Game, Set, Match: Saudi's Sportswashing Success

Image source

The deserts of Saudi Arabia have come alive with sports. From its purchase of the Newcastle United football club, to the launch of the lavish LIV Golf series, to the millions of dollars it has poured into F1 racing, Saudi Arabia is quickly emerging as a world sports hub. But the deserts of this Kingdom, now embellished with swanky stadiums and expensive equipment, are the very deserts which witnessed the brutal murder of Jamal Khashoggi just six years ago. They are the deserts whose women suffer everyday, denied dignity, autonomy, and safety. They are the deserts where hundreds of Ethiopian asylum seekers were bombarded with explosives as they attempted to cross the Yemen-Saudi border.

This phenomenon, involving the use of sports to redirect public attention away from a government’s evils, is commonly called sportswashing. The term was coined by human rights campaigner, Gulnara Akhundova, to criticise the hosting of the European Games in Baku, Azerbaijan, in 2015. But the practice is centuries old. In Ancient Rome, dictators provided “bread and circuses,” or food and extravagant entertainment, to the common people to keep them pacified. In 1936, Hitler organised the Berlin Olympics to promote the Nazi regime, celebrating ideologies like Aryan supremacy and antisemitism on a global platform. In 2008, meanwhile, the Beijing Olympics served to divert attention from China’s transgressions in Darfur, Myanmar, and Tibet, as well as the country’s pollution problem. The Human Rights Watch contended that the true winner of the 2018 FIFA World Cup, held in Russia, was President Vladimir Putin. He used this event to legitimise his own reign, even as human rights abuses reigned across his country.

Now Saudi Arabia, too, has jumped on this bandwagon by investing its immense wealth in sports. And sportspeople, enticed by the Kingdom’s deep pockets, have readily followed. Cristiano Ronaldo became the highest paid athlete in 2023 when he left Manchester United to join the Saudi Arabian football club, Al Nassr. Soon after, Neymar Jr. joined Al Hilal, earning a hitherto unheard-of transfer fee. The same year, professional golfers Cameron Smith, Dustin Johnson, and Phil Mickelson faced massive backlash when they withdrew from the prevailing PGA tour to participate in Saudi’s LIV Golf series.

“We know they killed Khashoggi and have a horrible record on human rights. They execute people over there for being gay,” remarked Mickelson. “Knowing all of this, why would I even consider it? Because this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to reshape how the PGA Tour operates.”

But not everyone supports this Kingdom’s sporting initiatives. Lina al-Hathloul, sister of women’s rights activist Loujain al-Hathloul, spoke out against the upsurge in Saudi’s popularity due to sports.

“The danger of sportswashing is that it’s the crown prince himself that we’re giving the money, influence, and power to,” al-Hathloul said. “We are empowering and normalising someone who has tortured and imprisoned people like my sister and al-Qahtani.”

Michael Page, deputy Middle East director at Human Rights Watch, added that athletes who performed in Saudi were contributing to the nation’s “strategy of whitewashing Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman’s abuses.”

Athletes collaborating with Saudi have been criticised not only by activists, but also by their former teammates. "In the end, it's a decision about money — and against football," German footballer Toni Kroos commented on the footballers who had joined the Saudi Pro League.

But while we are quick to point fingers at sportspeople who participate in these events, is it really their responsibility to uphold freedom and justice? How much of this burden can we place on an individual player?

A sportsperson’s purpose, if one exists beyond their individual goals, is the promotion of sports. It can be argued that Saudi Arabia’s government goes against everything sports stands for: diversity, inclusivity, and fairness. Yet when this state is throwing unprecedented opportunities to expand sports their way, which player can refuse? That argument is therefore null and void.

Each sportsperson, I believe, should simply sell their talents to the highest bidder. They cannot be held to a higher moral standard than the rest of society, and expected to make choices we deem correct, just because their achievements have catapulted them into stardom. They are famous for their athletic prowess, not their politics.

Instead, let’s turn to the people whom we have voted into power precisely for their politics!

Even as we criticise individual players, political leaders across the world openly support Saudi. The USA, a supposed champion of liberty, is Saudi Arabia’s second largest trading partner. The UK, meanwhile, shares a strong defence relationship with the Kingdom. Earlier this year, the two countries even began developing weapons, from precision-guided missiles to armoured vehicles, together. Canada, after standing against Saudi’s arrests of human rights activists in 2018, has gone back on its stance by re-establishing diplomatic ties with the erring nation. And India’s relations with Saudi have only deepened in recent years, with the inception of the Strategic Partnership Council and the launch of the India - Middle East - Europe Economic Corridor.

When entire governments are ready to excuse Saudi’s offences for their national gain, how can we expect better from public figures? Political matters are a nation’s, not an individual’s, responsibility. So the next time you take to Twitter to angrily renounce a celebrity’s personal choices, redirect your rage towards a more fruitful tool for change: elections. Be it human rights, sportswashing, or any issue that impassions you, why wait for a celebrity to advocate your stance? Use your own voice — your vote.

The New Struggle Against Slavery

Image source

In 1981, Mauritania became the last country in the world to abolish slavery. The decree signified a global end to slavery — on paper. But is slavery really over? Not at all. A form of modern slavery known as human trafficking, the recruitment or movement of a person through force, fraud, or coercion for the purpose of exploitation, still persists today, and is even on the rise in Europe! While this nefarious activity is not restricted to a single demographic, migrants are at higher risk than most of being targeted by traffickers.

What makes migrants to Europe so vulnerable to trafficking?

Migrant smuggling is a distinct offence from trafficking, but the former often leads to the latter. Human smuggling involves assisting an individual who voluntarily seeks to gain illegal entry into a foreign country, generally by transporting them unlawfully across the border. This transgression is so common that in 2022, 1.08 million non-EU citizens were found living illegally in different parts of Europe. These smuggled individuals could be citizens of a third-world country, suffering from poverty and desperate to escape. To them, an EU passport is like a key to heaven. And they are willing to go through hell to obtain it.

Human traffickers are well aware of this desperation, and well willing to exploit it for their purposes. A common method of trafficking is seduction. Here, a trafficker, colloquially called a ‘loverboy,’ fabricates romantic relationships with his victims in underdeveloped regions, and persuades them to move elsewhere with him. Another powerful tool of coercion is religion. Traffickers may pretend to be a messenger of God, and trick the uneducated into trusting them. They can even use religion to instil fear, threatening their victims with divine punishment if they do not comply. They then lure victims away from their homes under the guise of rituals, pilgrimages, or missionary work.

The easiest way to entice an impoverished, unsatisfied youth, though, is with the promise of a better life. Traffickers tempt their victims into migrating illegally to a country with more jobs, higher salaries, offering their transport and assistance along the way. Some victims do not realise that their migration is illegal; some are aware of this but go through with it anyway, having no other viable options. What none of them realise, however, is the horror they will face at their destination.

