Revenge

Mir Mahboob Ali

F

 lorentine Cecilia, of non-white origin, exuded a special kind of attraction. Working in a Pan-world organization, though a junior officer, she was strategically placed to deal with head of departments and organizations. Her foreign origin afforded her far better access than her local colleagues, and therefore, she enjoyed unofficial superiority over locals. Single and carefree, she emanated energy and vigour. Her ever-smiling face earned her many friends, but her ruthless handling of defaulters made bitter enemies, as well. For some unexplainable reason she made more enemies among her own gender. She was blessed with both in abundance. A bit snobbish, basking in her assumed superiority that came from preferential treatment accorded to her for her alien origin. Otherwise, she is a very warm and intelligent person with a bit of idiosyncrasy. 

Bangladeshis working with her was blessed that they were not very good in the language she used. Therefore, abusive utterances, extremely offensive, expressionlessly blurted out, would be mistaken as praises being showered. She regularly used those against senior officials with immunity. Perhaps, it was not the language but the accent that made all the difference. Her local colleagues would not mind, since those officers actually deserved kicks on their butts, and all of them would be seething inside to just do that. So, her rude language wrapped in smiles was a sort of a relief, since that helped release the pressure building within. 

Well, she was a human being and had all the frailties of a human. The general perception was only fun and frolicking was all that mattered to her, not love, affection and other finer qualities of the heart. But shocking everybody, she fell in for a man amidst strong rumours that she was a lesbian. She was found dating with men reputedly of homosexual inclination. But that did not damage their reputation. Perhaps, they were bisexuals! 

A workaholic, working late in her office, nobody suspected her of having an affair with a colleague from another section. The man was married and had wife and children back in his country of which she suspected nothing. At the end of his contract, though the organization wanted to retain him, he on the pretext of homesickness left his job and Bangladesh. She was devastated. Blood pressure ran alarmingly high, and she started showing signs of fatigue. Waiting in the flank, the devilishly handsome Blythe Broomfield readily gave his shoulders to cry on. And, even risking his wife's displeasure, he let her place long distance calls from his office to another continent while nobody was around to the man she loved, because of the time difference this involved late night calls. She tried in vain to convince him to return to her, not knowing his marital status. Broomfield, using his position as the Chief Executive of his organization, misused telephone for a dear friend! This continued for sometime, and Broomfield's very beautiful blond wife was aroused so much that she personally intervened to stop the trysts, in the name of helping a friend.

A wife has all the reason to be jealous, because, Cecilia was desirable, and vulnerable at that point of her life. She innocently craved for love, affection and company. Broomfield was too ready to provide just that. Florentine was not in any way inclined to raise storms in a peaceful married life. Shattered by the agony of separation, she desperately was looking for a support to cling to. She was not in a position to think straight, as she had just been jolted and the wound was still bleeding. In that extremely agitated state of mind, she was not very bothered about morality. So, trying to forget her pains, she clung to Broomfield against all judgments. The relationship was more idyllically mundane than ascetic. Even a wife accustomed to fleeting flirtations finds it hard to standby as a witness, to a bond gradually developing, even if it is not stamped with wifely status.

Broomfield was fatally attracted to Florentine and decided to continue with a clandestine relationship. He was sure that Florentine was permanently hooked in the affair. After a while her hazy head cleared, and she found her balance back, and could realize that she had become dependant on Broomfield for mental solace. Now, she desperately wanted get out of the bondage of dependence, because, she had a free soul, that always drove her to seek freedom. And then, she was not prepared to be a mistress. But, she was desperately in need of company. Without the exhilarating touch of a man life seemed very colourless to her. The churning nothingness does not let her sleep. She was utterly perturbed.  Just at this critical juncture of her life, God provided an outlet in the form of McMahon, a bearded likeness of Christ. This was a simple easygoing young man, ever smiling, easily influenced and mislead, not very virtuous, as his likeness might suggest. By a sheer design of the Providence, they were thrown together to work on a multi-organizational Project. McMahon was a subordinate officer of Broomfield, and was a very trusted lieutenant. Therefore, Broomfield gladly let them work together in the night after office hours, to prepare a survey report. Young, energetic and vulnerable to the irresistible female charm, McMahon fell for the experienced enchantress who initially zeroed on him to wrest herself free of the mesmerizing influence of Broomfield. Gradually, unknowingly, they really fell in love. This was an intense love affair with all the allied sound and fury. It flourished in the background of the blazing Middle-eastern War of early nineties. A high-tech war threatened everybody on the planet with retaliation by manual terrorism! That super high-tech technology was not enough to assure protection to the human targets scattered around the world, from low-tech-mundane-terrorist attacks. Therefore, particularly, the westerners were ordered to leave an unprotected third world country to seek refuge in their country of residences. A few remained behind at their own risk. At the very first opportunity Broomfield left for his home, where he virtually enjoyed paid holidays, and he was too consummate an opportunist to let go such golden opportunities.  While leaving, hoping to bring an end to the interracial affair, Broomfield ordered McMahon out of the country. He was sure that McMahon was simply infatuated and was under the spell of Florentine’s charm. Florentine is a superbly crafty seducer. While, McMahon came under the purview of a country engaged in the conflict, Florentine was free to decide, not yet under strict orders to leave for a safer place. 

