Malik pointed at a man standing at the edge of the room. ‘Kabir,’ he called out. ‘Kabir assists us in our community work. He will assist you in finding your path, be with him.’

34. THE EAGLES ARE FLYING

34

THE EAGLES ARE FLYING

‘Meerut, Bhagalpur, Babri Masjid, the Bombay riots. The oppressors are on a high; they have gotten away after hurting our people. They have bloodied this land,’ Malik said to Usman – Rohit.

Rohit was sitting with Malik. He had brought along his ‘younger brother’ Zafar – Sahil – a practitioner of unani medicine.

After Malik’s sermon, Kabir had told Rohit to meet Malik two days later at the mosque, at 8 p.m.

Malik, Rohit and Sahil were sitting on the floor. Kabir stood a few feet behind Malik. A table lamp stood in a corner, and the smell of burning incense suffused the room.

‘Revenge and rejuvenation. Get trained. Stand and fight. No longer can the community keep taking blows. Take the fight to your enemies, make them pay. Attack. Prepare for a long journey, both of you. You will learn what you need to elsewhere, as it is too dangerous here,’ Malik told the two young men.

‘HM is growing, but it is still small. It needs capabilities in bomb-making and urban warfare to take on the rulers. We also need arms and ammunition.

‘After your training, you and Zafar can become able operatives of HM and teach your skills to your inexperienced brothers here if you choose to join us in our work. Otherwise, you will primarily work as the operatives of a Pakistani organization committed to the cause of the community. Kabir will make the arrangements,’ Malik said.

After the meeting, Kabir left the mosque and took an autorickshaw to the Sankatmochan Hanuman temple at Awantipur. He entered a PCO booth across the street from the temple and dialled a number. He let the phone ring twice at the other end and then cut the call. He dialled again and repeated the process. As he lit up a cigarette, the phone rang.

‘Good evening. All is well. Classes are going well. Two came for admission,’ Kabir said.

‘Okay,’ the Doctor, who was sitting in the basement office of Gorakhnath Transport Company on Shri Krishna Street, the bustling commercial district of Birat Nagar, said softly into the phone.

‘Please arrange for the teachers. I will speak to them tomorrow,’ Kabir said and hung up the phone.

The Doctor then dialled a number.

‘Haan, janab. Two examinees are to go to school. I will bring them to you, please prepare the admit cards,’ he said.

‘Fine, bring them tomorrow, at 8 p.m.,’ said Salem, the undercover ISI agent stationed at the Pakistani embassy in Kathmandu.

Twelve hours after Kabir had made the call to the Doctor, he was back at the same PCO outside the temple, waiting for a call that would disconnect after four rings. He didn’t have to wait long.