Salar prided himself on his keen power of observation: he could read a person's mind by looking at their face. But, on that fog-engulfed road, he had to confess that he had not been able to figure out Imama Hashim.
Hands on the steering, he sat there for many moments in a state of uncertainty. This experience had augmented his dislike for Imama Hashim.
Regardless of the foggy conditions, Salar drove home at top speed. All the way, his mind was in turmoil—where had she pulled the pistol out from? He was certain that when she was performing the wuzu and washing her feet,
there was nothing visibly strapped to her calf. He had watched her from head to toe when she was praying and did not observe anything. She had gone to the car and sat down when they had finished eating; he had followed her a few moments later. Definitely, she must have had the pistol in her bag, he figured.
He was in a foul mood when he got home. When he pulled the car into the gate, he summoned the gatekeeper.
'You will not tell anyone about the girl who was in the car with me last night,
do you understand? In fact, I did not go anywhere as far as you're concerned,' he warned him in a threatening tone.
'Yes, sir. I will not breathe a word to anyone about anything,' the man nodded obediently. He was no fool to go around talking about such things.
Salar went to his room and slept peacefully. He did not intend to go anywhere that day.
-------------------------
He was in deep sleep when he heard a sudden loud banging on his door.
He sat up. The door was being jolted by the noise. He looked at the wall clock with half-open eyes—it was 4:00 a.m. Rubbing his eyes, he went to the door, furious at whoever was knocking on it. Angrily, Salar yanked the door open to find the servant standing there.
'What's your problem—why are you banging on the door? Do you want to break it down?' he shouted at the man.
'Salar Sahib, the police are outside.' The servant was flustered. Salar's sleep and fury both vanished. In a trice, he knew why the police was there and he was surprised at the alacrity of Imama's family and the police; how on earth had they reached him within a few hours of last night's events?
'Why are the police here?' Salar asked, keeping his voice calm and his face expressionless.
'That they're not saying, sir, except that they want to meet you. But the chowkidar has not let them in. He told them that you weren't home, but they have a warrant for you. They said they'll break in if they're not allowed to come in and they'll arrest everybody.'
Salar breathed a sigh of relief: the chowkidar had acted really sensibly. He must have been sure that the police were here to investigate about the girl last night so he had neither let the police enter nor told them about Salar being home.
'Don't worry... I'll handle this somehow,' Salar told the servant and went back into his room. If it were any ordinary citizen's house, the police would have stormed in; but the size of the house and its location intimidated them.
If Imama's family were not as influential, perhaps the police would not dare enter this sector, and that too with a warrant—they were now between a rock and a hard place.
Salar immediately called up Sikandar Usman in Karachi. 'Papa, there's a small problem. The police are standing outside our gate and they have an arrest warrant for me.'
Sikandar Usman almost dropped the cell phone. 'Why?'
'I don't know, Papa. I was sleeping when the servant woke me up to inform me. Should I go and inquire from the police why they want to arrest me?'
Salar asked his father in a tone of filial obedience.
'No, there's no need for you to go out or call the police in. Stay in your room; I'll call you in a while.' Sikandar Usman hung up quickly. Salar was relieved that the police would no longer be there a little later and that's just what happened. Ten or fifteen minutes later, the servant came to inform Salar that the police had left. The man was still talking to Salar when Sikandar rang him up.
'Have the police gone?' he asked the minute he heard Salar's voice.
'Yes, they've left,' Salar spoke in a calm and relieved voice.
'Now listen to me carefully. Your mother and I are reaching Islamabad tonight. Till then you are not to leave the house. Do you understand that?'
Salar found his father's tone rather strange—it was cold and brusque.
'Yes, I do,' he said and put down the phone. As he did so, his gaze fell on the carpet which had footprints all over. The servant was also looking at them in surprise as they seemed to come in from the window across the room.
'Clean up these footprints,' Salar ordered.
The servant went out. Salar went to the sliding window and opened it. He had figured it out right—the same muddy footprints trooped across the verandah too. Imama had jumped over the wall into the flowerbeds and trudged the mud all over. The marks stood out on the white marble floor of the verandah. Salar let out a deep breath. He turned to see the servant cleaning the marks on the carpet.
'There are footprints in the verandah also. Clean them,' said Salar.
The servant could no longer contain his curiosity. 'Whose footprints are these?'
'Mine,' Salar replied abruptly.
He was busy having his dinner when Sikandar Usman and Tayyaba arrived home. Their faces were drawn. Salar continued to eat, unconcerned. They walked past quietly.
'Come to my room when you've finished eating,' said his father as he went out. Instead of replying, Salar helped himself to some fruit trifle.
When Salar went up to his parents' room fifteen minutes later, Sikandar Usman was pacing up and down while Tayyaba sat on the sofa in a state of anxiety.
'Papa, did you call for me?' Salar asked as he entered.
'Sit down and I'll tell you why I sent for you.' Sikandar stopped in his tracks and took a seat beside Tayyaba. 'Where's Imama?' he asked without losing a second.
'Imama who?' If it were someone other than Salar, his face would have reflected some reaction or alarm, but Salar was one of a kind.