Florentine saw through the scheme, for she knew Broomfield very well. The lovebirds, yet to tie marital knots, found it expedient to fly out and slip unofficially back into the country, unnoticed, almost immediately, thus ensuring uninterrupted honeymooning. For the rest of the time until clearance was given for return she remained intoxicated with the nectar of McMahon's youth, totally oblivious of the world, he was spellbound. Broomfield could not trace them anywhere.  The thought of Florentine and McMahon haunted him and almost drove him crazy. The revelation that while all this time Blythe was desperately trying to locate them, they were happily honeymooning in this country, added fuel to the fire, and drove him completely overboard. Already incensed by the surreptitious love affair, his ego was wounded severely by the ingenuous deception. He turned into a Serpent writhing with jealousy. Revenge! Revenge! His heart kept shouting at him! Meanwhile, Florentine and McMahon took the extra precaution of getting married. Marriage earned them the sympathy of many locals who were antagonistic earlier. A sense of total defeat engulfed Broomfield, and he was enraged further. 

Intent on avenging his wounded pride, Broomfield invented and contrived to frame McMahon, he could not touch Florentine. While he was trying to prove that McMahon was guilty of defying orders and breach of contract, McMahon totally oblivious of the world around him, was passing his days totally immersed in Florentine’s all consuming love. Waking up, a bit late, he hurried to save himself, but it was too late, Broomfield already had woven a net around him. He helplessly wrestled in the net and finally succumbed like a tired netted fish. He was a big fish, for many small fishes were crushed in the process of his desperate fight-back. Detractors assign the cause of Broomfield's wrath to his intense infatuation, or may be love, for Florentine. Florentine herself could not explain Broomfield's reactions, otherwise. Perhaps, rightly so!

Man on the Bike

Man on the Bike

Mir Mahboob Ali

Two small children almost of the same age are going to school holding hands. They are two brothers; one is a year older than the other is. They generally walk to school with other children of the locality as the school is not very far from their house.

It was a clear sunny day. The light blue sky like a vast canopy was hanging over their heads. The hard sandy pathway they were walking on was of very light brown colour. Even when it rains, the land does not turn soft and muddy making it nonnegotiable. The rough sand grains do not stick together to form paste, like it does in places where the sand is very fine. The hard rocky nature of the land makes it very easy to build roads. It just needs a layer of crushed stones compacted and spreading melted bitumen mixed with sand does the trick.

That particular day as they were late by about ten minutes they were without the group. They were busy debating loudly how to pacify their headmaster, how to explain their delay, should they attend school or bunk etc.

“Let us go back home”, said the younger, Munis. “What would you tell mother?” asked the older, Muhim.

Munis: “Today is a holiday because of some festival of the Christians, we are not sure.”
Muhim: “Mother will not buy that.”

Munis: She can not go to school to check the veracity of our story, and so she would be forced to buy that. And, if later, she finds out, we will deal with that later. In the meantime, we can coach our friends. Last time we corroborated Malik’s story to save him from a similar situation. Have you forgotten?

No, no, I have not.

Then, why are you so uneasy? Cheer up everything will be Ok.

Both brothers laughed heartily, unaware of the impending danger. They saw the Pathan on the bike approaching them. They did not at all feel threatened by the imposing Pathan, as they were familiar with the sight of the man riding the bike dwarfing it beneath him.

Anyway, these two tiny tots have just begun their second year in school. Holding hands talking incessantly, they were walking leisurely to their school. It was the beginning of Ayub Khan’s era in Pakistan. The army changed the office hours for civilians, accustomed to 10 am 5 pm office hours, to 8 am to 2 pm, to their great consternation. It was also the first decade of Pakistan’s life. Karachi was taking shape. Most of the residents of the government colony were refugees from India. Staff and officers resided in the same colony owing to shortage of government accommodations. This was true for West Pakistani refugee officers as East Pakistanis were very few in the services of the central government of which Karachi was still the Capital. In their case, a few of them actually were living in colonies for higher-grade officers.

They were housed in hastily raised residential colonies supposed to be temporary arrangement that continued sheltering government employees long after the expected time of five years or so, passed by.

As it was eight in the morning, almost all grown up males had left for their offices. Those days very few women worked or had the educational qualification to work in government offices. Females being inside attending to household chores the walkways were almost deserted.

Suddenly, this huge Pathan looking ominous on his bicycle dwarfing it by his sheer size appeared from nowhere. He was a familiar character as the brothers have seen him for the last month or so almost everyday riding his bike in front of their house. His huge size on the bike like a toy beneath him made him unforgettable. He looked much bigger than his size as he was wearing loose Pajamas and Kurta toping it with Nehru coat and his head turbaned. With the turban, his bearded head assumed the look of an unbound lion. His eyes intently fixed on the children, like a hyena, he was ready to pounce on his prey.

