Running Tired

By Maroof Ahmed

Bilal, a Pakistani honor student with a rich landlord and politician for a father, is on the path to successuntil his father divorces his mother. Bilal loses many of his opportunities, and his familys life of ease was gone. His mother struggles to raise him and his sister, while he does his best to keep his family safe.

In the course of protecting his mother and sister, however, Bilal comes under the scrutiny of the corrupt Pakistani police. Due to an unfair justice system, Bilal is forced into a life of crime. He becomes a robber and killer and must seek refuge at a madrassa where young men study Islam. But in what should be a safe environment, Bilal finds no comfort.

Shadowy forces that hope to manipulate religion to serve their own purposes fund the madrassa. Bilal realizes children are being brainwashed to become terrorists. He flees to America, but even there nasty surprises are in store. Bilals once-promising life has fallen apart. Will he ever be able to return to the good man he once was?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491733882

Maroof Ahmed

Maroof Ahmed is a small business owner with a bachelor’s degree in business finance. He lives in Upstate New York. This is his first book.

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Copyright © 2014 Maroof Ahmed.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-3387-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3430-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-338-8-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014908148

Printed in the United States of America.

iUniverse rev. date: 05/22/2014

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

THE NIGHT BEFORE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Kot Lakhpat Central Jail—Lahore, Pakistan

5:55 a.m.

B ilal was standing on the scaffold with his hands tied behind his back. Three steps to his right, a jail guard had his hands on the lever, waiting for the jail superintendent to pull the release .

One of the guards behind Bilal tightened the noose around his neck. The superintendent began the execution order, to which Bilal paid no mind until he heard someone say, Accused terrorist Bilal Ahmed shall be hanged until dead, dead, dead… The other guard threw a black hood over his head, and Bilal’s big green eyes went dark.

THE NIGHT BEFORE

7:00 p.m.

T he deputy superintendent, along with four jail guards, entered prison unit number 6 and stopped in front of cell number 16, where Bilal, convicted terrorist, was praying. He cleared his throat when Bilal had finished.

Bilal, I brought you your last supper. He signaled the guard to open the barred cell door. The rusty door made a squeaky sound, and the guard holding the food tray entered. He placed the tray next to Bilal before exiting.

Bilal, who was still sitting on his prayer rug with his head down and his long thick hair covering his face, looked up at the deputy and spoke in a low but angry tone. I didn’t request anything special for my last supper. Matter of fact, I am not even hungry. Take this back to your office and feast on it.

The deputy stepped into the cell and crouched next to him, saying, Your mother came to my office after she visited you yesterday. She requested that I personally deliver you her cooked meal as your last supper, and I gave her my word. I can definitely bend the rules a little bit once in a while.

Then he shook Bilal’s hand, holding it a bit longer and saying, I’ll be present at your execution in the morning. When he got up to leave, Bilal looked at the tray that had small portions of all his favorite dishes. He wasn’t hungry but ate bits of the food because his mother had cooked it.

He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. He took a long drag and rested his head against the wall. Blowing out the smoke, his brain raced back, thinking about how an honor student ended up on death row, to be hanged in a few hours.

CHAPTER 1

S amina was born in a middle-class family that lived by conservative rules. She was the youngest, having three brothers. As she was the only daughter, her parents raised her like a princess. She was the center of attention for everybody in the house. Her father was a heart specialist, and her mother was a good housewife who devoted most of her time to taking care of her children. She taught them manners, helped them with their schoolwork, and took them out to a nearby children’s playground every evening for their recreation.

Time kept slipping away. Samina graduated and now was about to start her master’s classes to earn a degree in chemistry. She was five feet five, with long black silky hair, big green eyes, and attractive features. Her beauty often caused young men to turn their heads. From time to time, she was lectured by her mother, and sometimes by her father, who told her that she had a fence around her, and under no circumstance should she try to jump. One day she asked her mother, Mama, what if you find a man to be my groom and I don’t like him? What will happen?

Her mother, who was sipping tea, looked at her. Don’t be silly. We won’t have you marry someone you won’t like. We will find a successful young man, good-looking like you. We will arrange a visit, and if you like each other, then we will marry you with yours and the boy’s consent.

But what if I happen to fall in love with a different guy? Samina asked her mother.

