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was vacant. He was still contemplating the implications inherent in this when the door flew open and the General strode in. ‘Salim!’ The General’s tone was full of jovial bluster. ‘Come…’ The General gestured to the plush leather sofas arrayed on one side of the huge office. Two hours later, armed with explicit instructions and a very free hand, Salim’s life in the ISI had hit the fast track.
    It was at Salim’s initiative that Pakistan began to focus attention on Nepal and Bangladesh. They proved ideal for getting at India at virtually no cost to Pakistan. ‘Isn’t it strange,’ Salim mused to his Adjutant in a rare moment of introspection, ‘how easy it is to foment hatred and violence?‘
    The passage of years proved how right Salim had been in the strategy he’d selected. The Indians were bled white for over two decades in a low-intensity, constantly simmering conflict that cost them millions of rupees and tied down thousands of troops and security forces in the Kashmir Valley. The Pakistanis spent scarcely a dime; simply using the poppy fields of Afghanistan to fund their war.
    Salim’s mind swept over the years, his thoughts dwelling briefly on all the plans of his that had drawn Indian blood. Even when I saw our boys being thrown back from the heights of Kargil and retreating shamefully I did not feel let down because I knew we had made the Indians pay for it. I know how many body bags they shipped down from Kargil. Each Indian dead body is one more victory for us.
    Salim had ensured that the ISI exploited every possible opportunity to breed hatred, discontent and violence in India. The assassination of Rajiv Gandhi, the demolition of the Babri Masjid, Ram Janam Bhoomi, the general elections, the Mandal riots, the Godhara train burning. Even so, not many were aware of just how deeply the ISI had sunk its tentacles into every aspect of Indian society and polity. It was Salim who had almost single-handedly choreographed the hijacking of the Indian Airlines flight from Kathmandu, forcing the damn Indians to hand over a few diehard loyalists to the Taliban. He had even ensured the buggers paid in hard currency to free the hostages. It was his ingenuity and deviousness that helped extricate scores of Pakistani soldiers, para-militaries and irregulars from Herat and Kandahar from right under the noses of the American forces that had closed in on them when they’d attacked Afghanistan after 9/11.
    ‘Can you imagine, those fools have the temerity to codename the Afghan invasion Operation Infinite Justice? Don’t they know that it is only Allah who metes out infinite justice?’ the General had said to Salim. As far as he was concerned, the American invasion of Afghanistan spelt the end of years of Pakistani domination of Afghanistan’s internal affairs. The exceedingly radical and simple-minded Taliban never even realized how totally it had always been manipulated by the ISI; those of its members who had shown the slightest signs of intelligence, more often than not, finding themselves dead.
    ‘What else can we expect from those idiots, sir?’ Salim guessed what was going on in his General’s mind and nodded sympathetically.
    ‘Right, especially from that idiot who sits at the helm of America’s affairs. I really wonder how he managed to get elected twice. Inshahallah, we shall see the downfall of this arrogant white Satan soon. See what those slimy buggers have done to us now.’ The General tossed a sheaf of newspapers towards him. The news of the nuclear agreement coming up for discussion between India and America hogged the headlines in most of them.
    Salim did not even bother to pick them up. ‘The Indians have been working on this for years now.’
    ‘True. That kafir President will try to ensure the agreement goes through before the American elections due at the end of next year. That way, no matter who wins, he will go down in history as the one who put Indo–American relations on the