Meanwhile, the brothers were busy discussing the large aggressive Swans that come running to bite with their long neck threateningly stretched. The intelligent Swans would not run after adults but children of almost their own size. Therefore, the brothers were intently watching for the Swans and were praying that they were not around. When they are in a group it is easier to ward them off but they are without their friends today.

The older got the inkling of the approaching Pathan’s ill intentions just in time. Seeing his eyes shining like that of a hyena in the dark an eerie feeling ran through his spine. Alerted intuitively, his heart began pounding rapidly. He was unaware of the automatic physical activity as his brain was occupied with devising a way out of the impending danger. The lightening thoughts and the poundings were going on without any effort exerted consciously. His body and mind began to work involuntarily almost possessed by some supernatural power hitherto unknown to him.

Muhim said, “Look, there comes, the fat man on his bicycle. I am afraid. How funny does he look on that bike?”

Munis: “There is nothing to be afraid of. He bikes through our locality almost everyday. I know him. He is not a child-lifter as you think.” He says that almost as if reading Muhim’s mind.

What do you mean, you know him?

I mean, I see him almost everyday.

Well, that does not make him a good man. He does not look like one to me, at least now. He looks like a child-lifter to me.

While they were busy evaluating the situation, the Pathan came nearer. The older was apprehensive. They had no time to discuss. Whatever followed happened instinctively.

The wide pathway was not ideal to trap the children. Therefore, the Pathan gradually pushed the children towards the bush that encircled the small turf of the house on one side that acted as a barrier on that side. From in front the Pathan gradually moved the bike towards the children in such a way that they were forced to go towards the bush. Then he parked his bike on the other side of the children and the front was blocked by him. The very fat man with zombie-like strides began to come forward with his hands spread wide like an Eagle with spread wings. Certainly, the children were unable to think straight frozen with fright. Instinctively, they were thinking of escaping the trap. Thank God, they were frightened and therefore, their instinct was working in harmony.

Taking an about turn would involve time. Very precious time could not be lost. Mechanically, working in unison the brothers still holding hands slipped beneath the stretched arms of the child-lifter. The man being very big and fat did not have the agility to lower his hands quickly, and thus was unable to trap the kids. They ran for their lives without looking back and even stopping to catch their breath until they reached the main thoroughfare. It was a busy metalled road dividing different types of government accommodations, buzzing with activities.

Relived, they looked back. The fat man was mounting his bike. He was rather slow like sleuths. The brothers were panting heavily and thus could not talk for a while.

Getting back their breath, the older sibling said, “God was very kind to save us.” “Yes”, said the younger. Oh God, they sighed! They were sweating profusely even in the mild autumn weather. Fear, of which they were unaware of while running, descended on them with excruciating reality. They were shaking like a severed tail of a lizard with which they often played with and enjoyed because it seemed to have a life of its own.

Muhim catching his breath and overcoming his fear said, “Quick, let us go to school because it is not safe here; the Imambara is right on our left. You know, this also came to my mind that if I run forward towards the road I run towards the Imambara, would that be a wise choice, then I decided, come what may, I should first get out of the trap. I am surprised how quick I thought of many, many things! Before today, I was unaware that I can think so fast, Incredible!”

Munis: I was not thinking at all, I was simply responding to your signals that you were giving me through applying and releasing pressure on my hand but never letting it go. Since you were with me, I did not succumb to my fear, not for a moment. However, what is wrong with the Imambara?

Muhim: O, don’t you know? Imambara is a Shiite mosque. The Shiites are after Sunni blood. They kidnap Sunni children and bleed them sprinkling the blood on flour to bake breads to eat.

“Rubbish”, says the younger, Munis. You always listen to this kind of concocted stories. I have Shiite friends. I go to their houses regularly and I am treated very well there. I feel safe near the Imambara. It is so beautiful and big. I wish I could enter the Imambara someday.

Ok, let us move now and let us go to the school since we now have a perfect excuse to be late, said Muhim.

Munis: Yes, let us move. You are very sharp and brave. We are saved today because of you. If you had not run in time we would have been trapped. If you had succumbed to fear, we would have been ... he choked.

Muhim: You are brave too. If fear took hold of you and you could not keep faith in me, I could not have dragged you, and consequently, we would have been caught.

Munis: In that case, would you leave me behind?

Muhim: No, I don’t think so; otherwise, I would have loosened my grip in the first place. I did not do so. Since I did not do so, I am sure I would not have left you behind to save me.

Munis: But how the lifter would have carried us both? I think he would have taken either one of us. Who would be the unlucky one, I wonder?

Muhim: Well forget about that, we are both mighty lucky to have survived. Everything, everything around seem so nice and pleasing, even the school with the harsh headmaster. I love this, I am so happy... I cannot express my feelings in words.

Munis: Me too...!

They took deep breaths of blissful freedom and unblemished happiness.

The Obsession

Mir Mahboob Ali

Y

oung handsome Naya had colorful dreams about life. His childhood and youth had passed in happiness and affluence. His father was a landlord. For their small family he had enough landed property to last a lifetime. He was provided with the best education that money could buy in a district town. Not a very serious student though gifted with very sharp memory he graduated uninterrupted. Naya had no difficulty in establishing a business as a builder.  As he was imaginative and intelligent, he quickly progressed in his business. At twenty-two that was quite an achievement. His parents wanted him to marry to keep him from going astray as, according to them money tempts young persons to colourful allurements of life if not restrained.

