Kashmir Storm

By Ajit Chak

Will sex tourism blossom in Kashmir? Ajit Chak speaks of many mysteries in his book Kashmir Storm. He speaks in a muted voice about the riots of 1984. He speaks of how a leader from South India could have driven a wedge between the Gandhi family and the Nehru family in the Congress Party and how Rajiv Gandhis security was compromised. He links Rajivs death in South India to the downfall of the Congress in Uttar Pradesh and the rise of regional parties in the state and the breakdown of law and order there. He talks of how customs in Uttar Pradesh promote rape within marriage, how giving tee shirts and mobile phones to girls can actually increase cases of rape, and lastly he talks in detail about the Muslim politics of the nation in UP, where almost half the entire population of Mulsims in the nation lives and works. The year is 2016. Sex tourism is booming in Kashmir as the states economy has collapsed following the floods and inflow of Jehadis. Since prostitution is legal in Kashmir, there is little the police can do about it. Under Article 370, no Indian law can apply in Kashmir.
The book reverses the Love Jihad theory has a Muslim heroine who goes through all kinds of risks for her paramour a Hindu lad from Noida and Delhi.
The girl who has come from Pakistan to India eventually decides to move in with him and settle down as she cannot live without him. The book also skims through the plight of Kashmiri Pandits and how they were driven out of Kashmir.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Jan 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781482844351

Ajit Chak

A career journalist, Ajit Chak is well-known for his strong opinions on the Kashmir issue and his criticism of Art 370. He has stridently campaigned against corruption and lobbied against removing Article 370, which provides special status to Kashmir. While Ajit Chak has written and edited many books on environmental issues, this is his first work of fiction based in Kashmir and Uttar Pradesh. Chak argues that if the economy in Kashmir is not set right and Article 370 not removed, then prostitution, which is legal in Kashmir, will become rampant there, and sex tourism will skyrocket in the state, turning it into another Thailand.

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Copyright © 2015 by Ajit Chak.

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Contents

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1    A Is For Archer…

Chapter 2    The Old Wrestler

Chapter 3    The Girl From Kashmir

Chapter 4    The Vultures

Chapter 5    Cops And Robbers

Chapter 6    The Muslim Leader

Chapter 7    Damsels In Distress

Chapter 8    The Gladiator

Chapter 9    Paradise Lost

Chapter 10    The Boxer Bhai

Chapter 11    The Doctor From Bahraich

Chapter 12    Act Of Terror

Chapter 13    Attack On Paradise

Chapter 14    State Of Confusion

Chapter 15    No Headway

Chapter 16    The Turning Point

Chapter 17    Albert’s Tale

Chapter 18    Nursing A Secret

Chapter 19    A Slice Of Sicily

Chapter 20    The Dusty Road

Chapter 21    The Rabble Rousers

Chapter 22    The Village Of Old Men

Chapter 23    Murder And Pillage

Chapter 24    The Fox And The Wolf

Chapter 25    Marriage And Education

Chapter 26    The Man Who Loved Wrestlers

Chapter 27    If It’s Tuesday It Must Be Bahraich

Chapter 28    Hell Hospital

Chapter 29    A Doctored Tale

Chapter 30    The Sleeping Beauties

Chapter 31    Real Life Fairy Tale

Chapter 32    Death Wish Of Terrible Tariq

Chapter 33    Hamlet’ S Choice

Chapter 34    Orders From Delhi

Chapter 35    When Satan Sleeps

Chapter 36    The Land That Time Forgot

Chapter 37    The Guns Of Babar

Chapter 38    Where Three Empires Meet

Chapter 39    Fire And Sword

Chapter 40    Night Of The Jackal

Chapter 41    The Avenging Angel

Chapter 42    Trapped In The Woods

Chapter 43    Roll Of Honour

Chapter 44    In The Line Of Fire

Chapter 45    Friday At Noon

Chapter 46    Standoff In Srinagar

Chapter 47    Paradise Regained

Epilogue

Kashmir Storm

Rajiv Gandhi’s death sees a collapse of policing in Uttar Pradesh and the floods of 2014 see sex tourism boom in Kashmir. Then Arjun comes along to discover that the Dons have a new idea -- to sell girls part by part as human spares carted from Srinagar to Bahraich.

