The Bard of Blood by Bilal Siddiqi Page B

the alternatives. It wouldn’t be a far cry to say that Baradar, with Omar’s blessings, has made the Taliban the resurgent force that it is.
    After his arrest in 2010, Omar made it clear that he still had access to Baradar when he needed it. The ISI realized that they couldn’t afford to rub Omar up the wrong way if they wanted to maintain their stronghold in the covert operations. They agreed, and even gave Baradar a comfortable safe-house with all amenities. After his release in September 2013, the ISI sent Baradar to the Gulf to lie low for a while. But he could sense that Omar needed him back, as his movements were anyway limited, owing to the ten-million-dollar bounty on his head.
    ‘It is good to have you back,’ Mullah Omar said in Pashto as he embraced Baradar tightly and planted a brotherly kiss on his cheek. ‘I hope the ISI hasn’t misbehaved with you. Words cannot explain how much we have all missed your presence.’
    Mullah Baradar smiled as he embraced his Amir. Mullah Baradar was the only one who could look into Mullah Omar’s dead eye without flinching. They sat down together on the plush carpet. Omar ordered one of his men to bring in some food.
    ‘It is good to be back. I see not much has changed here, Amir.’
    ‘Quetta is safe as ever for me, Baradar. But it was rather difficult for me to operate without you. And with all that’s going on now, I need you to help me more with my cause.’
    A young Hazara boy walked in with a large dish and left it in front of Mullah Omar. Omar pushed it towards Baradar. There was a large chunk of charred beef, with sliced lemon. Another boy came in with a large glass of sherbet. Omar asked them to leave and close the door behind them, after they served his loyal deputy.
    ‘It depends on the new President, Amir. Both of them have agreed, in principle, to let the Americans keep their troops in Afghanistan. Our battle has been in vain.’
    ‘The battle has only begun, Baradar. You know that as well as I do.’
    ‘We have to be very careful about your movements this year, Amir. Just because they move out doesn’t mean that they won’t try to capture you.’
    Mullah Omar breathed in deeply. He stroked his wiry beard.
    ‘That is exactly what I have told the ISI. But these are going to be testing times for us. The ISI is nobody’s ally.’
    ‘Yes,’ Baradar consented. ‘Especially now that the Americans have stopped donating money to them, they might resort to ill means, such as handing you over to get into the good books of the Americans, and even collect the bounty.’
    ‘The Haqqanis are well aware of this, too. It is good to have them on our side.’
    ‘Indeed it is,’ Baradar said, wolfing down a piece of the meat. There was a sharp knock at the door. Omar looked over his shoulder and asked the person to come in. It was Brigadier Tanveer Shehzad.
    ‘I’m afraid we don’t have time for this now, Shehzad,’ Baradar spat out, annoyed.
    After his arrest, Mullah Baradar naturally loathed the ISI.
    ‘You need not hold a grudge against me, Mullah Baradar. We did what we had to. We were pressurized into arresting you. If you ask me, it was hardly even an arrest. You were treated rather wonderfully at our hands.’
    Baradar’s eyes widened in anger. Mullah Omar raised his hand, indicating him to calm down. He gestured Shehzad to sit down.
    ‘To what do we owe the pleasure, Shehzad?’ Omar said.
    ‘I’m here about the Indians,’ Shehzad replied.
    Baradar had finished eating, and had lit up a cigarette rolled up with
afeem
—opium. He was still in the process of calming down, when Shehzad said these words: ‘I cannot believe this, Amir. Since when have we begun to let go of our principles? We kill the spies who are a threat to us! We do not use them to negotiate for our purposes, let alone the purposes of the ISI! If you ask me, we ought to behead them right away, before it’s too late!’
    Omar nodded and then fixed his eye upon Shehzad.
    ‘We