New horizons, p.7
New Horizons, page 7
‘I’ll get you eyewitnesses. Bring me some bad characters. You know the kind – petty thieves, gamblers, goondas, bootleggers.’
Next day, half a dozen fine specimens showed up at the police station. Inspector Matadeen was delighted. It had been too long since he had last seen such men. He had been lonely. His voice was melting with affection when he asked them, ‘You saw that man assault the deceased, didn’t you?’
They replied, ‘No sir, we didn’t see a thing. We weren’t even there.’
Inspector Matadeen knew it was the first time for them. He patiently continued, ‘I know you weren’t there. But you saw him attack with a lathi, didn’t you?’
The men decided they were dealing with a lunatic. Who else would talk such nonsense? They began to laugh.
‘Don’t laugh!’ said Inspector Matadeen sternly. ‘Answer my question.’
They again replied, ‘How can we say we saw anything when we weren’t even there?’
Inspector Matadeen lost his temper. ‘I’ll tell you how,’ he snarled. ‘I have here detailed reports on what you fellows have been up to. I can have each one of you locked up for at least 10 years. Now tell me, you wish to stay in business – or would you rather go to jail?’
The men were scared out of their wits. ‘No, sir, we don’t want to go to jail.’
‘In that case, you saw that fellow beat the victim with a lathi, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir, we did. We saw him come out of his house and start hitting the man with a lathi until the poor fellow fell to the ground.’
‘Good. In the future as well, you’ll see more such incidents, won’t you?’ Matadeen pressed on.
‘Yes, sir. We’ll see what you tell us to.’
The station officer was overwhelmed by this miracle. He couldn’t stir for a few minutes. Then, getting up from his chair, he threw himself at Inspector Matadeen’s feet.
‘Here now, let go. Let me do my work,’ Inspector Matadeen remonstrated, but the station officer clung to him and kept repeating, ‘I want to spend the rest of my days at your feet.’
In due course, Inspector Matadeen put together the entire dossier and, in the process, taught the local police everything he knew – how to substitute FIRs, how to leave some pages blank for future use, how to change entries in the daily record, how to win over hostile witnesses. The man he had arrested was convicted and sentenced to 20 years in prison.
The Moon Police was now fully trained. Case after case was brought before the courts and, in every instance, a conviction was awarded. The moon government was delighted. The Moon parliament passed a resolution to thank the Government of India. It noted the remarkable efficiency their police had achieved under Inspector Matadeen’s guidance. Inspector Matadeen was given a civic reception. Covered with garlands, he was taken around in a procession in an open jeep. Thousands of people lined the road and shouted his praises. Inspector Matadeen responded in the style of his home minister – with folded hands, lowered eyes, full of humility. But it was his first time and he felt somewhat ill at ease. He had never even dreamed, when he had entered the service some 26 years ago, that one day he would be so honoured on the moon. He wished he had remembered to bring along a dhoti–kurta and a Gandhi cap.
Back on earth, the Indian home minister watched the proceedings on his television. ‘This may be the right time for me to make a goodwill visit,’ he mused.
A few months passed. Suddenly, one day, the Moon parliament met in an emergency session. It was a stormy but secret meeting, and so its report was never made public. We can only offer what was faintly heard by people outside the chamber. The members seemed enraged and could be heard shouting: ‘No one takes care of sick parents!’; ‘No one tries to rescue a drowning child!’; ‘No one helps if a house catches fire!’; ‘Men have become worse than animals!’; ‘The government should immediately resign!’; ‘Resign! Resign!’
Next day, the prime minister of the moon sent for Inspector Matadeen.
Inspector Matadeen could see that the prime minster had visibly aged, that he seemed not to have slept for a few nights. He looked quite disconsolate as he said, ‘Matadeen-ji, we are extremely grateful to you and to the Government of India, but you should go back tomorrow.’
‘No sir,’ Inspector Matadeen replied, ‘I’ll return only after I’ve finished my term here.’