So, what happens to these migrants when they reach Europe?

More than half of all trafficking victims in Europe are sexually exploited. The remaining aren’t much better off: they are forced into harrowing physical labour, organised begging, and even criminal activity on a daily basis.

Ali, an Egyptian citizen, was convinced by a trafficker to move illegally into France for work. The trafficker employed him in strenuous construction work, fed him inadequately, made him sleep in a container, and even physically abused him. While Ali eventually escaped thanks to the Comité Contre l'Esclavage Moderne (Committee Against Modern Slavery), thousands more like him are still stuck in these inhumane conditions.

Their problem is only exacerbated by their silence. According to Zita Cabais-Obra, a Filipino trafficking survivor, victims are afraid to report their traffickers for multiple reasons: “one, they don't want to denounce because they don't want to lose their jobs and don't put their families to hunger. Two, they are afraid because their exploiters are maybe powerful and protected.” An illegal migrant in a foreign nation also has every reason to fear authorities, and see them as threats, rather than the saviours they are meant to be. This further deters them from seeking the police’s help.

Fortunately, where there is a problem, there is a solution. In this case, more than one. Multiple United Nations organisations, national governments, and non-profit groups have devised their own strategies to fight human trafficking. In Europe, trafficking is a top priority of European Multidisciplinary Platform Against Criminal Threat (EMPACT), the EU's primary channel against organised crime. Between 2018 and 2021 alone, EMPACT identified 17,688 trafficked humans. Another body making strides against trafficking in the EU is the Council of Europe (COE). What makes the COE’s methods so effective? And could they bring about an end to human trafficking in Europe?

The COE’s Convention on Action against Trafficking in Human Beings has been operating since 2008, going beyond the minimum international standards against trafficking to ensure better treatment of victims. The Convention provides a series of rights to victims of trafficking: the right to

- identification as a victim,

- the COE’s protection and aid,

- a minimum recovery time of 30 days,

- a renewable residence permit,

- compensation for the damages they have suffered.

Another unique advantage of this Convention is its strong Monitoring and Evaluation (M&E) mechanism. To ensure that the Convention is successfully implemented, the COE has set up two bodies: the Group of Experts on Action against Trafficking in Human Beings (GRETA) and the Committee of the Parties. GRETA, composed of experts in human rights and trafficking, is tasked with supervising and reporting on each state’s implementation of the Convention. The Committee of the Parties, meanwhile, analyses GRETA’s findings to propose recommendations to countries to build on their work. GRETA’s annual reports, available here, showcase the efficacy of this Convention.

In view of the rise in human trafficking for labour, the Committee of Ministers’ (the COE’s decision-making body) recommendation on “preventing and combating trafficking in human beings for the purpose of labour exploitation” was adopted in September 2022. This document suggests a series of measures for states to improve upon, including their labour market regulation, complaint mechanisms, and the identification of trafficking victims.

Member states should also:

“define the parameters of labour exploitation, through either law or guidance, and adopt country-specific guidelines on the interpretation and application of labour exploitation rules,” allocate resources, such as specialised police units, specifically to deal with this form of trafficking, make sure that both their private and public organisations investigate the possible presence of human trafficking somewhere in their supply chains.

With its extensive guidelines and reliable M&E procedures, we can trust that the COE’s work will have a diminishing effect on human trafficking across Europe. The end to human trafficking may be far away, but documents like the Convention on Action against Trafficking in Human Beings bring us one step closer on the path towards it.

From Istanbul to India: Fighting Gender-Based Violence

Image source

India is unsafe for women. It’s one of those self-evident statements that we’ve all heard, accepted, even propounded without much thought. But today, let’s pause to think about it. What makes an Indian woman more vulnerable to violence than women elsewhere across the globe? What does Indian law around gender-based violence lack when compared to international policies?

To make any comparison, we have to select a suitable standard. While the world has witnessed numerous multilateral attempts to bridge the gap between genders, uplift women, and promote an equitable global society, the Istanbul Convention stands out from among them. This document, negotiated by the 47 member states of the Council of Europe (COE), aims to eliminate gender-based violence in particular, and “create a Europe free from violence against women and domestic violence.” As it deals with a specific subset of discrimination, this Convention on Preventing and Combating Violence against Women and Domestic Violence cannot be objectively compared to blanket documents like the United Nations’ CEDAW or the Beijing Declaration. Fortunately, we can compare it to India’s legislation around gender-based violence. How are the two similar? Where do they differ? And what can each learn from the other?

What is a convention anyway?

Let’s begin with an introduction to the concept of a convention. A convention is an agreement between multiple states which, unlike resolutions or declarations, is legally binding. States not only sign, but ratify a convention, thereby consenting to be bound by its principles.

A convention is not, however, synonymous with a law. A convention merely lays down broad guidelines, which states can then implement in the form of relevant legislation. This must be kept in mind when comparing the provisions of the Istanbul Convention to their parallels in Indian law.

Indian law around gender-based violence

Under Indian law, the multifaceted matter of violence against women is dealt with in multiple documents. These include the Indian Penal Code, as well as more specific legislation like the Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act of 2005 and The Immoral Traffic (Prevention) Act of 1956. The above laws are all substantive, i.e., directly defining both the rights and obligations of citizens as well as related crimes and their remedies, rather than procedural. They also deal with violence against women in particular, rather than women’s rights in general. (In this article, I will be focusing only on that subset of gender-based discrimination.)

Finally, note that these laws apply to India, a developing nation with a population that recently became the world’s highest, while the Istanbul Convention was drafted from the lens of richer, ‘first-world’ countries with populations comparable to those of our cities. Having established this context, let’s continue to the crux of this article: comparing Indian law to the Istanbul Convention.

The Istanbul Convention involves four key aspects: prevention, protection, prosecution and coordinated policies.

Prevention

Let’s begin with prevention. Governments bound by the Istanbul Convention must:

- train professionals in contact with victims,

- regularly run awareness-raising campaigns,

- include issues like gender equality and conflict resolution in teaching material,

- set up treatment programmes for perpetrators of domestic violence and sex offenders,

- work closely with NGOs with similar goals,

- and involve the media and private sector in promoting gender equality.

What preventive measures does India take against gender-based violence?

- Programmes like the Rashtriya Mahila Kosh, Swashkti project, Swayamsidha Project, and the Support to Training and Employment Programme are aimed at the socioeconomic empowerment of downtrodden women. These are based on the principle that women who are self-sufficient and independent of their abusers can free themselves from the cycle of domestic violence.

- Our government also educates underprivileged women on these issues through literacy and legal awareness schemes.

- Further, the Indian government cooperates with NGOs like Majlis Manch and Prerana working to empower women against male violence.