Her mother’s eyes popped wide open, and she put the cup down on the table. Don’t you ever repeat this in front of your father or brothers; don’t forget you are in Pakistan, not in any Western country, her mother reminded her. We have our own culture, and our religion does not permit a female to date or start an affair with a man. The only man she is supposed to love and be loyal to is her husband. No woman should allow any man besides her husband to even touch her.

Mama, I was only asking. What if I fall in love with someone and we want to get married? Would you allow us to do so? Samina clarified.

Her mother stared at her and questioned her in return, Samina, tell me the truth. Is there anything going on?

No, Mama, for God’s sake! You jumped to a conclusion in a heartbeat. I am only asking you this out of curiosity. Remember, we are friends, and you always taught me to share my feelings with you.

Her mother sighed her relief and answered, Well, honey, if such an incident does occur, then tell the boy to ask his parents to bring his proposal for you. This is the proper Islamic way.

So in other words, if it happens the way you just explained, you will agree? Samina inquired.

Yes, we will, unless we believe that it’s not a proper match, her mother answered, getting up to leave and thus ending the conversation.

Samina knew her limits, but she, like most girls, also fantasized about a handsome young man as her life’s partner. Her fantasy seemed to come true when Asad joined the chemistry classes with her at the university.

Chaudhry Asad Ahmed belonged to a wealthy family. His father was a landlord with hundreds of acres of farmland that produced apples, oranges, and even mangos. He was the richest man of his village and owned most of the land in the village, which was located two hundred miles south of the city of Lahore. Sadly, he ruled the poor villagers, most of whom worked in his farms and gardens, with an iron fist. Asad’s family lived by strict and conservative rules. The most sacrosanct was that they never married their offspring outside their close relatives. Men could keep many women on the side to enjoy; landlord corruption was bred in their blood. As with most other rich landlords, rape, kidnapping, and killing weren’t big taboos among them. Most landlords were uneducated and illiterate, but Asad was different from the rest of his family. He was interested in higher education and treated the poor people like human beings rather than the way his family treated them. He had a good heart, a modernized brain, and was against his family-made conservative, strict rules, which were carried down from generation to generation.

Samina’s heart raced when she saw the good-looking, well-built, light-skinned Asad, who seemed to have an attractive personality. It didn’t take long for them to mingle with each other. Samina, who was known for her shyness, was boldly seen with Asad everywhere in the university.

In the two years they spent at the university, they made commitments and promises to each other to spend the rest of their lives together. The day they graduated, Samina said, Asad, you know that after today it will be almost impossible for me to see you because our study is over. Please convince your parents to bring your proposal to my parents so we can be together, for I cannot imagine living without you.

I feel the same, Samina. Trust me; I’ve been trying to convince them. I am the eldest son, and I am very optimistic that I will succeed in convincing my parents. Matter of fact, I am leaving for the village tomorrow, and I’ll have the final words with my parents during the visit. Don’t give up on me, Asad finished with a smile.

When Asad spoke to his parents about Samina, his father had a fit. How dare you! I sent you to the city to get educated, not to fall in love with some gold-digging tramp from a middle-class working family. You should keep our status in mind before making stupid decisions. Remember one thing: you can flirt with whomever you want, but you will only marry a girl from the family! His father left the room fuming.

Asad held his head in his hands, frustrated over his hardheaded father.

My son, do as your father says because there is no other way. If you try to push him, he may cause harm to the girl and her family. You are completely aware of his temper. His mother, who had been silent, spoke while running her fingers through his hair, showing her love toward her son.

The same night, Asad called Samina, who was impatiently waiting for his call. He briefed Samina about his father’s decision. Samina, there is only one way left: court marriage. That’s it. Tell me, would you be willing to take such a step?

C-c-court marriage? Samina stuttered over the term, which was totally unacceptable in the family. Such a decision might lead to serious consequences: her family might disown her!

No, Asad, I don’t think so. I am not so brave as to take the huge step of court marriage. My brothers would kill me! On top of everything, your family would never accept me. Our journey stops here. It wasn’t meant to be. We should forget each other and go our own ways, which would be best for us and our families. She disconnected the phone without saying good-bye and broke out crying.

She didn’t take his phone calls after that, trying to move on and forget him. But he was in her veins, in her heart, and on her mind; he was her first and last love. She couldn’t think of loving any other man the way she loved him. Her heart gave out finally, and one fateful night she called him.