DEDICATION

V eer Bhogey Vasundhara. There is a saying that only the brave shall enjoy the fruits of the earth. This book is dedicated to Anuradha Chak an Indian housewife and the real heroes of this earth, the Indian Army the finest fighting force in the world and to her father Lt Col MMK Baqaya of the Indian Infantry. To those journalists who inspired me to write this book. To the Kashmiri Pandit children who woke up in refugee camps in 1990 but are today CEOs of companies in this great nation.

Several characters mentioned in the book may seem to resemble some in real life but there is no connection between them. The only fact that is true is that Kashmir has been devastated by a deluge in 2014, and this book is a work of fiction based in the future, which may never come about. May Kashmir rise once again.

Ajit Chak

PROLOGUE

Y ear 2016: In Kashmir prostitution is legal business, but if you sell a girl to somebody you get a lakh of rupees, for a night you get Rs 5,000 as your commission, but if you sell her liver or her pancreas or her kidneys then you get Rs 20 lakh, now which is the better business to be in Ahmad Bhai? Selling a whole girl or selling her part by part?

Kashmir in the year 2016 is a land where beauty is sold. The floods have devastated the state. A war which erupted between the Taliban and the Pakistan Army after the Taliban killed almost 150 children in a Military School in Pakistan in 2014 has driven out thousands of their cadre from Pakistan into the valley. The rise in militancy has crippled its economy and the move to revive the economy of the state has backfired as corruption has eaten away huge chunks of money meant for rehabilitation and development. The Jehadis have become stronger and the Indian army more hard-pressed, where it has to carry out both defensive measures and rescue and relief and rehabilitation operations. Villages that need to be adopted are taken over by Jehadis from across the border. Foreign mercenaries flushed with funds have entered the valley and taken over villages in the interior and in regions where the control of the state government is tenuous is best. Social media connectivity is weak for several reasons as the infrastructure is not in place and the money of the jehadis is being used to promote large scale prostitution and sex tourism in Kashmir. Brothels and luxury hotels have come up and Kashmir has become a Thailand for the Islamists bent on perverting the people to a way of life that borders on law and disorder.

Since prostitution is legal in the state from the time of Raja Hari Singh and Indian Laws do not apply in this case because of Article 370 of the Constitution of India, there are no records or statistics of flesh trade in the state. Young girls are becoming victims of human trafficking as well and are quietly being smuggled out to other states and even across the border to work as sex slaves or to be married off temporarily to rich Arabs and African Muslims in cities far away from their homes in Hyderabad and Mumbai. Here they are eventually left at the mercy of pimps and madams. In this scenario the mafia dons come up with a new idea to make money and fund terror in the state.

The state sells its scenery to tourists coming for a lark there, but business is dull due to militants and the floods have ravaged the infrastructure. Families have been destroyed children rendered orphan. Bahraich is in another state in Uttar Pradesh and is a land where fake rupee notes are sold. The business is dull of late as the banks have become vary. The business of buying and selling women is dull too. The red light areas, social media and social activists and pesky journalists are all creating problems. In this land comes a new business idea. Do not sell the girls; sell them part by part, there is more money in selling human spares.

His name doesn’t really matter but he is known as Brijesh Singh Rathor and he is the undeclared king or Raja of the badlands of Bahraich in Uttar Pradesh. This small border town will soon be in the news for all the wrong reasons as a young boy on a visit from Delhi is about to upset the apple cart for many here.

