The Place of Shining Light

by Nazneen Sheikh

  WHEN HE AWOKE the next afternoon, Ghalib called Khalid, but there was no answer. Ghalib had made a decision. The sculpture that had so obsessed him had slipped out of his hands, but there were other opportunities to be explored. He wanted to buy Khalid’s fine art collection. In the past, Khalid had brushed away Ghalib’s interest, but the missing statue now gave him an advantage. Khalid wasn’t answering his phone, but Ghalib kept dialing until he heard his valet’s discreet cough behind him.

  “What is it? I am busy,” he snapped.

  “Nur Hyat is here and says he has to see you at once.”

  Ghalib didn’t want to see him, but he relented and asked for him to be shown in. A few minutes later, Nur Hyat was standing in the bedroom suite.

  “A man has been killed on your land.”

  Ghalib shot up from the edge of the bed. “Have the police been notified? Is the person connected to my household?”

  “People are scared,” replied Nur Hyat. “The body is lying in your mango orchard.”

  “Did you find the body?” he said, slipping on his shoes.“Take me there. I am not scared of anything.”

  Ghalib called his most trusted chauffeur to drive them to the area. Nur Hyat sat in the front seat, providing directions. The car headed toward the main road and stopped just at the edge of the mango orchard. Nur Hyat sprang out and held the door open for Ghalib.

  “Stay here,” he told the chauffeur. “Nur Hyat has to show me something that the manager has missed.”

  “Sir, your shoes will get ruined in the mud,” the chauffeur pointed out.

  “Damn the shoes!” roared Ghalib. “Wait here till we come back.”

  Ghalib followed Nur Hyat into the orchard. The large spreading trees were covered with small green mangoes that would ripen in another three months. Ghulam wondered if a farmhand had committed suicide. There had never been an incident of this sort before. The moist, fertile soil squelched under his feet and the mud rose close to the tops of his shoes. He continued following Nur Hyat, who circled a large tree ahead and pointed a finger to one side. Ghalib drew closer. The man’s throat had been cut and rigor mortis had set in. The man’s eyes — terror-stricken — were wide open. Ghalib felt his breakfast rise in his stomach before he turned his face away.

  “Who is he?”

  “The story is very interesting, sir. This is the man who was involved with the people of the rival political party. He is the one who told me about the fake ballot boxes.”

  “Why is he here in my orchard?” asked Ghalib.

  “He worked for you.”

  “Do you think that he worked for both sides and was found out?” Ghalib asked, genuinely shocked.

  “The country is not full of simple people. People will sell their daughters only if they have to,” Nur Hyat said cynically.

  “Still, this is a police matter. What am I supposed to do? I’ll give some money to his family, but that is all.”

  “I am frightened,” Nur Hyat said in a low voice. “I told you what this man told me and I’m scared they will find out.”

  “It is just part of a political game. Killing him in my orchard is what bothers me the most. Perhaps it is intended as a message for me. Anyway, we need to call the estate manager. He will handle this,” replied Ghalib, wondering if he should report the situation to Soody.

  Then he realized something.

  “How did you know this man’s body was here?”

  “I was told by someone in the village,” Nur Hyat said.

  “I want you to leave the village immediately. You have been paid for your services. Your employment is over,” Ghalib said, heading back to his car. “Do not mention a word of this to my driver. I don’t want any talk in my household.”

  When he got into the car, Ghalib instructed his chauffeur to drop Nur Hyat off at the bus station in the neighbouring village. During the ride, Ghalib called his farm manager and told him about the body. He also asked him to deliver extra food provisions to the man’s house, and to check that his family had enough money to bury him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the murder in the orchard was a bad omen.

  GHALIB PAINTED THAT evening, working on a large canvas. He painted throngs of bodies with glowing eyes. His cook was standing by his side, observing him keenly. The man longed to hold a paintbrush instead of a paring knife, and sometimes Ghalib would let him paint the background.

  “It is a violent image,” the cook said softly.

  “Death is violent and so is life,” replied Ghalib, mixing ochre for the eyes.

  “You should go abroad, sir. You should marry again,” said the cook.

  “I am not a traveller. I live like a king in my own country. Why should I leave it?”

  “Go for a short while, sir. It will help your mood.”

  “There are many ways to change your mood. Marriage and travel are not among them,” Ghalib replied with a wan smile.

  “Dinner is ready, sir. Would you like to eat?”

  “No. Let the staff eat. Perhaps later,” Ghalib said, continuing to paint.

  When the cook left, Ghalib contemplated other possibilities for his life. Saqib’s words from earlier in the day echoed in his head. Could his ancestral home be converted to a school? The grounds of his estate were large enough to include a pool as well as a cricket pitch. He could do this in the loving memory of his ancestors.

  Ghalib thought he could dedicate the school to the children in the village that bordered his great estate. It would be his final act of redemption. Ghalib longed for forgiveness for his many transgressions. He felt that this one act had the potential to wipe the slate clean. Pleased with his decision, Ghalib worked steadily and calmly on the painting until his valet burst into the billiard room, interrupting his work.

