September 16, 2000 Secure Line 18:00 Hours
The UAE Ambassador's fax was sitting on my desk, begging for a truce. Shaukat Aziz looked relieved.
"Sir, they offered to stop the funding," Shaukat said. "We should accept. The markets are volatile."
"No," I said, crumpling the fax. "They started a fire in my house. I don't just want them to put it out. I want them to pay for the furniture."
I picked up the phone to Mumbai. Ambani picked up on the first ring.
"Dhirubhai," I said. "The Aamir interview was a surgical strike. But the patient is still breathing. I want you to twist the knife."
"They are already calling for a ceasefire, General," Ambani warned. "If we push too hard, they might deport our workers. That's millions of people."
"They won't," I countered. "Their economy runs on our labor. If they deport the Indians and Pakistanis, their skyscrapers stop rising and their toilets stop flushing. They are more dependent on us than we are on them."
"So, what is the next move?"
"Aamir was the conscience," I said coldly. "Now send in the muscle. I want the protectors. I want Akshay Kumar and Suniel Shetty."
"Doing what?"
"Meeting the victims," I directed. "Not in a studio. On the ground. Find the women who came back broken. Find the men who lost their hands in construction accidents. Put the heroes next to the victims. Show the world that while the Sheikhs break our people, our Heroes heal them."
The Field Hospital September 17, 2000 Lilavati Hospital, Mumbai 10:00 Hours
The media frenzy was unprecedented.
Akshay Kumar and Suniel Shetty, two of the biggest action stars in India, walked into the trauma ward. They weren't wearing sunglasses. They weren't smiling.
The cameras followed them as they sat by the bedside of a young woman named Lakshmi, a domestic worker who had returned from Kuwait in a wheelchair, her back broken by a 'fall' that the police refused to investigate.
Akshay held her hand. The image was broadcast live.
Akshay: "Lakshmi is not just a worker. She is our sister. She went to build their palaces, and they sent her back in a wheelchair."
He turned to the cameras, his face flushed with the anger of the 'Khiladi'.
Akshay: "We are announcing the 'Suraksha Foundation'. Suniel and I are putting 5 Crores of our own money into it."
Suniel: "This fund will provide legal aid to every Indian in the Gulf who is abused. It will pay for their medical rehab. And..."
He looked directly into the lens, his voice deep and threatening.
Suniel: "We are hiring international lawyers. We will sue the employers in the International Court of Human Rights. If you touch an Indian worker, you will answer to us."
The Panic in the Desert September 17, 2000 Riyadh, Saudi Arabia 14:00 Hours
The Royal Court was in chaos.
Aamir Khan's intellectual critique was bad. But Akshay Kumar and Suniel Shetty threatening legal action and standing with broken women? That was a PR nuclear bomb.
"This is a disaster," the Foreign Minister shouted at his staff. "The Western media is eating this up! The BBC is doing a special on 'The Hidden Cost of Oil'. Human Rights Watch is demanding access to our labor camps!"
"Sir, the Americans are calling," an aide rushed in. "The State Department. They are asking if the reports of 'systemic abuse' are true. They are talking about a Senate Hearing."
The Minister went pale. If the US Congress got involved, sanctions could follow. The "Indian Soft Power" had successfully triggered the "American Moral Police."
"Get Musharraf on the phone!" the Minister screamed. "Get Ambani! Tell them to stop the actors! We will give them whatever they want!"
The Call of Surrender September 18, 2000 Aditya's Office 09:00 Hours
The phone rang. It was Prince Saud Al-Faisal, the Foreign Minister of Saudi Arabia.
"General," his voice was tight, restrained. "We need to de-escalate. This media campaign... it is hurting the Ummah."
"The Ummah was hurt when you paid thugs to burn banks in Peshawar, Your Highness," I replied calmly.
"We have stopped the payments," the Prince said quickly. "The riots are over. The Mullahs are silent. Now, please... tell your friends in Bollywood to cancel the movie. Tell the actors to stop the lawsuits."
"I can try," I said, pretending to be a helpless mediator. "But the anger is deep. My people feel... undervalued."
"What do you want, General?" The Prince asked. "Name your price."
I sat up. The moment had arrived.
The Demands
"Three things," I said, ticking them off on my fingers.
1. The Energy Guarantee: "Pakistan needs a deferred payment facility on oil. Not charity. Credit. 36 months. We need to stabilize our reserves."
2. The Labor Protection Accord: "You will sign a bilateral treaty with Pakistan and India. A minimum wage for our workers. And no confiscation of passports. If you want our labor, you treat them like humans, not cattle."
3. The Investment: "You withdrew capital from our banks to scare us. Now, you will put it back. Double it. I want a $2 Billion deposit in the State Bank of Pakistan by Monday to stabilize the Rupee."
There was a long silence on the line. The demands were steep. I was asking for economic sovereignty and human rights reform.
"And if we agree?" the Prince asked.
"Then Aamir Khan's movie script goes back in the drawer," I promised. "And Akshay Kumar praises your 'swift action' to help the victims. The media cycle ends."
The Prince sighed. He knew he had lost. The soft power of Bollywood, weaponized by the strategic mind of a General, was stronger than his oil money.
"We will send the agreement draft tonight," the Prince said.
The Aftermath
I hung up.
"Shaukat," I called out.
"Sir?"
"Call Ambani. Tell him the 'Suraksha Foundation' just got its first donor."
"Who?"
"The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia," I smiled. "They are going to pay for the rehab of the very people they broke. And they are going to thank us for letting them do it."
I looked at the map. The Gulf was no longer the master. It was a partner. A reluctant, terrified partner.
"Now," I stood up. "Let's play some cricket."