In fact, Naya was already contemplating marriage as he was in love with a beautiful girl – Nayana. Nayana was beautiful, young and intelligent in every respect a very lovable and likeable girl. So, he had no hesitation in fulfilling his parent’s desire and married Nayana with all the rituals observed. Everybody liked and adored her. She was a darling of the clan. Naya was very proud and a very satisfied man. He had everything he could wish for - parents, brothers and a sister, and on top of everything, a very desirable wife. He was fulfilled to the brim of his life.

When he was thus enjoying calm and serene happiness, his father suddenly died of a massive heart attack. Naya was shocked but not broken. He gathered himself out of the grief and began to put his life on track again. Misfortunes never come singly - he was struck again by the death of his wife during labour.  The baby could not be saved, as well. He was devastated.  All these happened in the fifth year of their blissful marriage. The whole world seemed cruel and unlivable. He cursed his luck. And he blamed God for his losses. Naya forgot God’s kindness that He showered on him unsought. Such is the nature of men. Brothels became his home and he took to drinks.  A pious man turned a non-believer in religion though he never denied God, and never claimed to be an atheist. But he argued like one.

  

Soon Naya came to know about the devastating terminal disease, AIDS. He was overwhelmed by fear.   As he was still young and strong it was very difficult for him to live without a woman, but he was beyond himself with grief and could not imagine anybody in his wife’s place. Whores were O.K. They did not claim Nayana’s position.  AIDS came in the way. He was in a dilemma. And he began to contemplate marriage. In such a state of mind, he saw his sister-in-law as he had seen her never before. She had grown into a woman unnoticed and she resembled her sister a great deal. When he married her sister, she was a small kid. After pondering over the matter for days, Naya proposed to his in-laws to give Raina- the sister -in-law to him in marriage. Wily-nilly Raina’s parents gave into the determined persistence of Naya for they liked him a lot and was alarmed at his wasting away. Raina was not very unwilling, she liked her brother-in-law, and she liked his prosperity more. She might have inherited the materialistic streak in her from her grandfather who measured everything in terms of wealth.

Naya was very attentive to his young wife. And he began to forget her sister as he started falling in love with his very young ex-sister-in-law.  She was still childish and did not have the charisma of her elder sister neither she had the skills.  Despite these shortcomings, Naya was enamoured by her and would not hesitate to satisfy her whims. Within five years, she had grown into an exceptionally attractive young woman surpassing her deceased sister in beauty. But she never could become as popular as her sister could, since she did not possess the finer human qualities that her sister did. Anyway, Naya was satisfied with her.  Raina using her materialistic acumen helped Naya prosper into the leading builder in the district town. In spite of Naya’s ardent desire to go for a child, Raina would not, for she had other plans. Silently she prepared herself. With her husband’s financial backing, she could afford to engage missionary expatriates to teach her English and French. Naya never questioned her because he had complete trust in her.

Just, when Naya began to enjoy his life again and was feeling content and satisfied, Raina revealed her plans to migrate to the United States of America. One of her distant cousins who lived in America inadvertently inflamed in her the desire to live in USA by stories of affluence, indulgence and fun. She had always been allured by dreams of luxurious life and somehow she decided that that kind of a life was not possible in her own country.  So, prodded by insane desire, she kept on nagging, and finally Naya gave in, and arranged a tour of USA. Money was not a problem and so were not visas.

They sold their business for Naya had nobody to look after his business as he had already lost his brothers in an accident and the only sister died at childbirth. His mother died of old-age complications. Therefore, Naya was not very unhappy, and in fact, deep within, he was grateful to Raina for the move. Raina was three months pregnant when they left for USA.  Naya did not know. She kept it from him lest he should decide to stay back for delivery, not willing to risk any miscarriage, as her sister suffered miscarriages before she finally died in labour. Since, she planned everything meticulously she did plan to have the child in USA, so that the child, automatically becomes a citizen of USA. Incredible planning!

Everything went according to her plan. She delivered in time in the USA. A female child they named Qamar. For the first few months, they did not work as the mother was recuperating. Friends arranged everything for them. They found it comparatively easy to settle down. With the money Naya had, he bought a house and a grocery business. He was content but not Raina: she was ambitious. She wanted to expand into a more respectable business, borrowing money from banks.   And she did, and defaulted on repayment. To repay the loan they had to sell their house and business. Now, they had to work for others to meet both ends. Young Raina, surprisingly, adjusted well with the new situation much better than Naya who was aging, past his prime.  His young wife began to socialize with her new American colleagues and gradually began to return home late.  While Naya was gradually losing his vigour, Raina was vibrating with life. The new liberal social environment suited her excellently. She with invigorated zeal took to flight like a butterfly just liberated from its cocoon, yet to familiarize with dangers of unrestrained freedom. Her enthusiasm alarmed Naya. He intervened and Raina was furious. She labeled him a mean minded, retrogressive, lowly born man. For only lowly born man, according to Raina, would take exception to their wives freedom, as they are not broadminded.  He tried to be broadminded and in the process, his liberated wife was lost in the glittering brightness of western society. She was still to get accustomed to her newly acquired freedom. Before she could settle properly, she was swept off her feet and found herself drowned in wine and whisky and warming others’ bed almost unknowingly.

