Afzal and Rup’s family started early to make the eight o’clock departure for Kartarpur. Rup’s father was happy to have Afzal accompany them and agreed to a day that worked for everyone. He filed the necessary travel applications for the group.
So, sitting in the back of the Chauhan family car, Afzal ran through the plan in his mind as they made the trip towards Dera Baba Nanak, the small town on the Indian side of the border from which they’d cross over to Pakistan.
Afzal and Rup watched from the back seat as the transit terminal appeared in the distance. Saanvi, Rup’s little sister, squirmed between them, stretching her neck to take in the view.
From the front seat, Rup’s mother said, “I’m so excited to finally visit this temple. You remembered to bring your passports, right?”
“Why do we need passports, bhaiyya?” asked Saanvi, twirling her pigtails.
“Well, Bittu, because we are going to Pakistan, which is another country. You know Guru Nanak-ji, right?”
The girl nodded.
“Okay, come here. Check out these binoculars,” Rup said, lifting Saanvi onto his lap. ‘What do you see?”
“Wow!” Saanvi peered through the binoculars. “Is that big building where Guru Nanak-ji lives?”
Everyone smiled.
“No, Bittu, that’s where Nanak-ji lived a long time ago. We’re going there to pray because the Darbar Sahib Gurudwara is a holy place. It used to be hard to visit, but now they’ve built a special corridor for Indians to travel straight to the temple,” said Rup, balancing his sister as she leaned against the window, pressing her eyes to the binoculars.
They checked in, cleared security and boarded the bus connecting the two terminals between India and Pakistan. The ride across the border took less time than the whole security process.
As they approached the temple, Saanvi said, “It’s beautiful! Bhaiyya, I don’t even need binoculars.”
Rup nodded, watching the gleaming domes of white marble filling the horizon. “I know. It’s magnificent. I can’t believe we’re here.”
“Neither can I.” Afzal’s voice was more sombre. Looking at the grand temple, he felt uneasy and a bit guilty about using a pilgrimage as cover to sneak across. But he perked up thinking about the satisfaction the families of Latif’s victims would feel when the terrorist was brought to justice.
The bus stopped and they exited along with the rest of the pilgrims. Rup adjusted his orange pagri on his head, making sure the turban was secure. Saanvi bounced in place as only a child could.
“I wanna go in!”
Their father smiled. “Sure, Bittu. As soon as we get some Pakistani money. We’ll need it to buy food, gifts and other things.”
“Uncle, why don’t you and aunty go ahead with Saanvi? Rup and I’ll convert Indian rupees to Pakistani ones.”
“Okay, sounds good.”
The group resumed walking, gazing around in admiration as they took in the immense complex with smooth white marble structures and archways gleaming in the morning sun.
After converting their money, Afzal and Rup hurried towards the entrance. On the way, Afzal couldn’t help noticing an unexploded ordnance on display. He stopped to read the accompanying plaque. It stated that India had dropped the bomb during an air raid in order to destroy the gurdwara. The Sikhs knew this story was fake, concocted to increase tensions between the two countries. Though the Kartarpur corridor was now open, the exhibition was a reminder that India and Pakistan had obvious and serious differences.
Afzal rushed to catch up with his companions, and he accidentally bumped into a tall, sombre man dressed in a dark suit.
Afzal stopped, bowing slightly. “Excuse me, sir.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Watch where you’re going. You almost stepped on my toes,” he said irritably.
As Afzal backed away, he studied the steely lines around the man’s eyes and mouth. This was a solemn, grumpy person who rarely smiled and seemed to take rules seriously.
“Sorry, sir.”
The man grunted and waved Afzal away. The queue into the shrine was long, but they made it inside. Afzal was at the back of their group, and he let Rup and his family take the lead on their pilgrimage to the temple.
Rup said, “Mother was right; it’s a beautiful and spiritual experience for us to come here. More would undertake the pilgrimage if they were allowed.”
Afzal nodded in agreement as he surveyed the milling crowd and the various areas within the temple complex. His mind was busy trying to figure out how to get to the food trucks. It was about time for him to find Beena.
Rup saw that Afzal was scanning the crowd. “What or who are you looking for?”
“Nothing, but my bladder is about to burst. You continue into the temple. I’ll catch up with you shortly.”
“You sure you’ll be able to find us?”
“Absolutely. See you in a few.” Afzal dashed off.
Rup watched his best friend disappear into the crowd and muttered under his breath, “Full bladder, my ass. How do I stop his stupid plan? I wish Bee were here to help knock sense into the idiot.”
Beena grimaced as she adjusted the red backpack on her shoulder. In it, she’d packed things needed for their mission. The distinctive red colour was to make it easier for Afzal to spot her amidst the large crowd.
Beena was friends with the family she was travelling with through the gymnastics team. She’d told them she needed to visit Kartarpur for a school project, almost the same story Afzal had used with Rup’s parents.
Standing in the courtyard, she surveyed the massive temple complex. What stood out was the large contingent of soldiers with machine guns strapped to their shoulders. In addition to that, she was sure there were plain-clothes officers that she couldn’t see. She wiped her forehead, acutely aware of her heart thumping against her ribcage.
This is more dangerous than I thought. And where are all the bloody food trucks hiding?
Observing the surroundings, she felt more confident than ever that Afzal would realise the sheer idiocy of his plan.
She wandered around the shrine, wishing they’d agreed upon a specific rendezvous point, when a hand fell on her shoulder. Her first instinct was to grab the wrist and pin the arm behind the nitwit’s back. But this was a holy place, so she kept her cool and turned to find out who was being rude. As she did so, she heard a familiar voice say, “Bee, you made it!”
“Afzal! You fool, I almost Bruce Lee-d you.” She pulled the heavy bag off her shoulder and dropped it on the ground. “Of course, I made it. How the hell did you find me in this crowd?”
He smiled and held up his mobile.
“I tracked your phone. Remember our plan? And the red backpack worked perfectly. I saw it from a hundred feet away.”
She felt for her cell. “Ooh, I forgot we set that up.”
“I had to get away from Rup before I could search for you.” Then he raised an eyebrow. “You alright? You seem kind of … nervous.”
“Have you seen the number of bloody officers around? With big-ass machine guns? I stick out like a big, flashing, warning light – especially with this stupid red backpack you made me haul. How did you convince me to lug this anyway?”
Afzal winked at her and gestured at the bag.
“You got everything?”
“Yeah, you moron. We have everything we discussed and more in this two-ton overstuffed sack. But do you see all the guards around us? I don’t know how you can still go through with this stupid plan.”
Afzal snorted and waved a dismissive hand.
‘Out here, guards and police are a government employment policy, not an instrument of law and order. These guys aren’t well-trained and are just looking to make their paycheque. Don’t worry about them.’
Beena released a deep breath, and much of her patience with it.
“Employment policy? That’s top-drawer bullshit. I know you well enough to tell when you’re making stuff up. Come to your senses, will you?”
“C’mon, the plan’s working great. It’s unreal that we’re here. But here we are. We will not be expected, and that’s why lugging Latif over to India will be as easy as getting wet in the monsoon. And you’ll be glad to know that the food trucks are right around that building.”
Beena looked around. She saw the splendour of the shrine and the tranquillity of the wide-open spaces interspersed with beautiful domes. She jerked her head upwards. “Instead of following this dumb plan, we should be experiencing this.”
Afzal ignored the vista. “Listen, Bee, stop doubting me. We’ve kept things straightforward and simple so far. What can go wrong?”
Excerpted with permission from The Schoolyard Bet: Afzal and Friends vs the Terrorist, Manu Namboodiri, Westland.
