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
Read Also, A Very Sad Story of a Girl