Clearly, Indian law dealing with prevention of violence against women is on par with the Istanbul Convention’s provisions on the same subject. One marked distinction, though, is the lack of rehabilitation for perpetrators of gender-based violence in India. In India, sex offenders are seen as monsters, undeserving of second chances. But what if this mindset, which prevents their rehabilitation, harms not just criminals but the society around them as well? Recent research suggests that offence-focused psychological treatment of sex offenders is effective in reducing both sexual and general reoffending. Rehabilitation of sex offenders could prevent their recidivism, reducing the likelihood of their victimising more women in the future. Perhaps it’s time for Indian legislators, therefore, to reevaluate their stance on rehabilitation as a preventive measure.

Another aspect that must be addressed is the monitoring and evaluation of already-existing preventive measures. In fact, the Rajya Sabha has even commented on the lack of information regarding the results of the Rashtriya Mahila Kosh: “Now more than 25 years have gone by, the Committee is not aware whether the Ministry has ever carried out any impact study or assessment concerning RMK. The Committee wishes that the Ministry should conduct an impact study/assessment of the RMK with regard to its efficiency; the extent to which it has been successful in meeting the desired goals; whether it could reach out to the intended beneficiaries across the country.”

Putting in place mechanisms to monitor and evaluate our preventive measures is just as vital to their success as establishing these measures in the first place.

Protection

The next pillar of the Istanbul Convention is protection. The convention urges that all victims of gender-based violence have access to clear and comprehensible information on available services. These services must include free, state-wide helplines operating at all hours, as well as easily accessible shelters and rape crisis centres.

In India:

- Victims can easily access services from domestic violence intervention to legal aid through the helplines available on the National Commission for Women’s website. Not only this statutory body, but multiple NGOs, too, put forth their own helplines for women in need.

- As for women’s shelters, the Ministry of Women and Child Development introduced the Swadhar scheme in 2001. With 318 Swadhar Shelter Homes across the country, the scheme provides victims with the primary requirements of temporary shelter, food, clothing and medical facilities.

- Additionally, Swadhar offers counselling, vocational training and legal aid to help women rebuild their lives.

Prosecution

What about prosecution? The convention defines and criminalises various types of violence against women. Ratifying states must now introduce new offences where they do not currently exist. Examples of such offences include:

- stalking,

- female genital mutilation,

- forced marriage,

- forced abortion,

- and forced sterilisation.

Furthermore, states must ensure that culture and tradition are not used to justify any of the aforementioned actions.

While most of the offences above are dealt with in our penal code, forced sterilisation remains a menace to India’s female population. These generally government-mandated operations are carried out on women of the lowest social strata in mass sterilisation camps with negligent doctors, unclean equipment and expired drugs, resulting in severe medical complications including death.

In 2014, for example, about 140 women were taken to sterilisation camps in Bilaspur, the largest of which sterilised 83 women within four hours. 13 women were killed and many more hospitalised as a consequence. Despite numerous such tragedies, the Indian government has neglected to introduce any definite law against forced sterilisation.

When it comes to the cultural justification of violence against women, India is a mixed bag. On one hand, India has taken strides in the protection of women by abolishing customs like Sati and the payment of dowry. On the other, a crime as heinous as marital rape goes unpunished as its criminalisation will supposedly “destabilise the institution of marriage” in India. Transgressions like marital rape must be recognised as the gross human rights violations they are before any action can be taken against them.

Integrated Policy Making

The final component of the Istanbul Convention is integrated policy making. The Convention advises lawmakers to involve law enforcement agencies, the judiciary, NGOs, child protection agencies and other appropriate partners in combating violence against women. This practice is being incorporated into the working of the Council of Europe’s member governments, as well as India’s.

Implementation on the ground

On paper, Indian laws surrounding gender-based violence aren’t that far behind their counterparts in the Istanbul Convention. So why the disparity in the actual implementation of such laws? Why is India considered so much more dangerous for women?

Part of this lack of safety stems from the ubiquitous root of almost every other nationwide issue: too many people sharing too few resources. The high population density of urban areas leads to overcrowding and a deficit of space, making women vulnerable to harassment and assault. This can often deter women from accessing public spaces altogether. Resources under strain from overpopulation barely reach rural areas, where the absence of basic amenities like sanitation endangers women. The absence of education, meanwhile, obstructs them from ever progressing past this danger. India’s judicial system is overburdened and inefficient, frequently delaying, and therefore denying, female victims their justice. Other problems like India’s deeply-rooted patriarchal attitudes and women’s economic dependence only serve to exacerbate the issue.

But while India definitely isn’t heaven for women, can some part of its hellish image be attributed to mere perception? A 2018 survey that ranked India as the world’s most dangerous country for women, skipping right over war-torn Syria and oppressive Saudi Arabia, was quickly exposed as fallacious. And this survey was conducted by none other than the widely-trusted Thomson Reuters Foundation! Rather than taking any data into account, the study relied wholly on the opinions of 548 anonymous experts. While it naturally does not provide legitimate information about the actual state of women in India, it does give us a valuable insight into the world’s perception of it.

To armchair academics who have never ventured into India, it may seem like a primitive place where women in saris toil away in servitude, not daring to open their mouths for fear of attack, with elephants roaming around in the background all the while. But the new India is nothing like that! Slowly but surely, we are making progress towards women’s empowerment alongside the rest of the world, including our friends in Europe. Indian women enjoy benefits like liberal abortion laws, generous maternity leave policies, and rights to residence in cases of domestic violence, which millions of women in more developed countries are denied.

When I began writing this blog, I myself believed I would find Indian law woefully lacking in comparison to the Istanbul Convention (I am going to blame my bias on those 548 anonymous experts). I stand corrected. India’s legislation around gender-based violence is nearly on par with the COE’s, and each has its own unique merits. More power to both!

O Captain! My Captain!: India’s 2039 Prime Minister

What if I told you I can predict who will be leading our country 17 years from now? The future Prime Minister is a man you’ve all heard of, albeit never in this capacity: former captain of the Indian men’s national cricket team, MS Dhoni. But how can I be so sure that Dhoni has what it takes to be our Prime Minister? Let me elaborate.

The Scoreboard

First, let’s find out: what does it take to win the position of Prime Minister of India?

The data of the 2019 Lok Sabha election shows that out of an eligible voting population of 880 million, only 612 million people actually voted. Further, the winning party (BJP) won just 37.7% of the latter number, or 231 million votes. In 2019, that was approximately the population of a single state, Uttar Pradesh, alone.

In India, states are divided into constituencies, each constituency corresponding to one seat within the Lok Sabha. Therefore, the party which wins the highest number of constituencies effectively gains control of the central government. Under this system, with just around 231 million votes across constituencies, the BJP now occupies 303, or 55%, of the 543 Lok Sabha seats. Therefore, the winning party of a general election need not have the support of the majority of India’s eligible voting population; just that of a moderately large minority of the actual voting population. To win an Indian national election, a party needs only 231 out of 1400 million, that is, 16% of the nation’s entire population to vote for it!

