Peer-e-kamil

Chapter 1(Part 7)

"Your name?"

"I don't know."

"What did your parents name you?"

"Go ask my parents." Silence.

"What do people call you?"

"Boys or girls?"

"Boys."

"They call me by many names."

"Mostly what?"

"Daredevil." More silence.

"And girls?"

"They too have many names for me."

"What name do they usually call you?"

"I can't tell you that...it's too personal."Silence and then a deep breath and...silence again.

"Can I give you a suggestion?"

"What?"

"Why don't you try to find out something about me that neither you nor I knew before? That white file on the table to your right has all my particulars. Why are you wasting your time?"

By the light of his table lamp, the psychoanalyst observed the young man lying on the couch. He kept moving his feet from left to right. His face was calm and he wore an expression that seemed to say that the session with the psychoanalyst was a waste of time. The room was cool and dark, and as the boy spoke, he looked around the room. He was a dilemma for the psychoanalyst; he had a photographic memory, his IQ level was 150, he had an outstanding academic record throughout, he had won the President's Gold Medal for golf for the third time running...and this was his third attempt at suicide. His desperately worried parents had brought him to the psychoanalyst. The boy belonged to one of the few prestigious and extremely wealthy families of the country. He was the fourth of five siblings-four brothers and a sister; two brothers and his sister were older than him. His parents doted on him because of his intelligence and capabilities-yet in the last three years he had tried to kill himself three times.

The first time was when he was speeding on his bike in the wrong direction on a one-way road and had lifted his hands off the handlebar. The cop behind him had seen him doing this. He was lucky that when he crashed into a car, he was thrown over another and landed on the other side of the road. He suffered a few broken ribs, and a fractured arm and leg. Even though the police officer had seen this happening, his parents believed it was an accident. He had told them that he had mistakenly entered the one-way street.

The next time-a full year later-he had tied himself up and jumped into the canal. People on the bridge had saved him by pulling him up by the rope he had used. This time there were several witnesses but his parents still could not believe that he had attempted suicide. Salar claimed that some boys had stopped his car near the bridge, tied him up and thrown him over, and the way he was tied, it did seem as if someone else had done it. For the next few weeks, the police kept searching for boys whose appearance matched the description given by Salar. Usman Sikandar hired a guard to be with Salar, day and night.

But the third time he could not deceive his parents. He ground a large quantity of sedatives and swallowed them. The effect was such that even after a stomach wash, it took him a long time to recover. This time, there was no mistaking what Salar had done-the cook had witnessed him grinding the pills, adding them to a glass of milk, and gulping down the whole.

Tyyaba and Sikandar were in a state of shock-they thought of the previous two incidents and regretted that they had believed his stories.

The entire household was upset and the news spread to the school, in their neighborhood and to the whole family. He could no longer deny that he had attempted suicide, but he was not willing to explain why- neither to his brothers and sister and nor to his parents.