They called for ten able-bodied young men of the village. The plan was unfolded to them. While Maqbool Dar was to sing that evening at Nambardar’s place, the entire village would be led to the nearest forest. Maqbool Dar would, during the course of his singing, instruct the youth to go and loot the stored grain and carry it to the forest and the ladies there would light a fire and cook the rice.
As evening approached, Maqbool Dar, having attended to the minutest detail of the first act of defiance, dressed in his Sunday best. Then, accompanied by his singing troupe, he made his way to the Nambardar’s place. The officials were already seated and eagerly looked forward to a memorable evening. Everything was in place. Maqbool Dar tried his magical fingers on the pitcher and taking this cue, his companions began playing with the strings. Music—sublime, pure and chaste filled the room and the instruments took on a life of their own. Maqbool Dar’s melodious voice rose from the depths of his soul and echoed in the valleys beyond. His audience fell into a trance, transported to another world, a world of total bliss. Maqbool Dar continued to play on his earthen pitcher, his men continued to beat the strings and his voice continued to float all over the place. Lassa Khan had been instructed to clandestinely add some opium to the food that was being prepared for the guests. Taking a cue from Maqbool Dar he withdrew from the room and proceeded to the kitchen. There the cook welcomed him and offered him a hookah, which he gladly took. After a while, when the moment was right, he brought out some powder and put it in the nearest dish. Ajab Malik was waiting along with the youth outside the house. As the dinner was being served to the honoured guests, Maqbool Dar thought the time was ripe. The heavenly music together with the heavy and opium laced meal would soon produce the desired effect. In a few words cleverly composed he ordered his men to go to the stores and carry away rice—as much as they could. Ajab Malik supervised the whole operation. In a swift action they decamped with ten bags, full of quality rice, and after some time joined their womenfolk at the top of the hills.
Maqbool Dar, seeing the last of his audience slump down in deep slumber, stopped singing and quietly left the room, heading straight for the forest where he found the women busy cooking a meal.
Raja Ram Dev and his two gurus finally located the legendary cave. Its mouth was hidden behind thick woods and a big rock stood at the top of the mouth leaving only a crevice open at the bottom. But it was large enough to allow a person to crawl in. The three of them went in and were astonished to see the world inside the cave. They found a long winding tunnel with wider areas interspersed here and there. A flicker of light made its way into the cave at every turn in the serpentine body. That was incredible! How did these rays of light manage to pierce the mountain and the woods on top? A steady supply of fresh air was also maintained and Raja Ram Dev and his two gurus were really happy to discover this secluded spot where they could sit in samadhi and attain communion with their Lord.
Presently the three decided to return to the Partishiver Temple, settle things there, make arrangements for routine chores and come to the cave for a long stay. As the three came out of the cave, the sun was beginning to set behind the lofty mountains. Raja Ram Dev and his gurus took hurried steps. They wanted to return before it was night.
After having come half way, they decided to take a short break and rest for a while. As they sat on the flat rock, talking amongst themselves, they suddenly found a dozen young men, armed with AK -47 rifles surround them. One of the men ordered them to stand and raise their hands. They did as they were asked. A few boys came forward and frisked them.
“Nothing on them, commander,” they said. “Okay, blindfold them and take them to the base camp. They must be men from RAW.”
Blindfolded, hands tied behind their backs, they were paraded down the hills.
The informer seated in the green gypsy was carefully observing every face that passed in front of him. Even if the slightest suspicion rose in his mind, he would press the button on the board. As soon as the hooter sounded, the soldiers would pounce upon the person and drag him away, dump him in a waiting vehicle and drive him to the nearest torture center. At times these centers would be temporarily set up at a stone’s throw of the search, and the people would be made to witness the entire sequence that finally led to the agonizing death of the person concerned. As soon as Gani came in front of the vehicle, the informer sitting inside got suspicious. The character in front was unique with a big turban on his head, in a flowing robe. He could not take a risk. He pressed the button and immediately. The attending soldiers pounced on Gani and took him away.
The commanding officer came to the informer.
“Well done my boy! Who is he?”
The informer was now at a loss. Who was he? Did he fit the description of someone known? Who was he? He considered for a moment and suddenly yelled, “Gulbdin Hekmatyaar.”
That was it. The commanding officer halted the parade and lifted the siege. The prize catch was enough for the day. This was an enormous feat! They had arrested the dreaded Hekmatyaar himself. Armoured cars were lined up. Gani was placed in a bulletproof vehicle in the middle of the column and driven off to Papa-2.
The officers were congratulating each other, bursting with joy. Detached from all this sat Gani, centuries away from the guns pointed at him, in a torn gown, multiple wounds on his body, his turban in shreds, and lost in his own world, the absolute monarch of his own kingdom, murmuring to himself.
An excerpt from Ayaz Rasool Nazki’s book SATISAR, THE VALLEY OF DEMONS published by Vitasta Publishing and the book is available on www.vitastapublishing.com