But while this data gives us an idea of the quantitative requirements to win an election, what about the qualitative ones? What qualities must a candidate aspiring to be Prime Minister possess himself?

The Player

Image source

First, there are the virtues expected of any leader - integrity, humility and prudence - which MS Dhoni has exhibited time and time again throughout his cricketing career. Dhoni himself once said, “leadership is the capacity to translate vision into reality”: the capacity this ex-captain has demonstrated time and time again.

From selecting spinners to bowl in a historic tie-breaker against Pakistan during the 2007 ICC Men’s T20 World Cup, to promoting Rohit Sharma as an opener during the 2013 ICC Champions Trophy, Dhoni’s unusual yet ultimately ingenious decisions have led his team to numerous victories.

But this flair for leadership, though necessary, isn’t the only prerequisite to ruling a country. (After all, as our dear neighbour has proven, a successful cricket captain does not always make for a good Prime Minister!)

For Dhoni to stand a chance at prime ministership, the Indian population must see him not only as a successful sports captain, but as a capable politician as well. This begs the question: does Dhoni’s public image fit into that of a future Prime Minister?

I argue that it does.

Dhoni hasn’t proven his patriotism just by representing our country in the cricket stadium. After training with the Paratrooper Regiment for a month in 2019, Dhoni spent a few weeks the year after patrolling and performing guard and post duty in the then hazardous region of Kashmir. Photographs of his brief military stint are now plastered across the Internet. Coincidence? Or the greatest of this captain’s strategies so far?

Dhoni’s reputation also remains happily untarnished by any personal scandals or discredit to his character. His clean, inspiring image will win him the public’s support in his political career.

The All-Rounder

While these advantages alone might stand him in good stead for Prime Ministership, Dhoni also wields the power of representing multiple majorities. Hailing from Jharkhand, Dhoni naturally appeals to the highly populated Hindi-speaking belt of North India. The states and union territories whose official language is Hindi together consist of 226 constituencies, which translate to 40% of the seats in the Lok Sabha (including those reserved for Scheduled Castes and Tribes).

Further, could Dhoni be the first Hindi-speaking candidate to break the barrier of the south? Having captained the Chennai Super Kings to four Indian Premier League titles, Dhoni has won the admiration of a considerable section of the Tamil population. If he plays his cards right, this admiration may win him at least a handful of Tamil Nadu’s 39 constituencies, thereby setting him up as a Pan-Indian candidate.

Not only does Dhoni come from a linguistic majority, but a religious one, too. Of India’s fourteen Prime Ministers since independence, only one (Manmohan Singh) has been non-Hindu. Say what you will about secularism, but being a Hindu in a Hindu-majority country does prove an advantage when running for public office.

Similarly, only one (Indira Gandhi) of these fourteen past Prime Ministers has been female. In fact, our current Lok Sabha has the highest percentage of female MPs ever elected, at a mere 14.4%. Belonging to the dominating gender will make rising through the ranks in the political profession far easier for Dhoni.

Now that we’ve analysed the assets Dhoni already wields, what more does he need to run for Prime Minister?

An independent candidate has never become Prime Minister of India before, so it’s safe to assume that Dhoni will need to be backed by a party. But which national party is Dhoni most likely to join?

Team Selection

While Dhoni has never broken his silence on politics in the public forum, speculation about his affiliation with the BJP swirls regularly across the internet. Just last November, an image of Dhoni shaking hands with Amit Shah at an India Cements event went viral. More significantly, multiple BJP members have publicly praised Dhoni and recommended his transition into politics. For example, Subramanian Swamy, presently a member of the Rajya Sabha, stated in 2020: “M. S. Dhoni is retiring from Cricket but not from anything else. His talent to be able to fight against odds and his inspiring leadership of a team that he has demonstrated in cricket is needed in public life. He should fight in LS General Elections in 2024.”

But while others may consider the BJP the best fit for Dhoni, why should this party appeal most to him?

Let’s consider his other options.

The BJP’s leading competition, the Indian National Congress, has notoriously been dominated by the Gandhi family since independence. The party’s current president, Mapanna Mallikarjun Kharge, is only the sixth to take up this mantle through a democratic intra-party election, and the first non-Gandhi to do so in the last 24 years. While the Congress categorically refuses to name its prime ministerial candidate before polls, it’s safe to assume that the next will be someone with close ties to the Gandhi family, if not Rahul Gandhi himself. These exclusionary tendencies make it tough for an outsider to thrive within the Congress party.

Moreover, the present may be the least favourable time to join the Congress, which has been in a state of decline since its worst-ever performance in the 2014 national election, followed by a merely marginally better show in 2019.

So which other party could Dhoni potentially enter?

After the BJP and Congress, the party with the highest number of seats in parliament is the All India Trinamool Congress, headed by Mamta Banerjee. The party’s stronghold is in West Bengal, but even within this state, it has suffered severe losses to the BJP in recent years. Outside West Bengal, the party’s presence has diminished so greatly as to call its status as a national party into question after the 2019 election. Essentially, this party does not have the Pan-Indian quality required for its candidate to have a real shot at prime ministership.

The Aam Aadmi Party, while the new kid on the block, is making waves in Indian politics. Could Dhoni emerge as a national leader as the AAP emerges as a national party? Unfortunately, the AAP’s brand appears to be dominated by its original founder and current leader, Arvind Kejriwal. Kejriwal is as unlikely to tolerate a leader more popular than him as Dhoni is to play second fiddle to Kejriwal.

By sheer process of elimination, it makes the most sense for MS Dhoni to join the BJP. Assuming that Dhoni does join this party, what must he do next in order to be its prime ministerial candidate by 2039?

Team Dynamics

To prove himself within the party, Dhoni will have to work his way up from the grassroots like so many of its past leaders, from the respected Atal Bihari Vajpayee to our Prime Minister Modi himself. He can begin by representing an underdeveloped BJP constituency and demonstrating his ability to create change there. With the level of fame he commands, even small steps in the forward direction could be magnified to massive, prime ministerial proportions in the public eye.

He can also aspire for a prominent role in the Union Council of Ministers. This doesn’t necessarily have to be the Minister of Youth Affairs and Sports: just any position in which he can promote real, and more importantly, visible progress.

Finally, Dhoni must run for election to a state legislative assembly, or even the Lok Sabha. Running for a seat in the Lok Sabha directly would eliminate the possibility of competition from smaller state parties, and running from a constituency where the BJP is already well-established would further boost Dhoni’s chances. He can run from his home constituency, Ranchi, which is already under BJP rule. While the BJP won 43% of this constituency’s votes in the 2014 general elections, its presence rose to 57% in 2019.

If he can then show tangible development in this backward, yet resource-rich part of Jharkhand, Dhoni will be guaranteed the support of millions’ but more importantly that of Amit Shah and Prime Minister Modi in his future political endeavours.