The bomb was dropped on Samina’s parents when one day she left the house and came back within a few hours with Asad. They had been married in the civil court. Her mother’s heart wasn’t strong enough to tackle such a shock, and she had a nervous breakdown. Her father pronounced, As of today, I’ll think I never had a daughter. You are dead to us, and consider us dead to yourself. Never attempt to visit us again, not even at your mother’s and my funerals. Now leave my premises before your brothers come back, for they will definitely kill both of you. After Samina’s father screamed at a weeping Samina, he slammed the door, closing it on them forever.

Time somewhat healed Samina’s wounds. She still missed her parents and her brothers and cried for them occasionally. Asad loved her deeply, which consoled her a lot. After one year of marriage, she gave birth to a charming boy who inherited all of his parents’ beauty. They named him Bilal Ahmed.

When Bilal was two years old, Samina gave birth again, this time to a baby girl who was lovelier than all of them. They named her Hira Ahmed. Their family was complete, and they lived happily. Asad opened up a textile mill, and he visited his parents every weekend.

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Asad’s father, Chaudhry Faraz Ahmed, was preparing for the upcoming National Assembly elections. Ruling the poor villagers wasn’t enough for him, he wanted to expand his ruling power as much as he could. To do so, he was ready to do anything. He was up to his neck with the games of greed, power, and money. One weekend when Asad visited his father’s hawailee, a big house in the village, his father called for him. Son, you are aware that I am running in the MNA elections. The time has come for you to do something for your father, his father announced.

"Of course, Baba. I’ll do anything you want me to do," Asad answered.

Good. Then listen: I have arranged your marriage with the landlord Chaudhry Aziz’s daughter. He owns three villages, and his brother is the governor of Punjab. By this new relation, I’ll earn all the votes from the district. Our opposition will not stand a chance against us! Chaudhry Faraz nodded his head and smiled.

But, Baba, this is not possible, he said. I wanna—

Chaudhry Faraz cut Asad off and roared with anger at him. I don’t want to hear any buts or such nonsense! Understand? Your wedding will be in a month—that’s it. Chaudhry Faraz waved his hand for Asad to leave, ending the conversation.

Asad surrendered to his father because his fever of love with Samina was cooling off. After one month, Asad married the daughter of the wealthy landlord, who helped his father to get elected as an MNA.

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Some secrets cannot be hidden for long. So was the case with Asad’s second marriage. Samina found out and confronted Asad. Why did you betray me, Asad? Why! she screamed.

Asad tried to justify himself. I didn’t betray anybody. Having a second wife is no crime or a sin. Islam allows us to have up to four wives. I couldn’t afford to offend my father.

Don’t you dare try to use Islam as your shield! she screamed. I am aware of the teachings of Islam. There has to be a reason for a man to marry another girl: if his first wife is sick or cannot have kids… or if she doesn’t get along with him. Then the man has to get permission from his first wife to marry another girl. Tell me what was wrong with me, Asad. Tell me if you asked me for permission. Tell me!

Tell you what? What do you want me to do? Asad shot back.

I want you to make a decision between me and your second wife, Samina demanded.

"I can’t do that. I can’t leave my second wife. My father will disown me. I am nothing without him. Nothing," Asad declared.

Ha! Ha-ha, Samina cried out, laughing sarcastically. You are worried about your father disowning you? Wish I had known your real face behind the mask. What about me, who left everything, all my beloved family, for your love?

That was your choice, Samina, and today whatever you decide will be also your own choice, said Asad, not accepting responsibility.

Samina stared hard into Asad’s eyes in disbelief. She couldn’t believe her eyes: this was the same Asad who at one time loved her to death. This time when she spoke, her voice was calm. Asad, I want a divorce, and I am keeping the kids too.

Are you out of your mind? Asad snapped.

"I was out of my mind; now I am sane. If you won’t divorce me, I’ll go to your hawailee and reveal your secret—that I am your first wife," Samina threatened.

To hell with a woman like you, Asad concluded. I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you. He left the house. According to the Islamic Shariah law, saying that you want a divorce three times in a row, just the way Asad did, resulted in a complete and legal divorce.

