It was over a cup of tea that I heard the most strangely heartbreaking story of an unfortunate soul. He was an old friend. We had not met ever since school ended back in 2000. With our Matriculation degrees safely clamped inside our bags, we had gone different ways, each in search of a better living, far away from our drab and humid village.
"Remember that train we boarded Asif? I boarded it with big dreams, high hopes and a year's worth savings."
Indeed, I remembered. I boarded my train knowing mama jee had a post n his office waiting for me. He on the other hand had got on with nothing but hope. Yet he made more money than i ever did. Fate had something big waiting for him.
He held his cup, taking a sip, launching into his story.
"I searched for a job for three weeks; confidence at its peak and dreams still big. By the end of these three weeks, I was left with a wearied spirit and a little over the price of my ticket back home.
"This is Lahore beta, son, a matriculation degree will not get you anything more than the job of a cashier at a small store." I had dreamt to be something more, something better. What would I tell my people when I would go back?
"So Asif, I decided I would use the last of my savings on a cup of tea at a big hotel. That was something I could tell them about." he said chuckling. I smiled at the vanity that strikes us all at that age. Yes. What will people say? Does that thought not haunt us all?
"So I sat there at a corner table slurping my chai, contemplating my luck, cursing all those who made me believe I was extraordinary, that I could be something. I cursed them for letting me dream big when reality danced naked right in front of my eyes. Who said I was special? I looked around at all the people dining here that evening. Surely they had turned up in big cars that they did not have to work hard for, did not have families depending on them for their next meals. They had been born into money.
"It was these thoughts that engrossed me when I noticed a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and a bored expression beckon me with a slight nod of her head. Surprised and slightly curious, I stood up and went to her in three long strides.
"What are you doing here?" she asked scrutinizing me from head to toe, clearly wondering how a man so averagely dressed could afford anything at that hotel. Bizarre at the outcome of the tiring three week long scavenger hunt, I told her my story.
"Hmm. So you need a job." she said, thinking.
"Call this number. Tell them Mrs. Alam recommended you. You will get the job."she said, scribbling a number for me on a piece of paper.
One phone call, and I had the job.
I was a hawaldaar at the local police station. Years went by and I was promoted to higher posts till I finally became a DSP. I had gotten the job by unfair means and unfair is all I exulted in. I took bribes and earned hard, forgetting all sense of halal and haram that my parents had spent years ingraining in me. I let criminals go for specific amounts, treated others better for sums paid. I was a rat. All this indulgence helped me get promoted faster than many others.
All those years, I was the lowest of the lowly.I do not think it is possible to count the number of people who escaped the gallows or the rupees I earned in helping them do so. And never once did I feel guilty about all that I did.
Then one day, six or seven years of service before my supposed retirement, a file appeared on my table. A murder case. This man had taken the lives of so many, the father of three little children amongst them. Out of the blue, my conscience awakened. I knew I would get phone calls within less than an hour. I could make big money with this case. He had strong networks, I knew . So Asif, I took a pen and charged him with something I was sure would get him hanged under all circumstances. I forwarded his file before anyone could get hold of it.
As predicted, my phone started to ring.
"Let him go."
"Leave him be, this is for your own good."
"Name your price."
And what not. But I had made up my mind Asif. I have no idea what triggered this response but the only thing I knew was that this was my redemption. Before long, my seniors started calling me.
"I'm sorry Sir, but there is nothing I can do now. I have already forwarded the file."
Part of me knew that the hurry had been for my own good too. The threats that I was now getting would possibly have made me reconsider my decision. My own life was in danger. I would check for trailing cars and tampered locks. I had gotten into a very big mess. A few days later, my senior called.
"So Wali, what have you thought about everything?"
"I've decided on early retirement. I resign Sir."
"That is best for you son."
"One phone call got me that job, Asif. And one phone call took it all away." Wali heaved a sigh and put his empty cup down.
Based on a true story.
