by Pran Kishore
The sun was about to set. The horizon over the westerly Apharwat mountain revealed a strange colour. Thick dark clouds were trailing down into the depths. The margins of these clouds looked thin at several places and the setting sun produced a crimson hue that shone bright through those rents in the clouds. While Malla Khaliq was watching the sky, Aziz Dyad came near him and said, ‘What are you gazing at in the sky? Come in and have your tea.’
‘I don’t know what God has apportioned to us,’ said Malla Khaliq, turning his tearful eyes to her. ‘Do you see how blood red the sun looks? And then those dark clouds!’
Aziz Dyad cast a glance at the sky and said to her husband, ‘Clouds of this kind are not new to us. I fail to understand what ails you. You start even when a cat goes past you. Now leave these forebodings, and come in. I have yet to think of dinner.’ Saying this, she walked towards the pantry and Malla Khaliq followed her.
Bhonsley had finished getting ready and was now waiting for his wife. Meanwhile his elder son came running into the room, clasped his hand and said, ‘Daddy, Daddy, come out and see the sky!’
Bhonsley asked him to free his hand so that he could take his camera from the table. His wife and his other son were already standing on the prow of the houseboat. The moment he had a glimpse of the sky, he could not stop uttering, ‘Amazing!’ He focused his camera and started taking photographs. He said to his wife and children, ‘See? This is Kashmir!’
The children stretched out their hands for the camera so that they could also take some photographs. ‘First let me take some pictures of you and your mother, and then you can use the camera,’ Bhonsley said to them. He made his wife and two children face the Zabarwan hills, so that he could catch the spectacle of the clouds in the west over the Apharwat summits in the background.
‘But the sunlight is on our backs, it will make us look like ghosts,’ his wife said. ‘Let us have at least one snap like this as a souvenir. I have never seen such clouds in my life.’
‘But be quick. Don’t you see the light cast on the houseboats and the waters? See how those distant shikaarahs look … it appears as though they are moving over molten gold.’
Bhonsley was quick in getting the photographs of his choice and then, turning towards the Zabarwan hills, asked his family to stand with Zabarwan as their backdrop.
While using the viewfinder of his camera, he detected Qadir in his boat and Jane coming out of it. He zoomed in on Jane and took a volley of photos of her. His wife was getting bored, and said, ‘Enough now.’
Jane stood on the stairs of the houseboat Gulshan, waiting for Qadir. When she saw Bhonsley there, she looked petrified and ran into the houseboat. She was so terrified that she left her brown bag on the steps of the stairs. Qadir followed, picked up the bag and went in.
Bhonsley folded his camera and hurried to his own room in the houseboat. His wife and children continued standing on the prow watching the sunset. Bhonsley hastily took out his diary from the camera bag and turned its pages.
Jane was restless in the room. When Qadir stepped in, he rebuked her for being so careless and leaving the bag on the stairs. ‘Imagine what would have happened if Razaq or Abba found the bag there?’
‘But if I stayed there for one more second, Mr Bhonsley would have certainly seen me.’
‘Is he a brute who will devour you?’ asked Qadir, fuming.
‘This Bhonsley is the same narcotic controller whom I wanted to avoid in Bombay and he is the reason I came to Kashmir.’
Qadir felt his heart sink to his ankles.
After rummaging through his diary, Mr Bhonsley called up the local police commissioner and conveyed the information to him.
‘Please ensure that Jane does not suspect in any way that you have spotted her there,’ the police commissioner said in reply.
‘I don’t think she has any inkling. But if a police contingent does not arrive immediately, she will disappear without leaving a trace behind. She fell into our snare not once but twice in Bombay, but slipped through our clasp like a slimy fish.’
‘Please be sure that she does not escape again. I shall assign the DIG Vigilance to lead the raid,’ the police commissioner assured Mr Bhonsley.
Having resolved that he would manage to take Jane out of the houseboat, as he had done before, Qadir came out. But he faced a hitch in the lack of a boat. He took cautious steps alongside Gulfam towards his own room. He came across Ghulam Ahmed near the houseboat. He managed to maintain his composure while speaking with him.
