Amal Unbound

by Aisha Saeed

  “This poem. It’s trying to say there is always someone to go after someone and keep the balance of power equal. But it’s not true. The elephant is in control. The mouse. The cat. The ant. They can do what they like, but sooner or later they will all be gone except the elephant. Pretending otherwise is foolish.”

  “There is a saying: Elephants fear no other animal but ants. Who is to say if it’s true or not, but—”

  “It’s not true. The biggest are not afraid of the smallest. In the end, the biggest wins.”

  “The story is trying to teach young children about justice and fairness . . .”

  “But life isn’t fair! I will be a servant for the rest of my life because I spoke back to the wrong person. I will be indebted to him my entire life. I was going to be a teacher. I was going to go to college. All my dreams are gone because one person has the power to crush them. And guess what happened to the last group of people who tried to stop him? He burned their village to the ground. I saw the deserted village with my own eyes. They lost everything, and Jawad Sahib? He gained more. The bigger always have all the power. They aren’t scared of the little people. It just doesn’t work like that.”

  My hands shook. I placed them on the desk to steady myself. Why did a silly poem affect me so much? I moved to apologize, but he spoke first.

  “Amal, I’m sorry. I had no idea of your circumstances. But even in difficult situations, especially in difficult situations, you can’t lose hope. Things change. They might even change for you one day.”

  He said it with such conviction, he could have fooled me if I didn’t know better.

  “My great-grandfather was a judge,” he continued. “My grandfather was a lawyer. My father is a lawyer. He’s argued cases in front of the highest courts. When I told him I wanted to be a teacher, he laughed at me. Then he threatened to defund my education. But I held strong. I found a way. I’m the first one to be a teacher in my family. No one supported me, but I did it because this is what I always wanted to do. If I thought nothing would change, nothing ever would. I know the situation is different, but things can change even when you don’t think they will.”

  “You’re from a big city,” I said. “It’s different here.”

  “That’s not true. Things are changing in villages all over the country, even here.” He hesitated before adding, “Especially here.”

  He minimized the poem on the screen and clicked a new website. He typed for a moment, and then a news story flashed across the screen.

  Salim Mushtaq Still Missing as Local Landlord Is Investigated

  A photo of Jawad Sahib stared back at me.

  “The son of a diplomat disappeared not far from here,” Asif explained. “Apparently, he’s one of quite a few to go missing around here. But considering who he is, and that election season is approaching, the police are forced to take it seriously, and they’re looking into Jawad Sahib’s possible involvement.”

  I stared at the eyes gleaming back at me from the screen.

  “No one would have bothered to investigate a family like the Khans even a few years ago,” Asif said. “But people all around the country are fighting the status quo. Things are changing.”

  I hoped what Asif was saying was true, but I found it hard to believe. Asif couldn’t understand how things worked here and the absolute power a family like the Khans held in a place like ours.

  Chapter 40

  Nabila, Bilal, and I lingered by the door to the main verandah, watching Nasreen. She sat on a wicker chair, the tea in her hands long cold, a folded newspaper resting on her lap.

  “What’s going on?” Nabila asked. “I’ve never seen her like this.”

  “Jawad’s been gone for days and hasn’t returned a single call,” Bilal replied.

  “I heard her this morning,” I admitted. “She also left a message for her husband. She was so upset, I thought she might cry.”

  “Jawad Sahib is in some sort of trouble,” Bilal said. “I think that’s why he doesn’t take me along with him on his trips anymore. He thinks if he doesn’t take me, I won’t find out what’s going on.”

  “I read a news article about it,” I whispered. “They are investigating if he had something to do with a missing person.”

  “Who was it?” Nabila asked me. “It had to be someone important to have the police poking their noses around here so much.”

  “Enough.” Mumtaz appeared and frowned at us. “I hope you are not gossiping about the hands that feed us,” she said. “It’s not our concern what they might be up to.”

  Nabila glanced at me and rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything else, the front door thudded; Nasreen Baji’s eyes widened when Jawad Sahib stepped onto the verandah. He was accompanied by a man with a shock of white hair and a thick mustache, wearing a white shalwar kamiz. Nasreen Baji jumped up and rushed toward them.

  “You’re home!” she exclaimed. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Needed to sort out this police business once and for all,” the man replied. “I’ll be paying them a personal visit today.”

  “Mumtaz, go and air out Khan Sahib’s wardrobe,” Nasreen Baji said.

  “No need. I have to leave this evening.”

  “What?” Her expression drooped. “After all this time away, you can’t even stay the night?”

  “You don’t know the pressures I’m under. The federal police are on my back. They’re not as simple to shake off as the ones here. Although they’ve gotten worse here, too.” He glared at Jawad Sahib. “I keep you here to handle things, and I expect them to be handled. Never thought you’d make more problems for me.”

  “Is this is about that missing boy?” She held up her newspaper. “Why did I have to read about it in the papers like a common villager?”

