The man wore a long flowing gown. His head was covered with a huge turban. He appeared to be around forty years of age. The long black beard shone in the early morning light. As he became visible, madam blurted out, “Here comes the vulture.” Saying this she moved away from the window and waited in the center of the room. Budshah continued to stand near the window. The door was thrown open and the girls trouped in. One by one they came to madam. She hugged them all. Not a word was exchanged. At last madam said in a low voice, “Girls, you must be tired, go and catch some sleep.” The girls marched away in silence and disappeared into an adjoining room. As the girls departed madam saw the turbaned man enter. She remained where she was looking straight towards him. He strode in with big majestic strides. As they came face to face, he raised his right hand to his forehead and addressed her. “Now tell me, am I not a sincere man? Your girls…well, I have brought them back to you. I have told you a number of times but you do not listen.”
“Thank you for the trouble,” was what madam could manage.
“No trouble my dear. It is my duty. I take the opportunity to renew my offer. Money is no problem. You quote the price. I want this place. You can stay on. Your girls can stay on. I only want to launch a big company. It will be known as Tourism Promotion Corporation of Pakistan (TPCP). You see there is a tremendous market. Our Arab friends, rich friends will be our clients.This place will be the HQ. Tourists will arrive here and from here they will be allotted the companions—your girls, and of course many more girls who are waiting to be rescued from the dirty hands of kufar behind the LOC. These tourists will then travel to tourist resorts that we will construct. Come on lady.Wake up to a new dawn. With God’s grace it will be a great venture.”
Madam spoke briefly and to the point,“But Maulana, what do I get in addition to the price for the dwelling.”
“Yes, that is better. Whatever you want. After all, you have the required experience. We value that. How about a partnership? Say ten per cent. Believe me, you will roll in millions and it will be absolutely safe. No hassles with police or the rangers.”
“But I know them, they won’t let you go without their pound of flesh,” madam interjected. The man gave a short laugh. “Oh yes, but I have taken care of that. We have two ten per cent chunks reserved for the right persons. With God’s grace, the foundation stone will be laid by Bibi herself.”
“You are a bastard,” madam opened up at last. The man just laughed at that. “Then it is a deal.”
“I think it is ok.” Madam smiled, apparently pleased with the deal just struck. The man turned around and for the first time spotted Budshah standing there with his back to the wall. He seemed to lose his cool. He almost yelled at his newfound partner, “Who the hell is he and what is he doing here?”
Madam looked towards Budshah and then towards the man. “Oh him, don’t bother. He is no trouble. He is a stranger to the town.”
“Come here,” thundered the visitor.
Budshah quietly moved towards him. As he came near, madam very formally introduced the man to Budshah. “He is Maulana Noori, Chief of Kashmir Fund in Pakistan and Maulana Saheb, he is my guest.”
“I am Zain-ul-Abidin,” Budshah said with a regal flair.
“Which country?” enquired Maulana.
“Kashmir,” Budshah simply murmured. “Oh you are from Kashmir—which Kashmir? Our Kashmir or their Kashmir?” persisted the Maulana. Budshah looking straight into Maulana’s eyes and with all the confidence at his command said, “Kashmir is only ours.”
“I like that, but young man, with such a good physique, what are you doing here?”
“I was simply passing by,” Budshah replied.
“That is fine, but are you trained? Why don’t you join our Tanzeem? I will send you to Afghanistan for higher training. But if you already possess the training in warfare then you can cross over to Kashmir with our men. In fact, only tomorrow we are sending a group—would you join it?” Maulana enquired. Budshah thought for a moment as if unable to comprehend. But finally he said, “I would join anybody who goes to Kashmir.”
“That is fine. Then you will come with me right away. I will hand you over to the group Commander.”
Maulana was enthusiastic. Budshah replied, “I am ready.”
Mahaballi had dozed off in his chair. The cassette had long ago run its full length. The phone in his shirt pocket rang and he woke up with a start. “Hello,” he murmured into the phone and listened carefully. He heard and finally dismissed the caller. He remained seated, thinking. Finally he stood up and walked up to the cupboard. He opened it and brought out his briefcase. Placing it on a nearby table, he opened it. Searching through the contents he brought out a Sherlock Holmes cap, a long coat, a cane and a cigar. Mahaballi picked up these things and went to his dressing room. After a few minutes, attired as Sherlock Holmes, he walked out of his suite. His eyes were hidden behind the dark glasses; the brim of the detective’s cap covered his nose too. He took long strides in the lobby of the hotel and looking right and left saw that the lobby was empty; even the receptionist was missing. He stood there in front of the counter puffing at his unlit cigar and playing with the cane.