CHAPTER 1

A IS FOR ARCHER…

A is for Arjun he shoots with a bow. Arjun Karan Singh stretched out his hand as far as he could holding the Steyr electronic air pistol in it like a feather pointing towards the target, the huge muscles of his arm rippled like copper and steel and he resembled a bird about to take flight, but balancing in mid air. The pellet ripped across the firing range and splattered itself in the bull’s-eye. Arjun wiped the sweat from his forehead and proceeded to pack his gun in its case and stuff the case into a computer bag. His shooting practice for the day was done. Putting on his tracksuit upper he made his way to the black shiny Honda Trigger motorbike in the parking. Slinging the computer bag across his shoulder he drove off to the gym where two others would be awaiting him, Ashwin a young journalist and Richa a young aerobics instructor. The academic session was over, it was time for the holidays and what better than to go out of the country for a jaunt.

Even as the Honda Trigger pulled up at the gym it seemed there was something wrong. A white Toyota Land Rover was parked at the gym entrance in a manner that showed the owner’s absolute contempt for parking procedures. Two boys barely out of their teens, but carrying rifles pointed carelessly in several directions leaned against it, and there seemed to be others inside the gym too. There was something definitely wrong.

Arjun shrugged, his shoulders rose and fell in a manner that seemed to suggest he was resigned to fate and to whatever was likely to happen. He was late for his punching practice. Moving to the changing room he gestured to the gym boy to put up the heavy bag on the cable cross so that he could resume his punching practice. He put his pistol in the gym locker.

Apollo would have blushed as he emerged in his vest and shorts with the punching gloves on his fists. Practicing his jabs and hooks he danced around the heavy bag in moves that would tighten his waist, take away inches from his stomach and make it flatter and harder and make the veins and sinews stand out giving him the look of the legendary archer, each punch coming like a bolt from a bow. The session over he showered and changed into more casual street clothes and jeans. His workout for the day was over. The Land Rover outside and the men were all forgotten but when he stepped outside they were still there. They had been joined by three more, these were not carrying any guns but they looked equally menacing, their body language and posture seemed to show their utter contempt for society and law and order.

Arjun steered the Honda Trigger out of the parking and moved towards the gym exit where he knew Richa would be waiting with her scooter. Ashwin would be there too ready to hop on to his bike. The black Studs helmet was slung casually on the crash bars of the Honda. As he stopped the bike at the gate and Ashwin came out Arjun felt a motion behind him as if someone was approaching. What surprised him was that Ashwin was carrying a hockey stick. Ashwin had never played hockey in his life.

As Ashwin reached the bike one of the men from the Land Rover came and stood before Arjun who dismounted.

Turn around, said the stranger. Arjun froze. Years of training in the gym were about to take over and push him into auto drive, where his instincts would rule and not his thoughts. As he froze, the boy in front pulled out a knife and the unexpected happened. Arjun’s left fist reacted even before he could control it or realise what had happened.

A left jab smashed the boy’s nose to pulp, the air became pink mist for a second as crimson salt spray turned Arjun’s yellow tee shirt into one stained with betel juice coloured dots. As he went sprawling Arjun heard a shout and roar from behind and Richa’s scream.

He whirled around and saw four men rushing towards him; his first attacker lay on the ground separated from his knife. The two men carrying the guns were raising them butt first to strike him and the others too carried knives.

The events of the next few seconds were proof of the close physical coordination and the chemistry the two boys shared. Ashwin was frail and slightly built while Arjun was muscular and a giant towering over the others. His 6 feet 2 inch tall body had width to match, and behind his tapering fingers played muscles of steel. Like a panther out of a cage he shot forward towards the men running in his direction as Ashwin passed him the hockey stick.

Then from his lips burst a roar of anger, a roar of defiance a battle cry that rent the sky and paralysed those who had dared to intrude into his world. The hockey stick swung in an arc as a maddened, insane animal fighting for self preservation went on a rampage; the stick swung and hit flesh with a sickening thud once, twice and thrice. The world seemed to come to a halt and the sole remaining attacker took to flight.

Till now a haze had seemed to descend before Arjun’s eyes, one that blinded him to the rest of the world. Now the haze dissipated and he could see clearly. Richa was screaming telling him to get away and Ashwin was sitting on the Honda revving the bike. Arjun Karan Singh spun around with a cry that froze the blood in his fleeing attacker. The others were senseless, there was blood everywhere and people were rushing out of the gym in their tracksuits.

