The Battle of Nariman House

The men—the alleged terrorists—came by sea, on a small skiff, on Wednesday night. They made their way in the dark, through the narrow streets of old Colaba, to a yellow six-story apartment building called Nariman House, the center of Jewish life in Mumbai. A handful of them(nobody knew how many) had barricaded themselves inside. Had they taken hostages? Nobody seemed to know that, either.

What happened over the next 48 hours will be picked apart for weeks, perhaps months. What's certain is that Nariman House was ripped apart today by a huge explosion, killing everybody inside. For now, there are few answers and a big question: when and how did the soldiers who came to surround the building decide to risk a shootout with men who, it turned out, were heavily armed?

Nariman House is home to a local chapter of the Chabad-Lubavitch movement, a small sect of orthodox Jews who settle around the globe, sometimes looking to court Israelis adrift in the world; more often just practicing quietly. Locals said the owners are a Jewish Israeli family who rents out flats to other religious Jews. Some said there were five families inside; others said one. The building, less than a mile from the posh Taj Mahal Hotel, blends Escher-like into the working class neighborhood, where half-built houses sit beside old-fashioned colonial-era gems, and where Hindus, Muslims and Jews live together.

The Army was the first to arrive at the scene. They had rolled up to the nearby Taj Hotel hours earlier, sporting jungle camouflage and twigs affixed to their rounded helmets. They were bleary-eyed kids as confounded and disorganized as everyone else.

Within minutes of the attack, India's elite National Security Guard was dispatched from New Delhi. They arrived in Mumbai at 4am on Thursday, and by 7 am they had set up command posts around Nariman House. They were clad in black jumpsuits and balaclavas, and sported Rambo-style bow knives, Glock pistols and large, light, and powerful submachine guns.

As the commandos settled in, little information was available on who was still inside the building with the gunmen. Indian television referred to hostages without specifying a number, and on Thursday night at least two channels reported—falsely, it turns out—that all hostages had been released. Everyone on the street seemed to have a different view on the hostage situation and, if there were indeed any, what their condition was. Given that orthodox Jews were being held at gunpoint by mujahideen, it seemed unlikely there would be survivors.

A group of commandos quickly stationed themselves on a squalid rooftop 30 meters away and began to wait patiently. Slowly, a circus of politicians, journalists and cameramen gathered around them on the rooftop. No one checked IDs. The waiting was tense. A commando would look through his scope, photojournalists would raise their cameras—click click click—and then the commando would lower his scope again.

Methodically, meditatively, the commandos watched. The windows to Nariman had been blown out, so the curtains to the bedrooms swayed in the wind, occasionally providing a view of a wrecked interior, with no sign of life. "If you do something wrong, those human rights [people] will come and have our necks," said a stocky, mustachioed commando. "So we have to be careful about all these things." He gives a boyish smile and shrugs before returning to his high-powered scope.