‘We’ll give you your full term’s salary,’ the prime minister said. ‘Double the amount, triple, if you wish.’
Inspector Matadeen was polite but firm. ‘No sir, I’m a man of principles. My work is dearer to me than money.’
In the end, the prime minister of the moon sent a confidential letter to the prime minister of India.
Four days later, Inspector Matadeen received orders from his own IG to return immediately. Picking up a ‘heel-scrubbing’ stone for the wife of his SP, Inspector Matadeen climbed aboard the earth-ship and bade farewell to the moon. The entire Moon Police force burst into tears as the ship lifted off.
What happened on the moon that he had to leave so abruptly? What did the prime minister of the moon write to the prime minister of India? These questions remained unanswered for a long time. Then someone got hold of that confidential letter and made parts of it public.
‘Thank you for lending us the services of Inspector Matadeen, but now you must recall him immediately. We had thought India was our friend, but only an enemy could have done what you did to us. We were innocent and trusting, and you deceived us.
‘Ever since Inspector Matadeen trained our police, things have come to a terrible pass. No one comes to the help of an assault victim for fear he might himself be accused. Sons abandon their sick parents, lest they be charged with murder. Houses catch fire and burn down, but neighbours don’t help for fear they might be accused of arson. Children drown before people’s eyes, but no one comes to their rescue lest they be accused of drowning them. All human relations are breaking down. Your man has destroyed almost half of our civilized life. If he stays around longer, he is bound to destroy the remaining half. Please call him back immediately to your own Ram Rajya…’
STEALING THE SEA
ASIF ASLAM FARRUKHI
(Translated by Syed Saeed Naqvi from the Urdu original ‘Samandar ki Chori’)
There was still time. The first hesitant, nascent ray of light hanging between the earth and sky had not yet emerged. It wasn’t dawn yet, and the city along the oceanside was still asleep. Even before the night’s darkness unfolded, it was suspected that it had happened. Rows of two- and three-storey apartment blocks, once engulfed in grey shadows, the two-lane road separating the apartments from the vastly spread bluish white sea on the other side. But now there was nothing. There was only a huge crater where the sea used to be. Flat land was marred by a fractured surface, devoid of any bushes or tyre marks, like land that had been submerged for the longest time. The sea, which once lay prone, stretching its feet on to the land, had suddenly disappeared.
The rest of the scene remained unchanged. Unless one paid really close attention, it could be missed. The day started at its usual slow pace and, at first, the absence of the sea was not noticed. That’s probably why no one said anything. Some stragglers were returning after a party, while the health-conscious were setting out on their morning jogs. Milkmen were reaching their customers in open trucks, and pedlars brought out their wares on bicycles. Even if the most committed of people had glanced at it, they would have thought it to be hidden amidst the dense morning fog. They would have covered their hands and faces with shawls and scarves, in anticipation of dropping temperatures. If you cover your face while in a hurry to get somewhere, missing the sea is entirely possible.
While the sea disappearing might go unnoticed in the early hours, the spreading daylight would show its absence. But you can hear the absence even before you see it. The most noticeable thing was utter silence; a deep silence with its own distinct voice – such complete silence that even a pin drop could cause a fluttering in the chest; a fear that what has happened should not have happened. Yes, then it will be realized that the absence of the noisy waves is causing the silence.
The waves usually formed a crest, noisily slapping together and forming sounds like chup… chup… chup… chup. Advancing waves rose and spread, merging with the sand, sometimes quietly and at other times noisily, for thousands of years, like a ticking clock measuring time. They had once licked the city wall with salt, drenching it with wet air. They were not there now, replaced instead by silence – complete, deep silence.
Where did the sea go? It is not something that can disappear overnight. It was there the previous night. An occasional swimmer had been tossed in the waves. Some were seen running on the wet sand alongside it. Then, what had happened? It could not just evaporate. It is a sea, for God’s sake! Passers-by were beginning to stop, chattering excitedly in small groups.
