August 15, 2000 General Headquarters (GHQ), Rawalpindi Conference Room A 10:00 Hours
The room smelled of lemon polish and old leather. It was the smell of absolute power.
Sitting around the massive mahogany table were the Corps Commanders—the "Ten Corps" who ruled Pakistan. They were sipping tea from bone china cups, looking bored. They expected a briefing on Kashmir or the Afghan border.
Instead, standing at the head of the table was Shaukat Aziz.
I had recruited Shaukat from Citibank in New York to be my Finance Minister. He was a man of expensive suits, manicured hands, and global finance. He looked out of place in a room full of stiff starched khakis and handlebar mustaches.
"Gentlemen," Shaukat said, adjusting the overhead projector. "The economy is stabilizing. But to grow, we need a 'Big Bang'. A product that creates its own market."
He flipped the switch. A slide appeared on the screen.
PROJECT: THE INDIAN UNION PREMIER LEAGUE (IUPL)
The room went dead silent.
General Mahmood (ISI) froze, his teacup halfway to his mouth. General Aziz (Chief of General Staff) narrowed his eyes.
"Indian Union?" General Mahmood repeated the words like they were poison. "Mr. Aziz, have you lost your mind? Are you suggesting we join a league named after the country we have fought three wars with?"
"It implies reunification!" the Corps Commander of Mangla shouted, slamming his hand on the table. "The troops will revolt. The Mullahs will burn the cities. We are the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, not a state in the 'Indian Union'!"
The Pivot
I sat at the head of the table, watching the theatrics. I had told Shaukat to use that name intentionally. It was the "Anchor." You throw a heavy anchor first, so when you pull it back, the boat ends up exactly where you want it.
"Gentlemen, calm down," I said, raising a hand. "The name is... a working title. Shaukat is a banker; he thinks in terms of market size. The Indian market is the target."
"We cannot use that name," General Aziz grunted. "It is treasonous."
"Fine," I said, looking at Shaukat. "Change it."
Shaukat, sweating slightly, flipped to the next slide.
REVISED: THE SUB-CONTINENT PREMIER LEAGUE (SPL)
The Generals looked at the new title.
"Sub-Continent..." General Mahmood rolled the word around in his mouth. "It sounds... geographic. It sounds like the British Raj. It implies we are co-owners of the region."
"It is acceptable," the Quartermaster General nodded. "Neutral. Dignified."
The Concept: The Unholy Mixture
"Now for the structure," Shaukat regained his confidence. "We are proposing a Franchise Model. Eight teams. City-based. Privatized."
He listed the cities: Karachi, Lahore, Peshawar, Mumbai, Delhi, Calcutta, Hyderabad, Bangalore.
"And the players?" General Aziz asked.
"Mixed," Shaukat said. "A draft system. An auction. The highest bidder buys the player."
"Wait," the Corps Commander of Peshawar leaned forward. "You mean... an Indian owner can buy a Pakistani player?"
"Yes," Shaukat nodded.
"And... a Pakistani owner can buy an Indian player?"
"Yes."
"And..." the Commander hesitated, the horror dawning on him. "Can an Indian owner buy a Pakistani team?"
"Open market," Shaukat said. "If Shah Rukh Khan wants to buy the Peshawar franchise... he can."
The room exploded.
"Impossible!" Mahmood shouted. "An Indian owning the Peshawar team? In the heart of the Frontier? It's a security nightmare! RAW will infiltrate the management. They will use the team bus to smuggle spies!"
"Sir, this is selling our sovereignty!" another General cried out. "What will the soldiers think? That we are mercenaries for Bollywood?"
The Silencer: The Balance Sheet
I let them vent for two minutes. I let the nationalism pour out.
Then, I gave Shaukat the signal.
"Gentlemen," Shaukat said, his voice cutting through the noise. "Please look at Slide 4."
He displayed the numbers.
PROJECTED REVENUE (YEAR 1)
TV Rights (Global + India): $1.2 Billion
Gate Receipts: $150 Million
Merchandising: $80 Million
PCB Share (hosting fees + taxes): $400 Million
The shouting stopped.
$400 Million.
In 2000, the entire budget of the Pakistan Army was around $3 Billion. This single tournament, lasting six weeks, would generate revenue equal to 15% of the defense budget.
"The Indian market is one billion people," Shaukat explained softly. "When they watch TV, advertisers pay in dollars. By hosting their teams, by letting their stars play in our stadiums... we are taxing their obsession."
I leaned forward, clasping my hands.
"Think about it, Mahmood," I said. "We are not selling sovereignty. We are renting out our stadiums at a premium."
I pointed to the "Peshawar" line item.
"If Shah Rukh Khan buys Peshawar, he brings Indian money into the Frontier. He pays the franchise fee to the PCB. The PCB is run by General Tauqir Zia. The money comes to us."
I looked at the Corps Commander of Peshawar.
"And for security? The Peshawar franchise will need a 'Special Security Wing'. The Frontier Corps will provide it. The franchise owner pays the bill. In dollars."
The Greed Takes Root
The mood in the room shifted instantly. The moral outrage evaporated, replaced by the cold calculation of the "Milbus" (Military Business) machine.
"So..." the Quartermaster General cleared his throat. "The security contracts... they would be handled by our welfare foundations?"
"Exclusively," I promised. "Askari Guards. Fauji Foundation logistics. The Indians pay for their own protection."
General Aziz looked at the revenue slide again. "And the TV rights? PTV gets a cut?"
"We are mandating a joint feed," I said. "PTV and DD Sports. We split the ad revenue 50-50. Even though 80% of the viewers are Indian, we take half the cash."
A slow smile spread across General Aziz's face.
"We are looting them," Aziz chuckled. "We are making them pay to watch their own players."
"It is asymmetric warfare," I said, using their language. "Economic warfare. We drain their liquidity into our banks."
The Decision
General Mahmood was the last holdout. He looked at the map of the teams.
"Peshawar owned by an Indian..." he muttered. "The tribes will be... confused."
"The tribes love Shah Rukh Khan more than they love you, Mahmood," I said brutally. "Let them have their hero. And you take the check."
Mahmood sighed. He picked up his pen.
"Fine. The Sub-Continent Premier League. But the security protocols must be draconian. No Indian leaves the hotel without an ISI escort."
"Agreed," I said.
I stood up.
"Shaukat, issue the tender. Announce the auction. Let's see how much the Indian billionaires are willing to pay for a piece of Pakistan."
As the Generals filed out, discussing which of their relatives could set up catering companies for the stadiums, I stayed back with Shaukat.
"You were sweating, Shaukat," I smiled.
"They are terrifying men, Sir," Shaukat wiped his forehead. "For a moment, I thought they would shoot me for the 'Indian Union' slide."
"They only shoot people who threaten their power," I said, watching the empty chairs. "If you threaten their power but offer them a fortune... they will holster their guns and ask for a pen."
I looked at the screen. SPL.
"Get ready for the auction, Shaukat. We are about to turn the rivalry into a circus. And we are the ringmasters."