Zeb was assisting Aziz Dyad in the kitchen and Zoon and Mukhta were also there. Having reached his room, he jumped out through the rear window of his room. Near the swamp of rushes, he found a small trip-boat belonging to the neighbouring vegetable vendors. He quietly stepped into the trip-boat, and, rowing it through the backwaters, reached his houseboat.
Razaq, dressed up in his uniform, was in his room combing his hair before a mirror in the wall. Hearing noise from outside, he peeped through the rents of his shed and saw Jane. He saw that Jane was trembling. In one swoop, Qadir got her into the boat and manoeuvred the boat towards the willow copses in the rear end of the Dal. He rowed through the Mar Canal and got Jane to the road at Navapore area some two miles away.
In the houseboat, Bhonsley called up the Kashmir police commissioner who promised to deploy police personnel in plain clothes to apprehend Jane.
A boat race of schoolchildren which had started from Gagribal was vividly visible from the deck of the houseboat. The kids, along with Mrs Bhonsley and Malla Khaliq’s son Noor Mohammad, sat there, watching the race.
Bhonsley moved the curtain to one side of the frame and continued staring at Gulshan. ‘Now it is not possible for Jane Lockwood to escape,’ he said to himself.
Noor Mohammad sighted a shikaarah approaching their houseboats. He recognized the DIG who had visited their houseboats several times to house his official guests. He wondered if his father had woken up from his siesta yet and turning to Mrs Bhonsley said, ‘I am heading downstairs, there are some guests coming.’
When he reached downstairs, he was shocked to see the DIG and his people barging forcibly into Qadir’s houseboat. The DIG whispered something earnestly to Mr Bhonsley. Malla Khaliq and Ghulam Ahmed were standing there, perplexed. Instead of reciprocating Malla Khaliq’s greetings, the DIG said to him, ‘You will forgive me, please.’ Saying this, he too rushed to Gulshan. Neither Malla Khaliq nor Noor Mohammad could understand what was going on. When Bhonsley saw Malla Khaliq, he said to him, ‘Please do not panic, Haji Sahib, all will be well.’
Inside the houseboat, the DIG found that the police personnel in plain clothes were moving about frantically. ‘Did you find anything? It looks like she has escaped.’
Bhonsley cursed himself for not having caught Jane in the houseboat and for waiting for the police. Embarrassed, he said, ‘Sorry, DIG, it is all my fault.’
‘Do not worry, we will find her even if she is hiding in a rat-hole.’
He looked at Malla Khaliq who stood shamefacedly in a corner, rubbing his hands. His family had assembled at the isle. All of them looked pale. The DIG went near Malla Khaliq and expressed his apology. ‘Haji Sahib, I hope you will forgive me for having searched your houseboats. The young English woman residing in your houseboat is a big smuggler. She has already kept the police of Delhi and Bombay on tenterhooks.’
But Malla Khaliq could not even raise his eyes to the DIG and said to him, ‘Sir, I must beg for your forgiveness for housing such a notorious smuggler in my houseboat. Had I had even a slight inkling of her true intentions, I myself would have dragged her to your office by her hair. ’
‘There is nothing to be worried about. We will find her even if she is hiding in a crow’s nest. But I request you to be a little vigilant in the future.’
When the DIG’s boat left, Malla Khaliq returned to his barge. Parveen, who had been watching the scene, dashed to Zeb’s room. She saw Razaq standing outside. She stopped and cast a bewildered
look at his face. Razaq stood brooding, and though he had an urge to narrate everything that had seen to Parveen, he didn’t dare utter a word. On seeing him so dumbfounded, Parveen was irate and said to him, ‘Why are you staring at me like a mute deer? Why don’t you say something?’ But Razaq could not say anything in reply. With an impatient turn, she moved on towards Zeb’s room. Zeb was busy ironing Bilal’s clothes.
Parveen was jubilant and looked like she had found a treasure chest. The moment she entered the room, she gave Zeb a tight hug. ‘Bhabhi, be happy and sacrifice a lamb. You need to make an offering of tahar to God.’
‘What is the matter?’
‘Jane has fled like a snake smoked out of its hole.’
‘Who made her flee? Abba?’
‘Oh no, not Abba. It was the police.’
‘What do you mean? Tell me what happened.’
