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.