Malik – alias Bade Bhai, alias Instructor, alias Trainer – was the fugitive chief of the banned Hindustani Majlis (HM), whose stated aim was to overthrow the democratic government in India and in its place set up a theocracy under the leadership of Afghanistan’s terrorist group, the Taliban. He often held such discussions as he found them useful for spotting new talent for his group, which was committed to jihad in India.

‘There will be a Ghazwa-e-Hind. There is a long list of devouts who have fought to realize the promise of this Holy War against India, from Muhammad ibn Qasim and Muhammad Ghori to Ahmed Khan Abdali and Aurangzeb. And let us not forget Syed Ahmad and his band of Wahabi fighters who fought against the Sikhs and attained martyrdom in Balakot in 1831.

‘When will we pay our debt to the likes of these venerated men? I ask you: Why are you alive? What is the purpose of your life? Fattening your bank balance? Watching cricket, Sachin Tendulkar and Azharuddin? Listening to music, Hindi and English?

‘The youth of today have no conscience or sense of belonging. They are busy playing video games, watching movies and gyrating to Bollywood’s obscene songs. I see them standing at street corners, whistling like wolves at young girls, casting amorous eyes on them.

‘Your people are suffering in Kashmir, but you spend your time watching the bat and ball instead.

‘In times gone by, if there were two brothers in the house, they would take on the whole world to protect their sisters and the family. So, I ask again, why are you alive? Is zindagi se toh maut hi behtar. Have your hands fallen off? Do your shoulders droop? Are you a man still?

‘Then wake up, avenge the atrocities committed against the community! Pick up the Kalashnikov, join jihad, and pay your debts to your brothers and sisters in Kashmir, to the ummat.

‘You will live a better life, the shaheed don’t die, and the doors of paradise welcome the pious.’

No one spoke after Malik Rehman delivered his speech. Silence enveloped the room; only the chirping of a sparrow sitting on a wooden beam overhead could be heard. Malik sipped water from a steel glass and wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead with a white handkerchief.

‘You talk of jihad, of martyrdom. Do you have any plan on how to conduct jihad? Have you done any such thing?’ a sharp voice rang out.

All eyes turned to the questioner, a young man of sturdy build who seemed to be about twenty-seven years old. He was clad in a white shirt and black jeans. Like the others in the room, he was sitting on the green mattress that covered the floor.