The sky is painted purplish-black with stars beaded on it. There is something majestic about the sky that enveloped the twinkling beads with the darkness that overpowered it. A man sitting beside an iron bed scorns this majestic power that dominates the whole surroundings even the place he is captured in. He suddenly starts laughing and his laugh terrifies everything light and everything that admires the light. The constable who was in deep slumber for the past four hours suddenly got chills and fell from the chair he was sleeping in. His duty was disturbed. The constable stands up adjusting his cap and name badge, blowing air on the badge as if to clean the dirt he had put on it. He grabs his stick and makes his way to the so-called devil. “Bashireyaa”, “Bashireyaa” he shouted, stomping his feet as he moved like a giant. “What’s the big idea laughing like a lunatic while stinking at this place. I knew there was something wrong with you but never thought that you were this mad”. The man called Bashir looked up at him while putting his hair away from his face. He grinned. This infuriated the dutiful constable. He tried to grab him but started laughing instead. “Oh God, I must not spoil my mood because of this lunatic. Haye look what God has done to you. Might you still be laughing”. The mention of God infuriated him. “God! God! God, you said”. He starts laughing again. There was something painful about his laugh. “Where was he that time,” he says. “The time that girl who laid writhing in front of me like a fish in the pool of blood begging me.
Begging me to let her live. Begging me to save her. Ha, I couldn’t do anything. Ha begging. Begging me. You know what she looked like she was looking like a withering leaf, dying right before my eyes clutching her stomach. Ha begging hahaha, begging”. The constable got chills. He looked at the beast which laid before his eyes, laughing and giggling. He tries to reply to him but the words never came out. He mumbles under his breath, “That bastard going about again with that story of his again, spoiling my mood”. After mumbling these words as a resignation to the incarnation of this fiend he again sits on his chair, putting this cap on his face. The justice was now asleep. The criminal held out his hand again trying to grab the poles. He with his long and dirty nails scratched the walls mumbling “begging” again and again until the sound died. But he remembered that day. It was fresh in his mind. Mind and memory are the interwoven extensions of thought, thought which was a gift from that deity now lays in the hand of the fallen.
Any other day it was, tinted purple with orange and red dominating, the whole sky presented a beautiful harmony of colors showing the liveliness of the whole town. A girl was sitting on a chair on the balcony with her hairs fluttering and dancing like the flowers right beside her. The cool breeze touched her cheeks melting like a snowflake. Her dimples presenting a slight depression as she reads the book right in front of her. While reading the book the girl explained Ahhhh!!! “If I knew it would end like this I would have never read it…”. She was complaining again and again while finishing the last chapters of the book. Her facial expressions changing again and again as the story progressed ignorant of the fact that someone else was writing the same ending for her. She leaned forward, crossed her leads, and brought the book right in front of her blue pearl-like eyes as the final chapter progressed. Just then a voice echoed in the whole house snapping her back to reality. “Asma, Asma” the voice inquired about the girl’s whereabouts. It was her mom. The girl at that time closed her book, looking irritated but followed the voice back into the house. She came downstairs replying to her mother, “Yes mother you called me. I was going through the final chapter of my novel !” she explained. Her mother faced her looking at her irritated expressions and answered her “ you were reading the same book yesterday. Isn’t it your course book which you had finished a week before? Why are you reading it again? What’s wrong with you? Aren’t girls supposed to read different novels or something like that leisurely? Her mother spoke with her while making lunch in the kitchen. The girl replied, “Actually I liked the story very much, also I thought there were some points I needed to go again through. You know what …” The girl started narrating an incident which happened in her college. “Yesterday the teacher asked me to summarize the story and I did it but there were some points which I forgot thankfully I narrated the whole story though”. Asma was a talkative girl, full of energy and enthusiasm. She was the only child of a senior Chief Policeman Mr. Saleem and a Ph.D. scholar Ms. Atiqa Saleem. Being the only child and apple of her parent's eye Asma was loved dearly by her parents.