  “You must call Khalid sahib, please,” he said, and handed him the phone.

  “I’ll call in the morning. I don’t want to stop.”

  “Please call him now. There was a call from his number and when I answered I heard him crying and then the phone was disconnected.”

  Ghalib stared at the phone in his valet’s hand but did not extend his own hand to take it. He could sense catastrophe. He looked at his canvas and then back at the phone as another wave of darkness overcame him. The weight of his body exhausted him. All at once, he realized he had neglected to eat for most of the day. He wondered if he was on the verge of a diabetic collapse.

  “Enough!” he whispered, and slowly sank to his knees.

  NINETEEN

  THE SIGNPOST THAT FLEW by indicated that Skardu was only sixty kilometres way. The ride was no longer pleasant as a new tension had entered the car. General Zamir seemed to be lost in thought, and Adeel was having difficulty accepting that he was no longer in charge of his own destiny. He also knew he would have no opportunity to tell Norbu, who sat bundled up in the front seat, that she was going to be left in Skardu alone.

  “She will be very frightened, if I leave her alone, General,” Adeel said quietly.

  “I have given you my word that both the sculpture and the woman will be safe, but I have to bring you back with me,” the general replied.

  “I have another suggestion, sir. Take the sculpture, but let me go with her,” Adeel suggested slowly.

  “You would part with what you stole, at such great cost, for this woman?”

  Adeel closed his eyes and saw the face of the Buddha sculpture. He did this to centre himself. He saw the marble lips part, uttering words he could not hear. He could feel moisture gathering in his closed eyes.

  “Yes,” he replied, brushing his eyes with the back of his hand.

  “Are you in love with her, Adeel?” the general asked, smiling.

  “I am connected to her soul. She is my soul. I never thought it was possible.”

  “Then I will make sure she is well taken care of until you return,”
Zamir said.

  Adeel knew he had failed. He placed his hand on the revolver concealed by his wool waistcoat. In order to change the general’s decision, one person in this car would have to die. Adeel glanced at the driver. He knew he had to create a situation that would make the car stop, even if it meant putting them all at risk.

  “Don’t even think of it, Adeel,” the general said, as if he could read his thoughts.

  Adeel looked straight ahead.

  “If you take the driver out, I will go for your woman. At such close range it would be quite unfortunate,” he continued in a deceptively mild tone.

  “Are you armed, sir?” asked Adeel, wondering if the man’s words were simply a bluff.

  “What do you think?”

  Adeel knew that army protocol called for the driver of the car to be accompanied by a security officer. General Zamir had disregarded this rule, so the driver himself must be armed, although it was hard to gauge where his weapon was. It was probably under the front seat. The general was a slim man, and his army tunic fit snugly. All that had come out of his trouser pockets was a pack of cigarettes. Yet, like Adeel, the general was also a trained soldier.

  “Why are you going to Skardu, sir,” Adeel asked.

  “For purely sentimental reasons. I am going to visit the beautiful Satpara Lake, where my father used to take me for picnics. It is just an overnight break. It is a private visit, so no army fuss.”

  “What are the arrangements for Norbu?”

  “I know a family. They will take care of her. Can she cook?”

  Adeel thought of the chicken she had cooked on the rooftop in Chilas and shook his head.

  “They have a small child. She can help with that,” said the general.

  “She is frightened of people. She has been living in the forests alone.”

  “They are very kind. I shall leave some money for expenses and —”

  “I have the money. I can take care of her,” Adeel said, interrupting him.

  “Pride is a useful thing, but not when you are talking about stolen money, Adeel.”

  “I can take care of her,” Adeel said gruffly.

  “Not at this moment.”

  The general’s phone rang twice. He answered and listened more than he talked. Finally, he turned to Adeel.

  “We are going to town first to settle her with the family. Then we will store the sculpture before heading to the lake.”

  Adeel knew all he could do was to wait for an opportunity to change the general’s plan. Sitting in the back seat, he focused on Norbu’s shawl-covered head, conscious of his great desire to pull the shawl away and run his fingers through her hair. The fact that he was about to betray her devastated him.

  When they arrived in Skardu, the town appeared deserted. The car headed to a small neighbourhood of sturdy brick and cement homes and eventually stopped before a gate. The general got out.

  “Please explain the arrangements to her while I go in to talk to the family.”

  Adeel got out of the car and motioned for the driver to do the same. He slid into the driver’s seat, watching as General Zamir was greeted at the door of the house by a tall burly man and led inside.

  “I have to go with the general. There is a family here who will take care of you until I get back,” he said.

  “No,” replied Norbu.

  “I have to do some work and it will take a few days. I will come back for you. These people will keep you; they need some help with their child.” He smiled with encouragement.

  “I will come with you,” Norbu insisted.

  “No, you cannot. But you are mine. Put this around your neck,” Adeel said and untied the amulet his mother had given to him.

  Norbu leaned away from him, her body rigid with anger and fear. Adeel reached over and tried to put the amulet around her neck, but she pushed his hands away.

  “Stop it,” Adeel shouted. “My mother gave this to me. I am giving it to you to wear. You are mine. I will come back for you.” He pried her fingers open and placed the amulet in her hand.