A dejected and horrified Naya decided to return to his motherland with his wife and daughter, who were the only kith and kin he was left with on this earth. They were dearer to him than his own life. The daughter was only seven years old and was very much attached to her mother and her life-style. They both refused to leave their heaven.  When pressurized by Naya, Raina with her daughter left him to live with one of her American male friends. Still young and attractive, she jumped into a quagmire mistaking that as an elevation from slavery to liberty.

“Mirage …! And mirage it was.” Naya lost his wife and daughter everything that he was living for to the allurement of the dazzling west. Emotionally a pauper, he returned to his motherland. And today is trying to begin his life again from the scratch with his third wife. Is it too late!  The poor fellow has not lost hope. He is still looking for love like a thirsty man looking for oasis in a desert.

Meanwhile, Naya’s daughter and wife went their own ways. She cut off herself from both her parents. At eighteen young Qamar is supporting herself and is as independent as her mother. But her life is much more sane and regulated as she has been born in the liberated wilderness of western civilization and learned to exercise restraint. Those that would not learn self-restraint would certainly perish, given the leash. Raina woke up to reality jolted by the split with her daughter over her reckless life-style - the very quality that Qamar’s immature mind found irresistible. She was too young to be wise. It was too late. Men did not find Raina attractive anymore for the glamour of youth had left her long ago and now her daughter. The pain of losing her daughter was unbearable and she had no way to trace her way back to Naya, though they never divorced. She had a good job but did not have the mental strength to carry on. Incapacitated by her grief she totally surrendered herself to drugs and alcohol. Dissipated, exhausted and bereft of glamour she was admitted in a rehabilitation center to be cured of her addictions. She realized, too late, all is not gold that glitters.

Naya has not been a saint, for he has also been toying with his heart quite a lot, faced with the free mixing society and irresistible temptations. He is over fifty and suffering from heart ailments! He has outlived all his blood relatives except his daughter who is lost in the wilderness of the west and has none to call his own. The world is a big cauldron of insatiable hellish fire to Naya. A vast nothingness overwhelms Naya whenever he pauses to think about his past. Loneliness like an Anaconda squeezes him breathless and haunts him every night.

Incredibly, his friends have caught him lecturing others on the virtue of married life and even dropping one or two secrets that would ensure a happy conjugal life! Love, persevere and be attentive to your wife and family, bang you have a happy life, says Naya. Perhaps, he who had burnt his fingers might treat burns better.   Or perhaps, he is trying to hide his pains behind a façade of experience.

Pride

Pride

Mir Mahboob Ali

S

aima was sitting in front of her dressing table leisurely looking at her reflection in the mirror. Suddenly, a lock of grey hair awakened Saima to the undeniable fact that she is aging. That sent her into a contemplative mood. Pensively she set before the mirror, and her past began to ooze out from the depth of her unfathomable memory, like a play enacted just yesterday. Overwhelmed by memories flooding in she almost went into a trance, finally, she came back to senses with tears rolling down her cheeks.

She remembered Samir. He is certainly not her first love, since she has experienced many, because of her propensity to fall in and out of love almost regularly. The state of being in continuously altering love, she assigns to the softness of heart, meaning a loving and sensitive disposition. Perhaps! But, her detractors find pleasure in branding that as coquetry of a flirt par excellence.

She pedantically ponders, “She was not the vamp that she turned into. A diminutive simple girl aspiring to be a physician, she was admitted into a medical school. An innocent romantic lassie, still in her teens, watched handsome young lads with adolescent inquisitiveness. Belonging to a tolerably conservative family she mixed with her male cousins, and that was the only experience she had of mixing with boys. In the new environment, the atmosphere was much too open. The shy little soul took a bit of time to adjust to the new realities. Gradually, she got accustomed to the new ways of life but still mixing with boys was not unrestrained. Initially, she did not pay more than casual attention to her male classmates, but unknowingly she started enjoying their company, particularly, the company of not so handsome seemingly shy Shabab. Slowly, everything around her changed, she blossomed into a woman from the little timid girl she was. Shabab and she became great friends and enjoyed each other’s company immensely. Their classmates fondly called them the ‘Inseparable SS’. It never occurred to Saima, in their almost three years’ relationship that they never vouched their love for each other, until almost at the end of their internship, when Shabab told her that he was engaged to marry one of his cousin sisters just after the completion of internship.  She is the first person he is breaking the news to, since they are great friends. Shabab kept on, but she was not listening, the marriage was settled long ago between parents, and how could he disobey his parents … etc., etc.

