The Bait in the Trap

 

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

——Nietzsche

JAVED JABBAR WAS barely twenty-four years old, but time had not been very kind, making him look much older. In a lot of ways, he was still a grown up boy with the usual love for women, weapons and war. As a part of the training in Pakistan he had fired a sniper rifle and had immediately fallen in love. It was his dream to possess one. He knew that the Gujjars along the border, who acted as guides and porters, often stashed away the odd consignment of equipment that came across from Pakistan into Kashmir.

Tantra was one of those elusive figures who in the world of the jehadis was known to have collected a huge stockpile of war-like equipment. He had started his career as a porter and graduated to become one of the most successful guides. In the three years that he was in the business of border crossings, he had apparently accumulated enough stock to start a small war. Instead, Tantra started a business and was the local arms dealer.

While ferrying equipment across from Pakistan as a porter, he and his friend would often secretly cache the load and report back the loss on grounds of bad weather, interception by the Indian army or a host of other reasons which the Pakistani authorities had no way of verifying, even if they suspected anything. The border, in the early years of militancy, was fairly porous and the Pakistanis made full use of this, ensuring a steady stream of supply into Indian territory, while the passes remained free of snow during summer. It was the disappearance of vast stock and regular pilferage over the years, that led to Tantra getting the boot from the job.

Over the years, the tales of his huge stock of weapons were embellished and his secret caches were supposedly spread right across the Shamshabari range. The surrendered local militants who operated with the army, often talked about mule caravans loaded with equipment led by Tantra and his friend Bilal, disappearing regularly. Bilal was apparently killed by the army in an ill-fated border crossing, but the locals believed that Tantra had eliminated his best pal.

Needless to say, Tantra was a marked man by both the security forces and the militants and he did the only thing any man in his shoes would have done. He became a shadow, a ghost figure, often heard on the radio but never seen. Tiger and Tantra were from the same village and had been classmates for a brief period while they were at school. They went into the same line of work and stayed in touch off and on. While Tiger belonged to the Harkat, Tantra was a member of the all Gujjar militant group called the Al-Burq.

Tiger now mentioned his connection with Tantra to Javed during one of their radio conversations and agreed to fix a meeting between them. But first, he insisted both the buyer and the seller should talk over the radio. Tantra confirmed possessing the long bandook (as Javed called the sniper rifle) and the price, after a bit of haggling, was fixed.

There was a time when Tantra had a huge stock of weapons, but over the years he had sold most of it. The leftovers were weapons like small ladies pistols and detonators which had no market. He had never owned a sniper rifle. Tiger had paid him handsomely for playing along and Tantra was least interested in knowing what his intentions were when he got Javed, dead or alive. As far as he was concerned, the betrayal did not bother him. After all, both were Kashmiris while he was a Gujjar, and both belonged to different militant groups. If it came down to choosing, then his loyalty was clearly with his old school mate.

Sher Khan and Tiger were sitting in Dharia village drinking tea, when Tantra called on Tiger’s radio. The conversation was brief, its purport clear.

‘Hello Tiger, asalaam-walekum, all okay. The bird will be at Bukhari point just before sundown. Khuda hafiz.’

Tiger looked at Sher Khan and smiled. ‘Jenab, your man has taken the bait, and he will be arriving at Bukhari point which is an hour’s walk from here in Urni Nar. There is an old, dilapidated bhaik, which used to be the point, where in the old days the local launch commander received the infiltrating group of brothers. Imtiaz should be here anytime, so that makes the three of us for the reception party.’

‘Don’t worry,’ answered Sher Khan, patting Tiger’s back. ‘You don’t need so many tigers to kill a jackal. You have done well, brother, and when I meet our seniors across, I shall speak highly of you. Now to make sure we are in ambush to receive the great mujahid and if possible I want him alive.’

Javed Jabbar had a long walk from Kalaruch to Bukhari point and at an easy pace, it had taken him nearly five hours. After collecting the weapon, he planned to spend the night at his sister’s house in Tenkpur village. He had an early lunch and had left around mid-day, quite excited at the prospect of his new toy. In a happy mood, with a stick in one hand and singing an old Kashmiri song, Javed Jabbar was quite oblivious to the danger that lurked ahead. He saw the dilapidated hut below, paused and lit a cigarette and then tossing his stick away, and had barely taken a step when a single shot rang out.

Reflexively he threw himself off the path before more rifles joined the song of death. The jungle was thick and fresh undergrowth had filled up the space between the trees providing sufficient cover. Javed knew instantly that he had been tricked and had walked into a trap. He ran blindly sideways and just when he thought he was out of danger, a freak bullet hit his ankle, breaking the bone into pieces. Javed hobbled, swayed and crashed headlong into the bushes, which swallowed him up. He had fallen into a shallow pool, the mouth of which was covered by bushes. Javed heard voices below and recognised Sher Khan’s voice berating someone. Before he passed out, Javed had the sense to switch off his radio set and then the world around him went blank.

Sher Khan, Imtiaz and Tiger had made themselves comfortable in the hut with one man keeping watch on the path. Imtiaz had not been told about the plan, and all he knew was they were waiting for someone. He was on sentry duty when he saw Javed coming down the path. He knew immediately what was afoot. If it came to choosing between his Kashmiri brother and a foreign fighter, his loyalties were clearly on the side of his brothers. He was not going to be part of this treachery. Calling for Sher Khan’s attention loudly, he let off a single warning shot. He saw Javed roll to the side, get up and run and both Tiger and Sher Khan opened fire on him. Just when Javed seemed to be getting out of range, from the corner of his eye, Imtiaz saw Javed buckle and disappear out of sight.

For the next hour while they searched the area, Sher Khan kept blaming Imtiaz for deliberately alerting Javed. Tiger tried to defend him by calling it accidental fire, but Sher Khan was clear that it had been on purpose. The other two had not seen Javed getting hit and Imtiaz made sure they never went close to where he had last disappeared from sight. The search was aborted and the three of them returned back with Sher Khan in a sullen mood, his faith in the Kashmiris further eroded.