  “I told you already,” Jawad Sahib said. “I don’t want you to have to concern yourself with this.”

  “Well, it’s hard not to concern myself when ill-mannered police officers charge into our house. I’ve never been so disrespected.”

  “They dared to be rude to you?” Khan Sahib’s face reddened.

  “Yes. Why do you think I’ve been trying to call you both so many times?” Nasreen turned to her son. “You could have at least sent me a message to let me know you were all right, Jawad. The way they barged in—can you imagine what went through my mind?”

  “I’m sorry,” Jawad Sahib said.

  “I will take care of it,” Khan Sahib told her. “They won’t bother you again.”

  “And the things they’re saying in the papers . . .” Nasreen Baji shook her head. Her eyes watered.

  “Jawad says none of it is true,” Khan Sahib said. “That boy comes by to see Jawad. Gets drunk and then decides to play cards with the locals. Loses. Refuses to pay. Now he’s missing. With the way that boy was used to mouthing off to people, sooner or later, something was going to happen to him. But it will blow over soon enough. Nothing to do with us.”

  Jawad Sahib’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen before shoving it in his pocket.

  “Bilal,” Jawad Sahib said. “Send my meal to my room.”

  “Yes, Sahib.” He rushed off.

  I watched Khan Sahib talk to Nasreen Baji.

  There he was—the man I’d heard stories about all my life. The man whose photos lined the hallways I walked through each day. He was the bogeyman our mothers invoked to urge us to finish our dinner. When I was Safa’s age, I imagined him to be ten feet tall with beady eyes and pointy teeth. Hafsa was convinced he breathed fire.

  But now he stood a few steps away from me. And he didn’t breathe fire and he wasn’t ten feet tall.

  He and Jawad Sahib were powerful and mean-spirited men.

  But maybe, just maybe, even they weren’t invincible.

  Chapter 41

  Jawad Sahib and his father are leaving after d
inner tonight,” Bilal told me later that afternoon, as we finished cleaning up from lunch. “You should be safe to grab a book if you want to then.”

  I thanked him and dried my hands before walking over to the servants’ verandah. It was empty today. I exhaled and rubbed my temples. Helping Hamid rush to prepare a last-minute lavish lunch for Khan Sahib had left me tired. I wanted to sit down for a moment to catch my breath, but Mumtaz had asked Nabila to clear the teacups from the main verandah, and I knew she was still putting away the dishes from lunch. The sooner we put the house back in order, the sooner all of us could rest.

  The flowers swayed in the cool afternoon breeze as I strolled through the garden toward the bushes bordering the main verandah. Just then, the sound of voices drifted over to me. I paused by the bushes. They were male voices coming from the other side, steps from where I stood. It had to be Jawad Sahib and his father.

  “What did you want me to do?” Jawad argued. “He gambles more than he can pay back and then threatens me? Why should I have been the one to let it go? What is our reputation worth if we take disrespect like that?”

  “Well, thanks to you, we now have federal investigators poking their noses in our business,” Khan Sahib said.

  “They won’t find anything! My men took care of it.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right for both our sakes.”

  “I know I’m right. My men enforce all my debts, and they’re meticulous. They wouldn’t harm the hand that lines their pockets.”

  “Which one took care of this one?”

  “Rehan. I only trusted it to him.”

  “Tell him to move the body farther out after the investigation dies down. I’m not comfortable with it so close to home.”

  Their voices stopped.

  A door opened and shut in the distance.

  Tightness squeezed my chest. I knew Jawad Sahib’s men threatened people and destroyed property. But they killed people? Fozia had said one of his officers was demanding more money. Was this the danger she faced if she couldn’t pay?

  I backed away from the bushes. Only then did I realize I wasn’t alone.

  Nabila was staring at me. Her expression was somber.

  “Nabila,” I began. How much had she heard?

  She shook her head furiously and pressed a finger to her mouth.

  “Don’t say a word,” she whispered, gesturing to the balconies and windows all around us. “You never know who is listening.”

  Chapter 42

  Nabila is acting strange,” Mumtaz said to me that evening.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t eat lunch. Caught her wandering the servants’ quarters a little while ago. She was crying. Won’t tell me what it is.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” I offered.

  I walked down to the servants’ quarters and peeked into each half-opened room until at last I found her. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, studying her nails. I took in the dirty concrete floor, the cracked walls.

  This was the room I might have had.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  “Not now,” she whispered without looking up. “Jawad and his father are leaving tonight. Meet me and Bilal in the library after everyone is asleep.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Nabila and Bilal were already in the library when I managed to sneak out of Nasreen Baji’s room. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of a small desk lamp.

  When I closed the door behind me, Nabila walked over to the window and lifted a small ceramic pot resting on the sill. She stuck a finger into the dirt and pulled out a key.

  “Nabila, this isn’t a good idea,” Bilal said.

  “I have to know,” she told him. She turned and handed me the key. “Please. I need your help. He keeps the debts people owe him filed in there.” She pointed to the filing cabinets. “Everything everyone owes him can be found in those cabinets. Can you see if the name Latif is in there? Babar Latif.”