Seconds later he was riding pillion on the Honda Trigger followed by Richa’s Activa. The bike glided along the road towards Ashwin’s apartment. A new chapter was about to unfold in their lives.

The Honda Trigger shot across the road like a bolt from an arrow, the Activa following suit, as the bike reached the apartment complex in Noida’s sector 29 where the AWHO flats looked like several versions of the India Gate. The two boys parked the vehicle in the parking and made way for the elevator where they were joined by Richa. The three made their way to the first floor apartment where Ashwin shacked up.

This flat, like all flats in which journalists live was a mess. A lap top, a tablet and heaps of newspapers were scattered all over the living room which functioned as a drawing room too. The sofa had more papers on it than space for someone to sit. Arjun threw his helmet on the sofa and then threw some papers on the floor before sitting down on one of the settees. Richa had come in too and proceeded to sit down but Ashwin remained standing.

Arjun fixed his eyes on him. The question in his mind came to his lips.

Why were they after you? He asked his voice barely above a whisper. In a second Arjun had guessed that the problem was journalistic in nature and had nothing to do with the gym or anything else. It was then that Ashwin sat down as if he did not know where to begin. His hands were still to stop shaking from what he had experienced in the last few minutes.

We got to talk to Albert or the police, he said, I do not trust anyone else..

Before Ashwin would talk to the police official he knew so well Arjun had realised that it would only be a matter of time before the men who had been involved with him in the fracas would come back in greater numbers to target Richa and the gym. They had to be prevented from doing so at all costs and only then should anything else be done.

The gym was their lifeline. It provided them with a base for interaction and money for their daily needs. If the business were affected it would create problems for everyone. Richa was an undergraduate who survived on her skills; she aimed to become a police inspector after doing her graduation. If her gym was shut down all her dreams would end.

For a while Arjun toyed with his cell phone, randomly going through numbers till he came across the number he needed and paused for a moment.

CHAPTER 2

THE OLD WRESTLER

A lbert Harry was dark skinned and looked more like a black American than a Keralite. He had made his name and fame as a bouncer and a personal security guard for a powerful politician of the Samaj Kalyan Party in Noida. His boss used to produce all the flex in Uttar Pradesh at one time and was known to organise events where Bollywood starlets came and served politicians dishes for dinner.

His vast estates located in the several towns of Uttar Pradesh were complexes where several films had been shot and even Hollywood heroes had come to enjoy his hospitality.

The poolside where Albert relaxed, his huge muscles glistening in the light reflected off the pool water rivalled that of any five star in Dubai or Delhi. The drinks ranged from Vodka in lime to Bloody Marys and mugs of draft beer. The girls scattered around in bikinis as revealing as possible were more blonde than the American blondes who may have been acting in movies in the 1930s but their accent was more Haryanvi and their nasal twang more Punjabi showing that their complexion was made up more of bleaches and cream rather than peaches and cream.

There were some true blue-blooded Russians too, looking for a rich old customer to take them out for the evening and a few Kazakhs.

When Albert’s phone rang, one of the Russians was dreamily casting her eyes over his muscles as she slowly massaged his huge shoulders.

Arjun’s number was fed into Albert’s phone. Albert respected Arjun as the boy was tough as nails. He also had connections and was not afraid of anything as he had little to lose and no stake anywhere.

Hi sweetie, he said as he picked up the phone. The smile on his face, however, vanished as the conversation progressed to be replaced by a scowl.

I’ll give you a number talk to him and let me know, he said and put down the phone. He knew he would have to make a few phone calls to back up Arjun as the situation was quite serious. Albert gestured to a young fair-skinned muscle bender with green eyes from Haryana. The boy bent forward to listen to what Albert had to say, the interchange lasted a second and the lad departed to emerge from the parking with six other muscle bound youth, their bodies flowing with steroids, their faces flushed with protein shakes and their tight tee shirts and jeans a sign of their rebel status in society. Riding on six different motorcycles they slowly made their way to the Sarai Kalekhan where two more people were on the way to meet them, namely Arjun and Richa.