Samina received the court divorce papers after a few days. After four short years of marriage, she was on her own. She was educated; therefore, she found a teaching job at a high school close to Main Market, in the Gulberg 111 area in Lahore. She rented an apartment in one of the buildings in Main Market and moved out of Asad’s house.

It was tough to raise children by herself in a society where men watch an attractive divorced woman like a hawk and want to hunt her down like a cheetah takes its prey.

To raise her two kids, she worked two jobs, daytime in a school and nighttime in a nearby tuition academy. When Bilal was twelve years old and Hira ten years old, Samina told them the entire story about what happened between her and their father. She realized that this created a severe hatred in Bilal’s impressionable heart against his irresponsible father, and that hate grew with each passing year.

CHAPTER 2

R ashida was a mother of six small children. She was married to a good man who worked hard for his wife and children. But no matter how much he worked, he had to borrow money to make it through the month, and the cost of living was growing higher every day. The only thing that wasn’t increasing was the workers’ pay. So to help her husband, Rashida started working at a nearby factory that made leather items of export quality, all of which was exported to European countries. The factory was owned by two executives, a Pakistani industrialist and a British businessman.

Rashida worked the shift from two in the afternoon until ten in the evening. Her husband came to pick her up every evening. Her job not only gave her husband a little relief but also fulfilled the kids’ needs, and now they could survive through the whole month without borrowing money or groceries from their neighbors.

It was Friday, and Rashida’s husband came to the gate of the factory at nine thirty. He was early and was excited to break the news to his wife about his promotion at work. He started pacing outside the factory. At nine forty-five, a cab pulled in front of the gate and a young man in his early twenties got out. He was dressed in a neat starched white salwar kameez, Pakistani loose native dress. When the young man spoke to the guard at the gate, he let him in.

A few minutes after the young man went inside the factory, an intense explosion blasted Rashida’s husband about fifteen feet away, onto the paved road. He lay there semiconscious for a few minutes. He then shook his head to regain his senses and looked at the flames, high in the ally, consuming the dead bodies of the workers buried under the debris. Only a few minutes age, a big building had stood there. Now it was a scene of horror.

CHAPTER 3

I n Punjab University’s cafeteria, Bilal was sipping coffee with his sweetheart, Ruby. Ruby was a daughter of a successful, financially well-off businessman. She was a pretty girl and seemed a perfect match for handsome Bilal. They have been together for the last three years. They had graduated together and now were getting their master’s in computer science. They were always together on the campus, and their friends teased them by calling them lovebirds.

Next year we’ll finish our master’s degrees. Then we may not be able to see each other a lot, said Bilal.

I know. It depresses me when I think about it. Try to find a good job right away so we can get married. I can’t live without you—that’s for sure.

You think your father will accept my proposal? You know we are not rich at all. My mother worked very hard to put my sister and me through good schools. Your one week of pocket money is probably more than my family’s whole monthly budget. I may not be able to accommodate you according to your status, but I will prove to be a good loving husband, and I have faith that with my hard work, I will achieve my goals! Bilal expressed his confidence while holding Ruby’s hand.

I believe in you, Bilal. As for my father, he likes smart, hardworking men like you. If you prove this to him, he will be convinced. Piece of cake, Ruby finished, snapping her fingers.

I hope you are right. Let’s see what happens. Come on. Let’s go. I gotta pick up my sister from college. I don’t like to keep her waiting. Bilal picked up his motorcycle keys from the table, getting ready to leave.

All right. I’ll talk to you over the phone tonight, Ruby said, and they both headed out to the parking lot. Ruby went to the car parking section, where her brand-new sports car was parked, and Bilal went to the other side, where his bike was.

Bilal was fifteen minutes late, and while he was waiting across the street from the Lahore College, he saw his little sister waiting for him. An expensive BMW pulled up next to her. A thug-looking character got out and tried to talk to her. When Bilal saw the young man in his early twenties bothering his sister, he ran the red light, made a U-turn, and rushed over to rescue Hira from the man.

Hey, get away from my sister before I break your head! Bilal shouted at the young man.

Whoa, whoa, take it easy, my future brother-in-law! I am just trying to explain to her how lucky she is that a guy like me has fallen in love with her. The man even spoke like a rogue.