‘She is a smuggler of hashish. She fled before the police could catch her in your houseboat. It was the DIG himself who was leading the raid. But she had already escaped somehow.’
Knowing that Jane had escaped before the police could catch hold of her, Zeb’s heart began to sink. She asked Parveen, ‘And where is your brother Qadir?’
‘Who knows? I did not see him there. We had assembled in the open – Abba, Noor Lala, Ama Sahib, grandma – everyone, but he was not there.’
On hearing this, Zeb sank down. Parveen sat down to console her. ‘You need not worry. Qadir Bhaijaan is not such a fool to be seduced by her.’
Zeb could not speak. She had forgotten to switch off the iron and smoke started to billow from it. Seeing the smoke, Parveen stood up and switched off the iron. There was a burnt patch on Bilal’s shirt.
In the pantry, everyone was stunned and grief-stricken. Aziz Dyad, Mukhta, Zoon, Noor Mohammad and Malla Khaliq – stood in absolute brooding silence. Malla Khaliq somehow raised his head to look at Aziz Dyad and saw tears surging from her eyes. In a feeble voice, he flung sarcastic words at her. ‘Do you see what sort of European visitor this darling of yours has brought to our house? He has tainted my face with shame. He has not left me fit to face anyone outside. The only favour he did me was that I was not handcuffed by the police.’
Observing his father’s rage, Noor Mohammad tried to douse the fire and said, ‘Abba, didn’t you see that even the DIG had come in a civil dress? I don’t think anybody will know what they had come for.’
‘Whether anybody knows or not, I’m sure your father will spread the word to the whole world with his laments,’ Aziz Dyad said.
Malla Khaliq was about to burst forth with more rage, but he was struck dumb when his second son entered in panic to announce that Qadir was also missing. ‘I sought him everywhere that he could possibly be. Now it’s clear that it was he who led Jane away.’
Malla Khaliq, as if struck by a thunderbolt, said, ‘I do not know what sins I have committed that a son of this sort was born to me!’
Ghulam Ahmed stoked the fire. ‘I am afraid the police might arrest Qadir along with her.’
Hearing the word police, Aziz Dyad started quivering with fear. ‘All of you waste no time in wishing misfortune upon him. No one is serious about even looking for him! Who knows if my poor child is in trouble!’
‘He has put us in trouble! He will be enjoying himself with that harlot. He has brought me disgrace and shame. Not me alone but all of you. How can you be blind to that?’
Having reached Navapore, Qadir hired an auto and was moving fast towards Zakoor where the orchards of his friend Gul Beg lay. Jane was silent in her seat. She crouched as low as she could so that no policeman could see her. The driver of the auto stopped and said to him, ‘Where would you like me to go? To Zakoor village? You are already there.’
Hearing the driver, Qadir started as if he had been awakened from a deep sleep. ‘Yes, do you see that signboard there?’ he said. ‘You stop there.’
‘Why didn’t you just tell me that you have to go to Gul Beg Sahib’s?’ Saying this, the driver started his auto again and drove towards the right and stopped near the signboard. The board bore a picture of American apples in the upper corner, and a jumble of pears at the bottom. The centre bore writing in bold English letters in green which read, ‘GUL BEG FARMS’.
Qadir took out a hundred-rupee note and held it out to the driver. ‘But I do not have change,’ said the driver.
‘Who asked you to return the change?’ asked Qadir, as he helped Jane alight. The auto-driver cast a cursory look at them and saying ‘Salaam-alaikum’, he restarted his auto. But before leaving the spot, he cast another glance at the two.
Qadir carried the heavier bag, and Jane held the brown bag. Qadir opened the gate and entered the farm while assuring Jane, ‘Come on. This is like our own house.’ Jane hastened to enter the orchard and Qadir closed the gate again. In the meantime, a dog started barking inside the farm. Jane was about to run out in fear, but Qadir caught hold of her wrist. ‘This dog is always tethered there. And then when it sees me, it stops barking. It knows me quite well.’
