The Prisoner

by Omar Shahid Hamid

  “Ah, you’re here, D’Souza. There was no need for you to come. The minister told me he had sent you on an important task with Colonel Tarkeen. Of course, I understand. I hadn’t realized you were that close to the minister, and to Colonel Tarkeen. You should have told me, D’Souza, I would have taken more care of you. You know, D’Souza, the first day you took charge here, I could see that you were a real mover. A star. Very dedicated.”

  Constantine was not quite sure how to deal with his boss’s new fawning attitude. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier, sir. But there was no need for you to disturb yourself personally over this matter. I would have taken care of it.”

  “No, no, D’Souza, I had to come. The Home Minister called me up in the middle of the night and ordered me to personally supervise this. Not only are they releasing this Akbar fellow, but the minister has also sent an accompanying order, giving him a posting and ordering him to report immediately to Colonel Tarkeen for special duty. God knows what this special duty is. And God knows how this Akbar has become so important all of a sudden. But Minister sahib has said it, so it must be done.”

  “You don’t have to worry yourself about anything, sir. You can go home. If there are any problems, I’ll sort them out.”

  There was visible relief on the IG’s face. “Oh good, D’Souza. Yes. I can rely on you. Here is the fax copy of the release order. Are you sure I can leave? You’ll handle it, won’t you?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “If you ask my personal opinion, I don’t think they should release him. He looks like trouble.”

  “Have you ever met Akbar, sir?”

  “What? Oh no, no I haven’t. I’m just not comfortable with these sudden directives that arrive in the middle of the night. After all, D’Souza, it is my neck at the end of the day. What if the next government starts asking questions about all of this?” Then, realizing that he might have said too much, he suddenly changed tack. “I mean, not to say that there will be another government for a long time. And I’m sure whatever the minister orders us to do is correct, because, after all, he is the minister.”

  Suddenly, a look of fear passed over his face. Before getting into the car, he seized Constantine’s arm. “Look D’Souza, please don’t repeat anything that I said. The minister will think I am being disloyal to him. I’m not in his good books these days. But you seem to know him. Please, put in a good word for me. I will give you anything you like. Consider yourself the de facto IG Prisons. Please, D’Souza. If he revokes my contract, I’ll never get another job like this one. This job was supposed to secure the future of my children. Please help me.”

  “Sir, you don’t have to worry like this. After all, you are a retired army officer.”

  “You know, D’Souza, when you’re a retired officer, it’s the ‘retired’ bit that people look at. We are the same as everyone else.” His shoulders sagged as he said the words.

  Seeing a senior officer reduced to begging, Constantine, for the first time, felt a pang of sympathy for this man. He may have been a sycophant, but he shared the same compulsions as the rest of them. Family. A slightly better life for their children. A little bit of power and influence. At the end of the day, they were all in the same boat. Swimming in the rough shoals of this city, trying to find a way to survive. The only difference was in the degree that each thought was necessary for survival.

  “Sir, you don’t need to say anything else. Please go home, and I will take care of everything.”

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Constantine went back to his office and picked up the fax. The first sheet was a directive from the Home Department, ordering the withdrawal of all outstanding criminal cases against Deputy Superintendent of Police Akbar Khan. The inspector general of Prisons was ordered to release the prisoner immediately on parole. That much Constantine had obviously expected. The second fax sheet was a little more startling. It was another Home Office directive, ordering the reinstatement of Akbar and his posting to head a special police unit, which would probe kidnapping cases and other high-profile investigations. The order further stated that the unit would be completely independent and would be responsible for liaising with all external Agencies. Not only had Pakora managed to absolve Akbar in the eyes of the UF, he had also carved out a nice little empire for him.