Required Run Rate

If Dhoni has passed all these checkpoints by 2039, while maintaining his strong connection with the Indian population and forging new ones with higher-ups in the BJP, he will prove a worthy successor to Prime Minister Modi.

But can he win a national election?

Let’s assume the BJP retains its current share (303) of Lok Sabha seats. Now, add to this the votes that Dhoni himself will draw to the BJP. We can suppose that Dhoni will win the BJP the two Jharkhand constituencies it lost to the UPA alliance in 2019. Bihar, meanwhile, has 40 Lok Sabha constituencies. Again, Dhoni can win a significant portion of the seats lost to the Janata Dal and Lok Janshakti Party, say 11 of the 22.

While Tamil Nadu’s 39 constituencies are historically dominated by the DMK and AIADMK, let’s assume that Dhoni manages to win four more seats from this state. Let’s also say that Dhoni takes away four additional constituencies from the diminishing AITC influence in West Bengal. Under these conditions, the BJP will win 324 of 543, or 60% of Lok Sabha seats in 2039, paving a blazing path for Dhoni’s role as Prime Minister.

The Commentary Box

While Dhoni has miles to go to achieve prime ministership, all you have to do is leave me a comment sharing your opinion on my prediction.

Meanwhile, I will send this article to MS Dhoni requesting his response (along with many humble compliments: after all, I’d better get into the good books of our future Prime Minister!) and will let you know as soon as I hear back from him.

Don’t forget to return to this article 17 years from now, when I am (hopefully) proven right!

Police Encounters: Justice Served or Justice Denied?

Image source:https://www.deccanherald.com/specials/insight/goonda-raj-turns-encounter-raj-in-uttar-pradesh-759857.html

On the evening of November 17, 2019, a veterinary doctor, Disha, left home for her clinic in Gachibowli, Telangana. After parking her motorcycle near a toll plaza, she travelled the rest of the distance by cab. When she returned to find the rear tyre of her motorcycle punctured, she called her sister to explain that she had accepted the help of some truck workers to fix the problem. Six minutes later, the call was cut. The woman’s phone was switched off. A week later, her body was recovered, raped and burnt, from an underpass on National Highway 44.

When the police took four suspects into custody the next day, the public expected a long-drawn out trial hampered by bureaucracy and corruption, justice delayed and therefore denied. But justice, if it can be called that, was served much sooner. On December 6, the police disclosed the result of a “reenactment” of the crime conducted at Chatanpally: an altercation during which ten policemen killed all four suspects.

While the people of Telangana hailed the police as heroes for ridding the state of these alleged rapists, a Supreme Court-appointed inquiry into the killing yielded different opinions this May. The (Sirpukar) commission reported that the police’s assertion that they had fired in self-defence after the accused tried to escape was “unbelievable, and not backed by evidence” and recommended that the ten policemen present be tried for murder.

The situation as it stands today rekindles a debate that simmers only in the hearths of Indian homes: that of the morality of a fake encounter. So let’s settle this dispute by using the aforementioned example and asking ourselves these questions: why do fake encounters take place? What are their consequences, positive and negative? What consequences would arise from their absence? And together, our answers should tell us - is an encounter case ever justified?

Let’s start simply, with the why of the scenario. If anything about this case is clear-cut, it’s that the suspects were shot because they raped and murdered another human being. Under the reasonable assumption that they were guilty of this crime, what punishment did they deserve?

According to Section 302 of the Indian Penal Code, a murder must check off the three factors (intention to cause death, knowledge that the act may cause the death of another, and intent to cause such bodily injury as is likely to cause death) to warrant life imprisonment, and possibly even the death penalty at the court’s discretion. Combined with the rape of their victim, a crime so outrageous would undoubtedly have been punished with death… if the criminals weren’t minors.

Three out of the four rapists being children, two of them only 15 years old, their sentence would likely be much milder. Take the Nirbhaya case, when a 23-year-old woman died after five adult men and a minor brutally raped her in a bus in 2012. Four of the adults were sentenced to death, the fifth having died in prison, but the minor? Being 17 at the time, he was released after a mere three year stint in jail. The Juvenile Justice Act has since been modified, allowing for 16 to 18-year-olds charged with Heinous Offences to be tried as adults. Of course, this wouldn’t have made a difference to the fate of the two previously discussed 15-year-old delinquents.

While you and I undoubtedly want all four of these monsters to die a thousand deaths, we must resign ourselves to the fact that the punishment they received was harsher than at least two of them legally deserved.

So why did ten ordinary policemen feel the need to take such drastic action? “The Sirpurkar Commission is categorical that their actions have the stamp of approval of the government,” reports The Wire. “The legally puerile tactics they adopted in producing, manipulating and frustrating the process of inquiry reflect this approval.” The policemen had nothing to gain from an encounter killing; in all likelihood, they staged one under pressure from a local politician. Perhaps this politician had enough influence over lower courts to protect the policemen from sentencing there. But however flawed this debate may prove our justice system to be, our Supreme Court remains beyond the reach of bribery or extortion: once the case escalated to the notice of our highest tribunal, the politician likely cut their losses and left ten misguided policemen to the bleak fate they face today. All that mattered to the politician, anyway, was the temporary appeasement of their voting population, the Telangana public: because the Telangana public was apoplectic.

In 2020, Telangana reported the highest number of atrocities against women among the southern states. In 2021, the state’s rape rate shot up by 23%; and this count includes only the few reported incidents. The people’s fear and frustration culminated after the Disha case, with schoolgirls and elderly women alike flooding the streets to protest with the fervour of a people long denied justice and ready to fight for it.

If not for the police encounter, though, would they have received it?

Likely not. Data released by the National Crime Records Bureau of India (NCRB) in 2020 showed that over 75% of cases involving crimes against women in Telangana were still pending trial. Another 10,000 from the previous year were awaiting a mere preliminary investigation. The public’s response may have temporarily placed the Disha case under a spotlight, but this light would have soon faded with the next case of male violence, swallowed up by a new wave of victims screaming in vain for justice. And so, in the only plausible turn of events in which Disha’s assault would be avenged, the police took matters into their own hands.

While few may care for the rapists whom they killed, this event’s consequences reach further than the deaths of four brutes. The policemen’s ability to shoot four suspects dead in broad daylight, and their belief that they could get away with it, is evidence of a broader problem India faces. Across the country, members of the police force have repeatedly been driven by our overburdened, understaffed and consequently inefficient law system to administer justice themselves. Daya Nayak, Prafule Bhosale, Pradeep Sharma: these men have become household names for their proficiency in carrying out and covering up extrajudicial killings. “So what?” A regular Indian might ask. “Why should we stop them from providing justice to victims and preventing further victimisation of civilians?”