‘The sea has been stolen,’ someone exclaimed, his voice trembling. The dire news started to spread.
A flock of wild pigeons landed on the empty lot between the apartments. People afflicted with sickness spread barley there, hoping the voiceless birds would offer prayers for their health. A dog was sitting quietly with his legs and tail folded inwards. The blue sky had deepened in hue. The sea was not where it should have been. A man stopped and looked at the horizon. Although there was no sunshine, he still shaded his eyes with his hand, concentrating hard, but unable to see anything. The view remained unclear, despite his efforts. People did not immediately surround him. They must have thought he was using tricks to fool others. Stand in a busy street, point to the clear blue sky, use your hand to cover your eyes and mumble something. A crowd will be attracted in no time. Everyone will try to see what you pretended to see, although there was in fact nothing there. How can you see anything when there is nothing? When a crowd gathers around, you wash your hands of it and move on as if nothing had happened. But that man stood there, joined by another, and then another. No one could see the sea.
One of the onlookers called out, ‘Where is the sea?’
Nobody answered him.
‘Where is the sea?’ he asked again.
Hardly anyone could have answered this question. Really, what could anyone say? Where could the sea have vanished to?
‘It must be here somewhere; you probably need to look around a bit more attentively.’
‘Look beyond the fog.’ But it could not be found. People started to gossip.
The man whose voice was heard in the beginning so distinctively wavered. ‘Why can’t I see it? What is wrong?’
‘You could only see it if it was there,’ someone snapped back.
‘Is it possible? Just like that… suddenly… the whole sea?’
Many voices sounded astonished.
‘Yes, overnight, the whole sea!’ some voices chimed in unison.
‘But this cannot be!’ Someone was in complete denial.
‘But it has happened,’ someone else corrected him.
‘This is a definite sign of a bigger calamity,’ another voice was clearly heard saying. ‘Could be due to an oil spill, an ecological disaster, a local effect, a nuclear holocaust…,’ he left it incomplete. People stared at him, a bald, bespectacled man. Some considered his arguments likely. That is possibly what happened.
‘Iran, Israel, so the sea has parted here.’
‘This was going to happen someday,’ one onlooker was busy convincing others.
‘But how so suddenly?’
‘I was watching BBC news all night. There was nothing on it.’ One man was not buying the story.
‘How long would it have taken?’ Someone shrugged his shoulders.
‘A millisecond… destruction can spread far and wide.’ He sounded smug, showing off his superior knowledge. He did not sound defeated.
The crowd failed to catch it. They were standing in a group, looking towards where the sea used to be, then glancing at each other, suspicious, inquisitive, trying to figure out what the next man was thinking, what he was feeling. That was not too difficult to determine. Everyone was looking in the same direction and commenting. Some kept asking questions. Seeing the gathering, passers-by would come to join the crowd. Unable to find the sea, each would freeze and look around as though it might just be displaced and could be found if searched for. ‘What happened? What is going on?’ Newcomers would restart the conversation.
‘Nothing! Nothing has happened. What is there to happen?’ The man with the glasses who predicted worldwide destruction was getting tired of repeating himself. ‘Something happened, over there, not sure what…’ If pushed, he would point to the area where the sea should have been.
‘Something has gone wrong,’ someone from the crowd explained to the best of his understanding. The follow-up questions of ‘how’ and ‘when’ were only met with incomprehensible sounds, showing ignorance.
The man who was using his hand to shade his eyes turned, shaking his head. His shirt was fluttering in the wind. At his suggestion, the man who had shrugged his shoulders climbed on to a wall which stretched along the road. ‘There is nothing there,’ he said, confirming the obvious fact that everyone already knew. He was right, there was nothing there. No sand, no bushes, no stones. Flat, barren land stretched as far as the eye could see. So surprisingly bare that the same questions came back hauntingly – what had happened and how? Such a vast sea! Where did it go? It could not just disappear into thin air! It was not a child playing hide-and-seek. People saw it last night; it was as it should have been.
