trying to achieve?
I start my snooping around with renewed interest and vigour. Some crispies are handed out. Some locals are pulled in and questioned .some politely and some not so politely. Ikhwans, cops, BSF, other Army units .everyone's asked .but with no luck.
Leaping Lollipops !!! I'm beginning to believe the ghost of Bomber Khan is at it .trying to extract some kind of revenge.
04 March
I'm informed that I'm right, or nearly so.
My good and trusted source Gulzar turns up with the news that this whole thing has been engineered by the remnants of Bomber's gang along with a new lot of HM jerks who've just inducted into this area. They're being led by an Al Badr (another militant tanzeem) Pakistani and want to 'make their bones' ASAP.
But what will they achieve by this stand off kind of thingy is my doubt and it gets answered when Gulzar tells me that the plan was for two guys to fire from the hillock, while the rest of the militants laid an ambush for the troops that were sent on an outflank move. The first time they studied the reaction and the second time, they laid the ambush along the route the platoon would take. Sadly for the militants, and happily for our boys, the QRT didn't follow the same route.
Gulzar goes on to tell me that of the two militants that were on the hillock, ones got splinter injuries from a Karl Gustav rocket. The guy's knee has been badly jacked and he's undergoing treatment in Srinagar. The others have melted into the environment.
All this Gulzar has got from another Kilo who knows another Kilo who knows another Kilo who knows the Kilo that took the wounded HM chap to Srinagar. And if I want to know more, I need to get to THAT Kilo. Whew !!!
Financial negotiations get underway and after Gulzar has considerably lightened the little leather pouch I store my crispies in, as well as a few 100 grams of tea leaves that I got from a friend located in the cushy environs of a tea garden in Assam, he leaves. I'm left behind with the name and village of the Kilo that took the militant to Srinagar.
Time to get to work on this gentleman.
05 March
I spend the morning thinking about how to proceed from here. There's no way that I just go meet this particular Kilo and he'll tell me everything. The other option is to 'pick' him up and 'squeeze' him, but what if he's abs innocent? Gulzar's information is 4 times removed and in Kilo Land, that's 4 times too many.
I decide. I'll need to get some independent corroboration of some kind. But this guy shouldn't get to know that I'm interested in him, else he'll vanish. Need to adopt some other approach.
Off I head to the Ikhwan camp. Luckily, there's some kind of meeting on and all their 'commanders' are present. I join in and get down to brass tacks, asking for information on the attacks on Charlie's base.
They all take off, going blah blah blah, but not one of those 'blahs' is worth the while.
I then ask them if anyone's got info on any wounded militant and one young guy pipes in to say that he's heard about it. Not confirmed, but there are rumours that Jahangir has been wounded. He's from the same village and some relation told him about it during a visit to town.
Wow !!! Jahangir huh? I know the guy. A veteran militant. HM. Belongs to Village M. I've been after him but with no luck. Pretty smart operator with tremendous clout in his village and the surrounding area. But he wasn't in Bomber's gang. Which means, if it is him, he could now be part of this new Al Badr group. Which is likely, because the ****'s have been trying to merge the HM with the Al Badr or at least get it under Al Badr leadership, even at the grass root level.
I ask this Ikhwan to come along with me, and bidding adieu to the motley gang, trot off, homewards bound.
The rest of the day is spent picking the young Ikky's brains about Mr Jahangir.
I learn that he's lost his parents. Has two unmarried sisters, both of whom teach in the village school. One younger brother, who lives in town and works as a shop assistant. Jahangir leads a reasonably clean life. No bullying, no stealing, no womanizing. Generally hangs around Village M but has a very strong EW network and has never got anywhere near being nabbed. Is much attached to his sisters and vice versa. Other than his sisters, he is close to an uncle, his 'mama', who lives in the neighbouring village. Name is Rashid Mir, Village W.
Aha !! I don't need to look into my little black book for this one. The name Gulzar gave me was Rashid Mir, resident of Village W.
I thank the Ikky for his time. Give him a bottle of rum, which he will sell for gold and send him off, but not before telling him to try find out more about Jahangir's current status.
Early dinner and I knock off, reasonably pleased with myself. I think I now have sufficient cause to 'lift' Mr RM. But before that, I need to do something else.