Because when we let a falsified encounter slide, we allow an ordinary person to play god. We give extra-human power to someone with very human flaws. How long until these flaws lead them to abuse their power? Take Sachin Vaze, for one. Assistant Police Inspector in the Mumbai Police, he played a role in the deaths of 63 alleged criminals through encounter cases. He was suspended for 17 years after the custodial death of Khwaja Yunus, but granted bail and reinstated in 2017. In 2021, he was dismissed permanently from the police force, this time for his involvement in the Antilla Bomb Scare and the murder of Mansukh Hiren. Countless such examples have proved, time and time again, that encounter specialists are as dangerous a solution to crime, as crime itself.

What, then, would the proper solution to a case like Disha’s be? I hoped that by the time I got around to writing this portion of my article, I would have an answer for you. Unfortunately, hours of pondering have left me with none. My education and - albeit basic - understanding of civics teach me to look forward to the conviction and punishment of ten policemen who brazenly trespassed upon the law. But as a girl, as an Indian, as a halfway decent human being - and I am sure most of my readers will agree with me - I applaud our police’s actions and pray that they do not face their consequences. I celebrate the deaths of four rapists, and hope that they burn in hell.

Shame, Shame, Period Shame

Source: https://www.theperiod.co/blogs/news/5-ways-sanitary-pads-are-killing-you

The Monthly Visitor. Aunty Flo. Code Red. Girl Flu. These bewildering turns of phrase are just four of the 5000 different euphemisms used across the globe in lieu of the word “period”. While this habit may surprise you, it’s merely the tip of the iceberg of efforts taken by society to dismiss and conceal the perfectly natural phenomenon of menstruation. In the Asembo community in Kenya, menstruating girls are considered unclean and forbidden from sleeping in their mothers’ homes. In India, 71% of adolescent girls are unaware of menstruation altogether until they experience it themselves. And as soon as they do, they are likely to be “excluded from social events, denied entry into temples and shrines and even kept out of kitchens,” according to a BBC News report. Even in a first-world country like the USA, a 2018 poll found that 42% of women had experienced period shaming, one in five by their own male friends.

But why are periods considered so shameful? After all, aren’t they a regular biological function undergone by almost an entire half of the world’s population? Perhaps the answer lies within that question itself; this half of the population, the female half, is the same one that has been excluded, disregarded and denied since time immemorial. If it were men who menstruated rather than women, wrote Gloria Steinem, “menstruation would become an enviable, worthy, masculine event: Men would brag about how long and how much.” Perhaps period shaming is just another way our patriarchal civilisation maintains control over females, preserving their place below males by condemning them for a process integral to their bodies.

And if you think the ramifications of this hackneyed idea extend only as far as the theoretical social status of women, think again! Period stigma manifests as a plethora of tangible problems. High taxation on products like pads and tampons (while less essential male purchases like erectile dysfunction pills often remain untaxed) hinders women in nations around the world from maintaining basic menstrual hygiene. The poorer they are, the more likely these taxes are to result in period poverty, an absolute lack of menstrual hygiene. The absence of menstrual products and education further impacts women financially by forcing them to stop attending schools or workplaces during menstruation.

As for their health, they are left vulnerable to health risks like reproductive and urinary tract infections. In rural areas, their seclusion from public areas can impede access to food and water, endangering their lives. Period shame takes a toll on women’s mental health, too, causing distress and depression. In Kenya and India, this degradation has driven girls as far as suicide.

In this era of feminism and social reformation, the time is ripe to end period shame. The first step, as in all widespread change, is education. Schools must begin to teach their students, girls and boys, about menstruation, presenting it as the natural bodily function it is and thereby normalising it. Schools, colleges and workplaces must also make sanitary supplies readily available to their female members. And as individuals, you and I can bring about similar change in simple, everyday ways. Let’s discard hushed whispers of “on the rag” in favour of confident, candid conversation about menstruation. Let’s replace artificial, obliging laughter at PMS jokes with open disagreement. Let’s stop shaming periods and start shaming period shame.

Kandahar 1999: Revenge Served Cold

New Delhi, 2021

Hunched over a desk in a third-floor office of the CGO Complex in New Delhi sits a bespectacled man, scanning the official-looking documents scattered before him. He signs page after page with a withered, unsteady hand, absent-mindedly twirling his moustache with the other. A groan of decaying wood, and someone else enters the room, yet he does not so much as glance towards the door.

“Mr Doval?” The newly-appointed secretary’s voice is low, hesitant. He barely grunts in response, eyes now roving over the minutes of a meeting he’d missed last month. “A Ms. Kaur is here to see you.”

“Tell her to come back next week.” He waves a wrinkled hand in dismissal, but his secretary stands her ground.

“She says it’s urgent, sir. She says there’s been a breakthrough in Case 418.”

At this, the distracted man finally looks up, a thousand emotions flitting across the creases of his face: shock, then disbelief, followed by a disbelieving hope, and ending with guarded curiosity. “Case 418?” He croaks. “You’re absolutely sure she said 418?”

“Yes, sir.”

He rises with a speed that belies his age and crosses the room in two swift strides. “Where can I find her?”

His assistant leads him downstairs, through a dimly lit corridor, past locked doors and narrow aisles and into a spacious hall where a woman waits alone, impatience written across her visage. As soon as she catches sight of him, she announces breathlessly, “We’ve just received a new lead on Case 418. A man: we think he’s one of the terrorists from the IC 814 hijacking. Would you like to work the case with us?”

And as National Security Advisor Ajit Doval answers in the affirmative, congratulates her profusely and pleads with her to brief him immediately, he recalls the very first time he heard of the hijacking of Flight IC 814.

*

New Delhi, 1999

They called him the “Indian James Bond” for his crafty spy work during Operation Blue Star, his daring counter-insurgency enterprise in Kashmir, his successful resolution of multiple Indian Airlines hijackings. The first police officer to be awarded the prestigious Kirti Chakra, he was bitterly envied by his peers and lavished with praise by his superiors. Only 54 years old and already the central service’s most valuable member, Ajit Doval was riding high.

That was before the hijacking.

When information that Flight IC 814 from Kathmandu was straying suspiciously from its route to Delhi first reached the Bureau, Doval was content not to be involved. It was probably just a minor mistake on the pilot’s end. Besides, on the off chance that it was a hijacking, the Crisis Management Group could handle it just fine. All they had to do was ensure that the plane stayed in Amritsar, where the quick-witted Captain Devi Sharan had landed under the guise of refuelling. But a miscommunication here, a mishap there, and suddenly, the plane had left Amritsar, left India altogether, and was off to Lahore, Pakistan.

What followed was a deluge of panic that Doval would never forget. The Intelligence Bureau, the Research and Analysis Wing, the nation itself descended into chaos. Doval began to understand the saying “no news is good news”: the more they heard of the hijacking, the more disastrous it seemed. 176 passengers and 15 crew members, held hostage in the aircraft. The terrorists’ refusal to let a single one disembark, not even when the pilot begged them to spare at least the women and children. 3 of them, or maybe 5, or perhaps even 10, with black masks and scruffy beards, threatening innocent Indians at gunpoint as they flew them all the way to Dubai.

