January 30, 2001General Headquarters, Rawalpindi10:15 Hours
The mood at GHQ was familiar—maps, threat briefs, and the measured pessimism of men trained to assume that whatever can go wrong will go wrong at the worst possible time.
But Musharraf was not in the mood to assume.
He was in the mood to seize.
The Kartarpur wave had created a rare thing in the subcontinent: a positive weave—a momentum that traveled faster than ministers, faster than committees, faster than formal treaties. The diaspora had begun sponsoring fees. Traders had begun building incentives. Even hostile studios were forced to discuss devotion instead of hostility.
Musharraf knew what came next if momentum was allowed to hang in the air too long.
Someone would puncture it.
A sabotage incident did not need to be large. It only needed to be photogenic.
And photogenic accidents kill peace faster than bombs.
He looked around the table at the Corps Commanders and spoke with the blunt urgency of a man who had seen time windows close.
"We are riding this momentum," he said. "Now. Not in six months."
A commander cleared his throat. "Sir, permanent infrastructure—bridges, approach roads, facilities—these are long projects."
"I know," Musharraf replied. "A proper bridge takes months, sometimes years. Which is why we will not wait for a proper bridge."
He pointed to the river line on the map.
"Ravi," he said. "We deploy a Patton bridge under an emergency plan."
A few faces tightened. Patton bridging belonged to war plans, not pilgrim plans.
Musharraf didn't wait for them to find the words.
"A Patton bridge can sustain tanks," he said. "It can sustain anything we need for this first phase—tractors, trolleys, service vehicles, ambulances, supplies. If it can carry armor, it can carry devotion."
A Corps Commander frowned. "Sir, you're proposing a military bridge for civilian flow."
"I'm proposing a bridge that exists in weeks not years," Musharraf replied. "This is not symbolism. This is logistics."
He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into pure operational clarity.
"We create redundancy," he said. "We create continuity. We remove single points of failure. If one route is blocked or sabotaged, flow does not collapse."
He paused just long enough for the doctrine to land.
"Because if flow collapses once," Musharraf said, "the cynics will say 'we told you so,' and the spoilers will have their headline."
The Perimeter Doctrine
Then he moved to the real center of gravity: security.
"Kartarpur will have a defined security perimeter," Musharraf said. "Not improvised. Not ad hoc. Defined."
One commander asked the obvious. "How hard are we going?"
Musharraf answered without blinking.
"As hard as necessary," he said. "Even if we deploy a full brigade."
The room went quiet—not because the commanders disagreed, but because they were recalculating the implications. A brigade for pilgrims was not a normal sentence.
Musharraf continued.
"You will build a small checkpost," he said. "Disciplined, professional. Screening for weapons and prohibited items. Separate lanes for men and women. Quick processing. No chaos."
A commander began, "Sir, screening itself can become a humiliation point—"
"And that is why you will do it properly," Musharraf cut in. "Firm but respectful. Efficient. The visitor must feel safe, not accused."
He tapped the table once.
"Remember," he said. "We are not running a prison gate. We are running a sacred access point."
Aditya's mind, underneath, ran the IAS checklist: queue management, signage, shaded waiting areas, drinking water, medical aid, complaint desk, female staff for female screening, a visible code of conduct for security personnel. These were small things that prevented large humiliations.
But Musharraf spoke it as doctrine.
"No shouting," he said. "No unnecessary handling. No arrogance. No sermons. No politics. No slogans."
He looked directly at the commanders.
"And no compromises," he added. "If you have to deploy a whole brigade to ensure nobody slips past the parameter, you deploy it. If you have to seal surrounding routes and monitor local movement, you do it."
The Air Above the Corridor
Mahmood, standing slightly behind, asked quietly, "Air cover?"
Musharraf nodded.
"Helicopters," he said. "Continuous air surveillance. Not to intimidate pilgrims—position them intelligently, keep them high, keep them quiet. Eyes above, calm below."
One Corps Commander protested carefully. "Sir, helicopters overhead will create optics—militarization."
Musharraf's response was sharp.
"Optics are controlled by outcome," he said. "If the day passes without incident, the optics become competence. If an incident occurs, the optics become failure. Choose which you prefer."
He let that settle.
"This is not a border deployment," Musharraf said. "It is event security at the highest level."
The Festival Concept
Then came the sentence that made veteran commanders blink, not because it was impossible, but because it was unfamiliar.
"We will do it as a Festival of Guru Nanak," Musharraf said.
A commander's voice rose slightly in surprise. "A festival—at the border?"
"Yes," Musharraf said. "A controlled cultural event. Food, crafts, hymns, devotional atmosphere. Not a rally. Not a spectacle. A dignified gathering."
He looked around the room, reading the hesitation.
"You are shocked because you've been taught the border must always look like fear," Musharraf said. "But fear is exactly what extremists feed on."
He leaned forward.
"If we keep it cold and militarized," he said, "the spoilers will provoke one moment and claim victory. If we make it warm and dignified—under heavy protection—they lose their narrative. Because an attack on a festival is not 'politics.' It becomes cruelty."
The Unspoken Race
Every man in the room understood the subtext now.
Musharraf was racing.
Not against India.
Against time.
Against the saboteur cycle.
Against the inevitable attempt to manufacture an "accident" that would make the corridor impossible.
He issued the final instructions with the tone of a commander closing a battle plan.
"Bridging unit: prepare the Patton bridge plan," he said. "Perimeter: layered security and sealed routes. Checkpost: strict screening, separate lanes, female staff for females. Air surveillance: continuous."
He paused, then delivered the most important constraint—one that sounded almost contradictory until you understood his goal.
"And listen carefully," Musharraf said. "Never let visitors feel humiliated."
The commanders held their silence.
Musharraf's voice was calm, final.
"Be polite enough to be loved," he said, "and lethal enough to prevent anyone from testing us."
He stood to leave.
As the room rose, the Corps Commanders saluted on reflex. But when the door closed behind him, several of them exchanged a glance that carried the same thought none of them dared to voice:
This was not standard military doctrine.
This was governance—fast, measurable, and designed to trap spoilers in daylight.
And if it worked, the Army would not merely defend the border.
It would redefine what the border meant.
Author's Note — The Patton Bridge (Why It's Fast)
A "Patton bridge" refers to a military mobile bridging system designed for speed, not permanence. Unlike a civilian bridge—which requires surveying, piling/foundations, concrete curing, environmental clearance, and months of contractor scheduling—a military bridge is built as a pre-engineered kit: standardized components transported by trucks, assembled on-site by trained engineer units, and deployed under a rehearsed drill.
That's why Musharraf (Aditya, thinking like an administrator under a time window) chooses it. A permanent bridge could take months to years. A Patton-style deployment is a days-to-weeks solution depending on site conditions, because the army already holds the equipment, the manpower, and the procedures—no tender process, no long build cycle.
In story terms, it's the perfect "fast infrastructure" move: not elegant, not permanent—but strong enough to carry heavy loads, and quick enough to outrun sabotage timelines.