October 24, 1999 (Sunday) GT Road (Grand Trunk Road), Near Gujranwala 08:00 Hours
The lifeline of Pakistan had stopped beating.
On the massive highway connecting Lahore to Islamabad, thousands of trucks were parked diagonally across the lanes. It was a Pahya Jam Hartal (Wheel-Jam Strike) in its absolute form.
Drivers sat on charpoys in the middle of the road, playing cards and smoking hookahs. They weren't angry; they were following orders. The orders came from the "Seths" (Owners) who also happened to be the local Members of Parliament.
Under the morning sun, the smell was beginning to rise. Tons of vegetables, milk, and perishable goods—loaded yesterday for the Sunday markets—were rotting in the heat.
The City: The Shortage Begins
In Lahore, the mood was shifting like sand in a storm. Yesterday, people were cheering for the Rs. 15 sugar. Today, they were staring at empty shelves in the vegetable market.
Flour Mills: Closed. "No wheat arrival due to strike." Poultry Farms: Supply halted. "Chicken prices up by 50%."
The Elite Nexus was tightening the noose. They were starving the population to punish the General.
The Whispers A Mosque in Anarkali Bazaar, Lahore 10:00 Hours
The Mullahs, who had been silenced by my threat two days ago, found a new way to speak. They didn't use the loudspeakers. They used the Whisper Network.
Inside the courtyard, after the mid-morning prayers, a junior cleric sat with a group of shopkeepers.
"Brothers," the cleric lowered his voice, looking around conspiratorially. "Do you know why the General raided the Jaktar Mill?"
"To give us cheap sugar?" a naive shopkeeper asked.
The cleric laughed, a dry, cynical sound. "You are innocent. Think about it. Why only Jaktar? Why only the mills of the previous government?"
He leaned in closer. "I have heard... from reliable sources in Islamabad... that the General's own cousin in Karachi has set up a new trading company. He wanted the import contract. When the Seths refused to give him a share, the General raided them."
The shopkeepers exchanged looks. The seed of doubt was planted. "So... it is just one thief raiding another?"
"Exactly," the cleric smiled, his venom doing its work. "It is not justice. It is business. And who pays the price? You. Look at the flour shortage. The General eats imported biscuits while you stand in line."
Army House, Rawalpindi 11:00 Hours
"Sir, the narrative is slipping," Brigadier Tariq placed the stack of newspapers on my desk.
I looked at the headlines.
The News: NATIONWIDE GRIDLOCK. ECONOMY LOSS ESTIMATED AT 2 BILLION RUPEES.
Nawa-i-Waqt: IS THE SUGAR RAID A VENDETTA? RUMORS OF 'FAVORITE' IMPORTERS SURFACE.
I threw the paper down. "A cousin?" I rubbed my forehead. "I don't even have a cousin in the import business. Musharraf's family is middle-class!"
"It doesn't matter, Sir," Tariq said grimly. "In Pakistan, the rumor travels faster than the truth. The public is confused. They got the cheap sugar, but now they can't find flour or chicken. They are starting to blame the crackdown for the shortage."
I walked to the map on the wall. I looked at the connections. The Truck Owners. The Flour Mill Owners. The Poultry Barons. The Mullahs.
Aditya Kaul analyzed the data points. It was a web.
"It is the same as India," I whispered to myself. "In Maharashtra, the Politician owns the Sugar Mill. In Punjab, the Politician owns the Transport Company. In Karachi, the Politician funds the Mullah."
I turned to Tariq. "It is a Nexus, Tariq. We aren't fighting separate enemies. We are fighting one giant Hydra. If I cut off the Sugar head, the Transport head bites me. If I hit the Transport head, the Mullah head poisons the water."
"So, do we negotiate?" Tariq asked. "The Transport Association President is asking for a meeting. He wants the police cases against the hoarders dropped in exchange for opening the roads."
"If I drop the cases," I said, my voice cold, "then I am just another weak Prime Minister. They will own me forever."
I looked at the map again. The roads were blocked. The trucks were stationary. The arteries of the nation were clogged by cholesterol made of greed.
But there was another system. An older system. Built by the British, neglected by the politicians, but still there. The Railway Tracks.
"Tariq," I asked. "What is the status of Pakistan Railways?"
"Critical, Sir. Half the engines are defunct. The tracks are rusted. The union is corrupt. It takes 48 hours for a cargo train to go from Karachi to Lahore."
"Does the Transport Union control the trains?"
"No, Sir. The Railway is Federal. It is ours."
I smiled. It was a grim smile. "They think they can starve the cities because they own the trucks. They forgot that the State owns the Iron Horse."
I pressed the intercom. "Get me the Minister of Railways... actually, no. Forget the Minister. He is useless."
"Then who, Sir?"
"Get me the Commander of the Army Engineering Corps. And get me the file on every retired Railway engineer who was fired for being 'too strict'."
I picked up the red marker and drew a line along the railway track from Karachi Port to Lahore. "We are going to run a Ghost Train, Tariq. If the trucks won't move... we will bypass them."
Author's Note
The Elite Nexus. This chapter exposes the reality of South Asian power structures. The "Strike" is rarely about workers' rights; it's often a weapon used by the elite (who own the fleets) to blackmail the government.
The Rumor: The "Cousin Import" lie is a classic tactic. It serves to neutralize Aditya's moral high ground. If the public believes he is corrupt too, his "Revolution" dies.
The Trap: If he negotiates, he loses authority. If he doesn't, the people starve.