The Place of Shining Light

by Nazneen Sheikh

  Adeel tasted the metallic flavour of his own blood. He turned his head and saw that his revolver had been knocked out of his hands and was lying on the road nearby. The motorcycle and its two drivers were gone. A powerful and familiar odour assailed his nostrils. A bomb had exploded. He rose slowly on his hands and knees. Fighting dizziness, he stood up. He wanted to turn around, but he could not bring himself to do it. He stood with his arms curved around his chest and his head tucked down. He knew that the smoke and flames would continue for a while, and that the general’s body had in all likelihood been ripped into fragments and charred beyond recognition. As shock gave way to rage, Adeel finally turned to view the destruction.

  As he walked toward the wreckage, he raised his right arm in a military salute. The Mercedes had been reduced to a metal frame. The first object that caught his eye was a severed hand with a cigarette still gripped between two fingers. The entire back of the car was missing. He raised his hand again, gave two salutes, and backed away, stumbling as he did on some rubble. He looked down at the dust-covered shards of the marble statue. He bent down and picked up a small chunk. The curving marble lips of the shattered sculpture lay in the palm of his hand.

  As his hearing slowly returned, he began to hear voices. Two men ran down the side of the road toward him. They were local Balti men. One of them reached him and placed his hands on his shoulders.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. Do you have a bicycle or something I could use to go to town?” Adeel asked.

  “Don’t worry, the explosion will be heard in town. They will send people with the ambulance. Who was killed?”

  “An army general,” replied Adeel

  The man shuddered. “Who will stop these killers? Skardu is a clean place! We live simple lives here, but the tourists have stopped coming. These are bad times, brother.”

  Three vehicles raced toward them from down the road. Two were army Jeeps and the third was a makeshift local ambulance. The latter stopped in front of the bombed car and men in uniform got out. Adeel walked toward them.

  “Oh no! Not General Zamir’s vehicle!” a man shouted. “Bring a body bag and a stretcher!”

  Adeel stopped. He did not want to see the remains of the general’s body being gathered and placed on the stretcher. He looked up at the mountains and wished he could simply levitate to a peaceful spot far away. He had been trained to view death as disposal, but now that it was someone he knew, it was a blow from which recovery seemed impossible. Although he had not seen the general for years, Adeel nevertheless felt as if he had lost a father. He was still holding the marble chunk of the statue in his hand; he transferred it to his pocket as an army official approached him.

  “What can you tell me? Are you Adeel?” he snapped.

  Adeel hesitated, knowing it would be easy to lie, or deny everything, thus seizing his freedom. But he could not.

  “Yes, sir. We were headed to Hussainabad for a short while en route to Satpara Lake.”

  “We know. We were going to send a replacement driver for the general. How is it that you were not in the car?”

  Adeel gave a full account of the events leading up to the bombing, including the appearance of the motorcycle. The bomb had to have been placed on the car much earlier, and detonated by the men on the motorcycle via a mobile phone. The missing chauffeur must have been involved, Adeel told them, because he had vanished just before it happened.

  “Would you recognize the chauffeur?” asked the officer.

  “Yes, I would. The owner of the restaurant he disappeared into must know something as well. I will help in the investigation,”Adeel said.

  “To hell with your help! This scum has killed one of ours. It should have been you who was killed, and not him,” the man said, expressing his grief.

  “We can find them,” replied Adeel calmly. “The motorcycle can not have gotten very far.”

  “By now they will be walking around the bazaar like all the other men. The motorcycle is probably already hidden. They will slip away, as they always do.”

  “I am not in the army anymore, but I can help you. I have been trained,” Adeel offered again.

  “Yes, we know what you do and for whom. Why were you with the general?”

  “I had some car trouble so I was hitchhiking. Luckily, he came along. He was my commanding officer years ago. I know him well.”

  “Go to the second Jeep and wait. We will determine if we need to put you under arrest.” The officer walked toward a cluster of men standing around the bombed-out remains of the general’s car.

  Adeel climbed into the empty Jeep. He would never know what plans the general had made for him. The sculpture no longer existed. The memento in his pocket was for Norbu. He only hoped he would have a chance to give it to her.

  After a little while, the little convoy began the short trip back to Skardu. Adeel was surprised when, after just one kilometre, they slowed to a halt. There was a car parked on the side of the road, and a man standing next to it. Adeel recognized the brigadier — the man who had been his original contact for this assignment. The brigadier had a brief exchange with one of the officers travelling with Adeel, and then walked over to Adeel himself.

  “Get out. You have to transfer to that car.”

  Adeel climbed out of the Jeep, relieved to see a familiar face.

  “Was the sculpture in the car?” the brigadier asked as Adeel climbed into the new vehicle.

  “Yes. It was destroyed in the explosion.”

  “Did you check?”

  “Yes. It was all rubble. Beyond repair.”

  “What a waste of time and money. You are not fit to work with us anymore. But you will do one last thing. A few men have been rounded up, and I want you to see if the general’s driver is one of them,” explained the brigadier.

