Peer-e-Kamil ( The Perfect Mentor - English )

Chapter - 6

The music from the annex behind the huge bungalow could be heard on the lawn in front of the house. Anyone would have been amazed at the level of endurance of those inside. But one look inside, and one would know the reason behind this level of endurance.

 The room was full of swirling smoke and a strange smell. Empty cartons of food from a popular restaurant, disposable plates and spoons, bottles of soft drinks, and scraps of leftovers were strewn all over the carpet which was stained by ketchup. The seven boys in the room were sprawled on the carpet; empty beer cans were scattered around. This was not all they had been entertaining themselves with drugs too.

 This was the third time in the last two months that the boys had gathered here for an adventure of this kind. So far they had experimented with four different drugs. The first time it was a drug that one of them had found in his father's closet. The next time it was a drug which a schoolmate had bought from a club in Islamabad. Then it was something acquired from an Afghan in a Rawalpindi market. Every time they had combined drugs with alcohol, procuring which was no problem. Each time this happened six of the seven boys ended up completely stoned.

 Even now it was only the seventh boy who was in his senses. His face was covered with acne, and he was dressed in a dark blue shirt with its collar turned up Elvis Presley style, and hideous grey jeans which had Madonna's face adorning each knee. He opened his eyes to glance at the others around him. His eyes were red but not because he was in a stupor like them.

 A little later he straightened up and shaking the remaining drug from the little container out into a cone, he pulled out a straw and began sniffing it. Then he threw away the straw and taking some of the drug on a fingertip, tasted it very cautiously. Almost instantly, he spat it out. The stuff was of excellent quality, but his expression showed that he had not enjoyed the experience. He swallowed some beer as if to clear the taste of the drug from his mouth.

 The other boys lay around on the carpet, totally intoxicated and unaware of themselves: he looked at them thoughtfully as he drank from the beer can. His eyes, though swollen, were bright enough. The drug had not knocked him out fully. This had happened the last three times too. Though his friends had been knocked senseless after taking drugs, the effect on him was not so pronounced. The first two times he had left them in their stupor and had driven home, late in the night. 

This time too he wanted to get away:the odor of the drugs in the room repulsed him. He stumbled as he triedto stand up. He straightened up and picking his key and wallet off thefloor, he turned off the stereo. He looked around the room as if trying toremember something. Then he turned towards the door and sittingdown again, put on his joggers, tying their laces around his ankles.

 Finally, unlocking the door, he went out into the dark corridor. Gropinghis way, he went past the main door out onto the lawn. As he wascoming down the stairs, he felt his nose was running and when hetouched his upper lip, he felt a sticky liquid on his hands. He switchedon the light in the entrance and saw blood on his fingertips. Reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief, he wiped the blood off his fingers and nose. There was a strange sharp sensation in his throat which he tried to clear, but he felt he was suffocating. He took a few deep breaths to ease the constriction and spat two or three times. Suddenly he felt a tingling in his nose. He doubled over as blood began gushing out of his nose pouring down the marble stairs like a stream.

-----------------------------------

The prize distribution ceremony was underway at the Golf Club. Salar Sikandar was to receive the first prize in the Under-Sixteen competition for his seven under par score.Applauding when Salar's name was called out, Sikandar Usman thought he would have to do something about the cabinet where the trophies were displayed. The trophies and shields Salar would bring home this year would be as many as he had in the past year.

 All of Sikandar's children excelled in their studies, but Salar was different from the rest. In winning awards, he was far ahead of them. It was not just difficult to beat this boy who had an IQ score of 150, it was Impossible. Clapping proudly, Sikandar turned to his wife and whispered, "This is Salar's thirteenth trophy and the fourth one this year.'

You keep a record of everything, don't you?" she replied, smiling at her husband whose gaze was fixed on Salar as he received the trophy from the chief guest.

"Only for golf and you know the reason very well. I bet that even if Salar had been playing this tournament with professional players, he would have still won the trophy,' he claimed proudly.Salar was shaking hands with the other winners seated around him. Sikandar's wife was not surprised by his claim about Salar. She knew that it was not an expression of paternal sentiment: it was the truth- Salar was indeed extraordinary.

She recalled when he had played 18 holes at this golf course with her brother Zubair for the first time. The way he had brought a ball that had accidentally fallen into the rough, out onto the green, was a display of expertise. Zubair was amazed. 'I can't believe it!" He had repeated this statement endlessly till the end of the game.

If the shot from the rough had amazed Zubair, then Salar's putters had floored him. As the ball rolled towards the hole, he leaned against his club and turned around to gauge the distance between Salar and his target. Shaking his head in disbelief, he looked at Salar.

'Salar Sahib is not playing well today, muttered the caddie standing by the golf cart behind Zubair, who turned around in surprise.

'So he's not playing well? He looked at the caddie. Was this a joke?

"Yes, sir, otherwise the ball would not have gone into the rough, the caddie said.

 "You have played here today for the first time, but Salar Sahib has been playing here for the last three years. That's why I say he's not playing well," he added.

 Zubair looked at his sister who was smiling benignly."Next time, I will be fully prepared when I come here, and I will also select the site for the game. Zubair was somewhat miffed as they walked across towards Salar.Any time, any place, she confidently challenged her brother on her son's behalf.I want to invite you to Karachi this weekend, with all expenses paid," 

Zubair said casually as he approached Salar."Why?" 

"To play on my behalf against the president of the Karachi Chamber of Commerce. I lost the election to him, but if he loses a golf match, and that too to a child, he'll have a heart attack.

 So let's settle the score." Salar's mother laughed at her brother's words, but a frown creasedSalar's brow. 

"Child?" He repeated with emphasis the only objectionable word in Zubair's comment. 'Uncle, I think I'll have to play another 18 holes against you tomorrow."

---------------------------------