  He proceeded to walk towards Akbar’s barrack. The cracks of first light were seeping through the dark sky. It was still bitterly cold. Outside Akbar’s barrack, two armed gunmen and a warden were helping carry things out of the room. Constantine’s own arrival went by unacknowledged, such was the hustle and bustle in the barrack. He entered the room, which looked even barer than it usually did. The only things left were the mattress and the stools. For a change, the air conditioning was turned off. Akbar was wrapping his Quran in an embroidered silk cloth. His appearance had changed too. The long hair had been cut to a neat regulation length. The beard had been trimmed and brushed. The wrinkled, crumpled shalwar-kameez had been replaced by a clean, heavily starched one. Even the wild look in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a more calculating gaze. Gone was the wandering, spiritual holy man. In his place stood the image of middle-aged, middle-class respectability. Akbar could have passed as a factory boss or a small landowner. He looked up in surprise as Constantine entered the room.

  “Arre, Consendine, what are you doing here? Aren’t I supposed to be meeting you and Colonel Tarkeen in Orangi?”

  “I came back to make sure things went smoothly over here. Maqsood’s men are holding the fort with the colonel, so I’m not really needed there. Besides, haven’t you heard? My boss is a stupid chutiya. If we left it in his hands, you’d end up on your way to Hyderabad Jail, instead of on your way out.”

  Akbar laughed heartily. “Well, in that case, I thank you for intervening on my behalf. You know, I must speak to Pakora about him some day. Money is one thing, but a man must have some basic intelligence to hold such an important post. I mean, being inspector general of the Prisons is no small thing.”

  “I see you and Pakora are getting along very well. You obviously made use of the SIM he sent. From the orders he’s issued for you, you seem to have made quite an impression. Straight out of jail, and heading a new investigative unit. At this rate, Maqsood really should start worrying.”

  “Don’t worry. This is just the beginning. I’m going to rip apart Maqsood’s empire chunk by chunk. As for Pakora, well, let’s say I made a sound investment out of some of Maqsood’s money. Fifty petis goes a long way.”

  Constantine was incredulous. “Fifty petis? Akbar, if you pay him that much, you’re going to run everyone out of the market. He’ll want everybody to pay him that much. And where are you going to get such large sums of money from on a regular basis?”

  “That was the price I had to pay Pakora to ensure that the party didn’t create any hurdles for me. I also wanted to wean him off people like Maqsood. That’s why I threw such a large bone at him. He hadn’t even asked for it. I offered that much. Now, it’s in his interest to protect me because I’m now his sone ki chidiya. On hearing the sum offered, he was all ready to do anything for me. He would have given me the clothes off Maqsood’s back had I asked for them. The best bit is, I’m using Maqsood’s own money to screw him.”

  “That’s very impressive. All this, even without having first recovered the American.”

  “Consendine, Consendine. I told you, you worry too much. The American is as good as recovered.”

  “How do you know that, Akbar? How can you be so sure? What if your friend the sheikh has killed him? What if he doesn’t listen to you?”

  Akbar looked at Constantine and smiled. The two men were alone in the room. Akbar searched his breast pocket for a packet of cigarettes, took one out, and then lit it. He took a long puff and sighed. “I’ll tell you something, if you promise not to repeat it.”

  “What?” Constantine’s heart was racing, fearing the words that would come out of Akbar’s mouth.
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br />   “The American is as safe as this packet of cigarettes in my pocket. He always has been.”

  “Akbar, are you involved in his kidnapping?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Consendine. Do you think I’m some kind of chutiya? I would never be involved in something like this. Where would you get a crazy idea like that? For that matter, neither is the sheikh.”

  “But Kana said the sheikh was holding him and that he had agreed to kill him if the two rival groups didn’t show up for the arbitration today.”

  “Kana and the rest of them are simple-minded fools. The sheikh never had any intention of killing the American. You know the sheikh. Has he ever struck you as a militant sort? The only jihad he’s ever contemplated is his personal jihad to make as much money as possible for himself. He has created a position for himself in the city. He has become one of the movers and shakers. The government negotiates with him, humors him because they think that he has the power to mobilize tens of thousands of his madrasa students and bring them out on to the streets. He blackmails Hanuman and the bosses every day for this sole reason, and for no other purpose than to increase his personal benefit. An extra bodyguard for his security, permission for one of his madrasas to encroach upon a little more public land, guarantees from the police that they won’t raid one of his gambling operations. You think a man like that would jeopardize all of this for the sake of taking part in some half-baked plan to kill an American reporter? One of these poor, deluded fools who did the kidnapping was a disciple of the sheikh. When the two groups started fighting over what to do with the American, he suggested that they should get the fatwa of a holy man. Luckily for us, the only holy man he knew was our friend the sheikh.”