India finally drew breath upon the release of 27 passengers at the Al Minhad Air Base, but even this momentary relief was overshadowed by far graver information: a hostage had been killed. 25-year-old Rupin Katyal, newlywed and returning from a honeymoon with his wife, stabbed brutally to death for no reason other than being in the worst possible place, at the worst possible time. How many more would die such disgraceful deaths before the government stepped in? The pressure from the hostages’ families, the media and the general public of India reached a resounding high. The time had passed for quiet data collection, for the formulation of cautious plans that would never come to fruition. The Indian government, backed into a corner by a hijacking on one end and its own population on the other, decided that negotiation was the best course of action. And they knew just the man for the job.

*

Jaisalmer, 2021

In the deserts of Jaisalmer, a long way from its golden fortified city, stands a ramshackle rest stop. Whitewashed, yet greying with dust and grime, its second floor perches precariously on the roof of the first. Its windows are nothing more than holes curtained by tarp, the wood of its door rotten and crumbling. A traveler would have to be in the pits of despair to seek shelter here.

And so the sight of India’s National Security Advisor and his equally debonair colleague entering the tumbledown structure would be a marvel - if there were anyone to see it. Thankfully, that has been taken care of by a security scan an hour prior to their arrival.

The ground floor of the building reflects its dilapidated exterior: the walls are stained a murky green, the blackened floor home to a host of creepy-crawlies and the little remaining furniture covered in a thick layer of dirt. But up the rickety staircase, the upper storey looks like it belongs to a whole other structure, a state-of-the-art campus of a multi-million-dollar corporation. These walls are whiter than a crocodile’s teeth, the seats plush, and the desks pristine. Wide screens line every wall, some displaying numbers and graphs, others live footage from the furthest corners of the country. And in the centre of the room, a group of the Indian intelligence’s best thinkers are crowded around a single computer.

As soon as Doval enters the room, their heads turn towards him like moths to a flame. After a long drawn-out pause, a young man steps forward from among them, curly-haired and shifty-eyed, chewing nervously on his lower lip. “Mr Doval, sir, we are employees of the Research and Analysis Wing. For the past 22 years, we have spent every waking moment tracking-”

“But you’ve only made real progress in the past month,” Mr Doval interrupts gruffly, “am I correct?”

“Well, it might seem that way, but really, sir, it’s the seeds sown over the last two decades that we are now reaping-”

“Alright, alright, spare me the parable.” 22 years of waiting takes its toll on a man’s patience. “How did you find him?”

“Aside from investigating the hijackers, we have been monitoring the Akhtar Colony of Karachi since 2017, when a suspected member of the JeM passed through. Turns out he was just an ordinary civilian, but by then our supervisor couldn’t be bothered to dismantle the surveillance network in the colony. We’ve had a dormant spy there, disguised as a chai vendor, for nearly four years now. We never reestablished contact with him until a few months ago, when our boss decided to move him to a nearby colony where he could prove useful. It was then that he informed us of his suspicion of Zahid Akhund, owner of Karachi’s Crescent Furniture business. He was simply too prosperous, too powerful among the colony’s residents, for a man who owned a loss-making company. And he often hosted suspicious visitors, from a squad of off-duty police officers to a trio of men in black outfits covering everything but their eyes, carrying equally dubious black briefcases. We suspected a money-laundering scheme at first, perhaps a bit of bribery, extortion. But when our spy finally procured a picture of the man… well, we realised we had someone far more valuable on our hands.”

With that, he gestures towards the computer, his crowd of colleagues spreading apart to allow Doval a glance. And upon the screen is a face Doval could recognise in disguise, in the dark, could remember were his every other memory lost. A face that brings back in full force the disappointment, the humiliation, the rage he had felt 22 years prior. A face that has haunted his every nightmare since that fateful day in 1999…

*

Kandahar, 1999

Afghanistan, the land of the Taliban. They arrived in the dead of night, a team of India’s finest: Vivek Katju, silver-tongued diplomat with eyes sharp as an eagle’s, his mind even sharper. Nehchal Sandhu, whose unflappable demeanour made him the prefect person to solve a crisis. And of course, Ajit Doval, apple of the Indian patriot’s eye.

They had left in a blaze of glory, off to rescue their stranded brothers and sisters. But their bravado evaporated like drops of dew beneath the midday sun at the sight that met them in Kandahar. Flight IC 814, surrounded by Taliban gunmen armed with tanks and anti-aircraft weaponry. More than a hundred imperilled Indians within, sitting in pools of their own urine and faeces, some weeping relentlessly while others simply stared blankly ahead. A man with an angry red lash down his arm after he had lifted it to comfort his terror-stricken wife. A child with a dupatta over her mouth, tied by her own mother to muffle her cries. And looming above it all, the five hijackers, led by the dark, brooding, deadly Zahoor Mistry.

The negotiators had three objectives: to protect the Indian civilians, gain intelligence pertinent to their rescue, and buy the government time to carry out a rescue. Their hopes plummeted further upon realising that they were at a disadvantage in all three aspects. The hijackers were in no mind to yield to a group of impotent officers whose powers began and ended with talk and empty threats. They had a regular stream of supplies, from fresh food to even fresher information straight from ISI headquarters. They moved freely in and out of the aircraft, unhampered by any fear of Indian military involvement.

In a desperate attempt to turn the tables, Doval and Katju approached the Taliban for help. Beggars can’t be choosers, Katju had reasoned when Doval protested against accepting aid from militants. They need not have disputed it, because the Taliban authorities were immovable. Not only were they unwilling to act against the hijackers, but they refused to allow India to carry out a military operation on their soil.

Doval could no longer deny it: if they wanted to deliver their countrypeople home in any fit shape, the team would have to meet the terrorists midway. And thus, a real negotiation began.

“The release of all 36 men, the disinterment of Sajjad Afghani’s corpse and a grant of USD 200 million, and your people will walk free.”

From the beginning, Doval could tell that this negotiation would not be a day’s work. But the longer they delayed, the longer helpless citizens of India would be at the mercy of these madmen. Three sleepless nights of discussions, wheedling and persuading the terrorists over the wireless and frantically ideating and planning around a table with his colleagues. Finally, they managed to dramatically reduce the terrorists’ demands to the release of only three terrorists: Maulana Masood Azhar, Mushtaq Ahmed Zargar and Ahmed Omar Saeed Sheikh.

One incident stood out clearly from that terrifying abyss of a week, a moment that Doval would always recall as vividly as though it had been yesterday, as much as he wished to forget it entirely. It was the eve of December 31st, right after the Indian government and the hijackers had come to a compromise. Their enemies, satisfied with the promise of their comrades’ return, allowed him to enter the plane and speak freely to the hostages.