Sikandar's face was red with fury. 'Your sister!' he growled.
'Papa, my sister's name is Anita.' There was no limit to his composure.
'Tell me just one thing—how many times and in how many ways will you humiliate me?' Sikandar got up and sat down on the other sofa.
'What are you talking about Papa? I fail to understand,' Salar said in surprise.
'Although you understand everything very well,' his father shot back sarcastically. 'Look here, just tell me without any fuss where Imama is—this matter is not as simple as you think.'
'Papa, which Imama are you referring to? I don't know any Imama.'
'I'm talking about Waseem's sister,' Sikandar spoke gruffly.
'Waseem's sister?' he fell into thought. 'Oh yes, I remember now—the one who gave me first aid last year.'
'Yes, the same girl. And now that your memory has been restored, tell me here she is.'
'Papa, she must be at home or in the hostel at the medical college. What have I got to do with her?' he told his father in a surprised tone.
'Her father has lodged a case of her abduction against you.'
'Against me? I don't believe it! What do I have to do with her?' Salar's voice and face were remarkably composed.
'That's what I want to know—what is your connection with her?'
'Papa, I don't even know her. Except for a couple of times, I haven't even met her. So how am I linked to her abduction? I didn't even know that she had been abducted.'
'Salar, stop this acting now and tell me where the girl is. I have promised Hashim Mubeen that I will restore his daughter to him.'
'Then fulfill your promise and do restore his daughter to him if you can find her. But why are you troubling me with this?'
'Look here, Salar, if there's any sort of understanding between you and Imama, we'll work it out. I'll arrange your wedding with her myself. But for the time being, tell me where she is.' There was a shift in Sikandar's tone a
nd stance.
'For God's sake, Papa, stop it! What understanding, what wedding... if I
had an understanding with someone, would I kidnap her? What makes you think I'd develop any understanding with Imama? She's not my type.'
Salar's voice rose.
'Then why are they accusing you of kidnapping her?'
'You should ask them, instead of asking me,' Salar replied in the same distasteful manner. Today, Hashim Mubeen is saying this. Tomorrow,
someone else will come up with a similar accusation and you'll start screaming at me. I told you I was sleeping when the police arrived and now you come and grill me... I had no clue whether or not Waseem's sister had been abducted...why are they accusing me? What proof do they have that I
was involved in this abduction? And suppose I did, would I be sitting here at home? I should be with her,' he said bitterly.
'I came to know of your case through the SP. I called up Hashim Mubeen from Karachi, but he was not willing to speak to me. I had to beg and plead to talk to him...he said that his daughter had disappeared during the night and that you were also away from home all night and returned this morning.'
'So where does abduction figure in this? To begin with, I did not go anywhere last night, and secondly, to kidnap someone you have to enter their home and I did not force my way into anyone's house.'
'Hashim Mubeen's gatekeeper saw you leave last night and return this morning.'
'His gatekeeper is a liar,' Salar said loudly.
'Our gatekeeper saw you leave with a girl last night,' Sikandar retorted, griting his teeth in anger. Sikandar was momentarily speechless.
Obviously, Sikandar had already grilled the chowkidar as soon as he got home.
'It was one of my friends,' Salar replied, looking at Tayyaba.
'Which friend? Who was she? Tell me her name and address.'
'Sorry, Papa, I can't do that—it's personal.'
'You went to drop her in the city, here in Islamabad?'
'Yes.'
'You've dropped her off in Lahore—the SP told me you crossed four checkposts and your number has been noted at all four of them. On the way, you stopped at a service station to have your car checked and you also had dinner with that girl,' Sikandar told him, giving him the name of the service station and that of the hotel. Salar looked at his father but said nothing.
'The SP himself gave me all this information. He has not spoken to Hashim Mubeen as yet; he said I should talk to you and the girl should be recovered and quietly returned home, or else we should tell her family of her whereabouts so that the matter is brought to an end without any problems. But how long do you think he will keep this from Hashim Mubeen? Even if he covers up all this out of friendship and consideration,
Hashim Mubeen is very resourceful and he'll get to the bottom of this—and you'll spend your life in prison.'
Sikandar tried to scare him—Salar kept looking at Sikandar, unmoved.
'Now stop lying and tell me where the girl is?'
'That girl is in the red light area.'
'What!' Sikandar was jolted.
'I brought her from there and that's where I left her.'
Ashen-faced, his parents looked at him.
'But it was not Imama. I had gone to Lahore day before yesterday and I
brought this girl home to spend the night with her; I dropped her back last night. I don't have her contact number, but if you accompany me to Lahore I'll take you to her or give her address and the police can verify these facts.'
There was stunned silence in the room. Sikandar and Tayyaba were looking at Salar in disbelief and he sat looking out of the window—relaxed and peaceful.
'I can hardly believe you would do such things...go to such places.'
Sikandar spoke after a long pause.
'I'm sorry, Papa, but I do...and this is also known to Imama's brother Waseem. I've been there on several weekends and Waseem knows about it; you can ask him.'