  “Why didn’t the sheikh contact Hanuman?”

  “Because he, God bless his soul, saw it as an opportunity to help me out. Initially, he was a bit worried when this problem got dumped in front of him. So he contacted me through these tableeghis who come every day, and asked me what he should do. I told him not to panic and to take custody of the American secretly. Once the American was out of the hands of those fools, he would be safe. And I realized that both of us could benefit from the situation. If the sheikh’s followers thought he was willing to kill an American, that would improve his stock amongst his more radical supporters. The group who kidnapped him were such rank amateurs, it was almost too easy to dupe them. In the meantime, I would get my opportunity. I knew Tarkeen would have to come to me. The stakes were too high for everybody. Maqsood and his morons could never trace the case. The only thing I was worried about was that the UF would oppose me because of my past history with them. That’s why your help was so beneficial. When you told me that the American government was applying pressure on the Don as well, it made my negotiating position even stronger. Finally, thank God that Pakora was Home Minister. It’s so much easier to negotiate with a man who’s willing to put a price on everything.”

  Constantine stared at Akbar, mouth wide open, as the shock registered on his face. “But Akbar, that makes you and the sheikh accomplices in kidnapping. How can you justify that? Tarkeen and Hanuman will figure it out. They aren’t stupid.”

  Akbar’s raspy voice grew harder. “How does it make anyone an accomplice? The sheikh saved the American’s life by taking him away from the hands of those immature idiots. Only he couldn’t tell anyone publicly because it would have undermined his own position with his supporters and potentially put his life in danger. So he turned to an old and trusted friend, me, who advised him on how to negotiate the situation tactfully. Isn’t that what Hanuman always tells us to do? If I found myself at the core of this whole kidnapping business, well, it’s just my luck, isn’t it? After all these years in here, I deserve some. Besides, getting the American out safe and sound is the priority of Tarkeen and Hanuman. His recovery will save their neck. If that happens, I doubt if they’ll bother about the details. Don’t you agree?” Akbar cackled, thoroughly pleased with himself.

  Constantine turned away, gazing at the corners of the now empty room. Akbar’s logic was unassailable. That was exactly how it would play out. It suited Tarkeen and Hanuman not to examine the issue too closely. That left only him. Would he kick up a fuss? After all, what wrong had Akbar done? Had he committed a criminal act, or just taken advantage of a given situation and survived? Like his boss outside. Like Constantine himself. He turned around again and saw Akbar staring at him intently.

  He cleared his throat. “Akbar, have you become a jihadi? Did you give lectures to the kidnappers? I’m not asking for Tarkeen or Hanuman or anybody else. I’m asking for myself. If you are a jihadi, then you consider me an unbeliever and would sanction my death. You supported them in front of Tarkeen. Would you do it?”

