January 23, 20017 Race Course Road, New Delhi19:30 Hours
Vajpayee watched the day's coverage as if watching a river flood a village—less angry than saddened, because the pattern was familiar.
He did not need an intelligence brief to know the source.
He knew Brajesh Mishra's method the way poets know a man's handwriting.
The selective details released—visa-free, joint observation, "Tourist Police," the five-dollar fee—had been chosen carefully. Not to inform, but to provoke.
A corridor proposal could have been framed as reconciliation.
It had been framed as a threat.
Vajpayee placed his glasses down and sat quietly for a long moment, listening to the television's noise through the wall as if it were distant thunder.
Then he asked for Mishra.
When Mishra entered, he did not wear guilt. He wore justification.
"Prime Minister," Mishra began, "the country has a right to know what is being negotiated. We cannot allow sentiment to blind us to security realities—terrorism, narcotics trafficking, smuggling routes. A visa-free lane is a vulnerability."
Vajpayee's voice stayed calm.
"I agree on the risks," he said. "I asked for protocols. I asked for verification. I asked for conditions."
Mishra didn't blink. "Then the public reaction will strengthen your hand. You can demand harder terms."
Vajpayee looked at him directly.
"And it will weaken the one thing we cannot manufacture once it collapses," he replied.
Mishra waited.
Vajpayee continued, each word placed precisely.
"Trust," he said. "Not trust in Pakistan. Trust within our own house."
He gestured lightly toward the television.
"Today, we watched a devotional request turned into a loyalty test," Vajpayee said. "We watched ordinary Sikhs—who asked respectfully—be treated as suspects by people who profit from hysteria."
Mishra's jaw tightened.
"This is the cost of realism," he said.
Vajpayee shook his head—slowly, with disappointment rather than rage.
"No," he replied. "This is the cost of forcing reality to look like your preferred argument."
A long pause.
Then Vajpayee said what Mishra had hoped he would not say out loud.
"I know where this came from," Vajpayee said.
Mishra didn't deny it. Denial would have been insulting to both their intelligence.
He simply said, "I did what national security required."
Vajpayee's gaze remained steady.
"And I will do what national stability requires," he replied.
The Night's New Threat
By late evening, Delhi's phones began ringing again—MPs, coalition partners, Punjab leaders, security chiefs. Everyone wanted to be seen "taking a stand," which in India often meant taking a microphone.
The corridor offer—still not accepted, still under review—was already being used as an instrument to polarize.
And somewhere behind all of it, the true danger was growing:
Not that the corridor would be rejected.
But that it would be accepted in such a poisoned atmosphere that the first incident—any incident, real or manufactured—would become inevitable.
In Islamabad, General Musharraf received a summary of the Indian media storm. The report highlighted three things:
The Sikh diaspora petitions had created unprecedented moral pressure.
India's internal factions were weaponizing the offer against each other.
The word "security" was now fused to the word "devotion" in every broadcast.
Musharraf read the last line twice:
"Atmosphere heating. High risk of sabotage attempts by spoilers."
He set the report down and stared at the map of the border region.
If the corridor moved forward now, it would move forward under fire—political fire first, and perhaps something worse later.
And yet, the petitions had made one thing impossible:
Silence.