  “You promise?” she said, and stopped struggling.

  “Yes!”

  “You swear in front of the buth, then I will believe you,” she said.

  “It is not necessary. I will always be with you.” He took the amulet from her fingers and draped it around her neck.

  “I have nothing to give you,” she said as she knotted the strings of the amulet tightly around her neck.

  He lifted her hand and placed a kiss at the centre of her palm to reassure her. She brought her other hand up and pressed it against his mouth. He could feel the rough skin of her chapped fingers as they grazed his lips. This brief physical contact felt like the tingling of a mild electric shock. Then the car door opened and the general’s eyes flickered over their faces.

  “Let me take her in. She will be treated like a family member and not a servant.”

  “Norbu, they are waiting for you. Please go and wait for me,” Adeel said with great reluctance.

  Norbu pulled her shawl tight around herself as she got out of the car. Adeel watched General Zamir bend down to say something to her as he escorted her to the door, where a woman stood with a smile on her face. She put her arm around Norbu’s shoulders before drawing her inside. A second before she cleared the doorway, Norbu turned around to look at Adeel one last time. He saw the curve of her high cheekbones gleaming brightly, as if her entire face was lit by a lamp. When the door shut, he felt like he had been shot in the heart.

  He returned to the back seat and rested his head in his hands. He hardly noticed as the general slid in next to him and the driver pulled back out onto the road. As they neared the main street, near the bazaar, the driver asked permission to stop briefly so he could go to the toilet. He parked hastily at a local restaurant and got out.

  “What about you, Adeel?” asked the general.

  “I am fine, sir,” Adeel replied.

  “Would you like a cigarette?”

  After about ten minutes, when the chauffeur did not return, General Zamir got out of the car and went into the shabby restaurant. The keys were still in the ignition. Adeel quickly got behind the driver’s seat, but he was too late. Before he could start the car, Zamir had returned.

  “The driver has disappeared and is not answering his phone,” the general said, peering down at him.

  “Impossible,” said Adeel, shocked.

  “Well, we are not going to wait. I will drive and you will be my security guard. Move over,” the general commanded.

  “I can drive, sir,” said Adeel.

  “I know Skardu like the back of my hand, Adeel. Your Buddha is expected in Hussainabad and we need to get there before we head to the lake,” the general said as he opened Adeel’s door.

  “Please! Let me drive for you,” Adeel protested.

  “I think a general seen driving his own car is good for morale.”

  “What’s in Hussainabad?” asked Adeel.

  “There is a Balti museum there.”

  Adeel changed seats. He was relieved to know a museum would be the Bamiyan sculpture’s new home. His thoughts returned to Norbu.

  “The man who opened the museum is a scholar. He owns it, not the government.”

  “What will he do with the statue?” asked Adeel.

  “It will rest there until I have more information about the person who brought it out of Afghanistan. Also another assignment has been arranged for you to make up for stealing the statue. After we drop off the sculpture, we will head for the lake, spend a pleasant night there, and head to Rawalpindi in the morning. I will secure a replacement for the driver, and your mess will have been cleaned up,” replied the general.

  “As I said, sir, I am finished with this line of work. I want to lead a different life now,” Adeel said.

 
“We will sort out your life when we get to Rawalpindi,” the general replied.

  “I want to talk to my mother. I am worried about her.”

  “She is fine now,” said the general.

  “I hope so,” said Adeel. “Is she in her own house?”

  The general did not respond. His telephone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket with one hand, glanced at it, then answered. The car swerved and Adeel grasped the steering wheel to keep them on course.

  “Impossible! Are you sure? I have a trained man with me. I will be in touch. Find that runaway driver! Get the military police on it.”

  “What is it, sir?”

  “A message has been delivered. It appears to be a Taliban threat of some sort. My name was used. They don’t operate in this area, but these days you never know.”

  “I think the Taliban may be looking for me,” Adeel said.

  “It’s too early to know. I’m not here in any official capacity. Have you been seen by anyone?”

  Adeel scanned the road ahead. The snow-capped peaks of the mighty Karakoram mountains surrounded the small valley of Skardu. There were no hiding places here. He pulled out his revolver and checked it.

  “There is an automatic rifle under the seat as well. Relax, Adeel, just breathe in the air of this miraculous place. Ever been to the Khaplu valley?”

  Adeel searched for the rifle and found nothing. Something was wrong, he thought.

  “There’s nothing here, sir. This is very dangerous.”

  “The driver has been careless. It might be in the trunk with your Buddha.”

  Adeel caught sight of two men behind them, riding on a beaten-up motorcycle. Their faces were masked by scarves.

  “Stop the car, sir. I am worried about these men behind us,” Adeel said.

  The general slowed down, stopping the car. The motorcycle also slowed, as if it too were going to stop. Without waiting for instructions, Adeel jumped out of the car and charged toward the men on the bike, revolver drawn. He was within four hundred metres of them when a thunderous explosion knocked the air of out of his lungs, instantly deafening him and hurling his body across the road.