July 15, 2000 Prime Minister's Residence, 7 Race Course Road, New Delhi 10:00 Hours
Khurshid Kasuri sat across from Atal Bihari Vajpayee. The Indian Prime Minister was in a poetic mood. The borders were quiet. The cricket matches had been a festival. The "Terrorist General" next door was acting strangely like a CEO.
Kasuri laid out the blueprint for the Kartarpur Free Trade Zone.
"Prime Minister," Kasuri said, choosing his words carefully. "We are not asking for a peace treaty. We are asking for a market."
He opened the map of the shared zone.
"Your Sikh community wants access to the Gurdwara. Your textile barons want access to Pakistani buyers. We are offering you a walled city where both can happen."
Vajpayee adjusted his glasses, looking at the "Joint Security Zone."
"General Musharraf has become a Baniya," Vajpayee chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. "He wants to charge us rent to pray?"
"He wants to charge you rent to shop, Excellency," Kasuri corrected with a smile. "The prayer is free. But the Kashmiri Chai and the Peshawari Chappals? Those come with a price tag."
Vajpayee looked at his National Security Advisor, Brajesh Mishra.
"It is a trap," Mishra whispered. "He wants to hook our traders."
"Or maybe," Vajpayee mused, "it is a door. If our traders are making money in Pakistan, the Pakistan Army cannot shoot at them. Greed is a better peacekeeper than the UN."
Vajpayee tapped the table.
"We agree. But on one condition. The Bengal Quarter you mentioned? We want transit rights for our goods to reach the North East through Bangladesh if this market succeeds."
"One step at a time, Prime Minister," Kasuri nodded. "But yes. The bazaar is open."
The Bengalis Return July 16, 2000 Dhaka, Bangladesh
The cable from Islamabad arrived at the Foreign Ministry. For thirty years, communications from Pakistan had been formal, cold, or apologetic.
This one was different. It was an invitation.
"The Government of Pakistan invites the Federation of Bangladesh Chambers of Commerce to establish a permanent 'Bengal Pavilion' at the Kartarpur Zero-Point Zone. Duty-Free access for Jute and Garments."
The news hit the Dhaka headlines. "Pakistan Opens Door to Bengali Trade." "Return to the West—On Our Terms."
For the first time, Pakistan wasn't asking for "brotherhood." It was offering business. The bitterness of 1971 didn't vanish, but the allure of a new market softened the edge. The Bengali tycoons smelled opportunity.
The Empire Strikes Back July 20, 2000 Dubai, UAE
Yousuf Al-Falasi, the keeper of Dubai's commercial interests, threw the report against the wall.
"A Bazaar?" he shouted. "He is building a rival to the Dubai Shopping Festival! Right on the border!"
He paced around his office, looking at the skyline of Dubai.
"If Indians can walk across the border to buy Pakistani goods... if Afghans can sell their carpets directly... why will they fly to Dubai? We lose the transit. We lose the tourism."
He picked up the phone. He dialed a number in Karachi.
"Activate the network," Al-Falasi ordered. "The General is building a paradise in Punjab. Make him realize he is losing his hell in Karachi."
The City of Lights (and Fire) July 22, 2000 Karachi, Pakistan
The riot didn't start with stones. It started with rumors.
In the industrial hubs of SITE and Korangi, pamphlets began to circulate. They were printed on cheap yellow paper, funded by "anonymous donors."
"PUNJAB ROBS, KARACHI SOBS!" "The General is building Malls in Narowal while Karachi has no Water!" "The Kartarpur Conspiracy: Destroying Karachi's Port to feed Punjab's Bazaar!"
It was a masterstroke of disinformation. It tapped into the deep, historical wound of the Mohajir community and the Sindhi nationalists.
By noon, the tires were burning.
I watched the screens in Islamabad. Karachi was paralyzed. The port was blocked. Trucks carrying the very goods I needed for the economy were set on fire.
"Sir," the Interior Minister rushed in. "It's the sectarian groups. Sipah-e-Sahaba. And the ethnic parties. They have formed a strange alliance. They are claiming the Kartarpur Zone is a plot to kill Karachi's industries."
"Who is feeding them this?" I asked, though I already knew.
"Money is coming in," the Minister confirmed. "Hawala channels from Dubai. Large amounts. They are paying daily wages to the rioters."
The Counter-Move
I looked at the map. The UAE was smart. They knew they couldn't attack me militarily. So they attacked my wallet. If Karachi stops, Pakistan stops.
"They want a Civil War between Punjab and Sindh," I muttered. "They want to turn the merchants of Karachi against the merchants of Punjab."
I stood up.
"Get me the plane. We are going to Karachi."
"Sir, the security situation..."
"I am not going to fight them with police," I said, grabbing my cap. "I am going to fight them with the one thing the UAE cannot offer them."
"What is that?"
"Ownership."
I turned to the Brigadier.
"Call the Karachi Chamber of Commerce. Call the Stock Exchange. And call the leaders of the strike. Tell them the Chief Executive is coming. And tell them..."
I paused, formulating the gamble.
"Tell them I am not coming to stop the strike. I am coming to give them shares."
The Landing Governor House, Karachi 20:00 Hours
The city was burning, the smoke choking the humid air. The business leaders sat in the hall, angry and frightened. The Mullahs and ethnic leaders sat on the other side, defiant.
I walked in. I didn't take the podium. I walked into the center of the room.
"Dubai says I am killing Karachi," I said loudly. "They say I am building a market in Punjab to destroy your port."
I looked at the leading industrialist.
"Who do you think handles the logistics for the Kartarpur Bazaar? Who ships the goods? Who insures the cargo?"
I dropped a file on the table.
"Kartarpur Logistics Authority."
"I am not giving this contract to the NLC," I announced. "I am giving it to the Karachi Chamber of Commerce. Every truck that enters the Peace Zone... the toll belongs to Karachi."
I turned to the agitators.
"And you say Punjab is eating your bread? I am designating Karachi as the Headquarters of the South Asian Transit Trade. The banks handling the Indian money? They will be Karachi banks. The insurance firms? Karachi firms."
I looked around the room.
"The Sheikhs in Dubai want you to burn your own city so they can keep their shopping malls full. They are using you to kill your own competition."
"Do you want to be Dubai's slaves?" I asked, my voice ringing in the silence. "Or do you want to be Dubai's replacement?"
The silence stretched. Then, the head of the Chamber of Commerce stood up. He looked at the file. He looked at the "Toll Revenue" projections.
"General," he said, "if Karachi gets the logistics contract... we can clear the streets in an hour."
I smiled. The UAE had rented the rioters. I had just bought their bosses.
"Clear the streets," I ordered. "We have a bazaar to build."