‘For their commanders sitting in Pakistan, and especially Al-Cheema, the fact that two of their boys had taken bullets in the back while escaping was a disgrace. His boys are trained to face Indian soldiers eye-to-eye. The option of escaping or surrendering is not even discussed in Al-Cheema’s training facilities. The speech you heard was given after the Lashkar debacle in Srinagar. Nawaz is banishing the fear of death from his recruits’ hearts. He distorts facts and spreads lies about religions to suit his requirements,’ Shekhar said and then turned to Hussein. ‘Hussein sahib, you may take over from me.’

Hussein stood up to address the trainees. ‘Let’s hear this messiah of terror again. Nawaz does not think twice before deciding to kill a hundred here to achieve the goals pursued by him and his ISI handlers.

‘I am making you listen to his speeches so you can understand the kind of power these terror propagandists and recruiters have over their trainees, who are often poor, very young, with impressionable minds, jobless and school dropouts from Pakistan and misguided Indian youth. How these terrorists fill the hearts of young men with hatred and fury.’

Hussein pressed the play button on the tape recorder. Once again, Nawaz’s voice filled the room:

In Pakistan, we have a different atmosphere. The old men are chasing dollars, a few are chasing sixteen-year-old girls as third or fourth wives; most are looking at acquiring land.

The middle-aged are busy looking after their wives and children, fulfilling the responsibilities of their nine-to-five office jobs or businesses.

The young cannot take their eyes off their TV sets and Bollywood heroines. When they are free, they cast their lusty eyes on our young daughters and sisters in the lanes and roads outside their houses.

No one is worrying about our community, the poor, the oppressed in Kashmir and Uttar Pradesh. Where our community is suffering. Where goons razed the Babri Masjid.

Except for some young men, whose blood boiled at the injustice meted out to the community.

Among such men was Rashid Tariq. Our Rashid, from Sialkot in Pakistan.

Rashid, who was blessed by the Almighty, and is in Paradise now.

Rashid was just like you. Young, with dreams in his eyes. He took forty-nine bullets from the Indian Army last summer. He was only twenty-two.

Rashid’s mother is here in Sialkot. She is not waiting for her son. She says she will meet her son in Paradise. Because Rashid Tariq, her son, is a martyr. He died for jihad. Seventy-two beauties, blessed with eternal youth, fall over each other to be with him.