The area was filthy. Garbage was rotting outside the market place in the neglected corners no one visited. Here the VIPs of Delhi did not come with their brooms for the symbolic cleaning up of the nation and the Swacch Bharat Abhiyaan. The dirt and filth reflected a mindset of the local people. People took pride in keeping their homes clean but not necessarily their neighbourhood. They felt they did not own their neighbourhood.

Therefore railway platforms, bus stations and public offices were mired in dirt as people felt that they did not own them. The railway platform behind Kalekhan at Nizamuddin was therefore a reflection of the mindset of the average Indian who has abdicated his responsibility to keep his country clean to the government and the mindset of the government employee who has further abdicated this responsibility to the local safai karamchari. This new caste system made it impossible to clean up railway platforms and to keep the nation clean.

The Honda trigger carrying Arjun and Richa paused here near a man roasting corn on a small coal fire lit stove placed on a wheeled cart. Six other motorcycles joined soon, but the boys who had seemed so huge and muscular a few minutes ago were dwarfed by Arjun’s size. The one with green eyes sized up Arjun and gave him Albert’s message. They were to meet the man who owned the Land Rover at the Hauz Khas village in a Bistro. Arjun was to come there with Richa and Ashwin, there was no threat to anyone now and the problem would be sorted out.

Loud music, disco lights and a dancing crowd made up the lower floor of the discotheque, the seating area on top from which the older generation watched with a glass of beer or a stronger drink was where the owner sat. Six familiar faces from Kale Khan dotted the background. Albert held his beer in his left hand as he leaned across to the bald and fair but portly man in the linen pinstriped trousers and white shirt with a waist coat to match. He gestured towards Arjun indicating who he was to the older generation whose eyes ran over the approaching Adonis. They were trying to see whether he was worth investing in or not. The girl and Ashwin seemed inconsequential but if there was a plan he had in mind they were there to play a role for Arjun. However, he had the look of a man who would not spill the beans in his first meeting with anyone, but he also had the look of a man who had a lot of beans to spill. With a look like Vito Corleone from the movie the Godfather – a role done by Marlon Brando – the man in the suit had a job for Arjun.

As the two shook hands Albert gestured to the young muscle bender to sit down after introducing him. As for Richa and Ashwin the two merely exchanged glances with the older gentleman.

It was obvious that all the talking would be between Arjun and the man in the suit, who had come to be known as Gandhi Pehelwan in the Delhi underworld because of his love for promoting wrestling.

Gandhi was called pehelwan because he was an old school wrestler who had made money through real estate and by running a transport company known as Patiala Transport. His trucks carried sand, construction material and bricks contributing to the building of Delhi. As Delhi grew so did the business of Gandhi Pehelwan. From a small shuttering business and one truck to the owner of several hotels, bars and trucks the old wrestler had come a long way and there was something on his mind.

I like weightlifters, he told Arjun in a way to begin the conversation…And Albert has told me a lot of nice things about you… I have heard about Richa’s gym and I like gyms, they are a good place for the youth to visit, I, however, did not like certain articles in a newspaper that places like my bar here should be shut down, the gym is your business and I would like to see it going so why write against my business?

The question was pointed at Ashwin but Gandhi proceeded to talk without waiting for an answer.

Take the case of weightlifters, boxers and wrestlers, we bleed our guts out, but there is no money in our sports, so what do we do, we open bars, discos and hotels to earn money, as for cricketers all they have to do is to bat or throw the ball and there is some Lalit Modi or Rajiv Shukla waiting to put money on the sport and promote it in a big way, he said.

They say Priyanka Chopra has made more money playing Mary Kom than Mary Kom has made as a boxer, because there is no Indian Boxing League and no one in industry wants to sponsor boxers, so we end up selling beer to make money and cricketers buy flats in Nizamuddin East where a flat can cost even Rs 9 crore, added Gandhi with a meaningful look towards Arjun.

Arjun my boy, he said," I want to be friends I want to overlook what happened today but I desperately need a favour from you, actually two favours ...please ask your friend Ashwin not to write against my