  They travelled the rest of the way to a small police station in silence. A small cluster of people stood outside. The brigadier parked his car and they both walked up the short flight of steps. Inside, two constables stood near a crude wooden table. Five men wearing handcuffs stood against the wall. The driver was third from left. He flashed a look of hatred at Adeel.

  “That is him, sir,” Adeel said, pointing to the man.

  “I was sick. I had diarrhea and my clothes got soiled. So I went through the back to find some fresh clothes in the bazaar. I did not want General sahib to see me like that. But you had left when I returned,” he said fiercely.

  “You are wearing the same clothes,” said Adeel.

  “Are you sure?” the brigadier asked Adeel.

  “He is a liar! He is an abductor. He stole that woman until the general dropped her off where she would be safe from him,” shouted the driver.

  “What woman?” the brigadier asked, turning to Adeel.

  “He is crazy. He was the assigned driver. Nobody could have placed two bombs in the car without his knowledge,” Adeel said coldly, ignoring the officer’s question.

  “I would never do this. You are with the Taliban. You must have done this,” continued the desperate driver.

  “Keep him in jail. He needs to be interrogated. Come with me, Adeel,” said the brigadier, leading him out the door.

  Adeel was driven to a small government rest house, led inside, and taken to a private room.

  “I need facts. I need details, Adeel. But I think you need to clean yourself up first. We will get you a set of fresh clothes. Shower, change, and then join me in the lounge,” the brigadier said.

  As soon as he left, Adeel emptied his pockets. He still had a roll of money, a revolver, a phone, and a chunk of the statue. There was a knock on the door, and Adeel turned to find an employee of the guesthouse standing in the doorway with a pile of clothing. When he left, Adeel locked his door and entered the bathroom. He dropped his soiled clothing on the floor, wondering if Norbu still had h
is shirt. His black nylon bag must have been incinerated in the car. He realized then that the brigadier’s appearance meant that he had no intention of letting Adeel go.

  The offer to wash and the provision of clean clothing were nothing more than attempts to lull Adeel into a false sense of security. He had double-crossed his employer, and nothing was all right when an assignment went all wrong. When something unravelled as completely as this assignment had, sorting out the mess was part of the intelligence office’s job. Every detail would have to be verified, and at some opportune moment, the information gathered would be used to condemn him. His protector no longer existed, and his rogue status ensured that the measures taken against him would be serious. His failure could result in his identity being buried in a locked, secret file. He could be imprisoned somewhere without anyone knowing about it, or he could even be killed.

  Adeel entered the shower with a bar of soap. The hot water felt like a healing balm. As he cleaned himself, he felt his life was being washed away. His thoughts flew to the patch of land that belonged to his mother. Both the soil and climate of the location made it a suitable place for growing vegetables, but it had been left unattended over the years as he executed his assignments for the intelligence agency. Now he imagined planting neat rows of vegetables that would bear a rich harvest throughout the year. He pictured a large wheelbarrow carrying fresh vegetables for sale. He saw Norbu working with him on the land. He envisioned his mother dressing Norbu as a bride. If he had to beg the brigadier for his life, he would get down on his hands and knees and do it. Then he wavered. He considered climbing out of the bathroom window and hiding until he could return and collect Norbu.

  The same thoughts must have also crossed the brigadier’s mind; the window opened to a set of iron bars. A knock on the door interrupted Adeel’s thoughts. He walked over and opened it.

  “Good, you’ve cleaned up. Let us eat something and talk.”

  Neither man was truly prepared for the conversation that followed. The brigadier asked about Adeel’s reasons for stealing the sculpture.

  “What do you mean it had a power over you? Are we talking about local magic?”

  “Yes, it is a kind of magic. The brain is encased by the skull, so a special light is needed to illuminate it,” Adeel said, being deliberately cryptic.

  “Don’t be absurd. We have medicine for that. You know, X-rays.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Technology is not needed for this. The Buddhist civilizations had none of that. They choose a path for life,” Adeel said, stumbling on his words.

  “If you are a religious man, Adeel, you can get into your own faith and see the light as well,” said the brigadier dismissively.

  Adeel did not respond. The brigadier studied him closely.

  “What will your family say about all of this religious mumbo-jumbo? It is not fashionable, or safe, to be a Buddhist hippie in Pakistan these days.”

  “It is my life.” Adeel shrugged.

  “Keep these thoughts to yourself then. Where is the woman?” he said abruptly.

  “There is no woman.”

  “I see. There is also a twenty-four-year-old man missing, Adeel. You were driving his car. Where is he now?”

  A month ago, Adeel would have covered his tracks brilliantly and admitted nothing. But now, he took his biggest gamble.

  “I can take you to where he is buried.”

  The brigadier’s eyebrows shot up. He took a deep breath.

  “So, Khalid’s prince has died. Good God! Did you kill him?”

  “No,” replied Adeel, looking directly into his eyes.

  “Let’s start at the beginning again. At the point when you removed the sculpture from the half-truck before it blew up.”

  “I have already told you everything.”

  “So you drag this sculpture, which weighs about seventy kilograms, all by yourself up a steep incline?”

  “I am quite strong, as you well know,” Adeel said.

