“Yes Sir, that is the name given by the ground control. They want us to identify ourselves before we land.”
“Burkino Faso, Captain. I haven’t heard of it. Are you sure we are on the same planet?”
“Yes Sir, we are.”
“Ok, seek the permission. We will land. Give them our identity.”
“Yes Sir.”
As the plane began to descend, Mahaballi readied himself for the impending state welcome. After all, he would not be taken lightly by a nondescript country.
The plane came to a halt on the runway a little after Birbal’s plane had taxied to a halt.
Mahaballi stumbled upon an idea just before he was to come out of the plane. “Captain, request the ground control and security to secure the passengers of Birbal’s plane. They should be asked to take Birbal and his girl into protective custody. Of course, in case they have some law like TADA it would be excellent.”
Then Mahaballi appeared at the head of the stairs.
The president of the Republic of Burkina Faso, Major Odom was present along with the country’s tribal chiefs dressed in local custumes. The members of a tribal dance troupe were busy gyrating their half-clad bodies and a band played the national anthem. Mahaballi inspected the guard of honour and was driven to the only elite hotel in the city. On arrival there he enquired about Birbal. His hosts informed him that it was not possible to arrest Birbal because the lady accompanying him happened to be an American. Mahaballi was fretting and fuming. He enquired about their whereabouts. He was told that Birbal had also checked into the same hotel along with the girl. Mahaballli saw a ray of hope. He would shortly confront Birbal and force him to part with the treasure. He went into his suite and made himself comfortable. He lay on the bed fully stretched. The exhaustion was beginning to take hold of his senses. He never knew when he dozed off.
It was midnight when he finally awoke. Suddenly coming to his senses he realized where he was and what ought to have been done. Without wasting any more time, he got up and walked out of the room. A guard had been posted outside his door. He was asleep. Mahaballi woke him up and asked him about Birbal’s room. The guard pointed towards an adjoining suite. So close, Mahaballi thought. He straightaway went and pushed the door. It was not bolted. Mahaballi was cautious. He put his hand into his pocket and brought out his revolver and walked very slowly. He could see nothing. He fumbled for the switchboard and found it on his left. He pressed the button. The room came alive with a dazzle. Mahaballi took a good look around. He saw Birbal lying prostrate on the bed. He was totally naked. No one else was in the room. He walked towards the bed where Birbal lay. His eye caught a sparkle on the floor just near the bed. He looked intently and bent to pick it up. It was couple of gold coins. He felt them with his fingers, held them up and turned them to see the details. On one of the coins he could make out the engraving of a royal head. He turned it over. He could read the words engraved in Persian script, the Sadr-e-Riyasat. He looked at the other coin. It too had a head engraved and the motif on the reverse read Wazir-e-Azam. He pocketed the coins.
He was beginning to lay his hands on the treasure. Good, he thought and went near the sleeping Birbal. He called out to him. There was no response. He shook him by his hand; there was no response. Is he alive or is he dead? Mahaballi was frightened. He again looked around. He spotted a neatly folded paper on the bedstead. He moved a step and picked it up. He unfolded it and read aloud.
‘My dear Buffoon! You proved to be a bit hard. But now I have the last laugh. By the time you wake up I will be in the States. I am taking away all the coins. I have no use for your cards but I could not tear them off my pants though I tried hard and tore many in the process. Goodbye! Be happy. I am leaving the pants for you. It will remind you of me and of course the cards may be of some value to you. Ha! Ha!’
Rachel
Mahaballi looked around and spotted the denim jeans lying in a corner. He picked up the jeans and had a close look. They were inside out and Mahaballi could see the cards glued to it. Some lay in pieces on the floor. He sat down and began picking up the pieces. Having secured the last piece he got up and carrying the jeans he left Birbal’s room and headed for his own suite.
In half an hour’s time, Mahaballi had arranged a broadcast to his nation. He sat there waiting for the crew to arrive. It did and the whole country waited with bated breath for the extraordinary broadcast. As the cameras were fitted, lights were on and the crew chief shouted “action”, Mahaballi began to speak to his countrymen.