Bilal turned off his bike and charged at the man. He threw a right punch, crushing the man’s nose. The man fell as blood gushed from his broken nose. Bilal didn’t stop there. He sat on the young man’s chest, throwing punches with both hands even harder, knocking four of his teeth out.

Hira, who looked petrified, leaped to draw her brother away. Brother, please! Let it go. Please!

If you try to hit on my sister again, I will bury you alive, I promise! Bilal shouted at the nearly unconscious man. Then he sped home in anger, with Hira nervously gripping his shoulder, clearly frightened by his speeding.

Don’t tell mother about what happened today, Bilal advised Hira as he walked her inside the little two-bedroom house their mother had rented a few years ago.

Hira, who was still pale, went straight to the washroom to wash her face and change because her mother was good at reading their faces.

Everything was normal when they sat down to eat, and they engaged in conversation. Hira went to her room right after she finished. Half an hour later, there was a knock on the door. Come in, she called out, sounding tentative.

He sat close to her and asked, How long has that guy been bothering you?

She waited for a few seconds and answered with her head down. For the last several days.

Why didn’t you tell me, Hira?

I didn’t wanna tell you because I know you have a temper, plus you just started coming late, she replied. Before, I always found you waiting outside the gate. He only tries to talk to me when I am alone waiting for you.

Bilal listened to his little sister while cursing himself in his heart for being late. He slowly lifted Hira’s face, looked into her beautiful eyes, and said, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. But promise me that if anybody bothers you anytime, you will let me know. You will, right! She nodded.

That’s a good girl. Bilal tapped her head lovingly and left the room.

It was around ten that evening when the doorbell rang repeatedly. Bilal went to answer the door, shouting, I’m coming!

The police grabbed him and threw him on the floor as soon as he opened the door. There were six police officers with their sub-inspector, or SI, who ordered Bilal to be cuffed.

Samina appeared with a stunned look on her face. What’s going on?

There is an official complaint against this man. He attacked a young man, assaulted him, and attempted to murder him, one police officer replied.

What? Are you sure about what you are saying? Samina asked in disbelief.

Oh, yes, ma’am. We are one hundred percent sure, the SI answered. Then he yelled at one of his assistants. Hey, get the suspect in the pickup and let’s move. I don’t have all night. I got lot of other things to do too. The officer pushed Bilal out the door and into the police van.

Where are you taking my son? Samina asked desperately.

He’ll be at the police station, but don’t bother to come right now. Come in the morning because after I drop him off at the station, I’ll be on my way to the robbery crime scene that took place while I was coming here, the SI told Samina.

She was quite sure he was lying insofar as the last part of his statement, but she could only stand there helplessly, watching the police taking her son away into the night.

She saw that Hira, who had been watching the whole thing from the window, looked as deeply shocked as she was. She tried to compose herself, but she was shaking as she went inside. Hira, they took Bilal. Why? They must have made a mistake. My Bilal wouldn’t try to kill anyone. He has a temper, but he is not violent, whispered Samina, just loud enough for Hira to hear as she walked into the house. Hira sat her down on the sofa, gave her a glass of water, and walked her through the incident that took place in front of her college today.

Her mother sighed heavily. Ya Allah, please help me! I pray these swinish people don’t beat up my son tonight! I’ll try to do something in the morning. Samina cried and held her head in her hands.

That was a long night for both mother and daughter. They stayed up all night worrying. Samina called a friend, a colleague from school, who assured Samina that she would go to the police station with her in the morning.

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Bilal was locked in a small holding cell with fifteen other suspects. They were packed like sardines in a can. At one in the morning, a police constable came. He called Bilal’s name and escorted him to another room. Bilal felt sick to his stomach upon entering the room, which was a torture cell. In addition to the smell, there were bloodstains on the floor and on the walls. A rope was hanging from the ceiling, which made the atmosphere more intimidating. The constable pushed Bilal toward a corner, where the SI who arrested Bilal was waiting for him with four other constables.

Tie him up, the SI ordered the constables. They held Bilal tightly, while one constable tied his feet and hands.

Strip him naked, the Si ordered the constable. The constable pulled Bilal’s pants down to his ankles. Two constables leaped on top of Bilal, one holding a thick round piece of tire with a wooden grip attached to it. The other had a long wooden stick in his hand.

