Refracted At The Durand Line

When Moscow invaded Afghanistan in 1979, Islamabad once again became the exciting new linchpin in America’s strategy to suck the Soviet Union dry. The US funnelled millions of dollars worth of arms to equip the ‘mujahedin’ to fight the Soviets. Pakistan’s frontline provinces of Baluchistan and the NWFP were awash with Stinger missiles and ammunition, readily available both for love and money. But nine years later the Soviets left Afghanistan, having lost their desire to wash the Red Army’s boots in the Indian Ocean. The Cold War battlefront shifted to Europe. You could toss Pakistan back on the dungheap of history, it did not matter a whit to whom belonged the spoils of war.

The story of America walking away from its frontline ally in the east, and leaving in its wake the withdrawal symptoms of drugs, guns and Islamic extremism, has been written before. Mostly by Western journalists still wrapped up in the exhilaration of their byline from last night’s copy, never mind that the page one story is more than a decade old. Meanwhile, September 11 becomes a sort of iconic account with history.

Weaver returns to the badlands of Pakistan to find a biblical sense of deja vu. The religious right is even shriller and threatening to swallow up anyone who comes in its way. Maulana Fazlur Rahman of the Hizbul Mujahideen warns Weaver that even Musharraf will become a ‘‘former” President if he dares curtail their power. And while September 11 has forced Musharraf to turn Pakistan’s decade-long strategy on Afghanistan of ‘‘strategic depth” on its head, at the end of the book the president seems more lonely and isolated than at its beginning.

In this simmering potboiler of US-sponsored ‘‘jihad’’ that disdains the Durand Line, the unholy mix of religion, power and politics within Pakistan, Weaver throws in a dash of Kashmir. It is part of the reason why this book is so interesting, especially to an Indian reader. Weaver brings to life some of the more unbiased facts of history, such as the linkages between the terrorist training fields of Afghanistan and the killings in Kashmir. She draws upon interviews with US officials and Pakistanis to make the point that the danger of nuclear-tipped India and Pakistan going to war is a recurring one — especially since Musharraf has not or is hardly capable of stopping cross-border terrorism.

Wisely, though, Weaver refrains from proselytising, her experience as a New Yorker reporter rescuing her from the responsibility of fixing the world. Instead, she spends quality time bustard hunting with some sundry sheikh from the Gulf — and describes the strange scent of power and money as it thrusts itself upon the poverty of Pakistan. The whiplash of the falcon could well be a synonym for the Saudi state as it funnels a mixture of Wahabi diktat and conservatism into Pakistan and unleashes intra-Islamic wars. Tenderly almost, Weaver describes the bustard’s struggle against a superior force, prolonging its freedom with feint and cunning but then simply unable to keep up.

Is that a Weaver allegory for Pakistan? She’s not telling, of course, but the author’s affinity for the underdog obviously shines through.