An Excerpt from - TANZEEM - by Mukul Deva

-‘How is the old man now?’ The Ameer turned slightly to face him, watching him closely this time.

‘Not much better.’ There was a short, hesitant pause, as though the speaker was unsure what would happen to the bearer of bad news. ‘In fact he is slipping away very fast.’ He gave a slight, almost apologetic shrug. His tone dropped as he added. ‘We have tried everything, but there has been too much of internal damage. May be I could have done something if I had the facilities of a full-fledged hospital available to me. Right now…’ He shrugged again and his voice trailed away.

             ‘I want to see him.’
             ‘Now?’
             ‘Now.’
             ‘Okay.’ The doctor gingerly helped the Ameer to his feet and began to walk him to the door. Pausing at the door the Ameer rid himself of the doctor’s supporting hands, took a deep breath and straightening his back walked out unaided. He was enough of a leader to know that in this part of the world any show of weakness was not acceptable. He was also smart enough to know that weakness was a clear invitation for the enemy to close in for the kill; and Allah alone knew there were enough of them around. As he came out of the hut he threw a look at the men gathered outside. In the world they inhabited it was hard to tell who harboured what ambitions and who aspired for what.

Shrugging inwardly he ignored his pain and followed the doctor to the hut just across the narrow alley separating it from his own. Moans of pain hit him even as he was at the door and a sharp stench of spirit and blood greeted him when he entered. There were two men hovering around the elderly, heavily bearded mullah lying on the bed. More than half of Hamidi’s upper body was drenched in blood and the already frail looking man seemed to be just about holding on to life. Miraculously his face had been left untouched by the American missiles.

‘How is it going old man?’ There was an unmistakable trace of affection in the Ameer’s voice as he settled down on the bed beside him and took one of the old man’s hands in both his own. At a glance from him the others in the room left silently; except the doctor who maintained a careful vigil from near the door.

‘Not so well.’ The reply was so weak that it almost got drowned out by Hamidi’s wheezing, rattling breath; death seemed to be hovering right beside him. The Ameer had to lean forward to catch the whisper.

‘We will have you up and running about soon.’ The Ameer ensured there was a strong reassuring note in his voice.

‘No you won’t.’ Despite the pain the mullah gave a weak smile. He was about to say something when a sudden bout of coughing seized him. Flecks of blood spotted his lips and beard by the time it had subsided. ‘But there are no regrets, my son. We have had a long and eventful journey. Have we not?’

‘Yes we have and by the grace of Allah it has been a glorious one.’ This was said with a firm nod. A longer pause followed.

      ‘Do you remember how it all began?’ Mullah Hamidi’s voice was weakening rapidly.
      ‘Of course! Of course I do.’ Even the Ameer’s voice had dropped to a half whisper. ‘Could I ever forget?’
       ‘That’s good. Don’t ever let go of the past. Remember that we are what we are because of what lies behind us.’ Another burst of blood-flecked coughing silenced him for a moment. After it had subsided he took a deep breath to regain his composure. ‘You will remember what Allah wants from you, Jalaluddin? You will not stray from the path, will you? Promise me.’

      ‘Of course not.’ The Ameer’s fingers pressed down reassuringly on the fragile, almost lifeless hand held by them. ‘I promise you that.’ 
      ‘Good! Do not let these Army guys get away for this betrayal.’ 
      ‘I will not.’ The Ameer’s face tightened in anger. ‘If they think they can play fast and loose with us they are mistaken. Don’t worry I am going to make them pay.’
      ‘You must, but be careful, there is too much at stake. Everything we have worked for is now almost within our grasp.’ Hamidi wanted to say more but he was tiring fast and his breathing was becoming audibly heavier.

For a very long moment the two were held together by a companionable silence. Suddenly another bout of coughing seized the old man. Yet again, despite his best efforts, flecks of blood sprayed out from his mouth; they were much larger and far more plentiful this time, obviously the internal haemorrhaging had intensified. His hand held in the Ameer’s much larger ones betrayed the pain throbbing through him. 

‘Can I ask you for a favour?’ The mullah whispered when the coughing finally subsided and he had managed to overcome the pain momentarily. ‘One final favour… for an old friend?’

‘Of course!’ The Ameer looked deep into his eyes, a hint of sadness lining them, as though he knew what the old man was going to ask for. 
He was right; watching him closely the old man gave a weak smile. ‘You know me well, my son.’

‘And how could I not? You have been like a father to me… the only father I have ever known.’ There was an unexpected depth of fondness in the glance they exchanged. ‘Are you sure?’ The Ameer finally whispered, as though reluctant to voice the thought.

‘Yes.’ By now Hamidi’s voice was fading and laden with pain. ‘There is no point in delaying the inevitable and prolonging the agony my son. Let me go now.’

After a moment’s deliberation the Ameer nodded. He leaned forward, gently clasped the dying man in his arms and raising him up held him close. ‘Sleep well. I shall miss your guidance and your support; especially now when the end is almost in touching reach.’ His grip on the old man’s hand tightened briefly, before he freed his right hand and reached for the pistol stuck in his waistband. Mullah Ismail Hamidi held his gaze firmly, meeting death as he had always lived his life, head-on, without flinching.

Only the doctor manning the door flinched slightly as the solitary pistol shot crackled through the tiny room. 

TANZEEM the last book of the LASHKAR series is scheduled for release in Jan 2011