06 March
Post breakfast, I'm off to meet Charlie. I gen him up on all the khabar and my plans for the future. Thereafter, we both push off to Village M, headed for the village school.
We go meet the principal and Charlie informs him that this school is very high on his company's civic action horizon and that he plans to do something for them. Only, he'd like ideas from the faculty on how the Army can help so that the funds and other resources are optimally utilized.
The faculty troops in a wee while later, 4 in number, of which only ones a lady. What's this? I thought both of Jahangir's sisters taught here. But there's only one femme, unless the other ones into cross dressing or whatever.
A discussion commences and goes on for about an hour, with none of the participants realizing that Charlie's talking through his hat (or BPP in this case). Finally, it ends and an agreement is reached that Charlie will build an additional classroom as well as gift some cash for buying books and so on.
The teachers push off and we're left with the principal. I compliment him on his bright and committed faculty, while expressing my surprise that there's only one lady on the staff. In an emancipated state like J&K, one would expect more. He informs me that there is another lady, in fact the sister of the one we met, but right now she's on a spot of leave.
Aha !!! The dots seem to be getting joined. Let's see what picture emerges finally.
Charlie and I return to his camp and after lunch, I apprise him of my plans for the morrow. Thereafter, I head home via the Ikhwan camp where I pick up a battered old civilian jeep as well as my young Ikhwan friend of Village M.
06 March
Sunday morning, and I'm up with the lark. Well, an early lark, so to speak. Its 0200 hours and it's time for action.
Karan and I get into the aforementioned jeep along with the Ikhwan and set course for Village W, reaching the outskirts by 0300 hours. Having alighted, we set off into the village, the young Ikky guiding us to the residence of Rashid Mir, Esq.
A knock, silence, another knock and the door opens. Happily for us, and sadly for Rashid, the doors opened by him. A quick, silent grab and we head back to the jeep, and thence, drive back to my hidey hole. I've a little guest room of sorts as part of my palace .a little shed that at some point in time housed cattle, and Rashid is dumped there to ponder his fate. Trussed and bound, if that's the correct term.
The good guys, who include me, go to bed.
I wake up a few hours later and am informed by Karan that our guest is in good health, though not in good cheer. Not surprising at all.
After getting ready, I head downstairs to meet him. A normal looking guy in his 50s. I wish him a respectful salaam but instead of a wale-qum-as-salaam, I get a barrage of queries like where is he, who are we, why is he here, what do we want and such like unimportant stuff. I politely remind him that given the circumstances, the script dictates that all questions will be asked by me and his sole job is to provide answers with accuracy, brevity, clarity and honesty.
He displays belligerence but after a few words and suitable actions, we are both agreed on the fact that he will talk.
"Where is Jahangir?"
"I don't know."
Whack !!
"In Srinagar".
"Who took him there?"
"I don't know."
Whack !!
"I did."
Our discussions go on in this vein till around noon. Thereupon, fearing for his health and well being, I allow him a break for lunch and introspection, after which talks resume.
By evening, Rashid Mir has given me all that he has and I have a fair idea of what transpired. It took time and I learnt a lesson. The youth think they're immortal and so don't fear death. The aged know they're mortal and so don't fear death. They realise its inevitability.
Anyways, the story, narrated reluctantly by Rashid Mir, goes like this.
Jahangir got injured. He went and hid in the orchards. Uncle was sent for. Uncle arrived. Thereafter, Uncle arranged for a car and took Jahangir to Srinagar. Zarina, one of the sisters, went along. Found a room on rent. Then found a surgeon. Got Jahangir checked out. Uncle returned same evening. Learnt from Zarina via telephone two days later that surgery has been conducted successfully. No further news. Last known, Jahangir is recuperating in the rented room with Zarina playing Florence Nightangle.
Armed with all this information as well as the address of the rented accommodation, I'm all set for progressing the search for Mr J in Srinagar.
07 March
I call Charlie over and we discuss and finalise plans.
2000 hours. We set off for Srinagar. Even Karan and I are in regular uniform. Too many trigger happy security forces guys in the capital, of all hues and types, to take any chances. I leave instructions with Man Friday to take Rashid out at midnight, walk him a couple of klicks, remove his blindfold, untie his hands and grant him freedom.
Later in the night, we're there. Charlie with 7 jawans, Karan, the Ikhwan and me.