Saima was simply dumbfounded, for she accepted Shabab as her life-partner when they first succumbed to their emotions, during internship duties in nightshifts. Shabab showed a little reluctance. In fact, that bit of reluctance strengthened her faith in his love. In hindsight, she thinks, ‘Shabab must have faked his hesitation.’  He used reluctance as a ploy with great precision to create a feeling of genuineness of his love for Saima in her. She trusted Shabab and never dreamt that he was otherwise involved, in spite of being warned several times by friends that Shabab was a philanderer. She never believed that she could so thoroughly be deceived, for she had great faith in her intuition. She cried, cursed and threatened but without success. Shabab argued, as they were not lovers but mere friends who enjoyed each other’s company they were not under any obligation, whatsoever, to each other. The shameless SOB never even blinked. She could not defend. Silently, she walked away from him and could not even tell him that she was carrying his child. She was bereft of all desires to talk to him. Shabab betrayed her and she hated him bitterly.”

Shabab a chameleon, underneath his innocent looks resided a shrewd, dexterous, seducing philanderer. The fact of Shabab being dishonest did not matter much but her inability to see through his schemes pained her most. She fell sick. Most of the following three months she remained confined to her bed, delirious, barely eating.  Her gravid condition was revealed to her parents during her sickness, she was told later, and of the miscarriage due to her illness, as well. She was in a way thankful to God that she was sick enough to be spared of the agony of going through the stern punitive measures following such revelations.

All men became Shabab to Saima. Subconsciously, she embarked on a crusade to take revenge. To quench her thirst for revenge she began with betraying men indiscriminately, that, gradually, became her nature. Now, Saima betrays her lovers after alluring then into her net almost involuntarily, with great poise and finesse.

Nevertheless, she genuinely fell for Samir; his stupid jokes, constant teasing, unceasing blabbering, loud laughter and chain smoking, all attracted her. At his sight she would go dizzy in the head, breathe heavily and the fairness of her cheeks would be besmirched with reddish glow. “Samir the heartless braggart seemingly refused to understand these apparent signs of human frailties. Or, perhaps, he is not so refined to perceive those emotive signals,” thinks Saima. She is still in love with Samir. Her love for him is so intense, though she denies that even to herself, that she had even fallen in love with Samir’s shadow. A man in whom she saw the peculiarities of Samir held her spellbound for almost a year. His falsehood was the Bible to her.  He almost dragged her by the nose. A married man pretended to be a bachelor and rich and talented and sought after. He dished out stories about himself and his literary activities, which she believed unhesitatingly. She was serious. At least, she led others to believe she was, for at the same time she was playing with the emotions of another much older man. In spite of her supplementary affair, she asked this man to talk to her guardians about their impending marriage. A superbly diabolic mind working on different people at the same time betrays analysis. Apparently, the charm finally lifted when repeatedly the rogue failed to talk to her guardians and gave her false addresses where he never lived. She would not have been deceived the second time if she had not seen Samir in the pretender. She unconsciously has been so mesmerized by Samir that for an unusually long time she lived in a fool’s paradise, refusing to read ominous signs.

Remembering Samir, she feels elated and simultaneously an excruciating pain reaps her heart open, she shakes with uncontrollable rage. Saima murmurs to her, “I can kill him. I can kill that idiot, if I may lay my hands on him.” Then sobering down she thinks, “What is his fault? I never told him about my feelings for him. I always expected to trap him by my positive overtures into expressing his passion for me first, as I did so many times before, saving me the ignominy of baring myself to him.” She feels mad at herself for failing this time. She broods, so many times, nay almost all the times the ploy worked, worked to perfection.” After the intended lover was drunk to the hilt with the elixir of her mesmerizing pouting signals and trapped into admission of unceasing love, she would imperiously with leisurely abandon laugh off the admirer. In serious and aggressive cases, she would plead misunderstanding her friendliness with perfect immunity.

Unmarried in her forties, though she has retained the seductive charm of her youth, she realizes that she is aging and soon be without the lustre she once exuded. Saima feels a churning desire to settle down. With the urge to tie the knot once for all, Samir’s face slowly emerges from the shadows in front of her eyes. She fondly hangs on to that for how long she does not know. Ringing telephone brings her back to reality. She receives the phone and it is none other than Samir on the other end. A thrilling sensation runs down her spine, trembling involuntarily, she melts like a cube of ice in a glass of liquids. She responds with such softened voice barely audible that Samir is forced to ask, “What is the matter with you, are you all right?” Quickly, she recomposes herself, replies with her natural eloquence, and chats incessantly into the mouthpiece, afraid lest she is betrayed by her emotions. Samir is assured that nothing is wrong. As he heaves a sigh of relief, Saima again loses her composure thinking, “Yes, yes, yes, yes...he is concerned, he cares.” Her heart jumps into her mouth and she almost chokes with emotion, breathes heavily into the mouthpiece and faintly murmurs, “Oh! My love Samir I love you so, my darling, my life.” Unable to understand, Samir asks, “What?” His voice, heavy with apprehension, awakens Saima, she quickly regains her senses and fear of being exposed grips her. She coughs to cover, her emotional-softening stops, she breaths deeply to recompose, and than bluntly blurts out, “Nothing, I was talking to my maid, I am sorry.”  She excuses herself saying that she is cooking something that needs her attention and hangs up. 

