I had very little time, and my Suzuki Mehran won’t start. After over twenty years, it has proven to be a true companion, albeit rather an unreliable one. I popped the hood and tried to coax the battery into providing enough ignition. It worked. The 800cc engine sputtered, shaking the body of the car to life. I sat inside, watching the steering wheel vibrate as the car heated up.
While I waited, I pulled out a battered pack of Gold Leaf from the depths of the sewed in pockets of my shalwar kameez. There were only three smokes left inside and a little bit of rolled up hash, which was just enough. Squeezing the hash between my shaky fingers, I set about rolling a joint. The key I normally used as a pokey was inside the car, so I placed the hash on my palm.
Within a minute, it was ready. The lighter had very little gas in it, so I pulled it as close to me as possible, shielding the opening from any air.
Click, no flame.
Click, a few sparks but no flame.
Click, no flame.
Click, a small blue flame licked the end of the joint.
Inhaling deeply, I released the handbrake and turned the wheel with one hand. My phone began ringing. I cancelled the call. Before it rang again, I switched it off. A quick negotiation with the stiff gearbox and the car was groaning out of the street.
Mughalpura was alive; rickshaws, cars, pedestrians, trucks, lorries, roadside vendors, aanda shaami vendors, and beggars littered the roads. Every few seconds, someone would jump across the road, leading the way for entire infantries of families to follow suit. The rest of the road was consumed by potholes, speed breakers, and posters advocating political figures. Even though the tobacco was at least three days old, and the joint itself was weak, I needed this.
Tonight was the deadline. Bose bhai had given me enough time, and I knew that I could not talk my way for an additional week. And it was not likely that Bobby uncle would just change his mind and give his beloved bhateeja 5 laakh rupay. Bose bhai knew how to get what he wanted, and I’ve known plenty of people that got on the bad side of Bose bhai. But I don’t know if any of those people are still around to tell the tale. I had to somehow come up with the money by midnight, or my fate might not be very different.
Paanch laakh rupay kahan se mil saktay hain?
But there is an answer. Take the money from other people.
‘But five lakh?’
I had never mugged anyone. I had never even committed a true crime, well apart from minor crimes like shoplifting, which I did mostly to make ends meet, to buy hash, and to play poker at Bose Bhai’s.
But where would I find the opportunity of mugging enough people in the next five hours to get away with five laakh rupees? Maybe I can just run away!? I forget for a second that Bose bhai is arguably Punjab’s largest loan shark who practically runs the police. It is impossible to escape.
A few options presented themselves.
Gulberg? Nahi, bohat ziada security hoti hay. Purana paisa hay. Peechay 2 Vigo laga deingay.
Cantt? Army walay hotay hain. Nahi.
DHA?
DHA hi sahi hay.
I had arrived at Jail Road where I turned left and slammed the gas, propelling the small car towards DHA.
***
The uncles and aunties coming out of Nishat Linen and Al-Fatah looked like they could be carrying paanch laakh rupay. But so did the feminine boys accompanied by scantily dressed girls coming out of McDonalds.
Time was running short, and I knew Bose Bhai’s men were beginning to look for me. I parked the car at a strategic spot behind the Gol Market in case I needed to make a quick getaway. Ensuring that Sajjad bhai’s pistol was tightly secured and concealed at the end of my shalwar, I set off at a brisk pace to find unsuspecting victims.
After having done some calculations, I had decided that it was possible to pull this off if I manage to steal six very expensive phones. I didn’t know the brands, but I knew what to look out for. A sweat broke out across my forehead.
Navigating the endless corridors of the Gol Market, I had so far come across one aunty who had a little child with her. She was carrying a desirable phone and was also carrying shopping bags from expensive boutiques. But it was already almost nine, I had been following her for a considerable amount of time now, and I could not foresee an imminent opportunity to corner her. Even if successful, I would still be five phones short of the goal.
The woman had finally emerged out of the shop and was now on the phone with either her husband or driver. She was now waiting for her car and was eyeing the oncoming cars. This was it!
I chose my approach. There were two options: confront and intimidate, or grab and run. I chose the latter because the phone was now in the depths of her beige purse and I really didn’t want to deal with pulling a gun on a mother in front of her child. Walking calmly behind the woman, I lunged at the purse and ran as fast as I could. I immediately felt the strap of the purse break from one end.
Leaving the screaming woman and her crying child behind, I made my way towards the parking lot. Dodging the people, I could sense that someone was chasing after me. Perhaps she alerted some of the shopkeepers, and they’re after me? My stomach sank as I realized that my carefully strategized escape plan had been compromised. A black Land Cruiser had blocked my car’s path, and I did not have a way out now.
Clutching the purse to my chest, I ran in the opposite direction. I was right about the shopkeepers. There were four men chasing me, yelling profanities, and threatening to call the police. My lungs refused to oblige, and I gasped for air, but I had to keep running.
Running through the traffic, I had left the commercial area and entered the vast residential empire where the elites housed their wealth. This made matters worse. While I was confident that I was no longer being chased, the police were surely looking for me. Unlike the market, there was no place to hide in the residential area.
A few blocks east of the market, I came across a park which was shrouded in darkness. Jumping over the fence, I sat on one of the swings and caught my breath. Going back to the car for a while was not an option, but thankfully, Lahore’s finest were not very effective in countering crime. I was safe.
After a few minutes, I activated the flashlight on my phone and opened the purse. Instead of fumbling inside, I turned the purse over, causing all the contents to spill out. Sorting the useless bits of tissue papers, lipsticks, and other things I could not find valuable, I looked at the phone and the wallet.
The phone looked valuable, and Sajjad bhai’s friend at Hafeez Center would be able to tell me how much it is worth. There were a few cards in the wallet which indicated that the purse belonged to a Shagufta Khan. What was more interesting was an envelope containing forty thousand rupees.
Even if the phone was worth a lot, I was not even close to the required amount. I rethought the possibility of selling my Mehran, but I knew that without the paperwork, it was worthless. This was all I could manage.
I made the call with one hand, the other clutching the pistol.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Awaaz aarahi hay?”
“Hello Bose bhai, paison ki baat karni hay.”
“Sir, woh koi 150,000 rupay abhi hain aap ke liye.”
“Baaki baad me karsaktay hain?”
“Bose bhai please?”
“Aap ko kesay pata hay ke me yahan hoon?”
“Bose bhai please?”
Realizing that this abusive bastard will not listen, I hung up. I looked around my surroundings, feeling lost. I then began staring at the possessions of bechari Shagufta, who I robbed, in front of her child. What had I become?
Tears rolled down my cheeks, as I replaced all the items back into the purse and sat back on the swings, forcing my muscles to release the tension. I pulled out the last smoke, crumpling and discarding the box. I lit the cigarette, puffing the first few inhales, enjoying the light breeze ruffle my hair.
I tried not think of my life, of my decisions, and of what I had become. It was painful to reflect on the drug addicted, and gambling degenerate I had become. What hurt most was the fact that I could probably kill for another joint right about now. I pulled out the pistol.
Bose bhai has probably sent out his men for me. I know how Bose bhai plays with his food before he eats it, and I intend on ending my life on my terms. I brought the swing to rest, shakily brought the pistol to my head, and flicked the butt of the cigarette into the night.