'Give me the girl's address,' scowled Sikandar.
'I'll get it from my room,' said Salar, getting up.
As soon as he got into his room, Salar immediately called a friend from his mobile and explained the situation to him.
'Akmal, I've given my father the address of that house in the red light area where we've been going. Inform any girl who knows me there about this; I'll call you again a little later.'
Then he quickly wrote down the address on a piece of paper and took it to Sikandar's room. He put the paper before his father, which he literally snatched, looking at him angrily.
'Get out of here!'
Salar walked away calmly. When he was in his room, he called up Akmal again.
I'll call you when I get there,' said Akmal.
Salar relaxed on his bed waiting for Akaml's call which came fifteen minutes later.
'Salar, I've prepared Saneeya; I've explained everything to her.' Salar knew Saneeya.
'Akmal, get a pen and paper and note down what I tell you,' he said and then he began to describe the outward appearance of his house and its location.
'What's this? I've been to your place, I know...' asked Akmal, surprised.
'You've seen it, Saneeya hasn't. I'm giving you all these details for her. If the police come to investigate, they're going to ask her just to verify that she had indeed come to Islamabad with me. She had come under cover in the car, at night, so she could not see very much, but coming into the house, there are lawns on both sides; my car is red and it's a sports car; its number is...' he went on dictating. 'We crossed four police check posts;
she was wearing a white shalwar qameez, a white chadar and a black pullover. On the way we stopped at this gas station,' he gave Akmal the name. 'But she could not see the places clearly because of the fog.'
Salar continued to provide the details, one after the other, from the description of the man at the service station to that of the boy who served them tea and the room they sat in, the food they ate, and the conversation between them. He included the smallest detail of his house too, from the porch to his room and the stuff in it.
'Tell Saneeya to memorize all this,' he said—his last instructions to Akmal—then he ended the call. He was sitting on his bed, thinking back on this, when Sikandar Usman barged in.
'What's the girl's name?'
'Saneeya,' Salar said at once. Without saying any more, Sikandar Usman left the room.
-------------------------
After Sikandar left the room, Salar suddenly remembered the lawyer through whom they had contacted Hashim Mubeen. Hasan was the one to hire the lawyer who did not even know Salar Sikandar's name, but Hasan's involvement in this affair bothered Salar—through the lawyer Hashim Mubeen could reach Hasan, and through Hasan, Salar. Salar's next call was to Hasan to whom he explained the developments.
'I'd been warning you all along,' Hasan reacted. 'I know Waseem and his family very well and I know the extent of their influence and contacts,' he went on.
Ennui—Salar found this tiresome. 'I did not call you up to predict my future—I just wanted you to be aware of the danger of this situation.'
'What danger?' Hasan was alarmed.
'That they can reach you through the lawyer you hired and through you,
easily reach me.'
'That they can't do.' Hasan was nonchalant.
'Why?'
'Because I have done everything most carefully and taken all precautions.
The lawyer can't get to me either: the address and phone number I gave him were fake.'
Salar broke into a smile—he should have expected this cleverness of Hasan who did such things expertly, leaving no loose ends. Hasan continued, 'I've been to that lawyer just once; after that I called him up.
Besides, my appearance was so different when I met him that I don't think he can recognize me or link me to Hashim Mubeen.'
'But if he should?'
Then...l don't know, I haven't thought about it.' Hasan was very candid.
&nb
sp; 'Wouldn't it be better for you to go away for a few days and make it look like your absence was tied to some very important work?' suggested Salar.
'I have a still better idea—to give that lawyer some money and instruct him to provide a misleading description of me in case Hashim Mubeen or the police turn up at his door for investigation. At least, it will throw them off track for some time and I won't be caught in any anxiety. Besides, I'm going to England for a few weeks,' Hasan revealed, 'so if they do come, I'll be far beyond them, rest assured.'
'If you're really so confident and relaxed, then it's fine. Possibly, they may not come for you at all, but I thought it was important to inform you.' Salar was about to disconnect the call.
'By the way, where did you drop her off in Lahore?'
'On a road—where else could I have left her? She gave no details of her whereabouts—no directions, no location. She just went away.'
'You're such a fool—you should have had the guts to ask her.'
'Maybe, but I didn't need to.' Salar deliberately avoided divulging his last conversation with Imama.
'I'm surprised that you should be involved in such affairs. With one's own type of girls it's a different matter, but someone like Waseem's sister—your taste is declining.'
'I'm "involved"? Salar exploded. 'You've really lost it or else you'd not say such rubbish to me. There's a huge difference between involvement and adventure, Mr. Hasan.' His tone dripped with sarcasm.
'And you covered this distance in one leap, did you, Mr Salar?' Hasan retorted in the same tone.
'You're crazy, that's all!'
'And you're crazier than me—otherwise you'd not term such foolhardiness an adventure.' Hasan was quite exasperated.
'Just because you helped me, it doesn't give you the right to say what you please.' He was infuriated by Hasan's remarks.
'I'm not through with you yet; what are you referring to—my comments about your taste or your stupidity?' Hasan asked as before: he was not affected by Salar's temper.