  Akbar smiled. “Is that what worries you? Take a look at me. How long have you known me? Ever since our first day at Preedy Station all those years ago. Ever since Chaudhry Latif first sent us out on patrol together. Every day, for two years, we ate together, slept together, fucked girls together. We were inseparable. In Orangi, I spent the first six months thinking that I would be killed. The only man I trusted, the only man in whose hands I was willing to put my life, was you. It didn’t matter to me then whether you were a Christian or a Muslim. It doesn’t matter to me now. All that matters is that you are my friend. Jihad! What jihad? What do these misguided fools know about jihad? What we did was jihad. Fighting against the terrorists and gangsters who preyed upon innocent people who couldn’t fight back. Risking our lives. We did it because it was our duty to do it! That was a real jihad! Not this! Kidnapping a silly American so that you can put a picture of him on the Internet with a gun to his head. How utterly stupid! You asked me if I gave religious lectures to those boys. Yes, I did. You told me I defended the jihadis in front of Tarkeen. Yes, I did. Five years ago, that bastard Maqsood screwed me only because he created this monopoly on hunting jihadis after 9/11. The Agencies embraced his efforts. I refused to do it so they discarded me, because no one wanted to go after the UF anymore. I had to get back in the game somehow, or I would have rotted in here for the rest of my life. I had to become an insider in the jihadi groups. That’s why I turned to the religious organizations like the tableeghis and Sheikh Noman’s people. That’s why I pretended to become one of their ‘sheikhs.’ These people had the information that I wanted. And now, Inshallah, I will make my comeback thanks to them.”

  “So I guess turning to religion worked out well for you.” The two men looked at each other intently for a moment and then burst out laughing.

  “They say that if you look hard enough, those who really want to can even find God. So I figure finding a few jihadis should be a small matter then.” This was the Akbar that Constantine always remembered and revered. Carefree, amusing, courageous, risk-taker, inveterate gambler, ready to put everything on the line for a long shot.

  “You’re crazy, you know.”

  They were not men given to signs of affection, else they would have hugged. They shook hands firmly, and Akbar patted Constantine on the back and they walked out of the room together. By now the sun had come out, but an early morning mist hung in the air. Akbar lit another cigarette and signalled to his gunman, who brought him a thick, stuffed envelope and a mobile phone.

  “Here, thanks for lending me your phone. I’m returning it. And this,” Akbar handed Constantine the envelope, “is for you. A little token of my appreciation. Thank you for helping me out. You didn’t have to. You could have gone to Maqsood any time. You could have told Tarkeen that my information was useless. You didn’t have to send me the case file. It’s not enough to say that you did it because of our friendship. When a man is down, even his best friends walk away from him. You didn’t.”

  Constantine peeked inside the partially open envelope. It was stuffed with wads of thousand-rupee notes. He looked at it, unsure what to do. “What’s this?”

  “It’s five petis. Consider it a refund on your investment with Pakora. I would have given you more, but afte
r giving half of my fortune to Pakora, I needed the rest of Maqsood’s money for my own expenses.”

  “You got the money already?”

  “Yes. Maqsood had dropped it off at the bookie’s. I’ve tied up a weekly sum for you with the same bookie. His man will deliver it to you here every week.”

  “You didn’t have to do this. I won’t reveal your secret to anyone.”

  “I know. But why shouldn’t you also profit from this situation? The rest of us surely will. Say, why don’t you come with me? We could set up this new unit together. We would end up running the city. It’ll be just like old times.”

  “I don’t have your nerves of steel, Akbar. I wouldn’t be able to survive the ups and downs that you thrive on. I don’t want to reach for the stars. I’m happy walking in the middle of the road.”

  Akbar looked at him quizzically. “You know, I never understood this ‘middle-of-the-road’ philosophy of yours. What’s the point of living your life like that? Always scared of the moves that other people may make. Never willing to do something for yourself. I enjoy the good times that much more, because I know how bad the bad times can be.”

  They had reached the gate of the prison. Akbar was presented with his release papers by one of the wardens, and he duly signed them. As the outer gates of the jail opened, revealing the world outside to Akbar for the first time in so many years, his eyes squinted at the soft sunlight. He hesitated for a moment, then looked over his shoulder to Constantine. “By the way, you don’t have to worry about Ateeq Tension. He won’t cause anyone trouble anymore.”

  “Akbar, what are you going to do?”

  “What you should have done years ago. Don’t worry about it. I cleared it with Pakora. In fact, he was quite happy to be rid of Tension.”

  “Akbar, are you sure you want to do this? I mean everything, not just Tension. They will all use you again. Tarkeen, Pakora, Hanuman. As soon as they have gotten what they want, they will ditch you.”