The Wake up call

The Wake up call

Mir Mahboob Ali

A broad strip of land between Pakistan and Afghanistan belongs to no country and thus is no-man’s land. This is a heaven for smugglers. They have their dens here where they rest and reload their goods and take refuge from the law enforcers of both the countries, according to their strategic needs. The dens are underground spaces perfectly camouflaged from above and not easy to detect. Pathan smugglers use these dens as transit points for smuggling Bengalese from Pakistan in trucks, cars, on donkeys and on other modes of transport. People even walked many miles through difficult terrains to reach freedom, dear freedom! 

 

It is January a bitter cold month in Pakistan. Pakistan has been dismembered and the new state of Bangladesh has come into being. A huge number of Bengalese is stranded in mutilated Pakistan. These are mainly civil servants. They have been asked their option and those that opted for Bangladesh are naturally relieved of their duties as government servants with a nominal monthly existence allowance. Since a large number of Pakistani armed forces personnel are held as prisoners of war in India on behalf of joint forces of India and Bangladesh, they are hopeful of their chances of returning to their motherland.  Amidst strong rumour of moving them to transit camps Bengalese begin fleeing through different routes to Bangladesh. One of such routes is through Afghanistan. Through this route scores of them are smuggled by Pathan smugglers into Afghanistan a friendly country to Bengalese still ruled by King Zahir Shah.

Mursalin travels like cattle with a group of people fleeing to their freedom. In Karachi he has contacted the party through a Bengali agent-Keramatullah. The journey is doubly dangerous as, if caught within Pakistan by the law enforces they may be sent to jail for unknown period as foreign agents, and again the smugglers may rob them and leave them to die in no-man’s land. Keramatullah gets commission that he raises before the flight starts, and free transportation to Afghanistan, according to his contract with the main smugglers. He in turn gives concessions to his favourites which generally are respected by the main party usually one or two per group. This time he decides to give various kinds of concessions -half for children, infants free and servants a quarter of the whole cost per person- to a large family of ten members. Keramatullah lived in the same housing estate with Arshad Arbab Chowdhury. A very cleaver man Keramatullah even in this dire situation, where everybody is pre-occupied with the thoughts of an uncertain future, finds a way to earn money. Keramatullah has a weakness for one of the female members, Shirin who is in love with her classmate Alamgir. She is a sophomore of Karachi University and is a good natured woman. Kindness and sweet behaviour being her forte she always wears a beautiful smile on her lips. This smile so far has been the cause of undoing of many a young soul.  Her gentle, kind behaviour is mistaken by Keramatullah as a sign of her liking for him and he is infatuated. So a passionate Keramatullah in his enthusiasm forgets his limitations. He grants Mr. Chowdhury all kinds of concessions he can think of. As a result half of Chowdhury’s family is brought under concessions.

The journey is very adventurous. Mursalin and his cousin slipping through their back door at midnight get into a cab. This cab dodging petrol police takes them to a deserted field of wild bushes where trucks, the ultimate carrier to freedom, are waiting for them, in the darkness of the night.  This night is unusually dark, a moonless night. The darkness is so thick that they can barely see their own limbs. Deep in the field of wild bushes trucks assume a deeper shade of darkness. Guides and watchmen wearing black dresses are standing along the unpaved path descending into the field from the thoroughfare. They have merged in the darkness with bushes so perfectly that only movements of their limbs make them discernable. The darkness, the bushes, the surreptitious movements all add to create an eerie atmosphere.  In such an almost surreal setting fear easily haunts. An indescribable fear of the unknown, scare them to run to the trucks standing in the darkness like ghosts. They run oblivious of the surrounding as if they are running for their life. Numbed by fear they are unable to feel the pricks of thorny bushes though they are bleeding.  An eerie feeling of fright choked them that they only realize, after sitting themselves in the truck, trying to talk.

After the space between the roof and the floor is filled with space to stretch in need trucks begin their journey. Passengers can not stand erect but are seated comfortably and can stretch their legs. Everybody is happy as trucks are not jam packed as they have heard earlier. But soon they are disappointed as the trucks begin to pick up people from different places of Karachi. Passengers are taken on board till there is no space to stretch, almost like cattle. Somehow, police smells foul and start chasing. All the trucks run in different directions to dodge the chase through half of Karachi in full speed. Luckily the mid-night road is almost traffic less. At last Mursalin’s truck lodges itself in a garage and waits there for an hour before clearance come for onward journey. The rest later unite on the highway. They move with at least half a mile distance between them.