  “I don’t believe you, Adeel. I know there’s a woman involved. The driver gave the exact address of the house where she was dropped off, and I have had her picked up. She has not been interrogated yet.”

  Adeel restrained his impulse to leap from the chair. He willed his unspoken anguish not to express itself in any outward gesture. Police interrogations were notorious in Pakistan. Everyone broke down and confessed. It was only a matter of time before Norbu confessed to the killing.

  “You are a trained agent, Adeel. You would not take a life unless it was a matter of a personal threat or an obstruction of some sort. Was Hassan a threat?” the brigadier asked, folding his hands together.

  “I did not kill him,” repeated Adeel.

  “This illiterate Balti woman is the key to all of this. If you do not tell me yourself then I guarantee that she will be made to talk.”

  A tea tray arrived. The brigadier poured tea into both cups and then offered the sugar bowl to Adeel. Adeel shook his head and watched the brigadier’s spoon rotating in his cup. This was a test. Perhaps Norbu had already confessed.

  “Are you in the middle of a breakdown of some sort? You know, we have good army psychiatrists who deal with this sort of thing,” the brigadier said in a more sympathetic tone.

  “It was an accident. I was shooting an animal that he was photographing. He stepped into my line of fire,” said Adeel.

  “Ah! So now we have a confession?”

  Adeel did not respond.

  “The father will never buy it, but I will. We have to locate the body and change the story. I want to attend to this immediately,” the brigadier said, springing up from his chair. “We will travel back to Gilgit and you will lead me to the body.”

  “Fine,” Adeel said as he stood up, “but my assistance is conditional.”

  “I know what you are going to ask. We are going to bring her with us.”

  “Let her go.”

  “Unthinkable. When you have been cleared in this matter, then I will clear her as well. I don’t want loose ends. We will wrap things up and then you will be dismissed.”

  When they walked out together to the parked car, they found two men with fearful expressions standing next to it.

  The car was empty.

  “Where is she?” the brigadier asked furiously.

  “She went inside to drink some water, but she never came back. We have searched the entire rest house and she has disappeared,” stammered the security guard.

  Adeel concealed his relief from the brigadier. Norbu had the ablity to hide. She must have found the perfect spot; perhaps she was even watching the car now. He wondered if she was still wearing the gym shoes he had bought for her. The image of her bloodstained feet on the day they met came to his mind. Once again she would have to fend for herself, Adeel realized. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he had taught her many survival and defensive tactics. He hoped that she knew he would find her.

  AS THE CAR carrying Adeel raced away from Skardu, forces stronger than both of them were directing Norbu’s fate. She found shelter at a shabby government school, where the teacher recognized that the oddly dignified woman who had stumbled into the compound was both starving and abandoned. The teacher hired her as a sweeper and permitted her to sleep in the canteen, where a small wooden bed was put in one corner for her. The three other teachers who taught in the rundown school treated Norbu harshly, but the one who had taken her in continued to watch her with a protective eye. After Norbu completed her chores, she was allowed to sit in on the teacher’s class. She sat on a wooden stool at the back of the room, enraptured by the words and sentences that appeared on the blackboard. One day, she thought, she might even write something, and create a whole new life for Adeel and herself.

  THE BRIGADIER KNEW that if Khalid had not lost faith in him, Hassan would be alive today. Adeel led him to the spot where Hassan
was buried. The two-day-old corpse was immediately prepared, encased in a shroud, and placed in a coffin. The brigadier chose to accept Adeel’s story because it gave him leverage. The marker on Adeel’s debt could be called in at any time. Adeel had never failed at an assignment before. Time and money had been invested in his training, and the return on that investment had not yet been earned. He also sensed that the woman who had run away was linked to this killing. Any kill shot made by Adeel — whether it was aimed at a human or an animal — would not have made such a mess. Most operatives avoided close-range kill shots. Still, he chose not to press Adeel any further on the subject. He had to deal with Khalid first, although the man’s financial loss was of little consequence in the larger scheme of things.

  The brigadier sat with Adeel and carefully instructed him. He would have to disappear for a while, along with any knowledge of his ride in the general’s car.

  “I want you to go underground for a while. If it is necessary, you may be given the opportunity to clear this great debt you owe to the agency.”

  “I cannot do this work anymore,” Adeel said.

  “I will transfer some funds to you so you can survive.”

  “I can manage on my own. I shall go home to my mother and find something to do locally.”

  “Don’t worry about the woman. We can find her for you.”

  “There is no need. She was travelling to Skardu. I just gave her a ride,” replied Adeel.

  “Keep the phone we gave you. Take it easy for a while,” the brigadier said and held out his hand to say goodbye.

  Adeel left the phone in the car and, taking only his revolver, walked away.

  TWENTY

  KHALID HAD RETURNED FROM his overnight trip to Gilgit empty-handed. No sculpture had appeared in the Gilgit bazaar. No further leads about Hassan’s whereabouts came his way. The brigadier was incommunicado, as was Sher Khan. Safia’s distress was unbearable. Hassan’s disappearance had driven a wedge between him and his wife. These days, Safia spent most of her time with her grandchildren, often sleeping with them at night.