  “Do you think he borrowed money?”

  “Knowing him, yes,” she said.

  “Nabila . . .” Bilal sighed.

  “I know,” Nabila said. “But I have to find out.”

  I turned the key in the first silver cabinet and went through the files. When I tried the next one, I saw his name.

  “It’s here.” I pulled it out and showed her.

  “What does it say?” she asked. A tear slipped down her cheek. Bilal put an arm around her.

  “He borrowed some money.” I scanned the handwritten notes. “Gambling debts. A loan for a motorcycle. The records stop about four or five months ago.”

  “Makes sense; he’s been dead five months.”

  “Oh, Nabila.” I lowered the folder. “Was he a relative?”

  “My cousin. He was the only one who never forgot me, who checked in on me and made sure I was okay. He was the sweetest person I knew. They found his body in the fields not far from here. He had just come to see me that morning.” Her voice cracked. “Well, at least now I know what happened.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nabila.”

  Her face crumpled. Her body was wracked with sobs. She didn’t push me away when I put my arms around her.

  “Why’d you have to find out?” Bilal kicked the filing cabinet. “I told you not to. You hurt yourself for no reason. It’s not like knowing what happened changes anything.”

  There it was again. Nothing would change.

  This family was so powerful, there was no use in trying to fight them. But . . .

  “Just because something seems impossible, does that mean we just don’t try?” I asked.

  They both turned to look at me.

  “Try what?” Bilal asked. “There’s nothing we can do. No one will do anything about it.”

  “But what if we could do something?” I said. “What if we at least tried to stop him?”

  “How?” Nabila brushed away her tears.

  “What if we told someone what we heard—told them we know they killed that diplomat’s son. Maybe then something would happen.”

  “Right.” Nabila sniffed. “They’ll take our word over theirs.”

  She was right. What reason would anyone have to believe us?

  Bilal cleared his throat then.

  “What if it wasn’t just our word?” he said quietly. “What if we could tell them where the body was?”

  “Oh, Bilal,” Nabila whispered.

  “As his personal servant, I know more than I wish I did.” He studied the ground. “He buried the guy by the third tree past the sign for Minawala.”

  We fell silent for a moment.

  “But who do we tell this to?” Nabila asked. “Mumtaz would kill us if she knew we were even talking about something like this.”

  “I know someone,” I said. “My teacher. His father is a lawyer. He’ll know who to get the information to.”

  I said it with such conviction, I almost believed myself. The truth was I had no idea if a lawyer could help us or if Asif would agree in the first place. But I knew I had to try.

  If everyone decided nothing could change, nothing ever would.

  Chapter 43

  Nasreen Baji and Jawad Sahib sat at the dining table eating breakfast. Mumtaz brought out fresh parathas and a plate of softened butter. Everything was normal. It was an ordinary morning. I reminded myself of this.

  Nabila placed a glass of orange juice next to Nasreen Baji’s plate and a glass next to Jawad Sahib. He talked with his mother. He needed new suits. The gray one looked worn.

  After they finished their meals, Jawad Sahib yawned.

  “No chai for me today.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m taking a quick nap.”

  “You see?” Nasreen Baji admonished him. “You work too hard. One can’t be up at all hours and expect not to be aff
ected.”

  I gathered the dishes to take to the kitchen. I washed up the pots and pans and dried my hands. I picked up my satchel and headed to Ghulam’s waiting car.

  * * *

  • • •

  I hurried down the narrow corridor toward Asif’s classroom. He was at his desk sorting through papers when I stepped inside.

  “I need your help,” I said. I tried to stay steady, but everything was catching up to me. The room spun.

  Asif took my arm and helped me to a chair. “Take a deep breath. Okay, good. Now tell me. What’s wrong?”

  I hadn’t planned to blurt out everything. But the words wouldn’t stop flowing. About the officers. The body. The threats to my neighbors.

  When I finished, I caught my breath. Asif’s face had gone pale.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t burden you with this,” I said.

  “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you told me.”

  “The third tree past the sign for Minawala.” My voice wavered. “That’s where the body is buried. At least I hope it’s still there. I thought maybe you or your father could share that information wherever it needs to go. He’s a lawyer, you said?”

  Asif stared at me, and then he rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples. “Sharing this with my father doesn’t mean anything will actually happen, but if word gets out that they are on to a body, Jawad might hear. There’s a chance he could tie it to me, which could lead to you.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I didn’t even think of that.”

  “You live in that house, Amal. If he finds out, it could be bad for you.”

  I thought of Hazarabad and the burned fields. The charred orange groves. I thought of Fozia.

  “It’s worth the risk,” I said.

  “I’ll call my father,” he said. “I’ll see what he says.”

  “Thank you, Asif. I’m forever indebted to you.”

  “There’s no debt, Amal.” He studied me for a moment. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone as brave as you,” he finally said.