At around three in the morning they begin their journey on the Karachi-Hyderabad highway. Midway through the highway almost at dawn Mursalin’s truck breaks down. It stops with a thudding sound. Totally cut off from the outside world passengers inside have lost all sense of time and place. They are almost in a dungeon deep underground. Thinking that the truck is falling from a mountainous road everybody waits for the truck to come to a rest on the ground below. After a few second they realize the truck is not moving. The driver through the pothole behind him joining the two parts of the truck informs that the front axle has broken down. They will have to wait for another vehicle to arrive from Karachi. Meanwhile, they are to keep quiet inside so that from outside highway petrol may not get an inkling of their presence. Despite the freezing coldness outside, inside it is hot like an oven especially with the vehicle standing still. There are infants and it is very hard to keep them quiet in the hit. They begin crying loudly and at that the Pathan driver swears at the passengers, “You bitches keep those SOBs quiet. Give them your breasts …” They take out the wheels of the truck and at the sight of a petrol car begin banging on them with hammers. In that way they are successful in keeping sounds from inside reaching outside. Despite the ill treatment passengers are happy as they are safe and even appreciate the driver and his men for their ingenuity.

Sandwiched between cotton on top and luggage on the floor, travelling two nights and one day they reach no-man’s land between Quetta and Kandahar. Seemingly the cotton trucks bribe their way through numerous check points on the way. Reaching no-man’s land the convoy vanishes in the underground den in pre-dawn darkness. Black tea is offered to the whole party. That bitter liquor tasted like a drink from the heaven. The fear of being caught has been playing havoc with their nerves. The tension suddenly disappears and an indescribable soothing mood prevails.

Amidst the ecstatic state of immense happiness the leader of the smugglers a very handsome young man reputed as Hundi Khan begins raising the rest of the money as the price for the journey. Looking at him it is hard to imagine that he may be unkind; kindness and gentleness are oozing out from his every move. Unlike their reputation the Pathan like ferocity is totally absent from his kind demeanour. The whole group is standing in a queue in a very orderly manner paying its due. Hundi Khan is even generous and he does not mind a few bucks less.

At the turn of the large family faced with various kinds of concessions Hundi Khan becomes irritated and refuses any concession.

“Who gave you the concessions?” he roars. Everybody points to the Keramatullah.

He loses his temper and asks, “Why?”

“Ii … it was agreed,” Keramat murmurs.

“Forget it,” the Pathan roars. “I want the whole money … no concessions.”  “No … concessions for anybody, not even you.”

Luckily he does not cancel concessions and reductions already given. Otherwise, Mursalin may have to pay more, because he and his cousin have been allowed student’s concession.

The head of the large family Arshad Arbab Chowdhury pleads his inability to pay more. Since, it has been agreed earlier he has not brought any extra cash. However, he offers to pay with gold ornaments. Contrary to the general belief that the Pathans are greedy and gold may tempt them to rob, this Pathan is dispassionate about gold and refuses payment in gold.

“I want cash”, Hundi roars.

Everybody in a chorus, “He does not have cash. Please…be kind to him, accept ornaments.”  “Hundi Khan you are our brother and we are in distress be kind to us, have mercy on the family”, the others plead.               

“O.K. if he does not have money you raise the amount from amongst you,” Hundi.

We have lost our belongings and cash with that while changing trucks. We could not shift our entire luggage as the transfer happened on the highway and we were afraid of highway petrol as were you,” the crowd.

Hundi, “Don’t play with me you bas…Bengalese. You haven’t kept your money in your baggage. I know you have kept valuables tied to your bodies including money.”

A bus is waiting to transport the party to Kandahar and everybody is eager to get on it.

But Hundi roared, “Nobody will get on the bus unless payment is done.”  

Still people keep on requesting Hundi to let Chowdhury family on the bus forgiving the shortfall on humanitarian grounds.

Ignoring their pleas Hundi allows all others to get on the bus except the family.  Chowdhury and family at that begin crying loudly. Bypassing them the rest raced to occupy seats on the bus. They easily have forgotten their own kind. The air is thick with the heart wrenching cries of ten people, old and young. But the rest is happily placed on the bus and is eagerly waiting for the last leg of the long and hazardous journey to freedom. With the bus starting to run the whole family burst out wailing. Bengalese sitting in the bus fail to take any notice.

The bus stopped.

“O.K. you raise the balance from amongst you and I will let the family ride with you,” Hundi says.

“We have no cash with us. Please have mercy on them. Pathans are our brothers…Have mercy on your fellow brothers …”

The Pathan is extremely agitated and says:

“You bas…Bengalese … you ask me to have mercy on them and you can not come to their help … they are also Bengalese, they are your brothers before they are mine.”

“How could you ask me when you have no pity for them?”

“You are leaving them happily to rot in no-man’s land. …I pity you all!”

“You are not fit to be called humans. …And you request me in the name of humanity!”

“If all of you contribute it would be a few bucks each and you can not do that for your fellow traveller… and you are asking me to be kind!”

“O.K the bus will not leave until my dues are cleared. And after sometime I will leave with the bus leaving you all here.”

That does the trick. Mursalin, a student without any cash and almost wretched as he has lost all his belongings while changing trucks, intervenes.

He tells everybody, “The Pathan is right, we cannot request him to be kind if we are not. I know you all have cash on your persons.” 

He says “Here is my share …”

He gives the last hundred Rupees he has and begins raising money.

Finding no other way, willy-nilly, everybody contributes. Yet, some give money only in exchange of ornaments which the family parted with happily.