We park the vehicles near a CRPF (Central Reserve Police Force) post and walk into a locality of downtown Srinagar called Habba Kadal.
Combing the capital commences
Habba Kadal is a congested locality. Loads of houses/apartments cramped together with narrow alleys running through the area. Essentially, a lower middle class/middle class residential area.
I ain't very comfortable in these environs. Can get ambushed from anywhere, anytime. But then this isn't Sarajevo. I don't think there are going to be snipers perched on the rooftops waiting to get my head in their cross hairs. Nonetheless, I'll be happy to get out of here.
The CRPF guide I've picked up from their post leads us to the address I've provided him. After taking us through one narrow alley through another, he deposits us outside a double storied block and makes a hurried retrograde move back to safety.
The neighbouring blocks are much the same and theres no place at all to deploy the men. I'll just have to leave them out in the alley. In any case, I'm neither expecting an attack on them from anywhere nor do I think Jahangir will be physically in a position to come out with guns blazing.
Anyways, the idea is to nab him peacefully inside.
Towards this end, Charlie, Karan, the Ikhwan and I move to the door and address it with a rap of my knuckles. Oops ! I've forgotten. I'm in civilization. There's a switch for a call bell and that gets addressed with a gentle push.
After a wee while, we hear some movement and the door is opened by a middle aged guy. We barge in before there's any talk and shut the door. We find ourselves in a little hallway with a staircase going up. On one side is a room, but the door is shut. Charlie and Karan check it out and find a living room of sorts. Devoid of any inhabitant. A door from within that leads to another room, a kitchen cum store, and thence to a little courtyard with toilets at one end and a door which I assume, leads out from the back.
We quickly rush up and get to the first floor. Two doors. I push the master of the house ahead of me and kick open one door. It's a bedroom with a double bed occupied by a very surprised and scared looking lady. This guys wife, I'm informed by him.
We move to the next room. A boot on the door and it swings open. A sleeping form under a quilt on the floor. As Karan puts the muzzle of his AK to what seems to be a human head under the quilt, the old man yells out, "That's my son, don't kill him."
I have no intention of doing so is what I tell the fellow unless ..he tells me where Jahangir is hidden.
"Who Jahangir? What Jahangir? Which Jahangir?"
While this is going on, the other three move around and come back to me with an NTR.
NTR? Where IS Jahangir? There has to be another room.
The lady is up and about now and is yelling blue murder. We calm her down and leaving the Ikhwan to talk to her, we take the father and son duo downstairs.
But what do I ask them? There's no room that could've been rented out.
Did Rashid Mir take me for a ride?
It seems to appear so. I think this has been a classical wild goose chase.
Anyways, before I go back and re-establish contact with Rashid, I decide to talk to these two guys.
They both tell me they've no idea what I'm talking about. There has been no tenant or tenants in their house, ever. So on, so forth.
I realize I'm wasting my time and decide to get out of here.
Just as I inform Charlie of my decision, the Ikhwan, who was prowling around in the kitchen and courtyard, comes in excitedly, holding something in his hand.
It's a garbage pail. He informs me that it was outside the kitchen and wants me to take a look.
Has the guy gone crazy?
Anyways, I peer in and lo and behold, what do I see?
Lots of usual household muck.
And lots of unusual muck like blood stained bandages and cotton swabs, empty vials, disposable syringes.
Aha !!
I look questioningly at the old man.
"I don't know anything."
Sigh !!
I ask both the guys who put all this into their garbage pail.
"It's not ours", says the son.
"My wife is unwell with some gynae problems and is undergoing treatment", says the father, simultaneously.
Double sigh !!!
A few knocks to father and son fail to evict anything out of their mouths.
I don't have much time. We have to be out of Srinagar before day break. This isn't a city you can mess around in with nonchalance. There are rules and laws and stuff.
I grab the sons hand, spread it out on the table and pull out my cutlery. "All fingers go if you don't talk fast" is what I tell them, the tip of the dagger drawing a little blood from the back of his hand.
The two guys look at me and then at each other. I see resignation in their eyes.
"I'll take you to them" yells out the son.
I release his hand and he takes us through the courtyard to the door leading out from the back.
Only, it doesn't lead out. I had merely assumed that. He points to it and says "They are here."
We got Jahangir .. alive.
The young man got to keep his fingers intact.
Courtesy: Ghost of ***.
rednecks of India? 