The SI gave a signal. The constable with the section of a tire, called a slipper, lifted the slipper high above his head with both hands and then, with extreme force, slashed at Bilal’s naked butt. The one with the stick started hitting Bilal’s feet. Bilal screamed with the intense pain of each hit, crying out until he lost his voice. When the SI decided that Bilal couldn’t handle any more, he signaled the constables to stop. They carried Bilal and threw him back into the cell. It was enough for a first time.

In the cell, a man helped Bilal drink a glass of water and made some space for him to lie down on the floor. Bilal lay on his stomach and touched his butt, which felt sticky. It was blood. By morning, Bilal’s feet looked badly bruised, as if they had been inflated. He wasn’t even able to sit on his butt.

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At a little after eight in the morning, Bilal’s mother came to the police station with her friend. The head constable told them to wait because the SI wouldn’t be in until ten. They waited outside the office of SI. The SI arrived at eleven twenty and asked one of his constables to bring him breakfast from a nearby restaurant.

It took another forty-five minutes for the SI to wash down his breakfast. He picked up his cup of tea and burped aloud. Then he waved his hand to the constable, signaling him to call the women into his office.

Samina and her friend walked into the SI’s office. He had a big belly, and a long, thick mustache covered his upper lip. His feet were on the desk, and he held a cup of tea in his right hand and picked his nose with his left hand index finger. He sat straight in his chair, set his teacup on the desk, and burped once again before asking them to have a seat.

Samina, who was in her early forties, looked attractive and several years younger than her age. She felt the SI’s lusty eyes scanning her body. She corrected the shawl on her body and decided there was nothing to do but to speak to this rude man, who was acting as if he owned the world.

Sir, my daughter told me about yesterday’s incident. She said the man had been bothering her for quite a few days. Yesterday my son, Bilal, saw the man harassing her and confronted the man. The man made stupid comments. That’s when Bilal lost his temper and beat up the man. I know Bilal shouldn’t have done so, but I wish you would please try to understand. He was only protecting his sister from that man. My son is not a violent person. He is one of the smartest students in his university. He does not pick fights or try to do anything stupid that may hurt his career. So please, I beg you, forgive his mistake and release him. I give you my word that he won’t do such a thing again. As Samina finished the little speech she had practiced repeatedly in her head for hours, she hoped it would do some good. Had she been talking to a normal sort of man, it would have. But normal men were not usually in the Pakistan police.

The SI laughed, making fun of Samina. "You give a good speech, bibi. It’s not as simple as you think. Your son severely injured that man, and that young man belongs to a wealthy political family. His uncle is an MNA and his grandfather is a chief minister. If I let your son go, I will lose my job instantly. You are lucky that the opposition doesn’t want to make a scene out of this and that they are not trying to retaliate. Otherwise, believe me, for them it’s very easy to make your son ‘disappear’ or have him prosecuted on dozens of false charges. Consider yourself blessed if your son is only facing charges of assault, which I doubt because I believe he’s done a lot of other stuff too, and I intend to find out through interrogation. Clearing his throat, he continued. I mean, your son doesn’t look so innocent to me, and I am very good at judging people."

Samina was astonished at what this SI had just said, and her friend seemed to be as well. Samina waited for a couple of minutes before making her plea. But there has got to be a way out! You are the person in charge. You have authority to do whatever you want. So please do something to let my son go.

Oh, bibi, you haven’t heard what I said. Your son’s case is not so easy, plus I am only doing my job. The person in charge of the case is the SHO, the senior house officer, and I am sure he is being pressured from his superiors. Even if he wants to, I don’t think he can let your son go. The SI shook his head as he finished the explanation.

Okay, then, let us see the SHO, Samina said.

He is not in the station right now, and I suggest you don’t see him, because he is not caring and understanding like me. He won’t listen to you, the SI warned.

Then tell us where to go. What to do? Samina beseeched him with teary eyes.

By the way, where is the boy’s father? he asked, cutting his eyes toward Samina slyly.

I am divorced, Samina answered, looking down at her hands.

Mm… tell you what. Come back tomorrow and I’ll try to find a way to speed up the process and present the case to the judge. Then you can try to bail him out, he said sympathetically.

Tomorrow? You mean I can’t see my son today? Samina inquired.