Miss and Mrs. Saleem were still engrossed in their talk which is soon disturbed by a knock on the door. A young voice rang in the whole house disturbing the daily talk. “Mr. Saleem?” The voice inquired. Ms. Saleem sent her daughter to the door to answer the stranger. “Sorry, he is not at home”. The girl replied. The voice cried, “ Excuse me Mam I have some urgent business with Mr. Saleem but he is not available. I tried calling him but none answered”. Mrs. Saleem went herself after listening to this voice which she finally recognized. It was young Latif. “Oh my child!” she exclaimed with happiness and opened the door. A young man in his early twenties is welcomed in by Mrs. Saleem. Mrs. Saleem was ever so an edited fellow in her late fifties. She was wearing a brightly colored shalwar kameez with having red printed flowers. “Latif” cried Asma after recognizing him. He was her best friend and brother. Latif Ahmed was the son of the city’s well-known prosecutor Mr. Ahmed; a good friend of Mr. Saleem. The two families had been together for generations living like families. The bashful girl after seeing this timid boy hugged him. On this sudden gesture, Latif blushed instantly. He had small grey cat-like eyes with serenity dropping from his eyelashes, his nose long and slender like that of an aristocrat turned red. Asma giggled. Dressed formally in a police uniform with hair nicely combed the boy gave somewhat overall an aesthetical sense. Alex was a timid boy since he was in school and was easily bullied by everyone. After the death of his mother, the boy was left alone with a mentally unstable father who shortly after the death of Latif's mother died. After the death of both of his parents, the boy was taken in by the Saleems. Latif and Asma both were of the same age and had supported one and other in their childhood. Mrs. Saleem seeing Latif after such a long time also jumped in and hugged the two. The poor timid boy who was flustered starting choking because of the two women who were tightly hugging him. After seeing him coughing Mrs. Saleem pulled away from the two kids and slapped the back of Asma “Let go of that poor boy! You want him dead coming back after such a long time” she separated the two eyeing Alice to give in. Asma separated from Latif and got a hold of his ear, “You were trying to fool me. This what have you learned in the army? Trying to fool your elder sister. Let me teach you a lesson”. Mrs. Saleem again smacked Asma and told her to leave Latif. “Lunch is ready. Stop with your nonsense and eat it”. She sighed after seeing the two making faces at each other. “I said let’s eat. Latif go freshen up yourself and you, madam come and set the table”. Latif went to his room carrying his bag with which he came. Asma on the other hand tried to escape from doing the house chores but was caught by her mother. “Mother! I need to go to the market to buy some books. You know I need to study. The exams are right at the corner now”. Mrs. Saleem was not happy with her answer and advised her to eat before she went but Asma was a stubborn girl. She explained that she had her breakfast an hour ago and she was not hungry. She went about the market ignoring Mrs. Saleem who stood at the gate shouting at this girl with her clenched hands.
Asma walked to the market near her house. The streets were deserted but the sides were covered with heaps of dung and rubbish. She lived in Bahria Town, one of the most well-known towns in Karachi. She as she made her way to the market observed different beggars dressed in different clothes but with the sole purpose of extracting money with their void faces. These faces negated all the claims made by the government regarding the budget and she wondered “Will I be helping these people by giving them money or will I be making them a slave in the true sense”?. As she further moved ahead she saw a fight. A person dressed in a tuxedo was shouting at a beggar who made a scratch on his luxurious Audi. A police constable stood beside a pan shop and was trying out different pans without paying the poor teenage boy who owned the shops. She walked past these people ignoring her background like an oblivious fisherman ignorant of the tides of the sea.
Finally, she reached her destination and brought some course books. She paid the shopkeeper quickly and left the shop. The journey to the shop was long and fascinating. The journey itself is the foreteller of the goal. On her way back home she saw a man dressed in light blue shalwar kameez, his hands covered in blood, face hidden. She stood watching him until he went into an alley. Her consciousness pricked. She called her father. He didn’t pick up. She called the local police station and told them about the scene she had witnessed. After the call ended, she stood beside a shop and observed that alley. After waiting for half an hour nobody came. The man came out from the alley. His hands were clean as if he had washed away his crime. He started walking away until he saw a girl who was trying to capture his photo. He grinned. He changed his direction and started to walk towards Asma. Asma’s breath stopped. Her body became stiff. She couldn’t move. Her mind wondered. As the killer came closer and closer, her thoughts became frizzy. She after a lot of effort picked out a knife from her bag. She hid that knife behind her back and tried to walk away from the killer. She paced up but the killer also paced up. She took a left turn but the killer also took a left turn. She started running. Her life depended on it. She ran and ran and after some time looked behind her no one was there. Her body became at ease. She became relaxed and hid behind a trunk. She looked at her phone which all along in her hand. She must have forgotten to put it back. She was all covered with sweat, her breath seemed heavy, her hair and her back all wet because of the sweat. Her hands still shaking. She tried to unlock her mobile phone but the lock won’t open. She tried once then again and again but couldn’t do so. She sighed. After taking a long breath she tried again and was successful. She opened her call log and tried calling the police again. Somebody picked up, “Assalam O Alaikum”, the person other side said. This reassured the girl. She replied with “Wa Alaikum Salam” and then told about the horror she saw. The person on the other side asked about her whereabouts and she told him about her secret hiding place. Her senses came back.
Bashir’s thoughts were disturbed by a sudden cry. He came back to reality. He sighed. His sigh was melancholic and full of pain. It was noon. He stood up and offered his prayers. The constable mocked him, “After killing six people you still have the nerve to meet God?”. Bashir tried to grin but his face presented another story. Bashir did not reply to the constable and started his prayers. After his prayers, he lifted his hands for Dua, “Malik You know what has life been for me. You know your servant is not dutiful. I have heard people say that you forgive everyone. Please forgive me for becoming who I was not. I did that so my family could survive. I was not the one slitting the throat of that girl. I was not the one brutally murdering the other girl who called the police. Malik, I seek your forgiveness…” he pleaded. The heaven shook and the accused died while pleading his God. There was no tsunami, no fire broke out, no pandemic was observed but a poor shopkeeper died. Died after being accused of killing people he never killed. Died because the police were not able to catch the real culprit.
The story is written by Syeda Areeba Fatima
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