“We speak to you from a faraway land, thousands of miles away, from Africa. We have laid hands on the treasure that was being smuggled out. However hard though we tried, we could not recover the entire treasure. But my dear simple people of Kashmir we must rejoice for we have with us two coins which we offer to those who win a little game, the rules of which shall be framed very shortly. It is a game of cards. Instead of fifty-two cards we have seventy-five. You know there is one referee for soccer, two umpires for cricket but this game will have three. We request the people of Kashmir to play this little game so that peace and prosperity, jobs, power, apples and above all rice become abundant. We are confident that the people of Kashmir will rise to the occasion, Jai Hind.”
Yousuf Shah had a number of sessions with Nullah Khan and his aides. The more Yousuf pondered over the discussions the more suspicious he became. Nullah Khan was perhaps maintaining a carefully cultivated facade. He seemed to have abandoned Maqbool Dar’s dream. Behind all the rhetoric of freedom and unification, he seemed to be hand in gloves with the policy makers of the host country. Yousuf continued to think as he sat in the lavishly furnished guest room of Nullah Khan at Muzaffrabad. At last he came to a conclusion. He had to recast his policies. He could not continue to live under Nullah Khan’s protection for long. Yousuf Shah felt that he had a commitment to his people and to himself. Both seemed to be unsafe under the prevailing arrangements. He resolved to immediately set out for his land. He would go back to his people, work with them and explore all the possibilities for a settlement. If Nullah Khan, the chairman, could live in peace with the usurpers on this side of the dividing line, why could he not make his own peace with the usurpers on that side? After all, how long would he continue to be on the run, long for the majestic chinars, the Dal Lake and above all his Khatoon? Yousuf Shah became emotional. He could see Khatoon roaming the saffron fields of Pampore in search of her beloved. Lally was within the shrine’s premises. The old hermitess had nursed her back to life. Her wounds were healing fast and the constant care and cajoling put her on her feet. She began by taking a few steps inside her room but, by and by, she regained her strength. Her mental state, however, remained unaltered. She continued to stare aimlessly and move with a wooden posture. She did not respond to any commands. She seemed to be beyond the reach of any intrusions. The hermitess took pains to keep her neat and tidy, feeding her with her own hands and attending to her every little detail caringly. It was a moonlit night and the hermitess tucked Lally into her bed. The autumn chill was beginning to acquire a cutting edge. The old lady was particularly concerned. She did not want the poor girl to catch a cold. That would definitely retard her progress. She took extra care in covering her with an additional blanket. Satisfied that the girl would be comfortable, the lady left her room and came to the adjoining one, where she used to stay, praying through the night. That had been her practice for a decade that she had till then spent at this shrine. She came to her chosen spot in the adjoining room and sat facing the Kaaba and closed her eyes. The holy verse sprang to her lips, “Allah-o-Akbar.” Immediately she seemed to be transcending into another world, the world of her inner self where nothing existed except “Allah.” The lady sat there suspended in oblivion.The night moved at a leisurely pace, the moonlight illuminating the mountain tops and diving deep into the valley below. The marble dome of the shrine spread light all over the hillock.
The darkness withdrew towards the corners of the small room unable to challenge the angelic light emanating from her being. The dim moonlight sneaked into the room and bestowed a glow upon her white face. The chadder covering her head made up the halo.
It was then that the stillness of the night was shattered by a terrible shriek. The agonizing cry almost pulled down the wall between the two rooms. The hemitess shot up and sprinted towards Lally’s room. As she flung the door open, she could catch a glimpse of the hem of a robe going out of the window and dissolving into the night outside. Undisturbed Lally lay in her bed. The hermitess went close to her. She saw that the girl was quietly sobbing; a stream of tears was rolling down her cheeks.
Ajab Malik sat in the special chair that Dr Speilberg had designed. An assistant brought a helmet and placed it carefully on his head. A bunch of wires connected the helmet to a battery of instruments placed behind him. A large screen was placed at some distance in front of Ajab. Dr Speilberg checked the entire assembly of gadgets. His students stood in a circle, keenly observing every move that their teacher was making. Having satisfied himself, the doctor cleared his throat, raised his hand and said, “Now Ajab Malik be ready. As soon as I push this green button you will close your eyes and concentrate on one subject—anything from your past. Remember, whatever you retrieve from your memory will appear on the screen. So better be precise. Avoid jumbling your memories. Okay, are you ready?”
“Yes doctor, I am ready,” replied Ajab Malik. Simultaneously, he felt somewhat uneasy but kept his calm.
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