Oh, no, bibi, it’s not possible. But leave some money for his meals. I am not going to feed him from my pocket. I don’t get paid to feed the criminals, he finished lamely, and then he called to the constable waiting outside. Take these ladies to their car, he ordered, thereby terminating the visit.

Samina took out three one-thousand-rupee bills and handed them to the SI. Keep this for Bilal’s meals… and please take care of him. He has never gone through this kind of harshness before, she said.

The SI snatched the bills quickly. Don’t worry, bibi. He is in good hands. I’ll accommodate him, he said politely.

Samina’s friend, who had stayed quiet through the conversation, sighed. She pulled Samina’s arm to get up, and they both walked out of the room.

You two came for that young man who came in last night? the hard-featured constable asked while walking them out of the station.

Yes, I am his mother. Have you seen him? Is he okay? Samina inquired worriedly.

Uh… He hesitated before continuing, seeming to get his thoughts together, and went on. He is not so bad right now, but he is in for big trouble unless you wanna save him. I can help you make it easy for him.

How is that? Samina inquired.

Samina’s friend interjected. Let me talk to him. How much? she asked. She was a street-smart woman who knew much more than Samina did about the police system.

Well, you see, the SI you ladies just met is a kindhearted person. He is more lenient than the SHO and might bend the rules for nice and needy people like you, the constable explained. If you can come up with one hundred thousand rupees, he will complete the case with a few loopholes in it so your kid can get the bail from the judge right away.

How much for letting him go free without any charges filed? Samina’s friend asked.

Oh, no, bibi, that is not possible, the constable said. The victim belongs to a strong family with a political background. They are a very wealthy landlord family.

Ah, what will happen to poor or middle-class people like us in this country where the jungle rule is in effect? Samina’s friend released a long breath after that and then addressed the constable. Listen, go and tell your boss that we will give him fifty thousand rupees with assurance that he will complete Bilal’s case by tomorrow and will send him to jail. That’s all we can afford. If not, then my brother is a high court lawyer. He’ll make sure that Bilal gets indicted by tomorrow.

I don’t know if the SI will agree. Let me try to convince him, the constable said. He turned back fast toward the office.

Samina and her friend got into the car to wait for him to come back out. Why won’t they charge Bilal in front of the judge if they are not going to let him go free? Samina asked her friend.

These people hold the suspects as long as they want in their police stations, torture them physically and mentally, until their families come up with some cash to bribe the police. It’s one of their sleazy moves, she tried to explain to Samina, who looked exhausted by the ongoing situation.

Samina had no clue that Bilal’s arrest would turn out to be so nasty.

The constable came back and whispered as if he were selling a military secret. The SI wasn’t agreeing at first, but I explained to him your situation. You don’t have much money. I put up some words for you to convince him. He is a good man with a soft heart. He understood your position and realized the kid has made a mistake. He is willing to seal the deal at seventy thousand rupees, not a penny less.

Samina’s friend looked at Samina, seeking her permission. She slowly nodded, agreeing to the amount. Okay, we will be back by evening with the money, she said, starting the ignition to leave.

Samina asked her friend to stop at the bank to get the money—the hard-earned money that she had been saving for a long time. Now with seventy thousand rupees, she was going to the police as a bribe to send her son to jail. She was very disturbed, and the more she thought, the more mentally instable she felt. She wanted this to be over soon and to see her only son at home.

That evening, they delivered the envelope with the money to the corrupt SI, and he put it in his pocket right away.

Please can I see my son now? Samina requested after paying the money.

Uh. He hesitated a little because Bilal wasn’t in good shape. He thought for a minute and ordered the constable to bring Bilal. After taking the bribe, he wasn’t in a position to turn down her request.

A few minutes later, the constable led Bilal, who was in severe pain and limping on his swollen feet, into the office.

Samina screamed, jumping from her chair. What did you do to my son? she shouted, leaping toward Bilal and holding him by his shoulders.

Oh, nothing, bibi. It was just a little introduction. Since this morning, we haven’t touched him. As a matter of fact, the constable fed him a good lunch, right, Bilal? He looked at Bilal to corroborate.

It’s okay, Mama; I am fine, said Bilal, clearly trying to ease her shock.

She sat him on a chair next to her, still astounded.

The SI kept his promise by officially charging Bilal and getting him indicted in front of the duty magistrate. Now Bilal was to be detained in a jail in Lahore.