The orchard belonged to Gul Beg, a person who was given to having friends around him. However, his wicked deeds had made his father, a gentle farmer, disown him. He was too naive to understand how his son had earned so much wealth in such a short period. But those who were acquainted with Gul Beg knew well that he had amassed such a huge fortune purely through drug trafficking. It was his money that gave him the wisdom to procure Nand Lal Dhar’s large orchard which had become an unkempt barren land after his death since his two sons were settled in the States. After obtaining the possession of the orchard, Gul Beg worked endlessly to manage the orchard and make it profitable again. His hard work was rewarded by God, and within a couple of years, he was a rich man. The first thing he did after becoming rich was to divorce his wife, whom his father had arranged for him. He then married a pretty girl from the city. Despite having a good-natured and pretty wife at home, he did not give up the habit of enjoying extramarital affairs. His wife realized that she could not redeem her husband, and finally ran away along with her ornaments to her parents’ house, never to return to him. His third marriage had a perverse foundation and did not last for more than two months. Now he resided like a ghost, all alone in his huge bungalow amidst the vast orchard.
Qadir was Gul Beg’s friend and was sure that he was the only one who could provide Jane with a safe hiding place. Gul Beg’s contacts with the police would also help her escape their grip. He was adept at bribing the police of the other regions as well. While Qadir was reassuring Jane, the dog’s bark made Gul Beg come out of his house. On seeing the two, he came running near them. He recognized Qadir and gave him a warm hug.
‘Is it you, my prince? I thought it was a thief intending to walk off with my apples.’
‘Which brother-in-law of yours has the guts to enter the estate of Gul Beg!’ Qadir said in a warm tone.
Seeing Jane standing behind an apple tree, Qadir freed himself from his friend’s clasp and said, ‘Jane, come here.’
When Gul Beg had a glimpse of Jane, he yelled in his vernacular, ‘My gosh! What a fairy from the Quaf have you brought along?’
‘I shall tell you all,’ Qadir replied with a smile.
Gul Beg felt as if a swan had come willingly into his snare. But being an experienced huntsman, he did not display any urgency and won her confidence by inviting her inside the bungalow in his smart, crisp English. He ordered his servant to get the guests fresh apple juice. ‘I hope you’ll like the juice of our apples,’ he said to Jane.
Jane felt relaxed and began to assess the fortune of Gul Beg. Having understood Gul Beg’s demeanour, she was sure that she could easily seduce him. Thus she sat quite calmly on the sofa. The servant brought tumblers of sparkling apple juice, placed them on the table and left.
Gul Beg and Qadir returned. Sitting beside Jane, Gul Beg said to her, ‘Qadir has just told me everything. You need not worry. You are safe here.’ He then looked at Qadir and said, ‘My dear prince, it is
already late. Let me open my bar. Let us drown ourselves in the waters of truth. Sitting innocently like children in the presence of this beauty is a sin in Gul Beg’s religion. Do you hear, my prince?’ Having said this, he stood up and unlocked a cupboard full with all kinds of wines and spirits. Qadir understood Gul Beg’s intentions. He moved near Jane and, holding her hand in his own, he said to her, ‘Be careful.’
Gul Beg put three glasses and a bottle on a tray. He got soda from the fridge and then squatted in front of Jane.
‘Water or soda?’ he asked Jane.
‘No thanks, I don’t drink,’ said Jane in reply.
Gul Beg looked at Qadir in amazement and said, ‘What does she say, my prince?’
‘Yes, she tells you the truth. She does not drink.’
‘Then what does she relish, the blood of hashish addicts?’ Gul Beg said in Kashmiri.
‘No, no hashish!’ Jane hastened to say.
‘How about some more juice?’
‘No thank you.’
Gul Beg realized that it was not wise to tighten his grip in such haste. So he turned to Qadir and said, ‘And now tell me, my prince, should I pour out some for you, or are you also observing a fast today?’
Qadir looked at Jane and found her lost in thought. He heaved a deep sigh and said with disinterest, ‘It will not be polite of me not to give you company. But a small one, please.’
‘Are you making a show of your virtues to this fairy? I know your ways, my prince,’ he said as he first poured whisky into Qadir’s glass, and then into his own.
‘To this fairy’s health!’ Gul Beg said, extending his glass towards Jane, and had his first sip. Qadir had his glass in hand, but was yet to drink it. This annoyed Gul Beg. ‘Why don’t you drink? It is Scotch.’