After the lawyer left, the head constable gathered a reed mat, a little aluminum pot, and a date-palm fan, and pointed in the direction of Khalifa’s cell. He said, ‘Your hips and legs must be tired from squatting all day. Spread this out over there, and lie down. I have to lock the door. The mosquitos are really bad. Cover yourself with this blanket. If you get hot, then fan yourself. If you have to pee, then, of course, you can do so over there. I can’t touch the lock after twelve.’ Then he started to turn off the lights.
But Your Urine Tells Me Something Different!
As the lights were being turned off, Khalifa started crying out, ‘Boss! Boss!’ On the walls of the lockup, lines of bugs ran this way and that. And bloodthirsty mosquitos started to form a halo around his head. Just then the secretary appeared with the food he’d ordered from the Malbari Hotel and placed it before Basharat: qeema with its delicious smell of green chillies and hara dhaniya, and nan taken straight from the tandoor. The smell of the bread defied description: it must have been the same appetite-whetting smell that, thousands of years ago, humans had experienced when they put wheat to fire for the first time. Basharat wanted to say something to refuse the food, but he couldn’t; he was so hungry that his mouth was drowned in saliva. He motioned weakly for the secretary to take it away. Then he turned around and sat down. The secretary spoke, ‘I swear to God! I won’t eat either, then. You’ll be responsible. I had a roll dipped in tea at three. That’s it. The doctor says I have TB of the guts. But Hakim Shifaul Malik in Pir Ilahi Bakhsh Colony says that my sickness is caused by eating too much. But, really! I said, “Doctor, look at my body!” He said, “But your urine tells me something different.” ’
Suddenly the secretary changed topics. He touched Basharat’s knee, ‘I’m the dust at your feet. But I know a thing or two about the world. You’re a respectable man. But you don’t understand the delicateness of the situation, you haven’t read the pee right. I was once your father-in-law’s neighbour. I was his humble devotee. Please look, offer up your goods to redeem your honour. Give him your wood. Get it over with. It’s only a couple thousand rupees. Have you seen where you are? Think about how, if you give up this lot at 3,500, you’re going to get the same amount back. So what’s the big deal? My boss doesn’t just steal prey from the lion’s mouth, he takes the lion’s teeth too. He knows about whatever’s going on in the neighbourhood. It’s like he intuits it. Sometimes he arrests people just because of how they look, and, I’m sorry to say it, but that’s what happened to you. Last year about this time he arrested a man for swearing in public and for being a nuisance. It was hardly anything special. But his piss was telling him something else. Everyone was shocked. But two hours later my boss raided his house, and he found 300 bottles of whisky, two bolts of Two Horse Brand boski cloth, stolen jewellery, dozens of radiograms, and so many other stolen goods. Everything in the house had been stolen. Every single thing except his father, who immediately disinherited him. But my boss has a really big heart. Last year my daughter got married just about this time. He paid for everything. He slipped into the dowry a radiogram that he’d confiscated. I guarantee you that in no more than three days your missing lumber and the truck’s registration papers will be delivered to your store. Please believe me. In this case, because of his daughter’s wedding, bribes are like a wedding gift. Do you understand?’
My Bread Is Cut from Wood, and Hunger Is My Relish11
Now everything was clear. He was only a little mad. When you finally understand the reason for your disgrace, you become resigned and start to think about things. You don’t need to shout and scream anymore. He started to like the secretary.
‘Mr Secretary, everybody here…?’
‘Yes, sir, everyone.’
‘Even the lawyer?’
‘Yes, him, too.’
‘Mr Secretary, then you…’
‘Sir, I have seven kids. My biggest boy is in middle school. My wife has TB too. She spits up blood a couple times each day. The doctor says I should take her to a sanitarium in Murree or Quetta. My salary, after figuring in my raise this year, is twenty-eight rupees, five annas.’12
Basharat agreed to give the SHO the wood in the truck. So around midnight, they unlocked Khalifa’s handcuffs, and he collapsed prostrate on the ground right there between the pisshole and the drainpipe and thanked God. He wasn’t even done giving thanks to God when he motioned to the head constable for a bidi. Then he smoked. And Basharat was allowed to come out as well. The secretary congratulated him, and he brought a paan out from the little brass box he had. He said, ‘My wife specially prepared this paan for me yesterday morning.’ The head constable led Basharat to the side, and, by way of congratulations, he said, ‘This is a special time. Please give the secretary twenty-five rupees. He’s a poor, honest man, with a huge family. And, sir, why don’t you treat us to some sweets? Occasions of great happiness happen so seldom. And, please, call home. They must be worried about why you haven’t come home yet. They will be wondering whether you were in an accident. They must be desperately searching for you. They must be going round to all the hospital morgues and turning over sheets to see if it’s you. Then when they can’t find you, they must be going home disappointed.’ Basharat took out a hundred rupees from his pocket for some sweets and gave it to him. Just a little while later, the lawyer came out of the SHO’s room with four boxes of sweets (like he’d had before) stacked in a minaret; he was balancing them between his stomach and chin. He congratulated Basharat very warmly and praised his understanding and good thinking. He divided three boxes among the staff, and, as he presented the fourth to Basharat, he said, ‘Please give this to your wife and kids from us.’ After giving him the box, he took off his starched collar and black coat and hung them over his arm.