“You are free,” he informed them, “the Indian government has ensured your recovery. We will take you home safely and reunite you with your families.”

He had expected applause, cries of relief, even a few smiles. But it was as if the sea of faces before him did not comprehend him. They continued to look towards the terrorists behind him, too petrified to display any other emotion.

“Have faith!” He tried again. “You are safe now, upon the honour of our great nation. Bharat Mata Ki Jai!”

It was the first time he heard those words receive no response. As he left the flight, cheeks flushed in mortification but head still resolutely held high, he was obliged to pass by their leader, Zahoor Mistry himself. The smirk Mistry gave him would forever be imprinted upon his mind.

*

Jaisalmer, 2021

“We will catch Mistry, sir,” Ms. Kaur assures him earnestly, “it’s just a matter of cautious planning and fearless execution.”

If only it were that simple.

Doval gathers the best and brightest from every corner of the Research and Analysis Wing, from developers of technology decades ahead of its time to assassins trained from youth in the art of murder. They spend weeks setting up surveillance systems across Akhtar, and months after observing “Zahid Akhund’s” every waking moment, looking for chinks in his armour: daily instances when he is without security and vulnerable to attack.

Their hard work pays off, as hard work is bound to do. They notice early on that when Mistry attends Friday prayer, he goes unaccompanied by a single guard. But is it really religious duty that takes him unfailingly to the mosque every week? Or is it perhaps a far unholier pursuit? They soon realise that Mistry lingers longer in the house of worship than any other patron, hours past the duration of the Ṣalāt al-Jumuʿah. A camera positioned at the building’s backdoor confirms their suspicions: Mistry is preying on the Imam’s twenty-year-old daughter.

“An unsavoury affair,” Doval remarks disdainfully, “but that shouldn’t stop us from using it to our benefit.”

At noon every Friday, Mistry enters the mosque among hordes of other worshippers. Then, without the slightest regard for the sanctity of the ceremony within, he sneaks out through the back with the Imam’s daughter on his motorbike, returning alone three hours later to leave the mosque with the few remaining stragglers.

Doval’s team has no idea where he goes, where he leaves the poor girl, if any of his security detail suspects the relationship, but none of that matters to them. All that matters is that what he considers a mere bad habit is the very mistake that will lead to Mistry’s ultimate downfall.

*

Karachi, 2022

She arrives in the Akhtar Colony in a nondescript auto rickshaw, a nondescript burqa covering her from head to toe as she enters a nondescript apartment building.

But there is nothing nondescript about Kirpana Khanna herself. Born to a brilliant IAS officer and an eminent intelligence leader, she was raised a patriot since birth. Full of courage, ambition and a desire to live up to her parents’ legacies, she began training with RAW shortly after. Now, five years since her first mission, she’s the most lethal assassin the Wing has, a favourite of India’s National Security Advisor.

At noon, she heads downstairs and into a tea stall across the road. She has, as it seems to the only other customers there, a most ordinary conversation with the vendor. When she inquires as to the available beverages, he replies by prattling off a menu. When he asks whether she takes milk with her tea, she responds in the affirmative.

If only those unsuspecting locals could see what happens once they leave. The shop’s entrance is locked, a mask donned, a gun grabbed from beneath the false bottom of a drawer of teabags. The chai seller and his customer exit through a side door, onto one of the few alleyways without a government-commissioned CCTV. They set off towards the town centre on his motorbike, to all appearances a couple on their way to the Jamia Madina Masjid for their weekly prayer. Well, anyone to assume so wouldn’t be wrong about their destination, but the two special agents have already said their prayers. If they mangle this mission now, even god can’t save them.

They have just passed the post office when they spot him turning onto a side street, a young woman half his size seated behind him. “Tail him,” Khanna whispers, and her partner obeys, careful to keep the terrorist in sight while staying just far enough not to attract his attention.

When he drops his companion off at a secluded bungalow, Khanna can practically see the target outlined against his back. But the Imam’s daughter doesn’t go indoors immediately; she waits at the verandah, waving the scoundrel goodbye. They cannot risk making a move against him while she remains. They cannot risk waiting for her to leave and being noticed.

They turn into the closest alley and circle back to find her thankfully gone, Mistry riding towards the mosque once more. But their luck doesn’t last long: it is impossible for him not to spot them on the narrow path he takes back. His eyes narrow and he reaches into his shirt, pulling out a walkie-talkie. But he doesn’t get far.

“Go!” Khanna hollers, and their bike jerks forward into his, throwing Mistry off his balance and the device from his hands. The fall isn’t nearly enough to kill him, though. He scrabbles helplessly for a moment before his hands enclose a shiny black object lying in the dirt. His walkie-talkie, she assumes, before the terrible realisation strikes her. The gun.

She lunges for her partner, ducking and rolling both of them out of its way a fraction of a second before he shoots. But though their lives are temporarily safe, she knows the boom of the gunshot has reached far enough that crowds may swarm the place at any moment. And the fate that would meet them were authorities alerted- well, she would pick death over it any day.

She does pick death over it. Before Mistry can take another shot, she pounces straight toward the end of the gun’s barrel, paralysing him in shock for a single precious moment; and in that moment, her hands tighten around his throat, squeezing relentlessly until he suffocates to his demise. She throws in a gunshot for good measure: she can't risk coming all this way only to accidentally leave him alive.

As Mistry chokes, his fingers scratching at her arms, feet flailing helplessly, she calls to her partner, “Go! Take the motorbike and leave before anyone gets here!”

“But-”

“That’s a direct order. Leave, now!”

Before her partner’s motorbike even turns the corner, Khanna’s work is done. The body of Zahid Akhund, wealthiest man in town, lies lifeless in a patch of grass. His motorbike lies beside it, its dashboard damaged as though it has crashed into the nearby lamppost, which is conveniently dented. When the hordes of townspeople arrive to gawk and question and speculate, they will conclude that it was a common hit-and-run case, or in all likelihood, that the man had brought about his own death through rash driving. If they discover the bullet wound, they'll imagine his death the product of a common clash between Akhtar's rival gangs. No one will suspect the slightest correlation between the morbid happening and the resident chai wala’s closing shop days later. And no one will notice the little burqa-clad woman making her inconspicuous way back to the city, gun tucked safely in the folds of her robes, to give Ajit Doval what will undoubtedly be the best news he has received since 1999.

*

New Delhi, 2022

Doval smiles as he surveys the RAW, IB and military members in the throes of celebration around him, feeling pride seep through his tired bones. He raises his glass and the room falls silent. “One scumbag down,” he announces. “Four more to go.”

*

This story is a work of fiction based on real events. It is the author’s attempt to connect the dots between the IC 814 hijacking in December 1999 and the mysterious circumstances of a hijacker’s death in March this year, reported here by the Times of India: https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/ic-814-hijacker-mistry-zahoor-ibrahim-shot-dead-in-karachi-report/articleshow/90072246.cms