The outer door leading into the garden was wide open and no one was in attendance.
Mahaballi thought for a moment. Where had the people gone? he wondered. But then in a flash it all became clear, and he began feeling happy. He hummed,‘ Awara Hoon…Awara Hoon…Gharbar nahin…mujhko kisy say pyar nahin’. The local television was to telecast Raj Kapoor’s film Awara in honour of the visiting Mahaballi. People were glued to their television sets. But Sherlock Holmes had to take precautions. Therefore Mahaballi decided not to use the door but to jump out of the window. He walked up to a window, looked at it carefully, sizing it up in his mind. It was wide open. He went to the next. Yes, this was shut. So he dropped himself down near it and putting his hand into a pocket brought out a thick wire that had been turned into a hook at one end. He lifted the wire and putting its hook in the window latch pulled and pulled till it gave away. Mahaballi pushed the window. It opened with a cracking sound. He became alert. His hand, already in his pocket, fondled the revolver. But no one appeared to have heard the sound. He stood up and looked out of the window. The garden was quite empty. He pulled himself up and then onto the window. He took stock of the situation inside and outside. Satisfied, he lowered his weight and let go. He fell on the ground with a thud. He remained on the ground for sometime not making a move. Finally he looked around. It was quite safe, he thought.He decided to crawl along the entire length of the garden to reach the compound wall. He decided against using the wide open gate. He would scale the wall instead. After all he was Sherlock Holmes.
After an hour’s hard labour Mahaballi was waiting for a taxi on the mainroad outside the palatial building. Traffic seemed to be off the roads. Awara, Mahaballi thought and felt good. At last a taxi appeared in the distance. It moved at snail’s pace. As it neared Mahaballi, he gestured with his cane held out. The taxi screeched to a halt. Mahaballi turned his coat collar up, lowered his hat by another few centimeters and entered the waiting taxi.
Once seated Mahaballi ordered, “Fire.” The driver gave a laugh but started his engine. The vehicle began to move. Mahaballi not satisfied shouted, “Fast…faster…faster.”
The driver replied. “Eh lo.” Mahaballi heard, looked in the side mirror and saw a Sardarji. But he could not become friendly with him so he ignored his Punjabi and instead yelled, “Follow that car, fast.” The driver looked ahead; there was no car. He turned his head and said, “Sir there is no car.”
“Fast, go fast.”
“But where do you go, Sir?” enquired the driver.
“Just go on.”
“But where, Sir?” The driver persisted.
“When I don’t know, how can I tell you?” The Sardar was beginning to get upset. He murmured, “Twadi Maa” and pumped the accelerator.
Mahaballi heard the sound in his inner pocket. He brought out the phone and listened. “Yes speak.”
Raw Kaw informed him that Birbal was on his way to the airport in the company of a beautiful girl. They were booked for the US. The plane was due to leave in half an hour’s time.
Mahaballi switched off and put the phone back into his pocket and shouted. ‘Airport…fast.”
“Ok, eh lo twadi maa di.” The vehicle ran at breakneck speed and Mahaballi sat there enjoying the thrill.
Ajab Malik entered yet another chamber in the underground. Here the light was dim but enough to allow one to find one’s way through the rows of chairs that lay all over the place. The center of the area was raised in the form of a platform. Many people were already seated. He found an empty chair and slumped into it. Without any announcement loud music began. Ajab Malik tried to locate its source but it appeared to emanate from everywhere. Then a battery of lights came on and focused on the raised platform. Everybody waited with great expectation and then it happened. A gorgeous woman appeared from a corner and people made way for her as she passed. The moving lights picked her form and followed her as she walked leisurely towards the platform. She seemed to hold the ends of a few strings in her hands. A close look revealed that her collared pets followed her. As the women came onto the platform she pulled the strings and one by one her pets jumped onto the platform. They were young men naked from head to toe.
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