‘What happened to the sea?’ an older man could not resist asking the question that was disturbing everyone. His shalwar and kameez were crumpled. His beard was unkempt. He began to blurt out questions rapidly: ‘Where did it go? What happened?’ he asked. The man, who had climbed the wall with the help of the bespectacled man, took a few steps along the wall and began to answer from up there, even though the question was not even directed at him. ‘The sea has been stolen,’ he informed them, drawing attention to the board hanging on the upper portion of the wall.
Even when the sea had been there, during the day, it used to be silent. People visiting the seaside would bid farewell in the morning. The probing sunlight and its heat caused discomfort to the people who came to picnic. They preferred coming in the evening, when the site would become crowded again. Then it would come alive. A fun-loving crowd had once gathered because of the sea. Now, people had gathered in small groups, talking in hushed voices as if someone had died in the neighbourhood. They congregated as if to condole the loss of the sea.
By now, everyone knew. Except for an occasional newcomer, they were no longer asking what and where, but rather how and when.
No one had an answer. Except that the sea had gone.
‘God knows how and when!’ The crowd kept growing but the newcomers were doing exactly what the first few did: exchanging questions about what had happened. By now, you could identify a person by the questions he asked. People were commenting based on where they came from and who they were. These comments were now being relayed far and wide. A young man had placed a camera on a tripod in a small clearing, inviting people to record their comments. He must have been a local representative of some foreign news channel. Whomever came to him, the young man positioned them in such a way that the empty land was in the background, where the sea had been replaced by bare land. The camera would freeze the scene into a still frame with added voice-over commentary.
‘This city needs open areas and picnic resorts badly,’ an older man was saying. He was wearing a jacket over a V-neck shirt, and spoke in precise English. He looked like a retired bureaucrat who had championed development issues ever since his retirement. ‘Land grabbing belongs to the mafia here. They have long arms. Money and politics are controlled by them. It is sad that even the state accepts this land grabbing. With no opposition, the oppression continues, swallowing all of the resources. But the sea belonged to the whole city; it did not belong to a particular class only.’
‘We will carry out a candlelight vigil in its memory. We will do a peace march.’ A woman swayed, her hair flowing behind her as she spoke excitedly. Her nails were polished and her lipstick had left a stain on her teeth. She was wearing a cotton dress, both her wrists adorned with metal bangles.
A young man in a colourful T-shirt and with sunglasses perched on his head spoke out: ‘This is more than a fun place. Hundreds of thousands of people earn their living from it. Where will these fishermen go? They once lived in shanty towns along the sea coast. The government should arrange alternate accommodation for them.’ His voice rose as he made demands far greater than the immediate need.
‘This is murdering our ecosystem. The natural mangrove preserves will disappear and all of the wildlife with it. There is a very fine ecological balance between them and humans. If one goes, the other will not survive either.’
One of the activists made a victory sign in front of the camera. The space between his fingers was filled by the barren land, the picture was shaky due to his amateur photography.
‘You all should organize. We should join hands,’ the activist told the ethnic youth, who told the lady representing the NGO, ‘We should do a peace march from Chundrigar Road to the Press Club.’
‘The first thing is to file an FIR,’ a man with a rather deep voice, wearing a black jacket, said. He was possibly – or rather, definitely – a lawyer. His voice silenced the crowd. Yes, this was very important, why had no one mentioned it before?
‘We should determine the extent of the loss first,’ an elderly lady with white hair and a well-groomed face spoke up. Her voice had a cutting quality to it. Might she have been a teacher? She did not hear the lawyer, nor the silence that followed; it’s possible she was hard of hearing. She made her suggestion with an intensity that was possibly her norm. ‘Let us first find out if the sea has vanished only from here or from other places as well, like Ibrahim Hyderi, Korangi and, most important of all, Keamari. The real issue will be Keamari. Has anyone contacted the people there? Confirmed anything?’