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CHAPTER 4

F our religious-looking middle-aged guys with long beards and dressed in salwar kameez —with rosary beads in their hands and kufis on their heads—were ensconced in a luxurious room, giving the last lesson to a young man named Hamza. He was listening to them with his head down.

Hamza was a twenty-five-year-old bus driver. He drove a tourist bus for a five-star hotel in Islamabad, the capital of Pakistan. He drove tourists to eye-appealing hill stations like Muree and Aubia, which were close to Islamabad. The tourists were mostly European, visiting Pakistan to explore the glorious places in the north. They traveled on a bus as far as Muree, which was as far as a bus could go, and then rented jeeps to continue their travel. After that, the roads were narrow and dangerous.

Hamza was a poor man who’d worked from the age of fourteen. No matter how hard he worked, life was always tough for him, his siblings, and his parents. He was in love with a girl from his neighborhood. Hamza thought about his parents taking his proposal to the girl’s parents. He hoped they would not hesitate to accept the proposal, but he had his hopes crushed. The girl’s parents turned him down, saying they would not marry their girl to a bus driver. From that day on, Hamza was devastated; he didn’t want to live anymore. Life became meaningless and painful. He knew his poverty was the reason behind the rejection. This caused him more anguish and grief than he could near. He decided to commit suicide. He was about to jump off the bridge when one of the four guys now present in the room saw him. When Hamza tried to climb the small fence of the bridge, the man raced to clutch him from behind. The man took Hamza with him to this place, where Hamza told him his story of hard work and struggling to survive in the expensive society. He explained why he wanted to commit suicide over the loss of his love.

From that day on, the man and his accomplice brainwashed Hamza to give up his life for a good purpose. Suicide was stupid, they told him. He should sacrifice his life for a reward to be paid after his death in paradise. The men fed his brain what it craved. The man who stopped him from committing suicide helped him financially and asked him to return to his normal life.

Hamza continued to visit the man regularly over the last six months, and today was his final visit. Today a special man, whom his accomplice called Maulana Lal Din, was present to glamorize the mission Hamza was given to carry out.

The maulana had powerful and mesmerizing eyes, with a strong, persuasive voice that influenced Hamza deeply. If you carry out your mission successfully tomorrow by killing those shaitans, you will be a martyr. The second your soul leaves your body, the doors of paradise will open up for you. All your worries and tensions will be over. Paradise is a place where you will be rewarded with everything you desired in this world. Virgins will fulfill your every sexual desire, and then you will be rewarded with the girl you loved in this world. In paradise, martyrs get what they desire and couldn’t get in this world! He continued, sounding so positive. My son, go and kill those shaitans who are taking a trip with you tomorrow. Paradise is waiting for you.

When the maulana finished with Hamza, Hamza was so desperate to enter paradise that waiting a full day was almost unbearable for him. The second day, before going to work, Hamza came to the same place, and an expert bomb maker fitted him with an explosive jacket under his loose shirt, explaining to him how to pull the pin to detonate it.

All the four men were sitting in the same room, watching the television news, where there was a breaking news report:

In an act of terrorism, a tourist bus was blown apart by a suicide bomber believed to be the bus driver. This occurred one hour ago, seventy-five miles north of Islamabad, and everybody in the bus was killed instantly. The bus was carrying forty tourists, mostly British. The federal agency has just reported that a religious group named JOSH has claimed the responsibility for this act of terrorism.

The live scene showed dozens of crime scene investigators picking up the scattered burnt body parts. Thick black smoke was still rising from the scrap remaining from the exploded bus. As a video camera panned it, it captured the severed burnt head of a female about twenty feet away from the bus. It had one eye open. That’s when the cameraman stopped shooting.

CHAPTER 5

A fter divorcing Samina, Asad had gone back to his village to live in his hawailee with his second wife and family. His second wife, who belonged to a wealthy family, turned out to be arrogant and rude. She had only studied up to the tenth grade in school. She lived the typical village lifestyle, which was the opposite of Asad’s. Asad tried his best to change her, but her arrogance never let her see the good of change. Asad finally gave up on her. Sometimes, he realized, the sacrifice for his father wasn’t worth it. After all, he wanted to enjoy his life. However, as time passed, he adjusted himself by copying